Books » Harry Potter » A Godfather's GambitAuthor: KyleVirex1. Chapter 12. Chapter 23. Chapter 34. Chapter 45. Chapter 56. Chapter 67. Chapter 78. Chapter 89. Chapter 910. Chapter 1011. Chapter 1112. Chapter 1213. Chapter 1314. Chapter 1415. Chapter 1516. Chapter 1617. Chapter 1718. Chapter 1819. Chapter 1920. Chapter 2021. Chapter 21Rated: M - English - Romance/Adventure - Reviews: 121 - Published: 07-02-25 - Updated: 04-07-26id:14486524
Daphne stood still in the center of the room while Celeste's hands moved over her body, tracing intricate patterns in the air. She could feel the diagnostic magic washing through her, warm and tingly, probing for any lingering damage from her injuries.
"Well," Celeste said after a long moment, stepping back with a satisfied smile. "I'm pleased to report that you're perfectly fine. One hundred percent healed. No residual nerve damage, no muscle strain, nothing. You're as good as new."
"Really?" Daphne asked, hardly daring to believe it. She'd been injured badly enough that she'd expected to feel the effects for weeks, maybe months.
"Really." Celeste grinned. "You can resume normal activities without any concerns. But I'd still recommend taking it easy for another day or two, just to be safe."
Harry, who'd been leaning against the wall watching the examination, straightened with visible relief. "That's brilliant news. I'm glad you're alright, Daphne."
Daphne glanced at him and felt an entirely unexpected warmth spread through her chest. A faint blush rose on her cheeks as she met his eyes. "Thank you. For everything. I know I've said it before, but I mean it."
She looked away quickly, disturbed by her own reaction. This was ridiculous. She barely knew him. Yes, he'd saved her life, but that didn't mean she should be blushing like some silly schoolgirl every time he looked at her.
Except she knew exactly why she was reacting this way.
Two days ago, she'd been walking down the corridor toward the kitchen when she'd heard sounds from one of the rooms. Low voices, a feminine gasp, the unmistakable sounds of intimacy. She should have kept walking. Should have minded her own business.
Instead, she'd frozen outside the partially open door, unable to help herself.
Through the gap, she'd seen Harry and Hermione. He'd been sitting in an armchair, and she'd been kneeling between his legs, her head bobbing as she worked him with her mouth. Harry's hand had been tangled in her hair, guiding her movements, and the expression on his face had been one of absolute control and satisfaction.
"That's it," he'd murmured, his voice low and commanding. "Good girl. Take it deeper."
Hermione had made a muffled sound of pleasure, her eyes fluttering closed as she obeyed. She'd looked utterly content, completely lost in serving him.
Daphne had stood there far longer than she should have, her heart pounding, heat pooling low in her belly despite herself. She'd stayed there for the entire thing until she'd finally torn herself away and fled back to her room, thoroughly confused by her own response.
Then yesterday, she'd encountered something even more shocking.
She'd woken in the middle of the night, disoriented, and made her way downstairs. As she'd passed what she now knew was Harry's bedroom, she'd heard sounds again. This time though, they were louder, more intense.
The door had been ajar, and she'd caught a glimpse that had burned itself into her memory.
Celeste had been bent over the bed, her hands gripping the sheets, and her body arched in a way that displayed everything. Harry had been behind her, one hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back as he drove into her with powerful, measured thrusts.
"Who do you belong to?" Harry had demanded, his voice rough with exertion.
"You, Master," Celeste had gasped out, her voice thick with pleasure. "Only you. Always you."
"That's right." Harry's free hand had come down on her ass with a sharp crack that had made Celeste cry out. "Mine to use as I please."
"Yes, Master. Use me. Please, Master, harder."
The raw need in Celeste's voice, the absolute submission, had been shocking. But what had been even more shocking was the way Harry had responded. He'd pulled her upright by her hair, one arm wrapping around her waist to hold her steady as he continued to move inside her.
"You're perfect like this," he'd murmured against her ear. "Desperate and begging. Is this what you need?"
"Yes, yes, please," Celeste had babbled. "Need you so much, Master."
Daphne had stayed the entire time before she finally fled again, her cheeks burning and her body betraying her with unwanted heat.
