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Daphne didn't know how long she had spent sobbing into her pillow but her tears just didn't seem to want to stop. She wondered if she was in a nightmare, one that was bent on shattering everything she held dear to her heart.
This was the worst summer of her life, she'd decided, just as soon as her father had become the target of the Dark Lord. All of her family's hard earned legacy was being overturned, all because an evil not seen in many hundred years had chosen to make a reappearance after dying at the hands of a babe more than a decade ago.
It had been a huge blow to her family, a threat of existence even, and yet, it didn't come anywhere close to the pride she held in her heart at being a Greengrass, the Heiress of a family older than most in the world.
And now, even that damn pride, as she'd learned today, had turned out to be a lie!
Daphne Greengrass, as many would call her, wasn't a cold hearted bitch that everyone in Hogwarts made her out to be. It was a carefully constructed mask, to repel every bit of unsolicited society she was bound to attract if she, as the Gryffindor bimbos liked to say, put her hair down.
There wasn't a single witch or wizard in Slytherin who wouldn't want to gain from associating with the Heiress to the Greengrass House. All because she was one of the few was blessed with both the riches of a centuries old familial legacy and the inadvertent protection of being a Neutral amidst two factions who absolutely detested each other.
But, as she'd found out in the last few weeks, that blessing had come to an abrupt and rude end because, she was finding out with a brutal slap to her face, that being a Neutral didn't mean being free.
Everything comes with a cost. For all of her father's business acumen, he had become lax with his associations and lazy with his plans. And that weakness had now manifested itself in the worst possible manner.
"It will be alright, Daph," Tracy was saying, rubbing her back for Merlin knows how long as her eyes burned yet again. "Everything will be alright."
Empty words that brought her no comfort, other than the fact that at least there was someone who could be with her, if not share her grief.
She shook her head in her pillow, her lips quivering.
"I'm ashamed," she whispered. "I'm ashamed of what we are."
She'd never thought she would say those words out loud. It was unthinkable. It was known far and wide that the one thing she, the Ice Queen of Hogwarts, prided on, was her family.
"Don't say that!" Tracy all but barked in her ear, "You'll be alright. Your family will be fine."
Daphne didn't think they would ever be alright. There was no chance that it would ever be the same.
Even if her father had suffered from the Dark Lord's wrath and had been practically demanded to align himself with the Dark faction, Daphne had had no doubts that they would have found a way to overcome it.
She was by no means an optimist, but she did have faith in her father and her family and had never felt utterly hopeless in their pursuit of freedom.
And now, she didn't even have that. Her family's pride, all their legacy, their standing, their history, everythingwas going to be tainted because her mother had betrayed them all in the worst possible way.
What did she, Heiress Daphne Greengrass, have left to be proud of?
She sat up, wiping at her damp cheeks.
A vault full of galleons couldn't erase the shame. And she had no delusions of the shameful secret not being used to control them. To control her and her innocent sister.
Tracy was rubbing her shoulders, whispering things in her ear but Daphne wasn't paying attention.
"What do I even have?" she muttered to herself.
The answer came with a jolt of revolting despair.
She had nothing.
She had herself, a fifteen year old witch who had not even sat her OWLs yet.
Her family had been living a lie, her mother had seen to that. There was nothing excep-
"No!" she gasped, struck by a realization so horrific that it felt like a gut punch.
Will Malfoy demand her for his son?
And Tori? What about Tori?
How will Tori even-
She will be devastated! And there was nothing she could do to make it better!
She sat there, stunned beyond comprehension, her mind a whirl of half-formed thoughts. One thing that brought her to the brink of losing her mind was the self-loathing that seemed to spur like a volcano, deep within her stomach.
She heard some faint voices and movements but paid them no mind. She didn't realize someone was speaking to her until she was shook from her horrific reverie.
"Mother?" she asked in a daze.
Her mother had red, puffy eyes, still holding a handkerchief, and Daphne suddenly felt a surge of anger. She couldn't even wipe her tears with her own bare hands?
But it seemed that her anger would have to wait because her mother had yet worse news to impart.
Tracy was holding her arm as she focused her gaze on her and then back on her mother.
"Daphne, darling, your father has been arrested!"
-_-_ .
There had only been a handful of times when Harry had felt truly afraid in his life. Fighting Quirrel, facing Tom in the Chamber of Secrets, experiencing a hundred dementors and having that sham of a duel with a newly revived Voldemort had been a few times when he'd felt that he was surely going to die, but it wasn't fear that had dictated his actions or brought his heart to a screeching, painful and anxious halt.
He'd never felt the abject hopelessness, the angry tears and the claws of doom threatening to swallow him whole ever in his life, except twice.
But now, as a patronus from Bella informed him of what had almost befallen his Dad, he almost felt as if a Dementor were to get near him now, surely the things he'll see will be quite like what he was feeling right then.
