Chapter 38 - Recovery
Blackness. Nothingness.
A blurry haze. Sucked into a painful focus. Only silence. No–A high-pitched whistling sound.
The light hurts.
Pain as his body jerks involuntarily.
More nothingness.
His eyes refocused. Was he at Privet Drive? Why?
Another jolt. God, his head hurt.
'That whistling's annoying.'
He slipped back into blackness.
His Godfather's face loomed into view.
'Hey look, it's Sirius! Why does he look so worried? Ha, he's always bloody worried about something. Weird that I can't hear what he's saying, though. Seriously dude, personal space.'
Another jerk. More nothingness.
He blinked his eyes open.
'Hey, that's Dumbledore. What's he doing here? Aunt Petunia won't be very happy. And Madam Pomfrey? Who's she shouting at? God, my head hurts. Oh, hold on, she's coming over. Er… why are you pointing your wand at me?'
Blackness.
'God, my head hurts,' Harry thought again, his eyes flickering open, ' Ugh . Why am I in the hospital wing? And why is it so damn dark in here?'
His legs twitched violently of their own accord, rubbing something very sensitive on his leg.
"Motherfucker!" he exclaimed. Wow, his throat hurt. Why did it feel like he'd deep-throated a cactus?
He smiled bemusedly as Daphne's sweet face came into view.
' Wow, she's pretty,' he thought. 'I'm so lucky to have Daphne.'
"Harry, you're awake!" Daphne said, her voice music to his ears, somehow like he hadn't heard it for a very long time.
"Yeah," Harry replied, his throat husky and painful. "Why am I in the hospital wing?"
"You… you don't remember?" Daphne replied. Why did she look like she'd been crying? And why was she in her pyjamas?
"Remember what?"
"The duel, Harry. Rookwood and Bellatrix Lestrange. You won, but… you nearly died."
His eyes went wide as her words slowly brought flashes of memory back to him. Rookwood. Those chains around his ankles. The Serpentfyre . He'd won! He'd killed the bastard. Bellatrix. He'd nearly had her… and then he hadn't. How had he won? All he could remember when he tried was a feeling of distinct powerlessness. Weakness. But he'd won, hadn't he? He wouldn't be alive if he hadn't.
"It's… it's hard to remember," he croaked.
"How are you feeling?" Daphne asked, sitting on the side of his bed with a frown marring her beautiful face and clutching his hand like it was made of diamond. How he hated that frown.
"My head… really hurts. All of me does, to be honest. Especially my leg."
His bottom half jerked violently again, sending aches all up his body and highlighting just how sensitive his leg felt. He hissed from the pain.
"Stay right there," Daphne said, her tone firm. "I'm gonna go get Madam Pomfrey."
He allowed himself a little chuckle. "I don't think I'm going anywhere."
Daphne blushed and rolled her perfect sapphire eyes. That was exactly what he needed to see.
"You know what I mean," she replied, then darted off.
He shut his eyes again, wondering what time it was.
Madam Pomfrey must've just been in the next room, he thought, because almost immediately he heard voices again, and she was right there, waving her wand like she was conducting an orchestra, with Daphne by her side.
"Good, Harry, you're awake," she said, finishing her wand-waving. "Symptomatic assessment?"
'Symptomatic assessment? I'm the bloody patient,' he thought, dazedly. Daphne was looking at Poppy as if she was mad, but Poppy was staring at him with a steady, almost clinical gaze. She expected him to answer this. Why?
'The Cruciatus. She's testing my thinking. Think.'
"Erm… I dunno," he replied raspily. "Everything's still pretty cloudy, not… vision-wise, my memory… and it's taking me a second longer to think. A headache… well… everything aches, my leg hurts. I remember the Cruciatus , so that's why I keep jerking. Synaptic nerve sensitivity. My leg… it hurts a lot. I thought I fixed it. I had a full tib and fib compound fracture."
"You did," Poppy replied, seeming satisfied. "You fixed the break at least, and it was very impressive. I couldn't have done it faster on my best day."
