A/N: Thanks to chem prof for his beta work. He makes this far more readable than it otherwise would be.

Chapter 16: Ambitions

Christmas Eve Attacks

By Erin Morgan 

Normally this is the season to be merry, with gifts and cheer the norm on the 25th of December each year. This year, we might have to celebrate Christmas without the merry or the cheer. Last night a series of raids were undertaken throughout the nation by volatile forces, believed to be comprised of Death Eaters, all within an hour of each other.

The first of the raids targeted one of many Auror outposts throughout the United Kingdom in Plymouth, in the nation’s southwest. The lives of eight of the twelve stationed Aurors were lost, three others are in critical condition and the last is currently missing. Three Death Eater bodies were discovered at the scene, including recent Hogwarts graduate Marcus Flint.

The second and third raids were undertaken in Glasgow and Edinburgh respectively, in the nation’s north. A combined eleven Auror lives were lost, with two others in critical condition, two more are without all their limbs intact and another three Aurors are unaccounted for. The bodies of three more Death Eaters were found. Names have not been released as of yet.

The fourth raid was across the Irish Sea in Londonderry, Northern Ireland. Out of the eight Aurors stationed there, six died; the other two are also in critical condition at St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Evidence of Dementor activity has been found at the scene. Three of the six that tragically lost their lives in this attack had been Kissed.

Closer to home there were five simultaneous attacks on Ministry employees’ homes early this morning. Those that lost their lives were Brianna Dobbs, valued employee of the Department of Magical Transport, Aaron Moon, friendly member of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Cuthbert Mockridge, Goblin Liaison, and Aden Burby, quiet, withdrawn employee in Magical Equipment Control. The failed attack was on Bevan Seers, member of the Wizengamot known for his multiple attempts at repealing the werewolf laws of 1980-82.

The death total for our side last night is twenty nine, with eight in critical condition, two Aurors no longer able to fight and four currently missing. In total, only ten Death Eaters were taken down last night.

These attacks, occurring on the eve of a day of peace, family and happiness bring us back to the sharp reality of You-Know-Who and his continued threat to us all. Sources claim that this attack had been weeks in the making, due to the lack of known activity from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the planning that had to have gone into such an attack.

In each attack the Ministry has met with losses. One can only agree with fellow journalist Rita Skeeter’s questions regarding Ministry competence in protecting us, the regular citizen.

And on the article went, explaining in further detail all the facts, known history of the known deceased and further speculation on when and where the next attacks would occur.

Harry, Hermione and Padma read the article in turn, whatever happiness the gifts they received earlier in the morning had brought them disappearing quickly.

“We should have expected this,” Harry remarked, leaning on his left hand, facing Padma and Hermione after each had read the article thoroughly.

“No news is bad news.” Padma surmised each of his thoughts.

The attack brought more worries to Harry’s mind. Just how large was Voldemort’s army? Were the Death Eaters used last night the extent of his power? Or was this half, or not even the tip of the iceberg?

It was a distressing trail of thought.

The odds were stacked enough against them back in the Department of Mysteries. What if Harry came upon twenty, thirty, fifty, one hundred Death Eaters at once? The answers weren’t promising.

Hermione and Padma were giving him queer looks as Harry contemplated how vast an army Voldemort had.

To be influential in both the United Kingdom and on the mainland, the numbers had to be considerable. Twenty people could not bring a government to a standstill.

Harry’s mind recalled a time earlier in the year where he had been met with other news of a similar vein. The breakout of the Death Eaters – the Death Eaters Sirius had died for – had left him out of sorts. He – Harry – couldn’t let the same happen again. He’d messed up that time. Here, in the confines of Hogwarts, it was relatively harmless. Out there it had the potential to be damaging to more than his morale.

Looking between the two females before him, Harry began dealing with the news. Realistically the odds could be far worse, and, anyway, it was unlikely that an attack with all of Voldemort’s army would be brought upon him at any time. There always needed to be back up and Voldemort needed to kill Harry himself. The importance was not lost of Harry, not at all. He instead accepted the new knowledge and didn’t let him overwhelm him like it had previously.

Harry nodded to himself and took a bite of his breakfast. His companions continued to give him queer looks.

“So,” Harry said out of the blue to Hermione and Padma, smiling. “How should we spend the day?”

A few moments later, when the two most intelligent students at Hogwarts had come to their own conclusions on his attitude, they smiled back and the three of them began chatting away about anything and everything.

x-x-x-x-x-

The rest of Christmas Day went quickly, too quickly in Harry’s opinion. The lack of students in the school didn’t seem to deter the gossipers, hidden in their niches around the school discussing the news of the Eve attacks in hushed tones.

For the most part, the three were able to ignore them. When they stumbled upon Hagrid, who then proceeded to bring it up, the topic though, became unavoidable

The half-giant had been very enthusiastic to see Harry and Hermione after almost an entire term barely seeing them at all. Padma, nervously, was introduced in a more informal manner than she would normally be to a Professor. She was tentative for much of the conversation. Her feelings were only multiplied when Hagrid tried to reassure her and ended up knocking her to the floor in an overzealous pat on the shoulder.

Hagrid soon had to depart, odd jobs to do before the evening. After begging off lunch at Hagrid’s, and warning Padma what his cooking was like, the trio spent the remainder of the afternoon in one of the numerous study halls just sitting and talking the day away.

Through the enjoyment of Hermione and Padma’s company, there was one problem that remained present in the back of Harry’s mind, demanding attention. The problem’s name was Daphne Greengrass.

Inviting a Slytherin to be an ally was never going to be an easy task or go down without complications. The Oaths had been his insurance. The Oaths that had started this whole situation were no longer in use, done away with once Harry was confident his allies could keep their memories and thoughts to themselves. Why was this important? Because now Daphne could betray them at any time if she chose to.

But Harry didn’t believe she had yet, or perhaps would.

So, with his belief that she would not betray him, why did she actively engage and insult Padma publicly when she never had before?

A chance to answer his questions arose after the Christmas Feast that night.

The absence of hundreds of students for the holidays didn’t seem to affect the noise level. The Great Hall was buzzing with noise and activity, even on the single table for the remaining students. Daphne was seated amongst the other remaining Slytherins. She didn’t spare Harry, Hermione or Padma a single glance.

It was only when she stood up to leave alone that Harry realized his chance.

More often than not, all students spent most of their night in the Great Hall on occasions such as this, with the food and drink continually flowing seemingly never endingly. It really was one of those nights to stuff oneself silly and chat until late with complete disregard to the consequences. Besides, it was Christmas.

Harry excused himself a minute later, whispering his reasons quietly. Hermione and Padma quickly finished up, wanting to follow him, also desiring the same answers – Padma because she had been the target and Hermione because she had been the one vouching for her.

The three found themselves in the Entrance Hall a minute later. Daphne was nowhere in sight, unsurprisingly.

“Map?” suggested Padma.

“Got it,” Harry replied immediately, getting it out of his pocket.

Harry scanned the map quickly in search of the Slytherin. He found her heading back to her common room. Harry closed the map and quickly sped after Daphne without a word. Padma raised an eyebrow and Hermione let out an irritated huff in response to his unannounced exit. The two females then left in the other direction, already fervently in discussion about Daphne before they’d left the room.

Harry on the other hand quickly moved down stairs and through several corridors, heading towards the Slytherin common room. The chance was there, and insight into Daphne’s mind would be worth being out of breath.

Thankfully, he caught sight of the blonde well before she made it deep enough into the dungeons to get to her common room. A long corridor, that Daphne was half way through, separated the two students. It seemed suitable that such a confrontation would be in such a cold, dark, empty area of the castle.

Hearing hurried footsteps approaching, Daphne stopped and spun on the spot, awaiting her chaser. There was no visible reaction on her face when she caught sight of Harry following her nor was there any motion to speak. Undeterred by that, Harry continued to walk through the corridor, closing the distance. Daphne was stationary, waiting for him.

“What do you want, Potter – hey!”

Harry grabbed her arm firmly and halted her attitude filled dialogue. Maintaining his grip, he directed her further into the dungeons. A short way ahead of the two of them was a pair of doors. Harry dragged a protesting Daphne into the one on the left. It was a storeroom. It looked like an in-use one by the lack of dust on the numerous boxes and crates.

Closing the door behind him, Harry pulled Daphne towards him, grabbed her other hand and pushed her up against a wall, both hands pinning her own arms to the wall. He was immediately reminded of their first confrontation so long ago.

The breath was briefly knocked out of Daphne at the contact with the cold, hard stone wall. Her hair fell messily on either side of her shoulders, her eyes expressing how unexpected this development was for her. Daphne looked about quickly, taking note of the room and Harry’s arms pinning her to the wall. She lowered her head to face the floor, took a deep breath, and flipped her head back up, her hair cascading around her face and shoulders as a result. Harry locked eyes with her and saw playful power in them. She had regained her composure.

Daphne tilted her head to the side and surveyed the young man holding her against her will. Harry watched her, and she licked her lips, drawing his gaze.

“I didn’t think you had it in you to be so … upfront, Harry.”

“I’m not in the mood for games, Daphne,” Harry growled. Daphne’s attitude didn’t alter. She flicked her head to remove a few strands of her hair out of her face, creating a surprisingly attractive gesture without even trying.

It was pointless, however, for Harry’s mind was far from the attractiveness of the fairer gender.

“What’s going on?” asked Harry forcefully. Daphne didn’t look surprised by the question, probably because she wasn’t.

“Now, now, Harry, you have me trapped against a wall in a deserted area of the castle, is Padma all that’s on your mind?” replied Daphne in a sweet, calm, seductive voice, so different from her usual tones and yet eerily familiar. Harry’s grip tightened on her arms and Daphne felt the first twinge of actual pain. For the first time in the presence of Harry Potter, Daphne was a little distressed. She had never seen him so quietly displeased before, let alone been the target.

“I want to know why you acted like you did to her.”

“You’re always on aren’t you, Harry?” responded Daphne exasperatedly, giving away nothing but a smile.

“Bloody hell, Daphne,” whispered Harry, fed up with her consistent attempts at distracting him.

“What part of ‘I want to know why you acted the way you did’ don’t you understand?” Harry demanded. Daphne’s smile disappeared instantly, replaced with a glower. The transition was so quick, so smooth, that he barely registered it. Daphne stood herself straight, proud, defiant.

“Potter, this doesn’t concern you,” was her, typical, cold reply.

“We’re on the same side aren’t we?” asked Harry, not entirely rhetorically. Daphne didn’t answer when Harry paused, not expecting a response but giving her the opportunity for one. “You agreed to join me, and you’ve had the chance to betray us for weeks, so why now start acting like that to Padma, Hermione and me?”

