Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any claims of ownership.
This story was loosely inspired by Knifez's Operation Phoenix. Special thanks to Red Renera for betaing!
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Chapter 1
The Hogwarts Massacre
He wasn't ready. Not by a longshot. Cedric's memorial was a few days away, yet Harry wasn't ready at all. His mind still protested, grappling at memories like a lifeline, as though trying to pull Cedric back to life.
Memories came in vivid flashes - the rasp order, Pettigrew's hand that cast the curse, the thud of Cedric's body falling on the ground, and his eyes, staring blankly at nothingness, no life in them, except the forever-etched expression of horror.
What happened then dimmed in comparison. Harry dueled. Harry got back, nearly getting struck by another Killing Curse. He yelled to everyone what happened, his cries matched those of Amos Diggory, who was torn because of his son's demise. Moody took the Cup away to examine it, as Harry was brought to the Hospital Wing, barely recognizing what happened, as adrenaline slowly left his system.
Harry frowned, looking at the window, as he walked through the castle's corridors. Sunlight was bright, contrasting with his dark thoughts and overall gloomy mood of Hogwarts' inhabitants and guests. As far as Harry knew, no official statement has been made, though, that sort of thing can't stay unannounced for long. Deaths during the Tri-Wizard Tournament weren't rare, according to Hermione, but death by Killing Curse? That set it apart, especially knowing who competed against Cedric.
Madam Maxime probably informed everyone from Beauxbatons about what happened, no doubt. As for Durmstrang - Karkaroff was nowhere to be seen. Fled, Harry heard. The acting headmaster, barely an adult, probably informed the Durmstrang students about the incident.
Harry grimaced, his hands curling into the fist. A Hogwarts student was killed, first death ever since Myrtle Warren's murder all those years ago, yet no exams were canceled. What an idiocy. Some tiny part of him understood that studies must go on, even if tragedies occur. No that stopped Dumbledore from cancelling the exams after the Chamber of Secrets incident.
Transfiguration and even Potions were done. Harry didn't know whether Snape would find it in himself to be more impartial than ever, but one could only hope.
Harry shook his head, anchoring himself to reality, as he walked into the DADA classroom, accompanied by Hermione's exasperated scolding.
"Honestly, Ron!" And the sound of a muffled slap, followed by 'Oi!' from Ron. Harry turned to see his friends beginning to argue again, as though they had nothing more to do.
"What was that for?" Ron was rubbing the back of his head, confusion, anger, and exasperation of his own were seen in his eyes.
"You know why," Hermione responded. A simple answer from Hermione that basically meant 'figure out on your own or else'.
Harry smiled, despite himself. Some things never change, and he might rely on his friends for that. Catching Ron's glance, Harry, though, noticed the reason for Hermione's ire - Ron had basically ogled two pretty Beauxbatons girls.
His eyes then looked around the classroom. Definitely DADA, though now expanded and enlarged to house more than a simple class. He noticed students wearing Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw colors. A quick count made him aware that…
"Entire year is here," he breathed, slightly confused. "They want the entire year to take the exam at the same time?"
Ron looked confused, his hand still rubbing the sore back of his head, while Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully.
"That's weird," Hermione said. "None of the other classes did that."
"Guess Moody wants to be efficient," Ron said with a shrug.
"Professor Moody, Ronald," Hermione chided.
"Yes, mum," Ron snarked as they entered to find their seats.
As the trio moved further into the classroom, Harry noticed that the classroom was already packed up, with just enough free places to occupy. As though, to confirm his thoughts, the closest end of the desk next to them was occupied by none other than the Bouncing Ferret himself - Draco Malfoy.
"I'd be careful if I were you, Scarhead," Malfoy sneered, his eyes drilling into Harry's, though failing to keep between his sneer and a snicker - an impressive feat nonetheless, if Harry was to judge. "You've been around Granger long enough, and I don't want her mudblood germs to get on me."
"Bugger off, Malfoy," Harry replied in turn, gritting his teeth. Harry wondered if Malfoy had already heard from his father about Voldemort's return. His swagger hadn't changed in the slightest, from what Harry could tell. The word 'ferret' lied on the tip of his tongue, but Harry swallowed it down. Getting a detention from Professor Moody did not sound like a good time.