He was running before he could think properly and Lily, her eyes moist and afraid, was saying something to him then, and beckoning him to join her in the floo. And then they were hurrying through to the entrance to the Leaky Couldron and then to the public entrance to the Ministry of Magic.
"I'm okay, Lily," James was saying, rubbing her back with his good hand, his other in a sling. Harry stood just a few paces away, watching his parents. "Just the shoulder that needs a day to mend, nothing serious." His free arm tightened around her, his fingers brushing against her hair. "You can stop squeezing me to death now, love. Pretty sure my ribs are about to join my shoulder in the broken department."
Lily sniffled and pulled back slightly, only to swat his chest. "Don't you dare joke about that, James Potter! Do you have any idea—" Her voice cracked, and she blinked furiously to push back the tears threatening to spill again.
James, however, wasn't deterred. "Any idea how bloody handsome I look even with a sling?" he finished with a teasing smirk. "Pity I only have to keep it for a day."
Lily stared at him, torn between glaring and laughing. "You're an idiot."
"And yet, I'm your idiot," James countered with a wink.
Harry, standing nearby, couldn't help the small grin tugging at his lips. The familiar banter between his parents was a comforting balm to the raw fear that he's experienced just minutes ago.
"Honestly, Lily," James continued, his tone light and playful, "I've survived worse. Remember that time in sixth year when Snivellus—"
Lily groaned loudly, cutting him off. "For Merlin's sake, James, not this story again!"
"Oh no, you don't," James said, his grin widening. "Harry hasn't heard this one. Have you, son?" He threw a wink at Harry.
Harry shook his head, though he was pretty sure he knew where this was going. At least thematically. "Can't say I have, but I have a feeling I'm about to."
Lily groaned again, but this time there was a hint of amusement in her voice. "You're incorrigible."
James ignored her, leaning back as much as his injured shoulder would allow. "So, picture this. It's a sunny afternoon, and Snivellus is lurking at the back of the Potions classroom, as usual, probably muttering curses under his breath about me and Sirius. Honestly, I think he kept a running list."
"You were such a menace."
"You mean to say I'm not one now?" James asked as if affronted.
Lily rolled her eyes and hid her smile.
"I am a necessary menace," James said solemnly to Harry. "Anyway, old Snivellus decides he's going to brew this ridiculously over-complicated potion, something that wasn't even assigned. Trying to show off to your mother as always."
Harry snorted. He wasn't sure if it was true or if his dad was embellishing, but it sounded about right.
"So there he is, sneering at everyone like we're beneath him—literally, I think he thought the rest of us were trolls—and he's stirring away. Naturally, Sirius and I couldn't just let that slide."
"Oh, naturally," Lily muttered, though she was clearly fighting back a smile.
"So we might have swapped out his powdered bicorn horn with powdered dungbomb remains," James said with a devilish grin.
Harry burst out laughing. "What happened?"
"Well," James continued, clearly relishing the story, "he didn't notice at first. Too busy being all dramatic and broody, probably rehearsing some dark curse for me. Then, just as he added the dungbomb powder, the whole thing started to bubble like a bloody geyser. And then—"
"It exploded," Harry finished, grinning.
"Right in his greasy face," James said, smirking. "He looked like a walking bog, and the smell—Merlin's beard, the smell—stayed with him for days. Even after Slughorn tried cleaning him up, he still reeked."
Lily shook her head, though she was laughing now. "You're awful, James. Truly awful."
"Awful, but effective," James said smugly. "He didn't dare even look in your direction for weeks."
By now, even Lily's laughter had turned into the kind that made her eyes sparkle. She shook her head at James, her expression softening. "You're lucky you're so charming, James Potter. Otherwise, I don't know how you'd have survived Hogwarts."
James leaned closer, his good hand reaching for hers. "Oh, I don't know, love. I think I did alright. Got the best witch in the school, didn't I?"
Harry watched the exchange, a strange mixture of emotions swirling in his chest. Relief that his dad was okay. Gratitude for moments like this, where laughter seemed to banish the weight of the world.
And then he felt something deeper—an ache, almost. Watching his parents together, so effortlessly in sync, made him realize just how much he longed for something like that.
James caught his son's gaze and smirked. "Take notes, Harry. This is how you charm a witch."
Harry rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help but smile. "Pretty sure dungbombs aren't going to charm any witch."
"Depends on the witch," James said with a wink.
"Don't listen to him Harry," Lily said firmly, though her lips twitched with amusement.
The sound of footsteps interrupted them, and they turned to see an Auror approaching. His expression was grim, and Harry felt his stomach tighten again.
"Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter," the Auror said with a respectful nod. "Madam Black has asked me to inform you that the attacker is being questioned. She's requesting your presence for a formal statement."
