A Fortuitous Arrangement Chapter 16.

Chapter 16: Harry

Content Warnings: Non-graphic Description of a Stab Wound.

“Where do you think she is? It’s not like her to be late.”

Harry looked up from the mess of potion ingredients on their dining table. Susan had not been happy about him appropriating their kitchen for his potion-making attempts, but had relented when he’d pointed out that there was no way Snape would let him practise in one of the empty Potions classrooms. He needed a good grade in Potions if he wanted to take it as a NEWTs-level subject, and the way things stood, he was barely managing As in most of his assignments and exams. Harry sighed and abandoned his attempt to dissect a frog’s heart, walking over to Susan and bending to kiss her forehead.

“I wouldn’t worry, love. She probably got sidetracked threatening someone who mildly inconvenienced her,” Harry murmured against her skin. He leaned over the backrest of the couch, attempting to get closer to his wife. “I’m more than happy to keep you company,” he whispered huskily. 

“Not when my kitchen looks like that, you’re not.” Susan wrinkled her nose and pushed him away with a grin. “My kitchen was sacrificed in your quest for unlimited power. I’m not letting that sacrifice be in vain.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Unlimited Power? I’m only trying to get the first O of my life in Potions.” He had to admit she had a point. Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from the couch and padded back into the kitchen. “Not sure how you deduced I wanted unlimited power from wanting a good grade. Do you think Hermione’s an evil genius?” he teased.

“You’re willingly agreeing to spend two extra years with Severus Snape and courting the heir of the largest potion-making conglomerate in Europe.” Susan coughed, then continued in her best attempt at Snape’s voice, “One would think you want to brew life, stopper death, and uncover the secrets of reality!”

“One, I’d drop Potions like a hot potato if NEWTs-level Potions wasn’t a prerequisite for the Auror training program. And two, I’m not courting Daphne!” Harry glared at the tiny heart on the chopping board. Why did everyone think it was their business to speculate about him and Daphne? The answer was absolutely nothing, but no one seemed willing to believe that, not even his wife. He pressed the knife into the flesh with too much force, slicing the heart clean in two. Dropping the knife, he threw his hands up in frustration. “You and Hermione need to stop pushing for something that will never happen.”

“I don’t see you spending entire days roaming the castle with anyone else. You’re friends with Ginny. You don’t spend nearly as much time with her.”

“Daphne and I spend so much time together because we’re trying to find a place for our duelling club. It’s not my fault we can’t find anywhere decent,” Harry groused. He swept the remains of the ruined frog’s heart off the cleaning board and replaced it with a fresh one. “We’re thinking of going to Hogsmeade next week.”

“To find a good spot for our club?” Susan asked.

“Yes,” Harry growled.

“Daphne’s smart enough to know that smuggling thirty people out of the castle every week is impractical, love,” Susan giggled. “And so are you. Where do you plan to scout, Madam Puddifoot’s Cafe?”

“Daphne will carve out my heart with a butter knife if I take her within fifty feet of that place.” Harry carefully gathered the neatly sliced pieces of the frog’s heart and dropped them into the small cauldron simmering on the stovetop. “I think I messed up the timing,” he said, sighing as the liquid in the cauldron turned red instead of the expected purple. He extinguished the flame under the cauldron and dumped its contents into the bin. “I need to prep the ingredients faster.”  

“So you have thought about where you’d take her.”

“Did you not hear what I just said about the potion? I spent two hours trying to brew it.”

“You’re intelligent enough to improve your potion-making skills without my help.”

“Why do you keep pushing me about this?” Harry ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Susan’s insistence that he face his feelings for Daphne was the only sore spot in an otherwise perfect relationship. “Things are fine just the way they are right now.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy!”

“I want her to be happy too, Harry,” Susan added softly. 

“I don’t know what she wants from me.” Harry turned his back to Susan and began cleaning the now-empty cauldron and the cluttered kitchen table “Do you?”