"Testy, testy," Malfoy replied. Harry heard Crabbe and Goyle join in on the snickering.
"Don't let him get to you," Hermione whispered to him as she and Ron took a seat beside Neville Longbottom.
"Even if he is a git," Ron added in a murmur, and Harry cracked a smile.
Neville looked up at them and Harry looked back at him. "Alright, Neville?" he asked.
"Yeah…" Neville said softly and with some nervousness. For his sake, Harry hoped that if there were any hands-on application for the exam, they wouldn't be too difficult. Or none at all.
Harry turned around to look for the nearest available desk, and spotted one directly across from Hermione, Ron, and Neville. Inwardly, Harry cursed his luck. Two Slytherin girls. The one further away had black hair that framed her face, while the closer one was a pale blonde. Their beauties were ethereal, though, akin to something aristocratic. Harry searched his memory for their names, but came up blank.
"Can I sit here?" he asked the blonde.
She looked towards him with startling blue eyes. Eyes that weren't unlike the deep oceans which captivated Harry. Slowly, she nodded. "Potter," she greeted.
"Right. Thanks," Harry said, dropping into the seat beside her. The book in front of him was the same one that they had been using all year. The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble.
'Apparently I bought this book for no reason, then,' Harry surmised in his thoughts. Which quickly went blank as he heard the black haired girl.
"Do you think there will be any practical application in this exam?" she asked the blonde. Harry glanced at them to see the girl take the book into her hands and carelessly flip through the pages.
"Yes," the blonde said simply. "It would be a shame if Professor Moody didn't. He has decades of experience that we could learn from."
It was…an incredibly diplomatic answer. Far from the scathing comments that Harry had heard Malfoy make towards Moody. Perhaps he was quick, very quick to judge the book by its cover. Perhaps not all Slytherins were arrogant pricks. And Harry probably wasn't as subtle as he probably thought, because the blonde swung her head around suddenly until she faced Harry. He practically leapt back in surprise.
"Potter. You are eavesdropping."
"You're sitting right next to me…" He hesitated. "D-Debbie?"
The blonde's face, which had been entirely neutral for the entirety of the time that she stared at him, cracked. She looked at him with annoyance.
"Daphne. Greengrass to you." She folded her hands in front of her. "We've had four years together and you don't remember my name." That accusation struck home and Harry flushed.
"Sorry," he apologized, feeling like a total idiot. Daphne had every right to be angry at him.
Daphne stared at Harry for a long moment. "Your apology is accepted," she said at last.
"Daphne accepting apologies?" the black haired girl said flatly. She lowered her head onto the desk, bracing her chin on her arms. "What has the world come to?"
Right. Perhaps Daphne's friend was a touch dramatic.
Daphne didn't spare the girl a glance. "That's Tracey Davis," she said. "Attempt to recall our names."
"Right," Harry said weakly. He offered an awkward smile at Daphne. She didn't return it.
"What's your theory on the exam, Potter?" Tracey asked. She rotated her head on her arms to get a better look at Harry. "I predict that I am about to fail Defense. Woe is me." Her tone was flat and without an inflection.
Too dramatic.
"I'm, ah, sure you'll do fine," Harry said awkwardly and unconvincingly. Tracey didn't make a noise as she turned away.
"Oh, there he is," she said, just as flat, before she yawned.
Harry turned forward to see that Tracey was correct. Professor Moody lumbered into the classroom, his metal leg and staff clunking against the floor as he went. As soon as he appeared, the students quieted down. Beside Harry, Daphne straightened up in her seat and set her wand in front of her before interlocking her fingers. On her other side, Harry spied Tracey yawning tiredly once again. Either she crammed the subject through entire night or simply had trouble sleeping.
"Take a seat!" Moody growled as he reached his desk. His magical eye rotated in his socket, spinning every which way. "Everyone here? Good!" he said. He pulled out his wand and, with a flick, the door to the room shut.
Distantly, Harry heard the sound of a lock click into place on the door. He felt the hairs on his neck stand up. His gut instincts, still active after the graveyard, screamed panic. Something was not right.
Moody grinned. "You're worried. Good. It's good to be vigilant," he said as he rotated his wand in his hand, seemingly absentmindedly. His tongue darted out to wet the side of his lips.
