Daphne couldn't help the wide, radiant smile that stretched across her face, warming her expression in a way that would have utterly shocked the wizarding public. To the rest of the world, she was the untouchable, unfeeling, heiress of Greengrass, a woman of sharp edges and cold intellect, one of the few women who could stand by the side of the tyrant king. To Harry, she was just Daphne, and right now, she was glowing.
Harry had said yes.
They had been engaged for a while now, technically speaking, the promise was there, the rings had been exchanged in a private moment, but neither of them had ever truly rushed to seal the deal.
It wasn't like a formal ceremony would suddenly change who they were to each other. Still… marriage felt different. It felt more permanent, more solid. It was a formal declaration to the world that they were together till the end.
Watching Astoria go through her wedding had stirred something dormant in Daphne. It wasn't envy, she was far too secure in Harry's affection for that. It was just a profound sense of certainty.
She had seen the way a "legal" union shifted the perception of a House. She was ready to be Lady Potter-Black in more than just name, she wanted the world to see that, too.
They were nineteen now. In just a few months, they'd both be twenty. Her birthday was coming up fast on the fourteenth of July, with Harry's following on the thirty-first.
Before she even realized it, her mind was already racing at a speed that would make a Firebolt look sluggish, calculating dates, locations, dresses, and guests.
'September or October?' she wondered, her eyes glazed with happy focus. 'The weather would be turning crisp, perfect for heavy velvet ceremonial robes. A garden ceremony at the Manor? Or something more traditional at Godric's Hollow to honor James and Lily?'
She began listing things in her head, guest lists, color schemes (emerald and silver were obvious, but maybe some gold), floral arrangements, warding the perimeter against reporters and enemies that would no doubt want to take advantage of the day, and the seating charts.
Then, a more complex thought hit her, one that made her heart swell with a different kind of warmth. She needed to talk to Tonks and Anya.
In their unique relationship, would they want to have a triple ceremony? Marry with her and Harry on the same day? Would they prefer separate days to have their own individual moments of glory? Daphne personally didn't care about sharing the spotlight, she had grown to care for the other two women as sisters-in-arms and in heart.
The idea of all of them sealing their bond with Harry on the same day had a certain poetic, powerful appeal to it. But that was a discussion for later.
"Daphne."
She jolted, blinking her way out of her internal "Wedding Planner" trance, and turned toward Harry.
He was smiling at her. It wasn't his usual teasing smirk or a smug look of victory, it was just warm. Fond. Radiant. It was the look of a man who knew he had won a prize he didn't deserve but intended to keep anyway.
Harry honestly couldn't help it. There were very few moments where he got to see the so-called "Ice Queen of Slytherin" like this, eyes bright and sparkling, expression completely open, looking exactly like a little kid who'd just been promised the biggest bowl of ice cream in the world. It was adorable, a side of her he felt privileged to witness, a stark contrast to the woman who could balance the ledgers of three Ancient Houses without breaking a sweat.
She noticed his intense stare and reached out to gently slap his cheek, her own face flushing a deep, lovely crimson that clashed beautifully with her blonde hair.
"Stop smiling like that," she pouted, though there was no heat in the command.
"Sorry," he said easily, his voice low and soothing. "You just look adorable when you're plotting our future. I could practically see the plans reflecting in your eyes."
She hit him again, though it was more of a caress. "Don't call me adorable, Potter. I have a reputation to maintain as a terrifying socialite." She huffed before immediately undermining her own words by leaning into him, resting her forehead against his chest, and breathing in his scent, a mix of home and something electric.
"I'm just… really happy," she admitted softly, the words muffled by his shirt.
Harry chuckled, his chest vibrating under her head as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. "What? You really thought I'd say no? After I've traveled through the Void and stared down the Lord of the Underworld just to get back to your bed?"
She shook her head against him. "No. I knew you'd say yes. But a part of me was just… worried. It's a big step, Harry. Even for us. It makes things final."
He understood that perfectly. There were times when, even when you knew the outcome of a situation, the gravity of the moment still made the heart stutter. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head.
"Well, there's no possible world where I'd ever say no to you," he told her firmly. He paused for a beat, a wicked glint returning to his eyes, the kind of look that promised trouble. "Though now I kind of feel sorry for you."
She pulled back just enough to look up at him, suspicious. "And why is that?"
He grinned, the predatory edge of his personality peeking through. "Because now you're officially stuck with me for the rest of your life. No escapes, no running away."
Daphne gasped theatrically, her hand flying to her chest. "Oh no. The horror. A lifetime of cleaning up after your messes? Maybe I should reconsider—"
He tightened his hold on her immediately. "No take backs. You're mine. Now and forever."
Daphne felt a swarm of butterflies erupt in her stomach at the possessiveness in his voice. It was exactly what she wanted. "Now and forever," she whispered back.
He lifted her chin with one finger and kissed her. It was a slow, unhurried, and deep kiss, the kind that didn't need heat to be intimate, but possessed enough weight to ground them both.
They stayed like that for a long while, simply existing in each other's space, until the distant sound of the front door opening echoed through the manor, signaling the end of their private peace.
Daphne slowly stood up, stretching her lithe limbs like a cat. "I had a really nice time, luv, but I don't think I can keep keeping you to myself today."
