Nothing is mine.

Harry does some rather unseemly things to a fish, and avoids a long and painful conversation with Hermione.

Longing to See the Shade of Death

An almost manic cheer bubbled within the Great Hall, bouncing back from its bright blue ceiling of summer sky; it was a chaotic cacophony of laughter, clattering cutlery and conversation that filled the room completely and spilt out down the corridor and away into the morning sunlight beyond the tall windows. From where Harry sat, peeling the skin off the back of his kipper in thin strips about midway along the Gryffindor Table, the noise surrounded him, swallowing everything up like settling snow.

'Mate, what are you doing to that fish?' Ron asked.

Harry grinned. 'It's being Reborn in Death at my hand, Ronald. Aileni yn marvoleth.'

'Sure...'

'I don't think you're really respecting my red crayon sculpture here,' he said, impaling the smoked kipper on his knife and dangling it upside down over his plate. 'See? This is way less creepy than Voldemort's version, you know.'

The thin tatters of skin swayed beneath its head like little grey ribbons.

'Are you going to eat it?'

'Yes.' Harry set it down, slicing a piece off and stabbing it with his fork. 'I was making the most of Hermione's distraction; while she reads the paper we are free from her tyranny, Ronald.'

Ron sniggered as Hermione lowered the Daily Prophet to glare at Harry,

'Have you read this?' she demanded. 'This utter rubbish?'

'No.' Harry ate his piece of smoked fish with a smile. 'Are there any funny bits in there about me again? Maybe something about Umbridge ending up as jam?'

Hermione shook her head and dropped the paper beside her plate. 'Umbridge dying is mentioned as an accident on page twenty one.'

'I bet if she'd made it an Educational Decree, they'd have put it on the front page again.' Harry laughed to himself, snagging the raspberry jam and a rack of toast. 'And, speaking of jam, I rather fancy some.'

She huffed her cheeks out at him. 'The Ministry is still not acknowledging the fact that Voldemort is back. They're claiming that Bellatrix Lestrange is leading his old followers now.'

'She was there,' he replied. 'I met her.'

'You… met Bellatrix Lestrange?'

'Well, it was more of a duel, really. I tried to disarm her, she went all something I still can't remember how to pronounce and tried to slice me up; when she wasn't talking about her boobs, that is.'

Hermione choked on her croissant.

'I know, you'd think, after being in Azkaban for ages, she'd be in rubbish shape like Sirius was, but she's not, and everything she wears is skin-tight, so you can tell.'

'Please tell me she's not blonde,' Hermione said to Ron.

Ron shook his head. 'Nah, she's got dark hair.'

Hermione released a long sigh of relief. 'Oh thank god for that.'

'What?' Harry asked.

'Because, now you've broken up with Greengrass—'

'We weren't dating, she said so.' He glanced across at the Slytherin table, but to his slight frustration, found only Astoria hunched over her breakfast on the far end of the table. 'Also… she might speak to me again… one day. Maybe. It has only been a week and a bit since she stopped talking to me.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'I was just worried you had decided to one up yourself from having a massive crush on the blonde Pure-blood who believes Voldemort should kill me, my family, and millions of people to another blonde Pure-blood who not just believes that but is helping him do it.'

Harry mulled that over. 'She's not blonde.'

'Yes,' she retorted, her tone dripping with acid, 'because that's the biggest issue there.'

'Daphne doesn't really believe that—' he watched Hermione's eyebrows rise '—probably. She just wants someone to save her sister from the curse.'

'What curse? Heterochromia? Astoria is absolutely fine.'

'I think there's more to it than that,' Harry said. 'But I'm not telling you what she said, because she's already furious with me because I didn't take her to get nearly diced by Bellatrix Lestrange for a prophecy that didn't mean anything anyway and was apparently given by Trelawney, so if it's anything like her teacup readings about death, it's all wrong anyway.' For a moment, he recalled the endless hunger of the shadow beyond the stars, the dying light of the setting sun in her eye, and that sharp, much too wide smile. 'Probably.'

'It's probably just got more horrible extremist religious nonsense in it,' Hermione muttered. 'At least you've stopped answering our questions about what happened with increasingly ridiculous stories about time-turners, and secret Ministry labs full of inferi and cartoon vampires.'

'Not vampires, Hermione, jampires. It's a crucial distinction, just ask Umbridge...' Harry slathered raspberry jam across his slice of toast. 'No, it wasn't really to do with that stuff. Daphne doesn't actually want to murder anyone — except me, right now, I think.'