Definitely not right. Harry could've sworn that he saw someone else to do that gesture.
Moody stared out at them, and for a moment, Harry also could have sworn that he saw his face ripple. Like a wave through the ocean.
"There's a lot of you, so I'll make this brief," Moody said. His gnarled hands gripped his staff tightly. "Your final Defense exam of the year…" he began, and Harry found himself watching Moody's every movement. "Is to survive."
The words hung in the air in absolute silence that followed. Harry's heart skipped. Beside him, Tracey raised her head from her arms, eyes wide. Even the quiet murmuring and giggling from Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil stopped. Then, Moody jutted his wand forward and a bolt of crimson spilled forward across the classroom. Harry watched, helplessly, as, in less than a second, it shattered against the face of Lavender Brown. She was thrown back over the bench, where she hit the ground with a dull thud.
She'd had no time to even scream.
But someone else did. A scream pierced the air and Harry felt someone's arm attach to him, pushing him down to the ground. The bench beneath him fell over as they went.
'This…this isn't happening…' Harry thought. He barely felt like he could move. As though he was in a nightmare and his limbs had weights tied to him. He let out a breath, unsure if he was tucking in any oxygen. Surely this was a nightmare. Surely this wasn't real!
But it was. It was real, as real as the graveyard. For a moment, Harry could swear that he felt the coldness of a tombstone, pressed to his back, with many cloaked figures surrounding him. And Voldemort, who enjoyed having Harry at his mercy. Just like now. A fleeting thought passed him - either Moody finally snapped and lost his mind, or...that wasn't Moody at all.
He looked up, however, at the person who had grabbed him. His mind finally synced with reality, just like then. Daphne Greengrass still had her hand on his arm, her eyes wide and frantic. Behind her, her other hand was wrapped around Tracey Davis' bicep.
Harry spun around, across the aisle where he saw Ron, Hermione, and Neville on the floor, their desk tipped over in front of them.
"We…We need to…" Harry started to say, but it was so hard to get a coherent thought out. His words choked in his mouth as he saw Pansy Parkinson make a run for the door.
"HELP!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "HELP-agck!"
Moody shot a cutting curse at Parkinson's back, causing a deep gash in her. She toppled to the ground with a cry.
"A-A-Alohomora!" Tracey chanted, pointing her wand at the door. But over the screams, Harry couldn't tell if the spell had worked.
"We…" Harry choked on his breath, and his hands found purchase on the legs of the desk. "Push the desk over!" he shouted. Daphne nodded, before she shoved her hands against the desk hard enough to knock it over. A barrier was created for them, and Harry crawled further under the cover.
"Stupefy!" someone shouted and when Harry turned, he saw that it was Terry Boot from Ravenclaw. The spell, however, bounced off of a shield that Moody formed. Then, without another word, he sent a hex from his own wand in return. Harry watched again as another one of his classmates fell to the ground. Terry clutched at his throat, before he went still.
"Good!" Moody shouted, but his voice sounded different. Not as gruff. "Fight back! Do you think the Dark Lord will spare you!?" he called.
Dark Lord. Moody never called Voldemort 'Dark Lord' before. But then again, he never directly called Voldemort by his name.
"Harry!" Hermione shouted and Harry turned to look at her and Ron. Their eyes were wide with fear.
'That's right…they never had to…fight like this,' Harry thought, belatedly. And neither had he. Not really. The closest was the graveyard. But that hadn't been…
Someone screamed and Harry heard another body hit the ground.
'The graveyard hadn't been like this…'
Ron grabbed the side of the fallen desk and shouted, "Come on!" Then Hermione and Neville crouched low as Ron dragged the desk across the ground, through the aisle.
"You bastard!" Parvati's voice shouted. Harry didn't dare look. "You killed her!"
"Parv, no!" Padma cried.
But then Parvati cried out and Harry heard the sound of a body hitting the floor.
"NOO!" Padma shouted.
"Aren't you a bunch of Gryffindors?" Moody goaded. "Stand up and fight! Refuse to be slaughtered! Crucio!"
Padma's scream ripped through the classroom. Harry's eyes flew to Neville, who put his hands over his ears. Anger boiled in his stomach and as the trio connected their desk to his, Harry grabbed Ron by the shoulder.
