Chapter 32

"Two weeks ago?" Daphne asked gleefully, grabbing onto Hermione, whose face had begun to turn a nice shade of red as they descended into the chamber. "You have to tell me!"

Hermione lowered her head in embarrassment. "It just sort of happened. I still...think I like Harry, but we both were feeling lonely and we—I...went for it. It's been nice, nothing serious. I thought we could keep it a secret."

"Unfortunately, secrets don't fare well in the Chamber of Secrets," Daphne said, playfully tugging on Hermione's arm. "I'm happy for you both. Serious or not, enjoy anything that can keep you sane in times like these."

"What about you?" Hermione asked, eager to change the subject.

Daphne let go of Hermione and waved her hand over the chamber. "There are so many options for me, as you can tell."

Hermione chuckled. "I mean, what are you doing to stay sane?"

As they approached the bottom of the chamber, Daphne's eyes fell over the closed door that led to Harry's room. She could feel it—a familiar warmth that rose up inside her, tightening her stomach. Yet, she sighed.

"Staying busy," she admitted, turning her eyes back down to the center aisle.

"That's not healthy, Daphne."

Daphne touched the scar on her chest, her fingers tracing the outline absentmindedly. "It has to be healthy enough for now."

Their conversation was cut short as they approached the library. The muffled sounds of raised voices echoed down the stone corridor. Daphne's eyes narrowed, recognizing the sharp edge in Blaise's voice, clashing with Ron's deeper, more indignant tone.

"They're at it again," Hermione muttered under her breath, quickening her pace. Daphne followed, her mind already buzzing with the frustration that had been simmering for weeks. She exchanged a glance with Hermione, both of them knowing exactly what they would find once they entered.

Entering the library, the sight that met their eyes was almost expected. Blaise and Ron stood facing each other, both red-faced and furious, their wands drawn, though neither had cast a spell—yet. Books lay scattered on the floor, having been knocked off a nearby table, and the air was thick.

Ron's face was flushed with anger, his grip on his wand tightening. "I'm not some dog you can bark orders at, Zabini!" he shot back, his voice trembling with barely restrained fury. "Just because you think you're so bloody smart when in reality, you're nowhere near it!"

"Funny, sure sounds like barking to me," Blaise sneered.

Ron's wand twitched as he prepared to cast a spell, but Hermione was quicker. She marched up to Ron and grabbed his arm firmly. "Ron, that's enough!" she snapped, pulling him back before he could close the distance between himself and Blaise.

Ron's eyes remained locked on Blaise, his chest heaving with anger. "He walks around here like he's Merlin's gift—"

"Stop it, Ron," Hermione cut him off, leaving no room for argument. "This isn't helping anyone."

Daphne moved swiftly toward Blaise, who was still bristling with indignation. She placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly. "Blaise, calm it," she said, her voice low but firm. "This isn't worth it."

Blaise's gaze flicked to Daphne, and for a moment, it seemed like he might argue, but then he let out a sharp breath, lowering his wand. "He's acting like a spoiled child," Blaise muttered, though the venom in his voice had lessened.

"And you're actually a spoiled child," Daphne retorted, keeping her hand pressed against his chest to prevent him from moving forward. "We're supposed to be on the same side, remember?"

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione shot him a warning look that silenced him immediately. She tugged on his arm again, pulling him back further from Blaise.

Blaise stepped back, shrugging off Daphne's hand, though he didn't make any move to advance again. "Fine," he said curtly, his eyes narrowing at Ron. "But next time, don't expect me to hold back."

Ron bristled, but Hermione's grip on his arm tightened, and he bit back whatever retort he had been about to throw.

Daphne glanced between the two of them, her frustration simmering just below the surface. "We've got bigger problems than this," she said, "And we're going to need everyone on board if we're going to deal with them."

Hermione nodded, finally releasing her hold on Ron's arm. "She's right. We don't have time for this."

"We've got bigger problems…" Daphne began, "Milicent told me something today—something about a group in Slytherin. They're giving out their own version of the Dark Mark and plan to bring out justice in their own way against Harry and other mudbloods. Millicent said she was going to get it, and she asked if I wanted to join her. I agreed."

