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AFiF 4, Chapter 33: Hello and Goodbye
🕑 Added 2025-03-20 10:09:00 +0000 UTCXXXIII. Hello and Goodbye
His fingers uncurled. The brief letter fell from his grasp, tumbling atop the desk surface below.
I was wondering when she’d remember I existed.
Harry frowned, allowing his eyes to traverse the parchment yet again:
‘Our place. January 6th, one in the morning. Don’t be late.
With love,
Bella’
“With love,” Harry repeated, smirking, “I didn’t think she was capable of love.”
He eyed the letter for a moment before vanishing it with a wave of his wand.
Just in case.
The clear midnight skies of France loomed beyond Harry’s window. Curling his robes more tightly around him, Harry glanced appreciatively one last time around his recently re-organized dorm, nodding with satisfaction. His fingers wrapped tight around the doorknob.
“Not bad,” he whispered, turning off the lights with a wave of his wand. He closed the door softly behind him, “A lot less broody than the stone serpent aesthetic, that’s for sure.”
The hall separating his dorm from the train’s center was quiet. Still, Harry was sure to tip-toe as he approached the common room, only relaxing upon discovering that Hermione was not studying in her favorite armchair. Sighing, he plucked a single cookie from a gnome-shaped bowl.
Grumble.
“Yeah, I know,” Harry muttered, taking a large bite out of the cookie. It was very good, “I’m working on it.”
He hastily grabbed a second one before tumbling out the door. The white of the snow and skies he had momentarily expected were nowhere to be found. An easy smile set upon Harry’s face.
“I suppose it’s a nice enough change for a little while.”
“You speak of the weather, I presume?”
Though he didn’t jump, Harry nearly choked on his cookie. He took a deep breath before turning around.
“Professor Dumbledore.”
The tall man stood by the side of the Hogwarts Express, today dressed from head to toe in robes the colour of blood. Gold accents lined them suddenly, matching uncharacteristically well with Dumbledore’s half-moon spectacles. A morose gleam hung in his twinkling eyes.
“Good evening, Harry,” the man said gently, “Join me for a minute, would you?”
Harry frowned. His eyes drifted across the open fields.
“If you’re on a tight schedule, perhaps it would help to remind you that delegates are not permitted to leave Beauxbatons without my permission,” Dumbledore added thoughtfully, “In a few minutes I’ll be quite tired, no doubt. I can’t imagine I’d remember if anyone left.”
Harry sighed.
“Yeah, alright,” he nodded slowly, “I - thanks.”
The headmaster said nothing, simply staring at the stars as Harry stepped closer.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” he whispered faintly, “I used to watch them for hours with Gellert, years and years ago.”
Harry’s stomach churned. His mind conjured a memory of him and Gabrielle, replacing their faces with Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
“They’re very beautiful,” Harry admitted faintly, “I watch them from time to time with my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend,” the Headmaster repeated, sounding as though he’d never quite heard the word before. He smiled earnestly, “Gabrielle is a wonderfully bright young girl, Harry. An excellent partner.”
“She’d be pleased to hear it.”
Dumbledore’s smile faded.
“Certainly more pleased than she was when she heard about your severed hand.”
A feeling of cool unease separated the two. Frowning, Harry raised his left hand, dispelling the Glamour Charms with a wave of his wand. Metallic silver flashed beneath the crescent moon.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Harry whispered, “You’re you.”
The Headmaster inspected the hand carefully.
“That has little to do with knowing, in truth,” the man sighed, “As I have told you many times before, the Hogwarts Express is not nearly as loyal to its inhabitants as Hogwarts.”
Harry’s jaw clenched.
I forgot about that.
“Can’t wait to get back to Hogwarts, then,” Harry whispered. Professor Dumbledore laughed gently.
“I must imagine so,” he nodded. His bright blue eyes latched onto the silver arm once more, “A rather impressive temporary hand, I must say. Silver is not easy to conjure.”
“Gabby said it was impossible,” Harry remembered aloud.
“And indeed it is,” the Headmaster nodded, “For most wizards.”
“We aren’t most, are we?”
