Daphne woke to pale sunlight filtering through curtains she didn't recognize.
The room came into focus slowly. Cream walls. Dark wood furniture. A plush carpet visible at the edge of the bed. Wrong. All wrong. This wasn't her room, and this wasn't her house.
Then her memories crashed back in waves. The attack. The hunt. The forest. Blood everywhere. Snatchers surrounding her while Dregg promised her a slow, agonizing death. Harry Potter appearing out of nowhere like some sort of avenging spirit. The portkey journey. Waking up to find herself here, wherever here was, with Harry and Granger and that absolutely insane woman who'd propositioned her while she was still recovering from nearly dying.
Daphne groaned and pressed her palms against her eyes. That conversation had actually happened. It wasn't some fever dream brought on by blood loss and trauma. That woman, Celeste, had genuinely asked if she'd ever been fucked and then proceeded to offer Harry's services like she was recommending a particularly good restaurant.
The worst part was that some treacherous corner of her mind had actually considered it. Not seriously, not really, but the thought had flickered through her consciousness before she'd ruthlessly stamped it out. She'd nearly died. Her entire family was dead. The last thing she needed was to complicate an already impossible situation by shagging the Boy Who Lived because some overly sexual woman thought she needed to relieve tension.
Even if Celeste had made some disturbingly valid points about what she was going through.
"Stop it," Daphne muttered to herself. "You're losing your bloody mind."
She pushed herself upright carefully, testing her body's response. The movement sent twinges of pain through her shoulder and ribs, but nothing like the agony she'd expected. Whatever Celeste had done, however she'd healed those injuries, it had been remarkably thorough. Daphne could actually move without feeling like her body was tearing itself apart.
Small victories.
Her bladder chose that moment to remind her it had been two days since she'd last used a bathroom. Brilliant. There was nothing quite like mundane bodily functions to remind you that survival meant dealing with all the ugly bits like pissing and shitting.
Daphne spotted a door that hopefully led to an ensuite. She swung her legs out of bed, testing her weight. The floor felt solid beneath her bare feet.
Someone had changed her clothes while she was unconscious. She was wearing a soft cotton nightgown that definitely wasn't hers. The thought of Harry or Granger undressing her should have been mortifying, but she was too tired to care. They'd seen her covered in blood and dirt and barely clinging to life. Modesty seemed rather pointless at this stage.
As she stood, her legs wobbled, threatening to give out. The world tilted sideways for a second before righting itself. She took one careful step, then another. Her body felt wrong, like someone had taken her apart and reassembled her with a few pieces in slightly different places.
The door did indeed open to a bathroom, thank Merlin. She took care of business, then caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink and nearly recoiled.
She looked like hell. Her hair was a tangled mess, her skin was still too pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes that made her look like she'd gone ten rounds with a Bludger. But she was alive. Breathing. Standing on her own two feet.
That had to count for something.
Daphne splashed water on her face. It helped a bit. She ran wet fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to tame it, and decided that was the best she could manage. It was good enough. She'd survived torture and near death. Her appearance could wait.
The walk back to the bed suddenly seemed much longer than the walk to the bathroom had been.
She made it about halfway before her legs gave out.
One moment she was upright, the next she was pitching forward, her vision going spotty. She had just enough time to think 'how embarrassing' before strong arms wrapped around her waist, catching her before she could face plant into the carpet.
"Easy there," a familiar voice said close to her ear. Familiar. Male. "I've got you."
Harry Potter. Of course it was him. Because her morning couldn't get any more humiliating.
"I'm fine," Daphne said automatically, even though she clearly wasn't. Her legs felt like jelly and her head was spinning.
"Sure you are." His tone was dry but not unkind. "That's why you nearly just ate the floor. Come on, let's get you back to bed before you actually collapse on me."
He guided her slowly toward the bed, taking most of her weight without making a big deal of it. His hands were warm through the thin fabric of her nightgown, and Daphne couldn't help but feel a bit safer in his arms. When they reached the bed, he helped her sit down, then made sure she was settled properly before stepping back.
"Thank you," Daphne said, hating how breathless she sounded. "That's becoming a pattern with you. Catching me when I fall."