"We can do this!" he said.
Ron nodded, his face pale. Hermione worried about her lip between her teeth, but she, too, nodded. Together, they rose.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted.
"Stupefy!" Ron cried.
"Confringo!" Hermione shrieked.
Three spells fired at Moody, but he was remarkably fast. He dodged out of the way of Harry and Ron's attacks, before he shielded himself from Hermione's. On the ground in front of Moody, Padma had finally stopped writhing from the Cruciatus Curse. Harry's eyes briefly flicked to Parkinson as she crawled towards the door, reaching out for the handle, leaving a trail of blood, leaking from the gash on her back. She wasn't close enough. And that fact made Harry grind his teeth together. In front of Moody were students who had the same idea as them. Desks had been pushed over for cover to hide behind.
"Better! But not good enough!" Moody shouted. He leaned back, then jolted forward, a pale light shining from the tip of his wand.
One of the desks was launched forward with such tremendous force. The students behind it, Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, and Susan Bones cried out as it crashed into them. Susan barely jumped out of the way in time. But Ernie and Hannah weren't as lucky. Harry ducked just before the desk could crash into the one he used as cover. He grimaced and felt tears prick his eyes at the sound of a sickening crunch. Ernie and Hannah went silent.
"What do we do?" Tracey whispered. Daphne looked around frantically, clearly trying to find a way out.
But Harry didn't know. It took him a moment to realize that Tracey was looking directly at him. Harry palmed his hand, nails digging into his skin. He couldn't just let Moody kill everyone! Whether they were friends or not, he couldn't…he couldn't…
Somewhere behind him, he heard Seamus Finnigan leap up onto a bench. When he looked, he saw Seamus had his wand raised. "Bombarda!" he howled.
The spell hurtled towards Moody, but he swiftly levitated a desk to intercept the spell, blowing it apart. He grunted sharply as splinters of wood sliced into his face. Then a grin sharpened his features.
"Good!" Moody barked. "Some of you have learned something after all," he said. "Avada Kedavra!"
Padma Patil's whimpering went silent with a flash of green light.
Seamus started to cast another spell, but Moody was faster. A jet of white streamed from his wand and caught Seamus in the chest. He was thrown backward, out of Harry's sight with a yell.
Harry swallowed. He heard the thundering of footsteps quickly approach and he readied his wand. But the only person who appeared was Malfoy. His face had gone chalk white.
"Potter…" Malfoy said, before he unceremoniously ducked to the ground.
Parkinson cried out near the front of the room. "No! No!" she sobbed. "Open!" But her words were cut off as Moody cast another spell, and she dropped to the ground, dead.
"We can't just volley spells at him," Hermione said. She sniffed and rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve. "He's expecting that…"
"Think outside the box," Ron said with a nod. He didn't so much as spare Malfoy a second glance.
Harry could hear more and more students slump to the ground, dead. Moody was merciless. Harry peeked over the desk just in time to see Moody use a cutting spell of some kind on Goyle's throat.
Hiding behind a desk, Crabbe shoved Millicent Bullstrode in front of himself just before Moody made his way forward.
Bullstrode shouted in alarm, but Moody's Expulso directly to her face put her down. And Crabbe was gone from sight. Bullstrode did not get back up.
Hermione had gone exceptionally pale. She leveled her wand near the ceiling and said, "Fumos!"
Ahead of them, Harry saw a smokescreen appear, flooding the front of the room. Moody wouldn't be able to see them now.
Harry steeled himself. "We need to hit him with all we've got. He can't stop all of us," he said. He looked at Ron and Hermione, who nodded back resolutely.
"You must be joking!" Malfoy said, his eyes wide with fear. "That's your brilliant plan!?"
"Have you got a better one?" Ron questioned. He grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders. "He'll kill all of us if we just sit here!"
"Ron's right," Hermione said. "We need to-"
But Hermione was interrupted by the sound of metal hitting the ground. Then, without warning, the desks they hid behind were thrown forward.
The force of the blast collided with each of them, throwing them backward into the next row of desks. Harry's world spun and he thought of a spell that he could use - any - that could stop this.
"Reducto!" Daphne shouted, and the desk in front of them was disintegrated in the blast. Someone on Harry's right screamed, but he didn't know who.