'Of course not.' Sarcasm poured from her words.

'It wasn't.' Harry waved his jam-smeared knife at Ron. 'Anyway, Ronald, where was I?'

'Here?'

'No, I was relating the story of my most recent adventure.'

'You're starting to sound like Lockhart, mate.'

'Oh no,' Harry whispered. 'Someone keep Hermione away from me, we know she can't resist that man's charms; I might be in danger of her attempting to seduce me. Probably with dark magic. Or the special latin translation of Hogwarts; A History, every girl's first choice for romance tips.'

Hermione fixed him with a long glare. 'You were talking about Bellatrix Lestrange.'

'Her boobs.' He nodded. 'Yes. Well, no, actually, I was just mentioning them in passing. Anyway, I was there, and they were there waiting for me, because it was, as I knew all along, a trap—'

'You didn't know, I told you it would be and you ignored me!' Hermione cried.

'I have no recollection of this,' Harry said, grinning to himself as two little patches of furious pink rose on Hermione's cheeks. 'But Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix were there. I refused to take the prophecy off the shelf, because I didn't want to, so Bellatrix agreed to duel me. And then I accidentally dropped the entire shelf of prophecies on Lucius Malfoy's head.'

Ron sniggered. 'Good work, mate.'

'Bellatrix thought it was funny too.' Harry took a bite of his toast and munched on it. 'Anyway, I tried the Disarming Charm, quite a few times actually, but it didn't work at all, and then she decided she was going to kill me and did her first-class auror thing—'

'Oh.' Ron turned a little pale. 'Er… how are you still alive, mate?'

'Sirius turned up just as she was about to cut my head off and apparently she thought it was more important to kill him for being a Blood-Traitor than me.' Harry thought about it for a moment. 'Maybe she didn't think she'd have time to do both or something.'

Hermione's brown eyes widened. 'You were still there when…?'

'When what?'

'When Sirius was killed,' she hissed.

'Oh, that, yes. I was standing right there.' Harry took another large bite of his toast. 'Professor Dumbledore turned up and took me back to Hogwarts right afterward, though.'

'Are you okay?' Hermione reached across the table and took his hand. 'He was your godfather. Oh—' tears brimmed in her brown eyes '—and I've been horrible to you this morning again.'

'It's fine.' He finished his toast. 'I'm going to go and wait out there for Daphne now.'

'Not again,' Ron muttered.

'What?' Hermione shook her head. 'No. Harry, you can't just avoid talking about it.'

'I'm not avoiding anything,' he retorted. 'Daphne's avoiding me.'

'No—' a flash of exasperation passed through her brown eyes '—are you even upset?'

'Not really.' He grinned. 'I'm actually feeling fairly cheerful, give or take the Daphne thing.'

'He's dead, Harry. He's gone.'

'Not gone,' Harry replied. 'He's just changed. He's part of everything now. He'd like that, I think, to be so free. I kind of imagine him running around in his animagus form somewhere nice and green and peaceful. With my dad and mum, and I guess probably quite a few of his old friends.'

Hermione's forehead creased into a deep frown. 'Something is wrong with you.'

'Yeah, yeah, I know,' he said, standing up. 'My mother was—'

'Not that!' she snapped. 'Something is wrong with you. You don't take anything seriously, Harry. You've changed. Umbridge leapt seven floors to her death and you made a joke about cartoon vampires!'

'Well—' Harry did his absolute utmost not to think about her and the bargain he'd struck in his dream because he rather felt he just didn't want to contemplate the possibility '—if I have, it wasn't Daphne. Who I'm going to go and wait for outside in the hope she's less mad at me now, because it's the summer solstice today and normally she likes to invite me to things on days like this, but she might be too angry to come and find me, even if she still wants to do it...'

Hermione growled. 'Go run off to chase her, then, but don't think just because term ends in a couple of weeks that you can avoid this conversation until summer, Harry.'

He abandoned Gryffindor Table before Hermione decided to come with him and prove herself right, and drifted out, ducking into the gap between the two suits of armour, and watching the small groups of students passing back and forth along the corridor.

'You need to stop doing this,' Daphne murmured behind him.

