The Most Beautiful Witch Chapter 15 (Patreon)

AN: As always, this is a commissioned work for an anonymous user.

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His body still felt far too tender for his liking, but he supposed he deserved it. Fighting Voldemort had been a foolish choice. No matter how much progress he’d made since the start of this year, Voldemort had years of magical experience on top of him. Voldemort had gotten under his skin, made him angry, and now he was paying the price for it.

It was a harsh lesson, one that he deserved to learn. He’d nearly died that day. If it hadn’t been for that fire he’d created…

A flash of darkness shot through him at the memory of those violent, destructive flames. How many had died to them? One? Five? Ten? Harry didn’t know.

A part of him felt that they deserved death. They were followers of Voldemort, and it had been a life-or-death situation for Harry. Another part of him chastised himself. Death was finality. It was dark and horrific. He didn’t want to be the bringer of death.

But without his actions, those Death Eaters might have gone on to do worse down the line. It was impossible to predict the ripple effect his actions would have, but he liked to think that the deaths of those Death Eaters would mean that more innocent people would survive whatever was to come.

Now that Voldemort was back, there would be war again. He might lie low for a time, reconvening his forces and licking his wounds from the losses he suffered at the graveyard, but he’d come back one day. The First Wizarding War had been Voldemort attempting to wrestle control over the Ministry and society at large. His goals hadn’t changed, as far as Harry knew. War was brewing, and Harry had to be ready for it.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite ready for it yet.

“Careful,” Astoria said with concern in her voice as Harry hissed loudly. He’d refused to let them levitate him up to the Headmaster’s Office like they’d suggested. He wanted to walk on his own two feet, but he was somewhat regretting that decision now. Every step sent a jolt of pain through his body, and his shoulder ached something fierce.

“I am,” Harry replied. He cringed at how short he sounded with her. It wasn’t her fault that he was hurt, and he should be grateful that someone cared for him and his health. An apology was on his lips, but they’d already reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s Office. Astoria left his side and approached the ugly creation.

“Jelly Slugs,” Astoria called out.

The gargoyle leapt aside, allowing them passage up through the spiral staircase.

Harry hobbled over to Astoria’s side. The staircase looked daunting given his current state, but he knew that he could make it.

“Do you want any help?” Astoria offered.

As much as he wanted to reject her offer out of sheer pride, he still felt bad for being short with her. She was doing her best to help him through this, and he didn’t need to take out his frustrations on her, especially after she and Daphne helped keep him safe from Barty Crouch Jr.

“Please,” he said politely.

Astoria seemed quite happy to wrap his arm around herself and allow him to lean on her for support. Together, they slowly made their way up the staircase.

The Headmaster’s Office felt… different now. When he was younger, he’d been amazed by all of the strange artefacts, magical devices, and dozens of portraits covering the walls. Now, it all felt hollow. It seemed so unimportant compared to the horrific reality that Voldemort was back. The only bright spot about the entire office was Daphne’s presence.

She rushed to his side the second he stepped inside and wrapped him up in a tight hug. Despite it hurting, he didn’t stop her. She deserved this and more for how supportive and protective she’d been with him throughout all of this.

“How are you feeling?” She asked him as she pulled back.

“Fine,” he lied. His body hurt and he just wanted to lie down back in bed, but there was travelling to do first.

“He’s not fine,” Astoria told her sister. “He’s been hurting the entire walk over here.”

Harry had to bite his tongue to stop himself from snapping at her. Even if she noticed this, she didn’t need to tell everyone.

Merlin, why was he so angry? From the moment he’d awoken, he’d had this underlying anger inside of him that burned endlessly. No, the anger had been there before. Ever since he cast that fire magic, there’s been an anger that had taken a deep root inside of him.

He needed to get a grip.

The other occupant of the room cleared her throat. Professor McGonagall stepped forward, concern radiating throughout her body language.

“Mr Potter, if you need to stay another day and have Madam Pomfrey look over you—” She began.

“No,” Harry interrupted her. “I’m fine. Please, I just want to go with Astoria and Daphne.”