Blaise's eyes narrowed, his expression darkening with suspicion. "Are you out of your mind? You have no idea what you're walking into."

"Exactly why I need to find out more," Daphne replied, "Tomorrow at midnight."

Blaise's gaze hardened, his tone dripping with skepticism. "Or they could put you under the Imperius Curse. Or torture you. Or kill you, if they're feeling particularly bold. That's assuming this isn't all just a trap set by the Ministry to lure out sympathizers."

"Possibly," Hermione interjected, "but Daphne is a neutral pureblood, isn't she? If this blood purity nonsense is actually what they believe in, she might be less at risk than anyone else."

Blaise scoffed, crossing his arms. "If your plan involves waltzing into a nest of snakes with nothing but a crash course on blood purity from someone who knows the least about it, you're already doomed to fail."

"You smug bastard," Ron growled, his anger flaring again as he moved to defend Hermione. But Hermione was quicker, holding him back with a firm grip on his arm, her eyes locked on Blaise's with a mixture of frustration and resolve.

"Yet in the anonymously published but widely regarded Sacred Twenty-Eight of the 1930s, the Greengrass and Weasley families are listed among the purest bloodlines," Hermione said, her voice sharp and cutting. "You know whose family isn't on that list? An Italian refugee family, Zabini. And no matter how many purebloods you try to marry into, no one's ever considered adding your line. So I suppose that makes you equal to me."

"Equal to you?" Blaise let out a short, incredulous laugh, almost as if the very idea was absurd. His voice dripped with condescension as he continued, "Don't flatter yourself. You really think throwing around names and lists will save anyone? This isn't about who's on some antiquated scroll—"

"But she's right," Daphne interjected, her voice cutting through Blaise's. He stiffened, his face tightening as if he had swallowed something nasty. "Theoretically, I'll be safer and can play the neutral family card as my family has always done."

Blaise sighed, crossing his arms. "If I'm right, this may be the group that was run by Knott, then Draco. Whoever is the new leader must have a more radical bent than previously allowed."

"Then we need to identify the leader and figure out their targets," Daphne said, her voice resolute as she met Blaise's gaze.

"You're assuming they'll just hand over that information to you. These aren't first-years playing at being Death Eaters, Daphne. These people are dangerous, especially now that we have no information on them anymore."

"I'm not naive, Blaise. I know the risks, but we don't have another option. If they're planning something against Harry or anyone else, we need to stop it before it's too late."

Hermione nodded. "We just need to know what's happening and prepare for it. If Daphne can get inside and gather information, we can be ready to act."

"I'll go with Milicent tomorrow night. Ron, I'll need you as backup."

"Backup from me?"

"Yes, Harry left his invisibility cloak. I have no clue where the meeting is, but I'm assuming it's not in the Slytherin common room. You follow me if we happen to leave the common room, and if anything happens, I can escape with you under it, or you can save me. You're the most athletic one here, and I trust you."

Ron nodded, the tension in his posture easing slightly as he absorbed the plan. "Alright, I can do that."

Blaise let out a resigned sigh, "And here I thought Harry left."

"Speaking of, will you walk me to grab his cloak, Blaise?"

Blaise's eyes narrowed slightly, but he gave a small nod. "Alright then, lead the way."

They stepped out of the library together, leaving the tension-filled air behind them as they moved through the corridor. As they entered out of earshot , Daphne broke the silence. "You're not doing yourself any favors, you know."

"That loud-mouthed—" Blaise began, but Daphne interrupted him sharply.

"It's not just him, Blaise. You're making things more difficult than they need to be. Every time you snap at Ron, every time you ignore Hermione, you're driving a wedge between us. We're supposed to be working together."

"Working together," Blaise scoffed, "Like we're all one big happy family? That's not how this works, Daphne. They don't trust me, and I don't trust them. Simple as that."

Daphne stopped walking, turning to face him fully. "I don't know how you feel about the whole Draco situation, whether it's hurting you or not, but I do know one thing—we're going to need each other. More than you realize."

