669Chapter Forty-Four – Questions of the Future
"Ah, my two wayward disciples grace me with their presence once more. Was the journey arduous? Should I move my chambers to a more... accessible location for your convenience?"
There was an amused click of tongue next to Harry, if a click of tongue could sound amused at all. The sound was in stark contrast to his companion's appearance.
Daphne had once again opted for an all-black robe, with no embellishments or jewellery other than the elegant cut of the fabric. Add to that black dragon leather boots, a jet-black ring and a silver one on her two ring fingers, black-painted fingernails and, of course, her natural, silky and, above all, pitch-black hair, which fell smoothly over her shoulders and back, and the image of a self-confident and unbending witch, who could never be stopped by anything or anyone, was complete.
Harry knew how important this image was to Daphne and how much she had made it the maxim of her entire life. It was undoubtedly the one thing that had attracted him to her from the beginning, even if he hadn't really understood it at the time, but as he had realised countless times since when he looked into his own soul.
Well, there were certainly worse reasons to be attracted to a witch, Harry thought with a smile. Apart from her attractive appearance, of course, and regardless of everything else they had experienced together since then... what Daphne had already done for him and what she was still willing to do for him.
The thought made the smile on Harry's lips disappear, but instead a warm feeling spread through his chest. No, their story was probably nothing to smile about, not a love story you would read to your children in the evening from a book of fairy tales. But such stories were not what he needed in his life. What he needed to achieve his goals. And above all, what he wanted more than anything else.
In those idealistic children's stories, as disgustingly sweet as the chocolate bars Dudley had gorged himself on while Harry starved – in those naive dreams, Harry would surely also have clung to Dumbledore as a mentor, instead of seeking knowledge from a wizard who, while undeniably incredibly powerful, had gone down in history for even more incredible crimes. The wizard who, at that very moment, greeted Harry and Daphne with folded arms in his magical dungeon in the Chamber of Secrets. Gellert Grindelwald.
"Nice try," Harry said as he stepped through the magical barriers. A tingle slid down his skin. And again a pleasant sensation came over him, accompanied by a hint of blood on his tongue, more a memory of the taste than a real sensation, as if his body instinctively sensed that this was the magic of his beloved.
"Don't take us for fools, Grindelwald, or I'll reconsider the torture." Harry's hand jerked towards his wand to emphasise his words.
Grindelwald snorted, a sound that alternated between amusement and contempt. "As adorable as ever, Potter. Plucked any butterflies' wings today?"
"Butterflies?" Daphne asked. "Their life power is negligible, and it's hardly entertaining. They're too simple."
"I'll have to rely on your experience there, my depraved torturers." With a painful groan, Grindelwald sank onto the wooden bed. His joints creaked quietly. "Still, my earlier point stands. It must be two days since I last saw your charming faces – if my sense of time hasn't completely eroded in this... hovel. Dirt and stones are bad company, I have found. Gundula wasn't much help either". He gestured to the decaying basilisk carcass lying on the chamber floor.
"We've been busy," Harry said succinctly. "And it's a long way down here."
"As I said, I wouldn't mind moving to higher ground if –"
"Even if we trusted you, Grindelwald, which we don't, we wouldn't," Daphne interrupted the old wizard. "The eyes and ears in this castle are a little too alert for such a venture at the moment. Several Muggle children and one wizard child have disappeared near Aberdeen, and there is speculation that a dark wizard may be behind it. And, well, you are the most prominent dark wizard in the world who is officially on the run at the moment. And many still believe that you are out to get Harry, having failed to kill him in Azkaban. As a result, all security measures have been tightened."
Grindelwald rolled his pale eyes. "Did the children disappear near a lake?"
"You'd think so," Harry said. "Scotland is full of them."
"Then it was a Kelpie." Grindelwald waved his hand as if talking about a trivial matter. "Your Ministry will sort this out quickly enough and kill the beast."
Harry clicked his tongue, drawing an amused look from Daphne. After all, it was a habit he had originally picked up from her.
"It's not our Ministry," Harry said, his voice sharp. "Quite the opposite."
"Oh yes, I forgot." Grindelwald's voice dripped with mockery as he spread his arms wide in a theatrical, almost priestly gesture. "The shepherds of this land, ready to lead their flocks. But shepherds need a pen for their sheep, do they not? Like it or not, you'll need a government to govern. It will be your Ministry soon enough."