“It’s not my place to answer for her. All I can do is give you the same advice you gave Hermione and me not too long ago.”

“Never drip wax from random candles onto your skin?” Harry deflected. “That’s good advice. Candle wax can cause serious burns.”

“No, my sweet, deliberately obtuse husband.” Susan wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him from behind. She buried her face in his back and gently pressed kisses down his spine. “Be honest with her and with yourself. Fortune favours the bold. And you-” Susan paused, grabbing his hips and using him for support as she sank to her knees behind him, “-are the bravest man I know.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you,” Susan said, toying with the button of his jeans.

Any further attempts at reconciliation were interrupted by an urgent knock on the door. Harry gently pulled himself free from Susan’s embrace and walked through the apartment to the door. He pulled it open, coming face-to-face with Daphne. 

“Is it Daphne?!” Susan shouted.

“Sorry, I’m late. I’ve been stabbed,” Daphne muttered, then collapsed into Harry’s hastily extended arms.

“Daphne? Daphne?!” It took a moment to reorient himself, but Harry quickly adjusted Daphne in his arms and dragged her limp body into the apartment. “Susan, help me! Daphne’s hurt!” 

Susan was by his side within seconds, helping him lift Daphne into his arms. As she did, Daphne’s arm slipped from her torso, revealing the bloody gash she had been covering. Her white blouse and Harry’s grey shirt were stained with her blood. 

“Fuck! The bedroom, now.”

Susan’s uncharacteristic swearing jolted Harry out of his shock and spurred him into action. He hurried to their bedroom with Daphne in his arms, laying her down on the bed as gently as he could. Straightening, he stared at his blood-stained hands in shock. He drew a deep breath, forcing himself to lock the rage bubbling inside him away until Daphne was safe.

“What do you need me to do?” Harry asked, turning to Susan for guidance. 

“Take off her blouse. I need to stem the bleeding before we can move her to the Hospital Wing.”

“Wouldn’t it be better-” Harry started, staring at his unconscious friend dubiously. It felt wrong for him to undress her after all the talks they’d had about the importance of her virtue.

“You can protect her modesty or her life. Your choice,” Susan said, then rushed into the bathroom. 

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” Harry joked nervously as he unbuttoned Daphne’s blouse. His attention was immediately drawn to the ugly gash on the otherwise unblemished skin of her taut abdomen. “Susan, it’s bleeding badly!”

“Press your hand against the wound and don’t move it until I say so. Don’t be afraid to apply pressure!” Susan shouted over the sound of running water.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, pressing his palm against the open wound. Daphne groaned and stirred but did not wake. “How much more blood can she lose?” 

“I don’t know, but I don’t like what I see,” Susan said, rushing back into the room with the first-aid kit they kept in their bathroom. “I’m going to pack the wound with gauze and douse it in dittany. Then, we’re going to move her to the Hospital Wing.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Wash your hands and grab the Marauder’s Map. Figure out the quickest way to get Daphne there without running into anyone,” Susan ordered in a shaky voice. “The last thing we need is Umbridge stopping us on the way,” she muttered as she tore the roll of cotton gauze into manageable pieces. 

Harry’s gaze lingered on Daphne’s closed eyes and sweat-dampened forehead for a second before he managed to pull his attention away from her. He ran to the bathroom and scrubbed his bloody hands under running water. His shirt, arms, and even the sink were now stained with Daphne’s blood. He wiped his hands on his jeans and ran back into the bedroom. Susan was swaying in place as she muttered a healing incantation. Harry forced himself to ignore her and Daphne as he crossed to the nightstand. He opened the drawer, retrieved the yellowish parchment, then picked up his wand and tapped it. 

“I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good,” he whispered. He studied the map that materialised on the parchment, trying to find the best route from their apartment to the Hospital Wing without running into anyone. 

“Filch is on the fourth floor. Prefects are on the seventh.”

