Cavorting with Death

Enjoy...

Chapter 14

CwD

Dumbledore poured a generous measure of amber liquid into a glass, sliding it across the desk. He watched as Snape downed it in one swift gulp, his hand trembling ever so slightly. Without a word, Dumbledore refilled the glass.

"Severus... what happened?"

Snape leaned back in his chair; his pallid features drawn tighter than usual.

"Dearborn. That turncoat was captured."

"Caradoc?" Dumbledore's eyes widened, genuine shock flashing across his usually composed face.

Snape gave a curt nod. "Caught by Gibbon, though how that idiot managed it is beyond me. Gibbon can barely locate his own wand most days, let alone a man who vanished so effectively over ten years ago."

"I see."

Dumbledore's tone was measured, but the weight of the revelation settled heavily over the room. He hesitated, dreading the answer to the unspoken question.

"He's dead," Snape said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "The Dark Lord made an example of him. It was... brutal. Expect to see his foot strewn about somewhere for the public to find."

"I will notify those on patrol…" Dumbledore's shoulders sagged under the burden of the news. He took a deep breath, his expression grave. "Did he reveal anything before...?"

"I don't know," Snape replied, his hand tightening around the glass. "By the time we were brought in, he was already a corpse. The Dark Lord wasn't taking chances. It wasn't about information – it was a warning."

The room fell silent, save for the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth.

"I don't blame Caradoc for leaving," Dumbledore said quietly. "He was a good man. A brave man, who once upon a time, undertook a perilous mission."

Snape's jaw tightened. "The same mission you've assigned to me."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, and he leaned forward slightly. "We've had this conversation before, Severus. You gave me your word."

Snape muttered something under his breath, sliding his empty glass across the desk. Dumbledore refilled it, his movements steady.

"And Potter?" Snape asked, his tone darkening.

Dumbledore brightened slightly, though the shift was subtle. "Alastor and Filius was not wrong. Harry has made remarkable progress over the summer. Our lessons have begun, and we are to meet weekly. His potential is extraordinary, just as I have always known."

"You feed is ego." Snape sneered, his expression twisting with malice. "The boy is insufferable – arrogant, entitled, and delusional enough to think himself untouchable. He struts around this castle as if he owns it, no doubt encouraged by your constant coddling."

"Enough, Severus." Dumbledore's voice was sharp, the authority in it unmistakable. "Your personal grievances do not justify such venom."

Snape ignored the rebuke, pressing on with unbridled disdain.

"Do you know what they call him now, Headmaster? The Chosen One." He snorted. "It's a wonder his head doesn't float clean off his shoulders from the sheer size of it. And let us not forget his most recent development – skipping my classes entirely, as if they are beneath him!"

"I admit, I was not aware of that. Rest assured; he will attend your classes hence forth. I will ensure of it. But I will no longer tolerate your contempt, Severus. Harry is not the boy you believe him to be."

"He is exactly as I believe him to be!" Snape spat. "A spoiled, reckless brat who hides behind his fame and the privilege of his bloodline just like his blessed father. Save me your delusions of grandeur, Albus. The Dark Lord's power is incontestable and continues to grow. No foolish child especially Potter, no matter how much you prepare him, could ever hope to match him."

Dumbledore's tone hardened further, his gaze piercing. "I think Harry has faced more challenges in his young life than most wizards could endure in a lifetime and I think you heavily underestimate him, Severus. I know that one day, Harry will grow into a wizard unlike this world has ever seen and I pray your eyes have opened by then. You may not like him, but at the very least, you will speak of him with the respect due to a student under my direct tutelage. Is that understood?"

Snape's lip curled, but he said nothing, gripping his glass so tightly it seemed on the verge of shattering.

"The Dark Lord is less than pleased with Potter's new titles," he muttered after a moment.

Dumbledore tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. "Which one?"

Snape growled low in his throat. "All of them. But he's particularly fixated on one—connected to his own family."

Dumbledore's expression grew solemn. "Battle Mage."

"You've known," Snape accused, his eyes narrowing.

The old man took a measured sip from his own glass before setting it down with a soft clink.

"There were whispers long ago," Dumbledore began, his voice distant, as though recalling fragments of an old, half-forgotten memory. "The Potters were said to possess an ancient affinity for magic far older and deeper than the norm. Yet nothing was ever proven."

Snape's brow arched; scepticism etched across his features. "And how, exactly, did you confirm it?"

Dumbledore exhaled slowly, his expression growing wistful. "William Potter. A remarkable man and a dear friend, once upon a time."

"He taught Charms here at Hogwarts," He continued, his tone softening as though reliving those days. "We met when I took up the post of Transfiguration professor. William had an… inflexible personality, to put it kindly, but brilliant, nonetheless. We became fast friends."

The wistfulness in Dumbledore's voice faded, replaced by something heavier. "When the people of Britain were called to war, he took up arms without nary a thought. When I… refused, we fell out of contact."

There was a pause, the weight of unspoken regret settling between them.

"It was the last we spoke. Only a week after, I learned of his death. Felled at the hands of Gellert."

Snape looked surprised. "Grindelwald killed him?"

Dumbledore inclined his head, his features sombre.

"William was formidable. From what I learned, he devastated Gellert's forces, forcing him to intervene personally. The accounts I've seen, the memories of those who fought alongside him… the spells William unleashed were extraordinary. Magic I had never witnessed before."

Snape's gaze flickered with something unreadable as he processed the revelation, but Dumbledore pressed on.

"Charlus, his son, followed in his footsteps when he came of age. Vengeance burned in him, but he was disciplined, and his skill surpassed even William's. It was then I realised the Potters held a power – a secret their family guarded fiercely."

His voice turned quiet. "It was only recently, after the battle at the Tonks' when my mind returned back to that time so long ago and I couldn't help but wonder – has that power awakened in Harry too?"

Dumbledore gestured toward a slumbering portrait hanging in the corner, its frame heavy with age. Beneath it, the name Fytherley Undercliffe was engraved in worn gold letters.

"Fytherley fought in the Goblin War of 1012. During his service, he reportedly encountered foreign Battle Mages – mercenaries hired to turn the tide against the Goblins. Regrettably, he did not reveal much or more so, refused to, but he did however confirm one identifying trait. That all Battle Mages have – "

" – Markings." Snape interrupted; his voice low. "Rookwood also discovered it, claiming he sought out a man who fought with this William Potter during the Great War. The Dark Lord saw the memory and looked troubled."

Dumbledore's frown deepened. "Rookwood's ability to uncover secrets is disconcerting. Nevertheless, I cannot say definitively that Harry is a Battle Mage. He has revealed no such magic in our lessons, and I am hesitant to broach the subject. Charlus likely coached him against revealing anything of the sort. It has likely been a protected secret of old within the Potters."

Snape let out a derisive snort. "Of course. Potter – the chosen heir to every precious secret. Meanwhile, the rest of us are left to scrape by on the crumbs of his supposed wisdom."

"Severus." Dumbledore's voice rang out with warning.

Snape glared but said no more, though his displeasure was evident. "Why would such a secret be kept hidden?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully as he considered the question. "From what I gathered from old scripts, Battle Mages were once a force to be reckoned with. Their magic was not merely potent, it was transformative. A single Battle Mage could tip the scales of war, turning the tide of a losing battle with terrifying efficiency."

"They were feared." Snape said with a slow nod.

"Indeed. Most were hired as mercenaries. When opposing kingdoms got word of such a formidable foe, they were hunted down and slaughtered."

"Not the Potters," a raspy voice broke through the silence, coarse as grinding stone.

Both men turned sharply toward the painting, its stillness now alive with a stirring presence.

"Fytherley?" Dumbledore's voice was measured but edged with unease.