Lily was suddenly hugging James for all he was worth, mumbling something in his ear and Harry simply stood there with a watery smile and a relieved heart.
"Whenever you're ready, Lord Potter," the Auror said and was gone.
For the first time now, Harry looked around to notice that there was no one else in the small infirmary, and he thought that it was by design, probably helped by his godparents.
He could only imagine the strings Bella or Sirius may have pulled to not have any of the reporters hounding them in that very moment.
"What happened, Dad?" he couldn't help but ask. His Mum pulled away but didn't let go of his Dad's good hand.
"Someone threw a curse at me, at least I think it was me," his Dad explained. "Padfoot saved me. He pushed me away and I fell to the floor, right on my shoulder."
"Do we know who it was?"
His Dad shrugged while his Mum lay her head on his shoulder, her arms still around him. She stayed silent.
"Greengrass, as far as I remember. Padfoot will know more though," he confirmed.
Harry stiffened on hearing the name of the attacker. Lily was looking at him in shock.
"Why?" Lily demanded. "Why would he try to kill you?"
Harry stood seething. There was no way this was just a coincidence. First Daphne and then her father, all bent on targeting the Potters.
He would be damned if this farce was to continue. He will get to the bottom of this, whatever this was.
Having made up his mind, just as he was about to go fetch Sirius, the man himself entered the room.
"Alright, Prongs?" Sirius asked softly, looking at James up and down.
James shrugged and then grimaced as the movement seemed to hurt him. Harry felt himself growing angrier. "Just a scratch, Pads," he said to which Sirius nodded. A look passed between them and Harry felt that they were having one of their wordless Marauder-only conversations.
"So Greengrass is being questioned by Bella," Sirius informed them, sitting down in an empty chair by the bed. "I think we should go see her."
"It really was him then?" Harry asked.
Sirius nodded without emotion. "Bella will know more about his...motivations for throwing a curse in the middle of the Wizengamot."
"You're right," James said and then stood with Lily, who looked on in a mixture of anger and worry. "No point in dilly-dallying."
Together, their little group left the safety of the infirmary to face the world again.
-_-_ .
The telly wasn't helping.
Sitting on her beloved sofa with her favourite cushion in her lap and her favourite novel cast aside, she had turned it on to distract herself from her darkening thoughts but it had begin to have the opposite effect on her.
Everything she saw reminded her of him.
A veritable mess of colours and shapes, she couldn't focus on anything.
The screen shifted to footage of Prime Minister Tony Blair speaking confidently at a press conference, discussing the state of the economy post-recession and his government's efforts to rebuild trust after political scandals.
Her breath hitched and she stopped briefly, reminded of Harry's leadership qualities. He's just like that—always calm under pressure, always thinking of others first. Why wouldn't someone like him be expected to marry a Pureblood heiress?She feels a sharp pang of jealousy and insecurity.
The shapes and colours changed to show a cheerful presenter is showing how to make a craft project out of recycled materials. His tone was light, and the children in the audience laughing as a piece of the project fell apart.
A fleeting smile touched Hermione's lips. Harry would have loved this sort of simple fun. He was always so patient everyone during the DA meetings, even with the most defenceless of the children, the first and second years.
Then her smile faded as she thought about the life he might have now—dutiful, burdened, far removed from anything this carefree.
Her eyes then registered a group of young people laughing and clinking glasses of Coke on a sunny beach, with the iconic "Always Coca-Cola" jingle playing in the background.
Hermione pressed the remote more forcefully.
Harry would never get a moment like that—just laughing under the sun, free of responsibility. He always put everyone else before himself.The thought of him trapped in a life dictated by his legacy made her heart ache for him.
Suddenly, the screen shifted to a heated argument occurring between two characters at the Rovers Return Inn, with accusations of betrayal and unfaithfulness flying back and forth.
She quickly flipped the channel, feeling an almost irrational fear. What if Harry marries someone he doesn't love? What if he's miserable but too noble to say anything?Her stomach twisted, and her hand shook slightly as she gripped the remote.
Another channel came to the screen showing The Big Breakfast. Hosts Johnny Vaughan and Denise Van Outen were cracking jokes and bantering about the latest gossip, their energy infectious.
But Hermione didn't feel any joy from their jokes. She was reminded of Harry's easy laugh and how he could always lighten the mood even in the darkest times. He deserves to laugh like that every day… but with someone who truly knows him, not some Pureblood princess.
She felt the sting of tears but swallowed them back. She didn't want to be so weak.
She felt angry at her inability to distract herself.
She was on the verge of throwing the remote away when clips of a thrilling football match, with a commentator passionately describing a player's skillful goal came to the screen.