Daphne’s continued silence and unflinching expression was beginning to unnerve Harry. He was still a person who preferred to react more than think, no matter how he’d changed. The young woman he was holding against the wall was able to control her emotions, something, even with Occlumency, he hard a hard time doing. They were very different in the way they dealt with situations. He wasn’t used to an impassive foe, and he wasn’t certain how to deal with her.

“We are enemies, Potter, or have you forgotten our titles?” stated and inquired Daphne, her eyes regarding him, discerning and noting his reactions.

Harry hesitated. The two maintained their eye contact. Harry’s mind flowed furiously, trying to figure out what had changed in the past week to cause this new problem.

Daphne flexed her trapped hands and rolled her head in a circle. It was another surprisingly attractive gesture despite only serving the purpose to relieve some of the strain on trapped limbs and neck.

“Just stay out of it, Potter,” Daphne sighed after no response from Harry was forthcoming. “I’m quite capable of handling myself.”

“You’re… so… stubborn,” Harry said frustratingly.

“Let me go, Potter.”

“Not till you answer me.”

“Potter…” Daphne began, her tone becoming icy and threatening. “I’ve humored you long enough. Let. Me. Go.”

Seeing he wasn’t going to get anywhere, Harry slowly relaxed his hold on Daphne. The moment she regained movement of her arms, Daphne pushed Harry back forcefully and gave him a look that would’ve inspired fear in a lesser man.

“Slytherins lead completely different lives than you Gryffindors do, Potter,” she said in her cold tone. She stepped forward, into his personal space, leaning down beside his ear and whispered, “You are still unable to see things for what they are, Harry. You’ve a lot to learn.”

Then she turned, opened, walked out and then closed the door to the store room, leaving Harry alone. He stood there for several moments thinking just how similar a situation this was to the first time they talked alone together, and pondering what she had meant by her words.

x-x-x-x-x-

The next morning dawned on an exhausted Harry. He tossed and turned all night, mind too preoccupied to let him sleep. It wasn’t just Daphne that was bugging him either; it was an entire mixture of matters he didn’t even want to be thinking of at daybreak – namely Malfoy and the future beyond him.

Breakfast helped his mood. Hermione and Padma noticed how exhausted he was the moment he sat beside them an hour later. While it was kind of them to fuss, it did grate on his nerves after awhile. Still, their presence was a help.

While he tried to keep his mind from drifting her way, something Harry did notice at breakfast was the absence of Daphne from the table. Every student missed a meal every now and then and that by itself wasn’t particularly noteworthy. Whether from being hospitalized, or just sleeping in, other priorities, or any other reason, missing one meal was no big deal, and was soon out of Harry’s thoughts.

The day passed slowly. Holidays were great and all, but there was nothing to do in the middle of winter to a student with no homework and no longer enthralled at every turn of a corridor besides converse. It was too cold to go for a flight and Professor’s McGonagall and Flitwick needed a break as much as the students did. It would be rather ungrateful of him to ask either of them to teach him more on their time off.

Lunch arrived but Daphne didn’t. Lunch was served for an hour period between one and two p.m. and Harry didn’t spend the entire time there, though most students ate as soon as they could, so he wasn’t sure if she did show or not.

When dinner came and Daphne still wasn’t present, try as might have to ignore it, he truly began to wonder where she was. It was rare that any student missed an entire days’ worth of meals unless there were extenuating circumstances.

“Oh,” Harry said aloud as a possibility hit him.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” asked Padma.

Harry stood up suddenly, not having heard Padma’s question. He said, “I’ll see you later,” before walking off, leaving a confused Hermione and Padma behind him.

“I think he’s taking lessons from you,” Padma remarked at the sudden departure of their mutual friend.

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione after she had swallowed her next bite.

“Leaving suddenly, without any explanation, until whatever conclusion has been confirmed,” Padma replied. With a little smile, she said, “You should know that it’s really quite annoying.”

Hermione looked scandalized for a second. She looked around the hall and quickly noted who wasn’t present. “Has it something to do with Daphne again?”

“I assume so,” answered Padma absently. She was now staring at the doors to the Entrance Hall, rapidly becoming deep in thought.

“I trust she’s on our side,” Hermione said determinedly from across the table.

“Never thought otherwise, Hermione,” reassured Padma, still facing the doorway. “She’s risking a lot with us, you realize.” Hermione bit her lip and burrowed her brow in concentration.

“In a Hogwarts House filled with Death Eater sympathizers, and then those that pretend they are to survive, she’s an anomaly, Hermione,” Padma explained. “There’s no one quite like her in this school, let alone the same House. She’s going against the grain despite the danger. She isn’t letting herself be walked over either.” Padma shook her head slowly. “Any one of the other female Slytherin students could attack her in her sleep and any Professor in the castle would be powerless to stop it. I think she has it worse of than any of us, the most to lose.”

“And when she insulted you?” asked Hermione, clarifying one final detail of a puzzle the two of them had already solved.

“If I’m right,” replied Padma slowly. “It’s nothing but an act.”

Hermione nodded her confirmation and speared a potato with her fork. As she raised her fork back to mouth, Padma added, “Still, she doesn’t have to be so… bitchy about it…”

x-x-x-x-x-

After spending so much time in the Hospital Wing as a patient, it was surprising how rare it was that Harry ever walked there. More often than not he’d be carried while unconscious.

The Hospital Wing looked the same as it always did. Several unusually shaped windows were placed intermittently along the far wall that showered bits and pieces of the room with light during the day. These were now covered with curtains, the room lit by magical means.

Two dozen beds filled up the room, each decked out with the same white sheets, blanket and pillow. In between each bed was a small table for the necessities such as potions and, in Harry’s case, glasses, while one slept. All but one of the beds were empty, the final bed surrounded by curtains, where one could safely assume a student lay.

From the other end of the Hospital Wing came the noise of a chair being pushed backwards and someone getting up. A second later Madame Pomfrey entered the Wing from her office at the far end.

“Mr. Potter,” the Healer sighed dramatically, disapproval littering her tone. “What scrape have you got yourself into this time dare I ask?” As she spoke, the woman crossed the room and stopped in front of Harry, wand immediately in hand.

“Er – there’s nothing wrong with me today, Madame Pomfrey.” Harry replied, wary of the wand.

“Oh?” Pomfrey replied skeptically. “Judging from your face you appear to have sleep deprivation. From what I understand you have no homework over break this year, Mr. Potter. What, may I ask, is keeping you up at night if it isn’t the horror you kids consider homework?”

Harry shrugged, feeling a little off balance by the questions and general demeanor of the Healer. “Nothing in particular.”

“You never were a master of words, were you?” Madame Pomfrey said with a raised eyebrow. “I suggest taking a Dreamless Sleep Potion if you are unable to sleep. It may be holidays, Mr. Potter, but that does not excuse late nights and a lack of sleep.”

“I don’t have any,” replied Harry, taken aback.

“Then ask me for some,” she replied firmly. “I’m here to aid you students after all.”

Tutting, Madame Pomfrey raised her wand and cast a silent spell on Harry. “Let’s see how you are then.”

The Healer cast another two spells to an unresisting Harry, as he had come to the conclusion that the woman would not be satisfied unless she had checked him over. Strangely, the spells were evidently the same one as her eyes hardened each time. Finally, after an awkward minute, the woman’s eyes softened and she addressed him again, a peculiar smile on her face.

“All seems well, Mr. Potter. Besides a lack of sleep, you’re as healthy as one could hope for at this time of year.”

At least it was good to know that, Harry thought. Mentally dragging his mind back on track, Harry returned to his real reason for being here.

“Uh – Madame Pomfrey, may I visit the patient you have?” asked Harry tentatively. Instantly the Healer’s attitude changed.

“Why, may I ask?” she asked with a poorly concealed edge to her voice. Harry was momentarily swayed by the tone; however he solidified his determination an instant afterwards.

“Because, if it’s Daphne Greengrass behind those curtains, then I need to know what happened,” answered Harry calmly.

“Professor Babbage mentioned you had an altercation with Miss Greengrass in the Great Hall two days ago, Mr. Potter.” Pomfrey said curiously. “How am I to know you weren’t the one responsible for Miss Greengrass’s condition?”

Harry gave the Healer an odd look. “You are aware you just practically told me that it is Daphne behind those curtains, aren’t you?” At that the Healer paused, sighed and shook her head. “And you know me better than that,” Harry continued, undeterred. “You’ve known me long enough to know I’m the one more likely to receive injuries than give them out.”

Conceding his point, the Healer stepped aside and let Harry through.

“I must admit that seeing you and a Slytherin of all people, Mr. Potter, together is rather odd.”

“You and me both, Madame Pomfrey,” Harry quipped, after a moments thought.

With the Healer appeased, at least temporarily, he could tell she would be watching the two of them closely, Harry passed several unoccupied beds, stopping front of the occupied one. Pausing a moment, Harry took a breath and pulled the curtains aside.

“Well, we meet again, Potter,” Daphne said half-heartedly sarcastically, unsurprised as well, the moment he laid eyes on her.

She looked terrible. There wasn’t any other way to say it.

The blonde hair that was normally sleek, straightened and one of the female’s best features, was now a mess, framing her face with odds and ends sticking up everywhere. Her brown eyes were filled with several red patches, much like his own had been after being subjected to the Cruciatus earlier in the year. A dark bruise was coming through strongly on her right cheek, a second on her jaw and a third on the tiny piece of skin that Harry could see below her neck before the Hospital gown covered the rest of her not under hospital bed sheets.

He didn’t believe for a second that what he could see was the extent of her injuries.

“You stood me up on our dinner date, Daphne, how could I not come wandering about for you?” he responded. It was an attempt at humor, but his voice didn’t have a trace of humor in it.

Harry took a step forward and closed the curtains behind him. He drew up a chair and sat beside the Hospital bed. Daphne watched him, a neutral, guarded expression on her face. She had not responded in any way to his previous remark.

“What happened?” asked Harry, the question inevitable.

“None of your business,” Daphne replied sharply. She gave him a contemptuous look, and turned away to study her bed sheets in great detail. Harry sighed. This was going to take some time.

“You don’t have to act all high and mighty to me when you’re in a Hospital bed,” Harry said, watching the turned away face of the Slytherin for any trace of a reaction. There was nothing forthcoming, however.

Daphne reached – gingerly, Harry noted – over to her beside table and picked her wand.

Wait, what?

Harry tensed as Daphne pointed her wand is his direction. He was about to speak up when she switched her attention to something behind him. She flicked her wand and the curtains behind Harry closed quickly and completely, and then glowed briefly. It took Harry several seconds to realize she had blocked off the outside from overhearing.

