The Grass Is Always Greener Chapter 28. (Patreon)

Content Warnings: Whipped Cream, Breast Play, Teasing.

“Why is he searching for the diary?”

“I don’t know. That’s all my spy could find out. He demanded Lucius bring him that diary the minute he moved into Malfoy Manor. When Lucius told him what had happened the consequences were… not pretty.”

Harry frowned. Lucius Malfoy was a slimy bastard but he deserved to answer for his crimes in Wizengamot. The idea that he had been summarily executed like Karkaroff didn’t sit right with him.

But then, a lot didn’t sit right with him these days. Everyone had given Daphne and him the space they needed to recover and build a life together but Karkaroff’s death had been a rude awakening. Not just for him, but for his allies as well. While the Ministry was in denial and he was happily playing house with Daphne, Voldemort was out there, gathering strength and new allies.

Dumbledore had re-established the Order of the Phoenix, a secret organization dedicated to fighting Voldemort and his followers. He didn’t let Harry join. He didn’t let Harry do much of anything. Harry belatedly realized that the old Headmaster had been avoiding him all summer, refusing to even be in the same room as him. It was confusing and hurtful but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Sirius and Cyrus had taken over the responsibility of his training and he spent nights alternating between Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place working with Sirius and Tonks on his physical training and in Greengrass Manor, sitting in Cyrus Greengrass’ study and learning more than he had in his four years at Hogwarts combined.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Is he-”

“Not dead.” Cyrus shook his head. “I wish, but the Dark Lord is smarter than that. He knows that his success partly depends on access to the Malfoy fortune. However, he has been punished severely.”

“Am I a bad person if I think that’s a good thing?”

Perhaps he was picking a thing or two from Daphne. He welcomed the thought of Malfoy facing consequences for his actions for the first bloody time in his life.

“Not at all. I’d say it was overdue, even if I wished it was our side doing the punishing. But it does raise an interesting question. Why was that diary so important?”

“You said our side.” Harry didn’t register anything the man had said after that. Harry had assumed the man would prefer to stay neutral, just like the Greengrass family had been in the previous war. After all, he hadn’t joined the Order.

“Why the surprise?”

“Daphne told me you’re cautious, sir,” Harry said, nervously tugging on his shirt. The way the silver-haired man was staring at him was making him uncomfortable. The intense gray eyes were tearing him apart, almost as if the man was checking for weaknesses and cataloging flaws.

“That’s a polite way of reminding me that the Greengrass family sat out the previous war. That’s true.” Cyrus nodded in acceptance. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the polished oak desk. Cyrus laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them, continuing to study Harry with enigmatic gray eyes that were so similar to his daughter’s. “But I am not my father. I’d like to think I’d have done the right thing even if you weren’t the father of my grandchildren. Now… that man tried to harm my family, Harry. My daughter, my future son-in-law… my grandchildren.” Cyrus’ lips curved into an ice-cold, terrifying smile. “It’s personal now.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Let us turn our attention back to the diary. Why is it so important to him?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want people to know what he did in Hogwarts?”

Cyrus shook his head. He lowered his eyelids and mulled over the issue at hand, speaking only after a few seconds of silent contemplation.

“Do you know the first rule of winning a duel, Harry?”

“Don’t get hit?”

“I see Miss Tonks has been teaching you well,” Cyrus said with a chuckle. “That’s indeed the most important rule if you want to survive in a duel. But I’m talking about winning. What’s the most important thing to do if you want to win?”

Harry shrugged wordlessly.

“You have to put yourself in your enemy’s shoes. Think as he does, anticipate what he’ll do before he does it. He who knows his enemy as well as he knows himself, wins.”

“You want me to think like Voldemort. Put myself in his shoes.”

Cyrus beamed. “Exactly! You’re a quick learner, Harry. You’ve been trying to analyze his actions based on your nature. You don’t like attention. Not him. He’s a half-crazed megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur. He had you and Daphne dead to rights in that graveyard and could have easily killed you. But he didn’t. What did he do?” Cyrus prodded gently.

“He waited. He summoned his followers and freed me to show them that he could beat me,” Harry whispered with wide eyes. “There was no upside to doing that. He took a risk just to-”

“Show how powerful he was,” Cyrus finished with a satisfied smile. “He’s arrogant too, it never occurred to him that you and Daphne could get away. And he rules through fear. There’s a reason Karkaroff’s body was dumped on a park bench in Manchester instead of being hidden.”