Malfoy yelped loudly and Harry tried to crane his head back. He saw Malfoy, Hermione, and Ron pinned by the desk thrown by Moody. Past them, there was the crumpled form of Neville. It was only the slight rise and fall of his chest that told Harry he was still alive.
"Tracey!" Daphne howled and Harry turned to his right, where Daphne held the limp corpse of Tracey, whose head had been bashed in by the force of Moody's blast. "Nononono!"
Harry swallowed again, fingering at the spectacles that sat on his nose. He heard more curses coming from Moody's wand as more bodies fell.
Then, suddenly, the smoke was lifted with a simple flick of Moody's wand, and Harry could see the carnage that had unfolded clearly. Mandy Brocklehurst had been thrown over the side of a desk, bleeding from the neck. Michael Corner had a desk leg sticking out of his chest. Dean Thomas had lost an arm and had blood gushing from his temple.
There were others. Students and classmates that Harry didn't know the names of. Far too many bodies for him to truly take in. Too many corpses. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing.
But Moody himself…he roared, as the sounds of bones breaking and snapping were heard. His face looked like it was melting, and he grabbed the patch holding his magical eye to rip it off. He, probably, wasn't lucky, because his scream had more pain, and the right eye began to bleed, as he finally ripped the magical eye from his now-damaged eye socket. His face turned into someone's, whom Harry already knew. Seen before. In Dumbledore's pensieve. His hair, once grey and patchy, was now thick and sandy. His scarred face had been replaced by a smooth, if gaunt, handsome man, freckles darting across his skin. But he was older now. It took Harry a moment to place the name. Barty Crouch, Jr.
The magical eye was lying on the floor, in the pool of blood, along with shattered remains of the wooden leg that Crouch blasted to take it away. The staff he used, when polyjuiced as Moody, was discarded, lying near the remains of the teacher's desk. Even half-blind, Crouch was dangerous. Crazy. And his focus was on Justin Finch-Fletchey, who was trapped under the debris of one of the previously launched desks. Justin pointed his wand at Crouch, but he didn't say anything. His lip wobbled and his hand trembled.
Crouch leveled his wand at Justin, grinning madly. "Avada Kedavra!"
Justin fell limp.
Harry looked around, panicking.
'How many students are still alive? Why can't I do anything?'
Hermione pushed the bench free that pinned her and bellowed, "Oscausi!" Crouch was remarkably quick, though, and he levitated Justin's corpse to block the spell. Harry rose then, as well.
"Serpensortia!"
He had no idea if the spell would work. But when a snake flew from his wand to the heels of Crouch, he wasted no time.
"Attack!" he hissed in Parseltongue.
"Incarcerous!" a Slytherin boy called Blaise Zabini cast from behind Harry. The rope sailed through the air towards Crouch, but still, Crouch was faster. He cast a Cutting Charm, splitting the rope in half before it could restrain him. Then, just as the snake coiled back to strike, Crouch redirected his wand at it, and a plume of black smoke vanished the snake.
"Better!" Crouch laughed as he launched another attack at Anthony Goldstein, who had risen from behind a desk to join the fight. A spell collided with Goldstein, throwing him back in a ball of fire. "But still not good enough! Not creative enough!"
Harry cast another Disarming Spell. His heart pounded hard against his ribs, but it was futile. Crouch swiftly battered the spell away before casting a large explosive spell at Zabini.
"Protego!" Zabini tried to cast, but it was no use. The Bombarda Maxima threw him like a ragdoll, shattering his bones as he hit the floor. A grin played on Crouch's lips. His tongue darted out to wet the side of his mouth and before Harry could try again, Crouch cast something else. Harry barely had time to think. His instincts pulled him downward, just managing to dodge Crouch's attack. Someone screamed and Harry looked back, horrified, as the spell left a small crater in Crabbe's skull. He wobbled on his feet for a few seconds, and then collapsed.
He hadn't even known that someone was behind him.
"Do any of you not have what it takes!?" Crouch bellowed. He paced just a short distance away, and Harry could see as he leveled his wand at an injured Susan Bones, who whimpered in despair.
Hermione leapt forth, a spell on her lips, right when Crouch whirled around.
