Harry's feet hit solid marble, and he stumbled slightly, his arms tightening around the girl's limp form. Blood dripped onto the pristine floor of the entrance hall, forming small crimson puddles that spread slowly across the white stone.
"Hermione!" Harry's voice came out rougher than he intended, filled with urgency. "Celeste! I need help!"
His shout echoed through the manor's halls. For a long moment, there was only silence. Then he heard rapid footsteps, two sets converging from different directions.
Hermione appeared first from the direction of the library. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had a book clutched in one hand. "Harry! Thank God, I was getting worried because you hadn't checked in today and—"
She stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes went wide as they took in the scene before her: Harry covered in blood, cradling an unconscious girl whose face was barely visible beneath the grime and gore.
"What happened?" Hermione's voice climbed an octave. "Who is that? Harry, what—"
Celeste arrived moments later, bursting through the doorway from the sitting room. Unlike Hermione, she didn't waste time on questions. Her eyes assessed the situation in seconds, taking in the blood, the girl's ashen complexion, and the way her chest barely rose and fell.
"Set her down, Master," Celeste said, already moving forward. "Carefully. On the floor, right there."
Harry nodded, lowering the girl as gently as he could. His arms felt stiff, locked from holding her so tightly during the portkey journey. The moment she left his grip, he could see just how bad it really was. Her clothes were soaked through, dark with blood. Her skin had gone from ashen to nearly gray. The potions had barely done enough.
Hermione knelt beside them, her hand flying to her mouth as she took a good look at the girl.
"Oh my god. Oh my god, that's—" Her voice cracked. "Harry, that's Daphne Greengrass."
Harry blinked. "Who?"
Hermione didn't respond. She was staring at the unconscious girl with something that looked like shock mixed with disbelief.
"Move back, Hermione." Celeste's voice cut through sharply. She dropped to her knees beside Daphne, her hands already glowing with a crimson light that Harry had seen her use multiple times before. "Master, please step back a little bit. I need some space."
Hermione scrambled backward. Harry stayed close, although he took a step back.
Celeste focused all her attention on Daphne. Her hands hovered over the girl's torso, and the glow intensified. "Master, please tell me everything. What happened to her? Every injury you know about."
"Cursed knife wound in her left shoulder. I treated it as best I could, but it resisted healing magic. Burns on her arms—I used dittany on those. Broken leg, maybe, or at least twisted badly. She took a Cruciatus curse. And she's lost a lot of blood. I gave her two blood replenishing potions and several healing draughts, but—"
"But it wasn't enough." Celeste's expression darkened. Her hands moved lower, pressing against Daphne's abdomen. The glow pulsed, and she hissed through her teeth. "Internal bleeding. Severe. Something ruptured. Probably when—damn it."
"Can you heal her?" Harry asked desperately.
"I can stabilize her." Celeste's hands kept moving. "But she needs more than simple healing potions. There's damage here that..." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "The cursed knife. Tell me about it, Master."
"I don't know much," Harry admitted. "She said it was cursed. When I tried to heal the wound, it wouldn't take. I had to use a blood clotting potion first, which made her scream, and then—"
"Cursed how?" Celeste interrupted. "Dark magic? Poisoned? What?"
"I don't know!"
Celeste muttered something in a language Harry didn't recognize. Her hands pressed harder against Daphne's shoulder, right where the knife wound was. The glow intensified until it was almost painful to look at directly.
Daphne's back arched off the floor. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, though no sound came out. Her whole body went rigid, every muscle tensing at once.
"Hold her down!" Celeste exclaimed.
Harry and Hermione both moved at the same time. Harry grabbed Daphne's shoulders, careful to avoid the wound. Hermione took her legs, keeping them from thrashing.
"What is happening, Celeste?" Hermione's voice was tight with worry.
"I'm purging the curse." Celeste's voice had gone low, almost guttural, and in that moment, both Harry and Hermione saw the demoness that lurked beneath the sultry surface. Her eyes were glowing crimson now too, matching the light from her hands. "It's embedded in the wound. Have to burn it out before I can heal anything else."