“Defy me and you’re next,” Harry mumbled.

“A brutal yet effective way of drilling that message into his followers. He doesn’t want to hide what he’s done, Harry. He hurt Muggleborns while he was still at Hogwarts. He killed one of them. He was the heir of Salazar Slytherin himself! These are things he’d want to boast about, not obscure.”

“But nobody knew about any of that. Not even people in Slytherin. Not even the children of Death Eaters.”

“Exactly. This means the diary is important to him and he wants to keep it hidden, even from the inner circle of his followers. What can you tell me about it?”

“It contained a memory…” Harry paused and reconsidered his words. “No, I’ve seen a memory in a pensieve. The thing in the diary wasn’t one. It was like there was a part of him inside it. We had a conversation. He was self-aware. He hated the older version of Voldemort for fuck-” Harry paused again and noted his future father-in-law had no reaction except a barely noticeable flinch.

The more he used the man’s name, the less people seemed to be afraid of him.

“You can say fuck in front of me, Harry,” Cyrus said, sounding mildly amused. “He hated the older version of Voldemort. Are you sure?”

“Yep. Said he’d succeed where his older counterpart had failed. It seemed like he was a part of Voldemort but still separate.”

Cyrus exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair. Something changed in his demeanor. He was as pale as a sheet and his hand shook as he picked up the bell on his table and rang it.

A house elf popped into the office and bowed in Cyrus’ direction.

“Trudy, I need you to fetch my wife.”

“Mistress has her book club, sir. She’s said she’s not to be disturbed-”

“Now, Trudy,” Cyrus said. His breathing had gotten ragged and he dabbed a handkerchief on his forehead.

“Is everything alright, sir?” Harry asked in alarm. He watched Trudy disappear with a loud crack and turned his attention back to the older man. Cyrus had gotten up from his chair and was standing in front of the bookshelf that occupied an entire wall of his study, feverishly searching for something.

“He talked with you. Had an actual conversation?”

“Yep. Ginny too. First through the diary and then in person.”

Cyrus wheeled around and looked at him sharply. “What do you mean by that?”

“Uh…” Harry took a second to steel his nerves and gather his thoughts. Daphne had told him her father was a stern but fair man. And that he respected knowledge above everything else. Acting like a clueless idiot wouldn’t earn him any favors. “When I went down to the Chamber of Secrets I met Voldemort. But he didn’t look like the one I met in the graveyard. He was his younger self, almost like a ghost but not really. He said he was taking Ginny’s life force to come back to life. Ghosts or memories can’t do that, can they?”

“They cannot. If they could you’d see a lot more ghosts trying it. After all, one becomes a ghost precisely because they have an overwhelming desire to stay on this plane.”

“So if that wasn’t a memory and it wasn’t a ghost… what was it?”

Cyrus nodded grimly. “You’re finally asking the right question, son.”

Harry blushed, more because of the endearment than the praise. The Dursleys thought of him as a disgusting insect, Sirius and Remus as a friend… he’d never had anyone treat him like a son before. The door opened before he had any time to dwell on the nature of his relationship with the Greengrass family.

“Cyrus, must you interrupt every one of my meetings?”

“Amelia-”

“Harry, darling, leave my husband to his dusty books and come join me for tea.”

“Amelia-”

“Seriously, Felicia thinks I’m whipped. I drop everything and come running every time you call and let me tell you dear, Witch Weekly says-”

“AMELIA.”

The statuesque blonde woman finally stopped talking and turned to her husband at the yell. Her teasing smile morphed into a frown at the panic-stricken look on his face.

“What’s the matter, darling? Did something happen? Is it Daphne?! The babies?!”

“No ma’am-”

“Amelia or mom, sweetie.”

It felt wrong to call her Amelia so despite his flaming cheeks he settled for the latter option.

“Daphne is fine, mom. The babies too. We have another checkup at Mungo’s tomorrow. Healer Serafina will tell us the sex of the twins,” Harry said bashfully.

“That must be exciting. Those children have a bright future ahead of them. There has never been a Potter-Greengrass-Rosier union.”

“Not if they have to fight the same war their parents and grandparents have fought, Lia,” Cyrus muttered. He ran a hand through his neatly trimmed silver hair.

Harry didn’t fail to notice that his hand was still trembling.

