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~You can't believe a word she says most times, but this time it was true…~
“Our parents…run away,” the voices were muffled through the thick door, but if James strained his ears, he could make out a few words.
Very clear words he would later wish he’d never heard.
He had let the Malfoy kid in because he thought that he might be able to help Harry out of her funk after the news of the marriage law. Initially, he’d let her be, thinking that this was an opportunity to pack his whole family up and move out of Britain. But every time Harry refused to come out of her lab, his heart squeezed, so ultimately, he didn’t stop the Malfoy scion when he came to talk to his daughter.
But now…
Running away? They were talking about running away, far from their families? His daughter ?
He could still hear the murmur of the boy’s voice, “...fake our deaths…looking for us…”
Fake their deaths?
James resisted the urge to burst into the room and wring that boy’s neck. What dangerous ideas was he putting in his daughter’s head?
How far, James’s heart jolted, were they willing to go for their relationship? James had always made it clear he didn’t like Malfoy. This would, in Harry’s point of view at least, put them on opposing sides. When it came down to it, who would Harry go with? Her lover (even thinking about it gave James chills), or her family?
James was suddenly very doubtful. If he had to be truthful, when it came down to it, he…didn’t have the confidence.
Quietly, he sneaked back to his office, not mentioning a word of what he heard to anyone. He had to do something about this.
Forgive me, Harry .
I’m doing this for your own good .
~The worst thing that I ever did was what I did to you…~
Harry had an inkling that she was slowly stepping towards her doom.
No, that was an exaggeration. She just couldn’t shake away this ominous feeling that she shouldn’t be doing what she was doing. As she stirred and mixed according to the instructions, Harry tried her very best to dampen the feeling.
The reason behind this sense of impending doom was none other than the recent commission she got from Krait. Her instincts were screaming at her to stop brewing the potion. This kind of potion could only be used for nefarious purposes, so why did she accept the commission? However, even as she thought that, her logical side pointed out that it was more the reason to brew it for Krait.
The Draught of Living Death, though notoriously powerful, was only a school-level pre-NEWT potion. Technically, anyone with a Potions NEWT could brew it. Could , as in having the ability to do it. It couldn’t be brewed legally without a license.
Did Harry have a license? Of course not. When Krait asked her, she had just stared at him suspiciously, silently willing him to tell her as much as he could without her having to ask.
“Probably someone wants their inheritance, but not nasty enough to get rid of them permanently,” Krait had grunted. Then he had leveled her with a look. “You know I don’t ask questions. Either you agree to take the order, or you don’t.”
“You don’t usually give these kinds of commissions to me,” Harry had pointed out.
“We’re all swamped,” Krait had explained. “The client wants it within the week.”
In the end, Harry had agreed to brew it, dismissing Krait’s rather belated concern over the legality of the potion. The reason was simple: the Draught of Living Death was dangerous, but not as dangerous as an improperly brewed Draught of Living Death. The Draught’s purpose was to put someone in a deep sleep, so properly brewed, no matter how much a person consumed, all it would do was put them to sleep. However, if there was a single misstep during the brewing process, the potion could easily kill someone.
If Harry refused the commission, the client would simply look for another brewer. Wouldn’t it be better to do it herself so the Draught at least wouldn’t kill anyone?
Harry’s thought process was only logical, but still, she couldn’t suppress her trepidation. The ominous black smoke coming out of her cauldron didn’t help either.
Perhaps it was the psychological need for consistency, but Harry finally finished the potion. She had made enough for two doses, and not wanting to dump any, even though technically only one drop was enough for a person to sleep for years. She mailed both to Krait, confident that he would pay her for both vials. There was no way she was carrying the draught around in Diagon Alley, even with her invisibility cloak for extra protection.
True to her predictions, Krait directly mailed back a pouch of golden coins, a small, unsigned note telling her that both vials had been bought. In the end, she’d earned the money for two orders with one.
Still, the money made her uneasy, so she swore to herself to donate all the proceeds to charity.
The house was empty as Harry pocketed the coins and the letter. Lily was out, Addy was at Remus’s, and James was…somewhere.
There was something off with her father lately. Harry couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but for some reason, it seemed like James found it very difficult to meet her eyes these days. Harry couldn’t figure out why—she hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary lately. Or were her standards so skewed that she didn’t know what was “normal” anymore? Harry really couldn’t think of anything she was keeping from her father outside of the usual.
