Chapter 17
A Promise Given
Authors Note - To address ancient magic if anyone has concerns
Harry vs Voldemort no matter how much training Harry has, he doesn’t stand a chance. Voldemort is considerably older and has a wealth of combat experience vs a sixteen year old boy and also has 0 qualms with killing, believe it or not the majority of people aren’t comfortable with killing, Harry being one of them. So Ancient magic is a way to at least bridge the gap but I promise it will not be enough alone.
Anyway, on with the show.
……
Chapter Seventeen
Daphne traced a finger thoughtfully along the rim of her silver compact mirror, studying her reflection with an attention to detail that had become increasingly habitual these past weeks. Her roommates bustled around her, discussing the day’s assignments and gossiping about the latest school drama, but Daphne’s focus remained steady, her gaze appraising. Today was Ancient Runes, which meant a morning spent with Harry. She let out a slow breath, her fingers fiddling with a strand of her hair as she considered their recent interactions.
Since the start of term, their partnership in Ancient Runes had made a curious difference in her life. She hadn’t faced the usual gossip or scorn from certain Slytherins for associating with someone from Gryffindor; in fact, her housemates seemed more than willing to ignore her connection to Harry, which made it easier to slip through her days without notice. Even so, Daphne knew this arrangement was more than a matter of convenience or the avoidance of sidelong glances of her housemates. She could no longer ignore it: her curse, in its infallible way, had selected him—the person to whom her magic instinctively reached.
“Alright, Greengrass?” Pansy asked as she swept by, examining herself in the mirror beside Daphne.
Daphne offered a tight smile and a nod. “Just fine,” she replied, dismissing her roommate’s curiosity. She would rather not entertain the other girls presence, Pansy was one major reason, alongside Draco, that the rest of Hogwarts viewed Slytherin as the house to be avoided much to the frustration of the rest of her house.
Shaking her thoughts from her yearmates, her mind turned back to Harry.
It wasn’t Harry’s fault that he’d been chosen. It was hard to resent him for it when he was as polite and straightforward as he’d been with her and she might even dare suggest that he had been charming. Their partnership ever since the summer had settled into a comfortable rhythm, and he treated her like an equal—something that was increasingly rare among the boys she knew. And perhaps, she mused, she didn’t want to resent him. Rather than spending her energy railing against the curse’s inevitability, she would turn her focus toward gaining his interest.
A small smile tugged at her lips as she adjusted her collar, hoping that slight exposure of the column of her neck was attractive yet classy. Daphne was considered beautiful by most—she knew that, in a detached sort of way—but like any other girl her age, she was not without her insecurities. She tugged absently at the sleeves of her blouse, a little too aware of her slender wrists that she always had thought seemed too thin. Then there was her nose, which she’d always thought was slightly too long, no matter how many times her friends assured her it was “aristocratic. And had a beautiful slight upturn” And her hair, though glossy, refused to sit in effortless waves like those of the girls who appeared on Witch Weekly’s covers. She wasn’t as athletic as someone like Cho Chang who was slender and firm in all the right places if the gossip from boys was to be believed. Nor was she as curvy as witches like Lavender Brown or Susan Bones, and no matter how often her friends would say they would kill for her own figure she couldn’t help but compare herself.
This morning, however, she was determined to present herself at her best. Her curse had robbed her of choice, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make her own decisions about how to proceed. If there was any chance of reaching Harry, she would do so on her terms, as herself.
Whilst she never paid much attention to the boy-who-lived during her first five years of schooling she wasn’t so ignorant that she was not blind to the rather rapid change Harry Potter had undergone over the summer. Quidditch had kept him in shape but he was also a slender boy. However, it was around the third week of their studying sessions over the summer that she noticed his arms had filled out as had his chest, his strides she noted as he went to retrieve book were more assured and he seemed to stand taller. Other than that it struck Daphne quite how cheeky the boy was.
One memory, in particular, returned to her.