Professor McGonagall didn’t look entirely convinced, but she didn’t seem keen on arguing with him either. He must have made for quite the sorry sight if she wasn’t willing to exude that stern persona she normally had.

“Of course,” she replied quickly. “The floo has been opened for the next few minutes for you to leave. I’m sorry that Professor Dumbledore isn’t here to see you off, but he’s been caught with that unfortunate business at the Ministry about Barty Crouch Jr.”

Harry only knew what little Astoria and Daphne had been able to explain to him about the situation, but what he knew was more than enough to leave him with yet another frustration over the fact that he hadn’t realised that something was off with the man sooner.

“Right,” Harry muttered. “Well, let’s get going then.”

“Before you do,” Professor McGonagall stopped him. “Professor Dumbledore wished for me to inform you that he is planning to visit you in the coming days. He’s deeply concerned about you, and he wants to make sure that whatever ordeal you underwent is handled appropriately.”

The curiosity in her eyes was evident. Since waking up, Harry hadn’t said a word about what had happened to him. It’d been difficult enough coming to terms with it himself. He needed time before he could explain it all fully.

The screams of the dying Death Eaters still echoed through his mind. How was he going to tell Astoria and Daphne that he’d killed people?

He didn’t have anything to say back to Professor McGonagall, so after another worried look, she stepped aside and allowed him passage to the fireplace.

His things were already waiting there alongside Astoria and Daphne’s. Daphne hurried forward to get the floo ready while Astoria stayed back to help Harry walk forward. He accepted her help and crossed the room to the floo.

“Greengrass Manor,” Daphne said as she threw the powder into the flames.

“Be well, Harry,” Professor McGonagall said softly, breaking her normal, professional vernacular. “I hope to see you again in the fall.”

“So do I, Professor,” Harry replied as he, Astoria, and Daphne stepped through into the flames.

Greengrass Manor looked exactly as Harry remembered. He realised that much couldn’t have changed in the couple of months since he’d last been here, but things felt so different now that he’d been expecting all sorts of changes where none would be found.

They were spat out of the fireplace into the entry hall by the grand fountain, which was glistening as sunlight shined in from the large windows nearby. As soon as Harry stepped out of the flames, tremors wracked his body. Madam Pomfrey had warned him that these would come if he ever pushed his body too much, but he’d been too stubborn to put much stock in her words. He dropped to one knee as Astoria and Daphne both cried out in surprise and tried to help him up.

“Sorry, I’m pretty clumsy with the floo,” Harry lied, laughing it off and subtly grabbing his still-shaking hand to keep it steady.

“You need to be more careful,” Daphne chastised him lightly. “You’re still on the mend, and I don’t want you getting any worse than you already are.”

It struck him how different Astoria and Daphne had treated him while he was injured. Astoria was all about being as caring, gentle, and supportive as possible. She never pushed him to accept her help and easily accepted whatever lies he told her as truth. Daphne, on the other hand, was like a stern mother who saw through his every lie and insisted on helping him, even if he didn’t want it.

“I know,” Harry replied as he got back up to his feet. At least his legs weren’t shaking now, but he didn’t know how long that was going to last for.

“Let’s get you settled upstairs,” Astoria suggested gently. “You can rest up there—”

Harry wanted to protest his need for rest even though he so desperately needed it, but any words he had fell to the wayside when Anastasia and Cyrus Greengrass walked into the entry hall.

An awkward air filled the room as the two sides just stared at one another. Anastasia had a cold pout on her lips as she saw both of her daughters helping to hold Harry up while Cyrus had an uncomfortable grimace on his lips.

“Welcome home girls… and Harry,” Cyrus said slowly. “We… we’re glad to have to have you back home.” He kept pausing like he was trying to find the right way to phrase everything.

“We’re glad to be home,” Daphne replied gently. There was sincerity in her voice but also an undercurrent of something… more. The issues that had cropped up the last time they were here hadn’t been fully resolved yet, and it left an uncomfortableness in the air.

Silence returned, and another tremor suddenly wracked Harry’s body. This time, both Astoria and Daphne felt it, and concern overtook their expressions.

“We should go upstairs,” Astoria murmured quietly.

