Chapter 13. On the Cusp
Rose woke up, and the first thing she felt was comfort and exhaustion. Her body was heavy, as if the hollow spaces inside her were filled with concrete. It would take effort even to raise herself upright. But other than that, she was surprisingly fine; she was… cosy, hardly something she expected after the experience with the Cruciatus Curse.
The 'reason' was cuddling her, his gentle arm curled around her waist, the open palm resting on her belly. His face was tucked into her hair, his heartbeat mellow against her back, his strong hips solid behind her legs. From head to toe, she was cocooned in his warmth.
Harry was spooning her. He'd slept beside her. He hadn't left her alone.
Her lips curved in a drowsy smile, and she pressed back against him, pulling his hand up from her belly and cradling it against her chest.
Closing her eyes, she went back to sleep.
~xXxXx~
Harry woke up, and the first thing he noticed was his full bladder and the unwelcome erection.
Sometime in the night, Rose had pressed back into him. And his body had instinctively shifted to accommodate her, his hips curving inward, forming a shallow dipper for her round backside to fill in. Now his aching groin was pressed flush against her arse, the thin layer of their shorts proving no barrier.
The sensation was maddening. And if that wasn't torture enough, he found his hand on her chest, on her breasts. They were… delightfully perky. He could even feel the stiffness of her nipple beneath his fingers. The heat between their bodies was searing, as if they were melded together, their flesh fused into one.
It was excruciatingly pleasant and highly inappropriate.
This wasn't the first time he'd woken up with a morning wood squeezed between their bodies. They slept together in the same bed far too often to be that case. But unlike every other time, he didn't slide away from her. He didn't tip-toe out of her room full of desire and guilt.
He remained there, basking in the pleasure, throbbing against her, his trembling fingers cupping her full tit.
A childish possessiveness had taken over him as the events of last night filtered through the morning haze.
Now that they weren't in danger, and he could think more clearly, it wasn't the Death Eaters or the resurrected/fake Voldemort that scared him, but an entirely different matter.
Daphne liked Rose.
He was made aware that soon he could be replaced by the dreamy blonde. If Rose and Daphne began going out, Harry would no longer be allowed to sleep with his twin, to hold her like this.
And he hated that.
Rose was his. She was his perfect half, his soulmate. No one else was more precious to him. But now, a cold realisation settled in: not only had he never had a chance with Daphne—his crush—she could even take away the only person that mattered to him.
It would be terribly… heartbreaking.
Maybe he should finally let Rose see the effect she had on him. Maybe he should reveal the depth of his ruinous feelings. Maybe he should tell her how intently he loved her. Maybe she would even reciprocate them.
He bit back a rueful smile, his mind lethargic and woolly.
She would not, of course, and he'd end up ruining this, the one thing he treasured above everything else.
Sighing, he slowly pried his hand from her chest and rolled away, slipping off the bed and landing onto his feet. Quietly, so as not to disturb her.
The awareness that he could love Rose even more than reasonably came when he was in the middle of puberty, when he recognised his own lust. But unlike Lily, for whom he allowed himself to feel desire without guilt, Rose was different. She was pure and untainted. And he didn't want to spoil that.
Now, he wondered whether he should've tested those boundaries, to see if Rose was inclined to a more… forbidden relationship.
But that was crying over spilt milk. The time for that was gone.
Leaving her room, he went to his own and did the morning ablutions, his crazy thoughts dissipating as he regained sense. Putting on a clean pair of shirt and jeans, he fixed his slightly damp hair and went down for breakfast. Usually, he'd be up before the crack of dawn and would've already finished his morning run. But yesterday wasn't usual, so he allowed himself leeway for the break in the routine.
Lily was there in the kitchen, seated at the dining table. Her form was awashed in the sunlight falling through the window, catching in her loose scarlet hair, making it seem lighter than it really was. She was still in the same blood-red dress from yesterday, the skin-tight one, the one with the thigh-high slit. And while it still looked bold and bewitching, she herself seemed… drained.
She looked up at his arrival and dipped her chin in greeting. "Good morning."
"Morning, mum," he returned awkwardly, stopping at the threshold, unsure how to treat her after their quarrel last night.
Many cruel words were spat out on his part, and while he still meant all of those, he did regret saying them, for hurting her.
"Take a seat, Harry. Don't be shy." She smirked, though her eyes were bloodshot and devoid of amusement, and he wondered if she even slept last night. "We can forget what happened. We were high-strung after the battle. We were angry. You said some words you didn't mean. And I—" she paused, then exhaled. "I did some things that disappointed you. I'm sorry about that."