Amelia silently stepped forward and cupped her husband’s cheeks, forcing the panic-stricken man to look down at her. Harry averted his gaze. It felt wrong to intrude on such an open display of affection from the normally reserved couple.

“Darling, it will end before our grandchildren can walk. We will make sure it does, even if we have to go and rip that monster’s heart out of his chest.”

“It won’t work. The curse didn’t kill him. Ripping his heart out won’t work either.”

“The curse takes two years to work, Cy,” Amelia whispered. She leaned in and brushed her lips against his. “Who knows, maybe it’ll do him in? Now stop worrying our son and let’s talk about happier things.”

“Lia, he made one,” Cyrus hissed. “Well, more than one. If he had made just the one he’d have died when Harry stabbed the diary.”

It was Amelia’s turn to frown. “Made what?”

Cyrus silently reached back to the bookshelf he was standing in front of and pulled free a leather-bound book. He dropped the dusty tome onto Amelia’s waiting hands and waited for her to study the name embossed on it in gold.

“No,” Amelia whispered in a horrified whisper, finding her voice after a few moments of tense silence.

“Harry’s description of his diary matches the description of one. Think about it, Lia. How did he survive the killing curse?”

“A-A ghost?” Amelia stammered, trying in vain to find an alternative, any alternative to the grim scenario put forth by her husband.

“Have you ever heard of a ghost being able to bond with a human? He did that with Quirrell. He was sapping the life energy of the Weasley girl. He made himself a new body using a blood ritual just one month ago! Deny it if you want, but it reeks of soul magic.”

Harry didn’t want to interrupt them but he couldn’t hold in his questions any longer.

“Soul magic? I thought things like soulmates were a myth. I told Daphne she was my soulmate once and she called me an idiot.” Harry chuckled at Cyrus and Amelia’s raised eyebrows. “Fondly. She fondly calls me an idiot once or twice a week.”

“She learned that from me,” Amelia said, still focused on her husband. She leaned up and kissed Cyrus’ cheek. Whatever had shocked her, she had either recovered from it remarkably quickly or she was an impressive actress. “I learned very early on that gentle admonishment is important in keeping your husband grounded.”

“Brat,” Cyrus whispered.

It was barely audible but still loud enough for Harry to hear. He blushed and awkwardly cleared his throat to remind them of his presence.

Amelia sobered up immediately.

“Soul magic is very real, Harry. You know that I’m an Unspeakable, yes?” Amelia moved to sit in the chair next to Harry’s. She dropped the book onto the desk and turned her chair until she was facing Harry. “My area of study is soul magic. I’ve spent two decades studying it. Soulmates are also real, just not in the way muggles think of them.”

Harry frowned. “Is Daphne my soulmate?”

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“That depends on you,” Amelia said with a smile. “Soulmates aren’t predestined. If two people love each other they can bind their souls together. That makes them soulmates. From that day on, their souls are one.”

“If you can add to something you can also divide it,” Cyrus muttered. He slumped into his chair and scowled at the book on the table.

“I was getting to that, Cy,” Amelia said, shooting her husband a reproachful look. “Harry, a soul has incredible power. It is the reservoir of our magic. It is the thing that leaves this plane when we die.”

“You think Voldemort did something to make sure that doesn’t happen? If his soul doesn’t leave this plane… he can’t die,” Harry whispered. His eyes widened as he wrapped his head around the implications of the revelation. “He’ll just keep coming back. Again and again. My parents fought him. I have to fight him. My children-”

“Will only know about him from the stories you tell them,” Amelia said, shooting another warning glare at her husband. “Souls cannot survive without a vessel. Normally that’s our bodies but that’s not always the case.”

“How is that possible?”

“Using dark magic and a very disgusting ritual.” Amelia scrunched up her face. “A dark wizard called Rotomer figured out how to tear his soul into two in the twelfth century. One part remained in his body, the second he placed in a vessel. A person can only die when the complete soul leaves this plane. Until that vessel was destroyed he couldn’t be killed. Not completely.”

“He was effectively immortal.”

“Wow.” Harry slumped back in the chair. “So… that diary was a vessel like that, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Amelia said softly. “That is what Cy suspects and he’s a very smart man. I’m inclined to agree with him. It’s very likely that the diary was a horcrux.”

“Is that what the vessel is called? A horcrux?”

“Mhm. Cyrus, you told me he made more than one. That’s not possible.”

