Author's note: This two-part interlude chapter is happening non-chronologically sometimes between "Minister for Magic" and "Lady of House Malfoy"

"Harry... Daphne... Look! I'm doing it! I'm flying!" young David Cole cried happily as he hovered above the ground on a training broom.

Harry and Daphne sat on a nearby bench, watching him. Daphne had her head resting on Harry's shoulder while he gently stroked her back. The weather was beautiful, and it was almost a perfect afternoon. Given their plans, it was also potentially the last peaceful day they would get to enjoy together for some time.

"Very good," Harry said encouragingly to the muggleborn boy. "Now try to move forward."

David nodded and pushed on the broom, making it move forward and gain altitude. He managed to go perhaps five meters before losing balance and slipping off. But instead of crashing to the ground and breaking bones, the young boy was caught by the protective charms of the training broom and safely lowered to the ground. Luckily for David, the training broom at Greengrass Manor was about a hundred years more advanced than the ones at Hogwarts, with safety features so sophisticated even a toddler could use it without risk.

Of course, at this point Harry was beginning to suspect a toddler would do better than David. "He's just so…" Harry began, unsure of the polite word to use.

"…awful," Daphne finished for him, apparently not particularly concerned with politeness. She did make sure to whisper, though, so David wouldn't overhear.

"Well... yeah," Harry admitted, watching the boy crash for what felt like the hundredth time. He wouldn't have phrased it quite like Daphne, but he had to agree it was a fair assessment. Harry wondered what the problem was. He had always thought flying was one of those skills that were hard to master but relatively easy to learn the basics of.

At least David didn't seem to mind. At this stage in his life, he was amazed by any display of magic. It was still all so new to him that he laughed even as he hovered after falling off the broom, seemingly enjoying the falls as much as the flying. Despite his lack of skill, Harry had to admit David's enthusiasm and delight in the simple things made him adorable.

Watching David play for the past half-hour, while offering advice and encouragement, made Harry wonder about the future and what it would be like to teach his own child to fly. From her comments, he knew Daphne was thinking along the same lines. "It's hard to believe, but no Greengrass has ever played Quidditch professionally," she mentioned at one point, her tone wistful and hopeful as she melted into his arms, both of them imagining their future children. The moment David wasn't looking, they shared a passionate kiss. Daphne then voiced what they had both been thinking – that with Harry's prodigious talent, there might soon be famous Quidditch players in the Greengrass family. She looked at him with intense desire as she said it, and for the first time, Harry fully appreciated what an incredible turn-on it was to have the most beautiful woman he had ever seen eager to claim his genes for her children.

'Yes. Our children will be amazing flyers,' Harry firmly decided as he held Daphne closer.

As for David, however...

"He really seems to enjoy it," Daphne noted with a sad smile. "Such a shame he's a mudblood."

Harry nodded sadly, knowing Daphne's comment wasn't entirely motivated by senseless prejudice. At least, not completely. He knew his fiancée truly cared about the young muggleborn she had rescued at the Ministry. Anyone could see how much she indulged him and how happy David was whenever Daphne came to visit. 'She's going to be an incredible mother,' Harry thought every time he saw them together, a huge smile always spreading across his face.

But even though Daphne viewed David almost like an adopted son, she had never lost sight of his blood status and what it meant for his future. She had already arranged for him to be tutored in his obligations to his superiors, just as any other muggleborn who had come to Greengrass Manor. Daphne even took time out of her insanely busy schedule to teach him personally, which David enjoyed the most. Initially, the boy had been somewhat hesitant – unsurprising, given the trauma of Azkaban – but he had since embraced Daphne's lessons with enthusiasm. Meeting Harry and seeing him with Daphne had helped a lot as well. Apparently, Harry Potter had indeed become something of a legend among the prisoners unjustly imprisoned in Azkaban.