"He has a point, my love," Daphne said to Harry. Her pretty face had become thoughtful. "Chaos can have its charms, but I'm afraid it can also quickly become... tiresome."
Harry nodded at her. "There will be something, but it won't be this Ministry. I'll make sure of that."
"We will," Daphne said firmly, squeezing his hand. Harry squeezed back.
Grindelwald laughed, a rasping, joyless sound that echoed off the cold walls. "How heartwarming. Well, I'll leave you young revolutionaries to it. But if you can't change my prison –"
"Your guest room," Harry corrected.
Grindelwald's smile flickered, but he continued as if he hadn't heard the remark. "But if you can't change my accommodations, the least you can do is visit more often. It would be a tragedy for me to die of boredom before imparting the knowledge you so desperately need." His pale eyes bored into Harry's, searching, challenging. "You still want to learn, don't you?"
"As long as there is something useful you can teach us, we will visit you," Harry said. "The more useful it is, the more often we will make the effort."
"And by 'useful' you mean bloodthirsty, cruel and destructive, I suppose?"
"That's out of the question," Daphne replied curtly.
A wolfish grin crossed Grindelwald's face. His yellow teeth flashed and the deep wrinkles in his face cast shadows like canyons. "How fortunate that these are my specialities. I have already considered how we might continue our latest lessons, you future rulers of this land."
His gaze shifted to Daphne. "Daphne, my dear, you will learn the art of making Rune-stones. Not the pitiful trinkets you find in your Diagon Alley, of course. No, these will be forged through blood sacrifice and imbued with the power to create impenetrable magical barriers."
Daphne raised a perfectly arched dark eyebrow. "Impenetrable? Such a bold claim practically begs me to disprove it."
"Nearly impenetrable magical barriers," Grindelwald said, his tone now a little sour, Harry thought.
Harry stifled a grin, but the slight amusement that flowed from Daphne to him through their magical bond was clearly noticeable.
"Impenetrable, if you don't have a lot of time and considerable skill." Grindelwald's eyes now turned to Harry, his smile returning – broad, sinister, like a haggard predator eyeing its prey. "And for you, my dear Harry, I have something very special. Powerful memory spells. So powerful that they can manipulate the memories of an entire city. I saw it myself once. New York, in the twenties. Maybe you've heard of it..."
After their morning visit to Grindelwald, Harry and Daphne made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast.
As on the previous day, Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen at the teachers' table.
And as on the previous day – and probably every day to come – Tracey sat next to them at the Gryffindor table. Next to Daphne, to be precise; Harry felt that the other girl was much more open to his fiancée than she was to him, but that was to be expected. After all, he had had less than nothing to do with Tracey during his last four years at school, while the two Slytherins had a certain history. Still, Tracey had greeted not only Daphne, but both of them, with a prolonged lowering of the head, almost like a hint of a bow. That, too, seemed to be becoming the new normal.
Neville and Susan had only nodded at them briefly before the young couple turned back to each other. Harry couldn't shake the memory of Neville's words from the night before: Susan and I—we need to talk. With you. And with Daphne. About the future."
They had agreed to talk in the afternoon, after classes. Harry had to admit that he couldn't wait, even though another part of him was nervous at the thought of what might happen then. If he and Daphne had read the signs correctly, today could be a crucial step in their plans. They still had to think carefully about how to approach it...
The other Gryffindors were very careful around them. They had been cautious around them in the past – especially Parvati, who had seen the 'less friendly' side of Daphne after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament when she tried to hit on Harry – but today almost all of them acted as if they were walking on eggshells around them.
Harry's apparent outburst in the common room last night seemed to have made an impression, even if the others hadn't heard his words. His exploits during the Tournament, not to mention his attack on the Minister, his defiant speech to the Wizengamot, and his brief stay in Azkaban, had also earned him a reputation as a boy best not crossed. But as Daphne always said, it was not the worst thing in the world to be feared...
But Ron and Hermione were the most conspicuous. They sat far away from Harry, and although he could feel their eyes when he wasn't looking at them, they avoided eye contact when he was. Their bodies were stiff and tense and there were dark circles under their eyes as if they hadn't slept at all. Sometimes they whispered to each other and Harry could see how tightly they held each other's hands.