"I've had practice." He moved to the chair beside her bed, where a tray filled with food sat on the small table. "Brought you breakfast. Figured you'd be hungry. You haven't eaten anything solid in two days."
Daphne's stomach growled on cue, loud enough to be embarrassing. Harry's lips twitched in what might have been amusement, but he had the grace not to comment on it.
The tray held scrambled eggs, toast with butter and jam, strips of bacon, fresh fruit, and a pot of tea with two cups. It looked and smelled amazing. Her mouth watered just looking at it.
"This is..." She trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. Kind? Thoughtful? An olive branch from someone who, if one thought logically, had every reason to be wary of her?
"Normal?" Harry suggested. He poured tea into both cups, added milk to one and passed it to her. "You're recovering from serious injuries. You need proper food. It's not that complicated."
Daphne accepted the cup, cradling it between her palms. The warmth felt good. "Still. Thank you. For this and for... well, for not having Celeste be the one to bring it."
That got a genuine laugh out of him. "Yeah, I figured after last night's spectacle, you could use a break from her particular brand of helpfulness. Don't get me wrong, she means well. Sort of. In her own deeply inappropriate way. But subtlety isn't exactly her strong suit."
"That's the understatement of the century." Daphne took a sip of tea. It was perfect, exactly the right temperature and strength. "I'm still not entirely sure that conversation actually happened. Part of me thinks I hallucinated it from the trauma."
"Unfortunately, it was very real." Harry settled into the chair, his own cup in hand. "And I am sorry about it. I know she made you uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable is one word for it." Daphne set her cup down and reached for a piece of toast. "Mortified might be more accurate. Or possibly traumatized, but that seems excessive given what I've actually been through recently."
"Trauma isn't a competition," Harry said quietly. "Just because you've been through worse doesn't make the smaller stuff not matter."
Daphne paused mid bite. That was unexpectedly perceptive. She chewed thoughtfully, studying him over the rim of her teacup. He looked different than she remembered from school. Older, obviously, but it was more than that. There was a hardness to him now, an edge that hadn't been there before. It was like someone had taken the naive Gryffindor hero and eroded away all the soft parts.
"How are you feeling?" He asked, breaking the silence. "Physically, I mean. I know the answer to the other question."
"Better." Daphne considered how much to elaborate. "Still weak. Everything hurts in this weird way, like it's gonna go on forever. But compared to how I felt in that clearing, or even when I first woke up yesterday, this is practically luxury."
Harry nodded slowly. His expression was hard to read. "I know what the Cruciatus feels like. What it does to you. Celeste told me what she found when she was healing you. The nerve damage, the muscle strain. You were tortured multiple times over an extended period."
It wasn't a question, but Daphne nodded anyway. There didn't seem to be much point in denying it.
"Fourth year," Harry continued, his voice quiet now. "Graveyard. Voldemort used it on me after he came back. Not for long, not compared to what you went through, but long enough. It's not something you forget, is it? That particular kind of pain."
Daphne went very still. She'd heard rumors about what happened in that graveyard, whispers and speculation, but nothing concrete. Harry had never talked about it publicly, and the Ministry had worked hard to discredit his account. But she'd believed him. Even when others called him a liar, an attention seeker, she'd looked at him during their fifth year and seen someone who'd experienced something terrible.
"No," she said softly. "You don't forget."
"After fifth year," Harry said, staring into his teacup like it held answers. "After Sirius died. I tried to use it on Bellatrix. She was running away, laughing about what she'd done, and I just... I wanted her to hurt the way I was hurting. I wanted her to feel even a fraction of the pain she'd caused."
Daphne's breath caught. He'd tried to Crucio Bellatrix Lestrange!? The image was almost impossible to reconcile with the boy she'd observed from a distance at school.
"It didn't work," Harry continued. "The curse, I mean. It hit her, but barely. She laughed it off. Told me I needed to really mean it, that righteous anger wasn't enough. You had to want to cause pain for its own sake, had to enjoy it." He looked up, meeting her eyes. "I couldn't do it. Even hating her as much as I did, even wanting revenge, I couldn't make myself enjoy causing pain. The curse failed."
