Warning for the beginning of this chapter: child abuse, sexual violence

Chapter Forty-Two – The Pledge

The blow lands with brutal force, splitting the air like lightning. The girl has no time to scream – just a single, choked gasp before the ground breaks her fall. The world around her seems to freeze, but only for a moment. Large, unyielding hands pull her up, pressing her mercilessly against the wall.

Tears stream down the girl's face, hot and salty. She begs it to stop, to make it stop, somehow, but it doesn't. The girl closes her eyes, desperately seeking comfort in the darkness, but there is no escape, no end. Only the father's hissing voice echoing in her mind.

"You've made Papa very angry," he whispers, his breath like poison. His hand – merciless, familiar and hated – slides between her legs. "It hurts me as much as it hurts you."

It hurts, the girl cries inside! It hurts so much!

Every touch is like a sharp knife digging deep into the girl's soul, tearing at her heart. The pain is omnipresent, unbearable, devastating. She knows she can't survive this moment, not an hour, not a minute, not a second longer.

But it doesn't end. It goes on and on. Mercilessly. And the girl, lost in this pain, knows... she too is lost.

...

Years later, on a cool summer's evening, the memory caught up with the now older girl, deep and precise like the pain she had carried with her for years, as she waited in an empty corridor.

Nobody noticed. Nobody looked. Nobody cared about those lost in the darkness.

Nobody.

Absolutely nobody.

But maybe... if her eyes hadn't deceived her... if she had seen correctly what had been going on in these dark corridors all these years, what had been hidden in the eyes and hearts of those who approached her... if she had understood correctly all that she had read and silently observed... if today was really the moment to overcome her fear – and make her most cowardly, most courageous decision.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. They came closer and the girl knew it was going to happen.

She took a deep breath. Her heart pounded in her ears like a battle cry. Then the footsteps rounded the corner – and Tracey looked into the faces of Evil.

"I know what you two have done."

Harry had his wand in his hand before he had even turned the corner. Now it was pointed directly at the classmate in front of them – Daphne's roommate, Tracey Davis. The Slytherin was still wearing her school uniform from the Welcome Feast, but her brown hair was dishevelled and there were dark circles under her eyes on her pale face, Harry realised now that he saw her up close. She looked exhausted, but her gaze was determined.

"What are you talking about, Davis?" he asked in a strained voice.

"I know it was you who destroyed Azkaban and killed all the prisoners inside. But not before feasting on their pain like maggots on rotten meat."

Without hesitation, Harry tightened his grip on his wand. The magic inside him flared like glowing sparks on a dry meadow, and he let the searing heat rush through his veins as a taste of blood spread across his tongue. He was only a heartbeat away from casting the curse when he felt a warm hand on his arm.

Daphne's hand. She stood quietly beside him, her back straight, her eyes fixed on Davis, but unusually without her own wand in her hand. Only the gaze of her two-toned eyes, one golden, the other green, was directed at Davis. Harry felt a thoughtful flicker cross over to him through their bond.

"Let's talk, Tracey," his fiancée said. Her voice was calm but not warm, but it was not the cold or mocking tone she had used with Hermione and Ginny on the train ride to Hogwarts – and with so many other people.

By Daphne's standards, her voice sounded almost friendly, Harry thought, and he too lowered his wand, especially as the other girl hadn't moved an inch since her first words. She had made no move to attack or defend herself, which would probably have been as futile as a tiny grain of dust fighting a raging storm.

Harry scolded himself for his hasty reaction. He had come so close to killing Davis, or at least seriously injuring her. Even if Davis really knew something about their actions in Azkaban, there were other ways to deal with the problem; they could simply erase Davis' memories or destroy her mind.

These must be the dangers of their magic and their bond that Dumbledore – and Grindelwald – had spoken of. Not that the old fools would ever understand them, him and Daphne.

"Let's go in there," Daphne said, pointing to the door of the next classroom.

Davis gave a quick nod and went in first. Harry and Daphne exchanged a quick glance, then followed her, leaving the deserted corridor behind them.

Not that the classroom was any livelier. Quite the opposite. It must have been years since anyone had taught here, maybe even longer. Tables and chairs were stacked against one wall, covered in a thick layer of dust. The air was stale and dry, and the windows on the opposite wall were covered in grey streaks. They probably hadn't been cleaned in ages.

