The Grass Is Always Greener Chapter 25.

Content Warnings: Teasing.

“Is Astoria in bed, darling?”

Daphne nodded as she slipped into the chair next to her mother’s. “I don’t know why you make her attend these dinners. You know it upsets her when pompous asses like Crouch treat her like she’s inferior because of a curse she may or may not be carrying. Just because she’s frail doesn’t mean she’s the one who has the curse. There’s an equal chance I’m the one who carries it.” Daphne scowled. If it had been up to her she’d have slammed the man’s face into the table and wiped that condescending smile off his face.

But he was a guest, and as much as it pained her to do so, had to be afforded the same privileges every guest in their home got.

“She will marry and have to run her own house one day. If she’s not strong the sharks in the waters in which we swim daily will eat her alive, darling.”

Daphne grunted. “You act like I don’t exist. I plan to find Tori a sweet boy or girl and put the fear of god in them to make sure they keep her safe, happy, and far away from the crazies. We won’t be inviting Skeeter to cover their marriage, that’s for sure.”

“And what about your marriage?” Amelia asked with a small smile.

Daphne decided to change the topic. She had no intention of shackling herself with the chains of marriage, children, and a family. If two years in Slytherin had taught her anything it was that every man she could potentially date was a disgusting pig and entirely unworthy of her love or obedience. Blaise was tolerable but he liked sweet, quiet, innocent girls and that just wasn’t her. And it wasn’t like boys from other Houses were lining up to date Slytherin’s Ice Queen.

I will deepthroat a cactus before I agree to be Daphne Malfoy, she thought as she struggled to keep her expression neutral.

“Speaking of marriage, what’s wrong with his wife? To tell you the truth, she scared me more than he did. She kept touching my hair for some reason.”

Amelia sighed. “She’s very sick. Rumor has it that she’s dying. Your grandmother once told me that when one is faced with their own mortality the biggest regret of our life haunts us like an inescapable shadow.”

“Is her biggest regret not dying her hair blonde?”

“Her biggest regret is her son.”

Daphne frowned. “I didn’t know the Crouches had a son.”

“Barty has worked very hard to remove all memory of him from the public sphere,” Amelia explained with a sad smile. “He started Hogwarts when your father and I were in our last year. He was the apple of his mother’s eye but from what I gather he always resented his father for placing the burden of legacy on his shoulders from such a young age. He joined the Death Eaters straight out of Hogwarts. When he was subsequently caught it broke something fundamental in Barty and turned him into the man he is today. For a father to have to sentence their only child to imprisonment in Azkaban…”

“He had blonde hair?”

Amelia nodded. “Trudy was never the same after the trial. Neither of them were, to be honest. Barty gave his son his own name and hoped the boy would keep his legacy alive when he was gone. He never saw the dark turn his son was taking or if he did, his pride made him ignore it until it was too late.”

“Is he still in Azkaban?”

“Yes. He was given a life sentence for being part of the group that tortured the poor Longbottoms to insanity. Eloise Zabini tells me Trudy visits him every month. Barty hasn’t laid eyes on him since the trial. It was a closed trial but the scribe told your father the hatred in that young man’s eyes was chilling. He hated his father and wanted the whole world to suffer because of it.”

---

“What the hell, woman?”

Daphne slowly looked up, smiling happily at her best friend. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the large professor’s desk in the empty History of Magic classroom still in a state of undress and with her fingers popped in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the digits, lapping up the cum smeared on her skin.

It took her mind a second to register Tracey’s presence but even after she had she did not move. She was too far in Subspace and her fantasy of a happy domestic life with Harry to worry about things like modesty and accidentally flashing her best friend, especially since the only secret she had ever kept from Tracey was the truth about Sirius, and that wasn’t her secret to tell.

Tracey shut the door and walked across the classroom to stand in front of Daphne.

“Morgana, you grew a nice pair of tits. No wonder you have Potter wrapped around your finger,” Tracey teased with a smirk. She glanced at her own bosom and palmed her chest, eyeing it critically. “Do you think George thinks these are too small?”