Harry's chest tightened. Seeing them like that made him feel a strange, twisted pain – regret mixed with something sharper. He couldn't stop replaying the night before in his mind.
He had almost tortured them.
He had come so close. His hand had gone to his wand, the curse on his lips. The curse he had cast so many times before. Against insects, animals, Kreacher, Lucius Malfoy, rapists and murderers in Muggle prisons. But never against innocents... never against friends.
Former friends, probably, the way things were now.
He hadn't done it; he'd just managed to control himself. He had fled like a mouse from a hungry crow, pathetic and weak, but happy about it. Or whatever came closest to the word 'happy' in this context. Happy had become a very complicated feeling for him...
And so breakfast in the Great Hall was a rollercoaster of emotions for Harry, surrounded by the reactions and stares of his fellow students, all of whom had an opinion about him and yet knew nothing.
Except one.
"Dark thoughts plague you today, my love," Daphne whispered in his ear at one point. Her breath caressed the back of his neck and he felt goosebumps creep across his skin. Her perfectly manicured fingernails brushed the inside of his wrist almost casually, a fleeting but effective gesture that snapped him out of his thoughts. "Perhaps we should blow off some steam tonight. We haven't been to Glasgow for a while. What do you think?"
Harry gave her a warm smile.
The rest of the day was a strange mixture of routine and tension. Ron and Hermione continued to avoid him. In class they sat far behind Harry, and he felt their stares at his back like ice-cold daggers. They treated him like a dangerous monster, but maybe they were right. Did they realise how close they had come to disaster themselves the night before?
Class offered little distraction. Lupin had them practising counter-curses, which Harry and Daphne mastered so effortlessly it seemed almost ridiculous. In Charms, Professor Flitwick showed them Disillusionment Charms that they had perfected years ago.
The hours dragged on until the afternoon finally arrived – and with it, the long-awaited talk with Neville and Susan.
A flood of thoughts ran through Tracey's mind as she waited for her two classmates in the Hogwarts entrance hall.
The two classmates who, like her, seemed to have seen something.
The two classmates who, like her, were drawn to the strength and ruthlessness of her masters – like moths to a flame.
The two classmates who, if Tracey was not completely mistaken, had made the same choice as she had: to come under the crimson-stained wings of Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass.
At least Tracey suspected that this was the reason why Bones and Longbottom wanted to speak to them, and why Tracey was waiting here in the empty entrance hall for her two fellow students to lead them to the place her masters had chosen.
It was a strange feeling, waiting for them. Part of Tracey felt satisfied that others were seeing what she had seen. Harry and Daphne were not only strong – they were inevitable. Whoever realised that, whoever was clever, joined them. And of course, the more followers they had, the better it was for her masters' goals, and thus for her own. But...
Tracey sighed. No, it was undoubtedly good for her masters to have more followers around. Especially useful followers like Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom, who came from old and influential pureblood families and were therefore the exact opposite of her. She just had to make sure, Tracey determined, that she would always be the most useful and reliable follower to defend her place. It had to be her highest maxim from this moment on.
At that moment, Tracey heard footsteps coming down the grand staircase. She looked up. It was Bones and Longbottom. The Hufflepuff and the Gryffindor walked towards her hand in hand, their foreheads slightly furrowed before Longbottom replaced it with a friendly smile and Bones with a neutral expression. They both looked like masks. If anyone could see that, it was Tracey, she had worn masks like that all through school.
"Davis. What a surprise," Susan began in a voice that betrayed no surprise whatsoever. "So the two aren't meeting us here?"
Tracey shook her head. "No. I'll take you to them."
"That would be desirable, after all we want to talk to them and not you," Bones said. She looked at Tracey with a look that was more penetrating than Tracey would have liked. "But before we go, one question."
"Yes?"
"Are you really Potter and Greengrass's lapdog now?" Bones paused. "Or their watchdog?"
The answer to that question was more than easy for Tracey.
"Woof, woof," she barked, then turned.
Without looking back, she walked towards the great entrance to the castle, beyond which stretched the vast grounds of Hogwarts, and after a few moments two pairs of footsteps followed her.