“We’ve prepared a guest room—” Cyrus began, but Daphne cut him off.

“He’ll be staying in our rooms while he’s here,” she stated firmly, leaving no room for argument. “We need to keep a close eye on him while he’s recovering.”

“That isn’t proper,” Anastasia finally spoke.

“Neither is trying to break up Harry and Astoria, so we’ll just call it tit-for-tat and leave it at that,” Daphne retorted, not unkind in her tone.

Fury flared in Anastasia’s eyes, but Cyrus quickly put a comforting arm on her shoulder. “That’s fine, girls,” he told them.

It was clear that Daphne and Astoria were both surprised at his quick acceptance, but neither of them were willing to look a gift horse in the mouth. As they helped Harry past them, they both glanced over at Anastasia to see if she’d do or say anything to stop them, but to their surprise, her lips were pressed into a fine line.

Harry did his best to manage by himself as much as he could, but he quickly found himself leaning more and more on Daphne and Astoria for support. Still, he wasn’t willing to let them levitate him.

The stairs proved a challenge, but once they were up on the second floor, it was easy. Rather than guide him down towards the east wing where his guest bedroom had been previously, they took him to the west wing of the manor where the family’s rooms were.

The decorations and portraits on the walls became more ostentatious in this private section of the manor, but there were also glimpses of family there too. There was a portrait of a younger Daphne, perhaps when she was ten or so, twirling around and dancing with a smile on her face while Astoria and their parents clapped politely in the background. Another portrait showed all four of them together with bright smiles on their lips, at least until the Astoria in the portrait—who looked to be only five or six—suddenly squished Daphne in a massive hug that sent the two of them tumbling off of their parents’ laps and onto the floor. The four figures in the portrait laughed together and then resettled back into position before the sequence replayed.

“We were happy back then,” Daphne sighed wistfully as they passed by the portrait. “And then mother and father started separating us, and before long, I was spending weeks and even months at a time in Europe visiting countless pure-blood families to make an impression on them and potentially marry one of their sons in the future. I guess I was lucky that I never found anyone that I truly connected with. Our parents wouldn’t force me into an unhappy marriage.”

“That was… decent of them,” Harry said awkwardly.

“Better than decent by most pure-blood standards in Europe,” Daphne corrected him. “There’s still quite a few families who just try to sell off their daughters to the highest bidder, regardless of their feelings on the matter.”

Astoria suddenly snorted. “I bet they were mad that they had to cancel your summer tour of Europe.”

Harry’s ears perked up. He hadn’t heard about this.

Daphne noticed Harry’s interest and quickly filled him in. “Before you came over and made quite the impression, my parents and I were still planning out my yearly trip through Europe. We were set to spend a couple weeks each in Prague, Hamburg, Riga, and throughout the Bulgarian countryside, culminating in a final visit to Liechtenstein.”

“Sounds like quite the whirlwind tour,” Harry commented.

“It would have been,” Daphne smiled at him. “But then I forced them to cancel it all once Astoria and I agreed to share you.”

“We’ll have to make some better memories for you in Europe other than spending time trying to find a husband,” Astoria said. “Maybe we can go on our own trip, just the three of us?”

That sounded wonderful…

If only Voldemort wasn’t back.

“Maybe,” Harry smiled, but it came out like more of a grimace.

It was a short walk down to the corridor that held Astoria’s room. Although her room used to be next to Daphne’s when they were younger, her parents moved it to a separate corridor to make it harder for the two of them to sneak in to visit each other in the night.

Astoria hurriedly opened the door, and Harry was surprised to see just how distinct it was from the guest bedroom. Unlike her family’s namesake, Astoria had never been a massive plant or Herbology lover; she loved books and reading and charms, and her room reflected that.

Tall bookshelves, running from floor to ceiling, lined two of the four walls of her room. They were absolutely stuffed full of books, both older tomes and new ones. There was the occasional potted plant placed upon the shelves, but they were easy-to-maintain plants like succulents and cacti. Her bed had soft, pastel-pink bedsheets and a violet-coloured canopy and sheer curtains that were embroidered with ivy designs. Already, his and Astoria’s trunks were both placed at the foot of her bed. There was a little reading nook beside a massive window that overlooked the setting sun each night and the endless fields beyond the manor.