Her lips became thinner as she continued, her tone turning more serious "But the chains Rookwood cast we think were family magic and very dark in nature. Thirty percent coverage of your calf. It was very near bone, but not quite. I debrided it while you were asleep, but no amount of ointment got it past third-degree, so I can't say whether or not it will heal completely. If it doesn't, the skin will always be sensitive and you may need to keep rubbing an antiseptic into it. It would always be an open wound, after all."
"A wicked scar though," Harry offered with a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood. "How long have I been out?"
He grimaced as his body jerked again, the movement sending fresh waves of pain through his body.
"Nearly two days, Harry," Daphne replied, sitting on the edge of the bed again, her voice soft but firm. "It's Saturday, the 24th of October. We get married in a week, can you believe it? We were meant to be going to get our clothes for the wedding today, too, remember? Do you remember that?"
Harry nodded, his mind still foggy, but a flicker of recognition crossed his face that made Daphne breathe a sigh of relief.
"Do you think I'll be well enough for discharge soon?" he asked, trying to hide the edge of worry in his voice. He hated being in hospital. They were really cutting it fine.
"Now you're awake, Monday, all being well," Poppy replied after a moment's thought.
"What time is it now?"
"Just after three."
"Daph, sweetheart, you should be in bed," Harry scolded with a soft smile, feeling a pang of guilt at how long she must have been up.
"My bed's right there," she replied, her lips curling into a faint, affectionate smile. After a painful tilt of his head to look where she was pointing, he saw that next to his own was a bed that she'd obviously been using. A novel lay open next to a candle, and an open bag rested on the floor beside her, filled with books and clothing.
He looked back at her, his eyes locking with hers. There was a quiet intensity in the gaze coming from her piercing blue eyes, a meaningful expression that made him feel both comforted and somehow vulnerable.
"There was no way I was leaving you," she said, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
"Enough of that for now," Poppy said, placating. "Now you're awake, I can actually get some potions into you."
She waved her wand and a tray of potions zoomed over from his bedside to hover above his lap. "Explain your symptoms, your needed potions, and why."
"You're really asking me this now?" he asked. His head was pounding.
"No better time to train someone when they're suffering symptoms," Poppy replied, "It's something my mentor taught me. It sinks in better. Plus, I think it will be an excellent psychological assessment. Explain your symptoms, your needed potions, and why."
"Ugh. Okay…erm… " he frowned, trying to process. "Rapid-firing synapses between neurons, caused by the Cruciatus puts extreme stress on all muscles in the body, including all sphincters, but not the heart."
His eyes went wide in horror. "Oh God. Did I… shit myself?"
"A number of times, yes," Poppy replied, matter-of-factly. "But you know better than to be embarrassed about that."
Harry turned his head hesitantly toward Daphne. "Did you… see?"
"I cleaned you up, sweetheart," she replied, her smile empathetic as she took his hand, "On the first night. Madam Pomfrey was in bed, and I didn't want to wake her. She was exhausted from making sure you were stable."
"Oh," was Harry's mortified reply. He wished he could just fall asleep again.
"Don't worry about it," Daphne replied kindly, her voice ever so slightly teasing, "We'll grow old and grey together and you'll have had to wipe my bum at some point by then, I'm sure."
"Thanks," Harry muttered, still wanting to curl into a ball and hide.
"But what about now?" he asked, suddenly more serious.
"What about now?" Poppy asked, "You responded well to the Cruciatus Potion injection."
"Injection?" Harry replied, confused. That wasn't that potion was meant to be administered.
"Well yes, didn't I tell you?" Poppy answered with a smile. "Obviously, when I handed Daphne over to St. Mungo's after Rookwood attacked, I gave them all of her notes, including our interventions. Turns out, such a simple solution as using Muggle injections is incredibly effective. It reduces the need for magic casting because there's no need for channelling bindings or adding extra wards. So many of those types of spells can sometimes exacerbate the symptoms she had. It's the standard now, though we use proper Muggle needles and syringes, not makeshift ones."
Harry's eyes went wide. He'd changed wizarding medicine without meaning to!
"Amazing," he replied, awe creeping into his voice.
"Now, back to the question," Poppy pressed.
"More Cruciatus Potion and a Pain Reliever to ease the headaches and muscle aches from the twitching. I assume I've had Blood Replenishers?"