"Avada Kedavra!" he snarled.
Harry could only watch, horrified, as Hermione instinctively called, "Protego!"
He was helpless as the Killing Curse passed effortlessly through her shield and collided with Hermione's chest. She fell to the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut.
"NO!" Ron shouted.
Harry stared at the corpse of one of his best friends, his mind blank. He could barely believe that Hermione, the person who knew everything, just died. How? Why? She knew that no magical shield could save from the Killing Curse, so why… He could sense, though. as Crouch moved away from Susan and prepared to send another bombardment of spells at him. Too late was the Shield Charm on his lips when Daphne jumped in front of him.
"Protego!" she shrieked at the same time that a nasty purple hex spilled from Crouch's wand.
Instinctively, Harry's gaze was drawn again to the corpse of Hermione. Her eyes, forever filled with determination. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ron squeeze out from the desk that pinned him, but stopped short of going out into the open.
"Potter!" Daphne cried. "Harry! Do something!"
Harry looked at Daphne. Her face was filled with terror as Crouch sent spell after spell at her, battering her shield charm. He could see the cracks in it. It wouldn't be long before it was completely shattered.
Rage. Red hot rage built in Harry's gut. This man had ruthlessly murdered so many of his classmates. He had murdered one of his best friends. Fury, stronger than anything that he had ever felt before. Not even towards Voldemort. He raised his wand and recalled the words that Crouch had taught them earlier that year, before moving out from behind Daphne.
You have to mean it. You have to want it.
"Avada Kedavra!" Harry roared, some part of him enjoying the devastating power of the curse which left his wand. A green spell jet out of his wand, and Harry watched as it passed through Daphne's shield, and sailed through the air towards Crouch. Crouch pulled back, preparing another spell, when his face suddenly registered surprise, just before he was struck in the chest. The force of the blast sent him spinning through the air, and Harry could see Cedric in his mind's eye. Then Crouch hit the ground roughly in a crumpled heap.
And it was over.
Harry didn't know how much time had passed. He didn't know when he had fallen to his knees. His eyes strayed towards Hermione, whose corpse was wrapped in a hug by Ron, rocking back and forth. Tears poured down his cheeks and it took Harry a moment to realize that he was crying, too. He was only slightly aware of Daphne as she moved away from him. One of her hands was clasped over her cheek, blood pooling beneath her fingers as she staggered over to Tracey's body and shook her with her free hand. "Hey…" she said. "Hey, get up…"
Finally, Harry couldn't bear to look anymore and he gazed around the classroom. Nausea hit him so suddenly that he doubled over and retched. The classroom was covered in blood. Far too much blood. There were barely any survivors. A Slytherin girl had her hand on the back of a Ravenclaw. Harry couldn't recall the former's name, but he knew the latter's to be Morag MacDougal.
Susan Bones was curled up against one wall, a hand on her leg and the other over her mouth. Next to her was a deathly pale, but still breathing Neville Longbottom.
Behind him, Harry saw as Wayne Hopkins helped Draco Malfoy from out of the desk that had previously pinned him. Immediately, one of Malfoy's arms went around his waist and he planted his other hand on the ground.
"Alohomora," someone said and Harry looked at the front of the room where he saw Theodore Nott successfully get the door open. He stepped over the corpse of Pansy Parkinson and called out for help.
Harry pushed himself towards Ron. "I'm sorry…" he said. For what could he do but apologize? After all, once again, he panicked. He wasn't fast enough. He wasn't strong or confident enough. And because of that, one of his best friends has died. And because of that, most of his classmates were gone.
"...It ain't your fault, mate," Ron said after a long beat. He sniffed and slowly, gently, placed Hermione's body on the ground. "It ain't your fault."
Harry could barely think. He didn't react when the teachers arrived in the room, and he heard Professor Dumbledore gasp at the sight of the carnage that greeted him.
Greengrass Manor was as warm as it always was. Which was to say, not at all. Daphne had abandoned the comforts that home could bring her a long time ago.
The morning sun shone through the windows as she scraped her plate with a fork and knife, cutting apart her pancakes to more easily deposit them in her mouth. When she was done cutting them up, she placed her knife down on a napkin so that she could grab the Daily Prophet.