Now, standing here in the aftermath of her examination, those images kept flashing through her mind. The way both women had submitted to Harry so completely. The master and subordinate dynamic that clearly defined their relationships. The absolute trust and pleasure that had been evident in their interactions.
It was fascinating in a way she hadn't expected. She'd always thought of herself as too independent, too proud to ever submit to anyone like that. But seeing it, seeing how natural it seemed for both Hermione and Celeste, seeing how much they clearly wanted it, it had made her question her assumptions.
And Harry himself. She'd known he was different now, harder and more ruthless than the boy she'd observed at school. But seeing him in those moments, seeing the confidence and command he wielded, the way he took care of both women while also dominating them completely, that had been something else entirely.
She was attracted to him. There was no point denying it, not to herself at least. He'd saved her life, he was offering to help her get revenge, and he was clearly skilled in ways that made her body respond despite her best efforts to remain detached.
But she couldn't act on it. Wouldn't act on it. She had more important things to focus on than some inconvenient attraction. Bellatrix was still out there. Her family's deaths needed to be avenged. Getting involved with Harry romantically or sexually would only complicate an already complex situation.
Even if a traitorous part of her mind kept suggesting that maybe it wouldn't be so complicated. Maybe it would be exactly what she needed. Release, comfort, and connection with someone who understood loss and rage and the need for revenge. Celeste had outright suggested as much the very first day.
Daphne ruthlessly shoved those thoughts aside. Not now. Not yet. Other matters took priority.
"Daphne?" Harry's voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. "You alright? You look a bit flushed."
"I'm fine," she said quickly, too quickly. "Just relieved to be healed. Thank you again, Celeste."
"My pleasure, darling." Celeste's smile was knowing, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She'd noticed Daphne's distraction, the blush on her cheeks. Of course she had. The woman was a succubus. She probably sensed sexual tension like other people sensed the weather.
Harry pushed away from the wall. "Now that you're cleared, we should start going over what we know about Bellatrix. Her patterns, known associates, possible locations. The sooner we have a plan, the better."
"I'd like that," Daphne said, grateful for the change of subject. "I've been going mad just sitting around."
"Tomorrow," Harry said. "Give yourself one more day to properly adjust. Then we'll sit down and start planning properly."
She wanted to argue, but she could see the sense in it. "Alright. Tomorrow."
They moved into the living room where comfortable furniture was arranged around a fireplace that crackled with warmth. Hermione was already there, curled up in an armchair with a book in her lap. She looked up as they entered, offering a small smile.
"All clear?" she asked.
"Perfect health," Celeste confirmed. "Our girl's tough. Heals like a champion."
Daphne settled onto the sofa, trying not to stare at Hermione. Trying not to remember the image of her on her knees, taking Harry into her mouth with such obvious pleasure and then bent over as he took her like he meant it. Hermione looked so normal right now, so academic and proper with her book and her neat appearance. It was hard to reconcile the two versions.
Harry sat down beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, and Daphne forced herself not to react. She could smell him though, some combination of soap and a scent she'd quickly come to recognize as uniquely him, and it made her stomach flip in ways she didn't want to think about.
"What are you reading?" Harry asked Hermione, nodding toward the book.
"The Tales of Beedle the Bard," Hermione said, her fingers tracing the cover. "Dumbledore left it to me in his will," she elaborated for Daphne's sake.
"Still?" Harry leaned forward slightly. "What's so interesting about it? You've been reading it constantly lately."
"Because Dumbledore left it to me for a reason," Hermione said softly. "He wouldn't have done that if he didn't think it would be important somehow. I'm trying to figure out what message he might have hidden in it. What he wanted me to find."
"The Tales of Beedle the Bard?" Daphne said, a small smile curving her lips despite herself. "I know that book."
Harry glanced at her with interest. "You do?"
"Of course. It's one of the most popular children's books in the wizarding world. Almost every magical child gets read stories from it before bed." Daphne's smile turned nostalgic. "My mother used to read them to Astoria and me all the time. I was always most fascinated by the story of the three brothers."
Harry looked confused. "The three brothers?"
"You haven't read it?" Daphne asked, then realized the obvious. "Right. Muggle raised. You probably never got the chance."
"Not exactly high on the Dursleys' reading list," Harry said dryly. "What's the story?"
Daphne settled back, preparing to tell it properly. She was aware of Celeste moving to stand behind Harry, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders before sliding down to splay across his chest. The casual intimacy of the gesture made Daphne's words catch for a moment, but she pushed through.