Blaise's eyes flashed with a hint of hurt, but he held his tongue, allowing her to continue.

"They're not going anywhere. Ron, Hermione—they're part of this, whether you like it or not. And you can't keep pushing them away just because you don't want to deal with them."

"So what do you suggest I do, Daphne?" Blaise's voice was low, simmering with frustration. "Sit down with Weasley and Granger and sing Merlin's Chant?"

"No, I'm suggesting you stop antagonizing them at every turn," Daphne shot back. "You're smarter than this, Blaise. You know how to navigate difficult situations—you've done it a hundred times before. Why is this any different?"

"Because—" Blaise started, his frustration now clearly boiling over. "I don't trust them."

"And do you think they trust you?" Daphne countered. "Trust isn't something that just appears out of thin air. It has to be earned, and right now, you're doing everything you can to make sure that never happens."

Blaise looked away, his expression difficult to read.

"You and I both learned to trust Harry," Daphne began, "When we started this last quarter, I couldn't stand him. But now…" She paused, glancing briefly in the direction of Harry's room before turning her gaze back to Blaise. "It's hard, I know. We're fighting against everything we've been taught, everything we've believed. But give it a chance, Zabini."

"It's not that simple, Daphne," Blaise replied, still refusing to look her way.

Daphne sighed, turning to continue walking. "Maybe it isn't," she said quietly. "But the alternative is much worse."

Hermione lay still in the darkness, listening to Ron's steady breathing beside her. His arm was draped over her waist, heavy and warm—a comforting weight that should have lulled her to sleep. But despite the warmth of the bed and the quiet night, sleep remained elusive. Her mind refused to settle, thoughts spinning relentlessly through the events of the day and the uncertainties of the future.

She found herself worrying about her parents, wondering if they would be safe with the war looming closer every day. Then her thoughts drifted to the war itself, the anxiety building as she contemplated the battles to come. Her mind jumped from Harry to Neville, worrying and thinking about them both, before finally circling back to the one person beside her—Ron.

Ron, of course, was already deep in slumber, his exhaustion evident from the day's events. He snored softly, his peaceful demeanor a stark contrast to the turmoil in her mind. Hermione carefully extricated herself from his embrace, moving with the practiced stealth of someone who had often slipped out of bed without waking the other. She pulled on her robe, grabbed her bag, and quietly slipped out of the room, heading for the one place she knew she might find some semblance of peace: the library.

The corridors were silent as she made her way through the chamber, the faint echo of her footsteps the only sound. The familiar scent of old parchment and the soft glow of enchanted lamps greeted her as she pushed open the library doors. She made her way to her usual table, expecting to find it empty at this late hour.

But as she rounded the corner, she spotted a figure already seated at one of the tables. Blaise Zabini, his back to her, was hunched over a book, the soft light casting shadows across his features. Hermione hesitated for a moment, contemplating turning back, but the gnawing restlessness in her mind drove her forward.

Blaise didn't look up as she approached, his focus seemingly glued to the pages in front of him. Hermione slid into the chair opposite him, placing her book bag on the table with a soft thud. She waited for him to acknowledge her presence, but he remained resolutely silent, his eyes never leaving his book.

Hermione watched him for a few moments, the tension between them thick in the quiet of the library. She had no intention of leaving, not after everything they'd been through today. If he thought he could simply ignore her, he was mistaken.

"Can't sleep either?" she finally asked.

Blaise's eyes flicked up briefly, a flash of irritation crossing his face before he returned to his book. "What do you want, Granger?"

Hermione bristled at the dismissive tone. "To study," she replied coolly. "The library's for everyone, last I checked."

"Then study," he muttered, his tone laced with annoyance. He turned a page, clearly intent on ending the conversation before it even began.

Hermione frowned, not willing to let it go. "What are you reading?"

Blaise didn't answer immediately, as if he was weighing the decision to even respond. After a long pause, he finally spoke, "Nothing that would concern you."

"You're impossible, you know that? I'm trying to find some common ground, but you're so wrapped up in your arrogance that you can't see past it."

Blaise scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "And what exactly do you think we have in common, Granger? Enlighten me."