“I think George loves you and thinks you’re perfect.” Daphne smiled and grabbed the edge of the desk, leveraging it to push herself onto her feet.

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” Tracey asked with a huge grin. “Hard to believe this is the same Daphne who once declared love was for fools and people who needed a reason to get laid.”

“I-” Daphne blushed. “I don’t know. I fell in love and realized it’s not so bad, I guess.”

“Well, your lover is currently battling three other people in a deadly maze to win a Tournament he really doesn’t want to be in. I think he’d appreciate it if his girlfriend was in the stands, cheering him on. Plus, your parents are wondering where you are and I doubt you want your mother to see you like this.”

Daphne snorted. “I don’t think she has the moral high ground here. I accidentally walked in on her dressed as a burlesque dancer once,” Daphne muttered as she buttoned up her tight blouse. “Come on.”

“Uh, Daphne?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you really want to watch the Third Task as a slutty teacher? Half the men in the audience will ruin their pants and Malfoy’s dick will probably explode.”

Daphne glanced at her clothes and blushed. “I’m not a slutty teacher. I’m the naughty student,” she mumbled, cleaning her stockings with a quick spell. She increased the length of her skirt to make sure its hem reached down to her knees and enlarged her blouse before fixing her tie.

“Was it hot?”

“Very,” Daphne replied with a bashful smile. “You should try it sometime.”

“I already have my sexually repressed friend.” Tracey grinned and threw her arm around Daphne’s shoulders as they walked out of the classroom and into the deserted hallway. The castle was dark, quiet, and devoid of people. “Except I was the stern, bespectacled teacher who caught George in the middle of a prank and decided he needed to be punished,” Tracey winked.

“How did you find me? Did Harry tell you where I was?” They stepped onto a staircase and allowed it to carry them down to the Atrium.

Tracey shook her head. “He was already late. We didn’t get a chance to talk before the Task started.” She held up the parchment in her hand. “Harry loaned this back to Fred and George to help them corner Bagman so they can get the money he owes them. It maps out the castle and the grounds and even has the maze. The people who made this were certified geniuses. George had the brilliant idea to use it to follow Harry’s progress,” Tracey explained as she handed Daphne the Marauder’s Map.

Daphne took the map from Tracey’s hands and flipped it to the section that generally housed the Quidditch Stadium. The oval arena had shifted to a maze. The stands close to the wavy black lines were a mess of unreadable names, the map trying its best to list the entire audience in the limited space available.

Daphne’s eyes shifted to the four names actually present in the maze as she walked across the castle grounds, her lips curving into a small smile as she spotted Harry steadily making his way to the center of the maze. A flicker of movement at the very edge of the page caught her attention and her smile morphed into a frown as she read the name of the man rapidly making his way toward the Forbidden Forest.

Barty Crouch.

He’s dead, Daphne thought, her mind racing a mile a minute. The map did not make mistakes. Harry and Sirius had both told her that and she was inclined to believe them. If it wasn’t mistaken…

When is a dead man not dead?

A voice that sounded a lot like her father popped up in her head with the answer within seconds.

‘When they have a child to keep the flame of their legacy alive, poppet.’

It did not take her long to piece everything together.

There was a disguised killer on the loose in Hogwarts. Barty Crouch Jr. had apparently died the summer before the start of the school year. The same Barty Crouch Jr. who hated his father with the passion of a thousand suns, treated Voldemort as his god, and was now walking away from the maze. If Sirius could break out, couldn’t-

Shit!

“Hey, Daphne, what’s wrong-” Tracey’s words were lost to the wind. Daphne had already broken out into a sprint, running towards the maze as fast as her legs would carry her.

Daphne forced herself to keep her breathing under control as she turned and ran down to the edge of the lake before sprinting along the beach. Panicking would do nobody any good. Harry and the others in the maze had no idea that the Task had been tampered with by a psychopath, which meant she had to enter the structure unobserved by the judges and the audience and warn them.