When she passed by James’s office door, she only hesitated for a second before going in.
She’ll only go in to see what cases he was working on, she told herself. If there was nothing special, she’ll just leave and pretend nothing happened.
She would just add this to the list of things she was doing behind his back.
So Harry shifted through his papers and read his documents, only skimming the titles to give the Auror Department some sense of secrecy, knowing full well what she was doing was illegal, but she didn’t find anything out of the ordinary just from his paperwork.
Then what was this uncomfortable feeling in her gut?
Harry was never one to make baseless accusations, but her gut and instincts had never led her wrong. The Draught of Living Death was one thing; at least she knew why her instincts were screaming at her to stop brewing it. But her father?
Harry half-heartedly opened his drawers and peeked inside. Nothing special at all. She reached the bottom drawer and pulled—and pulled.
It didn’t budge.
Harry’s heart thumped. Calm down , she told herself. Every normal person had a secret compartment or two.
She felt slightly guilty opening the warded drawer, but she had to know. If she didn’t find anything related to her, then she could rest easy tonight. Otherwise, she would be wondering what was in the drawer until she was fifty.
She broke the ward easily, making a mental note to put it back up later. The drawer opened, and inside…was a potions bottle.
Picking it up and bringing it to the light, Harry stared at the potion. Unable to believe her eyes, she rubbed them, blinked, and stared at the bottle again.
It was still there.
There must be a mistake , Harry thought dazedly. What was this potion doing here?
She uncorked it carefully, and put her nose above it. When the all-too-familiar scent of her lab and Draco’s cologne wafted into her nose, she corked it again. It was exactly what she thought it was.
Amortentia.
What in the nine worlds was it doing in James’s office?
She looked into the drawer again. Aside from the bottle, there was a small envelope which wasn’t even sealed. Opening it, Harry found a long strand of golden hair, obviously from a girl’s head.
What the hell was her father up to? Was this potion related to whoever’s hair it was? Harry’s mind raced as she tried to connect the dots. She sniffed at the potion again. Maybe it wasn’t a legitimate version of Amortentia? Maybe it was a kind that could be keyed to someone, like Polyjuice?
The question was, where did James come across something like this? Was it from a case? Why was it locked and warded in his office, away from the Auror department? What was he going to do with it?
Maybe it was for a prank product, Harry thought hopefully. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it wasn’t true. Her family never dabbled in love potions, not even for pranks. It was a line they wouldn’t cross. And she knew this because she’d once overheard her father and Sirius reject a business proposal involving love potions.
Whatever her father was doing, Harry knew she couldn’t just do nothing, now that she’d seen the potion. It wasn’t like she could just confront him either.
So she carefully put the bottle back in the drawer. Grabbing a pair of scissors, she cut off a small section of the hair, unnoticeable to even Lily, let alone James. She didn’t have any Polyjuice left, so she was going to have to brew a new batch. With that, she could see who James wanted the recipient to fall in love with, and take it from there.
Hopefully, whatever he was doing could wait a month. In the meantime, Harry was going to brew a fake Amortentia—right in consistency and color, and even smell (it was time to borrow Lily’s shampoo), and James wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
As she went down the stairs, Harry thought grimly that it was not a good feeling to be suspecting your own family, yet not even know what you were suspecting them for.
~She said, "James, get in, let's drive,"~
Potions would be the death of him.
James quietly stashed the bottle in his pocket. The department was hardly going to miss one little bottle of Draught of Living Death out of all the other far more nefarious potions they’d just busted from the black market.
It wasn’t like he was actually planning on using it, he reasoned with himself. It was just for back-up. If Harry refused to move out of the country and she or Addy ended up marrying some pureblood who only saw them as a brooding mare, he’d have a plan to get his whole family out of there. The potion probably had a long-enough shelving life. Probably. He’d have to do some actual research before doing anything, but he had at least a few years for that. He was just saving this bottle right now just in case. How often would he get the chance to obtain something like this without drawing any attention?