Hermione's eyes fell on the book in his hands, and recognition dawned on her. "That book," she said, her voice softer now. "I've read it."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "This?" He held up the book, The 68th Edition: History and Use of the Bezoar from Merlin to Now. His tone was dismissive, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Even better, there's this obscure theory—rarely discussed because it's so unconventional—that suggests bezoars could potentially neutralize the effects of certain dark curses."

Blaise leaned back slightly. "Mostly been dismissed as conjecture. No one's been able to prove it."

"That's true," Hermione acknowledged. "But there's this one experiment from the 16th century that's often overlooked. A wizard named Apollinaire Dubois conducted tests with bezoars and found that they were able to partially counteract the effects of certain curses, particularly ones that were aerial rather than ingested.'

Blaise's expression shifted, his interest piqued. "Dubois… he's the one who experimented with venom infusion, isn't he? That's obscure. You're telling me you've actually read his work?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I found a reference to it in a footnote of a much larger text about the properties of magical antidotes. It was buried under pages of more common knowledge, but once I started reading, I couldn't stop. Dubois theorized that the bezoar's natural affinity for neutralizing toxins could be expanded if it were properly charmed, allowing it to absorb the magical essence of a curse."

Blaise leaned forward, his skepticism giving way to genuine intrigue. "And how did he propose doing that?"

"By extracting the essence of the bezoar and turning it into a protective salve," Hermione explained, "Dubois believed that if the bezoar's properties could be concentrated and combined with certain venomous substances, it could create a salve that would deflect or even neutralize darker curses."

"But no one's been able to replicate his findings."

"Most likely because all of his experimental procedures were incredibly complex, dangerous, and impractical" Hermione said, "Dubois himself died due to one of his own reckless experiments. Most of his work was never finished, but with a little bit of tweaking and backpedaling, most of it can be replicated, if given the time, in a more modern convention."

Blaise murmured, his mind clearly racing with the implications. Blaise regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he closed the book with a soft thud and set it aside, leaning back in his chair. "You actually know what you're talking about."

"I do my research."

He studied her for a moment longer before his gaze softened, just a fraction. "Why are you really here, Granger?"

Hermione hesitated, her earlier bravado waning slightly under his scrutiny. She glanced down at the table, tracing a pattern in the wood grain with her finger. "I couldn't sleep," she admitted. "There's too much on my mind, and I thought…books-

"Don't judge, don't argue. They just… are," Blaise finished for her.

A faint smile tugged at Hermione's lips. "Yeah," she replied softly. "Something like that."

The stillness of the library seemed to embrace them. "I guess that's why we're both here," Blaise said after a pause, a note of resignation in his voice. "Trying to make sense of it all, even if it's just for a little while."

Blaise picked up his book again, but this time, there was no irritation or dismissal in his movements. "I might take another look at that Dubois theory," he said, almost to himself. "Could be useful. Maybe."

Hermione nodded, reaching for her own book. "Let me know if you want to discuss it further," she offered, the words slipping out before she could second-guess herself.

Blaise glanced at her, his expression neutral but not unfriendly. "Maybe I will," he said, turning back to his reading.

With that, they both returned to their books, the quiet of the library wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. For now, it was enough.

The day had never passed so quickly for Daphne. It felt as if she had been moving on autopilot, her mind detached from the routine of classes and the occasional murmured conversations with her classmates. Her potions were a mess—ingredients mixed with an uncharacteristic lack of care, instructions followed without her usual precision. Her healings were so unfocused that Madam Pomfrey had berated her more than a few times. She couldn't shake the growing tension, the anxiety that settled deep in her chest, as if each tick of the clock brought her closer to a precipice she wasn't sure she wanted to approach.

Now, as she stood in the dimly lit Slytherin Common Room, ten minutes away from midnight, that tension had coiled tightly around her, making it hard to breathe. The room was nearly empty, most of her housemates already in bed or quietly working in their respective corners, oblivious to what was about to happen.

Now that the time had come, that doubt was clawing its way to the surface, threatening to paralyze her. She focused on steadying her breath, on keeping her expression neutral, lest anyone suspect she was about to do something far more dangerous than a typical midnight excursion.