She kissed him once more on the nose, told him she was heading up to her room to start some "preliminary notes" (which he knew meant wedding spreadsheets and color swatches), and disappeared upstairs.
She left just as Nymphadora Tonks marched into the living room.
The Auror looked utterly exhausted. Her hair was a limp, muddy brown, and she dropped her bag and a stack of files onto the floor without a second thought. She marched straight over to the couch and, without saying a word, plopped down onto Harry's lap, letting her entire weight settle on him as if gravity had personally selected his lap as the only safe place in Britain.
"Welcome home, Dora," he said with a smile, his hands naturally finding her waist to steady her.
She wrapped her arms around him and snuggled into his neck, letting out a long, shaky exhale that smelled faintly of Ministry coffee and stress. "Mmm. Thanks. And… welcome back to you too, you big idiot," she murmured. She hadn't had the chance to say it properly yet since he'd been dead to the world when she arrived earlier.
Harry began brushing his fingers through her hair, his touch light and rhythmic. As he did, the muddy brown began to shift, lazily transitioning into a soft, relaxed lavender, a sure sign that her guard was finally dropping.
"Busy day at the office?" he asked.
She groaned into his shoulder. "I was supposed to have the day off. Seriously. I had a whole plan involving a bath and zero paperwork. But then some asshat got caught trying to smuggle a crate of dark artifacts through a Muggle port. Nearly blew the Statute of Secrecy wide open." She lifted her head, her eyes gleaming with a sudden, vicious mischief. "Guess who the fool was."
Harry didn't even need a second to process. There was only one person with that specific blend of arrogance, desperation, and inherited stupidity that he knew Tonks would even bring up. "Malfoy."
Tonks burst out laughing, the sound bright and infectious. "Yep! Draco! Can you believe it? After everything, that idiot is still trying to pull this shit. He was caught red-handed with various cursed items that were probably sitting in his cellar for decades. Guess things are tight if he was trying to sell them off. While the Wizengamot didn't sentence him to Azkaban this time because of some technicality, the fine they slapped him with nearly killed him on the spot."
She laughed again, settling back against Harry. "You should have seen his face, Harry. He looked ready to have a heart attack right there in the room. He's bleeding the Malfoy vaults dry, trying to maintain his lifestyle. At this rate, he'll be living on the streets. He's almost broke."
Harry shook his head slowly. It seemed the Malfoy line was destined to end in a whimper of bankruptcy and bitterness. Draco simply couldn't wisen up, he was a man obsessed with a past that had already been cremated. It seemed only in death would he find any sense, or perhaps not even then.
Anya returned shortly after. She stopped before Harry and immediately knelt, her head bowed.
"Welcome home, my lord," she said, her voice a cool, steady anchor in the room.
Harry sighed deeply, waving a hand. "Anya, for the hundredth time, get up. I thought we moved past the kneeling phase."
She did, with a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk that suggested she did it specifically because she knew it annoyed him, and promptly curled up on the other side of him on the couch.
Now that her "knightly greeting" was complete, she was more than happy to welcome him back as a lover. The three of them sat there for a while, sharing stories of their days and the peace of the manor. Anya talked about her work, Tonks provided the colorful commentary, and Harry simply soaked in the feeling of being home.
Eventually, the fatigue of the day caught up with them. Both girls decided they needed proper rest to recover from the stress. Harry kissed them both, promising to be there when they woke, and decided he needed a walk. He had been gone for a few weeks, and now he wanted to get a feel of his own world and decided to take a stroll.
Well… his version of a stroll.
With a casual swipe of his hand, a rift in reality tore open, and Harry stepped through. He emerged in the heart of London, the air thick with the smell of exhaust and city life.
He spent the next few hours wandering the streets, eating junk food from street vendors that probably had zero nutritional value, and watching the Muggles go about their mundane lives, oblivious to the godslayer walking among them.
He briefly jumped to a few magical sites, even taking a half an hour detour to magical France just to browse a specific apothecary's window for rare ingredients, before returning to the quiet streets of London near the Thames.
As the sun began to set, bleeding shades of orange and bruised purple across the skyline, he found himself standing near a quiet, fog-shrouded pier. He had cast a wide-range illusion blocks ago, subtly nudging people away so the area appeared deserted to any passerby. The river lapped at the wood with a rhythmic, mournful sound.
He stood there for a long minute, watching the light dance on the water, before he spoke to the empty air.
"You've been following me for a while now," Harry said calmly, his voice carrying clearly in the stillness. "Since the third alleyway, to be precise. Do you need something, or are you just admiring the view?"
Silence met his words.
He sighed, the sound heavy with boredom. He summoned his dagger into his hand, the blade humming with power as it glowed a little. "Are you not going to answer? Last chance to speak before I start cutting."
Suddenly, the air ten feet in front of him tore open with the sound of a soft, crystalline bell.
A girl stepped out.
She looked young, perhaps in her early teens, with short, shimmering silver hair and striking violet eyes that held a depth far beyond her apparent age. She was dressed in a pristine school uniform, topped with a simple, dark knit cap on her head. She looked perfectly mundane, yet her presence felt like a weight upon the world.
A god, A heretic god.
Harry stared at her, his emerald eyes narrowing as he recognized the divine figure immediately.
"…Athena," Harry murmured.
So much for a quiet stroll.
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