They’d been huddled over a page of runes when Harry stumbled on a translation, mistakenly interpreting friðr as “food” instead of “peace.” She hadn’t been able to resist a quiet tease, leaning in and saying, “Getting hungry there, Potter? Or just a little overconfident?”
Without missing a beat, he’d leaned back with a thoughtful frown and said, “Possibly. I’d guess all the grýla in this text have sharpened my instincts.”
“Grýla?” she’d echoed, eyebrows raised.
“Mm, I think it means ‘witches who mock others for their honest mistakes.’ You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” he’d said, that teasing glint in his eye unmistakable.
She’d been so startled she couldn’t hold back a laugh, conceding the point with a rueful smile. It was rare that anyone got the last word with her, and he seemed especially pleased that he’d managed it. It was safe to say that Harry Potter had grown on her, curse or no curse.
Satisfied, Daphne picked up her bag, her heart beating a little faster at the thought of their runes project discussion. They had narrowed down a few intriguing project options, and she wanted to impress him—not just with her ideas, but with her presence. She hoped it would be enough to set her apart, to make him take a closer look.
As she closed the door quietly behind her, she found Astoria waiting in the hall outside.
“Morning, Tori,” she said, giving her sister a soft smile. “What are you up to this morning?”
“Charms, first thing,” Astoria replied, falling into step beside Daphne as they started down the corridor through the main common room and out onto the main school. “We’ll be reviewing the summoning charm, but Professor Flitwick mentioned he’s going to add a practical element today. I think it’s going to be fun!”
“Good. You’re keeping up with the work, then?” Daphne asked, casting her younger sister a warm but scrutinising glance. It hadn’t been easy for her to adjust to Hogwarts in her first years, but Astoria seemed to be finding her footing with a confidence Daphne admired.
Astoria nodded with a smile. “I am. I actually like Charms, but Transfiguration is definitely my favorite. It’s so satisfying to see the magic take shape. Oh! And Professor Sprout praised me yesterday for my mandrake work—she even said I’m ahead of most in my year with Herbology.”
Daphne smiled, genuinely pleased. “You’ve always been a natural in the greenhouses. I’m glad Professor Sprout sees it too.” She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “Honestly, I think you might have the makings of a future Head Girl.”
Astoria’s cheeks tinged pink, her expression turning bashful. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely,” Daphne replied, squeezing her shoulder. “You’ve got the discipline and the talent, Tori. Just keep doing your best.”
Astoria beamed, looking both pleased and relieved. “Thanks, Daph. That really means a lot.”
They continued down the corridor together, Astoria sharing stories from her Herbology class, mentioning how Professor Sprout had assigned them an unusual task involving Puffapods and the delicate art of their harvesting. Daphne listened attentively, enjoying their time together. She might be older, but moments like these reminded her of the shared bond they had.
When they reached the main stairway, Astoria gave her a quick hug before heading off to her Charms class. Watching her sister disappear around the corner, Daphne felt a lingering warmth. Hogwarts could feel both huge and isolating, and Astoria’s cheerful presence was a comfort she hadn’t anticipated needing this much.
…
“I was thinking about your runic clothing idea some more last night,” Daphne remarked, breaking the comfortable silence between them as they sorted through their brainstorming notes during Ancient Runes. She noticed the slight grin that spread across Harry’s lips, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes as he looked up.
“Thinking about me late at night, Greengrass? First, you assume I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, now this. Awfully forward, aren’t you?” he chuckled.
Daphne flushed, though she narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. “Thinking about your idea,” she corrected with a huff, swatting his parchment lightly.
Harry chuckled again, his grin softening. “Alright, alright. I’m just playing,” he said, holding up his hands. “But go on—what were you thinking?”
“Well,” she started, happy to be back on track, “defensive runes would be good for aurors and maybe high-ranking Ministry officials, but what about the general public?”
Harry’s expression turned thoughtful. “You’re thinking of ways to make it useful for everyone.”