Harry could sense their auras long before their footsteps could be heard on the soft ground. The magic in the air vibrated like waves, gently lapping at his senses.
He could feel and hear those approaching, but he couldn't see them – not with his eyes closed, not with Daphne's lips against his. Her body was pressed tightly against his, her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a kiss that blurred the world around them.
A distant part of him knew they should stop. The footsteps were getting closer and it was only a matter of time before the others saw them. But just as he was about to back away, he felt Daphne press even closer to him. Her heartbeat pounded restlessly against his chest, her magic vibrating violently through their bond. Her mind was a fire that engulfed them both, and there was a silent scream in her emotions: Not yet!
He felt the brief, sharp pain as her teeth bit into his lip. Warmth spread and before he could feel the wound itself, Daphne was there. Her tongue slid gently over the tiny cut, licking up the blood like a cat quenching its thirst. She shivered for a moment, a strange, almost purring sound coming from deep in her throat, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle.
His body automatically healed the small wound as they finally parted, though the warmth of their last kiss lingered.
Harry opened his eyes and took in their surroundings. They stood in a small grove. The trees around them shielded them from the prying eyes of Hogwarts, but at the same time they had a picturesque view of the lake, its waters glistening in the light of the late summer sun. Light waves struck the roots of the trees, which reached out into the water like gnarled fingers, and the lapping of the water sounded like the whisper of old memories.
It was not the first time they had been here.
In his first year at Hogwarts, Daphne had led him to this very spot, to cut open small, innocent earthworms – to draw their life power into himself. For hours, her fingers had dug in the earth, bringing him new victims to test his abilities, until he had finally succeeded in using the pain of others for himself. Not an earthworm, though, but Daphne.
He had accidentally hurt her hand and tasted the sweetest, most seductive life power he had ever enjoyed. It had been the first and last time he had hurt her like that. He would have severed his own hand before he allowed it to happen again.
The memory felt like a lifetime ago, even though it had been less than four years. So much had changed since then...
The footsteps came closer.
Then the steps became shapes. Tracey was the first to step out from between the trees, followed by Neville and Susan, just as they had discussed. Neville and Susan's faces looked serious and thoughtful, just as their letters had done over the summer. Now it would become clear if Harry and Daphne had read their written words correctly.
Harry straightened up and took a step forward. "It's good to see you."
Neville nodded, his voice clipped but polite. "We're obviously glad you've taken the time to meet with us."
"Yes, your wish to talk to us about the future," Harry said. "We will do that, but first... let's talk about the present."
Daphne stepped forward. "We are going to make some statements about the present," she continued seamlessly. She swept her eyes over the small group. You'll tell us if you agree – or not."
A hint of confusion, coupled with curiosity, crossed Neville's face, but he didn't object. Susan crossed her arms over her chest, but a certain curiosity also filled her face, as if she were about to open a particularly exciting book. Only Tracey moved, positioning herself slightly behind Harry and Daphne, her stance aligned with theirs.
"All right," Susan finally said, her voice guarded. "Then go ahead."
Daphne spoke first. "Some people deserve to die."
Susan rolled her eyes at the words. "What kind of question is that? We've already discussed the death penalty. Granger still gives me dirty looks about it."
Neville, on the other hand, remained serious. His eyes flicked between Harry and Daphne, as if trying to read their intentions. Finally, he nodded. "Yes... there are people who deserve to die."
Next it was Harry's turn to say, "There's a lot wrong with this country."
Now Susan frowned, pausing as if to weigh the statement before replying. "You could say that..." she finally agreed.
Neville only nodded briefly.
Daphne crossed her arms over her chest, the wind playing with a loose strand of her dark hair. "Our government is incompetent and corrupt."
Susan snorted. "My own aunt is part of that government."
Harry met her gaze without hesitation. "We know that," he said calmly. "But that's not the point. We want you to tell us whether you agree or not."
Susan snorted again, this time with more contempt. "Of course I agree. But what is the point?" Her tone became sharper. "What exactly do you hope to achieve by asking these questions?"
Neville remained silent, his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the floor.
Susan's answer was enough for Harry, so he moved on to the next statement without answering her question. "Our incompetent and corrupt government is to blame that there's a lot wrong with this country."
Neville lifted his head and simply replied, "Yes, that's right.