Her heart sank. She remembered Harry's face lighting up when Dean Thomas explained football to him. He loved learning about Muggle things, didn't he? she thought. But that world is so far away from him now. Just like I am.
She tried not to cry but those traitorous tears never obeyed her. They were her enemy, making her feel like her world was ending when the world was just beginning.
It didn't matter that the world was celebrating though did it? Not when her world was ending.
She was sure that she will rarely see him now. Probably once or twice a year if she was lucky. He will be too busy helping everyone rebuild. He'll be busy with a lot of people, and witches. Particularly, Daphne Greengrass who had had an eye on Harry, her Harry, for years.
Harry will marry her, setting an example for the wizarding world and go on to have many beautiful children with green eyes and golden curls and then he'll have nothing to do with someone like her, not when she'd willingly left his side, and she deserved it didn't she? She deserved all of his scorn if she ever saw him again or if he ever remembered he-
The ding-dong of the doorbell made her drop the remote, the plastic clattering on the coffee table out of her trembling hands. The house felt unbearably quiet, her thoughts unbearably loud. She wrapped her arms around herself, sinking into the couch, her tears falling freely now.
He deserves happiness, she told herself, even if it isn't with me.But the ache in her chest didn't subside. Instead, it grew heavier, until she felt like she couldn't breathe.
The doorbell rang again and she huffed in annoyance.
Couldn't she even miss him in her own house in peace? What could someone be possibly doing at her doorstep at his hour on the thirty-first of December?
She rubbed the tear tracks on her cheeks with the balls of her fingers and walked up to open the door. The doorbell had rung for the third time now.
"Coming!" she called out in a mixture of confusion and irritation.
What she didn't expect was opening the door and finding Harry Potter on her doorstep, standing there in a black coat dusted with fresh snow, his unruly hair damp from the cold. His green eyes, as piercing as ever, crinkled with a grin that was just a little too proud of itself. He held a bottle of wine in one hand and a small brown paper bag in the other, the faint scent of chocolate wafting through the chilly air.
"Harry?" Hermione managed to croak, her heart leaping into her throat. She wasn't sure if the shock, the leftover tears, or the winter wind was making her voice tremble. Before she could say more, Harry stepped forward, leaned in, and pressed a soft, quick kiss to her lips.
The world stilled.
Her hand shot to her mouth in disbelief as she stared at him, her mind scrambling for coherent thought. "What—what are you doing here? And why did you—?"
"I had to," he said, cutting her off with a casual shrug, though the smirk playing on his lips revealed he wasn't nearly as nonchalant as he pretended to be. "Couldn't risk someone else sneaking in and claiming my spot."
Hermione blinked at him, still processing, as Harry slipped past her into the house. "Close the door, it's bloody freezing out there," he added over his shoulder.
Dumbfounded, Hermione did as he said, shutting out the cold night and leaning against the door for support. "Harry James Potter, what on earth are you doing here?"
He placed the wine and bag on her kitchen counter, then turned to face her, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You've been moping, haven't you? Thinking I'm off somewhere with a a blonde pureblood heiress, planning my future in some grand manor with a ballroom and a thousand house-elves."
Her cheeks burned. How did he—? "I wasn't moping!" she retorted, folding her arms across her chest, but the blush betrayed her. "And I wasn't thinking about you at all."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Sure you weren't. You know you're a terrible liar, Hermione." He stepped closer, his voice softening. "I'm here because I couldn't stand the thought of you spending New Year's alone, overthinking everything. And because… I wanted to make sure you knew."
"Knew what?" she whispered, her heart pounding.
"That you're not just my best friend. You're not just some girl I fight Dark Lords with. You're…" He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck in that endearing way that made her knees feel weak. "You're the one I want to be with. Always."
Hermione's breath caught. "But what about—"
"Stop." Harry held up a hand, silencing her. "No more 'what abouts.' No more excuses. You're it for me, Hermione. And I'll fight anyone who thinks otherwise, including you."
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Harry took the opportunity to close the distance between them, his hands finding hers. "I'm not letting you go," he said firmly, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles. "So unless you're about to tell me to sod off, I'm staying right here."
Hermione's throat tightened. She wanted to protest, to tell him he didn't have to do this, to push him away for his own sake. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, tears welled in her eyes, and she let out a shaky laugh. "You're such an idiot."
Harry grinned. "Takes one to know one."
She swatted at his arm, both loving how confident he'd gotten but also irritated by his antics, but he caught her hand, pulling her into a warm embrace. Hermione melted against him, burying her face in his shoulder as the tears spilled over. "I thought I'd lost you," she whispered, her voice muffled.
"You'll never lose me," Harry promised, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Not now, not ever."
They stood like that for a moment, the silence filled with unspoken relief and the faint ticking of the clock in the living room. Then Harry pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. "Now," he said, his tone lighter, "are we going to drink this wine and celebrate, or are you going to keep crying all night?"