It was a beautiful room and fit Astoria perfectly.

“Let’s get you in bed,” Astoria said as she came back over to help stabilise Harry.

“Thanks,” Harry replied as he made it the last few steps over to the bed. As soon as his knees hit the soft mattress, his body pitched forward, and he collapsed onto the bed. His body was exhausted, and he couldn’t even be bothered to get under the covers.

Luckily, Astoria and Daphne were there for him. They pulled off his shoes and helped him get out of his robes, leaving him in only his underwear. They tried to get him into some sleepwear, but Harry was too tired to bother. He just slipped under the covers and passed out almost instantly, barely feeling Astoria and Daphne climb in on either side of him.

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“Harry?”

Slowly, he stirred awake. The first thing he saw was the massive window and the sunlight streaming in. It was the morning again. He must have slept through the night. He was still in Astoria’s bed, but his girls weren’t lying next to him anymore.

“Harry?”

Awareness flooded Harry’s mind suddenly and his gaze snapped over to Astoria. She was standing next to her bed, right beside a chair that had a closed book on it. She’d gotten changed out of her school robes into some more casual, summery, yellow ones that brought out the colour of her big, brown eyes.

“Yeah?” His voice was scratchy from sleeping for so long.

“Professor Dumbledore’s here to see you,” Astoria said tentatively. “He’s been… insistent that he hears about what happened to you.”

He could see the curiosity in her eyes as she spoke. It had quickly become clear to him that no one knew what had actually happened to him in that maze—though he wondered if Dumbledore might have an idea. He could only imagine what crazy rumours the Daily Prophet was reporting on.

“I’ll go see him,” Harry replied as he made to get out of bed.

“No,” Astoria pushed down on his chest, and Harry didn’t have the strength to resist. He fell back onto the comfy bed and nestled his head back into the pillows. “I’ll bring him here to talk to you. You still need to rest.”

“Could you bring Daphne too? And some water?” Harry asked her as he cleared his throat again. He figured it’d be best to explain everything to everyone all at once.

“Sure,” Astoria smiled at him. She bent over and placed a kiss on his forehead before heading out the door.

Harry rubbed his eyes clear from sleep and glanced around the room. It was clear that Astoria had started unpacking her things. Her wand and schoolbooks were neatly organised atop her desk while her uniforms looked like they’d been freshly washed and dried and were now ready to be put away. Some of his things had been set out too, like his wand and casual clothes. They were stacked together on a small table on the other side of Astoria’s bed.

The windows were open, letting in a nice, flowery breeze. Harry breathed it in deeply.

It felt peaceful here, which was just what he needed if he was going to recover properly.

He closed his eyes for what felt like only a second, but was definitely much longer, when Dumbledore arrived.

“Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice sounded softly as he reached the threshold into Astoria’s room. “You have no idea just how good it makes an old man feel to see you awake and alive after the ordeal that you went through under my watch. I do wish to sincerely apologise for everything that’s befallen you during the Triwizard Tournament, but it makes me tremendously proud to see how you’ve managed to persevere through it all.”

He stepped into the room, followed close behind by Daphne and Astoria. Astoria hurried to his side with a glass of water, which Harry eagerly drank from to clear his parched throat.

“Thank you,” he murmured to Astoria before he turned his attention back to the Headmaster. “I’m glad to be alive too. I suppose I have Astoria, Daphne, and Madam Pomfrey to thank for that.”

The pointed lack of Dumbledore’s name wasn’t lost on any of the occupants in the room, though none of them chose to speak on it.

In truth, Harry didn’t know whether or not the cup being a portkey and the subsequent attempt on his life by Barty Crouch Jr was Dumbledore’s fault or not. The man certainly couldn’t be omniscient, but it still felt like more could’ve been done to prevent all of this. Maybe hindsight was clouding his judgement, or maybe it was the simmering anger that couldn’t seem to leave him, but Harry couldn’t help but blame Dumbledore in part for what had happened.