The old man in the portrait sat up with deliberate slowness, his frail frame belying the sharpness in his eyes. They glinted unnervingly, as if gazing into something neither Snape nor Dumbledore could see—a truth too ancient and too dangerous to fully grasp.

"They were not like the others," Fytherley rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it seemed to fill the room. "They were guardians. Protectors of the realm."

A chill crept up Dumbledore's spine, cold and relentless, as he stared at the portrait of Hogwarts' oldest Headmaster after the Founders.

"Guardians?" Snape echoed, his frown deepening.

"Heralded from a village," Fytherley continued, his words dragging the past into the present like a spectre rising from the grave. "A place of warriors. The same village where my predecessor was born."

Dumbledore's breath caught. "Godric's Hollow…" he whispered, his voice almost reverent, the name trembling on his lips.

Fytherley's gaze snapped to Dumbledore, his eyes now searing, piercing through the veil of time. "But they were not known as the Potters then… no… they held another… a name far more ancient, far more dangerous… the Cavorters of Death."

The words hung in the air, a foreboding silence stretching taut as if the very walls were holding their breath.

…

…

…

The oppressive stillness was shattered by a shrill screech. Fawkes, the immortal bird, spread his wings wide, the air trembling with the power of his cry. His feathers burned brighter, casting long, flickering shadows across the room.

The Elder Wand beneath Dumbledore's sleeve stirred against his skin, vibrating faintly, almost alive, as if it had felt the weight of the conversation. His hand moved instinctively to the wand, gripping it tightly as goosebumps raced over his arms and a million thoughts ran through his mind.

"He's summoning me."

"W-What?" Dumbledore's head snapped toward him, his expression breaking from shock to sharp focus.

"The Dark Lord," Snape clarified, his face pale, his free hand clutching his forearm as if to suppress the pain searing through the Dark Mark. "I must go."

Dumbledore turned back toward Fytherley's portrait, but the old Headmaster had already closed his eyes, retreating into his painted slumber. The cryptic revelation lingered like smoke in the air, impossible to dispel.

"Very well," Dumbledore eventually said, his voice low but edged with steel. His gaze bore into Snape, the weight of unspoken questions pressing down on the room. "And Draco? Has Tom finally revealed the boy's mission?"

The greasy haired man stood up and shook his head. "No. Only that I pick up the pieces in case he is to fail."

Dumbledore leaned back into his chair; his features troubled. "It is unlike Tom to withhold the details of a plan, especially one of such importance. Yet he ensures you are prepared to act in Draco's place if necessary. It leaves us blind and unable to anticipate his next move."

"I suspect the Dark Lord will reveal his intentions to me soon," Snape replied, his voice grim. "I have been monitoring Draco, but I believe he's grown aware of my scrutiny. His movements have become erratic, his actions increasingly secretive. I cannot determine what he's been tasked with, and that makes the situation all the more precarious."

The wizened wizard nodded slowly. "As we have discussed, Severus, whatever mission Draco has been given is a test – both for him and for you. Tom's suspicions of your allegiance will only be laid to rest if you demonstrate unwavering loyalty in this matter."

"If his mission is to kill you then I will do no such thing!" Snape hissed, slamming his hands down on the table.

Dumbledore sighed but his eyes sharpened. "We will not revisit this argument, Severus. My position on the matter has not changed."

" – And you expect me to spend the rest of my life rotting in Azkaban for it?" Snape shot back; his voice shrill with bitterness.

"I have already told you that I have taken steps to ensure that you will succumb to no such fate."

For a moment, the two men locked eyes, an unspoken battle of wills playing out in the charged silence.

Snape winced again.

"I must go."

"Go."

Dumbledore watched Snape sweep from the room, the door closing with a soft click. He let out a weary sigh, pulling off the glove that concealed his cursed hand and studied it carefully. The dark, thorn-like streaks had now encroached on the edges of his palm and he knew his time was slowly beginning to run out.

"I continue to question your sanity for ever employing such a pissant, Dumbledore."

"Phineas, how uncouth!" Dilys Derwent snapped, her usually kind expression marred by disapproval. "Whatever his flaws, Professor Snape is a dedicated – "

"A dedicated what, Dilys?" Cut in Everard, his heavy brow arched in scepticism. "A dedicated misanthrope? The man oozes disdain for anyone who dares to breathe in his vicinity."

The other portraits, who had been pretending to sleep or feign disinterest, began chiming in, their voices overlapping in a growing cacophony.

"A foul temper and a fouler mouth!"

"Not to mention his sheer lack of decorum!"

" – So he has a sharp tongue… his qualifications however, do not deny his capability!"

"Everyone!" Dumbledore said with a raised voice, quelling the voices immediately. "Despite Severus' difficult personality, there is no doubt that he has my unwavering trust."

Phineas scoffed loudly. "Potter's claim on the Black's aside… if I were alive and Snape had the gall to insult the Lord of my former house in my presence, I would have strung him up by his balls in the dungeon!"

The sudden crudeness caused a collective gasp from several portraits. "Phineas!" Heliotrope Wilkins exclaimed, scandalised, while Everard and a few others burst into laughter.

Dumbledore merely shook his head, his expression faintly amused but also weary. "Thankfully, your methods during your tenure are no longer at Hogwarts, Phineas."

"Your past has made you weak, Dumbledore," Phineas sneered. "If you had even the slightest semblance of the ruthlessness that Grindelwald once held, you would not be in this mess."

The room fell silent, the playful murmurs of the other portraits extinguished as if doused with icy water. Even the most outspoken headmasters had no reply to the biting remark.

Dumbledore's face remained calm, but his eyes flickered with something deeper – something heavy and worn. He closed his eyes, letting out a soft sigh as his mind drifted, unbidden, to days long past. In the depths of memory, he saw pale blonde hair glinting in the summer sun, a pair of enchanting blue eyes filled with fire and promise, and a voice that once offered him the world and nothing less.

"Perhaps you're right…" he murmured, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the crackling of the fire.

Fawkes shifted on his perch, letting out a low and mournful trill.

"There is no perhaps, Dumbledore." The former headmaster retorted. "Grindelwald may have been a madman, but he understood power, and power is what will – "

"Power is a means, not an end." Dumbledore interrupted. "Gellert knew this but chose to ignore it. I will not make the same mistake."

"And Potter?" Heliotrope Wilkins spoke up hesitantly, her voice soft but trembling with curiosity. "You said it yourself, Albus – that he will become a wizard unlike any this world has ever seen."

"Harry is different from Tom and Gellert," Dumbledore replied, though a faint edge of frustration coloured his voice. "He walks a path they never could."

"I must disagree, Albus." The voice of Armando Dippet was quiet, almost reluctant, but carried the weight of his years. "I may have been blind before, but even I cannot deny that there is a certain… personality in Mr Potter, one I've seen in only one other."

"Poppycock!" Dilys Derwent scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. "It's nothing more than teenage hormones! Every single one of us has seen it in our students before."

"You were coincidently napping when Albus showed us the photographs of that Yaxley fellow's demise, Dilys." Antonia Creaseworthy interjected; her tone as crisp as parchment. "No ordinary student could incite such violence – certainly not like Potter did to Yaxley even if he deserved it."

"Precisely!" Brutus Scrimgeour barked, jabbing an accusatory finger at Dumbledore, whose weary expression deepened. "How can you sit there, Albus, and claim your boy is unlike Tom Riddle or Gellert Grindelwald after what you yourself witnessed that day – when Phineas' blood was attacked at her residence?"

"She is no blood of mine!" Phineas snapped, his face darkening as he sat upright in his portrait, his air of detachment replaced with fiery indignation. "Do not dare sully the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black by calling that girl kin to me!"

" – Harry Potter begs to differ. He is the new Lord Black after all, Phineas." Elizabeth Burke smirked, receiving a twisted scowl from the man.