Hermione let out a watery laugh, swiping at her cheeks. "Fine," she said, her voice still shaky but tinged with amusement. "But only if you tell me what's in that bag."
Harry smirked, retrieving the bag and pulling out a small box of her favourite chocolates. "A peace offering," he said, holding it out to her. "For making you wait so long."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but her smile was radiant.
"I love you." She meant it with all her heart.
He kissed her again.
They spent the evening on the couch, the fire crackling in the hearth complimenting their laughter in warming their spirits. Their banter was effortless like always. Hermione found herself stealing glances at him, her heart swelling with a happiness she hadn't dared to hope for.
Then she tasted the chocolates and her mind went into an overdrive.
"Harry, what the hell? How did you get these?"
Harry quirked an eyebrow innocently. "What are you talking about Hermione?"
She huffed. "The shops aren't open at this time of the night, especially today. How in the world did you get this?" she took another bite, not able to resist.
Harry shrugged, popping the cork on the wine. "I'm resourceful."
She looked at him as if he was insulting her intelligence. He shrugged. "Harry..."
He turned around, pouring some wine in two summoned glasses. "What?"
"Tell me how you got these?"
"I may have broken into the shop to-" noticing her glare, he hurried to explain, "I left the money on the counter with a note. Even repaired the lock!"
Hermione let out a laugh. "You idiot."
"Youridiot," he corrected. She huffed and stood up to go to the balcony but he pulled her back, her left hand trapped in his.
"Harry what ar-"
Then she saw the sparkling emerald ring on her finger and her knees almost gave away.
But he caught her and then she was sitting on his lap, curling into him.
"You're really here," she whispered to herself.
She didn't know what she'd deserved to have all her wishes fulfilled today, but wished to God that whatever it was, she had the intelligence to repeat it forever.
"What about your plans? The Auror Academy?" she questioned, unable to wish that he would abandon his goals for her. As much as it pained her to admit, she could never make him choose her over everything.
He sighed. "That wouldn't work. I don't think I can make enough of a difference by being an Auror."
Hermione had never understood his motivations for that but she couldn't help but be thankful that he wasn't going to be chasing criminals anymore.
"So what now?"
Harry smiled. "Now I do what you've been asking me to do since the summer."
Slack-jawed, she stared at him in disbelief.
"I never tho-you're going to run for the Minister?"
She felt his lips on her forehead. "I don't think much of the job, but I don't think much of the Ministry either. You said I will be able to change a lot of things by taking the job so why not?"
"You're really going to do it?" she whispered, her voice tinged with awe. "You're really going to run for Minister for Magic?"
Harry shrugged, his lips twitching into a small, self-deprecating smile. "It's not exactly how I pictured my life after Voldemort, but you've got a point, as always. If I want to make a difference, I might as well go big."
Hermione couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out of her, a mixture of relief, pride, and sheer joy. " You'll be brilliant, you know that?"
He tilted his head, his grin turning playful. "Don't steal my line, my love."
Her breath hitched at the endearment. "You'll be amazing. Just... maybe try not to hex anyone on the first day?"
Harry chuckled, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her closer. "No promises. You know how I feel about pompous old wizards who think they know best."
Hermione snorted. "Oh, I know. But that's exactly why you'll be perfect for the job." Her voice softened, and she placed a hand gently on his chest. "You care, Harry. You've always cared. And that's what will make the difference."
His eyes met hers, the playful glint fading into something deeper, more profound. "I wouldn't even be considering it if it weren't for you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "You always see the best in me."
Hermione felt her cheeks heat, but she didn't look away. "That's because there's so much good in you, Harry. Anyone who can't see that is blind."
They sat there in a comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation lingering between them, but not in a heavy way.
"You know," he began, his tone light, "if I'm going to be Minister, I'll need someone to keep me in line. Someone who's smarter than me and isn't afraid to tell me when I'm being a prat."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a small smile. "Oh? And where exactly are you going to find someone like that?"
Harry leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "I think I've already found her."
Her breath hitched, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. His green eyes bore into hers, filled with a mix of vulnerability and resolve that took her breath away.
"Hermione," he said softly, his voice steady despite the emotion lacing it. "Will you marry me?"
Time seemed to stand still as his words sank in. Hermione's eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. "I think I've already said yes considering I'm wearing your ring, aren't I?" she stammered, hiding her face in his chest.
"Still," Harry cajoled, his lips quirking into a small smile. "I wanted to hear you say it."
Hermione felt a sob escape her lips as she nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Yes," she managed, her voice trembling with emotion. "Yes, Harry. Of course, I'll marry you."
She sat up in his lap and kissed him. "I love you."
