Darker Than Gray Ch. 30

The rest of the day passed in a blur as Marlene regaled Harry with tales of her school days, her laughter ringing through the cozy sitting room like a melody. For once, Daphne saw something rare on Harry’s face—a look of genuine wonder, his green eyes alight with curiosity as he soaked in everything her mother had to say, hanging on her every word like a child discovering magic for the first time.

"—and then, of course, Minerva caught them in the act," Marlene said, barely able to contain her laughter. "She looked over her spectacles, gave that terrifying little sniff, and said, 'If you’re going to charm all the suits of armor to sing Christmas carols, Mr. Black, at least tune them properly!'"

Harry chuckled, his smile unguarded. "I can't imagine McGonagall saying that," he admitted, shaking his head. "She always seems so strict, although she does have a kind side to her. Still, it’s hard to picture her being, well… joking like that."

"That’s because you aren’t in her house," Marlene said conspiratorially, winking. "Gryffindors can get away with murder, my dear. Not literally though. And it’s not as if they were angels by any stretch, quite the opposite."

Daphne stayed silent, watching from the corner of the sofa. There was a strange tightness in her chest, a bittersweet ache that swelled each time she caught Harry’s smile or heard his laugh. She wanted this for him—this warmth, this connection, this fleeting illusion of family—but it reminded her too painfully of how little he had ever had of it.

As they talked, her thoughts wandered, pulled back to that quiet evening a few months ago when Harry had pulled her aside at Hogwarts. She could still see the way his jaw had been set, his eyes shadowed with determination and understanding that he rarely let anyone see. He’d confided in her then, told her things he hadn't shared with anyone else.

"We’re more alike than I’d thought," he had said softly, his voice tinged with a mix of compassion and sadness.

Daphne had felt the truth of it in her bones. They were alike—two people who had been shaped by loss, carrying more pain than most could understand. But there was one critical difference between them. She had her mother, her anchor, her greatest champion. Harry, for all his strength, had no one. That thought alone made her heart ache as she watched him now, basking in the light of her mother’s stories.

“Didn’t they ever get caught?” Harry asked, his tone amused but eager. He leaned forward slightly, utterly enraptured.

“Caught? Constantly,” Marlene replied with a grin. “But that was half the fun. When you’re young, rules feel like challenges, don’t they? A bit like daring the world to catch you.”

Daphne felt herself smiling faintly at the exchange, though the heaviness in her chest refused to dissipate. These feelings were new and uncharted. In only a few months, they had taken root so deeply within her heart it was as if they had always been there, just waiting to bloom. She didn’t understand it entirely, but the yearning was undeniable. It hurt to be so close to him, to see him like this—open, happy—and yet be unable to reach out, to take his hand, to embrace him the way she wanted to, to show him just how much he had come to mean to her in such a short time.

Her gaze flicked briefly to the window, where the late evening light was beginning to fade, casting the room in a soft, golden glow. Somewhere in her mind, she cursed the situation they were all in—herself, Harry, and Susan. Nothing had been resolved, and the tension between them lingered like an unspoken shadow. Ever since Harry had confessed to them, they’d tiptoed around the issue, as though avoiding it might make it disappear. She wondered, fleetingly, if Susan’s heart ached the same way hers did when she looked at him.

Dinner came and went, the hours slipping by unnoticed as Marlene’s stories carried them along. The sky outside darkened, and the stars began to shimmer faintly above the garden by the time Daphne found herself standing with Harry on the balcony. The cool night air brushed against her skin, carrying with it the faint scent of lavender from the bushes below. Harry rested his forearms on the railing, his fingers tracing idle patterns against the cold metal as he gazed out into the shadowed expanse of the garden.

“She’s incredible,” he said quietly, breaking the silence.

Daphne tilted her head. “My mother?”

He nodded, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. It’s… nice. Listening to her stories, hearing about things I never had.”

Daphne’s throat tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t find the words. She turned her gaze toward the garden, unable to look at him. “She likes you, you know,” she said finally, her voice softer than she intended. “I think she sees a lot of your parents in you.”

