Chapter 186 - 186

London — a crowded and noisy city.

That was the thought that arrived as I stepped out of the restaurant, where the four of us had eaten well, and I had eaten quickly. They hadn't objected to my sudden departure — at least my parents hadn't, and they were adults who understood perfectly well that circumstances sometimes forced the matter.

Looking around, finding myself alone in the middle of the city — the crowds threading in every direction, the packed-down snow that no one had cleared yet, the cars, the relentless noise, the exhaust in the air. When you spend most of the year at Hogwarts, in a castle set in open countryside, without technology or most other features of modern society, you begin to understand, just a little, the growing irritation wizards had developed toward Muggles over the past century. Everything here was too... different. More than that — it felt dirty. Not in the literal sense, but in something broader.

I exhaled, and noted privately that humanity, as a social organism, had never on average been particularly good at looking after the world around it. Like every biological species, people took the path of least resistance even unconsciously — and if something in their collective behaviour didn't hit them with immediate, painful consequences, nothing would change until the situation reached a critical point.

Pushing the surplus thoughts aside, I made a deliberate effort to slide out of the notice of the people around me, found a side street, put up a Muggle-repelling charm, and Apparated — arriving on the road leading up to the Greengrass house on the hill above the woods. A small town behind me, a country road ahead.

I sank slightly into a layer of snow and reflected, not for the first time, on wizards' disinclination to walk any meaningful distance — which was why there was no proper approach to the Greengrass manor to speak of. The afternoon was easing toward evening, toward five o'clock. Some households would already be starting dinner, settling into the family warmth of Christmas Eve. And me? I was trudging up a gently sloping hill under a grey sky that was threatening snow, pushing through it with every step. I could have Apparated closer, but who knew how the house's protective enchantments were configured? Better not to announce my arrival unnecessarily.

Reaching the house — or rather the tall iron fence around it — I took up the same position where I'd once passed a small sweet gift to Daphne. I'd arrived almost exactly on time. I steeled myself for the classic feminine delay, but it wasn't needed. Through the black iron bars I could see Daphne in a blue coat, scarf wrapped up around her neck, making her way across the darker stretches of the garden with glances back toward the house windows, moving carefully between trees, wary of dislodging snow onto herself. She looked, to put it mildly, slightly suspicious.

She reached the gate, opened the small side entrance, and came quickly over to me. There were something of an embrace and something of a kiss — but that was simply the greeting.

"Hello," said Daphne, with a smile, stepping back and pulling her scarf tighter.

"Hello. Has something happened?"

"More yes than no," she said, with a nod. "Sorry for not inviting you in..."

"I understand completely." The smile came without effort.

"In any case — Draco wrote."

"Hm? I wouldn't have thought a letter from the younger Malfoy would be cause for a meeting between us."

"Depends on the contents," she said.

At that exact moment, the first snowflakes began to fall from the sky — sparse and unhurried for now, but it had every intention of becoming a proper snowfall before long. It seemed as good a prompt as any for some sort of gesture, and the atmosphere rather invited it; I simply put my arms around her, and Daphne, as though she'd been waiting for precisely that, settled her head onto my shoulder. A small touch of magic, and soft fireflies began to drift around us, blinking their gentle yellow light.

"Draco wrote," Daphne continued, "although — in true paranoid fashion — in maddening ciphers and deliberately ambiguous phrasing. The upshot is, he knows for certain that the Dark Lord has returned. He also insists there's serious cause for worry, though he's vague on exactly what."

"That... isn't far from what I'd say myself."

"Draco says his father — also in hints — conveyed the general picture. The Dark Lord returned with Nott Senior's help. The Dark Lord has promised to assist the Notts with their 'problem', but without any specifics. One detail — it's described as a 'trivial problem'."

"Hm. One could speculate," I said, looking up at the sky as the snowflakes grew a little more frequent, "that the matter concerns the lands and production assets that left their hands."

"Unlikely," said Daphne, settling her head more comfortably against my shoulder, her forehead just barely touching my neck or cheek — hard to tell through the layers of clothing. "That would fit if they'd had substantial land holdings and sources of passive income. They don't."

"Hm. I don't want to sound excessively self-important, but — could I be the trivial problem?"

"That's exactly why I asked to meet. To tell you as soon as possible. You can't say much in letters right now — owls can be intercepted, especially if you've entered the sphere of interest of wizards like the Dark Lord."