Dumbledore raised a hand to silence the rising tension in the room, though his expression betrayed his growing exhaustion.

"Harry's actions were neither premeditated nor malicious. He defended himself and others in the face of an unprovoked attack. That does not make him a reflection of Tom or Gellert. Even Perenelle has seen him for herself. Her intuition is never wrong."

"Despite the Lady Flamel's gift of foresight, it is still a dangerous gamble, Albus. To wield such potential and not know one's own boundaries. You know as well as I do that it can tip either way. Especially now after learning of this whole Battle Mage spectacle…" Dippet said softly.

The room fell into a tense silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound. Even Fawkes remained still, his bright eyes watching his master intently.

"I know," Dumbledore admitted at last, his voice heavy with the weight of his responsibility. "But I will not give up on him. Not now, not ever. Harry's path is still his own to walk, and I will do everything in my power to ensure he does not fall. I have failed him once and I will not do so again. Never."

Phineas snorted, folding his arms. "Hope is a fragile thing to rest on, Dumbledore. Nevertheless, I am not worried. The Black Magic chose him for a reason. I have full confidence that the House of Black will rise again from where it was once buried and if Potter has to dismember foolish sycophants in his way to do so, then so be it."

The bold declaration hung in the air, drawing annoyed glances from several of the other portraits.

"Maybe," Dumbledore eventually said, his gaze steady as it swept across the room, "but it is hope that has always been our greatest weapon. And I believe in Harry. More than anyone."

CwD

September 9th, 1996

"Excellent work as always, Miss Patil."

"Thank you, Professor." Padma smiled as Professor McGonagall moved on to Lisa Turpin.

At their table, Ron watched McGonagall's progress with a mixture of dread and restlessness, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the desk. Hermione's sharp eyes caught the movement.

"Ron?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"M'fine," he muttered, refusing to meet her gaze. His attention remained fixed on the stern figure of their professor, who was now nearing their table.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall said crisply, sorting through the stack of parchment rolls in her hand. She plucked one out – thicker than most – and handed it to Hermione. "Six inches longer than required…"

Hermione gave a sheepish smile, her cheeks tinged pink.

"…but, as always, exemplary work," McGonagall concluded, her tone softening ever so slightly. She handed the parchment to Hermione, who beamed.

"Thank you, Professor!"

McGonagall nodded, then turned to Ron, who had gone pale. Her eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinizing him in a way that made him squirm. Finally, she selected a thinner roll and extended it toward him.

"An inch and a half less than I requested," she remarked, her nose wrinkling slightly. Ron braced himself for the inevitable critique, but then, to his utter shock, McGonagall continued, "And yet, I must admit I am pleasantly surprised, Mr. Weasley."

Ron blinked. "Er…what?"

Her lips curved into a rare smile. "You ought to be proud, Weasley," she said, patting his shoulder lightly. "Keep this up." With that, she moved on to the next table.

Still frozen in place, Ron stared at the parchment in his hands. His eyes widened as they landed on the bold lettering at the top:

Exceeds Expectations

Hermione's frown deepened. "Ron? Are you all right?"

Wordlessly, he slid the essay across the table to her. Hermione's eyebrows shot up as she read the grade.

"Wow, Ronald," she whispered, clearly stunned. "This is…incredible."

Ron glanced down at the desk, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. "He was right…"

"Who was right?"

"Bill," Ron said, his voice quiet. "We had a chat this summer, after he moved back to the Burrow with Fleur."

Hermione tilted her head. "What did he say?"

Ron hesitated, his fingers toying with the edge of the parchment. "He, I suppose… put a lot of things into perspective for me. Said some things that I needed to hear."

Hermione studied him closely. "Like what?"

Ron sighed, his ears reddening. "Basically told me to stop being such a lazy git and start pulling my weight. Said I couldn't rely on you and Harry forever."

Hermione's expression softened into one of surprise, then approval. "I've been saying that for years."

"I know," Ron admitted, offering her a sheepish grin. "But I guess it's different when it's Bill. He makes you…listen. I suppose tying me to the chair to stop me from leaving helped."

Hermione's lips curved into a small smile. "Well, I'm proud of you. It's about time you started taking your future seriously."

Ron's grin widened; his ears glowing. "Better late than never, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, though the amusement in them was unmistakable.

The bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson. As the two began putting away their things, Hermione heard the door open behind them and saw Harry slip out of the room, seemingly not waiting for her or Ron.

"Still haven't managed to catch him yet?" The ginger asked, stuffing his parchment haphazardly into his bag.

Hermione shook her head, slinging her heavy bag over her shoulder with a small wince. "Has he… has he said anything to you?"

Ron paused, his brow furrowing in thought. "Sort of? Me and the boys chat before bed sometimes, and Harry'll talk to me then, just like the others. But, I dunno… we haven't really talked, y'know? Properly. One-on-one."

Hermione nodded despondently, her expression clouding. "I think I may have crossed a line."

Ron raised an eyebrow, his scepticism clear.

She huffed, her cheeks colouring slightly. "Fine! I did cross a line, but does that really justify him avoiding us for four days?"

"Who's not been talking to you for four days?"

Startled, Hermione turned to find Lavender Brown standing far too close, her inquisitive expression gleaming with interest.

"Harry," Ron said simply.

"Ron!" Hermione snapped, glaring at him as though he'd just spilled her deepest secret.

Lavender's eyes widened in delight. "Harry hasn't spoken to you in four days?!" Her voice rose enough to turn heads as they exited McGonagall's classroom.

"T-That's not true!" Hermione stammered, her face heating as several students turned their way, curiosity piqued.

"What's not true?" came another voice, light and teasing. Parvati Patil joined them, her brows arched in curiosity.

Hermione groaned inwardly.

"Get this, Parv," Lavender whispered dramatically, leaning closer though clearly not caring who overheard, "Harry apparently dumped Hermione!"

"What?" Parvati gasped, covering her mouth with one hand as her eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Harry did not dump me!" Hermione hissed, her voice a mix of frustration and mortification. "We're not even dating!"

"Oh." Lavender tilted her head, her disappointment almost comical. "Then what's with all the drama?"

"There is no drama," Hermione snapped, glaring at both girls.

"Right~" Lavender's tone suggested she believed otherwise, linking her arm with Parvati's as they walked off, talking to each other in hushed voices no doubt about the tea they just found out.

As the two girls disappeared down the hall, Hermione let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "God they're insufferable. No doubt some ridiculous rumour is going to spread around the castle because of them."

"If it means anything, someone would have found out sooner or later." Ron tried helpfully but withered under Hermione's glare.

The pair walked toward the Great Hall for lunch, the hum of chatter and clatter of plates growing louder with each step. Hermione's frown lingered, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

"Look," Ron began after a moment, his voice quieter now. "I'm not saying what Harry's doing is right, but maybe we should give him some space."

"It's been four days, Ronald," Hermione replied wearily, dropping onto a bench with an air of defeat.

"Y'know how Harry is, he's got a lot on his plate. Speaking of plates…" Ron trailed off, already piling food onto his own.

Hermione huffed in irritation and scanned the Gryffindor table. Her brow furrowed. "Oh, where is he? It's lunchtime already, and I didn't even see him during breakfast!"

"Where's who?" Neville asked as he slid into the seat across from them.

"Harry," Hermione said, leaning toward him. "You haven't seen him, have you?"

Neville nodded, reaching for a jug of water. "Yeah, just saw him when I was coming into the castle from the greenhouses. Looked like he was in a hurry though, said something about needing to go check something."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You did tell him to come to the hall for lunch after, didn't you?"

Neville froze, blinking at her in confusion. "Uh… no? I didn't think that was necessary."

"Necessary?!" Hermione's voice rose an octave, drawing curious glances from nearby students.