Harry let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Maybe.”

Daphne frowned as she watched him for a moment, her own thoughts spiraling into the shadows of her past.

"I owe her so much," she said softly, breaking the quiet. Her voice trembled slightly, and she hated the vulnerability that laced her words.

Harry turned to her, his gaze attentive and supportive as he silently urged her to continue.

"My mother," Daphne continued, her voice firmer now. "After everything I’ve put her through... Merlin, Harry, I was horrible to her for so many years. I let myself believe every vile thing that… man said about her. I let him twist the way I saw her. I was so blind, so... so stupid."

"Daphne..." Harry began, but she shook her head, needing to get the words out.

"He told me she was weak," she said bitterly, her hands gripping the railing until her knuckles turned white. "That she was a traitor to the family, a disgrace for not believing in his cause. And I—" Her voice cracked. "I treated her like she was the enemy. Like she was the problem, not him. She tried so hard to reach me, to love me despite everything, and I just pushed her away."

Harry didn’t interrupt. He waited, giving her the space to untangle the mess of emotions spilling out. He knew how much pain she must be in. He could only imagine how she must be feeling all this time.

"It took seeing him... seeing what he really was to snap me out of it," Daphne continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "When I walked into that room and saw him with his hands around her throat, choking the life out of her... I knew. I knew then what a monster he was, but it was too late. I’d already lost so much time with her because of him."

Her breath hitched, and she turned her face away, the tears she’d held back threatening to spill. She felt Harry’s hand brush against hers, hesitant at first, then firm as his fingers intertwined with hers.

"You were a child, Daphne," he said gently. His voice carried a quiet conviction, as if willing her to believe the words she couldn’t say to herself. "You didn’t know any better. He manipulated you. He twisted things to suit his own agenda. That’s not your fault."

“Then I killed him,” she whispered, and the raw emotion in her voice was palpable. “I don’t even remember what spell I used. Was it even a spell? I didn’t even think about it. It was purely on instinct. He was going to kill her. And I—” Her shoulders trembled as the memory consumed her. “I didn’t stop to think about what it would mean. I just... did it.”

Harry’s grip on her hand tightened. "You saved your mother," he said firmly. "You did what you had to do. If you hadn’t acted, Daphne, he would have killed her. You would have lost her forever."

She looked up at him, her vision blurred with tears. "Then why doesn’t it feel like I did the right thing? Why does it still haunt me?"

Harry’s expression softened, the empathy in his gaze cutting through her defenses. "Because you’re human," he said simply. "Because you care. That’s what makes you different from him."

The tears fell now, and Daphne quickly wiped them away with her free hand as Harry watched her with empathy shining in his eyes. However, his own eyes darkened, and Daphne realized he must be lost in his own memories as well.

"You know," he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, "I still dream about her sometimes. The warden."

Daphne didn’t need him to explain, but he still did, and her anguish only grew as he told her what the woman had truly done to him, both physically and mentally. Her grip on his hand tightened the more he spoke, and her heart went out to him.

"I didn’t mean to," he admitted, his voice thick. "I just... I couldn’t take it anymore. She’d hurt me so many times, and when I saw her coming for me again, I... I snapped."

Daphne turned to him, squeezing his hand as comfortingly as she could. She knew how vulnerable he was at this moment—something that was so uncharacteristically like him, and she tried to offer as much support as she could.

“Harry, you were just a boy,” she said softly. “You were defending yourself. No one—no one—can blame you for that.”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice heavy. “But it doesn’t change the fact that it happened. And sometimes... sometimes I wonder if that makes me no better than the people I hate."

"It doesn’t," Daphne said fiercely, her hand tightening in his. "You are nothing like them, Harry. Nothing."

He gazed deeply into her eyes, his emerald orbs shining with unshed tears. The vulnerability she saw there made her chest ache, and before she could stop herself, she cupped his face with her hands, forcing him to see the truth in her gaze.

"We’re going to be okay," she said firmly. "Both of us. We’ll figure it out. Together."