“Yes, they all worked tirelessly to keep you safe,” Dumbledore replied gently as he sat down in the chair next to Harry’s bed.

Astoria climbed up into bed with him, and Daphne did the same. Astoria curled up next to him comfortingly, but Daphne was sat up straight like a watchdog. Her piercing gaze was fixated right on Dumbledore.

“Do you know anything more about how Barty Crouch Jr managed to disguise himself as Professor Moody?” Daphne asked him pointedly.

“There’s little I can share that isn’t already public knowledge at this point,” Dumbledore answered candidly. “The Daily Prophet got it right: Alastor was trapped inside of his trunk for the entire year while Barty Crouch Jr masqueraded as him.”

“And you didn’t notice anything off about him?” Daphne continued. “I thought that you two were old friends.”

“We are,” Dumbledore nodded with a grimace. “Unfortunately, my multiple roles as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot keeps me quite busy. I rarely have the chance to socialise, even with my old friends. Still, I regret that I didn’t notice anything. Alastor did act slightly odd this year, but given the man’s incessant paranoia and private nature, Barty Crouch Jr’s fears of being found out actually led credence to his acting skills.”

Harry could see Daphne processing the information at a breakneck pace. She was always very perceptive of people and their words, and her training from her parents in preparation for her inevitable ascension as the Head of the Greengrass family gave her the skills she needed to analyse everything rapidly.

“As much as I am happy to answer any questions you all have,” Dumbledore began. “I did have a few of my own for Harry.”

Harry sat up in bed a bit, helped by Astoria who readjusted his pillows. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Dumbledore replied seriously.

Astoria and Daphne both perked up as Harry took another sip of water. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to reliving his experience in the graveyard, but he needed to warn them about what was coming.

So, he did. Harry summarised his journey through the maze up until he reached the Triwizard Cup. Then, things took a dark turn.

When Harry mentioned Voldemort’s resurrection, Dumbledore’s face didn’t change. It was surprising, almost like he already knew that fact and Harry had only confirmed it for him. Harry had to pause as Astoria suddenly grabbed his arm, her eyes wide in surprise and fear. Even Daphne looked ready to wrap him up in her arms, if only to make sure that he was still alive. Few people faced Voldemort down in a fight and lived to tell the tale.

“I was trapped,” Harry explained, remembering how he’d been forced to cower behind a headstone while Voldemort taunted him. “And I got angry.”

“Angry?” Dumbledore asked. Though his tone was gentle, Harry saw the concern in the man’s eyes.

Harry nodded, biting his lip. “I’ve been feeling pretty angry ever since then too,” he admitted.

“What exactly happened when you got angry?” Dumbledore asked for clarification.

The image of the recently-resurrected Voldemort grabbing his wand and unleashing a magical torrent flowed through Harry’s mind.

“Voldemort had created this serpent of fire,” Harry began slowly, practically feeling the sensation of the heat tingling across his skin. “It had felt raw, powerful, and when I was trapped, I just… recreated it.”

“Was there an incantati—” Dumbledore began to ask.

“No, no incantation,” Harry answered quickly. “It was a feeling more than anything. Like the Patronus Charm, only…”

“You used anger instead of happiness,” Dumbledore said, sounding more weary than Harry had ever heard him before. “I believe I know the spell you cast. It’s called Fiendfyre.”

Daphne sucked in a deep breath. “But that’s really dark magic.”

“Indeed it is,” Dumbledore nodded gravely. “Dark Magic is fuelled by negative emotions, and this anger that you’ve been feeling since then is the repercussions of that.”

“So, casting dark magic will make me angrier? Anything else?” Harry asked.

“There are hundreds of adjectives I could use to describe what you’ll feel like, but all of them are rooted in anger,” Dumbledore explained. “You might feel jealous over another’s achievements, you may become easily agitated over the smallest inconveniences, or you could fall into a deep depression over your own actions or those of others. Dark Magic isn’t to be trifled with lightly.”

Harry’s heart began to race in his chest. “Is there anything I can do to stop feeling like this?”