“We’ve been over this –” Daphne started, lowering her wand.

”Yeah, we have,” Harry interrupted tiredly. “I’ve heard it all. You don’t want me to know, Slytherin problems are Slytherin problems, I don’t understand, but I don’t give a damn about that,” he went on angrily. “Look where you are, Daphne. You’re in the bloody Hospital Wing because of whatever this is. Just act like you are my friend for once and tell me what happened.”

Daphne’s neutral expression slipped for a moment, just a moment, but Harry caught it. For a brief second he saw an appreciative look on her face. It had been there so quickly that he almost missed it. Yet it was a start. It was more than he had when he had entered the room. There was a chance, a small chance, that he could get answers from this young woman yet.

“I told you, you shouldn’t get involved…” she whispered, still refusing to look at him.

“And I’m choosing to be anyway,” Harry completed. “Remind you of anything?” He left that hanging in the air for a moment before adding, “I warned you lot loads of times and now look where we are. Friends help one another. How do you think I got this far?”

To nobody’s surprise, not that there was anyone listening except Harry, Daphne remained silent. Harry sat in silence as well, waiting for Daphne to make the next move.

“You’re not as smart as I thought, Potter,” Daphne said after awhile. Harry sent her a blank look. That was not an answer he had expected. “I told you to stay out of it when we started this whole venture. I suppose since I’m a Slytherin,” she continued, her head lolling to her right to face Harry, her voice icy, but tired and, if Harry wasn’t wishful hearing, hurt too. “That my word doesn’t count for much with you lot?”

Harry bristled, annoyed at her insinuation. That was a low blow, a really low blow. A minimal five years of prejudice was a hard habit to break for some, though Harry had believed he had been, and was, fair to her. The others had different positions in this debate, but the majority was tolerant of her.

“We’re hardly perfect,” he admitted. “That doesn’t mean I’m not trying here. Is that a good enough reason to shut me… us out?”

“What gives you the right to pry into my life?” Daphne retorted, facing him head on. “You offered your life for us to view, that doesn’t mean we’ll do the same for you. Some of us have parts of our lives that we want secret from everyone. Don’t think for a moment that we all don’t have our own skeletons to hide.”

“So that’s it, is it?” half-asked Harry. “You wind up in here; you won’t offer a reason why. And if it happens again, should we expect the same, or worse?”

Daphne examined Harry, her eyes moving slowly, precisely over his face. Harry stood his ground, his expression set in fierce determination. He wasn’t even one hundred percent certain why he was bothering so much with her given her past and present attitude. Sometimes that train of thought went beyond simple communication problems.

“Was it Malfoy’s group?” asked Harry directly.

“Who do you think it was?”

“That charm of yours works so well. It’s no wonder you’re so popular.”

“Thanks, it took a fair bit of practice,” Daphne replied sarcastically, lolling her head back against her pillows, facing the ceiling.

“I’m sure it did. We done or shall we continue?”

“Continue of course. Who doesn’t love a good round of insulting each other?” Daphne responded in the same tone he’d come to expect.

Relaxing back into his chair, Harry settled in for a long visit. She was probably berating herself internally for letting slip a moment earlier. Still, she was injured and in a hospital bed. There was far more chance now than ever to get answers from her, even if he had to work for it.

“So tell me about life in the House of Slytherin,” Harry said absently. “Got any interesting gossip for me?”

Daphne faced and stared at him like he was something she’d seen expelled from an animal.

Right, didn’t have her pinned as a gossiper.

“Males? Any books or games interest you? Sports?” further questioned Harry. “Got any interests at all besides having an attitude to everyone? Before the DA of course,” he added rather belatedly. He was playing her game now, albeit rather poorly in comparison. The only person he regularly traded insults with seemed to be on hiatus pending further matches due to a certain evil wizard hounding him to get a job done.

Again, Daphne just stared at him like something she’d seen expelled from an animal.

“Ever been in a relationship?” he queried further. “Becoming more a focus in everyone’s lives lately, it seems.” No answer.

“Or has someone dumped you and you no longer are interested?” he went on precariously, hoping to step on a nerve.

“Someone dump me?” Daphne scoffed, finally speaking again. “A likely story, Potter,” It seemed he succeeded, though, oddly, her words sounded forced.

“There we go, a response,” Harry remarked brightly. “That’s a good step. Now, are you going to answer my question?”

“Get real,” was all the response he got. Round three, Harry thought sarcastically.

“You know, I’m not leaving until I get an answer,” Harry said out of the blue, twiddling his thumbs. “I can get meals whenever I want thanks to Dobby and I have a decent enough relationship with Madame Pomfrey to get her to let me stay longer than any others would be allowed too.”

Now that last part was a bluff, but Daphne didn’t need to know that. Putting everything he had into keeping his expression from betraying him, he continued to watch Daphne as he had been before.

“So, by saying that it’s ‘a likely story’,” Harry went on, using air quotes. “You must have been in a relationship before, correct?” Daphne was silent.

“Okay, let’s take that as a yes then.” Harry nodded. “Care to explain what happened? We can hardly talk mine; everyone already knows everything about Cho.”

“Don’t forget Delacour,” Daphne added helpfully. Harry nearly winced but restrained himself. Bad territory, that was.

“Well?” asked Harry.

No response.

“Fine, let’s talk something else,” Harry conceded amicably.

“How’s life at home? What were you up to before Hogwarts?” He paused. “For that matter, what do purebloods do before Hogwarts?

Daphne lifted her right hand, startling Harry, and brushed a strand of hair off of her face. Her Hospital gown slipped down a little and Harry saw raw flesh on her wrist. A deep anger rose within him. Whoever did this was going to hurt for it.

“Who did this to you, Daphne?” again asked Harry, this time some of his anger seeping into his voice. The blonde girl laid her arm back down beside her and stared back at Harry.

There was a long silence.

“When I was in Muggle primary school,” Harry continued after Daphne didn’t respond. “I was the outcast there, the one that everyone would avoid, the one that nobody would talk to and the one that everyone feared to be near. Nobody would pick me for any teams for games until I was the last one there and they were forced to. I was always left out of everything in the breaks between classes and I never had a friend. Why do you think that was?”

He patiently waited a moment in case Daphne would answer, not that he had any high hopes that she would. Still, keeping her on edge, waiting to hear the next part would help. He could tell she was listening. He’d watched enough people throughout his last five years to know that much.

“My cousin prevented anyone getting near me,” Harry continued. “When I first started school, a number of people did try to befriend me, but Dudley would scare them away. Those that were more persistent got beaten up and were there on out too scared to come near me. It’s not worth it, is it, to get near to someone only to get beaten up for it.”

“You already know that I came here friendless, half-starved and completely oblivious to the magical word,” he went on, just watching the female before him from his chair as if this was a normal occurrence. “Well Dudley managed to keep everyone away from me for years. During those years, Dudley grew larger, stronger and a gang formed behind him. Nobody would cross Dudley and his gang. If you did, the results were painful.”

“Then the people that had formerly tried to befriend me fell in the line behind him, not wanting to risk his wrath again, and instead chose to become a part of the problem.” Harry said darkly.

This was the first time he had been exposed to one of the glaring weaknesses in humanity – how people could fall in behind the powerful instead of fighting for what was right, choosing the easy road instead, no matter the consequences, ignoring their morality and conscience. The magical world was no different in that respect. Few stood up to Voldemort and his Death Eaters because of the power they wielded. While the number of the general public who actually believed in Voldemort’s pureblood nonsense was the minority, the majority wouldn’t dare speak out for fear of repercussions. But that was a part of Voldemort’s, and to a lesser extent Snape’s, power, the power to spread fear, fear so great that no one would dare stand against it. Because of that, both men could walk all over those in their way without much chance of consequence.

“Those people,” he continued in the same voice. “Began to act like Dudley, keeping everyone away from me and giving me a hard time, day in, day out for as long as I can remember. That hurt. To see the people who tried to befriend me laugh at me, insult me and aid Dudley in whatever fun way to terrorize me he thought up for the day… well, it wasn’t a positive sight.”

“The magical world was a second chance, and I jumped on the first chance I got to become friends with someone. Ron.”

“Malfoy is like the Dudley of Hogwarts to me,” Harry said, leaning forward, elbows propping himself up on his knees, staring into the bed sheets. Daphne was still eyeing him as he spoke. “And Ron, despite threats, stayed with me. It was a new experience, having someone stay on my side after being at Muggle School for so long. So, at the time, I knew I could trust him.”

Harry faced the floor for a moment, letting the last part hang in the air. He then faced Daphne again and was surprised to find he still had an audience.

“Part of the reason I didn’t want to do anything to Ron or Ginny, Daphne, is because they both had been friends, both had helped me when they needn’t have. The Department of Mysteries alone deserved at least some sympathy.”

Harry closed his eyes and sighed.

“I have no idea what’s happened in your life, Daphne,” Harry said calmly, regaining eye contact. “I know next to nothing about you, even though I’ve known you for three months. You’re right. It’s your life. I volunteered mine; I don’t expect you to do the same for me. Everyone has secrets and I can imagine you may have more than the rest of us.”

Harry, hands on knees, wrung his hands together. “From what I understand, Slytherins have few actual friends. There are more followers than friends. The way you… operate, I suppose, doesn’t exactly inspire trust.”

“On that note, if the DA is your first source of friendship in some time, let us do what friends do for one another.”

Harry leant further forwards on his chair and looked closely at Daphne’s face, a meter apart, yet the closest he had been to her when she wasn’t testing him in her own little way.

Seconds ticked by silently. Harry hoped and prayed that she would respond. If she didn’t there was no more point in trying to speak with her. Here she was, injured in a hospital bed and still refused any semblance of aid from him.

For a long, long moment, the two of them said nothing, merely watching each other closely. Brown and green eyes examined each other closely, barely stopping moving for a moment, though never letting up in intensity.

Then after what seemed ten minutes, Daphne opened her mouth to say something.

“My parents …” she whispered softly, not looking away. “… Were Death Eaters,”

“Were?” Harry repeated questioningly. Past tense?

“They quit,” Daphne said softly and bluntly. “Or… have tried to at least.”

Harry was already deeply interested. It was with no lack of irony that he found himself on the opposite end of his own tactic. He’d wanted Daphne to talk, to ask what happened next with his own story and here was Daphne, getting him interested with a mere eight words. To be honest, though, her story would be more interesting than his.

He didn’t move, continuing to examine the face of the young woman in front of him, watching and waiting for her to continue.

“Tried to?” asked Harry, as the silence continued and he was unable to wait any longer. Daphne held his intense gaze, and then came to a conclusion.

“No, I’ve said enough,” Daphne said suddenly, looking away.