Susan, on the other hand, shrugged unimpressed. "It's the logical conclusion." She crossed her arms. "But seriously, what is this? What are you trying to achieve with these obvious truths? What is your goal?"
Harry and Daphne exchanged a quick glance, but neither of them responded to Susan's words. Instead, Daphne continued, her voice now with a sharp undertone.
"Our government is to blame because they don't kill the people who deserve to die."
The words hung heavily in the air. This time the reaction was unmistakable. Susan tensed visibly, her gaze becoming hard and intense, her forehead deeply furrowed. Neville shook his head slowly, an expression of obvious inner conflict on his face.
"Not everyone in the government..." he began hesitantly. "I mean... my grandmother is in the Wizengamot. She's always tried to... you know..."
Susan turned to him. Suddenly her face softened, softer than Harry had ever seen it. Her hand rested gently on Neville's arm. "Your grandmother's not a bad person, honey. But she is weak. Otherwise those monsters would have died a long time ago."
Neville did not look away, but Harry could see how hard her words hit him. It hadn't been an attack, but there was no denying the truth in Susan's words, and Harry would bet that this wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation. Neville's hands shook slightly before he clenched them into fists.
"Go on," he finally said, his voice a husky whisper.
Harry looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "We can do better."
Susan raised a sceptical eyebrow. "We?" she asked, gesturing vaguely at everyone present. "Or you two?"
"We," Daphne said without hesitation. Her tone left no room for doubt. The word hung in the charged air. Then she added, "Harry and I can do better."
Harry's eyes remained fixed as he nodded. "We've already done better."
Daphne continued, not taking her eyes off the others. "We have done better because we have killed people who deserve to die."
The air seemed to freeze. The words fell like a stone into deep water – and the ripples of their meaning spread across the faces of the others.
Susan drew in an audible breath, her eyes flashing. "Enough!" she hissed. "Let's stop beating around the bush. We know what you did over the summer. And you know we know. And you know what we think about it, we've bloody well written it to you!"
Harry met her eyes and nodded. So they had been right in their interpretation of the letters, Neville and Susan had actually read the signs, put the pieces of the ashen puzzle together correctly. They must have been watching them very, very closely over the past few years. The thought almost made Harry uncomfortable, but that feeling was overshadowed by something else. Something more tantalising. Something more sinister.
The time had come to make a decision.
"All right," Harry said. "Let's not beat around the bush then. We've done better when we destroyed Azkaban."
Both Neville and Susan's eyes flashed, but Harry gave them no time to react.
"We burnt the prison and the whole island to the ground," he continued. "But not before killing every single prisoner inside. In the cruelest, most painful, most horrible way imaginable."
Susan involuntarily took half a step back, but her eyes remained fixed on Harry. Her body trembled, as did Neville's. Harry stifled a smile as something fierce flared inside him. An iron taste settled on his tongue and he swallowed hard before continuing.
"The last moments of these creatures were filled with unimaginable agony – and the realisation that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, they could do about it." Harry's voice deepened, almost to a growl, as he recalled those glorious moments. The overwhelming, magnificent power he had felt then. "In their final moments, the rapists and murderers of your parents, Susan, and the torturers of yours, Neville, were nothing more than pathetic cockroaches. And we squashed them. Because we could. Because we enjoyed it. And because it was the bloody right thing to do."
The words echoed like a dull thud, not allowing for any immediate reaction.
Susan and Neville stared at him. Their bodies were still shaking, but their faces had hardened. But the hardness only lasted a moment. Involuntarily, the corners of their mouths twitched upwards, as if to hold back a suppressed smile – but that disappeared quickly, too. Instead, their expressions alternated between a stony mask and a nervous, almost grotesque hint of a smile, as if they couldn't control the conflicting emotions inside them.
A picture flashed through Harry's mind: cheap wooden puppets on a stage, their painted faces fixed in unnatural, garish grins. He had sneaked into the theatre as a child, hiding from the Dursleys, who had left him in the car while they attended a party.
Now, the same grotesque distortion played out in Neville and Susan's expressions.
And then there was Tracey.
Until now she had remained silent, her face blank as she listened to every statement. But now she was rolling her eyes, her arms crossed over her chest, her right foot tapping lightly, as if she found the whole thing an absurd spectacle. Almost as if she were actually sitting in a children's theatre and couldn't believe a word of it.