Harry looked at her like she meant everything to him. She never wanted to let go of this feeling.
"Happy New Year, Hermione."
And then her eyes shot open as the windows shattered.
-_-_ .
Daphne was in hell.
She didn't think the day could've gotten any worse but now, she knew better. At first, she hadn't believed it when her mother had barged into her room to tell her that her father had been arrested. She'd been too disoriented, too tired and too depressed to think clearly.
As they had flooed to the Ministry, her heart was thumping in fear, both for herself and for her father, she had finally come to terms with the fact that her kind, mild mannered had really been arrested by the DMLE.
She was still in the waiting room, not permitted to see her father yet. Having little idea of what had transpired, she fidgeted in her seat as her mother returned and tried to catch her eye.
"What is it?" No answer.
"Father?" she asked in trepidation.
"We can't see him yet," her mother replied, her lips quivering. "I don't know what happened other than the fact that he tried to kill someone during the Wizengamot session."
Daphne stilled.
Had she heard that right?
Her mild-mannered, kind and generous father had tried to killsomeone?
"What?" she whispered but her mother wasn't listening.
Daphne turned to question her and saw that she looked like she was about to burst into tears again. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, wishing that she could see some light at the end of this dark tunnel.
Is this really how it's gonna end? she thought bitterly to herself. Centuries of magical history, her family's pride, honour and legacy, and her future destroyed in a single summer of dark upheaval?
Why would her father do something like this? Had he really done this? Did they even have the correct perpetrator? Was her father so caught up in another one of Dark Lord's schemes that he was no longer able to defend himself and his his family?
Taking some deep calming breaths, Daphne willed herself to focus.
Looking around, she saw a few Aurors moving about in the corridor. She began to walk to the door. Waiting here was in vain. She had to get answers.
"Daphne?"
She turned to see her weeping mother looking at her in question. "What are you doing?"
She shrugged. And then regardless of her mother's repeated pleas, she opened the door and went outside.
Her feet took her to an Auror busy at a desk. She cleared her throat.
"Can I help you?" the Auror asked without looking up.
Daphne hid her nervousness. "My name is Daphne Greengrass. Could I get some information about my father, Lord Greengrass?"
The Auror's gaze snapped up. "He's being questioned. You'll have to wait," he said coolly.
Daphne nodded. "May I ask," the Auror raised an eyebrow and she gulped, "what did my father do?"
He leaned back in his chair and Daphne tried not to let his overt disgruntlement at her inquiry affect her. "You really don't know?" The red-robed wizard didn't wait for her answer, "He tried to kill Lord Potter in the Emergency session."
No.
No. No!NO!
She gasped and almost swooned.
The wizard at the desk rose up to hold her up by the arm. He seemed to be saying something but she wasn't listening. All of her mind was occupied by the stunning, most alarming revelation that by some cruel twist of fate, her father had tried to kill the wizard whose family was their only hope of getting out the upcoming conflict alive.
Her mind spinning with questions and her heart racing, Daphne didn't realize she was sitting by her mother's side again, her tears falling freely into her shoulder.
Her world was falling apart and there was nothing she was able do about it.
It felt like an eternity before she felt her cheek going numb against a cold surface and she groaned, sitting upright. Rubbing at her eyes while also trying to regain her bearings, she realized that she'd fallen asleep.
Getting up from her chair, wiping at her cheeks to remove the dried tear tracks, she found her mother at the door talking to the Head Auror.
Walking nearby, she heard him speaking. "Since there were no injuries, it may be possible to drop the charges with a fine."
Her mother gasped. "Can we take him home today?"
Scrimgeour shook his head. "It's not impossible but unlikely. There is due process and Madam Black isn't one to take shortcuts. This is-"
"Can we meet him?" her mother asked.
"-also assuming that Lord Potter's family doesn't want to press charges."
Daphne knew it wasn't right to feel hopeful but her heart didn't listen. She had to take what fate to willing to offer, considering it had been so cruel to her as of late.
Now how could she determine whether Potter's family wanted to punish her father or not?
Her answer came a minute later in the form of a crisp-robed, handsome man that had just entered the room. His messy black hair and emerald eyes held behind a pair of rimless circular spectacles identified him to her quite easily.
"Potter!" she called at him but he gave her one scathing look and then turned and immediately left the scene.
Daphne hesitated for only a moment before she ran after him.
The long corridor seemed to stretch almost infinitely and although she could still hear his footsteps echoing ahead of her, he had already disappeared from her view.
"Potter, please!" she cried out and ran to search for him. Before she could march further, she felt herself being pulled away through an open door.
"WHA-"
She couldn't finish because a strong hand was covering her mouth as she struggled but couldn't do anything to free herself. She tried to reach for her wand but it was stowed away in her sleeve and her hands were suddenly bound in rope behind her.