He wanted to correct her, to tell her that he actually meant what he'd said. But the way she stared at him stole the words from his mouth. Her dull eyes were wide, full of desperation and hope, looking for forgiveness. She was begging him to take back the words he'd said, to lie to her that he hadn't meant when he'd said she was a bad mother, that he wished she didn't exist, that Alice should've been their mother.
She was hanging on the cliff with her fingertips, beseeching him to help her.
Last night's rage wasn't there anymore, and he couldn't bring himself to squash her desperate plea and kick her into the bottomless chasm of despair.
"I hope you'll do better next time," he said softly, compromising, neither forgiving her but not repeating the cruel words either, and he took the chair across from hers.
That was enough for her, because her dull eyes seemed to regain a little life, her tense shoulders relaxing. She slumped against the chair's backrest and offered him a tight smile. "I will; I promise. I have no vengeance left in me, anyway. There's nothing left to divert my attention. All my old enemies are dead, and my precious children still need tending to."
At his raised eyebrow, she revealed how Draco was killed and tortured by Sirius last night, how Lucius was practically a dead man walking when he came by an hour ago to request his son's body.
"Are you sure he won't seek revenge?" he asked, confused at her nonchalance. Because if someone had killed or tortured any of his family, he would absolutely obliterate them; he'd hound them until his dying breath.
Lily shook her head, and he was surprised to see regret on her face. "There's a point of no return, Harry. If someone is pushed past that, nothing matters anymore, neither justice nor revenge. At that point, they are just too depleted to live. I've seen that look many times. And I saw it again today. Lucius will kill himself. He might've already."
That was gloomy. He hadn't known a man could be pushed to a limit where he no longer cared about his son's death.
"What about Narcissa Malfoy?"
She hesitated and then shrugged. "I don't know about her. But even if she seeks revenge, it will be against Sirius, not me. I wasn't the one who killed and tortured her son, after all."
He wasn't surprised that she didn't care Sirius could be in danger. Then again, Sirius did butcher a teenager. He had it coming.
Harry wouldn't have minded if Sirius had gone after Lucius Malfoy himself, but taking out his wrath and misery on Draco was beyond pathetic. It was the same as the Death Eaters who attacked Rose because she was Lily Potter's daughter. Of course, the one distinction that set Rose and Draco apart was that he was a Death Eater and she wasn't, so Sirius wasn't altogether unjustified. But Harry knew Sirius wouldn't have spared Draco even if he wasn't a Death Eater. It was vengeance his godfather sought, not justice.
He wondered what Sirius would do now if—when Lucius Malfoy died. His entire reason for living was vengeance. What would he do when there was no one to hate, once James Potter was avenged?
His thoughts were derailed by the arrival of the owl through the window.
It deposited the Daily Prophet on the table and flew back out.
Usually, he didn't care what drivel was printed in the newspaper. Then again, his own face wasn't typically on the front page. It was on the bottom half.
WORLD CUP DISASTER SPAWNS A 'MONSTROUS HERO'
…
…
"What the bloody hell is this?" muttered Harry, picking up the newspaper.
The moving image showed him and the three girls standing outside the pink tent, beside the two headless bodies. He looked positively feral with that glare on his face.
Lily rose from her chair and came to stand behind him, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look.
While the title and the image were predictably sensational, the article itself was more or less factual. But facts alone were enough to paint Harry in a polarising light.
It covered everything he'd done. From the incident at the pink tent to the Death Eater attack. When he flipped the page, there was another moving image, of him tossing the gigantic, house-sized stone that crushed a dozen or so Death Eaters. It was a… grisly sight, the colossal stone sitting in the pond of blood and pulverised meat.
He'd killed so many people yesterday, and his mind was having trouble accepting that fact.
"It's alright." Lily squeezed his shoulder, and he realised he was gasping and clutching his chest. He closed his mouth and numbed himself. "They deserved it, Harry. Dehumanise them. Make them faceless shadows, mere numbers on a page. Even better, just don't think about them. It will get easier, I promise. You'll forget them sooner than you think."
He nodded shakily and got up. There were numerous articles about yesterday, but he wasn't curious anymore. "I'll bring Rose her breakfast. I'll eat with her."
"Okay." She cupped his face, fixing him with a motherly look. "But do eat it. Losing your appetite over Death Eater scum is not healthy."
He hummed non-committally and left the kitchen.
~xXxXx~
Amelia Bones was tired. She hadn't had a wink of sleep last night, having spent the hours trying to mitigate the situation. First, she had to secure the campsite once the Death Eaters were repelled. Then she had to deal with all the dead bodies on her hands.