Daphne's body jerked again. Blood began seeping through, fresh and bright red, and her eyes flew open, unseeing and wild with pain, before rolling back in her head.
"Almost there," Celeste murmured. "Almost... got it."
The light flared one final time, so bright Harry had to look away. When he looked back, Daphne had gone completely still. For a terrible moment, he thought she'd died. Then he saw her chest move. Shallow, but there.
Celeste sat back on her heels, breathing hard. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and the glow had faded from her hands and eyes. "That's the immediate crisis handled. But she needs more. Much more."
She stood abruptly. "I'm taking her to one of the guest rooms. She'll need constant monitoring for the next several hours. This is critical. If anything shifts, if any of the internal damage I couldn't fully assess starts causing problems..." She didn't finish the sentence.
With a wave of her hand, Daphne's body lifted off the floor. She floated in the air, suspended by Celeste's magic, blood still dripping from her clothes onto the marble below.
"Wait," Hermione started, but Celeste was already moving, guiding Daphne's floating form down the hallway with swift, purposeful strides.
They followed Celeste through the manor's corridors. Harry's heart was still hammering, adrenaline making everything feel sharp. Hermione's fingers were ice-cold in his, and he could feel the tension radiating off her in waves.
Celeste chose a room on the second floor, one of the bigger guest chambers. With another wave of her hand, she lowered Daphne onto the bed. The clean white sheets immediately began soaking up blood.
"I'll need supplies," Celeste murmured without looking back at them. "Medical supplies, potions, clean linens. And hot water. Lots of it."
"I'll get them," Hermione said automatically.
"No, Hermione." Harry interjected firmly. "Celeste can summon what she needs. Us two need to discuss this... situation."
Celeste nodded in agreement, and Harry shut the door. Through the wood, they could hear Celeste moving around, the clink of glass bottles, the rustle of fabric.
He nodded and pulled Hermione with him. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Hermione turned to him, her hand still gripping his. Her voice dropped to an urgent whisper. "Why did you bring her here?"
She looked alarmed, and Harry frowned.
"What do you mean, why? She was dying. I couldn't just leave her—"
"No, I know that. I get that." Hermione cut him off, her words tumbling over each other in her haste to get them out. "But Master, do you understand who she is? What this means? Having her here, in this place, with the wards and the protections and everything we've been doing—"
"Hermione." Harry tried to interrupt, but she kept going, her voice climbing in pitch and speed.
"—and her family, they're not exactly on our side in this war. I mean, they're not active Death Eaters or anything, but they're pure-blood, old money, the kind that always looks out for themselves first. They've been staying neutral, which in this climate basically means they're siding with You-Know-Who by default because not choosing a side is choosing the winning side, and right now that's him, and—"
"Hermione!"
She stopped, her chest heaving. Her eyes were wide, almost frantic. Behind them, through the door, they could hear Celeste chanting something in that strange language again.
Harry took a breath, trying to remain calm even though his own heart was still racing. "What are you trying to say, exactly?"
Hermione's grip on his hand tightened. She glanced at the door, then back at him. "I'm saying that bringing her here might have been a mistake. Not morally—I understand you had to save her, I do. But strategically. Security-wise. She knows where we are now, or she will when she wakes up. And if she tells her family, or if someone interrogates her, or if she's been compromised somehow and doesn't even know it—" She took a shaky breath. "Master, this place is our sanctuary. It's the only place we're truly safe. If that gets compromised..."
"She's not going to tell anyone," Harry said firmly.
"You don't know that!" Hermione's voice cracked slightly. "You don't know her. None of us do. She's been in Slytherin for six years, and I've maybe said ten words to her total. You didn't even know her name, didn't even recognize her. You have no idea who she even is. How can you be sure she won't—"
"Because I saw her," Harry interrupted. "Out there. You didn't see her, Hermione. I did."
"Saw her doing what? Killing snatchers?" Hermione shook her head when he nodded. "That doesn't mean she's on our side. That could be personal. Could be revenge for something they did to her family. Could be a million things that don't add up to her being trustworthy."