“No Harry, we are not.”
Dumbledore watched as Harry’s hand dropped, the twinkle in his eyes dulling.
“I confess, I had not expected to find you in such an agreeable spirit,” the old man offered. Harry grimaced.
“I - I’ve been frustrated as of late,” he mumbled quietly, “I kept feeling like I was completely out of control.”
Professor Dumbledore eyed him carefully.
“And yet now, with Inspector Garnier dead, you feel differently?”
Harry’s jaw clenched. For a moment he struggled to produce an excuse -
No. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.
“I’m sad he’s gone,” Harry whispered truthfully, “He was a wonderful man. But I don’t need him to help Astoria.”
He watched as a dark shadow set across Dumbledore’s features.
“No longer chasing Truisms, are you?”
“No. No, I’m not.”
Emerald eyes rose to the sky, studying the many skies that hovered overhead. Harry struggled to spot many of the so-called constellations that supposedly loitered overhead.
“The Resurrection Stone will do you no good, Harry -”
“Why?” Harry frowned, “Have you used it before?”
Dumbledore slowly shook his head.
“You and I are each holders of a Deathly Hallow,” he muttered, twirling his long, beaded wand within his fingers, “Yet death will claim us both in the end. They are illusions, nothing more -”
“You don’t get it,” Harry whispered, “Even if the stone grants only an illusion, it provides me access to people who can help. An infinite wealth of knowledge.”
It is the best way. The only one.
He glanced to his left. Professor Dumbledore looked as though he had aged twenty years.
“Perhaps you are right,” he murmured. It was clear to Harry that the Headmaster didn’t truly believe that, “I simply wonder how much more you will lose in your pursuit of an empty possibility.”
Harry felt his lips thin.
“It’s hardly a loss,” he said hotly, “I’ll be getting a proper replacement hand soon enough.”
And if Gabby has it her way, I’ll have my real hand back in a year or two.
“And the French Ministry?” Dumbledore sounded defeated, “Your third stint with Fiendfyre left quite the mess.”
“I’m pretty sure it also killed people,” Harry pointed out, “But you’re not talking about that.”
The old man sighed. Harry watched as he slowly strode through the tall green grass and toward the train door.
“Goodnight, Harry,” he whispered faintly, “I wish you well.”
And without a word, he stepped into the Hogwarts Express.
That could have gone a whole lot worse.
Harry waited for a full minute before hurrying along, practically skipping to the ends of the Beauxbatons grounds. Once he was sure no one could see him, he twisted on the spot.
Crack.
A blur of hazy snow surrounded him. Harry shivered, cursing under his breath.
“Idiot,” he whispered as his grasp tightened around his wand, “Calorem Focis.”
Steam wafted from his body as an orange glow surrounded him. Harry straightened up, watching as his breath misted in the air before him. The overbearing oak trees of the Forbidden Forest surrounded him on all sides.
Best to get a move on.
He pulled his robes more tightly against his form, stalking off in the direction of Hogwarts Castle. To his slight displeasure, the path he walked felt alarmingly familiar. Grimaced, Harry punted a stone through the trees.
“Brilliant,” he murmured darkly, “Of all the places I could turn up, it just has to be near Aragog’s lair . . .”
He tapped his wand against his skin, quietly Disillusioning himself. Harry curiously examined the ice underheel.
I wonder if their eight eyes make it easier to spot me.
“Hide my scent, too,” he whispered absentmindedly, “I dunno how good their sense of smell is.”
Harry lingered for a long moment before bringing his palm to his lips, licking it. A thin layer of saliva pressed against the end of his nose.
Either that fun fact from Dudley’s book on hygiene is bullshit or it worked.
Harry decided to settle on the latter.
After what felt like forever, the trees began to clear. Harry hurriedly tore through the knee-deep snow, grinning as the outline of his beloved castle swam into view.
Home again.
His fingers fumbled as he tore into his pocket, removing a thin sheet of parchment. Harry felt a rush of nostalgic excitement slip beneath his skin as he steadied his wand.