“Daphne,” sighed Harry, running a hand through his hair and leaning back into his chair, resisting the urge to shout out in frustration. Damn! So close.

“Your concern is unwarranted and unwanted, Potter,” said Daphne firmly, though without her usual malice and, as before, it sounded forced. Still, her hand tightened around her wand, which, Harry noted, had never been out of her grasp since she had touched it. Harry, hands still over his head, grabbed fistfuls of his hair and was almost going to attempt to pull his hair out before he calmed himself.

“Okay, let’s say for a second that, with your attitude to us, you actually give a damn about someone besides yourself,” started Harry angrily, leaning forward. “There are people who give a damn about you. Are you just going to shove that in their faces?”

“Shut it, Potter, just leave me alone,” Daphne retorted, getting angry herself, and showing the first signs of emotion other than apathy.

“You know what, fine,” replied Harry, standing up. “Next time you go missing, I’ll leave you alone. I won’t try and find out if you’re alright. I suggest you leave Hogwarts if you are going to be attacked by your housemates. If you can’t even live in your own dorm and have nobody you care about here, you don’t have any reason to stay, do you? You purebloods can easily afford tutors, so what’s keeping you here?”

Harry stared into Daphne’s eyes again from above her. For the second time ever, he saw apprehensiveness in her eyes and it made him hesitate, again, and he nearly hated himself for it. Her attitude when amongst the others wasn’t unlike this but it was more subdued, and had become accustomed to. Here, it was infuriating. Here, it was unbearable. He wanted to be angry, he wanted to leave her here, yet something in him held him back just a little longer.

“Potter – Harry,” Daphne corrected herself quietly. This wasn’t what she wanted, not at all. Everything was falling apart. Why couldn’t he just damn accept her standpoint and leave her be?

Harry stood rooted to the spot, waiting for her to continue, if she would at all.

More than once, her mouth opened and then closed, no sound escaping each time. It looked like she wanted to say something, but then changed her mind at the last second in each instance.

Harry waited a full minute for nothing. He turned on the spot, facing back towards the curtains, away from Daphne. “I don’t even know why you agreed to join the DA in the first place. Evidently you don’t have any ties with us. Consider yourself out.” Harry paused a moment, waiting for a response that he knew wouldn’t come.

“Goodnight Daphne, I hope you get better soon.”

And with that, he took a step, opened the curtains, canceling the charms on it, and closed them behind him, sighing silently as he did. What a complete, utter waste of time.

He had not gone six steps when he heard a pair of feet hitting the floor. Expecting Madame Pomfrey to ambush him again, he was surprised to find Daphne standing, shakily, heavily favoring her right leg, on her feet between the curtains to her bed.

Shock was the feature he knew was registered on his face and he did not try to hide it.

Daphne nodded her head back in the direction of her bed. She waited a moment, watching Harry and then, gingerly, disappeared from view. Harry followed; still rather surprised she had come after him, even a few steps out of her bed, which, by the look of it, took a great effort.

By the time Harry was in-between the curtains again, Daphne was back on her bed. For a brief moment he saw another bruise, this time on the side of her shin on her left leg. The blonde’s eyes flashed warningly towards Harry for a moment, who took no notice.

“How bad is it all?” he asked.

“I don’t want your pity, Potter,” she replied harshly, the offending leg disappearing under the sheets as she spoke. With her right hand she tried to cover herself properly in the sheets again. Harry, still standing by the bed, knocked her arm away, earning a glare in retaliation.

“Lie down,” Harry ordered. Daphne looked about to fight him, but she stopped herself and reluctantly obeyed. Harry covered the girl with the sheets and retook his seat, resuming his study of the girl.

“It’s not pity, by the way,” said Harry airily. “It’s called compassion. You should learn about it.” Daphne ignored him, choosing instead to shuffle about in her bed, trying to regain a comfortable position. Harry became silent, patiently waiting for Daphne to talk. She must have something to say to have gotten out of bed for him.

It took several minutes for any more words to be exchanged.

“My parents joined Voldemort around two years before the night he came after you.” Daphne said. She was one of the few people Harry had met that never had a problem speaking the name without any semblance of fear. It wasn’t in the personality that he knew to fear a name, no matter the man or woman behind it.

“They were twenty-one and nineteen, foolish, still rather immature, and were caught up in the pureblood supremacy beliefs that so many others were at the time, and many retain today.”

“Mum was pregnant with me,” Daphne went on, facing the ceiling again. Harry sat idly by, interested, but wary. This alone was not enough for him to forgive her for her attitude. “And both thought that Voldemort was going to win the war. You need to remember that until that Halloween he attacked the Potters, he was winning.”

“Those that stood against Voldemort died, plain and simple. Working with him, you would live, plain and simple.” Daphne lolled her head to the side again, facing Harry. “My parents know… ways… of earning money, quickly.”

“Illegally,” Harry said quietly. Daphne didn’t confirm or deny the statement.

“That was useful to Voldemort and he recruited them,” continued Daphne. “They don’t wear Dark Marks. Their tasks were not grand enough to for them to receive that honor.”

That answers a few questions, Harry thought. It explained why he had never heard of the Greengrass family being involved with the Death Eaters and explained why they were still free despite working with the Death Eaters. No Dark Mark, no obvious connection.

“Then Voldemort disappeared and my parents were afraid they would be connected to him, so they laid low and managed to escape the round up of stray Death Eaters over the next year,” Daphne explained. “Since then, Mum and Dad have been strictly legal in all their dealings. A few years back, when they believed I was old enough to understand, they sat me down and told me everything.”

“I did and do understand.” Daphne stated with absolute certainty.

“Now, he’s back. My parents were contacted by Lucius Malfoy sometime during the summer after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He wanted the money. Running a war doesn’t come cheap.”

“Neither of them wants to follow him anymore, and yet they can’t just leave. It doesn’t work like that.” Daphne was quiet after that statement, her face for once betraying her emotions.

“When you want out or you have no more use, you’re expendable,” Harry summarized. Daphne nodded a quick confirmation.

“Our beloved Death Eater wannabes decided that because I had not shown loyalty to the ‘Dark Lord’,” she continued, sarcastically using air quotes with her right hand for the last words. “That I needed encouragement to make my decision.”

“That’s why you’re involved with Malfoy and the entire Oaths matter,” Harry said, sighing, realization hitting him like a cold shower.

“Took you long enough, Potter,” she said insultingly.

“Didn’t exactly have much to go on, did I?” he retorted distastefully. Daphne glared at him a moment, her untamed hair covering the right side of her face. The two took deep breaths and managed to prevent another round of insults.

“Malfoy, Nott and Parkinson believed that if I was gently thrust into the work of the Dark Lord, I would join their side,” Daphne scoffed.

“They would blackmail you,” Harry figured, thinking through what she was telling him. “Say you worked for them if you continued to back out.”

“And it would work,” Daphne agreed. “The first inkling that someone worked for Voldemort would get the Ministry on their ass instantly. I could go out to a bar and pretend I know what Voldemort’s planning, just for the sake of getting attention, and be arrested for it.”

“Stan Shunpike,” Harry said solemnly. Daphne nodded another confirmation.

“I had no real choice at the beginning, so I had to go along with the Oath,” Daphne explained. “It appeased them for awhile. Problem was that I took no active role in aiding them. Then Crabbe and Goyle, showing their intellect, agreed to lure you into the Forbidden Forest and aid Yaxley in capturing you.” Daphne sighed. “Yet another arrogant, pathetic wreck of a man that dares call himself a pureblood…”

“And Malfoy realized he was two followers short,” Harry concluded. “So he started taking more notice of his remaining ‘allies’, including you and your lack of help.”

“I knew he was watching me, paying attention to what I was up to,” Daphne said into the silence. “I half expected to find him watching me in the showers, the bastard.”

Harry couldn’t resist imagining what Daphne would’ve done to Malfoy had that actually happened, knowing her temper quite well. He chuckled a few times before sobering up quickly, and not because of the glare Daphne gave him. The more perverted, teenager side of his mind started focusing on what the blonde would look like in the shower, without the interruption.

“At first I would just ignore him or… persuade to him leave off,” Daphne went on, aware of but ignoring where Harry’s trail of thought had lead to. “That worked for awhile. Obviously, it didn’t last. He clearly got impatient and sent the others to attack me in my sleep, like the cowards he and they are.”

“And because of all that, here I am and here we are,” she ended darkly. Harry was silent for several moments.

This was the first time he had heard anything about Daphne’s past and was very surprised to now know what he did. Her parents were part-time Death Eaters who no longer wanted in and were trying to get out. There were so many problems associated with that knowledge that he didn’t know where to begin.

She must be worried about them, Harry thought. And possibly because of that, she wasn’t acting herself lately. The student body had proved themselves to be observant on certain matters. It would only take one person to notice Daphne not being her usual self to spark a chain of events that led to the result in front of Harry now, even if Malfoy himself hadn’t noticed.

“Okay…” Harry said aloud, unsure of what to say now. This situation was a first for him, one of many this year.

“Don’t torment yourself over it, Potter, I don’t expect you to say something and make everything rainbows and sing-a-longs,” Daphne said sarcastically, though it lacked any enthusiasm. They were merely words she spoke and did not mean. She then added bitterly, “The world doesn’t work that way.”

For a second time she raised her right hand and brushed several strands of her hair off of her face.

“You’re not using your left hand for anything,” Harry observed. “Why not?” Daphne looked at her right hand, replaced it on the bed, and examined her left.

“Broken?” questioned Harry. Daphne nodded.

“Not supposed to move it much.”

“How bad is it all?” he asked again, hoping for a better response this time.

“Left arm was broken, fractured leg, couple dozen bruises,” she responded shortly, as if admitting she was hurt made her weak.

“May I?” asked Harry quietly, leaning forward, his eyes on the bruises visible on her face and neck.

“May you what?” asked back Daphne, wary.

“Look where you are hurt,” he replied. Daphne examined him for a long moment, whether judging his honesty or contemplating the ramifications, Harry didn’t know.

Without speaking a word, she sat up, gingerly moved her legs out from underneath the sheets and made to make a little room for Harry to sit on the bed. Saving her the trouble, Harry withdrew his wand and cast a mild Enlargement Charm on the bed, creating a king sized bed in its place.

He stood up and, apprehensively, sat down on the bed beside Daphne. She faced him from her side of the bed, Harry sitting on his. He reached out and, hesitantly, touched the girl on the cheek. Daphne closed her eyes and flinched slightly, whether from the pain or merely from the contact, again, Harry didn’t know.

He brushed his hand gently down her check, softly tracing a line down to her neck, where the only other bruise he could see was. Her breath hitched as Harry’s hand made its way down her neck, but there was no ill intent here, not like that she had experienced the previous night.