James bit back a grimace. He hated potions for a reason—he and the subject had never gotten along well. The love potion had been a case in point. He had thought that maybe, if Draco Malfoy fell in love with Astoria Greengrass, he and Harry would break up or whatever their equivalent was. Then Harry would be more willing to escape Britain with them, right?
He would do anything to keep his little fawn safe and happy. True, she wasn’t going to be happy—the Marriage Law had won, and either way, she and Draco would have to split. The only thing he could do, then, was to keep her safe.
Perhaps drugging a young boy wasn’t the best idea. But Harry wouldn’t listen to reason, it was the only idea he had, and he was desperate.
It didn’t matter now, anyway. The last time Draco Malfoy came over to Potter Place, James gave him a drugged cookie, and he ate it without batting an eye and went on with his business with his daughter. So much for love potions.
A knock on the door pulled James from his thoughts. “Come in.”
The people who came in were not on James’s list of people he wanted to see.
The Greengrass couple stood stiff and proud. They still looked like the perfect couple. When it came out that Daphne Greengrass was a halfblood, there had been speculation as to what would happen to Lady Greengrass at Lord Greengrass’s rage. However, there had only been speculation, as no whispers of drama came from the Greengrass household, and with the exception of Daphne Greengrass never having been seen or heard from again, it was as if the scandal never happened. There had been rumors of Lord Greengrass squashing the gossip about what happened to Daphne Greengrass rather violently, but it must have worked because James hadn’t heard a word about the Greengrasses since.
Until the algorithm came out, at least.
“Lord Potter,” Greengrass swept in, shut the door, and went straight to the point. “We’ve come to talk about your daughter.”
James tapped his fingers on the wood of his desk absent-mindedly. “In this office, I’m Head Auror Potter.”
He thought about the little bottle in his pocket, and the one in the drawer of his desk at home. The irony was not lost on him.
“I don’t care,” Greengrass told him bluntly. “Your daughter is getting in the way, and you need to do something about it.”
James looked at him, then slid his gaze to his wife, who just stood behind him and met his gaze steadily.
“And what, pray tell, is my daughter getting in the way of?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Greengrass crossed his arms and stared regally down at James. “Keep your daughter away from my future son-in-law.”
“Interesting,” James stared right back without flinching. “Why don’t you go to the Malfoys instead? Draco Malfoy’s inattention to your daughter has nothing to do with mine. Or are you too scared of your future in-laws to stare them down like this?”
Greengrass bristled, his eyes flashing with contempt and embarrassment that James caught in the brief second it showed. He opened his mouth, probably to curse at him, when his wife suddenly reached out and pulled slightly at his arm. He turned sharply to her, and the couple exchanged a look.
“You know you’re not going to just stand by and watch your precious daughter break her own heart. I’d be careful, Potter.” Greengrass finally bit out looking like he’d swallowed a lemon. He turned, intending to leave the office.
“How honored I am,” James drawled, “That you’re feeling so threatened by my daughter. It doesn’t bode well for you, Greengrass. You’re the one who ought to be more careful—those with such cowardice never make it far.”
James then grinned, shark-like even as he leaned back on his chair. “Or I’m going to give you a reason to fear the Potters as much as you fear the Malfoys.”
Greengrass left with a huff, wife in tow. James may have seemed to have won this round, but the Greengrasses’ goal had been achieved: a seed had been sown. The worst part was, James himself knew this as well, as his smile faded at the closing of the door.
Whatever he did next, it would be in favor of the Greengrasses. Perhaps it would have been that way anyway, but with this visit, it was like he had just signed himself into an alliance he had had no intention of making, and it was going to blow up in his face.
~In the garden, would you trust me if I told you it was just a summer thing?~
Daphne Greengrass, now Cresswell, was a halfblood who had nothing. She wasn’t like Rigel Black, who was perhaps the most famous halfblood to ever exist. When it first came out he was a halfblood, she’d hated him even more. He’d somehow lasted longer than she had at Hogwarts. She’d been spiteful, and she’d been jealous.
However, over time, she hated the Greengrasses more. People might speculate how her mother had managed to not get disowned, but Daphne knew the truth. Who was Lord Greengrass without Lady Greengrass? Her mother had had the affair in a fit after an argument with her husband, Daphne had learned later on, and Lord Greengrass never divorced her because he was, quite simply, afraid. Afraid of his wife, and even more afraid of what would happen to the Greengrass family if he divorced the brains behind his success.