“Think about it, Lia. The diary is destroyed. Not even a horcrux can survive basilisk venom. How is he alive if his horcrux was destroyed before his resurrection?”

Amelia sucked in a sharp breath. “Cyrus that’s not possible. The trauma to his soul… the amount of dark magic involved…”

“He’d barely be human anymore,” Cyrus finished softly for his wife. “Harry, tell Lia what he looks like now.”

“Like a snake,” Harry muttered, panic rising in his chest. “He’s like a human snake. I don’t think anyone will look at him and think he’s a human.”

“Does anyone want to talk about the elephant in the room?” Amelia asked. She sounded calm but her voice still trembled slightly. “How many has he made?”

“I thought you’d be able to answer that question, Lia.”

“I don’t study horcruxes. Even Unspeakables have limits and their study is strictly forbidden in our department. Before today I didn’t even think it was possible to make more than one.”

“What are we going to do now?” Harry asked, forcing himself to stay calm. Panicking wouldn’t help keep Daphne and their children safe.

“We are not going to do anything. Cyrus and I are going to the Ministry after I send my book club home. You are going home to Daphne and worry about tomorrow’s prenatal appointment. We’ll meet again in three days. That’ll give Cy and me enough time to gather more information.”

“Is there nothing-”

“You can help by helping the mother of your children. You have a week before Hogwarts starts and I want you two to make the best of it.” Amelia leaned forward and pulled Harry into a hug. “Don’t worry. Everything will be alright, darling,” she whispered as she rubbed his back.

“Thanks… mom,” Harry whispered, feeling safer than he ever had in his life. He wasn’t alone anymore.

He wondered what his parents would think of his found family as he pulled away.

“Give Daphne our love,” Amelia murmured as she led him out of the study.

“Do you know what I want to know?” Cyrus asked once his wife had shut the door and turned around. “Where did he learn how to make one? The House of Slytherin was bereft of all money and family heirlooms by the time he came around. The Gaunts even lost their seat in Wizengamot. There was no family library, not by the time he was born.”

“Surely you’re not suggesting he learned it at Hogwarts? No one would be stupid enough to allow that.”

“Send your book club home, Lia. I think it’s time we paid Dumbledore a visit.”

---

“Either the food is disgusting or you have something on your mind,” Daphne whispered. She hugged Harry from behind and wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “And since I haven’t cooked a single thing on this table I can safely presume something happened during your meeting with papa.”

Harry didn’t bother with an answer. He didn’t particularly feel like discussing Voldemort’s potential immortality with his wife… or anyone else for that matter. Was that to be his life? Fighting off the bastard year after year to protect his family and friends until he died? Would his children have to take up the mantle after him?

“That bad?” Daphne murmured. She slipped into his lap and lowered her arms until they were wrapped around his broad chest. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. “I should be out there, helping you.”

“Daphne-”

“I know,” Daphne grumbled as she caressed her belly. “Lily and Belladona take preference over revenge on that sorry excuse for a Dark Lord.”

“Lily and Belladona?” Harry asked softly.

“You don’t like those names?”

“I love them. I don’t think our sons will like them very much,” Harry said with a quiet chuckle.

“We aren’t having sons. Not this time.” Daphne leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Mama says she craved lemons when she had me and Tori. Guess what I’m craving right now?”

Harry laughed and handed her a slice of lemon. He turned and watched her clamp the wedge between her blood-red lips and suck slowly, his cock stirring to life in his pants. Her blonde hair was in a messy ponytail and draped over her right shoulder. She was dressed in one of his Quidditch jerseys and loose gray sweatpants. Her smoky gray eyes were filled with amusement as studied him while sucking on her lemon.

“Don’t worry, sir. What kind of wife would I be if we stopped at two? I’m sure we’ll get a son after some… rigorous trying.” She leaned in and pushed out the lemon wedge with her tongue, forcing him to accept it. Their lips met for a gentle kiss and they shared the slice between them but even her playful nibbling wasn’t enough to get Harry out of his funk.

“So, what's the matter?” Daphne asked as she pulled away. She pulled the lemon wedge from her mouth and dropped it into Harry’s untouched plate.

No more secrets.

That had been their promise to each other.

“Voldemort might be immortal,” Harry finally admitted with a sigh. “Maybe my destiny is to fight him again and again until I lose. I’ll die and my children will have to do the same. It’ll just keep going.”