He twisted on his heel and found her standing there in the gloom of the passage with her head cocked to one side like a curious crow. Her blonde hair hung loose about her shoulders, half cascading free in half-curls and half woven into a few slim braids tied together at the tips with the thin stems of little bunches of small red flowers, leaving the crimson crescent moon to swing free beneath her left earlobe. That one wild lock hanging over her pretty nose fluttered with each breath she took, a trembling ribbon of gold.

'Hi,' Harry said through the stirring storm of butterflies. 'Are you still unreasonably angry with me? It's the summer solstice, so…'

Her blue eyes froze over bit by bit.

'Sorry?'

'Sorry,' Daphne repeated, stepping out of the passage a moment before it sealed itself shut. 'You are sorry?'

'Yes?'

'Are you telling me or asking me?'

'Right now it feels a little bit like both,' he said, 'but more telling, I think; it'd be silly to ask you about what I'm feeling, right?'

'Why are you sorry?'

'For not letting you come with me without a wand to get, as a very disturbed house elf would say, maimed or grievously injured.' Harry scratched the back of his neck. 'I, you know, kind of miss you appearing out of nowhere or taking me off to do your weird cult things that Hermione insists are really dates. And I miss you enough to apologise for not taking you to fight Bellatrix Lestrange without a wand, so, that's a lot, because that would've been a pretty stupid thing to do.'

'I think you should stop talking,' Daphne murmured. 'You are not sorry.'

'I'm sorry you're angry with me,' Harry tried.

'You miss me—' a strange, almost hungry gleam flashed through her eyes '—that is what you said. You miss me.'

'I do,' he confessed, through a cloud of butterflies that were, in his opinion, really not very good at choosing their moment to start flapping around all over the place inside him. 'Even the times you appear right next to my bed much earlier in the morning than I want to be awake to show me something beautiful. And today is the summer solstice, so…'

'What if there is no celebration today?'

'Oh.' Some of the butterflies went down, deflated like loosely tied balloons. 'Is that true or are you just saying it to keep avoiding me?'

'I am not avoiding you.'

'You are.'

'I am not.' Daphne turned her pretty nose up. 'I was just busy.'

'Busy…?'

'Yes.'

'With what? The year is basically over.'

'Being angry at you.'

'Okay…'

'You are not supposed to send me away,' she whispered, 'not after the other things you said to me. You were supposed to take me with you.'

'I'll take you the next time I try to steal a prophecy,' Harry promised. 'I just… usually I go off and many dangerous things happen and I'm always just about fine. But you…'

'I would have been fine.'

'I think Bellatrix might have chopped you up,' he said. 'She was scarily good at chopping things up. Those benches will never be the same again. Or my godfather, for that matter, although actually she didn't slice him up, she just hit him with a spell that may or may not have braided his intestines together.'

'You are ridiculous,' Daphne murmured, sweeping her hair back over her shoulders with the faintest hint of a smile.

'Your hair looks really nice.' Harry tried to bite his tongue but it kept going, swept away by the rush of relief and joy at that smile, and the foolish grin that crept across his face with it. 'I like the flowers.'

'They are Dianthus flowers.' She cupped one small sphere of red flowers in the palm of her hand. 'Dianthus Cruentus, to be specific. I made this earring this morning.'

'Where did you get them from?'

'I had them posted from home to me. Normally, I would pick them from my garden at home in the morning, but I cannot do that here.' Daphne's eyes found his; they were clear of frost now, bright and blue, but still clinging to just a touch of chill like an early spring sky. 'I like flowers.'

'You like flowers.' Harry committed that to memory, hoping, all of a sudden, that it would be important he didn't forget. 'Red flowers?'

'Yes.' The last of that chill faded from her gaze, swallowed by a strange, wild spark. 'Red is the colour of Autumn, of sacrifice, of life.'

'But you're supposed to like green,' Harry objected. 'And silver. And be mildly evil.'

The corner of her mouth twitched. 'I like red; I like green as well, but red is my favourite colour.'

'You didn't deny the mildly evil part, I notice.' He stroked his long and very imaginary beard. 'Telling.'

'Hush, Harry,' Daphne murmured.

'Yes, Lady Greengrass. This lowly half-blood doth beg thy forgiveness, please don't set Hermione on me — she's actually already mad at me for going to the Ministry, for telling her nothing about what happened for a week other than fighting jampires, and not being depressed and broody.'

'Jam…pires?' Daphne's dimples burst to life with her small, impish grin. 'You are the most ridiculous boy, Harry. And how many times have I told you that by any real estimation you are Pure-blooded?'