Prisoners who had, by order of Dolores Umbridge, been recently temporarily transferred to the far more pleasant detention cells at the Ministry of Magic. The despicable woman had thankfully decided to do the smart thing and wisely obeyed Daphne's instructions to the letter. Naturally, the strange decision had raised many eyebrows, so Umbridge concocted a 200-page-long report to justify it. Harry completely hated the pink toad with every fiber of his being, but he could see why Daphne's father had kept her on retainer for so many years and why even Daphne was hesitant to get rid of her – she was simply too useful for situations like these.

Out of curiosity, Harry had tried to read the report Umbridge prepared but couldn't get beyond the title: *"Evaluative Framework for Systemic Financial Discrepancies within the Judicial and Correctional Paradigms: A Preliminary Analysis of Institutional Anomalies."*

Just thinking about the damn title gave him a headache, and he knew it would deter all but the most determined from questioning the strange decision. The rest would be tied up for at least two weeks, trying to decipher the convoluted report. By the time they realized it was complete nonsense, Harry and Daphne would have already made their move...

"What about later?" Harry asked, watching David stand up from the ground and immediately get back on his training broom with a determined expression. "Once they get physical magic into their bodies, don't they get better?"

Daphne remained silent for a moment, pondering how to answer. "They do get better at almost everything. But flying is different. It just never feels natural to them because they didn't have magical instincts as babies when their motor skills were developing. They can learn to follow their magical instincts later in life, but it's not the same. Not enough for top competitions, anyway," she explained. Seeing Harry's puzzled look, she added.

"Imagine someone born without legs, Harry. They're magically grown when the person is fourteen or fifteen. They're perfectly functional, just like regular legs, but the person still has to learn how to walk after years of crawling... after they've gotten used to crawling," she told him before posing a question. "Now, do you think such person would find it easy to become a professional runner, competing against those who've had legs from the start?"

Harry sighed audibly, looking sad. "I see…"

Daphne squeezed his hand sympathetically. "Some Quidditch teams tried experimenting with this in the past, adjusting their hiring policies to include a certain percentage of mudbloods despite their lack of skill," she said, taking him completely by surprise.

"What happened?" Harry asked, intrigued to hear Daphne talking about Quidditch, despite her usual disinterest in the sport. Though, he supposed, the point wasn't really about Quidditch but about blood status, a topic Daphne followed quite vigorously, to say the least.

"The whole team's performance suffered. They lost their competitive edge against teams that didn't have such policies," Daphne explained, shuddering. "Their fans quickly figured out where the problem lay and who was to blame, and soon after that, so did the sponsors. In the end, instead of helping mudbloods by hiring them, they only made people resent them more." She shook her head before adding, "That's why Dumbledore never pushed for any mudblood quotas, even though many of his supporters urged him to. He was smart enough to know such policies were harmful in areas where mudbloods can't compete, and unnecessary where they can."

Harry was quiet for a while, thinking about what he had just learned while holding Daphne's hand and stroking her back. It was clear forcing Quidditch teams to change their hiring policies wasn't the solution, but he still felt saddened by the fact muggleborns couldn't fully enjoy such a big part of magical culture. And he knew Daphne felt the same way, understanding enough of her philosophy to know she wanted muggleborns integrated into the magical world – albeit under pureblood control.

"Paralympics…" Harry mumbled as an idea came to him, recalling the metaphor Daphne had used to describe the muggleborns and flying.

"What's that, Harry?" Daphne asked, confused.

Harry shook his head. "Sorry," he apologized. "It's just there's this big sporting event muggles have. It's called the Olympic Games," he explained.

"Yes, I'm familiar with it. Go on, Harry," Daphne encouraged, listening with rapt attention.

Harry smiled, loving how Daphne was always genuinely interested in what he had to say, never dismissive even when she sometimes didn't happen to like what he was saying. "Well, a few years ago, they started doing a separate version of the games called the Paralympics," he explained, grateful he had once seen Aunt Petunia watching it on TV. He reckoned Petunia wasn't really interested, but thought it would make her seem more cultured in front of her female friends.