Harry watched her out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help but notice the slight, contemptuous smile on her lips. It didn't surprise him. Of course, Tracey didn't believe a word of it when they described what they were doing as something they were doing because it was right. She had already called them selfish, driven only by their own needs, their lust for power and control. From Tracey's point of view, the fact that they had killed Tracey's father was a matter of great happiness for herself, but for Harry and Daphne it was just a welcome side effect of their means to an end.
Harry stifled a sigh. Tracey had come closer to the truth than perhaps anyone else, but even she didn't understand Daphne or him, at least not completely. But that didn't matter. She didn't need to understand – she just needed to follow.
Slowly, Daphne put a hand on Tracey's shoulder. The effect was immediate. Tracey froze. Her right foot stopped tapping. Every trace of her earlier amusement abruptly vanished from her face. Her eyes widened and she followed Daphne's every move with extreme tension, as if watching a snake that might bite at any moment.
But Daphne paid no attention to Tracey. The hand lingered for only a moment before she lowered it and turned her attention to Neville and Susan. When Daphne spoke, her voice was unexpectedly calm, almost gentle, but the sharpness was in the words themselves, not the tone.
"Dumbledore and the Ministry had the power to do all this," she began. "To punish the murderers and torturers of your parents. To bring justice. Or at least to fight the last war in a way that would have kept your families safe."
She let her words hang in the silence for a moment before continuing. "But it wasn't Dumbledore or the Ministry that brought you justice. It was Harry and I."
There was a moment of silence as Neville and Susan took in what she had said.
Harry took a step forward and placed his hand on Daphne's back. Without a moment's hesitation, she snuggled up to him as if the movement was as natural as breathing.
"And we will do it again," he said. "Never again will we allow wizards like Dumbledore to waste their power." His voice grew firmer, sharper. "Never again will we tolerate a Ministry that fails so completely that a cancer like Azkaban is allowed to fester in our land."
Never again will we tolerate a fate like Sirius's.
Susan looked at him intently. "And what place do we have in your plans?"
Daphne smiled slightly, almost mockingly. "You've already worked that out for yourselves. When you so ominously asked for a conversation about the future." She made a sweeping gesture as if to encompass the whole scene. "Well, then let's talk about the future."
Her voice became more insistent, a dark, hypnotic melody. "The only important question is: Do you want to leave your sad past behind – for a future where you will never feel like this again? Never feel so powerless again?"
Neville flinched slightly and Susan also seemed to be affected by Daphne's words.
Daphne stepped even closer, her voice a whisper but still dominating the grove. "As powerless as your families were."
The effect was unmistakable. Neville and Susan were visibly shaken, yet there was something in their eyes – a rebellion against the harshness of this truth, a desperate struggle with their own weakness. Or so Harry thought. That's how he would feel if he were in their place.
"Join us," Daphne said, "and we can offer you all that."
"And approve of everything you do?" Neville asked suddenly. Now his voice was trembling too, not just his body. But it wasn't an uncontrolled trembling, it was... Harry wasn't sure.
Daphne tilted her head, as if amused by the naivety of the question. "You already have," she said simply.
Susan and Neville exchanged glances. It seemed somehow intimate, almost as if they were connected by a magical bond like Harry and Daphne. But only almost, because the next moment Susan grabbed Neville's arm and pulled him a few steps aside. They went behind one of the trees that surrounded the small grove and disappeared partially from Harry and Daphne's view.
But Harry could see enough to see that Susan and Neville were talking intensely to each other, their gestures frantic, but not in an argument, but in a joint consideration, a struggle for the right decision. But he couldn't hear any of their conversation because the two of them had cast a protective spell around themselves.
For a brief moment, Harry felt the urge to break the spell. It wouldn't take much effort. Daphne could even do it effortlessly without them noticing. But he didn't. They both didn't. It wouldn't do any good, and Neville and Susan deserved this moment of togetherness in what could be one of the most important moments of their lives.
They deserved this time. They deserved the chance that he had never been able to give Ron and Hermione.
And that he would never give them now.
A few minutes passed before Susan and Neville returned. Their faces had changed – firm, clear, full of determination.