"You have. What else?"
"Please no more muscle relaxant, I can't shit myself again. I'll deal with any more shakes."
"It might mean delayed recovery," the matron warned.
"I'm getting out of here on Monday, Poppy," Harry said, his tone serious. "I'll drive myself mad otherwise."
"You'll get out of here when I say so," Poppy chided. "You know how many stairs the castle has, I'm not having you jerk and then fall down the stairs just because of your damn pride."
"It's not pride," Harry tried.
"She's right Harry, please," Daphne said. He looked into her pleading eyes, at the dark rings around them that showed how much she hadn't been sleeping. He knew exactly how that felt.
"Okay. But can I have a sedative as well? And a Dreamless Sleep?"
"You're already on the Dreamless Sleep, ever since you started screaming last night," Poppy replied, "but no to the Sedative. It'll counteract the Cruciatus Potion's effects."
"Fine," Harry groaned. Regardless of the Pain Relievers, he didn't think he'd be able to sleep if his body jerked every other minute. Damn. There was another one.
After he'd drunk the array of potions and Poppy had checked and rechecked his vitals, Harry moved over a little and Daphne climbed onto the bed with him. Poppy shot them a disapproving look but said nothing. They both cared about Harry, and after all of the years she'd spent in close proximity with Daphne because of Astoria, she trusted Daphne not to do anything inappropriate with her patient, fiancé or not.
"Poppy?" Harry called as the matron bustled away to her office.
"Yes?"
"Were you there?" he asked hesitantly, more memories coming back to him piece by piece.
"At the Ministry?"
"Of course I was," Poppy replied, "I had a friend from St. Mungo's cover for me here. Had a right row with one of the on-call healers who worked for the Aurors when they wanted to move you to St. Mungo's. I didn't see how it would make any difference apparating you there rather than here, and there was no way I was gonna trust any old healer with my friend and protégé."
Harry's smile matched his mentors. She hadn't just cared for him. She cared for him.
"Thanks, Poppy," he said softly.
"Anytime."
In the end, with Daphne lying on his chest, sleep came easily. At dawn, Professor Dumbledore appeared. Daphne skittered from Harry's bed to her own like she'd been lying with him naked, a blush blooming wildly on her cheeks.
Dumbledore simply smiled at them both as he sat on the armchair next to Harry's hospital bed. "I'm glad to see you're awake, my boy," he said. "You did very well on Thursday. Even though I'm not sure about your Parseltongue fire spell. Such destructive magic is often dark. Still, it was a very effective counter, and one that everyone saw."
Harry frowned. Dumbledore wasn't judging him, just talking in riddles again. What did the old man want him to work out this time?
"Do you think others will judge me for using it, Professor?"
"No, not at all." Albus replied, "Though both you and I know that it was only white-blue because of the difference in heat, the public has taken it as if you can cast Fiendfyre's opposite, its Dementor, if you will."
"That's good," Harry smiled.
"Yes," Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I'm glad to hear Poppy say that you are on the mend. Daphne here has never left your side." He smiled directly at Daphne, before turning back to Harry "I'm told you may be discharged on Monday."
"I hope so," Harry groaned, despite himself. "We were all meant to be going to Muggle London today to purchase our things for the wedding."
"I'm aware," Dumbledore said with a nod. "Miss Davies and Heir Longbottom's guardians had contacted me to authorise it. Lord Greengrass and Sirius were here last night."
"Sirius was here?" Harry replied eagerly, then inwardly cursing how his body twitched involuntarily. The jolt brought a flash of pain, but also a glimpse of a memory–his Godfather's worried expression after the battle–remembered flashes of the worried expression on his Godfather's face.
"No," Dumbledore clarified, "He was in here briefly, he helped move you himself, but last night he apologised and said he had to go to work this morning. He'll be here in the afternoon. As I was saying, last night we decided, in light of recent events, to allow leeway with regard to your plans for shopping. We've added a few extra days to account for your healing. You and your wedding party will be going to London for your day of shopping on Wednesday instead."
"Our day?" Harry asked, "I thought we were just going for the morning?"