"The Paralympics are for athletes who've been injured or born with disabilities, often without legs," Harry continued. As he spoke, he saw understanding dawn on Daphne's face, but he finished his thought anyway. "What if we had something like that for muggleborns, so they can properly enjoy Quidditch? Perhaps as a follow-up to the official championships?" he asked, not sure how Daphne was going to like the idea given it was inspired by something muggles did. But then again, his pureblood supremacist fiancée did enjoy muggle fashion and recipes – as long as they'd been adapted and improved by the vastly superior magical knowledge, of course.

He needn't have worried. Judging by the slow, blossoming smile on Daphne's beautiful face, she didn't just like the idea – she loved it. "Harry, that's... brilliant!" the blonde declared, hugging him tightly.

"Really?" Harry asked, pleased by her reaction, both by the words and the hug. "And you don't mind it's a muggle idea?"

"Hm?" Daphne hummed at first, her mind already busy thinking out the finer details of his idea. Then her mind caught up with Harry's question and she shook her head resolutely. "Of course not, why would I?" she replied, sounding almost hurt by his insinuation. Then the beautiful blonde smirked triumphantly. "Besides, the Olympic Games were originally started by a Greek wizard Zeus and a bunch of his friends," Daphne explained. "They tricked Muggles into offering them tons of wine and food as sacrifices. Then, when they were all drunk, they'd amuse themselves by making the muggles jump around, hoping to earn the favour of their gods."

Harry shook his head, smiling. "Of course they did."

"For a long time, my family has sought ways to involve mudbloods in Quidditch," Daphne spoke next, already back to thinking about Harry's idea, her excitement clear. "I don't think anyone ever thought of having a separate tournament for them. To have them compete only against other mudbloods," she continued, looking increasingly pleased. "They'd finally be able to enjoy the game, and we'd bring attention to the challenges they face at the same time," she finished, looking almost giddy at the idea.

Harry smiled. "Well, I'm glad I could help, love," he said, feeling proud of himself. Seeing Daphne happy as a result of his actions was something Harry would never tire of. Just to see her so pleased was all the reward he needed. But luckily for him, Daphne believed further reward was due.

She gently touched his cheek, and he met her icy blue eyes. "Please, Harry... never stop helping," she whispered, her words a mixture of a fervent plea and a firm command, blended together in the uniquely loving way only Daphne Greengrass could manage. Either way, Harry would obey. He could say without shame pleasing and obeying Daphne was his primary goal in life. Their lips met, sealing his unspoken promise of eternal devotion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw David watching them and sniggering the way children do in such situations, but Harry didn't care. As long as he was hers, everything was perfect.

Eventually, they separated and turned to watch David, once again trying his luck with the training broom. Daphne suddenly laughed quietly, though it didn't seem to be in response to anything David had done. Before Harry could ask what it was, she explained, "I just realized there's another big upside to your idea – Granger's head is going to explode when she hears," she said, giggling again.

Months ago, the comment might have made Harry frown or even protest, but now, he merely smiled weakly, understanding exactly what Daphne meant.

"YOU CAN'T LET HER DO THIS, HARRY! BEING A MUGGLEBORN IS NOT A DISABILITY!"

It was as if he could hear Hermione's voice in his head. His former friend would never want muggleborns competing in a separate Quidditch league, even if it meant they could finally participate in the amazing game that had been one of the highlights of Harry's life. Hermione would have preferred muggleborns not play at all rather than accept the inherent limitations that came with their blood status.

Not long ago, Harry might have agreed with her – but not anymore. Not only did he no longer care what Hermione thought, but he also believed nothing good ever came from ignoring one's limitations. He thought it regrettable and unfair such limitations existed in the first place, but to do what Hermione wished – to bury one's head in the sand and pretend they didn't exist – was simply not the way forward. In Harry's view, the ideal path was to overcome limitations when possible and to adapt when not. And while he disagreed with many aspects of Daphne's attitude toward muggleborns, he felt what she proposed was much closer to this ideal path than what Hermione had wanted.