“Umbridge?”

“In her office,” Harry answered after quickly scanning the map. “The best time to get to the Hospital Wing would be now.”

“I need more time.”

“It’s now or never, Susie. Filch will move to the fifth floor sooner or later.”

“Ugh, okay! Levitate her, you’re better at Charms than I am.”

“I can carry her.”

“A stable levitation charm is safer,” Susan said as she wrapped the duvet around Daphne. “If you want her to live, stop wasting time and do as I say!”

Harry nodded. He lifted his wand and cast a simple levitation spell, raising Daphne’s body a few inches off the bed. They moved through the apartment as quickly as he could without breaking the spell’s balance. Susan followed behind, her wand pressed to Daphne’s temple as she muttered under her breath. 

“All clear,” Harry said, glancing at the Marauder’s Map. He left the apartment and moved down the silent, dimly lit hallway until he reached the staircase. Adjusting Daphne’s position with a flick of his wand, he climbed onto the stairs, Daphne hovering beside him and Susan following close behind.

“Who do you think did it?”

“Can’t talk,” Susan answered tersely. Her spellcasting resumed immediately and did not stop until the staircase shuddered to a halt on the fifth floor. “I’ve done all I can for her. Anything more is beyond my skills,” she added, joining Harry’s side as they rushed down the hallway to the Hospital Wing.

The redhead unceremoniously flung open the doors of the Hospital Wing, allowing Harry to carry Daphne into the room without stopping. By the time he had set her down on the nearest empty bed, Susan had already fetched Madam Pomfrey.

“What happened?!” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, appearing alarmed at Harry’s state.

“I’m not hurt.” Harry glanced at his shirt and hands. “This is all Daphne’s blood.”

“We found her like this. No idea how much blood she’s lost. Stab wound on the abdomen, which did not respond to my standard healing spell,” Susan said briskly. With a wave of her wand, she ripped the duvet away so Madam Pomfrey could examine Daphne. “I’ve kept her sedated on the way here, not sure how much good that did.”

“Alright. Potter, out! Susan, stay, I could do with some help,” Madam Pomfrey ordered. She physically pushed Harry away from the bed, then drew the curtains around it to block his view of Daphne. 

Harry shuffled to the nearest empty bed and sat down, numb from the whole experience. Someone had to be told, but who? Madam Bones? Lord Greengrass? Sirius or Tonks? All options required him to leave the Hospital Wing, which he refused to do until he knew Daphne was out of danger. 

Dumbledore, he decided. The headmaster had been infuriatingly distant all year, but someone had been stabbed in his school. This wasn’t something he could avoid addressing. However, he had no idea how to get past the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office without the correct password. After some thought, he finally came up with a solution he was sure would work.

“Dobby?” he called out softly into the darkness. It was answered moments later by a loud crack as a diminutive creature materialised in front of him.

“Master Harry called for Dobby?” Dobby asked, bowing so low his nose touched the ground. “Master Harry is hurt?” he added once he had straightened. His big golf-ball-sized green eyes studied Harry with concern.

“Not my blood. My friend is hurt. Dobby, I need your help.”

“Dobby does not know how to heal Master Harry’s friend,” Dobby said sadly.

“Madam Pomfrey and Susan have that covered,” Harry replied reassuringly. His friend looked close to tears, and if the past was any indication, he was seconds away from punishing himself for his perceived failure. “I need you to get Professor Dumbledore. You need to tell him that Daphne Greengrass has been attacked and Harry Potter found her. Ask him to come to the Hospital Wing.” Harry paused, then asked, “Can you leave the castle?”

“Dobby can go anywhere he desires,” Dobby answered proudly.

“After you tell Professor Dumbledore what happened, you need to find Cyrus Greengrass and tell him everything as well. Daphne is his daughter; he deserves to be here. I don’t know where he is.”

“I will find him, Master Harry,” Dobby bowed once more, then disappeared with another loud crack.

