Daphne's life had transformed in ways she could hardly have imagined during her days at Hogwarts. The memories of Britain were distant now, almost dreamlike, yet some remained sharp and painful. She and her sister Astoria had been mere teenagers when their father, Cyrus Greengrass, had coldly informed them of their fates. Daphne was to be married off to Marcus Flint, and Astoria to Draco Malfoy. There was no love or even respect in these arrangements, but rather business transactions designed to consolidate power and wealth within the old pureblood families. The disgust and betrayal they had felt were still vivid in Daphne's mind. Their futures were being sold, their lives reduced to mere pawns in their father's merciless game.
Daphne and Astoria had never forgiven him for that. Their father's cold, calculating demeanour had always set them on edge, but this was the final straw. There was no love lost when they decided to escape from that life. If anything, they felt a grim satisfaction in leaving Cyrus Greengrass behind with no wife or child to continue his line in the way he intended to. They wanted nothing more to do with him or the twisted world of pureblood politics that had shaped their childhood.
The escape had been necessary. Harry, burdened by his own past and disillusioned with the wizarding world in Britain and the falling out with his friends, Harry saw no reason to stay or fight. It was in that fifth year they truly met and opened up to each other and eventually falling in love. At the end of that year, when they eloped to America, Astoria had joined them without hesitation. It was there, far from the reach of their father and the shadow of Voldemort, that they found their freedom.
Settling in America had been surprisingly easy, thanks to the help of MACUSA. The MACUSA Unspeakables had been particularly interested in the scar that had marked Harry's forehead, a remnant of Voldemort's failed curse. They had removed it, not just to free Harry from its physical reminder, but to use it in a ritual. They were never told the details, but six months after the removal, Voldemort died a pitiful death the moment magic was stripped from him. With the scar gone and Voldemort dead, Harry was finally free to live his life without the shadow of the Dark Lord looming over him.
Astoria, too, found her own path in America. It was there that she met Emily, a talented witch with a fierce intellect and a kind heart. Their love blossomed quickly, a stark contrast to the forced, loveless marriage that had once been planned for Astoria. They had married in a small, private ceremony, with only Harry, Daphne, and a few close friends in attendance.
As for Daphne and Harry, their lives had flourished in ways they had never expected. They had discovered how to use arithmancy to navigate the stock market and other investments, a skill that had allowed them to amass considerable wealth by their late twenties. With that wealth, Harry had taken a major share in Grunnings, the very company where Vernon Dursley had once strutted about with self-satisfied arrogance. Harry's decision to move the company overseas had been his act of revenge. The fact that it had contributed to Vernon's downfall and the financial consequences had been enough for him. That he made a good profit with the move was not something he cared about, but it humoured him nonetheless.
But for Daphne, the story didn't end there. She had heard Harry's stories about his childhood, about the years of abuse and neglect he had suffered at the hands of the Dursleys. It had enraged her, filled her with a cold, simmering fury. Yet, she wasn't one for grand gestures of revenge. Instead, she had given a single instruction to Dobby, Harry's fiercely loyal house-elf, who had followed them to America. It was a simple request: steer the Dursleys toward different paths, paths that presented them with choices. Choices that would test their true nature.
Daphne hadn't specified how Dobby should carry out this task, leaving the details to the house-elf. She had almost forgotten about it over the years, busy as she was with their growing family and flourishing life. But Dobby had not forgotten. To him, it was a way to honour Harry, a way to exact justice for the years his master had suffered in silence. And so, Dobby had subtly influenced the lives of the Dursleys, nudging them in directions that led them to their own downfalls.
Vernon, already prone to anger and bitterness, had begun drinking heavily after losing his job when Grunnings moved overseas. Dobby had ensured that there was always another bottle within reach, that Vernon's downward spiral continued unabated. The man's pride, already shattered, had crumbled entirely as he turned to alcohol to numb the pain of his lost status. The more he drank, the more his anger festered, and the more he lashed out at those around him. His eventual arrest had been inevitable, a consequence of his own choices. After six years in prison, he eventually died of a stroke. The years of unhealthy living, alcohol and too much stress had finally taken it's toll. Harry told her he found it fitting that he died as a rabid animal in captivity.
Dudley, spoiled and entitled from a young age, had turned to marijuana early on. It was Dobby who had subtly nudged Dudley toward a different dealer when the idiot sought out his regular one, leading him to a man who also offered harder substances. Dudley's initial foray into drug use had quickly spiralled out of control, his body craving more and more until he was hooked on cocaine. When Dudley had decided to rob someone to feed his addiction, Dobby had intervened again, guiding him away from a young mother with a stroller and toward a store owned by the war veteran. She remembered that day vividly when Dobby told her. Thanks to him spinning the story in such an animated manner that only Dobby could, she had tears in her eyes from laughing at Dudley's misfortune.
As for Petunia, Dobby's influence had been subtle, but insidious. The house-elf had sabotaged small things in her flat. Plumbing that never quite worked, appliances that broke down, leaks that spread mould and decay throughout her home. It was as if the very walls were closing in on her, suffocating her with the weight of her own misery. Petunia had made her choices, too. She had chosen to ignore Harry's suffering, to treat him as less than human. In the end, the isolation and despair had driven her to the only escape she could see.
Daphne took a deep breath, feeling the warm breeze on her face as she watched her youngest daughter Lily twirl around the garden. The past was behind them now, and she felt no guilt for the Dursleys' fate. It had been their choices, their actions, that had led them to where they were. Dobby had merely presented them with opportunities that they decided to follow themselves.
Harry, for his part, had moved on long ago. The removal of his scar had been symbolic as much as it was physical, a final break from the trauma of his childhood and the insanity of wizarding Britain. He had found peace in the life they had built together, far from the shadows of their pasts. Reading the stories in the paper about the country they grew up in, it was certainly the right decision. Even without Voldemort, not much had changed in that isolated community.
Daphne's thoughts drifted back to her sister, Astoria, who had gone through so much with her. They had shared the burden of their father's cold machinations, had supported each other in their escape from the life he had tried to force upon them. Daphne was proud of the life Astoria had built with Emily, the love they had found together. They had all come so far from the dark days in Britain. She still shudders to imagine what life she would have led, if they had not moved here. A decade of unhappiness with that Malfoy cretin. Or any man for that matter, as she later confessed, and she would have succumbed to her illness. An illness that was easily taken care of in the modern hospitals of MACUSA.
A soft rustle of leaves drew Daphne's attention back to the present. She looked up to see Harry walking across the lawn, a gentle smile on his face as he approached. He paused to ruffle Lily's hair as she ran past him, her laughter echoing through the garden. Daphne's heart swelled with warmth as she watched her husband, the man who had been through so much and yet had emerged stronger, kinder, and more loving than she could have ever hoped.
Harry reached her and sat down in the chair beside her, his hand finding hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You're thinking about her death," he said softly, his voice tinged with understanding.
Daphne nodded, leaning her head against his shoulder. "It just brought back a lot of memories, that's all. I can't say I'm surprised by what happened, but it does make you think."
"About the past?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Daphne admitted. "About everything we left behind. About how far we've come."
Harry was silent for a moment, his gaze focused on the horizon. "We did what we had to do. For ourselves, for our future. And look at what we've built here, Daphne. We're free, our girls are happy, and we've created a life that's truly ours."
Daphne smiled at his words, feeling a sense of contentment settle over her. "You're right. We have everything we ever wanted, and more."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching their daughter play in the garden. The shadows lengthened as the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the estate. Daphne knew that the past would always be a part of them, but it no longer had the power to hurt them. The choices they had made had led them to this moment, to this life, and she wouldn't change a thing.