She considered going to the judges and asking them to stop the Task but dismissed the idea just as fast as she thought it. Karkaroff was probably in league with Crouch, Percy was a pompous ass, and all Bagman cared about was a good show. She has no idea how Dumbledore would react but she didn’t trust him enough to place her child’s father’s life in his hands.

The darkness shrouded her approach as she ran up to the ten-foot-tall hedge that formed the wall of the maze. She could hear the audience oohing and aahing as Bagman regaled them with all the dangers and creatures the Champions would have to face in the maze.

Daphne ignored his booming voice and turned her attention to the wall in front of her as she silently weighed her options.

In the end, she realized there was only one thing she could do. There was no life for her without Harry.

You’re turning me into a fucking sap, Daphne thought, glancing down at her stomach for a brief second. Come on, let’s go get your dad.

She raised her wand and calmly blasted a hole in the hedge with a perfectly placed ‘Reducto’.

Daphne took a deep breath before she steeled herself and ran head-first into the hole she had blasted in the hedge wall. She burst into the maze and gasped quietly as her pupils immediately dilated so her eyes could adjust to the increased darkness inside the narrow pathway. Bagman’s voice disappeared and she was surrounded by oppressive silence.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

She was as close to the center of the maze as she could be, which meant her chances of encountering traps, spells, and dangerous creatures were minimal. But not zero. She gripped her lit wand tightly, her body tense as her alert eyes scanned her surroundings, ready for anything that might prevent her from grabbing Harry and getting the hell out of there.

She carefully rounded the corner and her eyes widened at the sight of Krum holding Fleur aloft in the air while she weakly kicked her legs in a futile attempt to get free. His biceps bulged as he tightened his hold on her neck. His fingers were slowly, methodically, mercilessly squeezing the life out of her.

“Stupefy!” Daphne hissed, watching the red jet of light arc through the air and slam into Krum’s back. He froze and dropped to the ground in a loud THUD that echoed through the maze.

Daphne cursed silently under her breath.

There goes my element of surprise.

“Are you alright?” Daphne walked over to Fleur who was in a heap close to Krum’s stunned body, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath.

Fleur nodded. “Merci. I do not know what came over him. His eyes were blank-”

“The Imperius.” Daphne cut Fleur off with a sigh, not wishing for her to strain her hurt throat further by talking. “If I had a Sickle for every time I’ve walked in on an Imperiused Krum choking someone I’d have two Sickles. Which isn’t a lot but you know, it’s weird that it’s happened twice.” Daphne poked the stunned man’s back with a toe. “Maybe I need to have a talk with Granger about her boyfriend’s kinks and bedroom safety.”

“Why are you dressed like that?” Fleur asked, staring at Daphne’s pigtails and messy up makeup.

“Krum isn’t the only Quidditch player who likes to spice things up in the bedroom. Maybe it’s a Seeker thing.” Despite the danger they were all in, Daphne smirked. She knew there was no comparison to make, especially since Harry was remarkably resilient to the Imperius. He had never once hurt her or any other girl, and having seen Krum’s technique in the library, she knew Harry was infinitely more skilled as a lover. But she was nervous and dark humor was her crutch. “Harry would win the Tournament and waiting for him in his dormitory would be his prize. A very naughty witch.”

“You decided you did not want to leave anything to chance and came here to help him, non?” Fleur grasped the hand Daphne had extended and pulled herself to her feet.

“Something like that.” As fun as talking to the Veela was, Daphne didn’t have the time to explain everything. “Did you see him?”

Fleur nodded her head towards the center of the maze. “I was following him when Krum burst out of nowhere and attacked me,” she explained, her voice hoarse and accent pronounced.

“Thanks. Will you be alright ?”

Fleur nodded. She slumped against the wall of vines and shrubs behind her, slowly rubbing the red marks on the creamy skin of her neck as she tried to bring her breathing under control. “Best of luck.”

“I’ll need it,” Daphne muttered under her breath before sprinting deeper into the maze. Her journey was unexpectedly devoid of traps and dangerous creatures, and she suspected it was because Harry had already cleared the way for her.