'Several?' Harry shrugged. 'I don't really care, though.'

'Neither do I.' Daphne dipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out a black-feathered quill with a silver tip. 'It will be summer soon, Harry.'

'I know, you made me walk all the way up to that shrine to celebrate it.'

'The summer holidays.'

'Right. Also those. Yes.'

'Today is Choroní Gwyl Étayn,' she murmured. 'The Feast of Étayn's Crowning, but after today there is no celebration until Heol Gwyl Céimnyth, The Day of the Waning Sun, in August.'

'In August.'

'Yes.' Daphne pressed the piece of parchment against the wall and wrote something in an elegant, looping script. 'So to celebrate that one with me, you will have to come and visit.'

'Visit—' the rest of the words got snatched from the tip of his tongue by the ambush of countless fluttering butterflies.

'Yes.' She held out the thin piece of parchment. 'I know that you can use the Floo by yourself, so this will suffice.'

Harry's eyes dropped to the words on it, written in a script that rather reminded him of Aunt Petunia's favourite BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. 'Whitefern Oast?'

'Yes. My home.'

'And it's fine for me to come visit? Because Astoria seemed pretty worried about, I don't know, your parents or something like that.'

'It is fine.' Daphne's lips curved up into a faint smile. 'You must write to me before you come, though.'

'Of course,' Harry blurted. 'And today, are we…?'

'We are going to celebrate the Feast of Étayn, Lady of the Summer and the Sun, and the brightest moment of the year, when she comes of age and is crowned.' Daphne reached out and took his hand, slipping her warm fingers through his. 'At the moment of her crowning, she unfurled wings of radiant sunlight, so bright and beautiful that all who beheld them were enchanted by her, and Briganti herself declared that Étayn would be queen upon her passing, but that no moment would be more beautiful than this.'

'Does sound pretty spectacular,' Harry said. 'I assume they weren't bat wings, though. Those would be at least mildly evil.'

'They are butterfly wings,' she whispered, leading him out and into the warmth of summer. 'Of sunlight alone. She was borne aloft on wings of Summer splendour, for Étayn's pure beauty and power was unparalleled; her Summer, paradise.'

The Black Lake shone; a sparkling expanse of liquid silver full of countless small flashes of sunlight reflecting back off its gentle waves. Swathes of lavender-flowering heather covered the slopes above it, rising up to where the hills, crowned with gold-blooming, dark gorse, met the blue sky and the small, fleeting white clouds drifting beside the sun there.

'Butterfly wings are quite a bit prettier than bat wings.' Harry frowned. 'But if Étayn is so beautiful and powerful, why is it Spring you all want and not Summer?'

'Because Spring is the new beginning we all crave, the fresh start our world needs; it is what we were promised, it is eternal youth, unfading, undying, never waning, and Summer, as you will hear, is not,' Daphne murmured. 'For when Étayn heard her mother's words about her beauty never being greater than this moment, she asked her father, Beal, the god of foresight, to declare her mother's assertion false, that this would not be the best moment of her life and her beauty would continue to grow. But… Beal foresaw instead that the beauty of the sun would wane; it would wane until a goddess died. This day is also known as Amzyr Drazyezi Étayn, The Time of the Tragedy of Étayn, and for the rest of the year, we revere The Tragedy of Étayn as it unfolds before us.'

'So what do we do?' Harry asked as they wandered through the long green grass at the edge of the school toward the Black Lake and the narrow path up toward Briganti's shrine, its spring, and its small blackthorn grove.

'We make a small bonfire on the top of the hill; we have a little feast to celebrate; and—' Daphne's blue eyes caught alight with that wild spark of hunger '—we dance together around the fire.'

The butterflies returned with a vengeance, a tickling, tingling tornado swirling in the pit of his stomach. 'Do we have to dance… well?' he asked. 'Because that might be more than I can honestly promise you. The Yule Ball really showcased just about every drop of dancing talent I had, and it is exactly no drops.'

'I know the dance, but I have never danced it with anyone before. We will learn together in the beautiful light of Étayn Marv, Étayn the Doomed.' Daphne's grip on his hand tightened and her voice dropped to a whisper as soft as snow but full of fierce yearning. 'Together in the sun...'

AN: Loads more via the linktree (of this and other things!)

linktr . ee / mjbradley