She heard footsteps echo softly on the stone floor behind her and turned to see Millicent approaching, her bulky frame moving with an uncharacteristic lightness. The girl looked pale, her usual confident demeanor replaced with an edge of anxiety that made her look younger, almost vulnerable.

"You ready?" Millicent's voice was a mere whisper, her eyes flitting nervously around the room, landing briefly on Daphne's before darting away again.

Daphne nodded, forcing her voice to remain calm. "Yeah. Where are we going?"

"I was told classroom 120. It's through the least patrolled corridors. Follow me."

They moved toward the exit of the common room, careful not to draw attention. Daphne's heart pounded in her chest, each beat reverberating in her ears as they stepped out into the cold, dimly lit corridors of the dungeons. In the corner of her eye, she could see a glint of movement—Ron was following them at a distance, sticking to the shadows.

The stone walls seemed to close in around them as they made their way through the labyrinthine passages of Hogwarts, their footsteps soft and measured. The castle felt eerily quiet at this hour, the usual hum of life replaced by a silence that pressed down on them like a physical weight, much like when she and Harry used to patrol. Every shadow seemed to move, every flicker of torchlight an Auror ready to pounce. Daphne's mind raced through possible explanations if they were caught, but each one seemed more flimsy than the last. They couldn't be caught. Not tonight.

Millicent led the way, her broad shoulders hunched slightly as she tried to make herself smaller, less noticeable. Daphne followed closely, her senses heightened, every creak of stone sending a jolt of adrenaline through her veins.

They turned a corner and nearly collided with a suit of armor. Millicent stifled a gasp, and they both froze, listening intently for any sign that they had been heard. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint crackle of a torch nearby.

"Keep moving," Daphne whispered, her voice barely audible. Millicent nodded, and they continued, their pace quickening slightly as they approached the staircase that would lead them to the first floor.

They reached the base of the staircase, and Daphne held up a hand, signaling Millicent to stop. She listened carefully, straining to hear anything beyond the blood pounding in her ears. There it was—the faint echo of footsteps approaching from above. An Auror on patrol.

Daphne grabbed Millicent's arm and pulled her into a nearby alcove, pressing herself against the cold stone wall. Millicent's breath was shallow, her eyes wide as they waited, the seconds stretching into what felt like an eternity.

The footsteps grew louder, each one a hammering reminder of the thin line they were walking. Daphne held her breath as the Auror passed by, his silhouette briefly visible in the dim light. He didn't pause, didn't glance in their direction, and soon the sound of his footsteps faded away into the distance.

Daphne exhaled slowly, "Come on," she whispered, her voice steadying. "We don't have much time."

They slipped out of the alcove and hurried up the staircase, their footsteps quick but careful. The castle seemed to hold its breath as they moved, the very walls watching their progress.

As they reached the top of the stairs, a sudden noise made them both freeze. It was the distinct sound of a struggle—a scuffle, followed by a sharp gasp. Daphne and Millicent exchanged a panicked glance, then edged closer to the corner of the corridor where the noise had come from.

Peering around the edge, Daphne's breath caught in her throat. An Auror had someone pinned against the wall, the dim light casting shadows over their faces. The captured student was struggling, their face hidden by a hood, but their movements were frantic, desperate.

"Thought you could sneak around, did you?" the Auror growled,"What are you up to, skulking about at this hour?"

The student mumbled something incoherent, their voice muffled by the hood. The Auror tightened his grip, causing them to wince in pain.

Daphne felt Millicent's hand grip her arm tightly, the unspoken question clear in her eyes: Should they turn around? But it would be futile - not when they were so close, it was safer to keep going.

The student's struggles intensified, their breathing ragged as they tried to break free. But the Auror was too strong, his grip unyielding as he began to drag the student down the corridor.

Daphne's heart raced as she watched them disappear around the corner, the echo of their footsteps fading into the distance. She felt Millicent's hand loosen its grip, the tension between them palpable.

"What do we do?" Millicent whispered, her voice trembling.

"We keep going."