"There is no need to struggle Greengrass," a familiar voice taunted in her ear and she stumbled backwards.
"Potter?" she questioned, feeling equal parts relieved and anxious that it was him.
"Finally got your brain to work?" he hissed.
She stopped struggling and found her hands free again. Rubbing at her wrists, she met his gaze and shivered.
Harry Potter looked the same as the last time she'd seen him; his messy hair falling over his ears and forehead that had that weird but faded lightning bolt scar, his lips pursed and his magic strong and dense. Apart from one thing, though.
His eyes held this glint, this darkness that she couldn't look away from. Their normal emerald green shade had been overridden by the darker shade of the killing curse, they looked fierce and unnatural and haunted.
"I'm sorry," she felt compelled to speak, "Is your father alright?"
He didn't reply but simply turned around to walk over to the window. She realized with a start that the room wasn't as stifling as she'd first believed it to be, it looked well-maintained.
"Potter?" she whispered, hoping to get an answer from him.
His silence spoke too much and Daphne couldn't bear it. She opened her mouth to apologize and lay all her secrets bare right then and there but his voice stopped her.
"My Dad is okay," he spoke softly.
"Thank Merlin!" she whispered with a relieved sigh but was interrupted again.
"No thanks to yourfather. If my godfather had been a fraction of a second delayed in pushing him out of the way, his chest would've been caved in."
She swallowed.
There was no emotion in his words, no feeling. It was almost as if he was talking about the weather.
"I'm sorry," she said remorsefully, "Please believe me. I didn't know what he was going to do when he left-"
Harry let out a breath. She swallowed the rest of her sentence.
"Even if I believe you, what good does that do for me?" he shook his head. "I have no doubt your father has more Death Eater buddies that are willing to do the job in his stead. A job in which he failed."
She flinched.
Contrary to what mudbloods assumed, pureblood children weren't given any special pre-Hogwarts education that would make them superior to others when they began school upon turning eleven. There was no extra syllabus that they covered before they set foot in Hogwarts, nothing that gave them the edge over someone who had no magical parents. If that were the case, every ranking board in every subject would've been occupied by purebloods. But that wasn't the case.
Pureblood children never learnt wand-based magic before starting Hogwarts. There was a prime reason that school began when children turned eleven, and it was because it was the first of the two stages of their magical maturity.
There was some arithmantic significance to the number eleven, just like three, seven and thirteen, that lent its usage in almost every field of magic. Eleven had always been the age that signified the beginning of a wizard or a witch's magical maturity, as long as history was available to read.
So of all the unfair advantages that the mudbloods accused purebloods of, this was certainly not something they had any ground to stand upon.
There was, however, one distinct advantage to having magical parents. Even halfbloods enjoyed the privilege to an extent.
And it was a massive one.
Having magical parents made you grow up around magic. Pureblood and half-blood children grew up watching and learning and grasping how magic inherentlybehaved as they lived in magical surroundings, and used and interacted with magical objects and beings.
These experiences over the first eleven years of their lives, combined with the genetically inherited traits, helped them grow more attunedto magic.
It was one of the reasons why most purebloods and halfbloods excelled in practical magic while the mudbloods excelled in theory at Hogwarts, bar exceptions.
It was also one of the reasons why purebloods hatedventuring to the Muggle world for anything. It wasn't only because of an inherent bias, a prejudice that had been in the making for a thousand years or more, that did play a major role in their aversion to the muggle world but there was more.
Witches and wizards that grew up in the magical world were so acclimated to magic, so sensitive to it, that the muggle world felt empty to them. It was almost as if for your entire life you saw everything and everyone in a hundred shades of colours and then ventured into a world that only had the colours black and white.
Their senses revolted against a prolonged stay in an area that had no magic. Their soulfelt as if the muggle world had a large gaping hole within it, and there was no way to fulfil it.
That was one of the earliest theories from one of the greatest wizards of all time as to why the Muggles and Magicals could never mingle as one. They were inherently different.
And now, that same sensitivity to magic, that same ability to know and feel magic had made Daphne flinch.
She didn't know why she hadn't felt it before when she'd met him at the duelling tournament. Or perhaps, in her arrogance, she had felt it but disregarded it as a more brilliantly stupid idea of controlling the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived had popped into her brain.
But now she knew better and she hoped and prayed to Merlin that it wasn't too late.
"Please..." she spoke. "My father has never been a Death Eater. He's-we have always been neutral."
His magic was so tightly bound, so dense and dark that a fear crept into heart that he may have already made up his mind.
"You tried manipulating me once," he retorted without malice, "And now, you ask me to believe your empty words."
She held her hands rigidly at her sides, her nails digging into her palms so tightly she could almost feel the skin break. "My words are not empty," she said with a slightly firmer tone. "I am telling the truth."