She rounded a corner and slammed into Harry’s back.

Harry whirled around and before she could react his wand was pressed against her forehead, the hex dying out in his throat when he realized who it was.

“Daphne?!”

She had expected him to be angry, or at the very least, upset with her recklessness and flagrant disregard for rules. He sounded… relieved.

“Hi, daddy,” Daphne murmured. She frowned when her gaze settled on his blood-stained trousers. He was bleeding from a gash on his left leg, which explained how she had been able to catch up with him so easily.

“What’re you doing here?” He sounded tired and Daphne’s heart skipped a beat as he leaned into her side for support.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed into his side, supporting him and allowing him to take some weight off his injured leg.

“I don’t have the time to explain. We need to get out of here. There’s something here that’s waiting to kill you.”

“You mean other than the Acromantula, the Blast-Ended Skrewt, and the half-dozen hexes and traps that I encountered?” Harry asked as he led her deeper into the maze. “What’s going on?”

“I figured out who killed Crouch.” Daphne waved the map in her hand. “I saw him when he was leaving the maze and making his way to the Forbidden Forest. The man imperioused Krum again, by the way. He nearly killed Fleur before I stopped him.”

She knew she was rambling and barely making any sense but Harry got the gist of what she was trying to say and that was all that mattered.

“Look, we’re nearly at the center of the maze. All I have to do is go in there and grab the Cup. Then we can put this behind us, expose whoever it is you’ve caught, and spend the last week of our term thinking about what we’ll do during summer,” Harry said calmly as he came to a decision. He couldn’t abandon the Task, not with the threat of the Inviolable Magical Contract hanging over his head. What he could do was get it done as fast as possible and the quickest way to do that was to find the Triwizard Cup and win the damned Tournament.

“So I’ll go grab it and end this whole fiasco. You should-”

“I’m not leaving you,” Daphne growled in a voice so stern Harry knew it was futile to argue with her. “You’re bleeding badly. Come on. Let’s grab the stupid Cup and get out of here,” she muttered, leading him to the center of the maze.

The corridor they were walking down widened into a circular clearing that was flooded by eerie blue light flooding out from the Cup placed on a wooden pedestal.

They were the only ones in the clearing. Krum was stunned and Fleur was probably still recovering. Daphne had no idea where Cedric was and she didn’t care.

“What now?” She breathed as she helped Harry towards his well-deserved prize.

“Bagman told us the Task would end the minute a Champion grabs the Triwizard Cup.”

“What’re you waiting for?”

“I’m not doing it alone.”

Daphne groaned. “Potter if you’re thinking about waiting for one of the other champions because of some stupid Gryffindorian notion of chivalry and fairness I’m going to-”

“I thought we should do it together,” Harry said, cutting her off with a small smile.

Daphne paused and blinked, his words taking the wind out of her sails. “Me? I’m not a Champion.”

“Sure you are. You’re the reason I’ve made it this far. Without you, I’d be a dragon's lunch,” Harry murmured. He clasped her hand and threaded their fingers together before gently squeezing it. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

Daphne blinked back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. She carefully folded and tucked the map inside the pocket of his trousers and then nodded. “Yes, we are. Now and forever.”

He’s perfect and I don’t deserve him. She glanced at her belly, a small smile playing on her lips. He’s going to be an amazing father to you, poppet. Just don’t let him marry some idiot like Patricia when I’m gone, okay?

“Come on.” Harry gently pulled her up to the Cup.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

And as one they reached out and grabbed the Cup.

There was a sudden, unexpected tug behind her navel, and then darkness enveloped them as the portkey activated and teleported them away from the maze.

Daphne groaned in pain as she dropped onto hard ground, the Cup slipping from her grasp and rolling away.

“Harry?!” She gasped out, ignoring the pain blooming in her twisted ankle.

“I’m alright.”

Daphne turned in the direction of the groan, her heartbeat slowing down at the sight of him pushing himself up to a seated position at the base of a statue. His leg was still bleeding and was now bent at an awkward angle. The fall had clearly worsened his injury. She crawled over to him, making sure he’d be alright before she looked around and tried to ascertain where they were.