Harry pulled his hand free gently. "You're right. I don't know her. But I know what I saw. She wasn't just killing them. She was hunting them. Intentionally. Going after people who prey on Muggleborns. That's not the action of someone who's going to run to the Death Eaters."
"Maybe." Hermione bit her lip, her eyes searching his face. "But we don't know why she was doing it. Could be she hates snatchers specifically. Doesn't mean she wouldn't sell us out to save herself or her family."
"Then we'll figure it out when she wakes up." Harry's voice was calm but stiff. "We'll ask her. Get her story. And then we make a decision based on what we learn. But I'm not going to apologize for saving her life."
"I'm not asking you to apologize!" Hermione's voice rose, then immediately dropped again as she glanced at him apologetically. "I'm not. I'm just... I'm worried, okay? We've worked so hard to find a secret place on this hunt, somewhere to keep us safe. We've been so careful. And now there's someone here who we don't know, can't trust, and who comes from a family that at best is sitting on the fence while people die. At worst..." She trailed off.
"At worst, what?" Harry asked quietly.
Hermione's jaw worked. "At worst, they're Death Eater sympathizers who just haven't officially picked a side yet. Playing both ends. Waiting to see who wins before they commit. That's what people are saying about families like the Greengrasses. That they're cowards who'll join whichever side looks strongest."
Harry considered her words carefully. "Did you ever talk to her? At school?"
"A few times. Library interactions, mostly. She was always civil. Polite, even. But distant." Hermione's expression was troubled. "She never participated in any of the house rivalry stuff. Never made comments about Muggleborns that I heard. But she also never stood up for anyone. Never took a side when things got ugly. She just... existed. Quietly."
"That doesn't make her an enemy."
"It doesn't make her a friend either." Hermione's voice was almost pleading now. "Master, I'm not trying to be heartless here. I'm really not. I'm just trying to think about this logically. About the risks. About what could happen if we're wrong about her."
Harry's gaze softened. He reached out and pulled Hermione into a hug. She immediately melted against him, her face pressing into his chest as she clutched on to him tightly.
"I know you're worried," he said quietly. "I get it. But there wasn't another choice. She was minutes from death. Maybe seconds. If I'd left her there, if I'd tried to find somewhere else to take her, spent time figuring out if she was trustworthy first..." He paused. "She'd be gone. Dead. And I'd have to live with that."
"I know. I know you did the right thing. I just..." She pulled back slightly to look up at him. "Promise me we'll be careful. That we'll figure out what her deal is before we trust her. That we'll have a plan for if things go wrong."
"I promise." Harry met her eyes steadily. "We'll deal with her when she wakes up. Get the full story. And if anything seems off, if we get even a hint that she might be a threat..." He left the implication hanging.
"Okay." Hermione nodded slowly. "Okay. I can live with that."
They stood there for a while, listening in to Celeste chanting while doing whatever she was doing. About half an hour later, the door opened behind them.
Celeste leaned out, looking decidedly less frazzled than she had before. There was blood on her hands and forearms, but her expression was calm. "She's stable. You can come in now."
They filed into the room. Daphne lay on the bed, still unconscious. Someone—Celeste, presumably—had cleaned most of the blood off her face and arms. Fresh bandages covered her shoulder and other visible wounds. Her breathing was deeper now, more regular. The deathly gray pastiness had faded slightly, replaced by something closer to normal pale.
She looked younger like this, Harry thought. Vulnerable. Her honey-blonde hair fanned out across the pillow, and without the blood and dirt, he could see the delicate structure of her face. High cheekbones, a straight nose, full lips that were still too pale but not the frightening blue-tinged color they'd been before.
"How bad is it?" Harry asked, moving closer to the bed.
Celeste moved to stand beside him, her hand resting lightly on Daphne's forehead. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if sensing something beyond normal perception.
"Bad enough. The internal bleeding was severe. I managed to stop it, but she lost a dangerous amount of blood even with your potions. Her left lung was punctured—clean through—probably from a broken rib. I've healed that. There was damage to her liver and spleen as well. Not catastrophic, but significant enough that without treatment, they would have failed within the hour."
