Amour Et Officium Chapter 3 (Patreon)

Content Warnings: Nothing.

The Bones Manor:

“I was going to wait till the party tomorrow, but then I realized I don’t want to ruin my godson’s eighteenth birthday. He’s already devastated. I could see it in his eyes. If you knew and you’ve kept it from me, Amelia, I swear to Merlin-” Sirius ranted, storming into Amelia’s home office, completely unaffected by the worried house elf tugging on his cloak, trying to stop him.

“It’s alright Trudy. Lord Black is always welcome in this house, even when he’s storming into my office filled with righteous rage,” Amelia said softly. The house elf bowed, shutting the door to the office behind her as she left.

“From that little display, I can presume that you already know? Before you bite my head off Sirius, let me assure you I had no idea until Susan and I got the letters from Gringotts. I’ll remind you, my brother’s house along with all his papers were burnt to the ground by Bellatrix when she killed them, and much like James and Lily didn’t tell you, they hadn’t seen it fit to tell me,” Amelia said calmly, pulling off her reading glasses and setting them on the desk.

“Gringotts?! What do they have to do with this?! What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” Amelia asked, looking at Sirius strangely. “Susan and I got letters from Griphook instructing us to be present for James and Lily’s will reading. Now, I can understand them leaving an heirloom for me, but there’s only one reason they’d want Susie to be present,” Amelia said, waving the letter in her hand in the direction of her niece.

“Hello,” the curvy redhead seated opposite Amelia said, turning and giving Sirius a nervous smile.

“Of course. That’s why he said ‘Cyrus and Amelia’,” Sirius breathed, staggered by Fudge’s wheeling and dealing. The fact that their Head of Government was more concerned about politics when Moo-

I promised myself I’d never use that name again, he reminded himself.

“Merlin Lia, I’m not going to be this upset if Harry and Susan are indeed betrothed,” Sirius said with a shake of his head. “Not unless they don’t want to marry and someone is forcing them. No, I’m here about this,” he muttered, tossing the Daily Prophet on her desk.

Amelia unfolded the paper, the expression on her face changing from one of surprise to concern to that of cold fury as she read the article.

“I am assuming you didn’t know.”

“No. We’ve been shut in my office ever since we received the letters from Gringotts. I read the evening edition with my dinner, you know that,” Amelia muttered, massaging her temple. Oh, she was going to kill that incompetent fool of a Minister. “The dementors report only to Fudge and his private undersecretary, and neither saw fit to inform me about the breakout. This is recent, Sirius. Something of this magnitude doesn’t stay secret in the Ministry for long. I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” she growled, pushing her chair away from her desk and getting to her feet.

“If he had called a crisis meeting of the DMLE the minute the dementors informed him instead of running around playing politics, you could have had your Aurors on the hunt for him already,” Sirius muttered, running a hand through his long black hair in frustration. “I’m going to shove my leather boot so far up that man’s ass-”

“Not if I stuff it with mine first.” Amelia grabbed her cloak and strode out of the office, gesturing for Sirius and Susan to follow her.

                                                                     ---

Room Number Nine, The Leaky Cauldron:

A flash of green light.

That unearthly scream.

Harry’s eyes flew open, his entire body drenched in sweat. At first, he presumed it had been the nightmare that woke him, but then there was another quiet knock on the shut door of his room in the Leaky Cauldron.

They weren’t footsteps, he thought, realizing that the soft taps in his dream hadn’t been the sound of feet.

He turned to his nightstand, blindly fumbling for his glasses. Once they were located, he rammed them on and reluctantly climbed out of bed. He had made it very clear to everyone that he didn’t want company, and he certainly didn’t want a Twelve A.M. surprise.

I’ve already gotten the best possible gift I could ask for, Harry thought venomously. The man responsible for his parents’ murders was now a free man. Given the Minister’s ineptitude, Remus Lupin was probably enjoying a firewhiskey on a sunny beach in Australia at that very moment.

“Fred, George, I’ve told you-” Harry snarled, pulling open the door, the words dying in his throat at the sight of Daphne’s nervous smile.