“Do you know-”

Harry’s unexpected scream cut her off. She turned to look at him with wide eyes. He had slumped over and when she cupped his cheeks and tilted his face up she realized his eyes had rolled into the back of his head and he was mumbling and moaning in pain. His wand slipped out of his fingers and dropped to the ground and his hands flew up to his scar. He shuddered in agony as he desperately rubbed the lightning bolt.

“Secure them both, Wormtail.” The voice was cold, ruthless, and devoid of all emotion. It chilled Daphne to the bone.

Before she could react, ropes wrapped around her wrists and ankles and dragged her to her feet. She was pulled back and bound to one of the marble statues. She turned her head to check on Harry and realized he was right next to her, tied to another statue.

“Daphne?” His voice was weak and full of pain.

“It’s going to be alright, Harry,” Daphne promised, struggling in vain against her bonds.

“Your confidence is amusing, Miss Greengrass,” the voice hissed. “Neither of you will be leaving this graveyard alive.”

The fog around them cleared and as Daphne’s eyes rested on the rows of neatly placed headstones, she realized they were in an eerie and unkempt graveyard. She could make out the dark outline of a church in the distance. It was clear they were no longer anywhere near Hogwarts or even Hogsmeade, for there were no mountains anywhere in sight.

Portkey, Daphne thought, cursing under her breath.

She turned her gaze in the direction of the voice and her eyes widened at the sight of the small clearing.

It had a large cauldron that contained a bubbling mixture that had the consistency of mud. Placed next to it was a chair and on it was a small crib much like the one she would have bought for their baby. It contained a bundle of blankets. The blankets covered something small that she was certain she never wished to lay eyes on.

“You,” she growled, glaring at the mousy man weaving through the headstones and making his way toward them. “You know, Sirius and Harry were too kind. If I was in the Shack with them last year I’d have carved your heart out.”

Pettigrew ignored her words.

“Such fire, Miss Greengrass. I can see why Potter likes you. Did you know his mother’s last act was to try and fight me to save his life?” Voldemort mused. His cold voice sounded what could only be described as ‘happy’. “Death was the reward for her bravery. You will suffer a similar fate. You are a stain on our kind, Miss Greengrass. The only thing worse than a Mudblood is a Blood Traitor.”

“That ‘mudblood’ stopped you, didn’t she?” Daphne spat, her voice filled with contempt. “Is the great Voldemort scared of strong women? Is that why you won’t face me?”

Goading a psychotic megalomaniac wasn't wise but it was the only strategy she could think of that would buy them the time she needed to come up with a plan.

Pettigrew was already in front of Harry, a large silver knife in his hand. Harry was in no condition to fight back, which meant it was up to her to do something to get them out of the graveyard and back to Hogwarts alive.

“Stop! Take her blood instead,” the shrill voice rasped.

Pettigrew paused, the silver knife hovering mere centimeters away from Harry’s trapped and exposed arm.

“M-master?” Pettigrew stammered, turning around to look at the cot balanced on the chair. It was clear he wanted to say something but lacked the courage to do so. After a long uncomfortable pause in which he did nothing but stare at the crib on the chair he finally spoke. “Y-you need Potter’s blood to overcome the blood protection. The ritual calls for-”

“I know what the ritual says, fool!” Voldemort screeched. “Can you not feel her hatred? Her anger and her pain? She hates me in a way you will not understand. Her hatred is born out not out of fear or envy, but from love,” he rasped, sounding disgusted with the notion. “With her blood, I’ll have power beyond your comprehension. Not even that old fool holed up in his castle will be able to stop me. With power like that, I don’t need the boy’s blood to overcome the protection left behind by his mother.”

Pettigrew pulled away from Harry and made his way to Daphne, eager not to incur his master’s wrath.