The attack resulted in a total of 165 casualties. Most of them happened in the 3rd quarter, the area under Weep's administration. It made perfect sense. That was the only quarter without any auror presence. She should have sent a detachment to protect it after Lily had killed the entire Weep delegation. But if she had, her own forces would've been weakened, and there might've been even more deaths in her own quarter. And hers was the most important since all the higher-ups were stationed there.
She could very well imagine how much worse it could've been if official delegates had lost their lives. As it was, only civilians had died, and while it was a disaster, it wasn't cataclysmic. In a way, it worked in her favour. Because a few Death Eaters had been captured, and upon questioning, they exposed everything. Already, she had signed arrest warrants for forty-one men, all belonging to the traditionalist faction in the Wizengamot.
The door to her office creaked open, and Tonks strode in, dropping the Daily Prophet on her desk.
"You may want to give it a look, Boss." Tonks swung into the chair before her desk, sounding amused and peppy even though she'd remained active throughout the night just like Amelia. It must be the difference in their age. Because Amelia couldn't even pretend to be stoic. If someone barged in right now, they'd be greeted by the sight of her bent and slumped figure, the hard-headed Minister nowhere to be seen.
She grimaced and reluctantly picked up the paper, flipping through it, skimming the headlines.
THE WORLD CUP OR THE WORLD EMBARRASSMENT?
…
WORLD CUP DISASTER SPAWNS A 'MONSTROUS HERO'
…
LILY POTTER IS BACK AT IT AGAIN, KILLING IN STYLE
…
THE PEOPLE OF WEEP ARE NOT WEEPING, THEY'RE SEETHING
…
SHOULD BRITAIN ANNEX WEEP? THEY DESERVE IT!
…
IS THIS ATTACK ORCHESTRATED BY YOU-KNOW-WHO, IS HE REALLY DEAD?
…
She spent the next ten minutes reading all the articles, throwing the paper back on the desk once she was done. The first few were factual, but the rest were nothing more than gossip and speculation.
The first article hit the bullseye on one comment. This attack was an affront to her name. Not only was there the Weep incident, but the Death Eater attack took place the same day. So much had gone wrong with the event organised by her team that she wouldn't be surprised if the members of Wizengamot demanded her resignation. She would've given it herself if there was a better candidate. But there were none. The only other popular leaders were from the traditionalist faction, the likes of Yaxley and Nott. And one of them was dead, while the other was on the run. Not only did she get an anonymous letter accusing Phineas Nott to be the mastermind behind the attack, but the apprehended Death Eaters had also confessed to it.
If only they'd managed to catch him. Still, she had a name to throw to the public, and that was more than enough to shift most of the blame from her name.
"What do you think of the boy, Tonks?" She slid the paper across the table, opening the second page, where the picture depicted Harry Potter lifting a humongous stone and throwing it on the Death Eaters, killing them instantly.
Tonks propped her face on her elbow, regarding the image with a narrowed gaze. "He was shockingly normal and polite after the Weep incident. It's unnerving that someone soft like him can have so much blood on his hands."
"He's Lily's son," Amelia stated, taking off her monocle and rubbing it with her handkerchief. "It stands to reason that he can kill. But I'm shocked by the revelation that he's a squib. How is he doing… whatever this is—exploding skulls with a fist, throwing an enormous stone without magic?"
"Maybe he has an ability we're not aware of." Tonks pushed back from the desk and lay on the backrest, pulling her knees against her chest, her pink hair darkening to brown. "We already know magic can take many forms." She pointed at herself.
"I doubt he'll tell us if he indeed has a secret talent." Amelia put back on her monocle. "Anyway, I'll be interested in recruiting him. Maybe even Lily. They can come in handy doing tasks my auror force cannot because of legal or moral reasons. And the public loves their vigilantes. As long as the two are directed at 'evil' people, the public sentiment and I can protect them from prosecution."
"But can we control them?" Tonks flipped to the first page and tapped at Harry Potter's murderous glare.
If looks could kill, the entire British population would be ash by now.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. It's just a thought for now."
~xXxXx~
Across the Channel, a certain Veela read about her new friend in the newspaper and felt a quiet relief, glad to know he was alive.
At Hogwarts, the strongest wizard of the era sat at his claw-footed desk, rereading the article about Harry Potter, uncertain whether to hope or dread.
In the forests of Albania, Phineas Nott desperately searched for his master.
And finally, at Trickett Manor, the seven sins gathered for an important meeting. The fate of Pride was to be decided. His punishment would be passed.
Unknown to all but the Dark Lord, that decision would echo far beyond the manor's walls.
It would herald the apocalypse.