“Exactly. Back in the 1920s, there was that wizard who went around stunning unsuspecting witches and dragging them off into alleys, remember?” Daphne grimaced. “You can imagine what came after.”
Harry’s hand tightened on the desk as his knuckles turned white, but he nodded, understanding. “So... if everyday people had some protective charm woven into their clothes, they’d have a better chance if ambushed.”
“Right. Aurors know how to defend themselves, and even during the first war, the casualty rates among trained personnel were relatively low,” Daphne explained. “But for ordinary people... it was a different story.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully, clearly intrigued. “So the first thing we need to figure out is how well runes would bind to fabric. Whether cotton, wool, or silk affects the magic might be an issue. You’d want the runes to be effective on all materials so that everyone regardless of funds could access it”
“Precisely. Runes can be applied to most materials, but making them effective across a whole garment and ensuring the magic is consistently strong everywhere? That’s a different challenge.”
Harry furrowed his brow, tapping his fingers as he considered. “If it’s possible, though, why hasn’t this already been done?”
Daphne gave a small sigh, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as she reached for a thick, weathered book on the table between them. She flipped it open to a bookmarked page filled with tightly packed script and intricate diagrams.
“Because most enchanters focus on individual pieces—scarves, gloves, the occasional cloak,” she explained. “Trying to enchant an entire garment uniformly? It’s not just about the runes. It’s about thread tension, dye composition, even how the fabric stretches. One wrong variable and the whole enchantment falters. And these are charms, so not very strong”
Harry leaned closer, squinting at the diagram. “So… you're saying this is like magical textile engineering?”
Daphne gave him a look. “Yes, Harry. That is literally what this is.”
He grinned. “Good job, you’ve got the chosen one on your side then.
She raised an eyebrow, lips twitching.
“Potter, I will hex you, Chosen One or not,” she shot back, her voice playful but with a hint of seriousness.
He laughed, leaning back in his chair.
Daphne smirked, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. “You might be the ‘Chosen One,’ but I’m not the typical Slytherin. I plan to surprise you at every turn, your not getting all the credit,” she added.
“Challenge accepted,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “So, where do we start?”
“First, we need to define a rune script that specifically accounts for protection. We should focus on runes that enhance resilience, ward off threats, and maybe even some that promote strength,” Daphne suggested, her excitement palpable. “If we can combine those effectively, that would be a great start.”
“Right,” Harry replied, scribbling notes on his parchment. “And once we have a script in place, we can test it on different materials. I’ll order some samples of fabrics we can use.”
Daphne’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Order? Why don't we just go over to Hogsmeade and buy some? You know there’s that shop that specialises in magical textiles.”
She noted the cheeky grin forming on his lips again.
“Don’t. Even. Think. About that joke in your throat,” she warned, narrowing her eyes playfully.
Harry held up his hands, feigning innocence. “Well, I could do that. But I’m pretty sure if I walk into Gladrags and start buying loads of fabric, they’ll think I’m planning to make a new wardrobe.”
Daphne chuckled.
“Hey, you know I’m not wrong. Witch Weekly would have a spread on it and everything,” he said, mock-seriously.
“You think that Witch Weekly cares that much about you, Potter?” she raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-skeptical.
“I heard a rumor they were hassling Tattings the other day for my measurements,” he shrugged, the grin never leaving his face.
“How would you possibly know that?”
“I have my sources,” he smirked, earning an eye roll and an amused shake of the head from Daphne.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Potter. We can start with fabric samples and see where it goes, your wardrobe matters can be for you alone. One step at a time,” she said, smiling. “But if you do find something that looks ridiculous, I will definitely have something to say about it.”
“Fair enough,” he said, leaning forward again, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “So, how about we meet again tomorrow after lunch? I’ll bring whatever I find, and we can start sketching out the runes.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Daphne replied, feeling a warm excitement coursing through her. “I’ll start gathering some references tonight so we can really dive in.”