"There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight," she began, falling into the familiar tempo of the tale. "In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. But these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water."
She paused, watching Harry's face. He was giving her his full attention, his green eyes fixed on her with genuine interest. Celeste was still caressing his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns, and Daphne found herself blushing again when she noticed the succubus smirking at her.
"They were halfway across the bridge when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure," Daphne continued, forcing herself to focus. "And Death spoke to them."
"Death?" Harry asked. "Actual Death?"
"That's the story," Daphne said. "Death was angry because he'd been cheated out of three new victims. You see, travelers usually drowned in that river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate them on their magic and said each brother could have a prize for outwitting him."
Hermione was still staring at her book, but she was also listening. Celeste had stopped her caressing and was paying attention as well.
"The oldest brother was a combative man," Daphne went on. "He asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death. So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother."
She could see Harry's interest sharpen at the mention of a powerful wand, but he didn't interrupt.
"The second brother was an arrogant man who wanted to humiliate Death still further. So he asked for the power to recall others from Death. Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, telling him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead."
Daphne's voice softened slightly. She'd always found this part of the story particularly poignant.
"The third brother was the humblest and wisest of the three. He did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility."
"Hang on," Harry said. "An invisibility cloak that can hide you from Death itself?"
"That's what the story says," Daphne confirmed. "Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way. And they did, discussing the wonderful gifts Death had given them."
She took a breath before continuing with the darker turn the tale took.
"In due course, the brothers separated, each going his own way. The first brother traveled for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible."
Daphne shook her head slightly. "That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay wine sodden upon his bed. The thief took the wand and for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat. And so Death took the first brother for his own."
"Cheerful," Harry muttered.
"It's a children's story," Daphne said with a slight smile. "They're not always cheerful. Anyway, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. There he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry before her untimely death appeared at once before him."
Her voice grew quieter. "Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as to truly join her. And so Death took the second brother for his own."
The room was silent. Even Celeste had grown still, no longer smirking but genuinely absorbed in the tale.
"But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him," Daphne continued. "It was only when the third brother had attained a great age that he finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, as equals, they departed this life."
She finished and found three pairs of eyes fixed on her. Harry looked thoughtful, his brow furrowed. Hermione was tapping her finger against her book. Celeste had a strange expression on her face, something almost wistful.
"So," Harry said slowly. "Three magical objects. A wand that can't lose a duel, a stone that can bring back the dead, and a cloak that can hide you from Death itself."
"The Deathly Hallows," Daphne said. "That's what they're called in the story. The three gifts from Death."
"Do you think they're real?" Harry asked. "Could objects like that actually exist?"
Daphne shrugged. "I honestly don't think so, but I wouldn't be surprised if they did. It sounds too fantastical to be true though. An all powerful wand, a stone to raise the dead, a cloak that can hide you from Death itself. It's a nice story, but that's probably all it is."
"We live in a world of magic," Harry pointed out. "To Muggles, everything we do would sound fantastical. Why couldn't these objects exist too?"
"You do have a point," Daphne conceded. She tilted her head thoughtfully. "And even if they do exist, I haven't heard or read anything about them actually being found or used. Though I can tell you that the Peverell family did exist a long time ago. They were a real family. That much is documented."
"The Peverells," Harry repeated slowly. "The three brothers in the story."
"That could just be coincidence," Celeste interjected. "Or the storyteller could have borrowed real names to make the tale more believable."
Before anyone could respond, Hermione made a frustrated sound. They all turned to look at her. She was tapping her finger insistently against a page in the book, her brows furrowed deep in concentration.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked.
"This symbol," Hermione said, holding up the book. "It's drawn here. It's not part of the original print. Someone scrawled it on the parchment. And I feel like it's important somehow, but I can't figure out why."
Harry and Daphne both leaned forward to look. The symbol was simple but distinctive. A straight vertical line with a circle in the middle and a triangle encompassing both.
Harry's brow furrowed as he studied it. "I feel like I've seen that before, but I can't place where."
Daphne, however, felt her eyes widen in shock. "What is Grindelwald's mark doing in there?"
"Grindelwald's mark?" Hermione looked up sharply. "I didn't know Grindelwald had a mark. There's no mention of it in anything I've read about him."