"Ah, well, you see," Dumbledore began, the familiar twinkle lighting up his eyes, "the trip is no longer just for the party to purchase wedding outfits, but also to give you and Daphne ample time to procure items for your honeymoon.."
Harry's eyes widened. He'd never even been out of the country! He turned to Daphne who was grinning at him, her sapphire eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Honeymoon?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief, "How?"
"Yeah," Daphne smiled, her cheeks faintly pink. "It's mum and dad's wedding present for us. Dunno where, though. They want to keep it a surprise."
"Wow," Harry breathed, momentarily at a loss for words.
"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "You'll be going for a week, immediately following your wedding. Of course, with it being your OWL year, you'll still need to complete your assignments, and will be expected to have completed them by your return."
"Get me the titles and I'll have them done before I go!" Harry replied, excitement bubbling up inside him.
"I'm sure you will," Dumbledore replied with a chuckle, the corners of his long moustache quivering with amusement.
Harry was elated. He'd be going on holiday! Abroad! Just him and Daphne! It felt almost too good to be true. Then again, things that seemed too good to be true usually were. A faint unease prickled at the edge of his thoughts.
"Any news from Voldemort?" Harry asked, his tone shifting as he sat further upright in bed, his tone much more serious. "How did he react?"
"Nothing, as of yet, but that's to be expected. You've shown him you're not to be trifled with," Dumbledore replied.
"Good," Harry nodded, relief mixing with a sense of resolve. He hadn't had time to think about what the backlash might be for killing the Dark Lord's favourite Death Eater.
"Indeed. But don't worry. The Order will keep its ears to the ground," Dumbledore said, slapping both thighs at once before getting up, pointedly ignoring the clicking of his knees as he did so.
"Well," he said, reaching his hand into his deep royal-blue robes, "I just popped in to say hello, and to bring you these. A little 'get well' present."
With an almost grandfatherly smile, he placed a large yellow box of Maynard Bassetts Sherbet Lemons on the bedside table.
"Thank you," Harry replied, a bemused grin tugging at his lips.
"You're welcome. Toodle pip," Dumbledore said cheerily, giving a little wave as he turned toward the door.
"Bye," Harry and Daphne chorused together.
As the door shut, Harry shook his head. He could never get the measure of that man. He knew Dumbledore's intentions came from a good place, but he'd sentenced Harry to his life with the Dursleys and had never checked up on him. Yet, he'd made an effort to show faith in Harry, even given him special treatment. Why? Why was he so secretive? The man was clearly always planning something, but what?
Not long after, Poppy appeared again, fresh and ready for the day. She quickly sorted out a new round of potions and called a house-elf to get both Harry and Daphne some breakfast.
After eating, Harry finally gave Daphne a play-by-play of what he could remember from the duel. He explained every detail could, that is, up until the moment Bellatrix had him on the floor. His words faltered there. He hated how vulnerable and weak even thinking about that moment made him feel.
"So, she had me on the floor and I think…" his heart tightened as dread gripped him, "Oh God, Daph, she took your locket."
"You mean this locket?" she asked with a sly smile, tugging her nightshirt down slightly to reveal the gleaming Lily resting enchantingly around her slender neck.
Harry sighed with relief.
"Don't worry," she said, reaching over to grasp his arm with a reassuring squeeze. "Sirius got it back after. And your wands are in the bedside table."
She tilted her head slightly, her brows knitting together as she studied his face. "You look tired, are you feeling alright?"
"Yeah, just stiff," Harry replied.
Daphne couldn't help the mischievous smirk from blossoming on her full lips. "Aren't you every morning?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Not like that, you perv."
Before she could fire back, the door creaked open behind them, and in walked Hermione, Neville and Tracey.
"Hi. Don't you have class?" Daphne asked as they made their way into the room.
"Care of Magical Creatures," Hermione explained, setting her bag down. "Hagrid said it was okay and said he's sorry he couldn't come himself."
"No more than you three around the bed, please, apart from Daphne," Poppy called, poking her head out of her office door. "If anyone else comes, they'll have to wait."
The visitors all nodded obediently while Hermione hurried to Harry's side and pulled him into a hug. It made him wince.