Harry did not have to wait too long for the headmaster. Dumbledore swept into the Hospital Wing, wearing robes the colour of the midnight sky, a grave expression on his face. As the headmaster walked towards him, Harry noticed the man still would not look him in the eye. What was he so afraid of? He squashed the irritation bubbling inside him. His scar had begun to prickle on the way to the Hospital Wing, and the burning had only worsened since. He was already on edge, and Dumbledore was not helping.

“Daphne’s hurt.”

“Dobby told me,” Dumbledore said softly. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I found her like this,” Harry lied. If Dumbledore did not trust him, the man had no right to be privy to his secrets. His relationship with other students in the castle was none of the headmaster’s business. “She had been stabbed. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Did you find the weapon?”

“No. It looked like a knife from the size of the wound, but I can’t say for sure, Professor.”

“This is troubling.” Dumbledore stroked his beard, deep in thought. He appeared entirely unfazed by the bombshell Harry had dropped in his lap. He sat down on the bed next to Harry. “I suppose there is nothing we can do except wait for Miss Greengrass to regain consciousness.” Dumbledore kept stroking his beard and hummed under his breath, refusing to say anything else.

Fortunately, Harry did not have to sit in uncomfortable silence for too long. Cyrus Greengrass strode through the open doors of the Hospital Wing scarcely ten minutes later, his aristocratic features twisted with barely suppressed rage.

“Good,” Cyrus growled once he spotted Dumbledore. “You’re here. I just had a house elf transport me to the Great Hall after telling me my daughter has been stabbed.” 

“Did you ask Dobby to fetch Lord Greengrass as well, Harry?” Dumbledore asked gravely.

“Yes, I did. It felt only right,” Harry answered without an ounce of shame. 

“You’re damn right it’s the right thing to do. Were you hoping to sweep this under the rug, Albus?” Cyrus thundered.

“I just hoped to break the news to you more delicately, Lord Greengrass.”

“My daughter-” Cyrus pointed a trembling finger at the shut curtains, “-is lying there after having nearly bled out under your care. No amount of delicacy is going to change that.”

“If you’re done arguing, I need help.”

The three men turned their attention to a pale and exhausted-looking Madam Pomfrey at the same time.

“I’ve stopped the bleeding, but she lost a lot of blood. Let’s hope the blood-replenishing potion does its job. The wound will not heal no matter what I do, and she will not be out of the woods until it does. The weapon was probably cursed. Even if you get a specialist from Mungo’s, which I recommend you do, they will not be able to do anything until they figure out which curse was imbued into the knife that was used to stab Miss Greengrass.”

“How long will that take?” Harry asked, unable to help himself.

“Days, if we are lucky. Weeks, realistically. Daphne will need to be sedated until we figure out a cure.”

“I need to make some calls,” Cyrus said and left the room.

Madam Pomfrey returned to Daphne’s side and closed the curtain behind her. Dumbledore lapsed back into silence. Harry, unsure of how much more of it he could take, decided to join Cyrus Greengrass outside the Hospital Wing. Anything was better than Dumbledore blatantly ignoring his presence.

“Everything alright?” Harry asked the man pacing in the hallway.

Cyrus turned, lowering his wand when he spotted who had spoken. “Yes. A healer I know should be here soon. I’ve also sent a message to Madam Bones.” Cyrus paused. “Lord Potter, can I trust you to act in Daphne’s best interests while I’m gone? I should be back soon.”

“Harry, please.” Harry looked at the man strangely. “I know it’s not my place to ask, but do you really have to go somewhere else right now?”

“I’m leaving to investigate the nature of the curse that afflicts my daughter.”

“Can I come with you? Susan Bones, my wife, is with Daphne. She cares about your daughter just as much as I do, if not more.”

“I doubt Albus would approve of you tagging along with me. My methods aren’t strictly legal.”