"The cursed knife?" Hermione asked, her earlier concerns apparently set aside.
"Nasty piece of work." Celeste's expression darkened. "The curse was designed to prevent healing and accelerate blood loss. Wickedly clever, actually. Every beat of her heart was pushing more blood out of her body, and magic couldn't seal the wound properly. It kept tearing itself open again. If Master hadn't acted when he did..." She trailed off meaningfully.
"But she'll be okay now?" Harry pressed. "Fully?"
"Yes, Master. She'll live," Celeste confirmed. "But it was close. Very close. If you'd waited even five more minutes before bringing her here, if you'd tried to treat her further in the field, if you'd second-guessed yourself..." She shook her head. "She would've died. No question. Her heart would have given out from the blood loss, or her lung would have collapsed completely, or the internal bleeding would have overwhelmed her system. Take your pick."
Harry felt something loosen in his chest. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been holding onto his worry until it released. "Good. That's good."
"There's something else." Celeste's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Her injuries. The internal damage, the broken ribs, the severity of the blood loss. That didn't all come from today."
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean she's been hurt badly before. Recently." Celeste gestured vaguely at Daphne's torso. "There's scar tissue. Old injuries that healed poorly or were healed quickly without proper care, just enough to keep her alive but not enough to properly mend. She's been through hell, and not just tonight."
"How recently?" Hermione asked, moving closer to get a better look.
"Hours. Maybe a day, two at most." Celeste's expression was grim. "Based on what I found, I'd say someone tortured her. Badly. Used the Cruciatus curse multiple times—I can see the nerve damage, the way her muscle tissue has been strained beyond normal limits. And it wasn't a quick casting. This was prolonged. Extended. Probably over an extended period. Then they just... left her. Left her to die."
The room fell silent. Even Hermione looked shaken by that assessment.
Harry thought back to the clearing. To Daphne's defiance even as she bled out on the forest floor. To the way she'd spat in Dregg's face despite knowing what it would cost her. Despite already being broken and bleeding and barely clinging to consciousness.
"She's tough," he said quietly.
"Tough doesn't begin to cover it." Celeste shook her head, and Hermione easily recognized the look on her face as admiration. "What you described her doing—attacking those snatchers, casting powerful cutting curses, remaining conscious and defiant after everything she'd been through. That takes more than just toughness. That takes will. Raw, stubborn, unbreakable will. Most people would have passed out from the pain alone. She kept fighting."
"Do you think she'll recover fully?" Hermione asked softly.
"Physically? Yes. Given time and rest, proper nutrition, and care." Celeste's hand moved from Daphne's forehead to her wrist, checking her pulse. "Her body is young, strong. It'll heal. Mentally?" Her expression grew more serious. "That's harder to say. Torture leaves scars that go deeper than flesh. It changes people. Some come back from it. Others..." She shrugged.
Harry thought about his own experiences with the Cruciatus. The way it felt like every nerve in your body was on fire, like your bones were splintering and your muscles were tearing themselves apart. The way time seemed to stretch out, making seconds feel like hours. The lingering phantom pains that could hit days later. And Daphne had endured multiple castings, possibly over days, and still found the strength to hunt down Snatchers.
"She's strong," he repeated, more to himself than the others.
Celeste gave him an appraising look, one that made him look at her with a raised eyebrow. "She is. Which brings me to my next point." She turned to face both of them fully, crossing her arms under her chest. "This girl... Daphne. When she wakes up, she's going to be confused, frightened, and very vulnerable. She'll also be incredibly grateful to whoever saved her life. Life debts are real, Master, even if most wizards don't acknowledge them properly."
"Celeste," Harry said warningly, catching the shift in her tone.
"I'm just saying," Celeste continued, her voice taking on that sultry quality once again. "She would make a valuable ally. Someone with her power, her determination, her willingness to put herself at risk, even if we don't fully understand her motivations yet. And if she's as grateful as I think she'll be, well..." She smiled slightly. "Gratitude can be a powerful motivator."
"Do not manipulate her," Harry said firmly, his voice brooking no argument.