Not that it stopped him from hating Daphne. She had been thrown into the care of Dirk Cresswell after being expelled, and was occasionally—like now—allowed to visit, but only if she stayed out of sight of the Lord of the mansion. If Daphne had a choice, she would never come back, but her mother insisted. She suspected it was because Lady Greengrass loved the look on Lord Greengrass’s face whenever he was reminded of her betrayal but couldn’t do anything about it. The one thing he could do was take his anger out on the product of her betrayal, and that was only because Lady Greengrass did not care about her.
The only person who mattered currently was Astoria, and that was because of the Marriage Law Algorithm.
The floo flashed, and Daphne quickly ducked into the closet. She heard footsteps, and Lord Greengrass’s cursing.
“Was he wrong?” It was her mother’s voice. She spoke mildly, as if talking about the weather. “You are rather cowardly. You wouldn’t have thought of this without me.”
“Yes I would have,” Greengrass argued back, but they all knew it was futile.
There was a second of silence, where Daphne presumed her mother rolled her eyes. “Is everything prepared?”
“I gave the potion to one of my people yesterday ,” Greengrass humphed, “A drop is all we need, but surely I gave them half a bottle just in case. It’d be hard to mess that up.”
“Oh, great job,” her mother said, not bothering to hide her sarcastic tone. “You saved half of the evidence that might get traced back to us. What a genius you are.”
Their voices faded in and out as they passed by her closet and went further into the house.
“...Draught…won’t die…”
“...Parchment…charmed…”
Daphne sucked in a breath. When she was sure they were completely gone, she raced out of the closet and into her room.
A few hours later, Daphne snuck back out and into their potions cabinet. It might not be there, but she had to try. Her parents apparently had a plot, and she was going to ruin it. She didn’t care about the poor unfortunate soul who was being targeted, but she did care about the fact that if it didn’t work, the Greengrasses would be pissed off and if she was smart about it, they wouldn’t know who foiled their plan. Yes, she was afraid of retribution, but this was an opportunity .
True to her expectations, the potion, whatever it was, wasn’t in the cabinet. All the bottles were either full or nearly empty. So she snuck into the wine cellar instead.
Daphne had found out when she was a kid that Greengrass liked to store secrets in the wine cellar, probably because nobody actually drank wine from there. Once, when she was seven, she was playing there when Greengrass came in. Since she wasn’t supposed to be there, she had hidden behind one of the barrels and watched through the cracks as Greengrass stuffed a roll of parchment between the barrels. She hadn’t dared to look at what he put in there and ran out before someone else could catch her in there.
Since Hogwarts, though, she’d snuck in again when no one was looking and found rolls of parchment here and there, along with some suspicious looking vials. It was only then she realized that her “father” kept receipts of what her mother had been doing all along—all in preparation for the day he cut ties and pinned the blame of what they did together on her. One could say he was being smart about it, since Lady Greengrass would never think to check the wine cellar. Then again, literally anybody could stumble across something they shouldn’t here. Like Daphne.
She navigated the wine cellar expertly, keeping an eye out for anything different. After all, it had only been a few days since she was here. After searching awhile, she finally found a new bottle behind a few big barrels—one that was only half full.
She held the bottle up, and was instantly dumbfounded by the sheer stupidity of it all.
The bottle itself was innocuous enough, if not for the label “living death” clearly written in Greengrass’s handwriting. Whoever had made the potion—because she just knew it wasn’t Greengrass—was smart enough not to label it, but alas, the bottle had made its way to the dumbass that was Greengrass. What, was he afraid he would mix it up with the other suspicious bottles he had lying around?
The Draught of Living Death. Daphne tapped her finger against the glass. Recently, all the Greengrasses talked about was Astoria’s Algorithm results. Everybody knew Draco Malfoy didn’t even bat an eye at her even after the results came out and instead went straight into the arms of Harriet Potter. Lord and Lady Greengrass had not hidden their fury at his actions; Malfoy was basically humiliating them, and with a halfblood, no less.
Halfblood. Daphne had mixed feelings about that word. There was a familiar hatred mixed with trepidation, and a weird sense of possessiveness—towards what, she had no idea herself.