"Good," Daphne heard herself say. "That's good that you couldn't."
Harry's eyebrows rose. "Is it? She killed my godfather. She deserved everything I wanted to do to her and more."
"Maybe." Daphne set down her toast. "But if you'd succeeded, if you'd been able to cast it properly, that would have meant becoming something you're not. Letting her turn you into someone who could take pleasure in torture. That's what she wanted, you know. To prove that you weren't really better than them, that given the right push, anyone could become a monster."
"And what does it make you?" Harry asked quietly after a long moment. "That you can imagine casting it properly? That part of you wants to?"
Daphne flinched. He'd cut right to the heart of something she'd been trying not to think about. "I don't know. Someone damaged, probably. Someone who's lost too much to care about staying clean."
"Or someone human." Harry leaned forward slightly. "You're allowed to want revenge, Daphne. You're allowed to hate the people who destroyed your family. That doesn't make you a monster. It makes you someone with normal emotional responses to trauma."
"Normal people don't fantasize about torturing their enemies to death."
"Normal people don't have their entire families murdered in front of them either." His voice was gentle but firm. "What happened to you, what Bellatrix did, that's not normal. Your response to it doesn't have to be normal either."
Daphne picked up her teacup again, needing something to do with her hands. The conversation had taken a turn she hadn't expected when she'd woken up this morning. She'd thought breakfast would be awkward small talk and pointed questions about her loyalties. Not this strange, honest exchange about trauma and revenge and the various ways violence changed people.
"When she was torturing me," Daphne said slowly, "Bellatrix kept laughing. Like it was the funniest thing she'd ever seen. My pain was entertainment to her. Something to amuse herself with while burning down my house and murdering my family." She took a breath. "I remember thinking that if I survived, if I somehow got out of this, I was going to make her experience that same pain. Make her understand what it felt like. And I wouldn't laugh while I did it. I'd just watch her suffer and feel satisfied."
"That's fair," Harry said simply.
Daphne looked at him sharply. "Fair? Most people would tell me that revenge is wrong, that I need to let the law handle it, that becoming like her helps no one."
"Most people are idiots." Harry shrugged. "The law isn't handling anything right now. The Ministry is compromised, the Aurors are stretched thin or actively working for the other side, and Bellatrix Lestrange is one of his most trusted followers. No one is coming to arrest her. No one is going to make her face justice in any official capacity. So if you want revenge, if you want to be the one to end her, I understand that. More than you might think."
"But?" Daphne prompted, because there was clearly a but coming.
"But I meant what I said yesterday. Going after her alone, driven by rage and grief, that's suicide. She's too good, too experienced, too well connected. You'd die, and she'd barely remember your name a week later. That's not revenge. That's just pointless death. A waste."
"I heard this lecture already yesterday," Daphne's voice was sharper than she intended. "I've heard what you lot suggested."
"Then I want you to let me help."
Silence settled over the room. Daphne stared at him, trying to determine if he was serious. His expression gave nothing away.
"Why would you help me?" she asked finally. "You don't know me. We've barely spoken before all this. For all you know, I'm lying about everything. Could be a plant, a spy, anything."
"Are you?"
"No, but that's not the point."
"It is exactly the point." Harry set down his teacup. "Look, I'm not naive enough to think people don't lie. But I've gotten pretty good at reading when someone's being genuine versus when they're playing games. You're not lying. You're angry and hurt and looking for revenge, but you're not lying about why. And the fact that you were out there hunting snatchers before I found you, that tells me your priorities align with mine whether you realize it or not."
"How do you figure?"
"Snatchers prey on Muggleborns primarily. They're foot soldiers in a war that's about blood purity and genocide. You were killing them. Systematically, from what you said. That means you're against what they represent, against what they're doing. Which means you're opposed to the entire Death Eater agenda, even if your main motivation is personal revenge against Bellatrix."
Daphne considered his words. "I never thought of it that way. I just wanted information. They were there that night, some of them, so I went after them."