The front pages had been regurgitating the same story for weeks now. But Daphne could never pull her eyes away. 'The Hogwarts Massacre', as it had been dubbed, was the worst attack to hit the Wizarding World since the end of the last war. It was the worst attack on Hogwarts, period.
The front page was decorated with questions about Dumbledore. How could a Death Eater be under his nose for so long? How could he get away with pretending to be a known friend of Dumbledore's? What more was Dumbledore keeping away from the populace?
A shockwave had hit Magical Britain, and Daphne was fairly certain that it rippled all across the world. Heartbroken parents continued to clamor for Dumbledore's removal from Hogwarts, or for the closure of Hogwarts entirely. Parents were threatening to withdraw their students and enroll them in Beauxbatons or Durmstrang.
'Keen observers,' Daphne thought to herself. They had already forgotten how the ex-headmaster of Durmstrang was not only missing, but a former Death Eater, as well.
Miraculously, it was the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, that defended Dumbledore. Vigorously. Daphne's eyes skimmed the words, but she understood the gist of it. Fudge had changed his tune drastically about Potter's claims about Voldemort's return.
'All it took was the deaths of a handful of Pureblood children.'
Daphne's fingers curled around her fork tighter, jabbing into her food violently. She started to drop the Prophet when something else caught her eye. Harry Potter was facing trial for his use of an Unforgivable. Her eyebrows rose and her fingers tightened ever more around her utensil. Potter had saved them. Those few who survived the massacre.
Daphne listed them in her head. It came naturally to her by now. Harry Potter. Ronald Weasley. Neville Longbottom. Those were all who remained of Gryffindor in her year. Ravenclaw had a single student left; Morag MacDougal. Hufflepuff had two in Susan Bones and Wayne Hopkins. And finally, the Slytherins, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Mal Runcorn…and herself.
It didn't surprise Daphne that it was the Slytherins with the most survivors. She had known that Malfoy and Nott were cowards, and she knew next to nothing about Runcorn. But her own failure to act?
Daphne blinked away the tears forming in her eyes. It was in the brief darkness that she swore she could almost see Tracey. But then when she opened them again, Tracey was gone.
"Daphne," the voice of her father came, and Daphne dropped the Prophet.
"Father," Daphne said. She straightened her back and looked at the entrance of the room, where Cyrus Greengrass entered.
He didn't possess an imposing figure. Much like herself, he was pale and blond. His face was aristocratic and thin, with sharp cheekbones. His right eye was blue, but his left was red. Daphne had never asked why it was. And as she looked at him, she saw his face twist as he stared back at her.
"Put your mask on," he told her.
Daphne frowned. "I can't eat with it on."
Cyrus ignored her. Another set of footsteps approached and Daphne heard before she saw her younger sister, Astoria. "Is her mask on?" she asked.
Daphne turned her gaze downward at her plate, where she saw her reflection staring back at her. She could see the injury that Barty Crouch, Jr. caused her. Part of her right cheek had been slashed off, leaving a ragged gap, offering anyone who saw a look at her uncovered teeth and raw flesh and muscle.
'Damaged goods,' Daphne thought to herself.
She grabbed the porcelain mask given to her by Saint Mungo's. It would cover the injury. From her cheek to her mouth. Until a permanent solution would be advised or implemented. But the Healers had seemed doubtful that they could do anything. They had told her that whatever had hit her had been a powerful curse. The damage was done. Daphne looped a band attached to the mask around her ear and slipped the rest over her face.
Cyrus nodded. "She has it on."
Astoria entered through the doorway, a skip in her step. "Anything interesting?" she chirped when she sat down, nodding at the Prophet.
Daphne hesitated before she spoke. Astoria's kindness was something rare for her. It hasn't used to be. But after Daphne's first year at Hogwarts…something changed. The sister she once had that was fun and kind and sweet seemed to disappear before her eyes. And what was left? "Families are angry at Dumbledore," she said.
"Same as usual, then," Astoria said while Cyrus sat down at the head of the table.
Daphne nodded. "Indeed."
"Well…" Astoria grinned. "Is that it?"
Daphne rapt her finger on the table. "Potter is on trial for the use of an Unforgivable."
Astoria's eyes went wide. Cyrus, on the other hand, didn't look remotely surprised. Then, after a beat, Astoria laughed.