"'Mione, relax, will you?" Ron mumbled around a mouthful of food; his words barely decipherable.

"What's going on…? Neville leaned back in his seat, studying Hermione until his face turned into a mix of disbelief and exasperation. "Don't tell me you still haven't apologised yet?"

Hermione stiffened, her expression hardening. She stayed silent, her stubbornness refusing to yield.

"Merlin, Hermione," Neville sighed, shaking his head. "I thought I already gave you that crash course in wizarding politics."

"You did," Hermione said quickly, her voice defensive. "I just… haven't had the opportunity to apologise to him yet."

Neville arched a sceptical eyebrow. "So, you admit you were wrong then? Completely out of line?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but the words didn't come. Instead, she gritted her teeth, took a deep breath, and finally exhaled in defeat. Her features softened, guilt replacing her earlier defiance.

"I just want to talk to him but how can I if I barely have the chance to see him?"

Neville eyed her with sympathy until his eyes gravitated towards the doors to the hall, the sight before him perplexing him instantly.

"You might get that chance sooner or later."

Confused, the bushy haired girl looked over to where Neville was pointing and saw Harry standing at the front entrance but it was who he was with that made her confusion triple.

"Who's the little brat?" Ron mumbled with raised eyebrows.

CwD

10 Minutes Prior

"Lost your way, Lion?"

Harry ignored the sneering painting, his steps echoing faintly as he trudged out of the dungeons, irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

He had a quick window of opportunity after Transfiguration to head off towards the Slytherin common room to execute his plan that involved the use of conjured snakes to act as spies for him.

His plan, admittedly brilliant, hadn't involved Daphne Greengrass something which he had been rather determined to keep that way.

Unfortunately, however, brilliance didn't mean foolproof, and his efforts had been thwarted rather spectacularly – literally.

A ward, strategically placed at the entrance to the Slytherin common room, had sent his enchanted snakes retreating in a burst of flames. It was a clear message: no entry and before he could get caught by the resident bat, Harry cleared off.

Before he did, Harry did recognise that Dumbledore's magical signature was all over the entrance and though he was fairly confident he could dispel the ward, explaining why he had done so to the old man would be another matter altogether because there was no doubt that Dumbledore would hurry along the moment something happened.

He would have to think of another idea to gain intel on Slytherin, preferably one that didn't involve Daphne Greengrass.

Using his expert knowledge in the many different hidden shortcuts situated around the castle, Harry rapidly made his way up but as he rounded a corner, he froze.

In the middle of an otherwise empty hallway stood a small girl, no doubt the smallest first year he'd seen, facing one of Hogwarts' towering windows.

The sight struck him as peculiar. The window sill was clearly above her line of sight – far too tall for her to see out of – and not to mention that the rest of the school was at the Great Hall for lunch. Yet there she stood, still and quiet, her head tilted slightly, her hands clasped in front of her robes.

Harry frowned, his curiosity stirring. Something about her slight frame and peculiar stillness reminded him of a bird – delicate, aloof, and ready to dart away at the first sign of danger. He extended his magical awareness toward her out of habit, and his interest piqued when he sensed faint, unstable ripples of magic swirling around her like a candle guttering in a draft.

"What are you doing?"

The girl startled, nearly jumping out of her skin. She spun around to face him, and Harry stopped short, caught off guard by her features.

The same nose. The same hair. The same eyes.

Everything Harry knew rather too well.

"You're Harry Potter," she rasped, her voice dry and barely above a whisper. Her electric-blue eyes were bloodshot, her complexion pale and waxy. She looked ill – fragile.

"What were you looking at?" Harry asked, ignoring her awe.

The girl dropped her head, looking down at her shuffling feet.

"T-The clouds, " She mumbled, "They're c-calming."

Despite himself, Harry hummed.

"What's your name?"

She fidgeted under his gaze, her small hands twisting in the fabric of her robes. "F-F…" She stopped, her lips trembling as though the effort to speak were overwhelming.

"Fiona," she finally managed, her voice barely audible.

"Fiopa?"

Her cheeks turned pink, a flicker of irritation breaking through her shyness. "F-Fiona," she repeated, a little louder but still halting.

"Fiota?" Harry teased lightly, though his smile faded when she flushed deeper, her lips pressing tightly together as her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"F-Fio… na!" she said again, her voice cracking before it dissolved into a rough, grating cough that made her double over slightly.

Harry winced, guilt tugging at him immediately. "Alright, alright. Fiona. Got it."

He drew his wand, flicking it to conjure a cup. With another motion, he filled it with water. "Here," he said, holding it out to her. "It's just water."

Fiona hesitated, her gaze darting from the cup to Harry's face and back again, her fingers clutching her throat. She didn't reach for it, instead shrinking slightly as though the offer itself was overwhelming.

"It's not poisoned," Harry said gently. To prove his point, he took a small sip before offering it to her again. "See?"

Cautiously, Fiona took the cup from him with both hands. She sipped tentatively, then more eagerly as relief visibly washed over her. Her shoulders sagged, the tension draining from her frame.

After finishing the entire cup, Fiona held it out to Harry with both hands, her movements slow and tentative. Her gaze flickered nervously between him and the cup, as if uncertain whether he would accept it.

Harry raised an amused eyebrow before taking it from her. With a deliberate flick of his wrist, he dropped the cup mid-air.

Fiona gasped softly, her eyes widening as she watched the cup drift downward. But before it touched the ground, it began to fade, shimmering faintly until it disappeared entirely. She stared, utterly spellbound.

"Wow," she breathed, the word barely audible.

"You're lost," Harry stated, breaking her awe.

Fiona's cheeks turned a delicate pink, and she quickly looked down again, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. "I-I was w-waiting for Daffy."

Harry's lips quirked at the nickname. "And did Daffy know you were waiting for her?"

She shook her head, looking down. "I… I couldn't let T-Tori find out."

Harry tilted his head slightly, his curiosity deepening.

"I-I tried following her after class," she finally admitted, her words halting and uncertain, "b-but it was as if she… disappeared. And then I was…"

"Lost," Harry finished for her.

She nodded, her shoulders hunching slightly.

Harry sighed, muttering under his breath, "Useless prefects…" He straightened, offering her a faint, almost reluctant smile. "Come on, then."

"W-Where to?"

"To Daffy, little Greengrass."

Fiona's eyes widened comically. "Y-You know who I am?"

Harry shot her an amused look. "Your sister's in my year."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, filled with awe. "Harry Potter knows who I am."

Harry rolled his eyes, turning to lead the way toward the Great Hall.

"W-Wait!" Fiona's exclamation was barely more than a squeak, but it stopped him in his tracks.

He turned, confused, and realized she was still standing a few paces behind him, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. "Slow, aren't you?" he remarked, though there was no real bite to his words.

Fiona hurried to his side; her head ducked as though trying to make herself even smaller. Her wide blue eyes darted nervously to the floor as she mumbled something incomprehensible, her pale cheeks tinged pink.

"What was that?" Harry asked, leaning slightly closer.

Her words dissolved into a stuttered mess, her voice barely above a whisper. She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, visibly struggling to gather her thoughts. Harry watched her, his brow furrowing as he debated something in his mind. With a heavy sigh, he bent down slightly and, after a moment of hesitation, took hold of her tiny hand.

Fiona stiffened immediately, her head snapping up to look at him, her face flushing so vividly it was a wonder she didn't faint on the spot.

"Y-Y-You d-don't n-need t-to hold my hand…" she stammered, her words tumbling over each other in her embarrassment. Yet, despite her protests, her grip tightened instinctively, as though afraid to let go.

Her hand was impossibly small and cold, and Harry's own reaction – or lack of – surprised him. The usual discomfort he felt with unnecessary contact from the opposite gender was absent.