She shook herself out of her emotions with practiced ease, pulling herself back to the situation at hand. So it only made sense that this potion was related to that mess—only, who was it intended for?
In which scenario would the Greengrasses benefit more: Malfoy seemingly dead, or Potter seemingly dead?
The answer was clear.
Here were the facts: Daphne disliked Malfoy greatly. She hated all three Greengrasses. She did not dislike Potter, though she scoffed at her taste in men.
Daphne quietly put the bottle back. She would find out when they planned to use the potion. She would find Greengrass’s lackey. She would make a fake potion—she doubted Greengrass’s lackey would be able to tell the difference as long as it was the same color and thickness. She would convince them to use the fake one. She would give the Potters, and by extension the Malfoys, a version of the events when the plot fails. She would watch the Greengrasses’ despair as the Potters’ and Malfoys’ fury rain down on them.
If the Marriage Law moves forward as it was intended to do, then Astoria would still have to marry into a family who hates her. Daphne’s lips curved upwards, not bothering to suppress its malice.
And if the law somehow ends up abolished…
Daphne mercilessly squished the small spark of hope at that thought.
She wouldn’t place her bet on it.
~Just thinking of you when she pulled up like a figment of my worst intentions…~
James was beginning to think his office was cursed.
Why else would a Malfoy be in there near the end of his lunch break?
James twitched when he saw who was waiting for him at his office. He had half a mind to just close the door and pretend he didn’t see anything, but he had already made eye contact with Lucius Malfoy.
“Potter,” Malfoy acknowledged. Now pretending to be both blind and deaf would just be tasteless.
“This is the second time this week.” James bit back a weary sigh and entered his office, making sure the door was shut properly behind him.
“I shall be straight with you.” Malfoy ignored his comment with the finesse of someone who had been ignoring things he deemed unimportant for years. “For the sake of both our children, their…dalliance must be stopped. This is an invitation from the American Potions Guild.”
Malfoy laid a cream envelope on his desk. James stared at it.
“Surely you want what is best for your daughter. Should she accept, this will advance her career and pave the way for her to be recognized internationally. Someone as illustrious as your daughter would certainly recognize its value.”
The only thing in James’s head was, boy are the Malfoys desperate .
He wanted to say he didn’t need Malfoy’s connections. He didn’t want to owe him anything, and yet, James currently had no other ideas to convince Harry to move. The truth was, he didn’t have a connection that would be as alluring as this to Harry.
But…it was Malfoy. They’d been enemies for as long as he remembered. Malfoy never did things out of the goodness of his heart.
“Talked to Greengrass, didn’t you?” James finally asked.
“If you are worried about any strings attached, don’t be.” Malfoy stared down at James, but unlike his other visitor, there was no emotion behind his eyes. “In fact, I am only doing this to cut some strings. My son would do well without his silly attachment to your daughter. Once they are separate, their infantile…entanglement will be nothing but the past.”
~The only thing I wanna do is make it up to you…~
On that day, several things happened.
Lucius Malfoy went home satisfied, certain that Harriet Potter would go to the States for her beloved potions.
James Potter went home and talked to his daughter about the invitation. He never mentioned where he got it from, and painted a promise to always support her career path and her dreams.
Harriet Potter just said, “I’ll think about it,” and left the letter on her desk.
Draco Malfoy opened the letter that wasn’t a letter anymore, and instead read a threatening note.
Lord and Lady Greengrass clinked their glasses together as the only people who know about the charmed and transfigured letter, eyes hidden by the glint of a predator.
Daphne Cresswell ran off into the night, with whispers of tonight overheard in the dim light.
And Astoria Greengrass stayed idly in her room, humming, oblivious to everything.
~Betty, I know where it all went wrong…~
Daphne didn’t recognize the bartender at the Leaky Cauldron. She briefly entertained the idea that that was Greengrass’s lackey, but came to no conclusions. That person could be anyone in this shady pub, though it was highly likely that it was the bartender.
She sat there for over an hour. Nobody paid attention to her—she was just as scruffy as the rest of the patrons here, something she would have scoffed at two years ago. Now she had become the person she used to look down on.