“Where else?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“More a question of where didn’t they,” Daphne replied as quietly as Harry had. She shuffled on her spot, facing side-on to Harry. Harry saw her wince as she moved her back straight at the time. She slouched forward immediately.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked as he shuffled behind her and reached out to gently stroke her back. He hesitated, not knowing whether the gesture would be more painful than helpful, or even wanted at all.

“I’m fine,” Daphne growled in response. Harry could tell the opposite were true.

“Haven’t you been giving something for the pain?”

“I have, but it was some time ago now. I’ll probably be forced to take that Dreamless Sleep crap soon,” Daphne replied softly.

Harry raised his eyebrows but didn’t question her attitude towards the potion.

“I had an allergic reaction to it when I was younger,” Daphne told him willingly. “The allergy is gone now, but I still don’t like it.”

The two fell into a silence, broken only by their breathing. Harry’s eyes roamed the visible portion of Daphne’s skin, searching for other visible injuries. He breathed in and could smell something sweet coming from Daphne he knew but couldn’t place.

“Why haven’t your bruises been healed?” he asked, noticing the tip of another one on her left shoulder, hidden by her hair. “I know the broken leg will take some time but these…”

Daphne raised a hand and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “The leg was the priority. I took a Pain Relieving Potion soon after coming here so the bruises didn’t become a nuisance, and I took a potion for them about a half hour ago. They should disappear soon. The leg should be fine tomorrow.”

.

Harry sat thoughtfully for a minute. He’d heard sentiments from Su and Padma recently about the limitations of healing magic.

“How do wizards live so long? I mean Dumbledore would likely be dead if he were a Muggle.”

“Magic is able to slow the deterioration of cells and organs. Again, it isn’t limitless. The body itself has limits,” Daphne explained with surprising patience. It disappeared, however, then, and her face hardened. “Are we done with the questions?”

Harry glared at her. “Excuse me for not knowing this. I didn’t grow up like you did and have all the knowledge you purebloods got.”

For once Daphne didn’t retort.

Harry sat back up and Daphne brushed some of her hair behind her ear again. Another silence filled the room.

“What happened?” asked Harry eventually, hoping for a more positive response this time. Daphne moved, gingerly, back under the sheets and leant on her pillows against the headboard. Harry sat next to her, leaning on his hand and facing her.

“I was complacent,” Daphne said softly.

“Nobody is in complete control of a situation, Daphne,” replied Harry. “They would have done this sooner or later to someone if not you.”

“The thing with Padma,” she said remorsefully, a tone of voice Harry was not afraid to admit was new to him from this young woman. He crossed his legs and leant forward, listening. “I let myself become… friendly… with you lot and it affected me. I didn’t spend any time harassing any students like I used to and that’s how they got on to me. I tried to rectify that. It wasn’t enough. It was already too late for me to redeem myself at that point. That’s why I’m here.”

“Was it just Parkinson and Nott?” asked Harry, searching her face intensely.

“Who else?” she brushed another bit of her long, bountiful blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Yes. Who else could it have been?” she laughed humorlessly. “I was asleep when they caught me. I couldn’t do anything. Parkinson tied me to the bed posts,” she rubbed her wrists, “and, somehow, Nott made it into the dorm and took turns expressing their point of view, verbally and not-so.”

“Did they…?”

“No,” Daphne replied. “Not this time at least. Their confidence has probably risen a fair bit because of this, especially when they’ll get away with it.”

Harry scowled. “Why will they get away with this?”

“Think about it, Harry,” Daphne sighed. She slouched further into her bed and stared at him. “Who controls Parkinson and Nott?”

“Malfoy does,” Harry answered immediately.

“Correct,” Daphne agreed. “Think about how our beloved Headmaster has refused to heed your warnings and keep Malfoy at Hogwarts. Do you really think that this will change anything?”

Harry would have protested before this year. Instead, he let her continue unhindered.

“And Snape?” mock questioned Daphne. “Snape ratting on Malfoy to Dumbledore isn’t happening. Any witnesses coming forward against Snape or Malfoy? Not happening. Me going to Dumbledore and telling him who did this to me, the end result the three of them getting expelled for it? Not happening. You said it yourself earlier this year, Harry, Dumbledore won’t lift a finger against the arrogant prick unless he does something positively damming in front of a rather large audience. That didn’t happen so Malfoy gets off for it.”

“That’s completely unfair.”

“You out of all the people here should have understood that life can be quite unfair long ago, Harry.” Daphne brushed aside another strand of hair and faced Harry. She looked tired. Her pride, too, had taken a beating.

Harry didn’t reply this time. Instead he sat, thoughtful. Daphne leant back into her pillow and closed her eyes. Her hand was still on her wand.

“Can you still stay in the same dorm now that you’re in danger from your housemates?” asked Harry.

“To them, I’ve been taught my lesson,” Daphne answered, her eyes still closed. “I won’t be bothered again… or at least for awhile.”

“Why do you treat people the way you do?” ventured Harry. “Especially us, when we’ve been trying to be friendly to you.”

“You’re just full of questions today, aren’t you?” replied Daphne testily. Harry scowled. Daphne sighed and opened her eyes. “When you come from my background, Harry, you have to expect to know a number of bad people. If you want to succeed, if you want to be left alone, if you want to be safe, you can not be timid. Few people would dare to bother me, and Nott and Parkinson only did because of who their master is.”

“That doesn’t explain why you treat us the same,” Harry said. Daphne faced him.

“Surely you have noticed how your friends view me? I’m a Slytherin, Harry. We are the origins of more Dark wizards than any other house. Of course I’m going to be one too. How could anyone think otherwise?”

Harry began to understand. He didn’t like the answers.

“Your friends treated me with hostility,” Daphne said evenly. “I have only responded to the same treatment I have been subjected too. McMillan, Bones and Abbot, they continue to treat me warily, if not outright antagonistic. Patil doesn’t anymore. Granger wants to believe me. Li and Lovegood don’t care from what I can tell. You understand now?”

“Yeah, I do.” Too well, in fact.

“I will treat them as they treat me, Harry. I’ve entertained them for long enough. They need to learn that I’m not the enemy, or I will leave. That’s all.”

Harry didn’t like her logic, but he could understand. Perhaps he would have become the same had he continued to be subjected to the hostility he knew for much of his childhood at the Dursley’s. Her half-hearted threat to leave, however, brought up a question he had asked before.

“Why did you join the DA?” deadpanned Harry. Daphne examined his face, searching for something – a motive, perhaps, or simply giving herself time to think through her words.

“I want out, Harry, I want out of here,” Daphne replied. “I’m tired of it. I’m tired of having to live on edge, tired of having to be careful what I say around everyone, tired of fearing what will happen if my parents are attacked, tired of watching Bones, Abbot, Patil … everyone … being able to sit together and talk, and nobody cares. While you lot are having fun together, I’m on the sidelines. I can’t join you; I’d be attacked again for associating with muggleborns and, especially, you. My parents would be killed if I did. All I want is this to end.”

Harry sat in silence.

“Do you know what life is like in Slytherin?” she asked rhetorically. “Everyone is always on edge, watching everyone else, waiting for someone to make a wrong move, say a wrong thing, make a mistake or reveal a weakness. Then they are pounced upon and are blackmailed or humiliated because of it. This is our lives. Our ambitions are more important than friendship or morality. Every Slytherin has an ambition, Harry, even I do.” Daphne looked deep into Harry’s eyes. “I am the same. My ambition is second only to my family.”

Harry nodded, a trail of goosebumps appearing on his arms and legs, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He understood her perfectly. Her ambition was more important to her than he was. She wouldn’t hesitate in betraying them if it served her purpose. Daphne was a dangerous person, as anyone would be when on their own side. She was dangerous to him even though she wanted Voldemort gone. Harry felt out of his depth with her, not for the first time.

“What about my roommates, you may ask. Bulstrode, well, nobody talks to her. Davis is too wrapped up in her voyeuristic tendencies, following student sex lives – oh, yes, there are sex lives here, Harry – to pay any attention to anything else. Parkinson doesn’t need an explanation, nor do the rest of my fellow sixth years. The few that don’t support Voldemort, out of personal desire or simple fear, are too afraid themselves to stand up against Malfoy and his group.”

“Long ago I ceased to enjoy Hogwarts, Harry,” said Daphne quietly. “Do you want to know why I agreed to join the DA? I did for several reasons. Because of my parents, and having intellect, I know Voldemort isn’t after pureblood supremacy. If he wins the war, wizard kind in Britain will never be the same. He’ll tear it apart. Whatever he sells as his tag line to the purebloods, vampires, werewolves and giants will be scrapped and they’ll meet the same fate as those that stood against him. Now that I know the prophecy, I know the entire wizarding world will never be the same if he does win.”

“And the other reasons?” asked Harry.

“I want out of here,” Daphne repeated simply. “That’s enough. If nothing else, joining you would allow me to learn a lot about you, and that first hand information can be priceless. I want Voldemort gone too, for different reasons, of course, but we aren’t on opposite sides of this war out there. And,” she added with satisfaction. “I knew you wouldn’t be around here for much longer from what you told me. This works out quite well for me.”

Harry was silent, absorbing all that she’d said. He didn’t know what to say in response to such proclamations, or what her ambition was either. For whatever reason, she’d told him quite a bit about herself. What was the purpose behind that? Did she want trust? To make sure he would keep her with him? If anything, he would trust her less. There were so many questions and so few answers.

“On that,” Harry eventually began. “What can we do about Malfoy?”

Finding out whatever was going on with Malfoy seemed hopeless without just plain forcing it out of him. That would get him expelled. Harry would put it off as long as he could, but that day was quickly coming unless another avenue opened for him.

Sensing his thoughts, she said, “I know you’re hesitant to outright confront him. That would be the most effective route, I hope you understand.”

He did. Too well, in fact. The days where petty exchanges of words and spells would solve their disputes with each other were long past. A whole new game at arisen, a whole new set of rules, a whole new set of stakes, and the solution wasn’t without great consequences anymore.

“Your main alternative is what you are doing now, then,” Daphne continued. “Wait until he makes a mistake. Confronting without the intention to do more than throw words won’t work. This leaves these two options.” She sighed. “Either way, your window will eventually close. Don’t wait too long.”

“I know.” And he really did know.

Harry checked his new watch and was surprised to see more than an hour had passed. “I’d best go. I’ve probably pushed the visiting time limit as it is.”

Daphne nodded at him and shuffled back down under her covers, closing her eyes once more. Her wand lay beside her but she no longer held it. Harry stopped himself from trying to figure her out and bade her farewell.