Odd.

"This is just so I don't lose you along the way," he grumbled, his tone brusquer than he intended. "Don't get used to it."

Despite Fiona's embarrassment, a beaming smile appeared on her face the kind of unguarded happiness that could only come from someone unaccustomed to kindness and Harry, despite himself, couldn't help but grinning back.

"Come on."

They walked through the winding corridors of Hogwarts, an odd pair if the paintings could be believed judging by their perplexed stares but little Fiona was oblivious to it all, her wide-eyed curiosity soaking in every detail around her as Harry matched her pace.

"You're ill," Harry suddenly pointed out after a long stretch of silence.

Fiona stiffened beside him, her small hand tightening its grip on his as though bracing herself.

"A… small complication," she replied carefully, her tone light but rehearsed, as if she'd said it a hundred times. "W-with the maturation of my magic. It w-was worse when I was younger, but I-I'm getting better now."

Harry hummed softly, his gaze flickering toward her pale, fragile frame. There was clearly more to her story, but he didn't press.

They walked in companionable silence for a while, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls. As they rounded another corner, Fiona glanced up at Harry, her pale face lit with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.

"Do you like Daffy?" Her voice was small but direct, the question hanging in the air like a delicate thread.

Harry blinked. "What made you ask that?"

Fiona shrugged. "I've seen Daffy look at you sometimes during mealtime." Her tone was innocent, but there was a glint of something more in her eyes, an awareness that suggested she saw more than she let on.

"O-Oh?" Harry clenched his jaw, his composure slipping for just a second. "And why is it that you don't sit with Gr – Daphne during mealtime?" he asked instead, deftly steering the topic away from himself.

The little blonde's shoulders drooped, her earlier cheer dimming. "Daffy always sits with Cassius… Tori says I'm not allowed to sit with Daffy."

"Not allowed?" Harry questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Fiona hesitated, nibbling on her lip as though debating whether she'd already said too much. Finally, she mumbled, "Tori says Daffy always ruins things. But I don't think that's true. Do you?"

Her voice wavered with uncertainty, as though she was waiting for Harry to affirm her belief.

Harry exhaled, choosing his words carefully. "I wouldn't know. I don't really know much about your sister."

Fiona tilted her head in an almost birdlike fashion, her curious expression oddly endearing. "Strange. I could've sworn I read a letter Daffy had written to you over the summ – OW!"

She yelped, rubbing her nose as tears welled up in her eyes. She had walked straight into Harry's back as they turned a corner, his sudden halt catching her off guard. Confused, Fiona peeked around him to see what had caused him to stop so abruptly. Her eyes widened slightly.

"Lost as well, cousin?" Harry spoke up.

Draco Malfoy turned sharply, his robes swishing as his narrowed grey eyes landed on Harry. His sneer deepened into something uglier. "Potter," he spat, the single word heavy with disdain.

Harry returned the sneer with one of his own, taking in Draco's slightly dishevelled appearance – the faint hollows beneath his eyes, the pallor of his skin, and the tension in his frame. "You look faintly worse for wear, Draco. No back-to-school present from daddy this year to keep you happy?"

Draco's eyes darkened as he took a threatening step towards Harry before taking a step back. "Fuck off, Scarhead. Always running your mouth."

"And you never change," Harry countered with a smirk. "It's almost boring."

Draco's lips curled in contempt, but his sharp retort faltered as his gaze landed on Fiona, who was all but hidden behind Harry's taller frame. Her wide eyes peeked out nervously, and her small hand clutched Harry's as if he were a lifeline. Draco's expression shifted – less anger, more confusion – as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"What," Draco said slowly, his tone dripping with suspicion, "is she doing with you?" His narrowed eyes locked on Fiona, who flinched under his gaze.

Fiona's voice was barely audible, trembling as she stammered, "I-I was just – "

"She's with me," Harry interrupted smoothly, his tone casual but deliberately antagonistic. "Not that it's any of your business, cousin."

Draco's gaze darted between them, his expression darkening further. His usual arrogance was tempered by something sharper, something closer to doubt. He lingered for a moment, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that didn't quite make sense. Finally, with a derisive snort, he turned on his heel.

"Pathetic," he muttered, though the word felt directed more at himself than anyone else and strode into the Great Hall without another word.

"Lovely chap, ain't he?" Harry muttered with faux happiness.

"I've always felt as if he never liked me." Fiona mumbled.

Harry snorted as he tugged her hand. "Trust me blondie, he's got that effect on everyone."

The sounds of chatter and clinking silverware reached their ears as they stopped in front of the open doors to the Great Hall. Latecomers passing by gave the peculiar pair odd looks, but Harry ignored them, his eyes scanning the Slytherin table for one Daphne Greengrass.

After a second, Harry's gaze landed on a Greengrass, only, not the one he was looking for and judging by Draco's irritating smirk as he seated himself in the seat next to her, the situation was about to take a less-than-ideal turn.

"Fiona!"

Fiona stiffened instantly, her small frame going rigid as Astoria Greengrass rose from her seat, her expression a storm of anger and disbelief. She marched toward them, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor, every step commanding attention.

"Where have you been?" Astoria demanded; her voice low but charged with irritation.

Fiona shrank back, instinctively stepping closer to Harry's larger frame. "I… I got lost," she murmured.

Astoria's lips pressed into a thin line. "I thought I told you I'd come pick you up from the common room."

"I wanted to see Daffy," Fiona admitted in a small voice, her head ducked as though bracing for a reprimand.

Astoria's retort stalled mid-breath when her eyes dropped to where Fiona's hand was clasped tightly in Harry's. Her expression morphed from irritation to alarm, and then to barely contained fury.

"Only just noticed?" Harry drawled.

"Unhand my sister, Potter. Now." Astoria spat, yanking out her wand and pointing it at him.

The sharpness of her tone instantly caught the attention of the surrounding students. Conversations died mid-sentence, and heads swivelled to take in the unfolding scene. The tension in the air thickened as whispers began rippling across the hall.

Harry's gaze shifted lazily to the wand aimed at him, his head tilting ever so slightly, as though he were watching an unimpressive performance. His casual indifference made Astoria's jaw tighten, her temper flaring further under his cold scrutiny.

"I'm warning you, Potter!"

"That's cute."

Astoria looked as if she were about to spit fire, her cheeks tinging with humiliation at his words.

Fiona shifted nervously. "T-Tori... I – "

"Well, well. What do we have here?" A smooth, drawling voice cut through the tense air, and Astoria's expression shifted instantly. Her anger morphed into something more calculating, a cruel smirk curving her lips.

"Cassius," she said, her tone saccharine with relief.

Cassius Warrington strolled into view from behind Harry, his stride confident, his easy smirk widening as even more whispers rippled through the hall. All eyes locked onto him, and he clearly relished the attention, his gaze sweeping the scene with the satisfaction of someone stepping into a spotlight.

"What's this, Potter?" Cassius' gaze flicked between Harry and Fiona, a smirk dancing on his lips. "Abducting first years? Or have you decided Slytherins are better company than your usual crowd?"

Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow, but the cool steel in his eyes never wavered as they locked on Cassius. His calm only seemed to fuel Cassius's smug confidence.

Fiona's grip on Harry's hand faltered, her small fingers trembling. "I… I don't want to cause trouble," she whispered, her voice barely audible as her eyes darted nervously between Cassius and Harry.

"I've told you before Fiona, to not get involved with the wrong crowd." Astoria hissed, stepping closer, her wand still aimed at Harry. "Now, come here, Fiona, while I'm still asking nicely."

Fiona flinched at the tone, her resolve wavering. She took half a step toward Astoria but stopped, glancing up at Harry with wide, conflicted eyes.

Harry didn't move, his expression unreadable as he looked down at the trembling first-year. "You don't have to go anywhere you don't want to," he said, his voice quieter but no less firm.