“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”
The map sprung to life at once, red ink coating the paper like spilt blood. Emerald eyes quickly sought out a familiar name -
Perfect. She’s already there.
Harry quickly made his way past Hagrid’s hut and down toward the Quidditch Pitch. A set of bolted doors grew larger with every step he took.
“Fuck,” Harry murmured, “I forgot they cancelled Quidditch for the year.”
He lazily jabbed his wand at the locks, already knowing what was to come.
“Alohomora.”
The doors grunted. Nothing opened.
For fuck’s sake -
“Open,” Harry snapped irritably, “I really don’t have time for this.”
Nothing again. A flicker of annoyance prickled beneath his skin as he ran his fingers down the length of the chain. He emptied his mind of all but one thought, breathing slowly.
Break, unlock, open - I don’t care. You will open for me, now.
A soft clicking met his ears. Harry opened his eyes to find a heap of chains lying at his feet.
“Thank Merlin . . .”
He pushed the doors wide, feeling inexplicably exhausted. Harry gave the doors one last look before continuing onwards.
Dumbledore must’ve enchanted those himself.
An oddly proud sensation mixed in with the tired panting of his laboured body. Groaning, Harry hobbled off through a second set of doors and into the supply room. A number of Quidditch supplies lay scattered about, including one particular item that Harry was looking for.
“Lucky me,” he whispered, reaching for something on the floor. He paused, “Although . . .”
He grimaced, eyeing the ancient broomstick with distaste.
Maybe not so lucky.
Sighing, Harry tossed the broom between his legs. He slowly rose a few inches off the ground.
“I can work with this -”
Woosh.
The broom sputtered forward. Harry just barely managed to veer it left in time to fly through the double doors and out into the open air. His chest twisted with excitement as falling snow slipped down his now visible skin.
“I get what Krum sees in this,” he said to himself as he came to a stop some fifty meters above the castle. He stared down at the turrets and spires below, “Really melts everything away -”
Blonde hair peered out from the openings in the Owlery. Harry paused.
Not for long.
He leaned forward, allowing the ever-wobbling broom to take him down to the nearby tower. A set of icy eyes stared back at him as he hovered a few feet from the tower’s edge.
“You’re early,” Daphne whispered blankly, watching him carefully, “You’re not due for another three minutes.”
Harry’s heart lurched.
“I wanted to see you.”
Daphne snorted.
“Could’ve fooled me,” she said. Her voice was laced with the faintest impression of hurt, “You’ve seen me, what, once in the last few months?”
“I - twice,” Harry whispered weakly. Daphne glared at him.
“Waving at me while disguised as a five year old hardly counts,” she hissed, “The fact that you were with Lestrange only makes it worse.”
Harry nodded.
“That’s why, by the way,” he murmured dully, “Why I didn’t visit, I mean.”
Daphne eyed him expectantly. Harry leaned forward, his withered broom inching closer to the tower’s edge.
“I know you’re not interested in hearing about all the dangerous stuff I get up to -”
“Reckless, you mean,” the girl corrected irritably. Harry grimaced.
“Yeah. I suppose so.”
The blonde-haired girl glared at him.
“Let’s hear it, then,” Daphne whispered, blinking furiously, “What was it this time -”
Her voice failed as Harry raised his left arm. She stared at the silver hand in horror.
“This is part of it,” Harry whispered faintly, “Just about everything that’s happened in the last few months has been miserable, but I suppose this is the only permanent aspect. I had a feeling you wouldn’t want to know . . .”
He trailed off, watching as Daphne stepped forward, clawing at his robes. The broom buckled as Harry was pulled through the Owlery opening.
“What -”
The blonde girl ignored him, brushing his right hand aside as her fingers wrapped around the left. She continued to blink furiously, her eyes now hot with tears.
“Was it w-worth it?” she whispered, her voice breaking. Harry winced, “Was it?”
Harry stared at her. Full tears slid down the girl’s face, distorting what he assumed was makeup or mascara or something of that sort. A pool of guilt clawed at his insides.
“Yes.”
Daphne glared at him, now positively furious.
“Tell me.”