As he was leaving, Daphne said one last thing. “If you mention any part of this conversation, or what you did or saw to anyone, prophecy or no prophecy, I will not rest until I have -”

“- killed me, castrated me, tortured me with various utensils,” Harry interrupted her quickly. “I get the idea. Let’s just leave that to be a surprise, shall we?”

He left before she could formulate a suitable response.

“Mr. Potter,” Madame Pomfrey’s voice echoed throughout the Hospital Wing before he had gotten a dozen steps. She was suddenly standing right behind him. “I assume whatever communication was needed with Ms. Greengrass was in her best interests and not in the ones that gave her those injuries?” Harry nodded. That was certainly a part of their conversation. “I also assume you wish for me to not divulge that you have visited Ms. Greengrass?” Harry nodded a second time.

Madame Pomfrey sighed. “Try and stay out of here, Mr. Potter. While I enjoy your company, I have no wish to see you in my beds ever again.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Harry replied with a small grimace.

Nodding, Pomfrey brushed past the curtains surrounding Daphne’s bed and began talking to her in a low voice. Sighing, Harry left the two to their own devices and exited the Hospital Wing, mind preoccupied with absorbing Daphne’s words to his memory. At the first corner on his trip back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry, in his distracted state, literally ran into a short-ish girl with short, light brown hair and brown eyes. The two of them managed to steady themselves before they fell. Harry stared at the girl and, his mind still on Daphne, took a moment to recognize her from last time.

“Megan? Megan Jones?” Harry asked, perplexed. He rarely saw her, probably because he hadn’t had many classes with her in his five and a bit years of education and she was a quiet one that kept to herself, as far as he was aware. The only other time the two had really communicated was the last time the two had collided near here.

 

“Harry,” she responded, surprised, eyes doing a once over of his body. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a question for Madame Pomfrey,” he lied quickly. No one needed to know he’d been speaking with Daphne.

“Oh, well, see you round then.” Megan replied before dodging past him and entered the Hospital Wing.

Shaking the meeting from his mind, Harry trekked back to Gryffindor Tower. His mind was never far from Daphne, her past, her ambition, and how she, no matter her attitude, interested him.

x-x-x-x-x-

That night, Harry dreamt.

It wasn’t a Voldemort dream. Harry could tell the difference straight away. There was no menace, no unusual perspective, no cold, calculating laugh. This was fundamentally different.

Harry was standing in a grassy field, wearing his pajamas. The wind blew around him, rustling the trees in the distance and moving the blades of grass which tickled his bare legs. Leaves of every color blew around him, littering the ground before him.

Just as he began to wonder what he was doing there, a faint hissing could be heard in the distance. Drawn, Harry took a step in the direction he thought he heard the hissing from.

A second step drew him closer, and a third and forth more so. The hissing grew louder and louder, and Harry was increasingly drawn to it.

And then it stopped. There was dead silence for a long moment. Harry looked around him, trying to hear and locate where the sound went. But it was gone. All that was left was a dull ache in his chest, as if he’d lost something.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The following day heralded few events worth recalling. Hermione and Padma wanted to know what Daphne had said, but Harry had, obeying Daphne’s somewhat odd threat, apologized and replied that he couldn’t. Neither particularly liked that response. He explained why and that Daphne and he had sorted everything out. Hermione and Padma accepted the facts reluctantly.

This compliance with her wishes had nothing to do with the retribution Daphne would rain down upon him if he said anything. Nothing at all.

His night after the conversation had been interesting, to say the least. With Voldemort no longer interfering with his mind, causing visions in his sleep, Harry was free to dream whatever his mind chose and, due to the events of the day, chose to pay tribute to Daphne Greengrass. His dreams were strange, maneuvering and meandering in no particular direction. However, there was one aspect that made him feel rather uncomfortable the following morning.

Daphne was released from the Hospital Wing sometime the following morning. She was met with numerous glances from her fellow students upon her return to the Great Hall for lunch. As per usual, she ignored everything except what she decided was worth her attention. In this case it was her meal.

More than once Harry found himself tuning in and out to whatever Hermione and Padma were talking about. There was something about this year that caused the females in his life to take the forefront of his mind constantly, for one reason or another. It had Fleur for what felt such a long time, and now his attention was now on the blonde Slytherin. He caught himself and started suppressing the thoughts when the two females he sat with started asking why he kept spacing off.

The morning after Daphne’s release from the Hospital Wing saw his attention return to more child friendly topics, such other thoughts driven out by the next event of a great many in recent months. Among the flurry of owls that entered the Great Hall at precisely eight a.m. every morning, day in, day out, was an official looking owl heading straight for Harry. The owl landed gracefully on the single table for students in the hall and held out its leg for Harry to remove the letter.

Harry, taken aback by the appearance of the owl, took a moment to get his mind back online enough to remove the letter. The owl hooted, stole a sip of pumpkin juice from the pitcher and took flight, leaving immediately.

The letter was in a white envelope, sealed on the back with a stamp of a ridiculously overdone handwritten version of the capital letter ‘M’.

This is new, Harry found himself thinking. What have I done at Hogwarts that requires the Ministry to send me a letter?

Hermione and Padma gave Harry curious glances when he hesitated in opening the letter. They weren’t the only one. Everyone had seen the important looking owl, the purebloods and several half bloods recognizing it as a Ministry owl. They were rather well known for looking stern and, apparently, being far more arrogant than other owls.

He broke the seal carefully and removed the letter. Discarding the envelope, Harry leant forward, elbows on the table, and read the letter.

Mr. Harry James Potter

The Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, requests a meeting on Hogwarts grounds tomorrow at two p.m. If you are unable to attend, please respond swiftly and a change of date and time will be arranged to suit your requirements.

Shirley Temperlent

Secretary to the Minister of Magic

Harry scowled as he read the last line. The Ministry owl had already departed. Scrimgeour wasn’t exactly giving him much of a choice in the matter.

He also had no significant warning of the impending visit and Harry did not like that at all.

“Terrific,” muttered Harry, chucking the note back on the table and discarding his glasses, rubbing his eyes. Hermione and Padma made moves to get the letter first. Padma won.

“Why would the Minister want to see you?” whispered Padma, absently passing the letter off to Hermione across the table from the two of them.

Harry shrugged. “Your guess is better than mine.”

“We haven’t done anything illegal,” Hermione stated once she had finished reading the short letter. “Goodness knows I would have noticed if we had.”

“Mr. Potter,” a voice, belonging to Minerva McGonagall, interrupted Harry’s response. The three sixth years turned their focus to the Professor.

“Yes?”

“Professor Dumbledore wants to speak with you after breakfast.”

Sighing, Harry stood up. His appetite was gone.

“Might as well get this over with,” Harry informed the other two. They bid their farewells and Harry departed the Great Hall.

A few minutes later, Harry was standing before the two stone Gargoyles that marked the entrance to the Headmaster’s office.

“Don’t suppose you could just tell him I’m here,” remarked Harry to the motionless statues. “It’s not like I always know the password.”

Someone must’ve been listening for the Gargoyles parted and the doorway materialized in the wall. Unsurprised, Harry got on the stairs and ascended them to the Headmaster’s office.

“Ah, Harry, take a seat,” Dumbledore said warmly as he entered the room. “A lemon drop, Harry?” he offered.

“No thank you, Professor,” Harry replied, taking a seat. “You called?” Dumbledore returned the offered container of lemon drops to its spot on his desk. He took one for himself and settled in to his seat, watching Harry through his half moon spectacles.

“It has come to my attention that our new Minister has requested a meeting between the two of you.”

“He has,” Harry replied shortly. Unless he was pre-warned by the Minister, which was a fifty-fifty chance, then his mail was presumably being scanned still. He didn’t like that idea either. Harry was very fond of his privacy after his life at the Dursley’s. At least he now had an alternative mode of communication with Fleur, his main correspondent outside of Hogwarts now that Sirius was gone. That is if he could think of something to say to her.

“I must ask that you err on the side of caution, Harry,” Dumbledore said seriously. “Politics, in either the Magical or the Muggle world, is a complex task. I would request that I be present –” Harry was a second away from interrupting when Dumbledore held up his hand. “Please, let me finish, Harry.” Harry dutifully shut his trap, for the time being at least.

“As I was saying, I would request that I be present for this meeting; however I am aware that you are capable of taking care of yourself. Given your new found… maturity and drive, I can believe with a certain level of confidence that you will not make the simple mistakes that others your age would.”

Harry was surprised, in all honesty, that Dumbledore was letting him do this on his own. Last year… well, last year he would’ve been ignored like he had for the entire year, however the year before he would not have been allowed to do this without the Headmaster present. It conflicted with his current opinion of the man.

“Uh – yes, sir,” said Harry slowly, shifting uncomfortably with the conflicting thoughts in his head.

“I seem to have confused you,” Dumbledore chuckled. “Just a word of warning and then I’ll let you return to your holidays, Harry. Rufus Scrimgeour wants something from you. Be careful how you respond to him. Like Cornelius did, he has the power to make life unpleasant for you.”

Nodding to show he understood, Harry stood up and dismissed himself when Dumbledore returned to his work.

This is… interesting, Harry thought to himself.

Re-entering the Great Hall, Harry’s eyes immediately searched for Hermione and Padma. On his quick examination of the room, he noticed Daphne seated slightly off to the side of other Slytherins, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

Now there was an idea.

Catching her eye, he subtly shifted his eyes back towards the Entrance Hall. Daphne didn’t show any reaction, not that he expected her too. Harry crossed the room and leant forward next to Padma. Hermione leant in closer to hear him.

“Dumbledore wanted to talk about Scrimgeour,” Harry explained quickly, quietly. “I have an idea. I’ll find you two later.”

He straightened and exited the Hall.

It took several minutes, but the first students started to leave from breakfast. A few more minutes later, Daphne exited between two groups of young Hufflepuffs, who gave her a wide berth, terrified of her. The two of them quickly found a room out of the way to sit and talk.

“You called, Pot-Harry?” asked Daphne warily.

“Pleasure to see you too, Daphne,” replied Harry wryly. “I got a letter from the Minister’s office today.” He paused.

“Your point?”

“I have a meeting with the Minster tomorrow,” continued Harry brightly. “Quite an interesting event, if I do say so myself. Now, my life being what it has been, I don’t have any real experience with the political gibberish most people know of. So, how would you like to tell me all about Scrimgeour and help me understand what he wants from me?”

Daphne cocked a single eyebrow and slowly closed the distance between them in the room. She started walking slow circles around him, her eyes never leaving his.

“And what makes you think I’ll help you?” asked Daphne curiously. “What’s in it for me?”

“The pleasure of my company?” Harry ventured somewhat weakly.