Astoria's face twisted with anger. "Stop filling her head with nonsense! She's my sister! You have no right – "

"Relax, Astoria," Cassius interrupted, chuckling as he patted her shoulder. "Potter's just being his chivalrous self. It's what he does." His words were laced with mockery, his smirk never fading.

The older boy moved forward, his imposing frame drawing attention. His voice dropped, sharp and cutting. "But I think you've done your good deed for the day, Potter."

Harry's eyes narrowed, the faintest glow beginning to kindle in their depths. "Do you have a problem with me, Warrington?"

Cassius ignored his question. "This is a family matter, Potter," he said, his voice sharp and dismissive. "Acting the hero for a first year in front of her own blood? It's pathetic. Now I won't tell you again."

Harry's lip curled. "Don't embarrass yourself, Warrington."

The smirk faltered for the briefest second, but Cassius recovered quickly, his hand snapping to his wand with a theatrical flourish. The movement was deliberate; a challenge was being issued.

The hall fell into an almost oppressive silence. Conversations ceased entirely as students craned their necks to watch. The tension hung thick, broken only by the shuffling of bodies as a group of Slytherins rose to join Cassius.

Astoria's confidence returned as she stepped back, clearly emboldened by the group of Slytherins behind her who had also all drawn their wands threateningly at Harry.

Harry's wand appeared with a flick of his wrist. His eyes darkened, their sharp glow unmistakable. "This is your last chance to piss off."

Cassius's smile widened; his wand aimed squarely at Harry's chest. "And here I thought your arrogance was merely a rumour…"

Suddenly, the tension reached its breaking point when a group of Gryffindors entered the fray. Ron, Hermione, and Neville strode up to Harry's side, their wands drawn, their faces set with determination. More Gryffindors followed, fanning out behind them, forming a united front.

"Leave it to you to start a fight in the middle of my lunch," Ron muttered to Harry, his eyes narrowing at Cassius and the Slytherins behind him.

"I didn't start this," Harry replied, his eyes briefly flickered to Draco who was watching the scene unfold with a dark smirk plastered on his face.

"Where are the teachers?" Hermione whispered.

"Staff meeting," Neville muttered, "I heard Professor Sprout mention it to Madam Hooch."

Hermione stepped forward, her voice firm, "We don't want any trouble, but as a Prefect, if you think I'm going to stand here and let this happen, then you ought to think again."

A Slytherin boy behind Cassius sneered, his lip curling in disgust. "Fuck off, you filthy little m – "

The insult died on his lips as a sudden, crushing wave of magic surged through the air. Harry's magical aura flared, a sharp burst of power that sent every Slytherin behind Cassius staggering back, their shoes scraping loudly against the floor as they struggled to maintain their footing.

Cassius stood firm, but his arrogant grin disappeared entirely as his eyes narrowed into slits.

The entire hall fell into an uneasy silence, and every set of eyes was now locked on Harry.

Harry didn't raise his voice, but the low, dangerous whisper that escaped his lips carried with an almost unnatural clarity. "Finish that sentence."

The Slytherin who had spoken was pale now, his mouth clamped shut, his hands trembling.

"Finish it," Harry continued, his green eyes now burning with rage, "and I'll remove your fucking tongue."

The quiet threat hung in the air like a storm cloud, the weight of it pressing down on everyone present. Hermione and Ron exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes wide with shock, but neither spoke. Even Neville's usual nervousness had been suddenly replaced with surprise at Harry's threat.

"Enough!"

The sharp command echoed across the hall, cutting through the tension like a whip.

All heads turned as Daphne Greengrass strode in, her heeled boots clicking crisply against the stone floor, followed closely by Tracey Davis and Lily Moon. The sound alone was enough to draw attention, but it was Daphne's presence that held it. Her usual air of silent detachment had been replaced by something sharper, more commanding.

Her gaze swept over the scene, taking in the drawn wands, the trembling figure of her baby sister, and the opposing factions of Slytherins and Gryffindors ready to pounce. Her eyes briefly flickered to Cassius before landing on Harry. She faltered for half a second under his piercing green stare, glowing faintly with restrained power, but quickly recovered.

"What in Morgana's name is going on here?" Daphne demanded, her voice slicing through the murmurs.

The Silent Queen whom people were accustomed to always seeing was nowhere to be found. In its place stood an emotion-filled, irate looking Daphne Greengrass.

"He started it!" Astoria hissed, pointing an accusing finger at Harry. "He refused to let Fiona come back to her family and instead filled her head with all sorts of rubbish – "

"That's not true!" Fiona interrupted, though her voice quivered under the weight of Astoria's glare.

Daphne's eyes landed on Fiona, and her expression softened ever so slightly. "Fiona, come here."

Fiona hesitated, her small hand clutching Harry's tightly. "But – "

"Now," Daphne said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Astoria's jaw dropped in disbelief. "Excuse me – " she began indignantly, but the words died in her throat when Daphne turned and fixed her with an icy glare.

Harry's eyes had never strayed from Daphne's, watching the entire interaction with an impassive face before giving Fiona a slight nudge.

"Go on," he said quietly.

Fiona looked up at him with wide, reluctant eyes before shuffling forward. She hesitated for a moment, caught between the angry glares of her older sisters, before surging into her older sister's open arms.

Daphne placed a protective hand on Fiona's shoulder, her expression softening as the little girl buried her face into her stomach. But when she lifted her gaze to Astoria and Cassius, her features hardened again, her jaw tightening with restrained anger.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, her voice low and cutting, like ice cracking under pressure.

Cassius blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sharpness in her tone. "We were just trying to – "

"Trying to what?" Daphne snapped, her words slicing through his excuse. "Humiliate yourselves in front of half the school? Because if that's the goal, you've done a spectacular job."

Cassius' eyes widened in disbelief before narrowing again. "I'm not going to stand here and be lectured by my own bethro – "

"Then leave," Daphne shot back, her voice rising just enough to make the gathered students exchange uneasy glances. They had never seen Daphne raise her voice let alone show emotion in her usually detached face. "Unless you have something useful to say, Cassius, walk away before you embarrass me any further."

"Daphne – " Cassius called out to her but gritted his teeth in annoyance when she glared at him. "Come on, lads." He turned on his heel and left the hall, his entourage of Slytherins following but not before sending dark looks to Harry.

Astoria watched him leave before rounding on her sister, her cheeks flushed with indignation. "You have no right – "

"Don't," Daphne interrupted, her voice a razor's edge. "Don't even start."

Astoria bristled, her anger flaring. "She's my responsibility! Not yours! If you think you can just –"

"She's a child," Daphne interrupted again, her voice sharper now, more commanding. "And you were terrifying her."

"I wasn't – "

"Enough!"

Daphne detangled herself from Fiona before striding towards Astoria's who's eyebrows climbed higher and higher until she was forced to look up to her sister.

"You want to prove you're in control," Daphne said quietly, "then start acting like it. You think when father learns about this situation, he'll be pleased with the way you conducted yourself – how you conducted yourself before the Lord Black?"

"Social norms aren't enforced in – "

" – You think father will care?" Daphne interrupted again. "Well?"

Astoria's mouth opened and closed, her fury choking on Daphne's rare display of dominance. For a moment, the younger girl looked as though she might lash out again, but the icy certainty in Daphne's glare held her back.

Finally, with a frustrated scoff, Astoria spun on her heel and stormed off back towards her seat, her shoulders stiff with barely contained anger.

The hall, which had been buzzing moments earlier, now fell into an uneasy silence. Only faint whispers rippled through the air, curiosity and speculation flitting between onlookers who dared not speak too loudly.