"But you didn't just interrogate them and let them go. You killed them. Because you knew what they'd do if you didn't. What they'd continue doing to other people's families." Harry gazed at her steadily. "That's not just revenge. That's stopping them from causing more harm. Whether you meant it that way or not, you've been fighting the same war I am."
"What war is that exactly?" Daphne asked. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like we've already lost. The Ministry fell. He's in control. Everyone who opposes him is either dead, in hiding, or actively being hunted. What exactly are we fighting for at this point?"
"Survival. Resistance. Making sure he doesn't win completely." Harry's voice hardened. "Yes, the Ministry fell. Yes, things look miserable. But giving up means everyone who's died fighting him died for nothing. It means letting him and his followers do whatever they want to whoever they want without consequence. I can't accept that. Won't accept it."
"Even if it's hopeless?"
"Especially if it's hopeless." He smiled fiercely. "That's when it matters most. When things are darkest and everyone else has given up, that's when someone needs to keep fighting. Needs to make them remember that they don't have complete control, that there are still people willing to oppose them."
Daphne found herself nodding slowly. She understood that kind of stubborn refusal to quit. She'd felt it herself, bleeding out in that clearing with Dregg standing over her. The defiant need to keep fighting even when logic said you should surrender.
"So your war is what?" She asked. "Hunting Death Eaters and their minions? Playing vigilante while hiding from the authorities?"
"Much more than that." Harry leaned back in his chair. "But when I'm out there, I'm taking out snatchers, disrupting their operations, saving who I can. It's not much in the grand scheme of things, but it's something. And it's better than sitting around waiting for someone else to fix everything."
"Noble Gryffindor nonsense," Daphne said dryly.
"Pragmatic survival instinct," Harry countered. "If I don't fight back, I'm dead anyway. Might as well make it count for something."
They sat in silence for a moment. Daphne picked at her eggs, thinking. Everything Harry was saying made a disturbing amount of sense. She'd been operating on pure instinct and rage since escaping her burning house. Having a plan, an actual strategy, someone watching her back, that could mean the difference between success and another failed attempt that left her dead.
"Alright," she said finally. "Let's say I'm interested in this partnership you're proposing. What would that look like?"
"Honestly? I'm not fully sure yet." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I've been working alone for the most part. Well, with Hermione helping with research and planning. But in the field, it's just me. Having someone else, someone who can handle themselves in a fight, that would change things."
"You saw me get taken down by third rate snatchers."
"You were already half dead when that happened. And you still managed to kill two of them before the third got lucky." He shook his head. "Don't sell yourself short. The spells you were throwing, the accuracy, the power behind them, that was impressive. You've got natural talent and clearly you've been training beyond what they teach at school."
Daphne felt an unexpected flush of pride at the compliment. She had been practicing, pushing herself harder than the standard curriculum required. Her father had insisted on it. He'd said that in times like these, adequate wasn't good enough. You had to be exceptional to survive.
He'd been right. Just not exceptional enough to save himself.
"My father taught me," she heard herself say. "He was a duelist. Top marks from the Auror academy before he went into private business. He wanted both Astoria and me to be able to defend ourselves. Insisted we learn spells that most people our age never touch."
"He did a good job." Harry's voice was soft. "You should be proud of that. Of what he gave you."
"I am." Daphne's throat felt tight. "I just wish he'd been paranoid enough to prepare for what actually happened. We had wards, we had training, and it didn't matter. They came anyway and we couldn't stop them."
"You can't prepare for everything. No matter how hard you try, something unexpected always happens." Harry's expression was distant. "My parents had protections too. Wards, the Fidelius, everything they could think of. Didn't save them when it mattered."
They stared at each other, and suddenly, they both realized how well they understood each other. Both orphans. Both victims of the same war, just different battles. The connection between them felt solid now, forged in shared trauma and mutual recognition of what the other had lost.
"So we work together," Daphne said. "Go after Bellatrix and anyone else who gets in our way. Make them pay for what they've done."
"That's the goal, yes. But first you need to finish healing. Regain your strength properly." Harry gestured at her breakfast. "Eat. Rest. Train carefully. Push yourself too hard too fast and you'll reinjure something or make yourself vulnerable."