"Oh. Sorry, Harry," Hermione said, her lip trembling a little, "I thought you'd be on pain potions."
"I am. Still a bit sore though. I keep twitching," he replied.
"How's the leg?" she asked, taking Dumbledore's place on the bedside armchair.
"The burn? It sucks. But…wait, how do you know about that?" he asked.
"It's all over the Prophet , here," she replied, pulling out a rolled-up copy of yesterday's Daily Prophet and unfurling it on Harry's lap for him to see.
The moment of his victory over Rookwood took up nearly the entire front page, holding three large magical photos. At the top, Harry stood wielding Serpentfyre , the burn on his leg that had gone right through his basilisk-hide armour plain for all to see. In the middle photo he shot out of the burning wreck of Mrs Figg's house, Rookwood went flying and Harry impaled him with the ice spike. At the bottom, a shot of him blinking dazedly, lying on his back in a pool of blood, with Bellatrix Lestrange dead at his side. Harry winced, but not from any jerking and pushed the paper away distastefully.
"Not a memory I'd like to relive," he murmured, staring at the far wall.
"But you look so cool!" Tracey exclaimed, plopping herself down on Daphne's bed beside her. "Especially in the middle one! Doesn't he, Nev?"
Neville hadn't said anything so far. He'd just been standing awkwardly at the foot of Harry's bed, shifting uncomfortably. His hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, and it was clear he was struggling to think of what to say. That was weird for Neville, especially these days.
"Nev?" Harry prompted.
Neville finally looked up. His gaze met Harry's but seemed to go right through him, as if he was staring at something far beyond. He chewed the inside of his cheek before drawing a shaky breath.
"You...you did it Harry," Neville said at last, his voice low and shaky "You got her."
The weight of his words hanging heavy in the room, Neville wiped his eyes with the back of his jet-black sleeve.
"You have no…" His voice broke slightly, but he pushed on, "You have no idea how grateful we are… me and Gran…and Uncle Algie."
"Don't worry about it, Nev," Harry smiled, trying to downplay the moment. "It's not like I had any choice at the time."
"You still did it!" Neville answered sternly, Harry's modest reply helping him to find his conviction. "I owe you, no, House Longbottom owes you a debt. A boon. Anything you desire. Name it."
Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Just your friendship, mate. That's all I need."
"You've got that already," Neville replied, brushing the suggestion aside, clear to everyone that Neville thought that mere friendship was too much too small a gesture. "I'll do you one better. You know how our houses have had an idea for centuries, right? Well, I spoke to Gran, who gave me permission to do this."
He whipped his wand out of the inside of his Gryffindor robes and squared his shoulders, before holding it aloft.
"Nev?" Harry said hesitantly, glancing at an equally unsure Daphne.
"I, Heir Neville Longbottom, of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom," Neville proclaimed, "do hereby vow that my house will bring what it can to aid to the House of Slytherin-Potter of the Seven. Whether it be political, familial or on the field battle, we will stand beside you, going beyond the norms of our Houses' allyhood.
We will treat your house as kin–as family–-in all but the sharing of our House Magics. House Longbottim shall never desert you. This I vow, in perpetuity. Our magic shall recognise yours, from now until the end of its days. So mote it be ."
A golden light erupted from the tip of Neville's wand, swirling briefly around him like a ribbon of fire before shooting forward to encircle Harry. The glow pulsed once before disappearing entirely, leaving behind a faint hum of magic that resonated through the air.
Harry blinked, stunned. "Nev…what did you just do?"
Neville lowered his wand, his expression calm but resolute. "I made it official. The Longbottoms and the Slytherin-Potters? We're family now. Whether you like it or not."
"Wow," Hermione said softly. She'd read about such vows but had witnessed one being made.
"Wow, Neville," said Tracey, impressed to see her boyfriend act with such authority and conviction.
"Thanks, Nev," Harry replied warmly, though his tone gained a hint of awkwardness. "But you didn't need to do that, mate."
"I did," Neville replied, adamant. "You avenged them. You nearly died doing it. I'm with you, until the very end. And my children will be too."