Harry exhaled shakily, nodding as he reached up to cover her hands with his own. "And Sirius," he added, a faint spark of determination returning to his voice. "We’ll get him out of Azkaban. I promise you, Daphne. We’ll do it."

She smiled faintly and tearfully, her thumbs brushing against his cheekbones. "We will," she agreed. "And then we’ll make sure he gets the life he deserves. All of us deserve to have him in our lives."

The silence stretched between them as they gazed at each other, both more vulnerable than ever before, and both had an inkling of how close they were, with her hands still cradling his face as he held her there, and their breaths coming in soft tufts of air in the cool night air. Involuntarily, Harry’s gaze dropped to her lips, and Daphne felt her heart stutter in her chest.

Neither of them moved consciously, but the emotional pull between them, charged with their shared grief and the love they truly shared, was not to be denied.

None was sure who moved first, whether it was her leaning in or him closing the space between them, but when their lips finally met for the first time, it felt as if the world itself paused.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative and hesitant, as both didn’t know how these things worked. It felt as if it was hanging by a fragile thread that would snap with the slightest wrong move. However, the sheer depth of their emotions—every shared grief, every bit of understanding, every emotion that had remained not acted upon—poured into it, drawing them together in a rush of emotion that left them breathless.

Daphne’s hands slipped from his face to the back of his neck, her fingers entangling in his messy hair as she pulled him closer. She felt the tremor in his hands as they moved to her waist, holding her like she might slip away if he let go. The kiss deepened, raw and unrestrained in passion, and for the first time in what felt like forever, both Harry and Daphne let themselves stop thinking entirely, succumbing to the feelings coursing through them. There were no complications, no shadows of the past, and no fears for the future between them—only this moment, this shared passion and love, and the person in their arms.

Harry’s lips moved against hers with quiet desperation, like he had been holding back for far too long. His hands tightened their hold on her hips, anchoring her to him, and she responded in kind, pouring every ounce of her own tangled feelings, her hunger and desire for him, and her longing for everything into the kiss. It was all overwhelming and intoxicating, and the flood of emotions that assaulted them left them breathless and weightless all at once, making them feel as if they were floating away into an unending sea of nothingness.

Only when the need for breathing became urgent did they finally break apart, the world slowly coming back into focus. Their eyes remained closed as their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the cool night air as both of them trembled from the intensity of what had just passed between them.

Their hands remained where they were, holding each other close and grounding themselves into the moment, even as their hearts continued to race.

“Daphne,” he murmured, his voice rough and filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite name—something that felt like both awe and disbelief.

She pulled back slightly as she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and found her own emotions mirrored there: fear, hope, even love, and an undeniable sense of belonging. It made her heart soar, bringing fresh tears to her eyes that she forced down.

She reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering against his skin. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost a whisper, and she forced it to remain as steady as she could.

“Whatever happens,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

His eyes searched hers for what felt like hours before he allowed himself to lean into her touch. “Together,” he echoed softly.

The stars above them burned brightly, the garden below was bathed in golden light, and in the living room, a certain blonde watched the pair with a tearful smile, holding a moleskin pouch in her hands. They noticed nothing though as they kept gazing at each other tenderly. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

-Break-

The soft light of dawn filtered through the windows of Harry’s bedroom accompanied by the morning sea breeze. The sky was overcast, with waves crashing violently against the cliffside, much like the turmoil Harry’s mind was in. He lay in his bed, staring silently at the ceiling, and he couldn't think about anything else.

It was Daphne.

And the kiss.

The memory was crystal clear in his mind—the warmth of her lips, the way she’d trembled in his arms, the soft press of her forehead against his as they’d stood there, both overwhelmed by the moment. His chest tightened at the thought, a confusing mix of longing and guilt warring within him.

Slowly, he sat up, running a hand through his messy hair as the events of the previous evening replayed in his mind. After the kiss, they hadn’t said much. Daphne had pulled away slightly, her cheeks flushed—not that he had been any better, he assumed—and her eyes both searching his and trying to be as reassuring and calm as she could be in that situation. He hadn’t truly known what to say after that, and so they’d lingered in that overwhelming silence until Marlene had called for them from inside.