The idea of having separate Quidditch tournaments for muggleborns, acknowledging their lack of magical instincts, was a perfect example. It wasn't a reflection of how barbaric and unfair the magical world was, as Hermione would have loudly insisted. After all, even in the muggle world, men and women didn't compete together in disciplines like swimming or boxing, due to the general physical differences between the two genders. While some would see it as a step toward equality, it would only make the competition unfair and lower the enjoyment for viewers.

"You're going to see her today?" Harry asked after a moment, almost hoping Daphne would decide to cancel that plan or at least postpone it for a while longer. He knew how draining it was for Daphne to deal with someone like Hermione. He wished there was some way he could relieve her of this burden, but he couldn't. If the recent past had shown anything, it was that he shouldn't be the one making decisions about Hermione – still feeling like most of Hermione's recent actions were his fault, a result of his interference. For a long time, he had tried to protect her from Daphne, not wanting his friend to suffer just for being a muggleborn. And because Daphne loved him, she had given in to his wishes, holding herself back from unleashing the harshest of punishments. But in the end, Hermione had suffered anyway, despite his best efforts. Worse, she had tried to escape and murder them all.

"Yes, in a moment," Daphne confirmed. "There's no sense in postponing it."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I trust you. Do what you think is best," he said, deciding not to hold Daphne back anymore. Had he done so from the beginning, Hermione might have been broken into serving Daphne, but perhaps she would have been happy – helping them with the war effort and maybe even teaching David how to fly.

Upon his declaration, the pureblood girl looked at him, her eyes beaming with happiness. "Thank you, Harry," she said, touched by his trust in her. A second later, their attention was drawn forward – David had fallen off his broom again.

"Report," Daphne ordered the guard standing in front of the mudblood's cell. "Any changes?"

The man shook his head. "She's barely responding, my lady. Barely eating," he replied.

Daphne frowned but nodded. "Have nutritional potions ready, just in case," she said, and the guard nodded. "In the meantime, I wish to see her myself," she added. This time the guard gave her a small bow before unlocking and opening the door to Granger's cell. He looked inside to ensure it was safe for Daphne and then stood aside, allowing his mistress to enter. Daphne thanked him and walked forward, her head held high and her expression haughty as her heels clicked on the hard concrete floor.

Upon entering Granger's dark cell, Daphne was pleased to find no offensive smells assaulting her senses. Just because the occupant of the cell was a figurative filth didn't mean Daphne would allow her to live in literate filth. To that end, Daphne had the guards cast cleaning charms on Granger every day, as well as on the bed and the toilet, whenever the permanent hygienic charms proved insufficient. The guards were also monitoring Granger's health, as the girl wasn't getting much exercise these days, being confined to her cell at all times.

As long as Daphne was head of the family, no prisoner within Greengrass Manor would ever be mistreated by neglect, regardless of their blood status. Daphne might have them tortured, beaten, or even killed if she wished, but they would never be harmed through her lack of care. It was said a pureblood family is best judged by how they treat both friends and enemies. Daphne was determined to keep both beyond reproach. Even with an enemy like Hermione Granger, who probably deserved a coffin rather than a prison cell.

At first, Daphne blinked in surprise when she saw the bed was empty, expecting Granger to be lying or sitting there, as there was no other furniture in the room. But of course, the cell wasn't large enough for her to be difficult to find.

It seemed the brightest muggleborn witch of their generation was huddled in the corner, partially hidden from sight by squeezing herself into the gap between the foot of the bed and the wall. Granger was hugging her knees and staring blankly ahead, not reacting to Daphne's entrance. In fact, she wasn't moving at all aside from the slow rise and fall of her chest. Daphne stepped closer and looked into the girl's eyes – almost unblinking and unfocused.