Celeste's smile was innocent. Too innocent. "I would never. I've given you my word, Master. I will never betray your trust or act against your wishes."
"That's not what I'm worried about, and you know it."
"I'm simply pointing out facts." Celeste's eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and genuine strategic thinking. "She's powerful—you saw that yourself. She's brave—stupidly so, considering she went hunting snatchers while already injured. She's already demonstrated that she's willing to fight against the people you're fighting against. And she's going to wake up in your home, saved by your hand, owing you a life debt whether she consciously acknowledges it or not. That's... fortuitous. Potentially very fortuitous for the rituals we have to perform."
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was still crusty with dried blood—hers, not his. "Just promise me you won't push her into anything. No subtle manipulations, no playing on her gratitude, no using your powers to influence her decisions."
"I promise." Celeste's smile softened, more genuine and less predatory. "I won't do anything you wouldn't approve of. You have my word, and unlike most creatures, I actually value my word. She's been through enough without us adding to it. But..." She paused. "When the time comes, when she's healed and clearheaded, I think you should consider what I've said. Not as manipulation. Just as... practical observation."
"Good." Harry looked back at Daphne's unconscious form, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest.
Hermione moved closer to him, her hand finding his again. Her earlier alarm had faded into cautious acceptance. "What happens when she wakes up?"
"We talk to her," Harry said. "Figure out what she was doing out there. Why she was hunting snatchers. What happened to her before I found her. Who hurt her, and why. And then..." He shrugged. "Then we see what she wants to do. We see if we can trust her. And we make decisions based on that."
"And if she wants to leave?" Hermione asked quietly. "Right away?"
"Then we let her leave." Harry's voice was firm. "After making sure she's healed and safe and has somewhere to go. We're not going to hold her prisoner."
"Even if it means she might compromise this location?"
Harry thought about it. Really thought about it. About the risks, about what was at stake, and about the sanctuary they'd built here. A moment later, he nodded. "Even then. We saved her life. That doesn't give us the right to control what she does with it. If she wants to leave, she leaves. But we will make sure she can't tell anyone about this place."
Hermione squeezed his hand. Despite her earlier concerns, he could see approval in her eyes now. "Okay. I can live with that. As long as we're prepared."
"We will be," Harry assured her.
"Come on," Celeste said, gesturing toward the door. "Let's let her rest. She won't wake for several hours at least—I made sure of that. Her body needs time to recover without the stress of consciousness. I'll monitor her, of course. If anything changes, if her condition deteriorates or improves significantly, I'll let you know immediately."
xXx
They made their way back downstairs to the sitting room. The adrenaline that had been driving Harry for the past hour was finally starting to fade, leaving exhaustion in its wake. He collapsed onto the sofa with less grace than usual, and the two women settled on either side of him.
"So," Hermione said after a moment of silence. "Are you going to tell us what happened since you left? The whole story?"
Harry leaned back, closing his eyes. The events of the past few days felt like they'd happened to someone else, but he knew they hadn't. "Yeah. Might as well."
He started from the beginning. His departure from the manor three days ago. The initial nervousness, the uncertainty about whether he was doing the right thing. The first group of snatchers he'd tracked down near York—four of them, torturing a middle-aged wizard in a barn while his family watched. How Harry had eliminated them quickly, efficiently, and without hesitation once he'd seen what they were doing.
The family he'd saved from a burning cottage—the pregnant woman and her husband. How the snatchers had been planning to make an example of them, to burn them alive for the crime of being Muggleborn and having the audacity to love each other.
The teenage boy who'd been hiding in a cellar while the snatchers searched above, having watched them kill his parents. How Harry had found him after dealing with the snatchers, had to calm him down, had to convince him that it was safe to come out. How the boy had looked at him with these huge, traumatized eyes and asked if the bad men were really gone.
Hermione and Celeste listened without interrupting, though he could feel their reactions. Hermione's sharp intake of breath when he described the pregnant woman. Her hand tightening on his arm when he talked about the teenage boy. Celeste's quiet approval when he talked about eliminating threats quickly and efficiently, her nods of appreciation for his decisions.