Daphne let her gaze sweep over the hall, her electric blue eyes crackling with annoyance. The weight of her stare was enough to make students flinch and shuffle uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

"What?" She snapped.

The effect was immediate. Heads turned away, and students suddenly found their plates, goblets, or ceiling decorations endlessly fascinating.

Daphne let out a slow breath, before going back to Fiona who wrapped her arms tightly around her midriff again.

"Come on, sweetie," She murmured, her voice softening again as she guided Fiona toward Tracey and Lily.

"That was… unexpected." Neville said after a moment.

"What does she think she's playing at?" Ron grumbled, still red-faced from earlier. "Acting like she's Queen of the bloody castle. I didn't even know she could even speak."

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes before they briefly flicked to Harry. "Well, it could've gone a lot worse. I thought for certain that we'd have to duel them."

Harry didn't respond, his gaze completely fixed on Daphne as she whispered something to Fiona, who nodded reluctantly. Soon after, Tracey and Lily led Fiona out of the hall, leaving Daphne standing alone.

She lingered for a moment, her back to Harry, before turning.

Her eyes locked with his, burning with determination, and without hesitation, she began walking toward him.

"Uh oh, incoming." Neville muttered.

When Daphne reached them, she came to a stop just beyond Hermione and Ron, ignoring their wary stares.

"What do you want?" Ron asked suspiciously as Hermione shifted her body so she stood slightly in front of Harry.

Daphne sniffed dismissively at the red-haired boy before locking her burning gaze with Harry's. "A moment, Potter."

"You can say whatever you need to say now, Greengrass," Hermione snapped, her words laced with irritation.

Daphne tilted her head, an icy smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Her eyes flickered briefly to Hermione before returning back to Harry. "Do you always let your dogs bark for you, Potter?"

A second went by, then two, before all hell broke loose.

"What did you just say, you fu – "

" – Lead the way, Greengrass," Harry interrupted Ron firmly, whose face had turned red with outrageous fury.

"Harry!" Hermione protested with disbelief.

"Yes, Hermione?"

For a moment, Hermione faltered under his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were cold and distant, just as they'd been after their argument. She could feel the weight of unresolved anger between them, and it left her scrambling for words.

"Mate you can't be serious… She can't be trusted." Ron muttered with an incredulous look.

Harry maintained eye contact with Hermione a heartbeat longer before turning away from her with a sigh.

"I can't not talk to her, Ron. She is my partner in Potions, remember. Kinda have no choice."

Daphne stood silently, her arms crossed, watching the exchange with an impassive expression.

"Are you done?" She asked, her tone as cool as ever whilst she examined her nails dismissively.

"Come on, then," Harry said, stepping forward when Ron struggled to form a response.

Daphne's lips curled into a faint, satisfied smile as she turned and walked toward the doors, her heels clicking softly against the stone. Harry followed at a steady pace, leaving Hermione and Ron behind, their protests hanging unanswered in the air.

"Did you see that?" Lavender hissed to Parvati and a wide-eyed Katie Bell who was standing nearby. "Greengrass called Hermione a dog and Harry didn't even defend her!"

"See! Told you something happened between them," Parvati told Katie smugly, her tone conspiratorial. "This proves it. Harry's dumped Hermione. They're so over. I mean, did you see the look on Ron's face…"

"Balls." Katie whispered drowning out the younger girls, "I only wanted to ask him about Quidditch…"

CwD

They walked in silence.

Daphne was a step or two ahead, her purposeful strides emphasizing the distance between them, while Harry trailed behind, hands jammed into his pockets.

The occasional glance from onlookers barely registered as the duo moved through the castle corridors. Their destination, an abandoned classroom, stood at the end of the hall. Its shabby appearance struck Harry with a wave of nostalgia – it was the same room Quirrell had taught back in first year.

He entered after Daphne and turned to shut the door behind him with a soft click. When he turned back, he was startled to find her standing mere inches away. Her electric-blue eyes burned with fury as they locked onto his.

"Four days." Daphne hissed, her voice low and sharp. "Four days since Potions and this is the first conversation we're having."

Harry let out a scoff and tried to step around her, but she shifted quickly, blocking his path.

"Move."

" – I thought I'd ought to give you some space to think some things through," Daphne ignored him, now physically preventing Harry from moving away from her by gripping his robes. "A day or two seemed apt but then that turned into three and then four! Is that what you do, Potter? You ignore your problems and hope that'll be enough for them to disappear?" She demanded.

Harry's eyes narrowed at her in warning but Daphne was undeterred, staring right back into his intimidating visage.

"I don't owe you anything!" Harry hissed back stubbornly.

"You owe me the bare minimum as my partner for that Potions project!" She retorted immediately. "Even Tracey and Lily have already chosen what they're going to make and we haven't even had a proper conversation about ours!"

Harry's jaw tightened; his shoulders taut with tension. But then, with a heavy sigh, some of that tension ebbed away. "I'll apologise for that. I have been… preoccupied with something else."

His first training session with Dumbledore had drained him completely. The old man had pushed him to his limit, a relentless display of skill and magic that left Harry battered and struggling to recover. Facing him had been like duelling a kinder, yet equally overwhelming, version of Voldemort.

The recovery had been slow and gruelling, leaving little room for anything else. Potions, if he was honest, hadn't just slipped his mind – it had been entirely forgotten.

Daphne's grip slackened slightly, though she didn't release him entirely.

"And what about our other conversation?" She asked, quieter now.

The young Lord's gaze darkened and his voice turned cold. "I told you before: I don't need you, or your help."

And like before, Daphne didn't believe him this time either.

"I don't believe you."

A flicker of frustration crossed his face, his voice hardening. "I don't care what you believe."

"You don't need to lie to me, Harry." She whispered imploringly, softly pressing the palms of her hands onto his chest as she looked up at him. "Let me help you, please."

Harry exhaled sharply, his voice rising with restrained anger. "I've had enough time to think about your offer, and I realised that I don't need your help. I'll dig up information on Slytherin my own way. If it weren't for this bloody Potions project, I'd have made sure whatever this is between us stayed buried."

He reached down, gently prying her hands from his robes with an exhale of his breath.

"We'll meet in the library after dinner to finalise the project. I'm already late for Charms. The last thing I need is even more rumours spreading."

Without waiting for Daphne's response, Harry turned sharply and strode toward the door. But as his hand grasped the handle, a burst of magic prickled the air behind him.

His instincts flared. With a snarl, he summoned his wand into his hand and turned on the spot, batting away Daphne's Reducto with a sharp flick of his wand. The spell veered off-course and smashed into an empty bookcase, reducing it to splinters with an echoing boom.

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously as he turned to face Daphne. She stood rooted to the spot, her wand still raised but trembling slightly. Her expression was a study in practiced calm, but her eyes betrayed her – a storm of anger, frustration, and pain churned within them, raw and unrestrained.

"You've lost your mind, Greengrass." He said coolly, lowering his wand slightly but not holstering it. "Seriously? Throwing spells at me when you can't get your way?"

"You're insufferable!" Daphne snapped, her voice shaking as her composure cracked. "You act like you're above everyone else, as if no one else has struggles or pain. Do you even hear yourself?!"

Harry let out a harsh, bitter laugh.

"Oh, is that what this is about? Your struggles?" His tone dripped with scorn as he took a step closer. "Let me guess. Is this about how hard it is to play the victim after betraying someone who trusted you? Or is it the guilt eating at you because now that I know what you are, you'll never get to crawl back into my good graces?"

"I had no choice!" Daphne screamed, her voice cracking. "You think I wanted to do something so fake, so vile, so – "

"Don't!" Harry cut her off sharply, stepping closer, his emerald eyes burning with rage. "Don't you dare try to justify yourself to me. You had a choice, Daphne. You chose to follow your father's orders. You chose to lie to me and now after I found out, you want to rekindle something that never existed? You think I'll just forgive you because you've suddenly decided you care?"