Their parting had been brief, almost awkward. Their hands had lingered one last time, a fleeting touch that was borne out of a sudden need more than anything else, and with a whispered, “Goodnight,” he’d left. He had no clue that after he’d vanished in a swirl of emerald flames, she’d stood there for several minutes, staring at the empty fireplace, her thoughts a tangled mess.

Harry did not fully process it the previous night. However, now, in the quiet solitude of his home and after having slept on it, the enormity of what had happened hit him fully. He leaned back against the headrest and stared hard at the ceiling, exhaling a shaky breath as he tried to make sense of his feelings.

He’d kissed her. She’d kissed him.

The thought was both exhilarating and damning. He could not deny the truth—he cared deeply for Daphne. Did he love her? He didn’t know what love was. But he did like her a lot, and deep down, he knew he had feelings for her.

She was strong, intelligent, and fiercely loyal, and in the short time they’d grown closer, she had carved a place for herself in his heart. Last night, seeing her vulnerability, the way she had opened up to him, he’d felt an undeniable pull, a need to be there for her, to share in her pain and let her share in his.

But then there was Susan.

Harry’s stomach twisted painfully at the thought of her. Susan, who had been there for him in so many ways, who understood his struggles, who supported him wholeheartedly, who had pulled him out of the shell he had carved around himself, and who had a kindness and warmth that had drawn him in from the start. He cared for her just as much as he cared for Daphne, and that truth tore at him now.

‘What is all this mess?’ he thought bitterly, his fingers massaging his temples as he closed his eyes. ‘Why do I have to feel this way about both of them?’

It wasn’t fair—not to Susan, not to Daphne, and certainly not to himself. He knew that. And yet, in that moment on the balcony, fairness hadn’t mattered. The connection he’d felt with Daphne had been impossible to ignore as if some unseen force had drawn them together despite everything. But now, in the cold light of morning, all he could see were the consequences.

Both Daphne and Susan deserved better than this. They deserved honesty, not a half-hearted version of himself split between two people. They deserved someone who could give them his whole heart, not one torn in two.

Still, the dilemma persisted. Who could he choose? How could he possibly decide without breaking someone’s heart—and his own in the process? The weight of it was suffocating, and Harry felt truly lost on this matter. They had not even touched upon it ever since he had confessed to them, but Harry knew it was more because of the chaos that had unfolded his life in the past few weeks. The matter was only put on hold, not forgotten, and he knew it would surge again.

He sighed as his thoughts returned to the previous evening once again.

‘She is not at fault. None of us are,’ he thought, his mind circling back to Daphne and their kiss. He knew she would not blame him, and he did not blame her either. Last night, they had both been caught up in the heat of the moment, both vulnerable, and both seeking solace in the only place that made absolute sense—each other. It had been mutual, unplanned, and raw.

He sighed, letting himself fall back onto the bed, his arm draped over his eyes to block out the morning light.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned aloud to the empty room.

The mansion around him, vast and much larger than one person needed it to be, remained quiet, offering no answers. This place was his sanctuary—a place he had bought to both escape the chaos of the wizarding world and to have a place to call his own, yet now it felt too empty, too cold.  

His thoughts churned, and he couldn’t help but wonder what Daphne was thinking now. Was she feeling the same guilt, the same confusion? Did she regret it?

‘Do I?’

He swallowed hard, the memory of her lips still lingering, and he knew the answer. No, he didn’t regret it. Not for a moment. That was perhaps the most damning realization of all. That he’d liked it. That he wanted more of it. More of her. And those thoughts did not remain limited to her, for he felt the same way about Susan as well.

With a groan, Harry pushed himself off the bed and paced the room, his bare feet silent against the cold floor. He paused by the window, staring out at the sprawling garden below, the leaves swaying violently in the chilly sea breeze. The weather outside felt like a reflection of the confusion inside him.