“There’s no such thing as true immortality, love. If there was, Greengrass Potions would have made a potion for it. Even the Philosopher’s Stone slowed aging to a crawl. He can be killed.”

“Your parents are gathering more information but from the way they talked I got the distinct feeling that it’ll be nearly impossible to get rid of him forever.”

“There’s a world of difference between nearly impossible and impossible, sir.” Daphne dunked her finger into the bowl of whipped cream and scooped some onto her digit. She held it out in front of Harry but before he could wrap his lips around her finger she popped it in her mouth and began to suck. She slowly rocked the finger in and out of her mouth and ran her tongue along its length, lavishing it with the kind of attention she usually reserved only for his cock. “Had you asked someone at the beginning of last year if a Gryffindor and Slytherin could be a couple… well, they’d have told you it’s nearly impossible,” Daphne smirked. “Yet here we are. If we can do one nearly impossible thing we can do them all. He can be killed, we just need to figure out how. I want to help you in every way I can. So, tell me what the problem is sir, and I’ll help you solve it.”

“Voldemort has made himself immortal by using something called a horcrux.”

“Is that an artifact?”

Daphne’s ignorance did not surprise Harry. Hogwarts had no material on these cursed objects (or Hermione would have read it) and her parents didn’t seem like the type to go out of their way to teach their daughters disgusting black magic.

“No, your mother said it was a thing that could hold a piece of your soul. As long as every horcrux isn’t destroyed the person who created them can’t be fully killed. That’s all they know. They need a few days to find out more information on these things.

“That’s it?” Daphne grinned. Sometimes big problems require simple solutions. “It’s not nearly impossible to kill him, Harry. I won’t say it’ll be easy but I know it’s possible. We-” She paused and rolled her eyes at his reproachful stare. “You find and destroy these vessels using the knowledge my parents give you. Once that’s done and you’ve learned everything Tonks, Sirius, and my father have to teach you, you rip that wannabe Dark Lord limb from limb for trying to hurt your girls. Now, be a good Gryffindor and eat some treacle tart.”

“Yes ma’am,” Harry said teasingly. His lips twitched as he leaned back and watched Daphne prepare a plate for him. “But only if you eat too,” he added, accepting the plate from her. “You haven’t eaten, have you?”

“I was waiting for you. Harry, no! It’s sticky and I’ll get crumbs all over my-” She paused and bit into the slice Harry had pushed into her mouth. “Shirt,” she finished through a mouthful of treacle tart. She wiped her lips, getting her fingers sticky in the process.

“I told you,” she whined once she had swallowed and glanced down at her shirt. It had crumbs scattered all over it and had a new spot that looked suspiciously like a stain.

“I have more than one Quidditch jersey, love.”

“This is different. It’s special,” Daphne mumbled with pink cheeks. She had charmed it so the back said ‘Mrs. Potter’ instead of ‘Potter’ and it was the only shirt she felt like wearing.

Fucking hormones, she thought grumpily.

“Can you brush them off, please?”

“I have a better idea,” Harry smirked and grabbed the edge of the jersey, pulling it over her head before she could understand what was happening. A squeak escaped her lips and she instinctively raised her hands, allowing him to pull the shirt free and drop it to the floor.

“Careful!” Daphne whined. She pouted and playfully smacked his firm chest. “Just wait until the girls get here. Then we’ll outnumber you three to one! You’ll always be outvoted,” Daphne said, sticking her tongue out at him.

“What if they vote with me?” Harry asked with a teasing smile. His hands ghosted over her sensitive chest and his shaft stirred in his pants at the sight of Daphne biting her lip to stifle a moan.

“T-they won’t. They’ll… oh, Morgana!” His fumbling with her bra strap was usually endearing. But she had no patience, not at that very moment, not when he was looking at her like that. She helped him unbuckle the bra and slipped the straps down her arms, letting the lacy black cloth flutter into her lap.

Harry took a moment to study her. His eyes slowly shifted from her messy golden hair and the way the strands perfectly framed her angelic face to her plump red lips. A quiet moan escaped them and a smattering of pink dusted her pale cheeks. His gaze lowered to her chest and he stared at her large, firm, perfectly tear-drop-shaped creamy mounds and the rosy peaks that crowned them with undisguised lust. Each galleon-sized pink areola was covered with tiny bumps that had appeared as her pregnancy progressed. Their healer had assured them they were completely normal. Harry had no idea one could improve on perfection, but that was exactly what pregnancy had done for Daphne.