Daphne's grip on her wand tightened, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I do care! I always cared! How many times must I apologise?" She shook her head, her blonde hair flaying around her. "There's never been a single day I haven't regretted my actions, but you're so consumed by your own pain you can't see that!"

Silence enveloped the room for the first time since they had walked in. Daphne's laboured breaths filled the air, uneven and shallow, as she stared at Harry with wide, glassy eyes. His face had darkened, his fury palpable, a storm barely contained.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and menacing, a whisper that seemed to echo in the oppressive stillness.

"Don't you dare talk to me about pain," Harry said, each word dripping with restrained venom.

Daphne froze, her face paling as the weight of his words pressed down on her.

"Harry, I – "

"Pain," he continued sharply, "is watching someone you care about die, watching someone you care about hurt. Pain is standing there, powerless, as their life is ripped away – because you weren't strong enough, fast enough, or smart enough to save them. Pain is waking up every day cursing your existence because you can't avenge them, can't honour their sacrifice, and can't make any of it mean something. Pain… is opening your heart to someone and watching it as she rips it away."

Her breath hitched audibly, but Harry wasn't done. His eyes darkened with a cruel, terrifying glint.

One she had never seen before.

"You think you're suffering because your sister despises you?"

Daphne visibly recoiled, her hands trembling as her nails bit into her palms. "W-What?"

Harry chuckled, the sound menacing and unpleasant. "I've seen the way she looks at you… Assstoria… With such hate, such disappointment. I don't blame her. Despite being the younger sister, she's the one who's the heiress to the Greengrass name. How utterly humiliating."

Daphne shook her head slowly in disbelief, her lips trembling at his words that cut far deeper than any blade.

"And Fiona?" Harry pressed, the name slicing through the air like a curse. "Little, sweet, abandoned Fiona.

"No…" Daphne whispered with wide eyes.

"Tell me, do you even visit her? Or isss it easier to pretend she doesn't exist while you wallow in your own misery at how utterly weak you are?"

The impact of his words was immediate. Daphne flinched as if he'd struck her, her breath catching in her throat. The tears she had fought so hard to suppress began to spill down her cheeks, silent and unstoppable.

She didn't know him.

The Harry she had known – the Harry she had fallen in love with – would never say these things. He would never wield words as weapons to tear her down.

"That's not fair," she whispered, her voice breaking as she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to shield herself from his merciless onslaught.

"Fair?" Harry's laugh was hollow, devoid of any warmth. "Life isn't fair, Greengrass. You of all people should know that. But here's the thing: some of us don't get to run away from our problems. Some of us don't get to bury them under layers of Occlumency and fake smiles while pretending the world doesn't exist. Isn't that what you're doing to Fiona's illness – "

"Stop it," whispered Daphne, her voice trembling.

"No." Harry stepped closer, his gaze locked on hers, unyielding and unrelenting. "You wanted me to train you? Fine. Consider this lesson one: the truth hurts. And the truth is, you're not strong enough for the real world. You don't have the backbone or the will to stand on your own. You are a puppet. Another privileged, weak-willed pureblood, living off borrowed strength – "

"SHUT UP!"

Daphne's scream tore through the room as her wand erupted in a flurry of wild magic.

"Fumosilens!" she cried, and a thick, suffocating cloud of smoke exploded from her wand, engulfing Harry in a choking shroud.

Harry chuckled darkly, dispelling the smoke with a flick of his wand. "Really?"

With a flick of his wand, he sent a streak of golden light toward Daphne, who had the grace of mind to leap aside just in time. The spell missed her by inches, exploding harshly against the floor behind her raining shards of stone and splinters, several of them slicing into her arms and face as she desperately tried shielding herself.

With a whimper, she gingerly got up to her feet before barely seeing through the curtain of her hair Harry charging up another spell.

Daphne retaliated with a spell of her own; a shimmering shield formed in front of her, only to shatter immediately as Harry's next spell struck it head-on, the force causing her wand arm to go numb and nearly sending her tumbling into the ground.

"You're too slow," Harry taunted, advancing on her. "Your spells are too weak, uncreative and your movement predictable."

Daphne's tears mixed with the blood trickling from the shallow cuts on her face, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Switching her wand to her uninjured hand, she aimed shakily. "Glacius!"

Frost shot from her wand, spreading across the floor and up parts of the wall in a glistening sheet of ice. The spell crept up Harry's legs, immobilizing him as it climbed higher.

"Not bad," he admitted, glancing curiously at the ice which covered the entire expanse of the room, walls and ceiling.

Seeing red, Daphne followed it with a piercing hex and watched it close the distance to Harry with bated breath.

" – But not good enough."

A surge of wandless magic shattered the ice in a burst of power. With a quick snap of his wand, Harry sent a purple spell which powered through her hex and toward an exhausted Daphne who barely managed to deflect it, the force sending her sprawling to the ground with a sharp cry.

"Get up," Harry commanded, his voice harsh and unyielding. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Daphne trembled as she struggled to her knees. Her wand quivered in her hand, her body racked with cuts, bruises, exhaustion and pain. She looked up at him, tears streaming freely down her face. "I hate you," she whispered, her voice trembling with raw emotion.

"No, you don't," Harry replied cruelly, a wild smirk playing at his lips as he raised his wand at her. "You hate yourself. For failing. For being weak. For letting everyone down."

It was too much.

She couldn't anymore.

Daphne dropped her wand, her shoulders shaking as she collapsed fully to her knees. The fight drained out of her, leaving her sobbing on the hard, cold stone floor.

The sight hit Harry like a physical blow, snapping his mind back from the haze.

He stumbled back as the gravity of what he had done set in. The girl before him – someone he had always seen as composed, untouchable, resolute – looked broken, and it was his fault.

Because of his cruel words, his cruel actions. He did this to her.

Harry looked down at his hand and saw it trembling violently, his wand threatening to drop from his grasp. The shards of ice that lay shattered beneath his feet reflected his image, his face.

A face he didn't recognise.

"Daphne…" His voice came out weak, unsure.

She didn't respond, her hands covering her face as her sobs echoed in the cavernous space.

The sound twisted something deep inside him.

It was brutal, stomach turning.

He felt disgusted with himself.

What had he become?

Slowly, cautiously, Harry knelt a few feet away, his wand slipping from his grasp as guilt coiled tightly around his chest.

"I…" His voice faltered. What could he possibly say? "I went too far."

Still, Daphne gave no sign that she had heard him. Her cries were quieter now but no less raw, no less heart-wrenching.

Swallowing his hesitation, Harry moved closer, reaching out to place a tentative hand on her shoulder. She flinched violently at the touch, her head snapping up, her tear-streaked face contorted with fury.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed, shoving his hand away with what little strength she had.

"Daphne – "

" – I hate you!" She cried, pounding her fists weakly against his chest. "You're cruel! You're horrible! I hate you – I HATE YOU!"

Her blows faltered; her strength spent. Harry carefully caught her wrists before gently pulling her into his arms. Daphne thrashed against him, scratched at him, her sobs turning into gasps as she struggled to break free.

"Daphne – "

"Let me go!" She sobbed, clawing his neck, pulling at his hair.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured softly, his voice layered with deep remorse.

Gradually, her resistance waned, and she slumped against him. Her cries quieted into muffled gasps as she buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking into the fabric of his robes.

Harry rested his cheek on the top of her head, his hand lightly stroking her hair in a soothing rhythm. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Her trembling lessened, but she didn't lift her head. Her words were muffled and filled with anguish. "I hate you…"

"I know," Harry replied softly, his own voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. "I'm sorry."

They stayed like that, locked in a fragile moment of shared pain and regret, the silence speaking volumes where words failed.

CwD