He told them about the second night. The snatchers who'd been torturing an elderly couple for information about their Muggleborn neighbors. How the old man had taken Cruciatus after Cruciatus, refusing to give up the location of the family hiding in his barn. How his wife had been screaming, begging them to stop, offering herself instead.
How Harry had waited until they were distracted, until their attention was fully on their victims and their guard was down. How he'd taken out three of them before they even knew he was there. How the fourth had tried to run, and Harry had cut him down before he could make it ten feet.
"I wasn't sure at first," Harry admitted, his voice quiet. "About killing them. I mean, I've killed before. Quirrell, for one. But this was different. Calculated. I had time to think about it. To plan it. To choose."
"Did you hesitate?" Celeste asked, her voice completely nonjudgmental.
"At first. With the first group." Harry opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. "But then I saw what they were doing. What they'd already done to the people they'd caught. The scars, the burns, the breaks. And I realized that hesitating, showing mercy to them, that would just mean more innocent people suffering. More families destroyed. More children orphaned."
"That doesn't make it easy," Hermione said softly, her thumb rubbing circles on his hand.
"No," Harry agreed. "It doesn't. But it makes it necessary. And necessary doesn't care about easy."
He continued with his story. The third day had been the hardest. Four different encounters, each one escalating in violence as the snatchers became more paranoid, more vicious. They'd heard rumors by then, whispers of teams going missing, of vigilantes hunting them. It made them more dangerous, more willing to kill quickly rather than take prisoners.
He'd learned to be more efficient, more ruthless. To strike first and strike hard, giving them no chance to fight back or call for help. To use the terrain, the element of surprise, their own arrogance and overconfidence against them.
"I got better at it," he said, and there was something almost hollow in his voice. "Reading their patterns. Predicting their movements. Understanding how they thought, how they operated. Finding the right moment to attack. By yesterday, I could take down a group of four or five without breaking a sweat, without them landing a single spell on me."
"How many?" Hermione asked quietly. "Total."
Harry was silent for a long moment, doing the math in his head. "I stopped counting after twenty. Might be thirty by now. Could be more. Some of the encounters blur together."
"You're taking this harder than you should," Celeste said softly. "These were bad people, Master. People who tortured and killed for fun and profit. People who would have killed you without a second thought if given the chance. The world is objectively better without them."
"I know." Harry rubbed his face tiredly. "I know that. Logically, I know that. But it doesn't change what I've become. What I've had to become to do this. I've killed more people in three days than most soldiers kill in their entire careers."
"A protector," Hermione said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Someone willing to do what others can't or won't to keep people safe. That's what you are. Not a murderer. Not a killer. A protector."
Harry gave her a grateful look, squeezing her hand. "Thanks."
He continued with his story, moving to today. About tracking Dregg's group through the forest, listening to their conversation through his listening charm. Learning about the bounty on his head—ten thousand Galleons, dead or alive. Learning about their plans to expand their operations, to cover more territory, to round up more Muggleborns.
About how they'd been talking about the other teams going missing, theorizing about Order remnants, and about cells of vigilantes. How they had no idea they were being hunted by one person. How they didn't know to look for him.
Then he got to the part where everything changed.
"I heard the first spell," he said. "A cutting curse. Silent, powerful, and perfectly aimed. Caught one of them clean in the throat. Then another one, just as accurate, and I realized someone else was out there. Someone else hunting them. Someone really good."
He described how quickly the situation had deteriorated. The mysterious attacker's powerful spells—blasting curses that shook the ground, reducto curses that could have blown them apart, cutting curses that struck with deadly accuracy. The way the snatchers had rallied despite their fear, had fought back with their own dark magic.
The Cruciatus curse that had finally brought their hunter down. How he'd heard the scream—distinctly female, raw with agony—and knew things had gone badly wrong for her.
"I got there just as they surrounded her," Harry said. "Dregg was... he was telling her everything he planned to do to her. In detail. Making sure she understood exactly what was coming. The rape, the torture, the slow death. He wanted her to be terrified. Wanted her to break before they even started."