But even through the dirt, the windows still offered a view of the moon shining down on them like a nasty grin. Beyond the lights of the castle and Hagrid's hut stretched only the dark, endless expanse of the Forbidden Forest, and very, very faintly in the night, the outlines of the Scottish mountains: a fitting backdrop for ominous conversations with a girl who had been neither friend nor foe to them so far.

But first Harry and Daphne had work to do. They drew their wands – causing Davis to flinch for the first time – and cast a few protective spells so that no one could see or hear them unnoticed.

They didn't use their strongest spells, they didn't want to draw attention to themselves, but still, the magic spread a slight smell of ozone through the room, which mixed with the smell of dust to form an almost foul odour, and the taste of blood on Harry's tongue became even stronger. He swallowed hard, drawing a warm smile from Daphne. Yes, they really were an odd couple, he thought. Although other people would probably use different adjectives.

As the magic settled around them, the young couple turned their attention back to the girl in front of them.

"You've made some bold claims, Tracey," Daphne said calmly, her voice almost unchanged, free of both hostility and exaggerated friendliness. "Needless to say, you should choose your next words very carefully."

It was the calm in her voice that made her words sound all the more threatening. Even Harry felt a brief, albeit pleasant, shiver run down his spine.

"But don't you dare lie to us," he added. "The consequences would be..." He paused and made a significant gesture. "...not pleasant. For you."

For several moments, Davis just stared at them, her dark brown eyes darting between them, lingering longer on Daphne, but her expression remained hard and blank the whole time. Finally, she gave a single nod.

"I've been watching you," she began, slowly and deliberately. "For the last few years."

"And what have you seen?" Daphne asked.

"Suffering. Disappointment. Pain." Davis let the last word linger for a time before continuing. "But also passion. Determination. And power. Especially power. Terrible, enormous, terrifying power." She paused for a moment and then added, "Once, I even felt that power myself..."

Harry saw Daphne's eyes narrow slightly and his curiosity was piqued as well. He gestured for Davis to continue.

"After you were chosen by the Goblet of Fire," Davis explained. "The runes on your bed, Greengrass. The runes, the magic that tormented me. I felt it then. My own life being sucked away, bleeding into you as the pain tore through me." Her eyes darkened and the bitterness in her voice was almost palpable. "I saw it then. The flicker in your eyes. The greed. The boundless greed to keep the spell going, to keep feeding on me, to strip me until there was nothing left of me but an empty, bloody shell. The selfishness to walk over corpses for one's own benefit and, if necessary, to set the whole world on fire."

"Corpses and fire," Harry murmured.

Brown eyes looked at him.

"It's not so far-fetched then, is it?" Davis said, her voice perhaps a little sharper. "Within hours of your release from Azkaban, Potter, the island is in flames. No traces left. No bodies bearing the marks of their deaths." She took a deep breath, clasped her trembling hands and looked between Harry and Daphne. "And now that we've returned to these blessed, damned halls, I see the same greedy flicker in both your eyes that I saw in the eyes of that selfish witch when she thought she was so much better than me. When she refused to teach me the runes that could have saved me."

"You were weak," Daphne said.

Harry noticed that she hadn't bothered to deny anything else that Davis had said. As did the other girl, judging by the brief twitch of her lips, the subtle tightening of her fists.

"Weak," Davis spat, a dry, bitter laugh escaping her, hollow and sharp as broken glass. "Yes, I have been. I've been weak my whole damn life. So weak that it makes me sick to think about it. All those years I stayed weak, no matter what I tried. But I was weakest, most pathetic, as a little child. When I dreamed of a better world, a world of heroes. But you know what?"

"Tell us, Tracey," Daphne said. The bond between her and Harry vibrated, and though Harry's heartbeat didn't quicken, it grew stronger. Each beat was like a thunderclap.

"You know, I don't think heroes exist," Davis said, shaking her head slightly. "You know, like champions or knights. At first, very early in my childhood, I wanted someone like that to save me. But before long, I stopped thinking that anything like that existed in this world. There's nobody who unconditionally protects the weak, who saves others, who puts an end to injustice or brings about righteousness. If there was, there wouldn't be people like me, being beaten and abused by their own father, would there?"

She took a step forward, standing close, right between them. Her hands were clenched into fists. Her body was shaking. She was angry, that much was clear to Harry, but her anger was not directed at them.