"Thanks, Neville," Harry said again, slightly embarrassed and awkwardly scratching the back of his head. Daphne loved that little habit just as much as she loved his untameable hair.
The group chatted for a little while, the conversation lightening as the tension in the room abated. Eventually, Hermione pulled out the weekend's homework assignment, concerned Harry might fall behind. Harry rolled his eyes but smiled and thanked her, saying he'd be stuck in here at least all day today and tomorrow anyway, there wasn't much else to do.
Their friends left shortly after, needing to go to their next class, so Harry and Daphne fell into a comfortable silence while they got started on the work Hermione had left. They'd have a boatload of homework soon that they would want to have finished before their honeymoon, so they knew that they should try to get up to date with things now. It wasn't long before Harry grew frustrated, though. Every time his arm twitched painfully, it left jagged scribbles or long streaks of black ink across his parchment. After the fourth or fifth time, he let out a string of expletives, slamming his quill down.
Daphne glanced over, concern flickering in her blue eyes. "Hey," she said gently. "Take a break. You're pushing yourself too hard."
Sirius and Remus arrived just after lunch, and after many tears and hugs, Sirius asked how he felt about the duel and what had happened. Harry decided he didn't want to talk about it; he'd already relived it once with Daphne and that had been painful enough. He found he was inordinately grateful when Remus told him that he too had been at the duel - he'd been caught in the crowd in the atrium and had arrived late, hence why Harry hadn't seen him beforehand. Sirius acquiesced about talking about the duel, but he warned Harry that at some point they should watch his memory to evaluate his performance. Such techniques were the only way to get good enough to defeat Voldemort.
Sirius and Remus stayed for a few hours, teasing Harry every time he jerked randomly and sharing the big pile of grapes that Remus had brought him ("Because isn't that what you're supposed to bring people in hospital?" Remus had said.). Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help laughing as the three of them shared the fruit. The playful banter and familiar camaraderie were exactly what he needed. Daphne, of course, never left his side. Moony and Padfoot left at around three, and Harry found that he felt unusually exhausted, quickly falling asleep.
He was roused by Madam Pomfrey, who brought him dinner and another round of potions. Daphne, as always, was nearby, and he raised an eyebrow at her refusal to head up to the feast.
"Nope," she replied when he mentioned they needed to get back to a sense of normality, whatever that was. "I'm not leaving until you are–unless it's to wash, get more clothes, or go to the Owlery."
"You can leave my side, you know," Harry teased. "You don't need to guard me every second of the day. I'm not made of glass."
Daphne glared at him for the blatant jab, but couldn't keep a straight face. "You're gonna need to have a bloody guard - to guard you from me in a minute, dickhead."
"Dickhead?" Harry smirked.
"It's a term of endearment," Daphne said knowingly.
"Is it now? And what should I call you?"
"Oh, I don't know," she sighed overdramatically, throwing her hands in the air, "Princess, Darling, Sweetheart, Love of your life…"
" Love of my life? " Harry echoed, feigning shock, "Hmm. We'll see."
"See what I mean," she exclaimed. "Dickhead!"
Smiling and stealing glances at each other, they eat their dinner together. Afterwards, they sat for a while, going through ideas and plans for the wedding. Daphne had already done a lot of the work and Harry was more than happy to finalise most of what she had planned. She appreciated the genuine interest he showed, and by the time they were done, they'd finalised nearly everything except the food.
"Are you happy with everything?" Harry asked as she hopped off the bed.
"I'm always happy when I've got you," she replied, her eyes sparkling as she reached down to unzip her bag.
"Aww you big softie," Harry teased, watching as she bent over, her large, full breasts threatening a daring escape from her smug tank top.
"I'm not big ," she said, feigning insult.
Harry arched an eyebrow, blatantly letting his gaze flicker between her chest and face before meeting her eyes again with a smirk.
"Apart from those," she replied, rolling her eyes.
"And the booty," Harry pointed out cheekily.
"Hey! Don't call my bum big!" she scowled, slapping him on the arm and giving him a serious warning glare.
"I didn't mean anything by it," he floundered defensively. "It's in proportion with your boobs."
He looked back at her to see a smug smile on her lips.
"Oh piss off! You know I love your body," Harry moaned.