"Oh yes," Daphne said. "He carved it everywhere during his rise to power. On buildings, in public spaces, even allegedly on the bodies of some of his victims. It became synonymous with his reign of terror. Anyone who saw that mark knew that Grindelwald and his followers had been there."
"Like the Dark Mark," Hermione said quietly.
Daphne studied the symbol more closely. "My father told me about it. He said Grindelwald adopted it as the symbol of his cause. The greater good or whatever rubbish he was preaching. Anyone who opposed him would find that mark left as a warning."
Harry suddenly straightened, his eyes widening. "I have seen it before. Luna's father was wearing a locket at Bill's wedding. The locket had that exact symbol on it."
"Are you sure?" Hermione asked intently.
"Positive," Harry said firmly. "Daphne's right. Krum saw it and got really upset. He told me it was Grindelwald's mark. His grandfather was killed by Grindelwald's followers, so he recognized it immediately. Grindelwald even carved that mark on a wall at Durmstrang. That's what Krum said."
Hermione's fingers traced the symbol in her book. "But why would a dark lord's mark be drawn in a children's book? And why would Dumbledore leave me this book with this symbol in it?"
"Because it's not originally Grindelwald's mark," Daphne said slowly, pieces clicking together in her mind. "It's much older than that."
All three of them turned to stare at her.
"It was the coat of arms of the Peverell family," Daphne explained. "I remember reading about it in a book on ancient wizarding families. The symbol has meaning. The line represents the Elder Wand. The circle represents the Resurrection Stone. The triangle represents the Cloak of Invisibility. Together, they form the sign of the Deathly Hallows."
Harry looked down at the symbol again, his expression shifting from confusion to understanding. "The three objects from the story. That's what this represents."
"Exactly," Daphne said. "Grindelwald must have adopted the Peverell coat of arms as his symbol. Maybe he believed in the Hallows. Maybe he was searching for them. I don't know. But he took an ancient family's mark and tainted it with his crimes."
"Why would Grindelwald adopt an ancient British family's coat of arms though?" Harry asked. "Why would he taint it like that?"
Daphne shrugged. "I honestly don't know. Maybe he thought it would give him legitimacy. Maybe he genuinely believed in the legend and wanted to be associated with it. Or maybe he just liked the design. Tyrants aren't always rational about their choices."
"This can't be a coincidence," Hermione said. "Dumbledore left me this book with this symbol in it. The same symbol that represents the Deathly Hallows. The same symbol Grindelwald used. He wanted me to make this connection."
"But why?" Harry asked. "What does it have to do with anything?"
"I don't know yet," Hermione admitted. "But I'm going to figure it out."
"There might be a way to learn more," Daphne said slowly. "The grave of the Peverells is in Godric's Hollow. The family used to live there centuries ago. If you want to know more about them, about the Hallows, that would be the place to start."
Harry and Hermione exchanged a long look. Finally, Harry turned back to Daphne and gave her a firm nod.
"Then it looks like we're making a trip to Godric's Hollow."
xXx
The next morning found them gathered again in the sitting room. Daphne had slept surprisingly well, better than she had in weeks. Maybe it was the relief of being fully healed, or maybe it was just having some direction again, some purpose beyond blind rage and suicidal revenge plots.
Harry and Hermione were discussing logistics for the trip to Godric's Hollow. Celeste was sprawled elegantly on the sofa, watching them with obvious amusement.
"We'll need to be careful," Hermione was saying. "Godric's Hollow isn't just any village. It's where he killed your parents, Harry. It's symbolic. There's bound to be surveillance."
"I know," Harry said. "But we need to go. If there's information there about the Peverells, about the Hallows, we have to find it."
"The Hallows," Celeste mused. "Such a pretty legend. I've heard versions of it before, you know. Death and his gifts. Always ends badly for everyone involved."
"That's encouraging," Harry said dryly.
"I'm just saying, if these objects are real, there's probably a reason they're called the Deathly Hallows and not the Perfectly Safe and Sensible Hallows."
Daphne couldn't help but chuckle at that. Celeste had a point.
"We won't know anything until we investigate," Hermione said. "And Dumbledore clearly wanted me to pursue this. The symbol was drawn in the book deliberately. He knew I'd see it eventually."
"Or he hoped you would," Harry said. "We still don't know what he was thinking, what his plan was."