He had to talk to them. Both of them. He could not let this fester. He could not keep running from the truth of all their feelings anymore. It was not only because of how he felt for them either. Daphne and Susan had grown into close friends despite their frequently clashing opinions or their shared interest in him, and he knew neither would keep such a massive secret from the other. Daphne would tell Susan what had happened the previous evening, and he knew Susan would do the same.

Exhaling firmly, he resolved to face the situation. Yet, the thought of seeing Susan’s disappointment or Daphne’s hurt made his chest ache.

His friends would arrive on New Year’s Eve to celebrate together, and Harry wondered whether they could wait until then or whether he should ask Daphne and Susan for a meeting beforehand.

It was high time they resolved this situation, because there was another pressing matter that was much more important than anything else, and it required the involvement of the Head of the DMLE herself.

-Break-

The storm outside howled like a wounded beast, wind and rain slamming against the stone walls of Azkaban as the fortress’ frigid corridors reverberated with an eerie silence. Somewhere within the depths of the prison, the thin frame of Sirius Black—emaciated from years of malnutrition—was hunched in a fetal position on the damp stone floor of his cell, with his arms wrapped around his knees.

Shadows cast by the flickering torchlight outside danced mockingly across the wall, their shapes sometimes morphing into accusatory silhouettes. James. Lily. Peter.

An involuntary groan escaped his lips, and the sound was filled with both anguish and frustration. Alas, it was loud enough to catch the attention of others, even through the thick walls of Azkaban.

A sharp, cruel laugh pierced the silence, followed by the echoing rattle of chains against the stone floor.

"Did I hear my dear cousin whining again?" Bellatrix Lestrange’s voice oozed mockery as she moved in her cell, leaning forward just enough to press her face sideways against the iron bars. Her wild hair framed her gaunt face, and her sunken eyes gleamed with twisted delight.

Sirius clenched his jaw, staring out at the storm-tossed sea through the thin iron bars. This was the punishment they had deemed fit for him—a cell facing the outside world—keeping freedom within sight but always out of reach.

“Oh, cousin,” came Bellatrix’s sing-song voice, dripping with venom. “Whatever are you moping about this time? Mourning your precious friends, are we?”

“I don’t have time for your madness, Bella,” Sirius muttered, his voice hoarse.

Bellatrix let out a high-pitched laugh, her head tilting back as if the statement were the funniest thing she’d heard all year. “Oh, but we always have time for family, don’t we, Rudy?”

“Of course,” Rudolphus Lestrange replied from the adjacent cell, his smile revealing his rotten teeth, yet his tone was like oil on water. “It’s what keeps the blood pure, after all.”

Bellatrix’s gaze snapped back to Sirius’ cell, her lips curling into a mocking pout. “Such a shame, really. The mighty Sirius Black, reduced to a pathetic little mutt, locked in a cage. You don’t even have the strength to bark anymore.”

Rudolphus chuckled. "Careful, Bella. He might get offended if he weren’t so busy licking his wounds."

Bellatrix’s laughter turned sharp and mocking as she eyed Sirius’ cell. "Offended? Sirius? No, no—he’s too busy wallowing in guilt. Aren’t you, cousin? Poor James and Lily, eh? Trusting you, of all people, with their lives." She leaned closer to the bars, her lips curling into a sinister smile. "Tell me, does it haunt you, Sirius? Knowing you led them to their deaths?"

Sirius tried to ignore her, but her words struck a nerve. His fingers twitched against the stone, and a snarl escaped his lips. Even over the howling winds, Bellatrix heard his reaction clearly, and her grin widened.

"Do you know what’s funny, Rudy? He had all the fire of a Black once. Defying the family, running off to play hero with his little friends. And yet here he is, rotting away like the rest of us. No better. No different."

"Except," Rudy added, his voice carrying a smirk, "we at least served the Dark Lord’s purpose. He? He couldn’t even protect the people who trusted him. James and Lily Potter. Oh, what a tragedy."