Hermione's hand tightened on his arm hard enough to hurt, but he didn't pull away.
"She spat in his face." Harry's voice held a note of admiration. "Even knowing what it would cost her, even after everything she'd already been through, even broken and bleeding and barely conscious, she spat right in his face. Told him to fuck off."
"What did you do?" Celeste asked, even though they felt they already knew.
"I killed them. All three of the ones left standing." Harry said flatly. "The first two I took out before they even knew I was there. Silent cutting curses. Their heads came off clean. Dregg tried to bargain, offered me information about Death Eater operations, about routes and safe houses. I didn't let him finish talking."
He described finding Daphne afterward. The extent of her injuries—the cursed knife wound that wouldn't heal, the burns, the broken bones, the blood everywhere. His clumsy attempts at healing, the potions that helped but weren't enough. The growing realization that she was dying and he couldn't stop it, not out there in the forest with his limited supplies and even more limited healing knowledge.
"I didn't know who she was," Harry said. "Didn't recognize her at all. Don't remember her at all, and her face was covered in blood and dirt. I just knew she was dying, and I was the only one who could help. So I brought her here."
"You did the right thing," Hermione said firmly, her earlier concerns apparently completely set aside now. "Even with the risks, even with everything we talked about upstairs, you did the right thing. We'll figure out the rest as we go."
Celeste was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she rubbed circles on the nape of his neck. "This girl. Daphne. From what you've described, from what I sensed while healing her, she was operating on pure adrenaline and willpower. There's no way she should have been able to cast those spells, let alone stay conscious, after what she'd been through."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, turning to regard her curiously.
"I mean she's extraordinary." Celeste leaned forward, her eyes bright with genuine interest. "The injuries I found, the torture she endured, the blood loss. She should have been dead or unconscious hours before you found her. Days, even, given the extent of some of those older injuries. But instead, she was out there hunting, fighting, staying defiant even when captured and threatened with things most people can't even imagine. That's not normal, Master. That's not even exceptional. That's... well, that's the kind of thing you see in people who simply refuse to die no matter what the universe throws at them."
"She's a warrior," Hermione said quietly, and there was a note of respect in her voice. "In her own way. Maybe not trained like an Auror or a soldier, but a warrior nonetheless."
"She is," Celeste agreed. "And warriors like that don't come along often. She'd be a powerful ally. On the battlefield, certainly, but also in other ways. People like that, people with that kind of will, that kind of determination—they're rare. Precious, even."
"Celeste," Harry warned again, but with less heat this time.
Celeste held up her hands with an innocent expression that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm just saying. She's powerful, determined, and about to owe you her life. That's not something to dismiss lightly."
Harry shook his head but couldn't quite suppress a smile. "You're incorrigible."
"I prefer 'pragmatic.'" Celeste grinned. "But I've given you my word, Master. I won't manipulate her. Whatever happens, it'll be her choice."
"Good." Harry stood up, stretching. His whole body ached, muscles protesting from the tension and activity of the day. "I'm going to clean up. Let me know if anything changes with Daphne."
"Of course," Celeste said. "Rest, Master. You've earned it. We will join you shortly."
As Harry headed for the stairs, Hermione called after him. "Master?"
He turned back.
"I'm proud of you," she said simply. "For everything you've done these past few days. For everyone you've saved. And for bringing her back, even with the risks."
"Thanks, Hermione. That means a lot."
He made his way upstairs, his mind still churning. Daphne Greengrass. The name was starting to ring bells now. Slytherin, he thought. Same year as him. But beyond that, he drew a blank. Six years in the same school, and he couldn't remember a single interaction with her.
But she'd been out there hunting snatchers. Risking her life to save people. Or vengeance, maybe. He didn't know. But that had to count for something.
He'd find out more when she woke up. Until then, all he could do was wait.
Head over to patreon.com/KyleVirex to read more of my works. The username is KyleVirex on all other sites where I post, so you can find me anywhere else using the same.
Follow my twitter: KyleVirex to keep up with the updates and more.
Thanks for reading!