"His plan was probably for you to destroy the Horcruxes," Celeste said. "Everything else is secondary to that."
"We're working on it," Harry said shortly. "But if the Hallows are real, if they could help us somehow, we need to know about them."
Daphne listened to this exchange with growing curiosity. Horcruxes. She'd heard the term being discussed in the last few days. Objects that contained pieces of a soul. She could've never imagined anyone would even create one, let alone multiple ones.
"Can I ask," she said carefully, "what you're actually trying to accomplish? I know the broad strokes. Fighting Death Eaters, resisting the regime. But what's the actual goal?"
Harry looked at Hermione. She gave a small nod.
"You've heard enough already, but we're hunting Horcruxes," Harry said. "Objects that he used to anchor pieces of his soul. As long as they exist, he can't be killed permanently. We need to destroy all of them before we can end him."
Daphne had a grave look on her face. "Yeah. He split his soul. Do you know how many times?"
"At least seven times," Hermione said quietly. "Maybe more. We've already destroyed some, but there are still more out there."
"That's insane," Daphne breathed. "Splitting your soul even once is supposed to be one of the darkest acts of magic possible. But seven times?"
"It explains why he's so powerful," Harry said. "And why he's so monstrous. He's barely human anymore."
"So you're trying to find and destroy these objects," Daphne said slowly. "And you think the Deathly Hallows might help somehow?"
"We don't know," Hermione admitted. "But Dumbledore left me that book for a reason. The symbol being there, drawn by hand, that can't be coincidence. He wanted me to think about the Hallows."
"Maybe he found one," Celeste suggested. "Maybe that's why he's pointing you toward them."
"Or maybe he wants to warn us away from them," Harry said. "The story doesn't exactly paint the Hallows as benign. Two of the brothers died because of their gifts."
"The third lived to a ripe old age," Daphne pointed out. "The one who got the cloak."
Harry's hand moved unconsciously to his pocket, and Daphne noticed the gesture. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Harry," she said slowly. "You have an invisibility cloak, don't you? You used one at school sometimes. Everyone knew about it."
"I have an invisibility cloak," Harry said carefully. "My father left it to me. Dumbledore had it in his possession until he gave it back."
"How long has your family had it?"
"I don't know. It was just something my dad had."
Daphne and Hermione exchanged glances. The implications were obvious.
"Harry," Hermione said softly. "What if it's not just any invisibility cloak? What if it's the cloak from the story?"
"That's ridiculous," Harry said, but his voice lacked conviction. "Invisibility cloaks aren't that uncommon. They're rare, sure, but they exist."
"And they all fade over time," Hermione pressed. "The spells wear off, the fabric deteriorates. But your cloak is perfect, isn't it? It's never shown any signs of aging or weakening. And it completely conceals everything. Even Moody's magical eye couldn't penetrate it."
Harry's face had gone very still. "I never thought about it that way."
"You said it was your father's," Daphne said. "Did Dumbledore ever mention how long it had been in your family?"
"No. I never got to ask him." Harry's voice was tight. "But if it really is the Deathly Hallow, if it's been in my family for generations, that would mean..."
"That you're descended from the Peverells," Hermione finished. "From the third brother specifically. The wise one who lived."
The room fell silent. Celeste had stopped lounging and was sitting up straight now, her expression serious for once.
"Well," she said finally. "That's significant, Master."
"It's speculation," Harry said firmly. "We don't know anything for certain. There's no proof that these Hallows even exist."
"But we could find out," Hermione said. "In Godric's Hollow. If your family is connected to the Peverells, there might be records. Graves, family trees, something."
"My parents are buried in Godric's Hollow," Harry said quietly. "I've never been to their graves."
Daphne felt her chest tighten at the pain in his voice. She knew that feeling, the guilt and grief of not having been able to properly mourn, to say goodbye.
"Then we'll go," she heard herself say. "We'll pay our respects to your parents and we'll investigate the Peverells. Two purposes, one trip."
Harry looked at her, his green eyes intense. "I can go alone, like last time. You don't have to come. This isn't your fight."
"Yes, it is," Daphne said firmly. "You said it yourself. We're partners now. Your fight is my fight. Besides, I know more about the Peverells and their history than you two do. You might need someone who was actually raised in the wizarding world to spot details you'd miss."