"Understood. That's useful information."

"Before his disappearance, there were apparently cases of ordinary people going missing — Muggle-born families, that sort of thing. If the stories can be believed, the Dark Lord is not one to let moral considerations limit him."

"Tell me — how significant was the damage to the Notts? The lost land, the loss of part of the business, the collapse of the betrothal arrangement and everything that followed? Setting aside Theo's complete inability to match me magically."

"It's not easy to put a number on it..." Daphne said thoughtfully, watching a pair of fireflies drift past, now catching the snowflakes drifting down between them. "Given that the family is fairly committed in their views, and that the rumours about Nott Senior pledging himself to the Dark Lord have now been confirmed... I'd say that at this point, the simple fact of your existence is an insult to them."

"Charming. And could the Notts revive the idea of your marriage to Theo? They might conclude — not without reason — that our relationship is the root of everything."

"They could," said Daphne. She went still and drew back slightly, looking at me with an expression that held some worry in it.

"I don't think the Dark Lord will bother with elaborate schemes, given the nature and scale of the problem. How do your parents actually feel about the Dark Lord and his politics? From what I can piece together indirectly, they hold a neutral position on most things — one that allows them to maintain clear advantages."

"I follow you," Daphne said, without needing a moment. "As I think I've said before — they hold to the idea of blood purity, but not in the sense of 'exterminate all others'. As for the Dark Lord himself... One can respect power without particularly welcoming it. And fear it, quite reasonably."

"And if, say, the Dark Lord decided not to bother spending time and energy planning any sort of assistance for the Notts and their 'trivial problem' — and simply arrived at your house with his entourage and announced: 'From this point forward, so and so — the Notts are my loyal allies. Daphne goes to the Notts. For the greater good, all that. No obvious immediate benefit to the families, but in time — England will be ours, we'll kill everyone who doesn't belong, those who remain divide everything properly. You do want things divided properly, don't you?'"

"That's actually entirely possible!" Daphne said — she clearly hadn't considered that particular approach. "And my parents might agree. Word was, in the old days, anyone who didn't stand with the Dark Lord inevitably became his enemy. They wouldn't risk that..."

Daphne's expression fell. I put my arms around her again.

"What they call our relationship — a caprice..."

"They know?" I was mildly surprised.

"How could they not. Everyone at Hogwarts knows, or suspects, or doesn't pay attention to anything around them. In other words — they all know. And they strongly disapprove."

I extended one hand, transfigured a pair of small, plain pendants in my palm, fixed the result, and activated a runic chain designed to approximate the function of a Protean Charm.

"Here," I said, holding one of the unremarkable pendants out to Daphne. "Just made them."

She took it and turned it over in her fingers.

"Something like a Protean Charm?" She understood the function of the runic sequence almost immediately.

"Yes. If the Dark Lord arrives with company — let me know."

"And then what?" Daphne allowed herself a sad sort of smile. "You're strong and talented, but that's an entirely different order of magnitude."

"Don't worry," I said. My smile was steady, at least I believed it to be. "Don't worry. Leave it to me."

"All right. I trust you."

It was growing dark by degrees — the overcast sky had never been particularly bright to begin with, and as the invisible sun began to slope toward the horizon it faded further still. We stood together a little longer, exchanged a few more words, and gave in briefly to a mild adolescent foolishness, though it didn't last long — Daphne needed to get back inside before her absence gave her parents any reason for concern. What if they happened to look out a window? No point creating a needless conflict out of nothing.

I watched her go, then turned and walked back down the gently sloping hill, pushing through the snow again, and as I went I fixed the pendant alongside one of my bracelets. At this rate I was going to look like a travelling merchant — I really ought to have made them from pinchbeck.

Once a respectable distance from the Greengrass house, I Apparated into the alley behind a corner shop I knew, not far from home. No one around — just some litter in the form of snack wrappers that the wind had blown in, the sort of thing teenagers were fond of. Clearly the remnants of some recent gathering.

Coming out of the alley, I noticed the corner shop had been dressed up slightly for Christmas. I didn't stop to go in — there was everything we needed at home, and my parents and Hermione would be back soon with everything we'd bought. I headed home. I'd arrive a little before them, help with unloading, do something useful around the house, and then settle in to make the gifts. The only problem being that I hadn't the faintest idea what to make. Perhaps dinner with the family would fix that.

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