“Professor Dumbledore is not my guardian,” Harry responded coolly.

“What would your… guardian think?”

“My guardian thinks the law should never stop you from doing what’s right.”

“They sound like a smart person.” Cyrus was already walking down the hallway and beckoned for Harry to follow. “Is it anyone I have the pleasure of knowing?”

“I’m not sure, Lord Greengrass,” Harry responded politely. “I don’t know what social circles you run in.”

“I doubt Sirius Black likes the kind of parties I attend,” Cyrus said lightly. The undercurrent of tension had not disappeared from his voice. “But I do approve of his choice of friends.”

“Madam Bones?”

“Quite so.”

“How are you so calm right now?” Harry asked as they walked into the dark courtyard. They hadn’t encountered a single soul during their journey through the castle. He was relieved to find the courtyard just as empty.

“Panicking won’t help my daughter. Don’t be mistaken, I am furious. But I shall reserve my ire for those who deserve it.”

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, slightly out of breath. Cyrus Greengrass was a fast walker. He was practically jogging to keep up with the man. If not for the direness of their situation, he would have asked him to slow down. 

“Knockturn,” Cyrus said, blasting open the wrought iron gates in front of him with a wave of his wand. “Hold my hand. Have you apparated before?”

“Yes.” Harry reached out and grabbed the outstretched hand. He felt a tug on his navel, then all air was sucked out of his lungs as they vanished into nothingness. They landed in a dark, empty room. Harry collapsed on the hardwood floor, clutching his forehead.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Just a headache,” Harry lied. He pulled his hand away from his stinging scar and forced himself onto his feet. “Where are we?”

“The backroom of a store I own in Knockturn Alley. Under a subsidiary of Greengrass Potions, of course.”

“Why do you own a store in Knockturn Alley?” Harry asked, following the man out of the room. The store was shut. Harry glanced at the glass cabinets, his eyes going wide at the variety of potion ingredients on offer. “I’ve never seen cincoh powder. Isn’t it illegal to import, because of how strong an aphrodisiac it is?”

“Why do you think it is on sale in a store that is owned by a shell company, Harry?” Cyrus asked. “It’s very popular in… certain kinds of parties. The law banning aphrodisiacs was passed by prudes. I don’t judge. I don’t let the law stop me from doing what I think is right.”

“That… I see,” Harry murmured as they exited the store. In contrast to Hogwarts, Knockturn Alley was a hub of activity despite the lateness. Harry dodged a veiled woman selling picked frog eyes and ran up to Cyrus. He was prevented from continuing his line of questioning by Cyrus resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Borgin and Burkes,” Cyrus said, nodding to the sign in front of them. “Two of the nastiest people on this street, and I do not say that lightly. Let me do the talking.”

“Yes, sir.”

The bell above the door jingled when Cyrus pushed the door open. They were greeted at the counter by a short, balding man with the filthiest teeth Harry had ever seen. The man’s lips were practically black. Harry looked away from him to study the store, which, he realised in hindsight, was a mistake. The store was stuffed full of items that he found plainly revolting. Shrunken banshee heads, cursed necklaces… hard-to-detect poisons, Borgin and Burkes was clearly a haven for anyone interested in the dark arts.

“Lord Greengrass! This is a surprise. And your… protege?” the man craned his neck in an attempt to look at Harry. The attempt was foiled by Cyrus, who smoothly stepped to the side to block Harry from view.

“Not important. I’m in a hurry.”

“What can I do for you, Lord Greengrass? I’m afraid I have no new potion ingredients to show you,” the man said in a simpering tone. “I do have an enchanted chest that-”

“How about a cursed dagger?”

“I’m not sure if I have any in stock, but if you let me know what you want to use it for, I can-”

“Are you out of stock because you sold your last one to someone recently?” Cyrus asked, cutting him off. “Who did you sell a cursed dagger to, Borgin?”