"I don't have time to sit around." She was stubborn.
"You have time for this. I don't know how many times I have to repeat this, but the alternative is dying stupidly and accomplishing nothing." His voice was firm. "I know it's frustrating. I know you want to act now. But smart warriors know when to wait for the right moment."
Daphne wanted to argue, but she knew he was right. She'd nearly died three days ago. Her body was healed but not truly recovered. Going out now would be foolish. And she'd promised herself she wouldn't be foolish anymore.
"Fine," she said. "I'll stay. Recover properly. But I meant what I said yesterday as well. I want to know everything you know about Bellatrix's movements, her known associates, possible locations. Everything."
"Deal." Harry smiled. "We can start going over intelligence once you're stronger. Hermione's compiled quite a bit over the past few months. The radio has been quite a help. And then you pick up rumors while you're on the move."
Daphne nodded as she picked up her fork and dug into the eggs properly this time. They were good, perfectly seasoned. She ate in silence for a few minutes while Harry sipped his tea and seemed content to let the quiet moment stretch between them.
It should have been awkward. She barely knew this boy, this young man who'd saved her life and offered to help her kill the woman who'd destroyed her world. But it wasn't awkward. It felt almost comfortable, like they'd reached some unspoken agreement that went beyond words.
"Can I ask you something?" Daphne said after she'd cleared most of her plate.
"You just did, technically. But yes, go ahead."
She rolled her eyes at the response. "Last night. Celeste called you Master. And she said something about you being skilled and that both she and Granger could vouch for it." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I can guess what that means, but I don't want to be presumptuous."
Harry's expression went carefully neutral. "Right. That."
"You don't have to explain if you don't want to. It's none of my business really."
"No, it's fine. You're staying here, you're going to notice eventually." He set down his teacup and met her eyes. "The dynamic between the three of us is… complicated. Hermione and Celeste are both with me. Romantically, sexually, all of it. And yes, they call me Master because that's the nature of our relationship. They've acknowledged me as such and we share everything that entails."
Daphne blinked. That was more direct than she'd expected. "Oh."
"The reasons behind it are complicated and I'll explain them later when you're more recovered. But that's the basic situation." He paused. "Also, Celeste is bound to this manor. And she's a succubus."
"She's a what now?"
"Succubus. Demon. Feeds on sexual energy, among other things," he said, as if he was commenting on the weather, and Daphne stared at him, gobsmacked. "That's why she was so interested in propositioning you last night. It's sort of her nature."
Daphne opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. No words came out. A succubus. Harry had a succubus bound to his manor and was apparently shagging her regularly. And Granger too. Gryffindor princess Hermione Granger, who Daphne had always thought of as the ultimate prude, was in some kind of sexual arrangement with Harry where she called him Master, and possibly this succubus as well.
"I need a moment," Daphne managed, a bit breathless. "This is a lot to process."
"Take your time," he said, slightly amused.
She did. She ate more toast, drank more tea, and tried to reconcile what she'd just learned with everything she'd previously understood about reality. Harry and Granger had always seemed so innocent, so focused on school and rules and doing the right thing, even if most of it involved them breaking those rules for some reason. And now here they were, living in some kind of manor with a demon, engaging in what sounded like a very kinky relationship dynamic, and hunting Death Eaters on the side.
War really did change people in unexpected ways.
"I didn't expect that," Daphne said finally. "Any of it. And especially not from you two. No offense."
"None taken." Harry said, and he actually smiled. "I wouldn't have expected it either a few weeks ago. But things change. War changes people, circumstances change priorities, and sometimes you end up in situations you never imagined."
"That's one way to put it." Daphne managed. "Granger though. I would have bet good money she'd die a virgin married to a book. And here she is calling you Master and apparently vouching for your sexual prowess to near strangers."
Harry let out a laugh. "Yeah, she surprised me too. But it's what she wants now. What she needs. And I'm not going to judge her for it."
"There must be a good reason," Daphne mused. "For someone like Granger to embrace something like that. She's too smart, too self aware to do anything without thinking it through thoroughly."
"There is. And like I said, you'll learn more the longer you stay here. Some things are better explained when you're fully healed and less likely to run screaming."