Daphne considered the proposal for a moment. “I’ll help, just for the amusement this’ll bring,” she replied warmly. “Now, let me tell you a tale about a man with an ambition.”

 

x-x-x-x-x-

After three hours, Daphne couldn’t honestly say that Harry had the ability, personality or underhandedness required to survive the political world. He didn’t have the mindset, the background or the understanding to deal with politics.

“Looks like you’ll have to keep me around for awhile, Potter,” remarked Daphne when they decided to break for lunch.

“Sure you aren’t just looking for more reasons to stay with me?”

“In your dreams, Potter, in your dreams…”

Even so, a fair bit was accomplished. Harry was surprised at how little they fought or traded insults. The worst he received was that Harry resided in a lesser Hogwarts House. After that, and when Daphne said that Harry had little chance of surviving in a Slytherin lifestyle, he revealed a particular memory he had not shared with anyone.

To say that Daphne was surprised when Harry told her that the Sorting Hat had wanted to put him in Slytherin would be one rather large underestimation. The girl had been so surprised that she was speechless. That is after she had confirmed the fact when Harry had allowed her to view the memory through Legilimency. One didn’t require much skill in that Mind Art when the target was willing. It still had been an uncomfortable experience, however.

At precisely two p.m. the next day, Harry saw Rufus Scrimgeour enter the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Harry had spent much of the last half an hour waiting on the steps to the first floor, nervously anticipating the meeting and trying to pinpoint what the Minister wanted from him. Daphne had suggested a number of reasons; however, she had said the most likely was his assistance in keeping up the public image of the Ministry. When Harry asked how she’d figured that out, she replied simply, “I read the paper.”

Scrimgeour was a tall man, with a large amount of graying hair flowing from his head, down the side of his face and ending with a reasonably sized beard. He wore wire rimmed spectacles, that gave the man a sense of wisdom and, possibly from his hardened expression as well, an air of power, of leonine. High quality robes were covered by an equally high quality, but unmarked, black cloak that was covered in snow. It was quickly removed by the man’s assistant, which of course made Harry take notice of him.

Percy Weasley was unchanged from the last time Harry had seen him. He still wore the same glasses and robes that Harry had seen him wearing in Dumbledore’s office mere minutes before Umbridge had taken control of Hogwarts.

“Ah, Mr. Potter, we meet at last,” Scrimgeour said warmly, his voice with a distinct growl in it, further enhancing the leonine impression. He offered his hand amicably for Harry to shake.

“Minister,” Harry acknowledged, shaking the man’s hand. His grip was firm, strong, and powerful.

“I believe you have met my assistant, Mr. Weasley,” said Scrimgeour still warmly, apparently oblivious to the bad blood between the two of them.

“We have,” Harry replied curtly, giving Percy a brief, uncaring glance. Neither really had anything to say to each other. His letter to Ron last year had made things between them perfectly clear. Percy had chosen his side, and it wasn’t Harry’s.

“Shall we take a small walk while we talk, Mr. Potter?” offered Scrimgeour, gesturing in the direction of the stairs to the first floor, then the corridor to Dumbledore’s office, and finally the stairs to the dungeons.

“Certainly,” Harry replied, turning his back on Percy the moment he could. “Will this be just you and me… or is Mr. Weasley joining us?” he asked neutrally.

Something Daphne had drilled into his head was not to usurp the position of someone far more powerful than you were while showing them you weren’t to be screwed with. Harry had to make sure that, while he had no political influence for quite a few years yet, he wasn’t a person that would get walked all over. Yet he still was capable of asking requests, small ones, which would show he had some sort of influence in the meeting.

At least that was her explanation in his words.

After his past two years, Harry wasn’t going to let another Minister make his life hell. This provided the right attitude, in Daphne’s opinion.

Percy looked distinctly uncomfortable about this question and was about to protest when Scrimgeour raised his hand to stem any complaints.

“This will be between the two of us, Mr. Potter,” Scrimgeour replied authoritatively. The warmness was still present, but now there was an underlying weightiness to his tone. Percy seemed to recognize what that meant and quieted his forming protests instantly.

Scrimgeour laid a rough, commanding hand on Harry’s shoulder and directed him in the direction of Dumbledore’s office. Harry had to walk a little slower than normal to compensate for the Minister’s limp. He wasn’t slow, merely slower.

“It has been sometime since I’ve visited Hogwarts,” Scrimgeour told him, examining the familiar corridors with surprising interest.

“There isn’t much reason to return after graduating, is there, sir?” inquired Harry, slightly curious to learn more about this Minister. While it was a clean slate, per se, he was skeptical due to his distaste for Fudge. “That is unless you choose to teach here.”

“No, I suppose you’re right.” Scrimgeour shook his head as the two rounded a corner, causing a gaggle of second years to gawk and then scatter at the appearance of two of the most famous wizards in their time.

“May I call you, Harry?”

“Yes sir.”

“Excellent,” Scrimgeour replied with his same warmness. “I have wanted to meet you for some time, even before Fudge had to step down from office. Were you aware of that, Harry?”

“No sir,” Harry replied honestly.

“Oh yes, for quite some time,” Scrimgeour went on. “Dumbledore has been protective of you, naturally, after what you’ve been through. Unpleasant business on the best of days, is it not?”

Harry didn’t offer a response, so he continued.  “Imagine my surprise when my request was not rebuffed this time. This talk has been some time coming, so let us get on with it shall we?”

Finally… Harry thought. According to Daphne, small talk was designed to get him nervous and, to his everlasting dislike, anticipating the beginning of the real meeting. His interpretation of Daphne’s words again.

“Rumors are an interesting concept, Harry,” Scrimgeour told him. “Some are so far from the truth that they are indeed comical …” He paused, not-so-gently adding pressure to Harry’s shoulder, indicating for them to stop. The two were in one of the few corridors absent of any portraits or students. It was then Harry realized why he’d been led down here. This really was between just them.

“… and some are so accurate that it is frightening,” Scrimgeour finished. His hardened eyes were boring into Harry’s as he said it.

“In my experience, sir,” Harry replied curtly, but politely. “Rumors have been nothing but lies.”

“Rita Skeeter,” Scrimgeour concluded. Harry nodded. “Yes, she is a loose canon, yet she draws in readers more than any other reporter in Britain. You can not fault her on that.”

Harry was severely tempted to retort when he remembered his place. He was a student; Scrimgeour was the Minister of Magic. He had to be careful here. Daphne and Dumbledore had warned him on being respectful.

“Still, rumor starts off as truth, Harry,” Scrimgeour said seriously. “One only has to understand how to find the truth in a pack of lies to find the real story. All these… whispers… rumors… of your adventure in our Department of Mysteries… the Hall of Prophecies and the Death Room…”

Here it was, the real reason Scrimgeour was here. Harry could feel it in his bones. It should’ve been obvious, and it was, really.

“‘Chosen One’ and other names… I assume you and Dumbledore have discussed this?”

Harry stared back at the Minister for a moment, contemplating his response. Daphne had suggested this as one of the many possible reasons for a visit.

“We have.”

“I see,” Scrimgeour said quietly, nodding to himself. “And what has Dumbledore said to you, Harry?”

“Sorry, but that’s between us.”

“Ah yes, of course. We are in a time where confidences must be kept and I will not ask you to divulge them. At any rate, would it really matter if you are the Chosen One or not?”

Harry blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Well, Harry, of course to you it is of life and death importance,” Scrimgeour said with a small laugh. Harry didn’t find the moment particularly humorous.

“To the public… their perception, Harry, that is what matters, is it not?” asked Scrimgeour rhetorically. “People will believe what they wish to believe and they do wish to believe about you, their hero.”

“The public deserves to know the truth, sir.”

He was tempted a second time to drop all pretences and give the man a piece of his mind. Daphne’s words kept him in check, albeit barely. This really wasn’t his forte – being calm, hiding behind layers of nice sounding words with not-so-nice meanings. No matter how he’d changed, he still was impatient to those who hid behind multi-layered words.

“That is neither here nor there, Harry,” Scrimgeour replied with a small edge to his voice. “Like I said,” he continued, the edge gone as quick as it appeared. “The public wants to believe you are the Chosen One. Morale is important in a war, Harry. You may or may not be, after your experiences, too young to understand how a war really works. Morale is crucial to a victory. A depressed fighter will not be as effective as a confident fighter.”

“To keep that morale up…” Scrimgeour trailed off, still maintaining his and Harry’s visual connection. He thought through his words carefully before speaking again. “If you were seen in the Ministry, the belief that you are able, no, destined even, to defeat He Who Must Not Be Named… well, that will be, naturally, a mood lifter. If you were to stand alongside the Ministry… that act alone will… well, it would help everyone.”

The real reason for the visit had hit him as soon as the Minister had mentioned him at the Ministry. Daphne’s explanations had been somewhat useful after all.

“You want me to visit the Ministry and, while proclaiming me the Chosen One, take a more active role in public life outside of Hogwarts,” Harry figured, examining the man for a reaction. Years of life as an Auror trained him not to give one away, though.

“In a way, yes…” Scrimgeour answered hesitantly.

“Just say what you want of me, Minister,” Harry sighed, discarding all the niceties and so called glorified words in favor of getting to point. He had new patience, but this was a bit extreme.

“Given the current situation –” he began.

“– The breakout of all captured Death Eaters?” Harry interrupted, clarifying the small detail.

“Yes,” Scrimgeour replied briskly. “Given our current situation, morale is decreasing. The knowledge that the boy destined to defeat You-Know-Who was taking a more active role, even only as appearances went, would increase that morale.”

“If you were to appear, you would be given the opportunity to speak to Gawain Robards, my successor as Head of the Auror Office. I’ve been told you cherish the ambition to become an Auror, Harry.”

“Who told you that?” asked Harry, thinking of any Ministry employees who knew that. The list wasn’t promising.

“Dolores Umbridge.”

“She still works there?” asked Harry with barely concealed contempt.

“Of course,” replied Scrimgeour. His aged face became curious. “What has happened to create such a reaction to her?”

“Do you know what that woman did to students while she was here at Hogwarts? Do you know what she did in her attempts to take control of this school and ruin the future of an entire generation? I assume you don’t, or if you do, you are burying it and lying to me. I would hardly be surprised if you were.”

Scrimgeour remained silent; an eyebrow raised at Harry’s less than calm diatribe, and contemplated his next choice of words.

Harry, meanwhile, closed his eyes and sighed, trying to return to being calm and respectful again. He opened them when the Minister spoke next.

“I assure you, Harry, I have not been informed of what you are referring to.”

Harry didn’t reply.

“I see we are to disagree on several counts.”

“It seems so.” Harry scowled at the thought of Umbridge. “At any rate, my continued poor experiences with the British Ministry impede my desire to become an Auror. I’m afraid that it isn’t an allure to me anymore.”