“I cannot reveal the identity of my customers,” Borgin replied, his voice losing its sweetness. “A fact that I’m sure you appreciate, Lord Greengrass.”

“So there was a dagger.”

“I did not say that.”

Harry pulled his hand away from the necklace and closed the display cabinet. His scar was throbbing painfully, and his vision was darkening. They were running out of time. Lord Greengrass’s approach was too slow.

“What kind of dagger was it?”

“I can’t tell you anything, sir,” Borgin answered smoothly.

“I will find out one way or another. Do you really want to make this difficult, Borgin?”

“I’m your connection to Knockturn, little lordling. You won’t burn me for this,” Borgin wheezed. 

“He might hesitate, but I promise you, I won’t,” Harry growled. He brushed past Cyrus Greengrass and hopped over the wooden bar blocking the entrance to the area behind the counter. He grabbed Borgin’s collar and dragged him backward, the jars on the shelf behind him rattling as he pinned the disgusting man against it. Harry reached out and grabbed the closest jar he could reach. “Boaskin poison sacs. We read about these in Potions,” Harry growled. He pinned the jar between his leg and the shelf and used his free hand to unscrew the lid. “It takes seconds for symptoms to manifest after ingestion. Death, if the antidote isn’t administered, occurs in minutes. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.”

“I’m more than happy to force his mouth open,” Cyrus added mildly. 

“Much appreciated.” Harry’s entire forehead was burning. He could hear laughter in the back of his head, maniacal feminine laughter. The voice sounded like no one he knew. The shelves and cabinets around them rattled violently, dropping jars of rare ingredients and invaluable treasures onto the floor. “I don’t give a shit about Lord Greengrass’s contacts or business ventures. You’re going to tell us about the dagger, or I’m going to shove this into your slimy mouth,” Harry growled, fishing the small sacs out of the jar. He pulled his leg away, letting the jar shatter on the stone floor. Vinegar splashed onto their shoes. 

“You’re Harry Potter,” Borgin wheezed. “You ain’t got it in you, boy. You’re weak.”

“Take a good look at me.” His clothes and hands were still stained with Daphne’s blood. “That dagger hurt someone very dear to me.” Harry kept his eyes on Borgin as he brought the sacs up and pressed them against his lips. “Try me,” he hissed. 

“It’s true!” Borgin stammered. “He’s nuts!”

“That is the public consensus. It’s not like the Minister of Magic would lie, Borgin. You'd better give him what he wants,” Cyrus said cheerfully. “Harry, take that away from his lips. I have a suspicion our friend is suddenly feeling chatty.”

“I-It was an ancient Lumerian curse,” Borgin said, squirming in Harry’s hold. “Can’t be undone externally.”

“What does that mean?!”

“Daphne is trapped in her worst memory. To recover, she has to face her biggest fear and overcome it,” Cyrus sighed.

Harry dropped the short man and turned to Cyrus, chewing worriedly on his lip. “And if she can’t?”

The bell jingled, announcing someone’s entry into the store.

“We can keep her alive but…” Cyrus shrugged helplessly. 

“I was just at Hog…warts,” Amelia said, stepping into the store. She surveyed the carnage with wary eyes. “What happened here?”

“Nothing too serious,” Cyrus said after taking a deep breath. His voice was shaky, but he no longer seemed on the verge of collapse. “How did you find us?”

“Educated guess.”

“You can’t be seen at this store.”

Harry stayed silent, too shocked to speak or move.

“Optics are the least of my worries right now. Did you find what you came for?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Amelia watched Cyrus extricate Harry from behind the counter. “It was highly irresponsible of you to bring him here.”

“It was my choice,” Harry muttered. The pain in his head had subsided, leaving him feeling numb and hollow.

“Doesn’t matter. Come on,” Amelia said, ushering both of them out of the store. “I’m sorry about your friend, Harry,” she added in a kinder tone. 

Harry followed them back to Cyrus’ store, too lost in his thoughts to register her words. 