"I don't run screaming."
"Everyone runs screaming eventually. Just depends on what they're running from."
Daphne couldn't argue with that logic. She finished her eggs and moved on to the fruit. The normalcy of eating breakfast while discussing sexual dynamics and demon bonds was almost surreal. Nothing about her life made sense anymore.
"So now that you know," Harry said after a moment, "are you going to run screaming?"
"Don't know yet." Daphne bit into a strawberry. "Still processing. But I'm not running right this moment, so that's probably a good sign."
"I'll take it," he chuckled.
They fell into silence again. Daphne's mind was racing, trying to fit this new information into her understanding of the people around her.
Harry wasn't the naive hero she'd thought he was. He was colder, more ruthless, willing to kill without hesitation, and apparently engage in relationships that went well beyond traditional boundaries.
Granger wasn't the uptight bookworm. She was submissive to Harry, called him Master, and participated in whatever this arrangement was without any reservations.
And Daphne was now living with them, dependent on them, planning to work with them to hunt down and kill Bellatrix Lestrange.
Her life had taken such a strange turn.
"For what it's worth," Harry said softly, "you're safe here. Whatever else is going on, whatever relationships exist between us, none of that affects you unless you want it to. You're a guest who needs time to heal. That's all there is to it."
"Yeah, that's where you're wrong," she said, her voice quiet. "I owe you a life debt. My magic recognizes it, and I can feel it."
Harry stared at her for a moment, watching her eating the fruits and keeping her eyes pointedly away from him.
"Life debts are real but they're not slavery. You don't owe me your service or your body or anything else just because I saved your life," he said firmly. "When you're healed and ready to leave, you can leave. No strings attached. And if you want to work with me against Bellatrix, that's a partnership between equals. Not master and servant."
Daphne looked at him for a long moment, searching for any sign of deception. She found none. He seemed to genuinely mean what he was saying.
"You're different than I thought you'd be," she said. "At school, you always seemed so righteous. Fighting for justice, Dumbledore's golden child, all that Gryffindor nobility. But now..."
"Now I'm a killer who lives with a succubus and has two women calling him Master?" Harry asked with a wry smile. "Yeah, war has a way of stripping away the veneer. You figure out pretty quickly what matters and what's just you putting on an act according to the people around you. Turns out a lot of what I thought was important really wasn't."
"What matters then?"
"Survival. Protecting the people I care about. Stopping bad people from hurting innocents. Everything else is just noise." He said just as she finished. He stood up, collecting the breakfast dishes. "Get some more rest. I'll check on you later."
"Harry," Daphne called out just as he turned around and stopped him before he could leave.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For being honest with me. You didn't have to share all that."
He smiled. "You're staying here, Daphne. You'd have figured it out anyway. Better to be upfront than let you draw your own conclusions."
"Still. I appreciate it."
He nodded and headed for the door. Just before he left, he turned back. "Daphne? For what it's worth, I think you're going to fit in here better than you expect. You're stronger than you realize. And you're willing to do what needs doing without flinching. That matters more than anything else right now."
And with that, he was gone, leaving Daphne alone with her thoughts.
She lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Her body still ached, exhaustion pulling at her despite having just woken up. But her mind was clearer than it had been in weeks.
Harry was right about one thing. She did fit here better than expected. These people understood loss, understood the need for revenge, and understood that sometimes survival meant compromising principles you'd once held sacred. They weren't going to judge her for wanting blood. They'd help her spill it.
And maybe after Bellatrix was dead, after her family was avenged, maybe then Daphne would figure out what came next. Who she was beyond revenge and rage. What kind of person emerged from the ashes of everything she'd lost.
But that was a problem for later. Right now, she had time to heal. Time to plan. Time to prepare for the moment when she'd finally face the woman who'd destroyed her life and make her pay for every single thing she'd done.
Daphne closed her eyes and let sleep take her. For the first time since that terrible night, she felt like she wasn't alone anymore. Like maybe, just maybe, she had a chance at getting what she wanted.
And what she wanted was Bellatrix Lestrange's head on a spike.
Everything else could wait.
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