“Time and love,” Dumbledore answered simply. “The anger will fade with time, and the only way to improve upon your current state is through acts of love. You and your two lovely ladies here have been through a tremendous amount in a short time. Find solace in each other, ease each other’s burdens, and, perhaps, you’ll find that your anger will grow less and less with each passing day.”

That was easily done. Harry wrapped his free arm around Daphne and pulled her closer to him, matching Astoria’s place on his other side.

“I hope that you will do well to heed this lesson, Harry,” Dumbledore told him. “Now that Voldemort is back, we must be ever vigilant of the world around us, and we all need clear heads to do so.”

“I will, Professor,” Harry nodded.

“What does this mean for us?” Astoria asked quietly. “Will Hogwarts still welcome us back with a Dark Lord on the loose?”

“Of course it will,” Dumbledore assured her. “Nothing will change in the upcoming year.”

All three of them frowned at that. Nothing would change?

“Excuse me, Professor, but how can you say that nothing will change?” Daphne asked critically. “V… V-Voldemort is back. Surely the Ministry will intervene and place additional protections around the school.”

“They would if they did truly believe he was back,” Dumbledore grimaced. “For the meantime, I have no intention about informing the minister of Voldemort’s return.”

“What?!” Harry shouted as he sat up straight, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. “How can you just stand by and let them think that nothing’s wrong?”

Dumbledore held his hands up in surrender. “I’m doing this for the right reasons, I can assure you. When Barty Crouch Jr was brought into the Ministry with his mark revitalised, the Minister decried it as a false omen. He didn’t want to believe the experts from the Department of Mysteries, who argued that it meant that Voldemort had returned in some form. He ordered Barty’s execution and washed his hands clean of the matter.”

So that was why he didn’t seem so surprised at the announcement that Voldemort was back. Did that mean that others knew too? But with the Minister arguing that it wasn’t true…

Daphne grimaced. “So he’s burying his head in the sand?”

“Precisely,” Dumbledore agreed. “I will be informing a select few within the Ministry who have the power and influence to help prepare the institution for what’s to come, but if the Minister catches wind of this, it’ll mean trouble for us all. There are others outside of the Ministry whom I will be calling on as well to aid in the fight against Voldemort, but until he reveals himself for everyone to see, I fear that we’ll have to operate in the shadows.”

“Can’t we try a memory or veritaserum or—” Astoria began throwing out suggestions, but Dumbledore just shook his head.

“All of these things can be bypassed in one way or another, and our enemies will do anything they can to discredit us if they feel it’s in their best interests.”

“Our enemies?” Daphne asked. “You mean Voldemort’s supporters.”

“There are many from the first war who still remain free,” Dumbledore said. “Many will once again choose the wrong path.”

“What are we supposed to do in the meantime then?” Harry asked hotly. He could feel his magic pulsing like a heartbeat, aching to be used. It made the pain in his shoulder lessen and his anger flare.

“Live your lives,” Dumbledore said with a small smile. “Spend your summer relaxing and studying for the upcoming year. I want to see all of you hale and hearty come September.”

That’s it?

Harry hadn’t realised that he’d actually spoken those words aloud with contempt in his tone. Astoria and Daphne’s heads both snapped towards him in surprise, but Dumbledore didn’t seem bothered in the least.

“Yes, that’s it,” he said. “You can spend your time training for battle as well if you wish, but you can’t forget to live your life in the process of it. Love, Harry, is the most important thing in the world. Spend time with each other and make some good memories to look back on. You deserve to have some.”

“And in doing this, I presume that you don’t want us telling anyone about Voldemort’s return?” Daphne asked, stopping Harry from letting out another angry remark.

“Tell those whom you trust to keep it a secret,” Dumbledore told her. “But until Voldemort plays his hand in the open, I think it’s best if we keep things as private as we can.”

Harry’s hands tightened into fists. He’d just been defeated by Voldemort, nearly lost his life in the process, and now he was being told to just keep living life like nothing had really changed? It was ridiculous, preposterous, and futile. He couldn’t just sit still and not do anything. His magic was screaming at him to get up and fight.

Astoria noticed his anger instantly and ran her hand soothingly down the back of his. “I think it’s time for Harry to rest again, Professor,” she said gently.