"She has a point, Master," Celeste said. "Muggle raised kids miss cultural context sometimes. No offense."
"None taken," Hermione said. "And Daphne's right. Having her perspective could be valuable."
Harry studied Daphne for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. We go together. But we need to be smart about this. Godric's Hollow will be watched. We'll need disguises, a solid cover story, and a quick exit plan if things go wrong."
"I can handle the disguises," Hermione said immediately. "Polyjuice or glamours, depending on how long you'll need to maintain them."
"Polyjuice is more reliable," Daphne said. "Glamours can be detected by the right spells. Polyjuice actually changes you physically."
"We'd need hair samples," Hermione said. "From people who wouldn't be recognized as suspicious in Godric's Hollow."
"We could go as an older couple," Harry suggested. "Visiting relatives' graves. That would give us a reason to be in the cemetery without drawing attention."
They spent the next hour hammering out details. It was strangely comfortable, planning like this. Daphne found herself contributing ideas naturally, her tactical mind engaging with the problem. Harry and Hermione were clearly experienced at this kind of planning. They thought of contingencies she wouldn't have considered, escape routes and backup plans.
Eventually they had something workable. They'd brew Polyjuice Potion, acquire samples from random Muggles who looked appropriate for the disguises, and travel to Godric's Hollow as an older married couple paying respects to long dead family members. Simple, mundane, nothing that would raise alarms.
"When do we go?" Daphne asked.
"Soon as the Polyjuice is ready," Harry said. "No point delaying. If the Hallows are important, we need to know why."
"And if they're not," Hermione added, "we need to know that too so we can stop wasting time on them and focus on the Horcruxes."
"Always so practical," Celeste murmured. She stood and stretched languidly, drawing the attention of three pairs of eyes to her ample curves. In her short dress, there wasn't much to hide. She found them staring and smirked. "Well, while you three plot and plan, I'm going to go do something actually entertaining. The manor needs attention and I've been neglecting my duties."
She swept out of the room, her presence somehow making the space feel smaller once she was gone. Daphne found herself relaxing slightly. Celeste was fascinating but also overwhelming in a way that was hard to define.
"She grows on you," Hermione said, noticing Daphne's expression. "Eventually."
"I'm sure she does," Daphne said with a chuckle.
Harry stood and stretched. "I need to check our supplies. Hermione, can you start on the Polyjuice? Daphne, you should probably rest a bit more. We'll be doing a lot of walking in Godric's Hollow."
"I'm fine," Daphne protested, but Harry gave her a look that brooked no argument.
"You were cleared yesterday. That means today is still recovery time. Take it easy. We need you at full strength when we go."
He left before she could argue further. Hermione gathered her book and other materials, preparing to head to wherever she brewed potions.
"Daphne," she said quietly, pausing at the door. "Thank you for agreeing to come. I know this isn't what you signed up for."
"I didn't really sign up for anything," Daphne pointed out. "I was dying and he saved me."
"You could have left once you were healed. You still could."
She really could, but she found she didn't want to. She didn't look too deeply into the reasons, knowing that doing so would force her to face truths and feelings she found uncomfortable right now.
"And go where?" Daphne asked instead. "Do what? Hunt Bellatrix alone and die stupidly? At least here I have a chance. At least here I'm working toward something."
Hermione nodded slowly. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here. Harry needs allies he can trust out there. So do I. And if I can't join him in the field, I can rest a bit easier knowing he has someone capable to support him."
With a small smile, Hermione left, and Daphne found herself alone with her thoughts. The manor was quiet around her, peaceful in a way she hadn't expected. After everything that had happened, after all the violence and death and fear, this place felt safe.
She knew it couldn't last. Eventually they'd have to leave, to face the dangers waiting outside these walls. But for now, for this moment, she could breathe. She could plan. She could prepare for what came next.
And when the time came, when she finally faced Bellatrix Lestrange, she'd be ready. She'd have allies at her back, a plan in her mind, and all the rage in her heart focused into something useful.
Bellatrix had destroyed her family, burned down her home, tortured her for entertainment. But she hadn't destroyed Daphne. And that would be her greatest mistake.
Because Daphne Greengrass was coming for her. And when she did, there would be no mercy, no hesitation, no escape.
Just cold, calculated vengeance served exactly the way it deserved to be.
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