“Sorry. Not them. But if you want, I can go get a red wig. Seems to be what you prefer these days,” Daphne teased, her smile disappearing once she finally registered Harry’s appearance in the dim light cast by the dying embers in the room’s fireplace.

“No, it’s just… never mind,” Harry murmured, shifting to allow her to slip into the room. “It’s late, and we’re in my bedroom, Daph. Whatever happened to steering clear of such situations until after marriage?” Harry asked, shutting the door and turning to look at the future Mrs. Black with a small smile.

Daphne gave him a tiny shrug, walking over to his bed and flopping down on it face first. While most in her house played at being Slytherins, she was a true viper. Deadly, ambitious, and willing to go to any extent to protect the ones she loved. And despite her best efforts to the contrary, she had come to love the man standing by the shut door, looking at her with a bemused smile on his face.

“Daph?”

“Don’t ‘Daph’ me, Potter. I know the optics of this are bad,” Daphne muttered, groaning into the mattress. Ever since her father had informed her of the existence of the marriage contract and the man she was to marry, she had begun spinning her web of plans. Her mother had shown her that power did not have to have to be used as a cudgel to be wielded effectively. Daphne Greengrass would take the name Black and be the perfect wife. Prim, demure, and an amazing hostess. She planned to be her husband’s eyes and ears in Pureblood circles, a shadow with a pretty smile and quick wit, protecting and advancing his interests at every turn. And for that, appearances were important, and as quaint as it sounded even to some of her Slytherin peers (Parkinson had dropped her knickers for Malfoy their second week together, after all), that included keeping an appropriate distance from Harry until after their marriage.

She had even encouraged him to pursue flings when Amy Larkin had shown an interest in him. After all, it only made sense for one of them to know what they were doing on their wedding night. Their fantasies and the copious amounts of tawdry romances she read to compensate for her utter lack of a sex life would have only gotten them so far. As long as he kept in mind that she was his happily ever after, she didn’t care who he fucked till they could legally marry.

It never failed to amuse her that supposedly ‘backward’ Purebloods like her had, in a strange sense, the more liberated opinions on love and sex.

“Are you alright?” Harry immediately forgot his worries, his concern for Daphne overriding all other thoughts. He padded over to the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight as he slipped in next to Daphne, gently pulling her head into his lap.

“I… yes,” Daphne whispered, feeling her cheeks heat up at the sudden intimacy of his action. This was the closest she had ever been to him, and as the panic with which she had stormed out of Greengrass manor slowly receded, she remembered what day it was, and why he had been expecting Fred and George to turn up at his doorstep at such a late hour. “Happy Birthday, Harry,” Daphne mumbled, silently cursing herself for forgetting, even if it had been for just a minute.

“Thank you, princess,” Harry whispered, bending to brush his lips against her hair. “Now, do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” Her mother’s death the summer before their second year at Hogwarts had opened a new chapter in their relationship, and fostered a sense of intimacy and closeness that few couples they knew could match. It had been Harry who had held her when they buried Irelia Greengrass. It was Harry who had helped her through the darkest phase of her life. It was Harry, and only Harry who got to see a glimpse of her true self. Everyone else, even Astoria and Tracey were only shown the facade she had carefully crafted for the world.

She shifted, resting her cheek on his knee, studying the shirt and jeans hanging from a coat hanger on the handle of the room’s closet. These were not the clothes she had imagined he would wear to their wedding. Nor had she imagined uttering her vows in an overcoat and scarf. She had fantasized about a beautiful event, a dress that was the envy of every woman in attendance. She, the beautiful bride, and Harry, her perfect groom.

When life gives you lemons, you chuck them at an idiot and threaten him for his cupcakes, Daphne reminded herself.