“NO!” Harry yelled, the prospect of Pettigrew hurting Daphne shattering Voldemort’s hold over him. He was breathing heavily but his gaze cleared and the pain in his head subsided to a dull ache within seconds. He struggled against his bonds in a futile attempt to break free. “Take me!” he begged, tilting his head to look at Pettigrew. “I’m the one you want. Take me. Let her go and you can have me. Please,” Harry begged, watching with wide eyes as the short man rolled up Daphne’s sleeve.

Voldemort’s delighted cackle filled the air. “How sentimental. I’ll do you one small mercy, Potter. I’ll kill her before I kill you. You can say your goodbyes to her lifeless body,” he said, his voice laced with cruel amusement.

“Harry.” Daphne ignored the man in front of her and turned to look at Harry. “Harry, listen to me. It’ll be alright. I promise. Okay? No matter what happens, I want you to know I love-”

She screamed as the cursed blade plunged into her arm.

Daphne turned to look at Pettigrew, forcing her breathing to remain steady. Her eyes blazed with anger and hatred, the pain in her arm barely registering.

“I’m going to kill you,” she hissed as she watched him collect her blood in a vial. “It might not be tonight, but I’m going to find you and I promise you it will be a death far worse and so much more painful than anything your master can manage.”

Pettigrew’s watery blue eyes flickered up to look at her for a brief second and he paled at the sight of the pure fury on her face.

He whimpered and scurried away from her, carrying the blood he had collected back to the cauldron.

“Quickly, Wormtail!” Voldemort screeched.

Daphne and Harry watched as Pettigrew set the vial of collected blood down into the crib before picking up the bundle of blankets. He carried it over to the cauldron and slowly undid the cloth around Voldemort’s form and for one brief second both Daphne and Harry got a clear glimpse at what the Dark Lord had been reduced to.

His body was the size of a small child, but it was unlike any child either of them had ever seen. He was hairless from head to toe and his skin was instead covered with scales. His stick-thin arms and legs flapped about, the creature obviously agitated at Pettigrew’s slow pace. For a brief second Voldemort turned his head to look at them and Daphne gasped. His face was flat and snake-like, with red eyes that burned with malice and hatred.

It was a sight she would never forget for the rest of her life.

Harry was slipping again, the pain radiating from his scar increasing in intensity and threatening to consume him. Still, he held on, his determination to fight fueled by his love for Daphne.

Pettigrew dropped Voldemort into the cauldron and for a brief second Daphne hoped against hope that the Dark Lord would either drown or boil.

But then Pettigrew began to speak and she knew it was just the beginning of the magic ritual.

I am the reason Voldemort returns to full power, she thought, despair threatening to consume her. Why had she not fought harder with Harry? Why didn’t she just drag him out of the maze? Why didn’t she anticipate a trap? Why, why why…

“Hey. It’s not your fault,” Harry whispered, almost like he had read her mind. He turned to look at her with tired green eyes. “It will be alright, I promise. No matter what happens here. We’re together and that’s all that matters.”

Daphne gave him a tearful smile. Even in the face of death, his first thought was to comfort her. She kept struggling against her bonds. Her wrists and ankles started to bleed, the rough ropes cutting into her skin as she continuously rubbed against them.

A loud CRACK drew their attention back to Pettigrew.

He had pulled out a coffin from the ground and ripped apart its lid. Suspended in the air above the open coffin was a fine trickle of white powder. Pettigrew raised his wand. He appeared terrified and his voice was shaky as he began the ritual to resurrect his master.

“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!”

The muddy surface of the potion in the cauldron bubbled and sparked as the powder fell into the cauldron. The cauldron rumbled and sparks flew out of it, illuminating Pettigrew’s pale face.

He tucked his wand in his cloak and whimpered as he pulled out the knife he had used to cut Daphne. He was openly sobbing, his voice barely audible as he extended his right hand over the cauldron and intoned in a scarcely audible voice.

“Flesh… of the servant… willingly given… you will revive… your m-master!”