“I’m sorry, Cyrus. I failed.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cyrus muttered. He unlocked the store and let them enter before shutting the door. “I’m not a child, Amelia. I can take responsibility for my actions. I always knew there was a possibility of retribution.”

“I promised I’d take care of your girls.”

“You’ve done an exemplary job so far. Spare me the pity and apology, Amelia. I’d rather have your rage.”

“She’s hurt because of me, isn’t she?” Harry asked softly.

“Not everything in the world is your fault, Harry,” Cyrus answered. He kneeled on the dusty floor and took Harry’s hand, gently squeezing it. “That is a very self-centred way of thinking.”

“Cyrus-”

“Amelia,” Cyrus responded calmly.

“You’re pushing things too far. Harry is the most selfless person I know.”

“Hubris comes in many forms, Amelia. Harry should reflect on that. He is not responsible for the choices others make.” Cyrus grasped Harry’s shoulder. “Snap out of it, Harry. You’re not powerful enough to make my daughter want to be friends with you against her will. She chose to do that despite knowing the potential consequences. Blaming yourself cheapens her bravery.”

“Are you always this blunt?”

“Only with the people I like.”

Harry laughed tearfully. “That’s what she said.”

“Well, she had to have gotten it from somewhere.” Cyrus groaned as he stood. “Are you all right?” he asked in a kinder tone.

“Yeah. Just worried.”

“Me too,” Cyrus admitted softly. 

“As much as I would like to see two repressed men work through their issues in a dusty shop full of ingredients of dubious legality, we don’t have the time for this.”

“There’s nothing more we can do for Daphne, Amelia,” Cyrus sighed. “She needs to overcome the curse on that dagger on her own. The wound will not fully heal until she does.”

“That wasn’t what I’m talking about.” Amelia took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t want to add to your plate tonight-”

“I don’t think you have a choice,” Cyrus cut in.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s something catastrophic. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“It took me this long to come to Hogwarts because your patronus found me at Azkaban. The prison is in ruins, Cyrus. The dementors have abandoned their posts.”

“The prisoners?”

“Most of them are free. Some were already dead when we arrived.”

“He offered all of them a choice between servitude and death?”

“That’s my working theory.”

“Madam Bones?” Harry finally spoke, his eyes wide. His scar hurting, the alien feelings bubbling in him… that maniacal laughter. “It was Voldemort, wasn’t it? Did he free a woman with a crazy laugh? Like, someone who is batshit insane?”

“That’s a strange way to ask me if he’s freed Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry,” Amelia answered with a shudder. “Yes. She is free. I’m sorry, but I really can’t stay. I only came here to stop you from doing something you might regret, Cyrus.”

“What’re you going to do, Madam Bones?” Harry asked.

“Go back to Azkaban to see if I can find some clues,” Amelia answered with a sigh. She followed Cyrus into the store’s backroom. “Or go to Fudge’s house and beat some sense into him. I haven’t decided.”

“Go back to Azkaban while the trail is still hot. I’ll pay the Minister a visit after I drop Harry back to Hogwarts,” Cyrus offered. 

“You? But I thought we agreed you do your best work from the shadows.”

“They changed the rules. They made it personal,” Cyrus said tersely. “Take my hand, Harry. I’ll bring coffee and breakfast to your office in the morning, Amelia.”

“What’re you doing to do?” Amelia asked.

“I haven’t yet decided,” Cyrus answered. With that, he apparated into the void with Harry.

Notes:

So, this chapter is like a few hours late, my apologies! I got side-tracked by this new show that I found really interesting, and before I knew it, a few hours had passed. BUT, it is here now, and I hope you like it! In keeping with my determination to be more creative, I've really tried to flesh out the setting of the story. More vivid descriptions, additional side characters, and more complex motivations. Let me know what you think of the chapter, and more importantly, what do you think Daphne's greatest fear is?