“I can’t,” Harry pleaded half-heartedly, “I - I don’t want to give you false hope -”
He broke off as Daphne sank to her knees, his silver hand still clenched within hers. Harry dropped down to the floor, cradling the distraught girl.
“Please,” she crooned pitifully, “I - I deserve to know. You owe me.”
Harry’s eyes slid shut, his fingers sliding nervously through silky, braided hair. His mouth hung ajar for a long moment.
“I think I found a way to save Astoria.”
Hot tears slid down his neck. Daphne’s grasp upon him felt uncomfortably tight.
“I - you -” she paused, “How long have you been d-doing this?”
Harry shrugged uncertainty.
“Since we left for Dumrstrang, I suppose.”
He gently pressed his fingers against Daphne’s cheekbones, wiping her tears away.
“I - the whole thing is really complicated and probably a lot more dangerous than you’d like,” Harry whispered, “So you’ll have to forgive me for keeping it to myself until everything’s sorted out.”
The girl said nothing. With some discomfort, Harry noticed the way her eyes lingered upon his silver hand.
“I’m getting a nicer one,” he muttered off-handedly, “Gabby’s helping make it for me.”
Daphne sat up. Her icy eyes latched onto his yet again.
“I read about you and her in the Prophet,” she said faintly, “What’s she like?”
“Probably nothing like whatever Rita Skeeter must’ve cooked up,” Harry told her, “She’s . . . she reminds me a lot of you, actually.”
Daphne’s brow furrowed in confusion. Harry shrugged.
“She’s fire, you’re ice,” he said simply, “Two different sides of the same coin, if that makes sense.”
Two different forms of passion, really.
“I - I think I understand,” Daphne muttered, frowning.
“It’ll make a lot more sense when you meet her,” Harry told her, “She’s helped me out a lot recently.”
“Good,” Daphne hummed, “You could clearly use it.”
A small silence stretched between them. Harry frowned, struggling to meet Daphne’s gaze.
“Astoria thought I should tell you about that in person,” he admitted faintly, “I thought so, too.”
Daphne’s head rose.
“Why is that?”
Harry stared at her.
“I’m not sure,” he told her, “I guess I always thought we - we’d . . .”
Daphne nodded.
“Like a feeling in the back of your skull,” she whispered, “I know.”
Her fingers slid across the cool metal of his hand.
“This doesn’t change anything between us, does it?”
“Nothing could,” Harry said hotly, “I - I love you. That’s not something that just - just changes.”
Daphne’s grasp tightened. She stared at him, unblinking.
“I don’t think Gabrielle would like you saying that.”
“She’ll understand,” Harry whispered, “I think you do, too.”
Daphne nodded, sliding her pale fingers between his own silver digits.
“I love you, too.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, their eyes alight. A moment later, Harry reached into his robes.
“There’s another reason I’ve come,” Harry whispered, “I wanted - I needed to give you something.”
He pulled out a familiar diary, one he’d had to scavenge through his belongings to find. Daphne frowned.
“Your old diary,” she murmured, “That - isn’t that -”
“Yeah,” Harry nodded faintly, “The one I used to talk to Voldemort.”
He gently placed it atop Daphne’s lap, not breaking eye contact.
“I - I don’t fully understand it,” Harry admitted, “But it’s very important and very dangerous. It can possess people and all sorts of other things.”
Daphne’s lips thinned as she plucked the diary, inspecting it meticulously.
“And you want to entrust it to me?”
Harry snorted.
“Not a chance,” he said darkly, “No, I want you to hide it. Hide it somewhere where it can’t hurt you, somewhere where no one else will stumble upon it.”
“Why not just give it to Delacour or Theodore?”
Harry stared at her. The girl stared back.
“Because,” Harry began simply, “There is no one I trust with this more than you.”
Daphne’s lips unfurled. Harry watched as she tucked the book beneath her robes, straightening up.
“I’ll hide it,” she told him faintly, “I know just the place.”
“I knew you would,” Harry smiled.
The pair slowly rose to their feet. Daphne’s gaze slid to the broom at Harry’s feet.
“You have to go, don’t you?”