A broken doll.

Daphne suppressed the urge to sigh or feel sorry for the worthless cretin, barely succeeding with the latter by reminding herself that Granger's current state, no matter how tragic, was still a vast improvement over the self-entitled, power-grasping mudblood whore she had been before coming to Greengrass Manor. Daphne could still vividly recall the desires and ambitions she had seen in Granger's mind – becoming Minister for Magic by riding on Harry's coattails and utterly ruining the magical world with her stupid mudblood ideas.

The worst part was that Hermione Granger's fantasies hadn't been mere delusions of a madwoman. If that had been the case, Daphne would have gladly let the filth proceed, knowing she'd enjoy watching her inevitable failure. But sadly, Granger's plan had been more than that. Had the war ended in a specific way, the mudblood's ambitions might have actually stood a solid chance of success as at that point, the mudblood would have been impossible to stop, even for her. Luckily for the world though, fate had intervened by delivering both Harry and Granger into Daphne's hands. Now, Harry Potter was on her side, supporting her plans. He always would be. Meanwhile, Granger was a broken shell of a woman, without family, friends, or resources of any kind. All she had left was her life, and Daphne could easily take that away too, should she wish so.

In conclusion, Daphne didn't regret having taken action against Granger, as action had to be taken. What she did regret, and bitterly so, was the wasted potential. It couldn't be denied Hermione Granger was magically powerful, and while Daphne wouldn't call her a genius, she was certainly highly intelligent and hardworking. Combine that with her tenacious personality, and the mudblood had been poised to succeed in most of her ventures by sheer force of will. Of course, it had proved to be a double-edged sword for her as it also made her an intolerable threat in the eyes of Daphne and her peers. Granger's ambitions simply couldn't be allowed to flourish uncontrolled. But if Hermione Granger had been brought under pureblood supervision, her great potential tightly controlled and directed...

Daphne had thought that was the reason Granger approached her during their first Arithmancy lesson. When Granger suddenly sat down next to her, Daphne immediately assumed one of the books she'd read had convinced her of the truth and she now wanted to submit to the Greengrass family. What other reason could there be for the mudblood to approach her? But it turned out Granger hadn't wanted to submit at all. Instead, seeing that they were the only two girls in the class, the mudblood had actually thought they could be study buddies. Daphne would never have expected that in a million years!

In retrospect, Daphne supposed the encounter had been quite innocent, even amusing in its own strange and uncomfortable way. But that was the older her, looking back on the memory with wisdom, the nostalgia of childhood and a lot of hindsight. The younger Daphne certainly hadn't found anything amusing or innocent about Granger's actions. A wild mudblood being friends with the Greengrass heiress? It was unimaginable. Insane. And that was exactly the conclusion Daphne had reached at the time – Granger was either insane or, worse, deliberately mocking her and her family. Then the girl had started insulting her family's values, and Daphne had decided it had to be the latter. From that moment, Hermione Granger became one of her least favorite people in the world.

And then the situation repeated itself years later. Only this time, the mudblood found herself brought into Daphne's home, captured and restrained like the criminal she was. Anyone with a bit of sense would recognize it as the end of the line. Anyone but Granger, that is. For some reason, instead of submitting and pleading for mercy, Granger had held her head high, clinging to her delusions of equality. It was as if she didn't realize how utterly doomed she was! Daphne found it infuriating, made even worse by the fact it was happening in her own home this time, rather than some classroom at Hogwarts. The disgust all purebloods felt toward mudbloods was multiplied several times over when the encounter occurred in what the pureblood considered their domain.

Many of Daphne's housemates at Hogwarts had suspected the Sorting Hat didn't actually sort children into Slytherin based on ambition or cunning. From the outside, their house appeared to be filled with such people, and for obvious reasons, the Slytherins did nothing to dispel that notion. But the reality was that while there were some truly ambitious and cunning people standing out, most of Daphne's house classmates were no more ambitions than students from the other houses.