He slowly traced the rim of her right areola, running his finger over the tiny bumps. He kept going in smaller and smaller circles until he reached her nipple. He pinched the stiff nub and gently twisted it, drawing a trickle of milk from her full breast. Daphne moaned loudly and arched her back, pushing her chest into his waiting hands but Harry pulled away and kept staring at her.

“What?” she asked, her blush intensifying.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry whispered. He leaned in and captured her lips. Their tongues met for a slow, sensual duel and their hands roamed, exploring each other’s bodies. There was no hurry, not when they both knew they were going to spend the rest of their lives with each other.

Daphne’s hands slipped underneath Harry’s shirt and traced the outline of his abs, the dampness in her panties increasing as she counted them one by one.

“Sir?” she moaned against his lips. “I need you.”

Harry pulled away for air, his emerald eyes sparkling playfully. “Need me? What do you need me for, Daphne?”

“I… I… oh!”

Daphne squirmed in his lap but he wrapped his free hand around her waist, trapping her in place. He finished smearing a thin line of whipped cream onto her collarbones and leaned in, running his tongue over the long bones lazily. He lapped up the cream, the rough texture of his tongue dragging against her soft skin.

“Harry!” Daphne panted. The trickle out of her pussy had turned into a flood. Her panties were already drenched, her folds glistening with arousal, and a trickle ran down her thigh, making its way down her slender leg. “Please…”

“Be a good girl and use your words, princess.” Harry dunked his finger into the tub of cream and retrieved some more. He smeared it onto her areola and deposited a dollop on her hardened nipple. Just as she had opened her mouth to speak he leaned in and captured the stiff pink nub between his lips and began to suck lazily. He ran his tongue around the sensitive peak, lapping up the cream and applying just enough pressure to express her but not enough to provide complete relief. A trickle of sweet milk leaked out of her nipple and coated his tongue.

“Play… playroom, please.”

“You want your husband to go to bed hungry?” Harry asked teasingly, his voice muffled.

“What?! No! Di… oh god, sir! Dinner and then playroom?” she asked, breathing heavily. “Please, sir!” she squealed when his teeth clamped down on the nub between his lips. He gently tugged, causing a jet of milk to shoot into his mouth.

Harry’s hands shifted to her belly and he gently caressed the now extremely obvious curve, losing himself more and more in the fantasy.

Daphne squirmed until she was firmly on his lap, her knees resting on the chair on either side of his legs. His throbbing manhood pushed into her soft thigh and she bit her lip. She slowly lowered herself on him and began to rock her hips, grinding against the tent in his pants. The pressure caused the rough wool of his trousers to rub against the soft skin of her nether lips. Daphne’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as a familiar pressure built up in the pit of her stomach.

No plan survives contact with children, her mother had once told her. And their children decided to pick that exact moment to prove their grandmother right.

“D-did you feel that?” Daphne stammered, breathing heavily.

Both of them had frozen and Harry’s hands were still resting on the curve of her belly.

“I… I imagined that, right? You’re just four months in. Babies don’t kick at four months,” Harry whispered. He pulled away from her chest and stared at her stomach with wide eyes. His expression was a strange mixture of panic and joy, almost as if he was finally coming to terms with the fact that he was going to be a father.

“Muggle babies might not. Different rules for magical ones, daddy,” Daphne whispered. “Especially someone as powerful as Belladonna. She’s growing up fast and can’t wait to meet her papa,” Daphne giggled.

“How do you know it’s Belladonna?” Harry asked with a grin.

Daphne shrugged. She had convinced herself she was about to have girls and given both of them unique personalities. Belladonna was the rebellious Slytherin, the perfect girl to continue her mother’s legacy. Lily was quiet and thoughtful and would have never gotten in the way of her mother getting her back blown out.

“I can’t wait to meet Belladonna either,” Harry whispered, his expression unreadable.

Notes:

I'm sorry for being a day late! I was so tired after coming home that I crashed and had to spend a day recovering, packing, and unpacking. Moving long-distance is a massive chore, let me tell you. Anyways, we're back with The Grass Is Always Greener and the adorableness that is Harry and a pregnant Daphne! Not a lot of fluff in this chapter cause it was mostly focused on the plot, but things are getting interesting! The chapter will be extremely smutty and fluffy, with a family dinner to spice things up. Who wants Cyrus and Sirius to meet?