"I know," she replied pompously before her expression turned thoughtful. "Are you okay with me going back to the room for a shower and some clothes?"
"Sure," Harry nodded.
'I won't be long," she promised, leaning over to kiss his forehead before heading out.
"Another!" shouted the high, cruel voice of Lord Voldemort from the dining room of Malfoy Manor.
The long, dark wood dining table had been removed from the room, leaving a wide-open space in the centre. Along both side walls of the rectangular room were a total of nine of the high-backed dining chairs, each complete with its own black-robed and silver-masked Death Eater. They sat bolt upright, backs straight, as their master paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, muttering.
"I said another !" he shouted more fiercely.
At the other end of the hall, the tall, painted door opened, and a broad-shouldered young man with untamed, jet-black hair and bespectacled green eyes was unceremoniously shoved into the room. The faux Harry Potter's eyes were dazed and unseeing. Stumbling briefly, he caught his footing and stood upright. He walked into the centre of the room, utterly unfazed as he climbed to the top of a pile of no less than sixty-three utterly annihilated corpses–all near replicas of himself.
Under his left foot, he'd stepped into a grisly tangle on intestines; under his right, the torn-open skull of another victim. His weight pressed down on a dull grey, blood-spattered brain.
Voldemort didn't say a word, but waved his wand in a Danse Macabre. Swiftly, his victim's arms were torn from his sockets by deep purple light. A jet of black followed, boiling the very blood in his veins. It bubbled up and poured from his throat as he gasped for air, collapsing face-first.
None of his Death Eaters dared make a sound as they witnessed another freshly transfigured muggle become another addition to the pile of eviscerated Harry Slytherin-Potters.
Voldemort was seething, more furious than he'd been in years. Not only had his plan failed, but the boy had succeeded in not only killing Julius Rookwood, but Bellatrix, his favourite servant. She'd been utterly loyal to him, a powerful tool for him to wield, more powerful than any other of his followers. Her death was not just an infuriating failure; it was a grievous wound to his cause.
The boy had nearly lost his life in the act, but his triumph over her was unbearable. Time and time again, Voldemort knew he'd underestimated him. Why had he kept making the same mistake? Why did the boy manage to slither away at the last second, every single time?
The Prophecy. Voldemort knew he needed it, but with the new Dark Mark wards in place and heightened Auror presence at the Ministry, he couldn't see how he'd manage it, short of going in with every other Death Eater at his side. His spies at Hogwarts had reported that any attempt to get to Daphne Greengrass in any way–to try to blackmail the boy–was futile. He'd been told she was now escorted by someone, mostly Potter himself, practically everywhere.
No. He just needed to eliminate the boy before he got too strong.
Christmas would be here in just a few short months. The Hogwarts students would soon be going home for the holidays and there were sure to be some scheduled weekends for the students to visit Hogsmeade until then.
Voldemort sneered. He knew where he would be for the holidays at least: Greengrass Manor. He just needed to figure out a way to get past those pesky ancestral wards.
No. That would take too long. He needed rid of the boy now.
His decision was made. The Potter appeared in public, he'd have someone report it. Voldemort couldn't reveal himself, not yet, not when the boy had established himself as a key player on the board, not just in terms of strength, but in his command of the hearts and minds of the population.
"Parkinson," he called calmly.
A masked wizard, seated the second closest to him to his right, snapped to attention.
"Yes, my Lord?" Parkinson replied in his deep, monotone drawl.
"Assemble a team," Voldemort commanded. "One who you trust to act with the uttermost discretion. No more than six, including yourself. Tomorrow morning, you will investigate those who run the shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade.
"My Lord?" Parkinson asked cautiously.
"Not the shopkeepers themselves, the lesser servants, those who, if they were to go missing briefly, no one would notice. Imperius them, compel them, bribe them–I don't care, But you ensure they notify you, me, or any of your team the very moment they lay eyes on Harry Potter, his friends, the Greengrasses, or any member of the Order of the Phoenix."