There was a glint of blond—Daphne froze. What was Draco Malfoy doing here? She had been so sure it was going to be Potter…
The bartender looked up, and since Daphne was watching him closely, she saw him glance discreetly at Draco—or more specifically, the piece of paper that was in Draco’s hand. She saw the way his face set ever so slightly and he turned to the bar.
Daphne’s heart pounded. It was now or never. Should she go up to him? Her plan had been to pose as Astoria, the right Greengrass, and tell him he had the wrong potion and exchange it for the “right” one. But that had all been under the assumption that the target would be Potter. And when the potion doesn’t work, she would tell Potter everything, then the Malfoys would know, and that would be the end of the Greengrasses. But now that Malfoy was here, given their history, there was no guarantee that he would believe her.
That is, if she even wanted to switch out the potion now.
With Potter it was different. The Potters were so Light they were practically blinding, and so even if it all went to hell, they would protect her out of moral obligation. With Malfoy…she could tell him what she knew, and even if he believed her, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw her to the wolves.
The Malfoys were close with Snape, Daphne reflected. There was no way they wouldn’t detect the Draught of Living Death. They would never treat their scion’s…body…so crassly.
Daphne’s lungs froze. She couldn’t breathe. She watched as the bartender went closer and closer to the oblivious boy, drink in hand.
It wasn’t like he was going to die.
Right?
Her self-preservation instincts, honed from her years at Hogwarts, kicked in, and she fled the scene.
~Betty, I won't make assumptions about why you switched your homeroom, but I think it's 'cause of me…~
“There is something you must know.”
Harry slowly glanced up. Snape gazed back calmly at her, but she could read his emotions loud and clear. He was exhausted, grieving, furious, and helpless. Yet here he was, requesting a meeting in the Guild lab just a week after the funeral.
“What?” In any other circumstances, Harry would’ve flinched at the sound of her own voice. It was hoarse from disuse and the ceaseless tears that just wouldn’t stop a few days after Draco’s death, when it had finally sunk in. Now, she was all cried out, and only numbness was left behind.
Snape took a seat, taking a deep breath as if all his emotions would be gone with just a puff of wind. “That night…he had been administered the Draught of Living Death.”
If it was possible, Harry’s body became even more still.
“Under ordinary circumstances, this would’ve only put him into deep sleep, but…he had consumed something else right before the draught. It hadn’t been fully digested into his system yet, so the ingredients of the draught altered the nature of the—”
“—Mandrake.” The two syllables made their way out of Harry’s throat with difficulty, each sound heavier than the last. The dawning horror choked at her lungs, not allowing any air in, not unlike Draco’s lungs that had stopped functioning. Something she and the birthday gift had been responsible for.
Snape didn’t say anything. For a moment, the two of them just sat there, overcome with so many emotions that it was starting to physically hurt.
He broke the silence first. “I have come to warn you. Since you have received that—” Snape inclined his head towards the innocuous looking brown package that contained half a bottle of Draught of Living Death— “Whoever did it might come for you next. You need to be careful and ask your Auror father to be on alert.”
Harry didn’t reply. Later on, she would look at the package, think about this conversation, and laugh and laugh until her tears, which would make a reappearance, dried up. Those who passed by her room would wonder how someone could laugh so long in such a bitter way, while inside her breaking mindscape, Dom would eventually forcibly put her to sleep as he tried to salvage what was left of her mind.
(It was at the tip of his tongue. Snape wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault. Because it wasn’t. But to say that would mean to absolve himself of his own guilt since it was a partnership, which he couldn’t do because he had been responsible. His and Harriet’s mentor-student relationship meant that no matter how skilled she was as a fellow researcher, he was more responsible for the results of their creations than her.)
~I was walking home on broken cobblestones…~
Harry never left Britain.
Instead, she stayed, even when Archie left for Hermione. When their wedding invitation came, she owled them their wedding present. When her own wedding came, she expressionlessly said I do , looking at her husband’s face, but not really seeing him.
They had been tied together by the Algorithm, but that was it. When they were in bed, she let it happen. When he proclaimed his love for her, she never replied. She lived, but never really lived. He claimed he understood, but she knew he would never, not really.
When he didn’t tire of her when others would have, she only thanked him. Time heals all wounds, but this one festered even as it seemed to be getting better.
Harry Potter lived to a ripe old age.
It was her penance.
~Slept next to her, but I dreamt of you all summer long…~