Sirius’s breath quickened, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of a response. His mind raced with memories of James and Lily—their laughter, their trust, their screams on that terrible night. The burden of his failures pressed down on him, heavier than the walls of Azkaban.

"Still silent, are we?" Bellatrix cooed, her voice turning mocking. "Perhaps you’re dreaming of…what was her name? Marlene? Oh yes, I remember now. Pretty little McKinnon. Forced to play house with Cyrus, wasn’t she? Such a sweet little prize for a loyal Death Eater. Tell me, Sirius, does it keep you awake at night? Knowing she’s probably still alive, enduring things you can’t even imagine?"

The mention of Marlene sent a fresh wave of guilt through Sirius. His jaw tightened, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Marlene’s voice echoed faintly in his memory—her reassurance that she would be safe, that Cyrus was too prideful to harm his trophy.

Rudolphus chuckled darkly. "He probably tells himself it’s all fine. That Cyrus wouldn’t dare harm her. Oh, the lies we tell ourselves to survive."

Bellatrix’s tone turned sharp, oozing with venom. "Or maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe the mighty Sirius Black finally learned what it means to cut his losses."

Sirius finally spoke, his voice hoarse but steady. "You don’t know a damned thing about me, Bella."

Bellatrix cackled. "Oh, struck a nerve, did I? Of course I know you, cousin. You’re predictable. A coward dressed up as a hero. Running away from your family, your responsibilities. And look where it got you—stuck in here with the rest of us. You were so different, eh? Are you?"

"You chose this!" Sirius shot back, his voice low but carrying a dangerous edge. "You and everyone around you—you pledged your loyalty to Voldemort. Don’t pretend we’re the same."

Bellatrix’s laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by an icy silence. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet but laced with malice. "We may share a name, Sirius, but you stopped being my family the day you betrayed the Black legacy. And now, you’re nothing. Just a shadow of the man you thought you were. Speak his name again and you’ll why I was truly sent here."

“Killing your blood. I really won’t be surprised if you really do it,” Sirius jeered.

Bellatrix giggled madly, her mood reversing in an instant. She tapped a finger against her chin theatrically. "I do wonder why you haven’t tried to escape again. Surely the Great Sirius Black could find a way out of this dreary little hole. Or is it that you’re too weak? Too broken? Oh!" Her eyes widened with feigned realization. "Of course—you’re scared. Scared Cyrus might… accidentally misplace that trophy of his if you show your face again?"

Sirius’s eyes flashed with anger, but he stayed silent. The truth was more complicated than Bellatrix could ever understand. It wasn’t just Marlene—though the fear of Cyrus retaliating against her had always lingered in his mind. It was everything: the suffocating presence of the Dementors, the magical wards that blocked any escape, the cramped cell that had only one way out—the rampaging cold ocean below, the gnawing guilt that ate away at him, and the bitter realization that he wasn’t the same man he had once been.

The Dementors’ influence had twisted his thoughts, blurring reality and memory. Transforming into his Animagus form was instinctual now, a desperate attempt to shield himself from their soul-crushing aura. But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

As the cackling woman’s voice slowly faded, Sirius turned away from the wall, his body trembling with exhaustion and anger. He wouldn’t let her hear how deeply her words cut, wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how much he blamed himself for everything—for Marlene, for James and Lily, for Harry, and for the years stolen by this prison.

The Dementors glided outside his cell, their depressing and cold presence stealing the little warmth left in his body. Bellatrix’s taunts faded in the background, drowned out by the relentless hum of despair that filled the air.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the memory of James’s laughter, Lily’s smile, and Harry’s bright grins. He allowed himself to immerse in those memories, and finally, he returned to where he always did—the night he had become one with the woman he loved. As always, the feeling of Marlene’s touch soothed him. Those were the things he held onto, and those were the things the Dementors couldn’t ever take. Even though his body was weak, his spirit remained unbroken.

He had tried more than once, and he had failed. But he had not given up.

He would survive. For Marlene. For Harry. And for himself.

No matter how long it took, Sirius Black would find a way out of Azkaban.

TBC.