“Of course,” Dumbledore dipped his chin in understanding. “I may come back to speak to you again, Harry, if that’s alright. There may be more information that may be of use to us.”

“If it’ll help in the fight against Voldemort, then I’m more than happy to help,” Harry told him honestly.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said as he got to his feet. “I am truly sorry that the burden of this event has fallen on your shoulders, but things always have a way of working themselves out in the end.”

“Let me see you out,” Daphne said as she started to get up too.

“No need, Ms Greengrass,” Dumbledore waved her off. His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Right now, all three of you could do with some time alone in the wake of the day’s revelations. I’ll see myself out. Have a pleasant summer.”

And then he was gone, leaving the three of them alone.

“He’s really back,” Daphne murmured under her breath. “People always talked about him returning one day, but it was like a hopeful wish more than anything. And now…”

“What do your parents think about Voldemort?” Harry asked.

“Not much,” Daphne snorted. “They saw him as an upstart and didn’t join in on his rise to power like a lot of the other pure-blood families did. Still though, I don’t think they really did anything to help stop his rise.”

Harry nodded in understanding. He knew from his time at Hogwarts that there were more than a few pure-blood and half-blood families who followed the same path. They figured that they could stay as neutral as possible and not get caught up in the crossfire of the war, but that was never really possible when one side wanted to so radically change the world.

“And what about you two?” Harry asked cautiously. “Now that Voldemort’s back, he’s coming after me, and if you two don’t want to get caught up in—”

“Shut up,” Astoria snapped hotly, her demeanour shifting on a dime. “Don’t do this. We’re not going to leave you just because some crazed, homicidal maniac is coming after you. We love you for you, and nothing’s going to change that, right Daphne?”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Daphne agreed wholeheartedly. “And we’re not going to sit back and let you fight this on your own either. Astoria and I already took down one Death Eater. I think we’ve made our stance on all of this clear enough, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry smiled at them. “You have.”

He pulled Daphne in close and kissed her. It was sweet and gentle and perfect in every way. He turned to Astoria next, and their kiss was anything but what his and Daphne’s had been. Astoria pounced on him, mindful of his injuries, and kissed him with everything she had. If it was her way of confirming her love for him, then he wasn’t going to complain.

The three of them were in this together, and nothing was going to stop that.

The following days for Harry became a haze of pain and love. Despite magic’s wondrous ability to repair a broken body, the length of the recovery seemed exponentially tied to how injured someone was. For instance, a paper cut took seconds to heal, a broken bone might only take an hour to heal before it was as good as new, and replacing body parts might take a day, but combine all three together and it’d take three days for a person’s body to be fully up and running again with magic’s aid. In Harry’s case, he lost count of the days, but he remembered every ache and pain that came up as he struggled to recover.

His left shoulder, in particular, was still giving him trouble. He couldn’t quite stretch it up all the way above his head, and lifting anything even remotely heavy left him with a throbbing ache that lasted for hours. But he was grateful that he could at least use it.

Madam Pomfrey had made it clear in her final speech to him before he left Hogwarts as to just how close he’d come to losing the arm entirely. If whatever he’d been hit with was just a few centimetres lower, his entire arm would have been blown off at the shoulder. She’d managed to repair it, but it was never going to be the same unless he did the exercises she prescribed. It was mostly made up of stretches, but they left him hurting worse than most of his Quidditch matches did.

Still, Harry was determined to fight through the pain no matter how bad it got. He couldn’t have his body be in anything but top form whenever he encountered Voldemort again. So, he worked himself to the bone everyday. He still slept for upwards of twelve hours at a time, but the moments he was awake were always productive.

Despite their concern and dislike at seeing him hurt, Astoria and Daphne were right there at his side through every step of the way. They helped him through his exercises, gave him encouragement whenever his body felt like it wanted to give up and die, and took care of him afterwards when he was often too exhausted to walk to the bathroom for a relaxing soak in the tub.

Slowly but surely, he felt his strength beginning to return. His pains became less and less, and his drive to prepare for Voldemort’s next attack only strengthened.

Next time, he would be ready.

Next time, he wouldn’t be alone.