“My father has been acting erratically… more erratically than usual,” Daphne sighed, slowly pushing herself up from his lap. She ran a hand through her hair to tame it, giving him a wry smile, “He wants to postpone our wedding indefinitely, and I have no clue why. I asked, and as always, he refused to give me any answers. Father knows best,” Daphne muttered, rolling her eyes as she uttered the man’s favorite catechism when it came to his daughters. “Perhaps an exclusive contract to manufacture all of Fleamont Potter’s potions wasn’t enough of a bride price for him. He’s reluctant to commit to any one side, which, honestly, I think is just his latest tactic to get more concessions out of your godfather in Wizengamot.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Harry murmured, sighing softly. When it rained, it poured. Trouble in his life always came in massive heaps. “I think I have an idea why he’s having cold feet,” Harry answered, leaning around her to grab the folded newspaper from the nightstand and handing it to her. “The Minister has been trying to cover up a prison break. The Daily Prophet broke the story in today’s evening edition.”

“Remus Lupin,” Daphne whispered, her eyes going wide in alarm as she unfolded the paper, her eyes scanning the headline. “Isn’t he-”

“Voldemort’s most fanatic follower? Yeah. He’s also the man who sold me and my parents out to him.”

Daphne shuddered at the use of the name. There were times she wished Harry went along with what everyone else did, and used ‘You-Know-Who’ while referring to the Dark Lord. But asking her boyfriend to be wary of the man he had now defeated three times felt silly, so she kept her mouth shut.

“How did he do it?” Daphne asked, shaking her head in amazement. The most ardent followers of the Dark Lord were rumored to have terrible powers, but to break out of Azkaban and escape the clutches of its guards? That had to be impossible, even for someone as well-versed in the Dark Arts as Remus Lupin.

“No one has any idea, or if they do, they’re not sharing details. Since the Leaky Cauldron doesn’t have a secure floo, Sirius is going to use my birthday party tomorrow to try and get information out of Amelia, not that he expects to have much luck.”

“Why?” Daphne asked, turning to look up at him curiously. “Even if the Minister has placed a gag order on her and her department, Sirius is probably the one person she’d tell, right?”

“That’s what Padfoot thinks too. Since she didn’t say anything about it despite the fact that we all spent nearly the entire day together today, Sirius thinks the Minister kept this hidden from everyone but his closest circle of advisors until the story broke.”

“The dementors answer only to the Minister of Magic,” Daphne mused, slowly sitting up, the gears in her brain turning as she mulled over the puzzle. “If there was a break-out, he would be the first and only person informed.”

“Exactly.”

“To keep it hidden from the Head of the DMLE is the height of stupidity.”

Harry looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“Right, right. This is Fudge we’re talking about. He’s far more concerned about how it’d reflect on him. Well, this explains my father’s hasty retreat back to straddle the fence of neutrality.”

“I wonder how he knew. I didn’t think he was particularly close to the Minister.”

“He isn’t. He is, however, close to Bartholomew Barnabas. The Editor-In-Chief of the Daily Prophet,” Daphne elaborated in response to Harry’s confused expression. “He gets the first draft of every edition of the Prophet before they go out.” Daphne reached out to take Harry’s hand, gently squeezing it. “None of this is important right now,” she whispered. She ignored her heart hammering in her chest, gently moving onto his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck, gently pulling his head down into her chest. “How do you feel about him escaping?” she asked softly, running a hand through his messy black hair. In the midst of all the politics and power plays, it was sometimes easy to forget why she was doing all of it. It was for him and their future together.

His happiness and safety were more important to her than all the power, wealth, and prestige in the world.

“I don’t know,” Harry whispered, his voice cracking. She could feel him relaxing slightly in her arms, and she knew he was trying to keep it together for her sake.

“I know you’re supposed to be the Daddy in our relationship, and I’m the Princess, but it is okay to let me take care of you on occasion,” Daphne whispered, tightening her hold around him. “It’s okay to be angry, daddy.”

“I’m not angry,” Harry replied softly, a lone tear leaking out of the corner of his eyes. “I feel helpless. The man responsible for my parent's death is out there, and I can’t do anything about it. I know what will happen if I say I want to do something. Sirius will tell me to concentrate on my training. Amelia will tell me to leave it to the professionals. Dumbledore will tell me to live a normal life as if there is anything about me that is normal! Nobody understands!” Harry shouted, shaking in her arms, the dam finally breaking. All the pent-up rage and emotion he had been keeping suppressed since the moment Sirius had told him who Remus Lupin was finally spilled out.