"Serves that half-blood prick right!" she crowed.
Daphne's stomach dropped. She had hoped to avoid one conversation about blood purity with Astoria. Daphne looked at Cyrus, who stared at the Prophet in the middle of the table.
"Perhaps now you will take the top spot in your class," Cyrus eventually said, and Daphne released her grip on her utensil.
Fury welled in her chest. But she forced her face to be as calm as possible. "Father?" she questioned, keeping the bite out of her tone.
"That girl…Granger, was it?" Cyrus said. "How did a mudblood such as her outperform you in every class, Daphne?" he questioned. "Was my tutorage not enough?"
Daphne glanced at Astoria, who looked back smugly, her arms crossed under her chest. It was as though a hand had wrapped around her throat, tightened just enough to let her draw in a fraction of the air she needed.
"She's dead now. You should make the most of it," Cyrus said, his voice blank and without emotion. "I will not see my daughter be anything less than perfect." He stood. "Astoria has surpassed my expectations in that regard."
Astoria beamed.
Daphne felt the water in her eyes and tried to blink them away. 'Don't cry. Don't cry,' she scolded herself. 'Don't be weak.'
"It is for these reasons," Cyrus continued, "that I am making Astoria the heiress to the family."
Daphne's eyes shot to Astoria, who's smug grin became ever wider. She tilted her head back and rolled her shoulders. It was evident that she thoroughly enjoyed this revelation.
"You knew?" Daphne asked her.
Astoria nodded. "I did."
"Allow me to be honest with you, Daphne," Cyrus said, dragging Daphne's attention back to him. "Your…deformity is less than appealing in the eyes of any Pureblood family. It is our proud honor to continue our line." He paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully. "Weakness is not an inviting trait."
Daphne stood, hammering a fist into the table. Anger rushed through her in waves. "I am not weak!" she shouted. The plate that held her breakfast shattered and the chairs at the table rumbled.
How dare her father insinuate these things? Her mind flashed back to the time that he handed Astoria their mum's wand. She had tried so very hard to ignore her glee when they returned home one night. Tried hard to ignore Astoria mention to Cyrus about what she did to a muggle boy with that very wand.
And she tried to ignore the words of approval that Cyrus spoke to Astoria. And as Astoria looked at her with a cruel and smug expression, Daphne realized that the sister she once had was long gone. All that was left was the…thing in her body.
Cyrus raised his wand and Daphne grimaced. In her mind, she could see the second that Cyrus melted into Crouch. Casting curse after curse at her as she held up a shield. But then the moment passed and he was Cyrus again. With a flick of his wand, the chairs fell still and the plate fixed itself.
Daphne let out a breath and said, as controlled as she could, "All you care about is your legacy."
"My legacy?" Cyrus questioned. "If I cared for my legacy, I would never give you a chance to redeem your weakness. I believe that your time spent with that half-blood, Davis, has made you forget who your true family are."
Daphne's blood boiled.
"Return to your room. Now. We will continue this conversation when I am finished conversing with Astoria."
Daphne didn't need to be told twice. She rushed up the stairs, past the locked door that contained her mother, before arriving at her room. She slammed the door behind her and held back the urge to scream.
She paced the length of her room. Rage bled off of her and slammed a fist into her pillow. "Tracey was better than you," she muttered to herself. Tracey should've still been alive. She had told Daphne many times of her family life.
It was so blissfully dull. Daphne craved something similar. Not for the first time, she wished that herself and Tracey had traded places. The crushing guilt that came with the fact that Tracey was dead and Daphne was not.
She couldn't turn her head without catching a glimpse of Tracey. Or so she thought. She knew that was improbable. No, impossible. But still, she did it with hope. Only for it to be squashed in less than a second. Tracey was gone and that black hair she thought she saw was part of a curtain. Or perhaps it would be from the shroud of a cloak.
She glanced at her Hogwarts luggage that leaned against her wardrobe. She hadn't had the time (or the will) to unpack. But as she stared at it, a thought began to play in her mind.
A reckless, stupid, Gryffindorish thought.
She looked out her window and after a pause, grabbed her luggage. She opened the window and slid onto the windowsill. Then, without waiting another second, she jumped.