He turned around to face her then and she felt her heart leap into her throat. His steps were slow and purposeful and they didn't stop until she could feel his breath on her face.
His magic touched hers and she shuddered. She didn't know if she'll survive it if he lashed out.
Words began to spill out of her in a hurry, her gaze never leaving his. "My family has always been neutral. My father was kidnapped by Lucius Malfoy and he took him to the Dark Lord," she fought hard to keep the angry tears at bay, "My father was tortured," but all her control was in vain as her eyes began to leak, "He demanded us to join him if we wanted to live."
Weeping silently, Daphne didn't know how long he was looking at her before she felt a shift in his magic and he moved a step back.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his eyes sincere.
She looked down at her empty hands. "I never knew he was going to do something like this. if I had, I would've stopped him," she said softly. "Please let him go."
Harry scoffed. "Right." He began to walk away.
She felt panic flare up inside her.
"I'll give you anything! Please let my father go!" she pleaded. "I don't have anyone else."
He turned but his eyes remained cold. "I'll rather fight a duel against your father."
She believed him. If they fought, as he would be well within his rights to demand one, her father wouldn't get out of the arena alive.
"There must be something you need," she begged, "I'll give you anything, please..." she said despairingly, realizing there really was nothing that she could offer him.
Her family was rich but his was richer. Her family magic was nothing compared to what he had from his Potter and Black roots. She had no skill to offer him in exchange for her father's life, nothing to make him change his mind.
Except...
Except one thing.
As she registered it and accepted it within her mind, Daphne felt a bitter laughter bubble up in her gut.
Perhaps this was the only way.
Before today, she would've never even imagined this but now, after what she'd seen from her mother, perhaps this was it.
Maybe this was her destiny.
Maybe, she was fated to be just like her mother.
"Take me," she spoke, her gaze down at the floor, "I'm yours."
If she had seen him then, she could've seen how shocked he'd become as he's grasped the meaning behind her words.
"What?"
"Take me," she repeated with finality. "You can have me forever in exchange for my father's life."
She heard him come closer and then, before she could tell herself to not be surprised, felt his fingers on her chin, making her gaze rise up to his.
"Why?" he asked.
She didn't hesitate. "I don't have anything else to offer you, so I'm yours if you can-"
"Stop that!" he interrupted her.
She swallowed, a mixture of confusion and fear arresting her.
Was this not enough?she asked herself.
It had to be. It just had to be.
"Please..." she began but she was cut off as she felt her arms in his grip while he looked at her like she wasn't offering him what ever-
"I don't want that," he said fiercely, his magic pressing against hers, making her tremble. If he wasn't holding her then, she knew she would've fallen to her knees. "I don't want you, not like that. Never!" he repeated vehemently.
"I'm sorry," she said the only thing that she thought made sense.
"You should be," he snapped, "I can't believe you Greengrass! Is this the Ice Queen of Hogwarts? Selling her body and soul to secure a bargain?"
"What?"
"What has happened to you?! Why are you so weak?"
She had a sudden flare of anger. She tried to raise her chin. "I'm not wea-"
"Of course you are!" he growled. "How dare you sell yourself like a common Knockturn alley whore?"
She struggled against him then but he refused to release her. "Let me go!"
"I will but after you listen to me, you stupid witch!" he snapped again, "Will you?"
She stopped struggling. She felt his presencecalm hers, firmly and immovably.
"What do you want?" she gritted out in a mixture of desperation and anger.
He gazed deeply into her eyes. "I don't want your body," he said, his tone gentle, "I don't ever want you thinking about that, alright?"
She couldn't believe it. She nodded, her mind whirling.
"Good," he released her then, cursing out loud and raking his fingers through his messy hair. Her heart leaping in her chest, she thought she could look at him forever.
"I want an oath from your father," he said after a long half-minute of deliberation, "I want him to promise that he'll align your house with ours. In magic. Until I break it."
Daphne felt like she would cry with happiness.
"Like a formal Oath of Fealty?" she asked in barely a whisper.
"If that is what it takes," he said firmly. "Greengrass?"
"Yes," she gulped, never taking her eyes off of him, fearing this moment would end. "Yes, I will do it."
"Good."
And then he was gone.
His magic was no longer lashing at hers so insistently and the room felt so chilly and empty. There were no emerald orbs peering at her with an intensity that made her heart leap to her throat and drop to her stomach in waves. There were no words, firm and pointed and gentle and grave that made her remember herself and her station, her pride and her heart even in the worst moments of her life. There was simply nothing.
And Daphne had not felt so simultaneously happy and dejected in her whole life.
~~ .
Pheww... this chapter took a lot of my emotional bandwith to write. How did you like it? I'll wait eagerly for your reviews. Until next time. :)
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