Daphne was still losing blood from the huge gash in her arm and her vision was dimming but she could see the knuckles in Pettigrew’s left hand whiten as he tightened his grip on the knife. His shrill scream echoed through the eerie graveyard as he brought the knife down on his wrist, cleanly slicing off his right hand. The hand dropped into the cauldron with a splash and the potion roiled again.

Even as he sobbed and moaned in pain, Pettigrew, driven by fear and the realization that he had crossed the point of no return, hobbled over to the crib and retrieved the vial of blood he had collected from Daphne.

“B-b-blood of… of a mortal…enemy… forcibly taken… you will restore… your foe…”

He wheezed the incantation as he dripped Daphne’s blood into the cauldron.

Harry, knowing what was to come, intensified his struggle against the bonds keeping him in place but could not do anything to prevent Pettigrew from emptying the vial of blood into the cauldron. There was a flash of blinding light and by the time their vision cleared Pettigrew was slumped next to the cauldron, sobbing quietly as he cradled the useless, bleeding stump where his hand used to be.

Harry stilled as he turned his attention to the cauldron itself. Standing in it was a man, tall and as thin as a skeleton, with malice-filled red eyes and a snake-like face.

“Robe me, Wormtail,” Voldemort ordered coldly. He did not bother to provide any comfort or sympathy for his injured servant. He simply watched as Pettigrew dropped the knife and scrambled to grab the bundle of robes placed on the ground by the cauldron, sobbing and whimpering the entire time.

Daphne finally understood the true nature of the man in front of her as she watched Voldemort’s thin lips curve into an amused smile. He did not move to help Pettigrew. He simply stared at his injured servant struggling to push the robes over his head with one hand. The man did not care about anyone. Even his most loyal servants were mere tools to be used in his quest for power.

He wasn’t a true Slytherin. He wasn’t even human anymore.

Voldemort did not bother to acknowledge their presence. Once robed he turned and extended his hand, accepting the wand Pettigrew placed in his place with a satisfied sigh. He flexed his long, skeletal fingers and cackled in delight as he felt the power surging through his veins. He was restored, not to his old form, but to something more powerful than he could have imagined in his wildest dreams.

“My lord…” Pettigrew whined, hugging his feet in a pathetic display of reverence. “My lord… you have returned…”

“I have.” Voldemort’s voice was cold, amused, clearly relishing the freedom his new form offered him.

“My lord you promised… it hurts… please…”

Daphne, despite the mortal danger they were in, could not help herself from weakly rolling her eyes as she watched Pettigrew kiss Voldemort’s feet.

Once a rat, always a rat.

“Your hand, Wormtail,” Voldemort ordered silkily.

Pettigrew squealed with happiness and clambered to his feet. He extended his bloody stump only for Voldemort to laugh and carelessly swat it away.

“Your other hand, Wormtail,” Voldemort ordered. When Pettigrew did not comply Voldemort reached out with his free hand and grabbed his wrist, turning it around to reveal the Dark Mark tattooed on his skin.

It was the same symbol from the Quidditch World Cup, Harry noted, his eyes unable to pull away from the drama in front of him even as his mind tried to come up with a way to escape. Unlike the one in the sky above the forest, the Mark on Pettigrew’s wrist was blood red.

Voldemort caressed it for a few seconds before he pressed his thumb against it. Pettigrew screamed with pain and collapsed back to the ground. He rocked back and forth as the Mark on his skin morphed from blood red to pitch black.

“Did you know, Harry Potter, that this is my family graveyard?” Voldemort finally turned and addressed his biggest foe. “My father once lived in that Manor.” He extended a skeletal finger in the direction of the large house on a hill in the distance. “He was a filthy Muggle. He thought himself better than my mother. So he left her shortly after I was born. And my mother-” Voldemort snarled and spat on the floor. “She was pathetic, undeserving of her lineage. A blood traitor just like Miss Greengrass over here. She gave me his name. Tom Riddle.” His voice was filled with hatred and disgust. “I shed that name the day I killed him. Now, with his bones, I have closed the book on my past. With your death, I shall secure my future.”