Millicent nodded, though her face was pale and drawn. They hurried down the corridor, their footsteps even quieter now, every sound magnified in the oppressive silence.

Finally, they reached the entrance to the abandoned classroom, a forgotten space that hadn't been used in years. The door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light spilling out into the corridor. Daphne's heart pounded in her chest as she reached out and pushed the door open, the old wood creaking softly.

Inside, the room was dimly lit by a single flickering torch, casting long shadows across the dusty floor. The air was thick with the scent of age and neglect, the remnants of broken desks and chairs piled in one corner. But it wasn't the room itself that held Daphne's attention—it was the figures waiting for them.

The younger Carrow twins, Hestia and Floria, stood near the far wall, their faces partially obscured by the hoods of their dark robes, but their slender figures noticeable all the same. Their eyes glinted in the low light, a twisted anticipation etched into their features as they regarded Daphne and Millicent. It was only them.

"Just us?" Daphne asked.

"A precaution," Floria replied bluntly, her tone bored and uninterested.

"When Millicent told us you were joining her to take part, some of us were skeptical," Hestia added, her voice tinged with both doubt and curiosity. "We're here to see if you're truly committed or just playing a part."

"Skeptical?" Daphne echoed, her tone sharp with disgust. "May I remind you that my Theodore started this group? That my uncle serves, on behalf of our family, as one of the Dark Lord's most trusted."

"Yet your sister—" Hestia began, her words laced with accusation.

"Exiled and denounced sister," Daphne cut in, "She does not represent me, nor does she speak for the Greengrass family. Our loyalty is unquestionable. I'm here because I want justice, but if you doubt my intentions, say so now."

"Your loyalty is anything but unquestionable," Floria said bluntly, her eyes narrowing. "I do not trust you."

"She's loyal! She's here, ready to get the mark, right, Daphne?" Millicent said, glancing nervously between Daphne and the others.

Daphne's gaze hardened. "I don't need anyone's trust to want vengeance and justice for what the Pureblood Slayer has subjected me and my family to."

"Then take our mark," Hestia replied, "and declare yourself to the Dark Lord."

Daphne raised her brow, a cool and calculated expression settling on her face. "It's not that simple," she said, "Taking the mark is a declaration of allegiance, yes, but it's also a commitment that demands careful consideration. The Dark Lord values strategy and cunning, not blind loyalty. If I remain unmarked. I can move unnoticed, gather information, and influence those who need to be. That's the importance of an unmarked house."

"Then how will we know your loyalty?" Hestia asked.

Daphne barely had time to respond before Floria interrupted, her face lit up with malicious glee. "Millicent will carve up the Mudblood bitch—with Daphne's help."

Daphne's eyes flickered with a brief moment of confusion. "Who?" she questioned.

"The Mudblood Hermione Granger," Floria replied, her satisfaction evident. "Show her the reach of the Dark Lord," she added with a sneer. "Then you both will be protected—or you won't."

Millicent's face drained of all color, her expression one of sheer terror. Her eyes widened, darting between the twins and Daphne, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Wait! No… that wasn't the deal!" Her voice trembled, the words tumbling out in a panic. "You can't expect us to—"

"I guess there's a new deal," Hestia cut in, sharing Floria's satisfaction. She stepped closer to Millicent, her presence looming over the girl like a dark shadow. "I would hurry, though, if I were you. Time isn't on your side."

Millicent took a step back, her hands shaking uncontrollably. "No… this isn't right… I didn't agree to this!" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might make the nightmare real. Her eyes pleaded with Daphne, desperate for a way out.

"Enough of this bother. I'll do it. I can get the closest to her," Daphne said.

"No," Hestia said sharply, "We need you to remain unmarked, unnoticed, and gain information, remember?"

"Carve her up," Floria repeated, savoring each word like a dark, twisted delight. "Or the Dark Lord's justice will stretch to all who are unprotected. He hungers for blood, and blood he will have."

Post-Chapter Thoughts:

- Back like I never left.

-very soon going to go back through 1-31 and start cleaning up the story, nothing fundamental, just cleaning it up and editing.

-Check out 'The Sons of Voldemort', if you're liking the work.