Susan spoke first. "No more Azkaban," she said, her voice cold. "No more mercy and comfort at the expense of the wizarding world for creatures who deserve nothing but death."
"And we'll have a say in it," Neville said next. "In everything we do together."
Harry let Susan and Neville's demands hang in the air for a moment before nodding, slowly and deliberately. "The first goes without saying. And the second... well, it's only natural for everything we're going to do together."
Susan raised a sceptical eyebrow. "And for what you two do alone?" She pointed at Tracey. "Or you and that one?"
Daphne was not fazed by Susan's challenging tone. "Ideally, we should all be pulling in the same direction," she said. "But you must know that when in doubt, Harry and I will put our goals before anything else. But we might give you some... say in the matter, if you prove yourself worthy."
"Your goals..." Susan said slowly, as if tasting the words on her tongue. "What do you want then?"
Harry's reply came promptly. "More."
Daphne added without hesitation, "Everything."
"Until there's nothing left," Harry finished.
Susan and Neville exchanged a long look, one filled with unspoken words that flowed between them like a private current. Finally, they stepped forward together.
Hand in hand, they approached Harry and Daphne until they were close enough that a simple movement would bring them into contact.
Susan's voice was a whisper, but her words cut like a blade. "I hate the Ministry." The cold anger in her tone was unmistakable, born of years of frustration and suppressed contempt. "I hate its officials. I hate the miserable, broken state of our world."
Neville added firmly, "We don't just want to change things. We want to tear it all down." He exhaled deeply, then locked eyes with Harry, his gaze unwavering. "And we think you're the ones who can help us."
Harry reached out and put a hand on Neville's shoulder. A triumphant growl sounded inside him, and again an iron taste on his tongue. The taste of the future.
"So," Harry said, "do we have an agreement?"
Neville nodded. "We do, Harry." His eyes flicked to Daphne. "We do, Daphne. Our support and cooperation – for your power and the promise of a bloody change."
Harry and Daphne exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting a shared triumph. Together, they raised their hands in unison, and for a fleeting moment, the same visions flashed through their minds:
A battlefield of ashes and blood. Dumbledore, Fudge, Bones—all their enemies—defeated, humiliated, broken at their feet. Two dark crowns on a dark throne.
And a just world at last.
If they had to, they would do it alone. Against the Ministry. Against Dumbledore. Against the entire wizarding world. But allies along the way would make the conquest all the sweeter.
And so the pact was sealed even before the words were spoken.
"To change," Harry and Daphne said together, almost as a ritual.
Susan and Neville didn't hesitate. Their hands met Harry and Daphne's in a brief but deliberate embrace.
"To change," they echoed.
For a moment, the four teenagers stood in silence, their faces set. Each of them weighed what the pact meant—what it demanded of them and what it promised. Only around Daphne's delicate lips was there the faintest hint of an expectant smile.
Suddenly, loud clapping broke the silence. A cheerful voice came from beside them. "And so your followers continue to grow, my masters."
All four turned to the source of the words: Tracey. She stood clapping, a smile on her plain face. Then she took a step forward and knelt in front of Harry and Daphne, right in the mud.
"You really are unstoppable."
The sight was bizarre and yet not new. Harry sensed it immediately – it was just like the last time Tracey had knelt before them and pledged her allegiance. The same humiliation, coupled with a twisted form of gratitude and the promise of almost blind loyalty.
And as before, it made Harry feel slightly uncomfortable. This kind of submission – the feeling of having a life as if it were just a piece on a great chessboard – stirred something in him that he had not yet fully understood.
But at the same time, a greedy gleam appeared in Daphne's golden eyes, and Harry felt that, despite everything, it was also in his own. The prospect of power was intoxicating – and they both knew it.
"We're not going to kneel," Susan said immediately. She crossed her arms over her chest as if to emphasise what she had said.
Daphne looked at her with an undefinable expression – perhaps amusement, perhaps respect. "You don't have to yet," she finally replied.
Tracey, still kneeling in the mud, smiled exaggeratedly. "Before we continue..." She let the words hang in the air, looking around, clearly enjoying the attention she was now receiving. "I have one small matter to add."
Everyone stared at her.
"Now that we are obviously all on the same side," Tracey continued, her voice filled with underlined solemnity, "we need a name for our little cabal."
Susan let out a groan.