Harry nodded sadly.
“I’ll come by every Hogsmeade village if you post me the dates,” he assured her. He grinned faintly, “Or, I will if whoever all is trying to kill me gives me a breather -”
One look at Daphne told him his words had been a mistake,
“Don’t s-say that,” the girl hissed sharply, her eyes wet again, “It - it isn’t funny. Not at all.”
“I - sorry,” Harry felt as though he’d been reprimanded by his old primary school teacher, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Hurt me,” Daphne snorted dryly, “You ought to be more concerned with not hurting yourself.”
She bent over, grabbing the withered broomstick and passing it to Harry. Her soft lips pressed against his cheek.
“Every Hogsmeade visit,” she said seriously, “I’ll send Astoria the dates in the morning.”
“Every last one,” Harry agreed, “I’ll make sure Astoria’s alright, by the way.”
“I know you will,” said Daphne softly, “I just wish you cared as much about yourself.”
Her eyes lowered to his silver skin yet again.
“Does she know?”
Harry grimaced.
“Yeah. She took it about as well as you did, in case you were wondering.”
Daphne nodded quietly.
“I’ll look into how you can fix that,” she promised him, eyeing his hand, “We can work on it when you come back for the third task.”
Harry laughed quietly.
“You and everyone else,” he murmured, “It’s fine. This silver hand is stronger, anyway.”
He plucked up a nearby stone as if to prove it. In an instant he crushed it to a fine powder.
“See?”
Daphne rolled her eyes.
“I do,” she whispered, “I imagine I’ll see it again next Saturday?”
Harry paused.
“Is that the next Hogsmeade date?”
The girl nodded. Harry smiled.
“Then I suppose you will.”
Smiles adorned each of their faces, warm even amongst the never-ending torrent of hail that poured upon them. Harry shifted the broomstick between his legs.
“Bye, Miss Green.”
“Good bye, Mr. Pot.”
-(xXx)-
The golden handle of the Hogwarts Express loomed before him. Harry twisted it silently, carefully stepping inside without so much as a sound -
Click.
A light glimmered by the fire. Harry turned to find Fred Weasley sitting in an armchair, bedecked in oversized reading glasses and a flowery gown.
“Well?” the redheaded boy started, tossing his copy of the Daily Prophet aside, “Do you have any idea what time it is, young man?”
Harry stared.
“Honestly, dear, you’re too harsh on him,” a voice echoed from down the hall. George Weasley bustled into the room, wearing a suit and tie. He made his way towards Harry, whispering, “You really ought to listen to your mother more -”
“Two in the morning!” Fred sputtered, “My only son, off galavanting with - with -”
The boy sputtered.
“Off with that foreigner -”
“Honey, we’ve talked about this!” snapped George indignantly, “She can’t help that she’s French -”
But Fred was hardly listening, having long since risen to his feet. He was now brandishing his pointer finger at George as though it were a wand.
“This is your fault! I should have never let you talk me into letting him eat cheese!”
“Dear, l-let’s be serious now,” George laughed nervously, “He didn’t c-choose. He was born this way.”
“Born French? BORN FRENCH?”
George hurriedly turned to face Harry, his oversized coat swaying wildly.
“You get to bed now, boy,” he said. Harry only just noticed the false mustache he’d been wearing, “I’ll calm your mother down, eh? She’s had her knickers in a twist ever since you and the - the -”
He leaned closer.
“- since you and the French girl started dating.”
Harry stared blankly at him.
“I was visiting Daphne.”
“Daphne?” Fred whispered in the background. He’d suddenly stopped yelling, “Daphne? But she - she’s -”
“One of us,” George whispered, his eyes twinkling, “One of us -”
Fred burst into tears. Harry watched in bewilderment as George through his briefcase aside, hurrying to accompany his - his -
It would be his wife, wouldn’t it?
“You guys have way too much free time on your hands,” Harry whispered, striding down the hallway and out of sight.
Comments
Marek Orbo
yessir! Please!
Kaido
My friend we have the potter and the black bloodlines for Harry to work with fuck it give him both of them