He chuckled coldly at Daphne’s snarl. “Quiet. You have served your purpose. I am glad my loyal servant did not kill you. This… your blood for my resurrection… this was meant to be. And now the call has gone out. My true family will face a choice. Return to their rightful master’s side or make the unwise decision to flee.” He waved his wand and the bonds around Harry and Daphne disappeared. Both of them groaned quietly as their bodies hit the ground.

Harry immediately scrambled to grab his wand and to his surprise, Voldemort did nothing to stop him. He gritted his teeth as he propped himself up against the statue, his injured leg sending shocks of pain up his spine as he slowly stood and faced his nemesis.

“Good,” Voldemort said, his voice filled with cold satisfaction. The air around them SWOOSHED as figure after figure dressed in dark robes and hoods apparated into the graveyard around them. “They are coming. They shall see me defeat you in a fair fight and know that no one who challenges their master’s power lives to tell the tale.”

He raised his wand, the incantation dying in his throat. Instead, he croaked and dropped to the ground, his shrill scream piercing the stillness of the night sky. Everyone in the graveyard froze and watched him writhe in pain, thrashing on the ground next to his father’s coffin as his back arched and the limbs of his newly resurrected body bent at unnatural angles.

Daphne had taken advantage of the confusion. She found her wand and pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly as she fought to stay conscious. Her wound was still bleeding but with the adrenaline coursing through her body she barely noticed the pain anymore.

“My mother always told me Blood Magic is a double-edged sword. You can’t have the good without the bad,” Daphne said, her delirious giggle finally breaking the invisible spell in the air.

Harry reacted on instinct, dropping the robed figure closest to him with a quick STUPEFY.

The robed Death Eaters finally reacted, scrambling to pull out their wands. By the time they had managed to do so, Harry had dropped two more of their number. One of them slumped to the ground, stunned. The other screamed in pain and desperately tugged on his robes as purple, pus-filled boils the size of a fist covered his body from head to toe.

Harry grabbed Daphne’s shoulder and pulled her to the ground just as half a dozen jets of green light arced through the air over them.

“ALIVE,” Voldemort screeched, still convulsing on the ground. “I WANT THEM ALIVE.”

The Death Eaters paused and Harry took advantage of their confusion to take stock of their surroundings.

“Portkey,” he whispered, urgently nodding to the cup that was glowing blue again. “Go. I’ll cover you.”

“I’m not-”

“Daphne I swear I’ll spank you so hard your ass falls off if you argue with me,” Harry growled, pulling her to her feet.

“I’m not-”

“I’m right behind you. Go!” Harry said before throwing up a quick PROTEGO to shield her from the first hex directed at them.

To her, Harry had always been the sweet, kind, silly cinnamon roll Gryffindor she had fallen in love with. He liked cuddles, treacle tart, and spanking her. She knew he was powerful but she had never thought of him as dangerous.

This was the first time she saw the other side of him. The side that was nothing less than a God of War. Her pupils dilated with unexpected arousal as she watched him attack the hapless Death Eaters with the fury of a demon, parrying their curses with ease and responding with every hex, curse, and spell he had studied throughout the year. He slowly fell back, covering her approach to the portkey.

“Now is not the time,” she hissed to herself as she felt a trickle of wetness snaking down her thigh. She was nearly there but the constant ducking and weaving slowed her progress.

“HARRY!” Daphne yelled once she realized the portkey was finally within reach.

Harry threw up one last PROTEGO before he turned and dived to the ground. Their fingers made contact with the cup together and darkness enveloped them as the portkey activated and teleported them back to the relative safety of Hogwarts.

Notes:

To me, Voldemort's biggest flaw was his arrogance. He never quite considered he could be wrong, or that someone was smarter than him. And that will ultimately be his undoing. As for Daphne, let's just say she saw Harry's other side and despite the danger they were in all her mind could think of was 'mama likey'. Her boyfriend can cuddle, spank, and outduel idiots like Lucius Malfoy? What more could a girl want? As I've promised before, let me repeat. Harry, Daphne, and their baby will get their happy ending despite the dangers they'll have to fight!