“I do. I understand,” Daphne whispered, bending to press a kiss into his hair. “I sat by my mother’s bedside and I watched her waste away without doing a damned thing. If anyone knows what it feels like to be helpless, daddy, it’s me.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Harry croaked, his protective instincts taking over even in his distressed state.

“We both know that’s not true,” Daphne replied quietly. “It’s not wrong to feel responsible. It’s not wrong to want to do something and to hate yourself when you realize you can’t do anything.”

She held Harry for what felt like hours, letting him work through his emotions in silence. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. It was enough that he knew she was there if he needed her.

“Thank you,” he whispered, finally pulling away. He gave her an embarrassed smile, hastily trying to wipe the tears staining his face.

Daphne gently pushed his hands away, rubbing his cheeks dry with the edge of her sweater’s sleeve. She leaned forward, ignoring the angry churning of her stomach in favor of pressing her lips against his for a brief, chaste kiss. “If you really want to thank me, take me to that dodgy chapel in Knockturn that conducts shotgun weddings for a fee and make me your wife,” Daphne whispered against his lips.

“Daph?”

She shivered as his hands snaked around her slender waist, pulling him closer. “Yes?”

“I get where you’re going with this, but if I do that, all hell is going to break loose.”

“Do I look like I care?” Daphne murmured, resting her forehead on his shoulder. “I’m not helping my father in his insanity. If a war is coming, we won’t have the luxury to be neutral. I have no desire to marry some decrepit pervy client of my father’s just to be proven right two years down the line. I’d much rather be on the winning side.”

“Is that what this is all about?” Harry asked. Her heart soared when she heard the faint tinge of amusement in his voice.

Note to self, she thought, act like an entitled brat anytime I want to cheer him up.

“Of course,” Daphne said haughtily, slipping off his lap. “Plus, you’re easy on the eyes, and I might just grow to tolerate your presence, Lord Potter.”

“My. You have such a way with words, Lady Greengrass. It’s a small surprise you don’t have a bevy of suitors lining up at your door,” Harry shot back with a grin, pushing himself off the bed. He padded over to the closet and pulled the hanger holding his clothes off its handle. It was utter insanity, what they were doing. But he wanted to do something. Anything. He knew it made little sense, substituting what he actually wanted to do with a shotgun wedding, but there was nothing he could do about Remus Lupin. He could, however, very much do something to make sure he didn’t lose the woman he loved. His love for Daphne wasn’t something he was willing to let Voldemort or his fucking followers take away from him.

Besides, growing up with Sirius Black had taught him many things, but one thing the most impulsive man in the world had failed to teach his godson was the value of caution. He didn’t think that was a lesson his godfather could ever teach him, or learn himself for that matter.

“Oh, I had them. I sent them all away, for you see, I have given my heart to another. He’s something of an arse, a dumb as a rock Gryffindor, and I’m surprised he’s still alive given his penchant for diving headlong into every dangerous situation he comes across. But at the end of the day, he’s the kindest and nicest man I have the privilege of knowing,” Daphne whispered, her alabaster cheeks turning a dark red when she realized he had stopped unbuttoning his shirt and was staring at her. “This is part of my vow. I don’t know exactly what kind of chapel we are going to, but it’s Knockturn Alley, so I doubt they’ll let us have much of a ceremony. And I… I wanted you to hear it,” Daphne explained shyly.

He walked over to her and cupped her cheeks, pulling her up for a bruising kiss that left her lips swollen and made her see stars. “You’ve already written your vows?” he whispered, his lips traveling lower, brushing against her perfect jawline.

“I’ve been writing them for nearly a year now. I wanted them to be perfect for our big day,” Daphne whispered, her perfect red lips parted in a quiet moan as Harry pulled down her scarf and sucked a hickey on the creamy skin of her neck.