“That is a shame.”

Harry shrugged. “I can live with it. Showing up at the Ministry would give one the impression I agree with what you are doing, right?”

“Yes, that is what partly why’d we like you to appear at the Ministry,” Scrimgeour said, seeing no simple alternative except to speak the truth at this point.  “You have been through a lot, Harry; however you don’t understand how the world works,” he tried to explain several moments later.

“No, I think I understand perfectly how this works. If the truth causes too many problems, then lie. If whatever trouble appears is too much, lie to the public until they believe the threat is non-existent. Isn’t that what you’re doing by arresting innocents?”

“We had legitimate reasons for arresting every last potential Death Eater since I came into office,” Scrimgeour said defensively. While he was immensely more adept than Harry at politics, Harry had a major in argumentative, emotional debates. This was something hanging around Ron and Hermione for so long had blessed him with. He, unlike Ron, however, was more in control of what he was saying.

“Then why haven’t they been released?” Harry asked. “Isn’t it because you’d lose morale if the Ministry was seen releasing their so called captured Death Eaters? And what about the Death Eaters my friends and I caught? They escaped, undoing everything we did, undoing what people have died for.”

“Azkaban was a mistake on our part,” Scrimgeour conceded.

“The first thing you should have done when you took office was to remove the Dementors from Azkaban. You can not look me in the eye and tell me you thought they’d stand by you and the Ministry over Voldemort.”

Scrimgeour was impassive.

“You’re even afraid to hear his name,” Harry groaned. “You’re the Minister of Magic, for God’s sake, and you’re afraid of a name.”

“You do not understand how the Ministry works, Harry Potter,” Scrimgeour replied, and his tone betrayed how irritated he was becoming. “I can sympathize with your frustrations but change is not as simple as you believe it.”

“So, what, don’t try? You’re the Minister of Magic. You’re supposed to change the country for the better. There is so much you could be doing and yet you’re here trying to get me to help you.”

Scrimgeour scowled deeply. “You are treading dangerous ground, Harry. Had I not patience, you would be arrested.”

“Arrest the Boy-Who-Lived? Arrest the supposed ‘Chosen-One’? Your precious morale would be non-existent if you did, and you might as well hand me over to Voldemort and have me killed for all the good that’d do.”

Scrimgeour was silent for a long moment, giving Harry a cold, calculating examination. Harry stared back strongly, defiantly, his temper having resurfaced for the first time in a long time. All the things Daphne had told him were out the window.

“What about your sense of duty?” he ventured. “Do you want the war to be lost because of a misunderstanding?”

“I am not here to be used like a weapon, Minister. What about your own sense of duty?” Harry asked airily. He let out a small, bitter laugh. “I hear that you have been trying to weed out Death Eaters in your administration. Have you used Veritaserum on everyone yet? Are some people using their positions to skip their turn? I’d be suspicious of anyone who declines, no matter what you think of them. I assume there haven’t been any successes since there is nothing in the news. If you had found someone, it would be Daily Prophet worthy.”

“What about what Minister Fudge was told after the Tournament?” he continued. “Have you searched for and arrested all those that I named? I told the truth when this all started and was ignored.”

“It is complicated, Harry,” Scrimgeour replied. “They are hidden well and can’t be found easily.”

“Then go through whoever is likely to know,” Harry said angrily. “When Lucius Malfoy walked through the Ministry like he owned the place he had friends everywhere. You can’t tell me that they have all up and gone into hiding or that you have nowhere idea where they went or ways of communicating. I know I don’t understand how politics works, but I know that you aren’t getting your hands dirty here. I know I don’t understand all the intricacies of the Ministry, I don’t ever expect to. What I do know is that you are going to have to suffer poor public opinion if you want to succeed in this war. This is simple, Minister. You want the public to like you, then earn their trust, work for it, capture Death Eaters, stop attacks, and don’t try and deceive them with the impression that the Chosen One is working for you.”

“So you are the Chosen One?” Scrimgeour asked with poorly concealed excitement. Harry inwardly winced at the slip; he could hear Daphne berating him for it in his mind.

“I thought you said it didn’t matter if I was or not?”

“That was tactless,” Scrimgeour admitted quickly. “It shouldn’t have been said.”

Harry shook his head. “As long as you are in the public’s favor, you don’t care what happens to me. There’s no point in lying.  You expect me to help, to run to your defense after what you and your people have done to me,” he said harshly. “I can hardly believe you have the audacity to ask me when you are barely better than Fudge. But the sad thing is that I can believe it. It is no wonder Voldemort has had such easy successes.”

“What does Dumbledore do when he leaves Hogwarts?” Scrimgeour asked, changing the subject.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied honestly.

“And you wouldn’t tell me if you knew, would you?”

“What would you do if I did tell you?” asked Harry rhetorically. “Tail him and interfere so you can claim whatever Dumbledore manages to achieve for yourself? Sorry, but no way. I may not agree with him always but he is working to defeat Voldemort, like you should be.”

“I’ll find out one way or another, Harry,” Scrimgeour said threateningly.

“You seem more intelligent than Fudge, sir. I would assume you knew that interfering with Hogwarts only results in failure. Let us be. You have your own way of fighting the war, sir, and Dumbledore has his.”

“And on which side do you lay?”

“Neither.”

There was a pregnant pause, broken only by the short appearance and disappearance of the Fat Friar through the walls in the corridor as short distance from the pair.

“Understand this, Minister,” Harry said with an air of finality. “If you want my help, you need to release those who are innocent, get rid of the spies in your government, including people like Umbridge, and start making a serious difference in the war. Public image isn’t everything.”

With that, Harry turned and walked off, leaving the Minister of Magic with a lot to consider.

x-x-x-x-x-

“So how’d it go, Harry?” asked Daphne, examining her nails in a disinterested manner.

“I wouldn’t expect you’d give me any praise for my performance,” Harry grimaced.

The two of them were back in the same room as before, exactly as they had agreed once Harry was done with Scrimgeour. Daphne was leaning against the wall beside the door and Harry was on the opposite side of the room, staring out the window.

After prodding further, Daphne was treated to the entire story.

“Have you not heard the concept of subtlety before?” asked an exasperated Daphne. “Is it really that complex not to blurt out whatever comes to mind?”

“Apparently so,” replied Harry. Daphne let out a tremulous sigh.

“I suppose you got your point across and that’s what matters. I can’t say I expected much from a Gryffindor, even one who could have been in Slytherin.”

In a strange way, Harry knew that was as close to praise he would get for some time from her. He was beginning to understand how she ticked, even if just a little.

“Will he change?” asked Harry soberly. “Will anything I said have any affect?”

“I’ll level with you, Potter,” Daphne said seriously, pushing herself off the wall and walking towards Harry. “The Ministry won’t change overnight. It often takes years upon years for new policies to be accepted. What you said may have an effect upon Scrimgeour himself, but you more than likely won’t see any real changes in the near future.”

As she finished, she about-faced and leant into the wall next to Harry, who still was staring out into the snow covered grounds.

“I didn’t even get around to Malfoy and getting the Aurors to check him out for the Dark Mark.”

“Scrimgeour wouldn’t have complied unless you did with his demands,” Daphne told him honestly. Harry deliberated over it and decided she was probably correct.

“Thanks for the help anyway,” sighed Harry, closing his eyes and leaning against the window.

“Don’t trouble yourself over it, Harry,” Daphne replied, facing him side-on. “If it was that easy to create change, we’d live a very disturbing world.”

“Why bother trying to change the world it if takes so bloody long?”

“Look, Harry, I’m probably the worst person in the world to answer that question,” said Daphne, crossing her arms against her chest. “The world is harsh, the world is unpleasant and the world is rarely fair. Face facts, Harry. People try to change the world so that those they care about, not to mention themselves, can live in a world easier, even if just a little bit, than their own.”

She was right, of course. The world was indeed harsh, unpleasant and unfair more often than not in his experience. There were those, like the Goblins, that believed he could change the world, or at least Britain. At the time he had been told this he was so swept up in the whole suddenly being wealthy business to really think through what Ragnok had said.

He had the power to change the world because he was the Boy-Who-Lived. His choices were to use his influence to help evolve the British society or to ignore it and let the wizarding world run itself into the ground before finally learning their lesson.

There were people he cared about, people he wished had no part in the danger he always brought them, no matter how much they said they didn’t care. They were the people he wanted to change the world for, to stop Voldemort for.

“We fight for ourselves and those we care about,” Harry whispered, more to himself than to Daphne, who heard it anyway.

“That’s the sappiest way of putting it, yes,” Daphne replied briskly, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading.

“Don’t worry; I’m done with that line of thinking.”

“Thank Merlin.”

Harry smiled at the audible relief in her tone. He could tell she was humoring him, though.

“You really are quite good looking, you know,” Harry said, smiling to himself, still leaning against the window glass, eyes closed.

“I know,” Daphne replied, giving Harry a small slap to the forehead. “Try to stay on topic, you flirt you.”

Harry snorted, stood up and straight and faced her. Daphne was smiling. His moods were so easily to manipulate sometimes. Knowing how to push his buttons would only help her in the future.

Ambition. Her ambition. Scrimgeour’s ambition. It was all about the ambition.

And she would achieve hers.

It was simply good luck that Harry provided the quickest and easiest means. And be integrated into it, too.

 

“Come on then,” said Harry. “We’ve got a bit more holidays to enjoy so let’s enjoy it before we start all over again.”

Daphne shook her head, both in wonder at his change in attitude and to clear her mind of her thoughts. “Onwards,” she muttered sarcastically, following the Gryffindor out the door.

x-x-x-x-x-

The rest of the holidays passed uneventfully. New Year’s Eve was a nice night for the four DA members still at Hogwarts. They met in the Room of Requirement and stayed up till after midnight, drinking Butterbeer that Harry had acquired with the aid of his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder’s Map. Daphne berated him, saying that he could’ve gotten Firewhiskey, but that was meant to be a banned substance in the castle and he suspected she would drink more than was wise.

Two days before term started again, the train returned with the rest of the Hogwarts students, the ones who had left for the holidays. Harry had a warm greeting with each of them. Susan and Hannah chose to further embarrass him and asked if he would like the second half of his gift. He managed to get a response out and the two Hufflepuffs promised they would adhere to the rain check.

It didn’t take long before everyone was up to date on what had happened while they were away.

It was on the night before classes would resume that Harry found himself staring out the window in his dorm, between Ron’s and his beds.

It was a new year, a new set of trials and adventures awaiting him. There would be tough times ahead; nobody could deny that, however, with everyone by his side, there was hope.

Hope that he would still be alive at year’s end.