It was nearly eleven p.m. in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had long since gone to bed. Daphne lay propped up on Harry's bed, stroking his hair with one hand while holding a battered copy of one of her favourite books in the other. She'd been reading softly to him by dim torchlight for over half an hour, pointedly ignoring the violent jerks that wracked his body every ten minutes or so. Thankfully, they were becoming less and less frequent.
As she turned the page and saw they were coming to the end of the chapter, Daphne let out a heavy sigh of contentment before beginning the next paragraph. He was alive and getting better. He'd defeated one of the most feared and powerful dark witches in living memory, nearly dying in the process. Yet, he hadn't complained once during his recovery. His strong, muscular form echoed his strength of mind, and she felt positively tiny with him draped over her.
Harry sighed in turn, savouring the feeling of the soft well of her chest cradling his head as her fingers combed through his hair. He stayed quiet as she read, listening intently to a novel about a poor witch who'd been captured by goblins and then rescued–not by a dashing, handsome wizard, but by her older sister. Daphne could've been reading anything, and he'd be content just to listen to her voice.
He couldn't lie to himself, he felt shaken after what had happened. Bellatrix had shown him just how far he had to go. But lying there with Daphne though, none of that mattered. With her, he was safe, not because he knew she'd die to protect him, but because he knew he would never let anything happen to himself while she wanted to be with him.
Her voice stopped. She'd finished the chapter.
"I like it," he said quietly, not lifting his head, "Can you read more of it to me tomorrow?"
"Are you sure?" Daphne asked, looking down at the top of his head, "It's a bit girly."
"So are you," he teased.
Daphne snorted. "Just a little bit."
She leaned over a little and placed the book on the bedside table, next to the copy of the Daily Prophet that Hermione had left behind. Her eyes flicked to the top two pictures; the Serpentfyre and his defeat of Rookwood. Gods, he was powerful. The thought sent shivers through her.
"I need to get my jim-jams on," she said, tapping him to let her get up.
"You aren't gonna get changed here?" Harry replied, rolling off her with a pout.
"In your condition? Do you think you can handle that?" Daphne teased, rising to her feet.
"I might," Harry said, defensively.
"It's been about ten minutes. Don't jerk for the next two, and you can handle me all you want," Daphne smirked, placing her hand on her hip.
"Deal."
It didn't even take twenty seconds before his leg shook like someone had stabbed it with a cattle prod.
"God damn it," Harry grumbled. At least the spasms didn't hurt anymore.
"I need the mirror anyway," Daphne said softly, picking her bag up from the side of her bed. "I'll be back in a minute."
While she was gone, Harry picked up the copy of Daphne's book, gazing at the picture on the cover. The silhouettes of an older and younger sister embraced beside a tree swing, a secret place where the sisters played when they were little. It reminded him of the secret place Daphne had shown him in the summer, where she and Astoria would find and befriend Bowtruckles when they were growing up.
He climbed beneath the covers in his hospital gown, and turned over the book to read the blurb. His fingers traced the curved, slightly frayed edges of the paperback, or 'parchment-back', he supposed, wondering just how many times Daphne's hands had turned its pages.
A creak from the door told him she'd returned, so he quickly placed the book back on the bedside table, purposefully ignoring the Daily Prophet that he wished Hermione had taken with her.
Daphne stepped through the darkness slowly and nonchalantly, carrying her back in one hand. She didn't look at him as she walked barefoot between their beds in a shimmering silver silk nightie that was altogether far too short.
Harry couldn't help but sit up, his eyes drawn to her long legs, the way the spaghetti straps framed her generous cleavage, and how the silk hinted at her breasts' tiny twin peaks, beckoning for him to expose them.
"Nope,' she said simply, leaning forward slowly and tantalisingly to pull back her bed's sheets. "Lay back down. It's not happening. You're going to be better by Monday, aren't you?"
Harry grumbled at her smirk as she climbed betwixt her sheets.
"Night, dickhead," she said softly.
He chuckled.
"Night, darling. "
"Nox."
They lay there in the darkness for a few minutes. Daphne sighed softly and turned over, only to hear Harry's voice call to her.
"You're really mean. You know that, don't you?"
She felt her cheek rub on the soft cotton of her pillow as she smiled. "I do, but you love me."
"I do. Sweet dreams."
"Sweet dreams."