"Oh, there are those who would disagree with me, no doubt," Davis went on, her voice thick with contempt. "Moralists who would speak of the goodness in the world and in people, of turning the other cheek and forgiveness, or at least the strength of the law. The Ministry or Dumbledore or somebody. But I went to the Ministry and they couldn't help me, not permanently. I went to Dumbledore's school for years, but he didn't help me. Maybe they helped other people, but not me. Maybe somewhere in the world people have helped other people, but not me. So maybe there are places where heroes exist. But what I'm saying is, they don't exist where I am. I'm saying that they weren't there for me…"

She came even closer. Harry suppressed the urge to step back. Something... something told him this was important. That he had to stay.

Daphne beside him was completely still, watching Davis, and there was an unusual thoughtfulness in her eyes. For a brief moment, Harry thought he saw something like quiet understanding in them – something he had rarely seen in her gaze before.

"No, there are no heroes in my world," Davis continued, her voice low and steady as she drew closer. Harry could feel her breath, could see the weariness etched into her pale face. "But then, I wasn't saved by heroes, I was saved by people without a spark of compassion in them, people who only fight for themselves. People who, out of pure greed and selfishness, destroyed a whole island and, almost in passing, wiped out a father who had done unspeakable things to his own daughter." A twisted smile crossed her lips, half madness, half unquenchable despair. "No, I was not saved by heroes, but by selfish and despicable villains... whom I adore."

Something flashed in the back of Harry's mind – a man laughing mockingly in the low-security wing of Azkaban... in the same wing as his cell... the Auror Cadet Tonks had called him Davis... and a wretched piece of scum. Now it all made sense to him, but this realisation was overlaid by something else, something much more powerful.

For Harry felt something inside him burst open. Something deep inside him vibrated at Davis' words, for... he recognised himself in them. Not in her story, not in her suffering, which he had never experienced – not even the Dursleys had been that cruel – but in the other feeling. That dark echo, the painful abandonment of illusions, the path he had taken with Daphne, his former companion in childish delusions of heroism. Once they had called each other like knights – "Sir Harry" and "Sir Daphne" – and dreamed of honour and glory, of a triumphant path, only to learn how fragile, how hollow those dreams were. Every victory had turned to ashes in their hands, until Harry had finally snuffed out that childish flame before it could burn any further.

Now they no longer called themselves that, Harry thought. They weren't knights, they weren't shining heroes, but maybe they had become something he had needed as a child – something he had only found in Daphne Greengrass, soon to be Daphne Potter, who had entered his life as ruthlessly as he had entered hers.

"And so..."

Davis breathed heavily, as if the words hurt her, but a smile played around her pale lips. She looked them in the eyes and it was as if something old and rigid inside her was breaking. Slowly, with all the inevitability of a great tree falling, she sank to her knees before them.

"And so I accept my weakness," she said softly, her voice barely more than a breath. "And so I accept your strength. And so..."

The moonlight fell in flat stripes through the dirty windows and caressed her face, deepening the hollows under her eyes into shadows that seemed to reach into the depths of her soul. But above those shadows, her eyes flashed with a multitude of emotions, too many and too stormy for Harry to even begin to comprehend. But he could see clearly... hope. A hope as fragile as the silver moonlight that surrounded her. Tracey Davis knelt before them like a ghost from another world, wrapped in the fragile armour of a girl who had borne more than she could ever bear.

"I pledge my allegiance to you, Daphne Greengrass and Harry Potter," she said, her voice trembling but fierce with determination. "Your aims will be my aims, your enemies my enemies. I will fight your wars with you, I swear, for it was you who saved me. Even if you saved me only by chance, out of pure selfishness, even if you are only interested in your own goals, not in me... but then no one else is either." She paused, her gaze lost in a silent, painful realisation. "Neither the Ministry nor Dumbledore, neither heroes nor knights, have ever shown me a future. But you have given me something precious – through your greed, through your madness – and so I will follow you to the end."

Her voice dropped to a near whisper, her words sounding like a final prayer. "All I have is yours, for I have nothing else. And... all I ask is a place in your shadow that will still lift me above all others. Take this oath or strike me down – my life is in your hands."

The air seemed to vibrate with her words. Harry felt it settle over him, the solemn, weighty vow stretching between them and the kneeling girl. He exhaled slowly, then looked at Daphne as she looked at him. Green-gold and gold-green eyes met, both pairs filled with the same recognition.

It was a silent understanding. A shared decision, as certain and final as the oath of an oath.

Now, Harry thought. This changed everything.