“Daphne…” Harry breathed, his hands ghosting over her curves. She was glad she was sitting, because her legs suddenly had no strength. “Is this-”

“The grandest wedding in the world doesn’t mean a thing to me if you’re not who I’m marrying,” Daphne answered, cutting him off before he had even finished his question. “So, yes. This is what I want. Because what I want is to be the future Lady Black, to wake up tomorrow morning as your wife.”

“Let’s get married,” Harry murmured, pulling away. He started unbuttoning his shirt once more, and Daphne flushed, turning to face the wall and give him his privacy.

Harry laughed. “What’re you doing, princess?” He asked, his voice laced with mirth.

“You’re changing,” Daphne mumbled, feeling an unfamiliar heat in her core.

“Darling, if we really are getting married, you do realize what comes after that, don’t you? You’re going to see much more than my bare chest.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the reminder.

Fuck.

While they hadn’t done anything, Harry had never been shy about telling her exactly what he wanted to do to her after they’d both knocked back a glass or two of firewhiskey. Each and every one of those late-night conversations had ended with her smacking his chest for being inappropriate before running away and crawling into her bed, her face buried in her pillow to stifle her moans as she stuffed her tight, virgin cunt with her finger. A pale imitation of the real deal, but the only thing she had allowed herself.

Till now, the voice in her head piped up.

The thought of what they would do when they returned to his room as husband and wife turned the warmth in her core into a blazing fire.

“Look at me,” Harry ordered softly.

Daphne complied, her eyes fixed on his perfect hair and gorgeous green eyes, before slowly moving down to his bare chest.

Don’t drool, she reminded herself as her eyes drank in the tanned skin that was crisscrossed with faint scars, her fingers itching to trace the well-defined muscles of his chest.

He dropped his pajamas, and she was bloody certain she would faint. She licked her lips, unashamedly staring at the large tent in his boxers.

Mine, she thought giddily, before blushing when she realized he was watching her with an amused expression on his face.

“Harry?” Daphne mumbled, her face warm.

“Yes, darling?”

“Can you please put on some clothes? We’re on a tight schedule,” she squeaked, wanting but unable to pull her eyes away from his body. Her soon-to-be husband was Adonis personified.

“What’s the hurry?” Harry grinned, slowly pulling on his shirt, taking his time to button it up.

“The chapel might close.”

“If it’s open at midnight, it’s open all night.”

“Please,” Daphne whined, subconsciously rubbing her thighs together in a vain effort to generate some friction.

Harry chuckled, and curled his finger, wordlessly summoning her towards him.

Daphne complied, crawling on the bed till she was inches away from his bare skin, fighting an irrational urge to kiss each and every one of his scars.

He hooked his finger under her chin, pulling her up until they locked eyes. He had an aura of quiet authority about him that made her want to skip the wedding and go straight to their wedding night.

Gone was the hesitation of the previous year, the need for alcohol before he had the courage to spill his desires. He no longer seemed worried about assuming control in their relationship. He had grown over the summer, she realized, shivering under his intense gaze.

He used his hold on her chin to pull her closer, his lips now inches from her ear. She could feel his hot breath on her skin, every action of his driving her wild.

“Miss Greengrass.”

“Lord Potter,” she whispered back, her body putty in his hands. He wasn’t Lord Black. Not yet. But he would be one day, and she would be Lady Black. It was all she had ever wanted.

“I’m going to take you to that chapel and make you my wife,” he whispered, his hand gently pushing her legs apart. “Then I’m going to bring you back to this room, and as your husband, I’m going to claim what’s mine,” he whispered, his palm resting flat against her tight, wet womanhood, grinning as his skin came in contact with the rapidly growing wet spot on her leggings.

Daphne was suddenly certain she had died and gone to heaven.

Notes:

I know it feels like Daphne Appreciation week lol, but I also have a spicy Harry/Luna chapter coming out tomorrow or on Sunday that I think you'll love. Also, before anyone asks, Daphne is my OG muse and I almost always give her a sad backstory and a bunch of angst and trauma because I'm evil like that, but also because I love writing Haphne Hurt/Comfort.