What they all shared, however, were high levels of ambient magic in their bodies. Even Crabbe and Goyle, who were neither ambitious nor cunning, had a lot of physical magic. Daphne suspected the amount of magic in their bodies and how attuned they were to their magical instincts were the real factors for Slytherin sorting. After all, as Professor McGonagall had said, the houses at Hogwarts were their home and family for the next seven years.

It made sense, then, to avoid placing mudbloods – whose bodies were devoid of physical magic – in the midst of those who would be infuriated by their very existence. Especially young children, who couldn't yet control their emotional outbursts or hide their disgust. It was uncomfortable enough seeing mudbloods in classes and corridors, but bearable as long as one kept their distance and didn't have to interact with them. But to imagine someone like Hermione Granger being sorted into Slytherin, sleeping in the same room as Daphne for seven years... the thought made her nauseous. There was no doubt in Daphne's mind that Granger, or any mudblood like her, would have ended up crawling on the common room floor like a slave or been murdered within a week.

And that was why Daphne had been far more outraged than she wanted to be when Granger refused to submit and acknowledge her as her rightful superior. Had it not been for Harry, she would have executed the mudblood without a second thought for her insolence. Instead, she had proceeded with the subjugation, following the process of turning Hermione Granger into a proper mudblood as much as the unusual circumstances allowed. Daphne knew it might be impossible given Granger's age and lack of willing submission, but she had hoped the girl's intelligence might help her accept the truth when presented with overwhelming evidence.

Sadly, the opposite had happened. Instead of accepting the truth, Granger ignored it, dismissing it as propaganda, and clung even harder to her delusions. The sense of personal betrayal the girl experienced in light of Harry's relationship with Daphne hadn't helped matters either. It had all culminated in an escape attempt, during which Hermione Granger had hurt and tried to murder Daphne and her family, thus sealing her fate.

In hindsight, Daphne could have handled Granger's subjugation better. In her defense, she'd had a lot going on at the time. Perhaps if illustrious Miss Granger had been her primary focus, she wouldn't have made some of the mistakes she did. Harry, of course, blamed himself for what happened, believing the mudblood's fate was his fault for holding Daphne back from properly disciplining her. But Daphne was glad he had done that – otherwise, she might have executed Granger long ago. Ever since their ritual, Daphne had been able to see the situation through Harry's morals and knew killing the mudblood for refusing to submit would have been wrong. It might have made things easier and avoided the disaster of her escape, but it would still have been wrong. Of course, seeing Hermione Granger huddled on the floor, staring into nothing, one could argue death would have been a kinder fate for her.

Or so it would seem.

If there was one thing Daphne had learned, it was to never underestimate Hermione Granger – her intelligence, her cunning, or her resilience. In fact, Daphne suspected being a mudblood with no physical magic was the only reason Granger hadn't been sorted into Slytherin.

"I've been inside your mind far too many times, Granger," Daphne spoke calmly as she stood over the seemingly broken girl. "I know how you think. How you react to certain situations," she continued, still eliciting no visible reaction from the mudblood. Granger didn't even blink. Daphne smirked and leaned closer, touching the mudblood's chin with two fingers. "You may have fooled my guards, but I know you, mudblood," she said quietly but firmly, lifting Granger's head and meeting her eyes.

Then she let go abruptly and stood up straight. "Cut this act right now, because I'm not buying it," Daphne ordered imperiously. "If you don't, I'll give you a real reason to be broken," she warned, her voice menacing.

For a moment, Granger didn't react and continued staring ahead. Daphne could almost see the hidden wheels turning in the mudblood's head as she tried to gauge whether Daphne was bluffing. Eventually, she realized Daphne wasn't. Or perhaps she simply decided it wasn't worth the risk. In any case, the mudblood blinked and very slowly looked up at Daphne.

"Please... no more..." Hermione Granger croaked in a weak, defeated voice.