“Deal.” Harry extended his hand across the table, a grin on his face.
Daphne took it, her heart racing slightly at the contact. “And Harry?”
“Yes?”
“Just remember, I’m still the ambitious one here,” she said, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
“And I’m the brave one.”
“I prefer the term reckless,” she countered, her tone teasing.
“You wound me deeply, Greengrass,” he replied deadpan.
“And yet you're stuck with me,” a small smile tugged at her lips. Her magic, which she had pointedly been ignoring during their lessons, was jumping around like a caged animal. Pleasantly, her stomach fluttered with butterflies as their banter continued.
“True. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied. At that, her stomach did a somersault.
Maybe my curse has some taste? she thought, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through her.
…
Dumbledore stood in the dimly lit training room of the Room of Requirement, his wand held aloft, ready to test Harry once more. Today, he could sense an energy about the young man—a determination that seemed to radiate from him, as though he were a coiled spring ready to unleash his potential. The last few sessions over the summer had shown remarkable progress, but today felt different; there was a fire in Harry’s eyes that had not been there before.
“Ready, Harry?” he called, his voice echoing slightly in the spacious chamber.
Harry nodded, his expression focused. Dumbledore launched the first spell—a simple Stunning Spell—Which Harry dodged swiftly, moving with an agility that belied his years. The spell barely grazed his shoulder, and before Dumbledore could react, Harry countered with an incantation of his own.
Good, he thought, as he deflected the spell effortlessly. Each of Harry’s movements was purposeful, each spell cast with precision. It became clear very quickly that Harry was not merely defending himself; he was actively engaging, forcing Dumbledore to adapt to his rhythm. This gave Albus a sense of relief, over the years as much as Harry had survived situations he shouldn't. He was concerned that Harry was too defensive in his dueling, with allowed his opponent to dictate the duel.
As Ablus weaved his spells, he had to contend with Harry’s own aggression.
In the back of his mind, Dumbledore couldn’t help but reflect on his recent conversation with Amelia Wellesley. After Harry had left the Room of Requirement, he had stayed, eager to learn more about the implications of ancient magic. He had asked her if such magic could be harnessed to target dark curses—those sinister threads that attached themselves to a person like a parasite, draining their essence, hoping that ancient magic might be a solution for the Horcrux within Harry.
Amelia had been contemplative. “In theory, it’s possible,” she had said, her tone serious. “But I would need specific examples to provide guidance. Dark magic is tricky as you well know; without knowing the nature of the curse, I cannot advise on how to combat it effectively with the magic, it may as well kill you rather than cure you.”
He recalled her speaking of a time she had helped an old friend’s family member overcome a curse, a delicate operation requiring both knowledge and compassion which consequently was likely the final nail in the coffin for Amelia who died not long after curing her friend. The details of that case had remained vague, but Dumbledore had promised to return with specifics once he had a clearer understanding of the situation though he was sure not to tell her it was related to Harry.
He brought his focus back to the present, where Harry was now actively on the offensive forcing him into a defensive stance, launching a flurry of spells that Dumbledore deflected with increasing difficulty. It was exhilarating to witness; the boy was growing into a formidable wizard before his very eyes.
Just as Dumbledore was preparing for what appeared a particularly challenging spell judging by the younger wizards wand movements, Harry’s voice cut through the air, steady and determined. “Expelliarmus!” as the wand movements suddenly switched to the disarming spell.
Caught off guard, Dumbledore felt his wand slip from his fingers, flying into the air before landing gracefully in Harry’s outstretched hand. For a moment, there was silence, the weight of the unexpected victory hanging in the air.
“Well done, Harry,” Dumbledore said, a genuine smile breaking across his face. “That was quite impressive.”
Harry beamed, a mixture of pride and disbelief on his face. “I didn’t think I’d actually disarm you. I was hoping to distract you”
“I wasn’t looking for that spell myself,” Dumbledore replied, still savoring the moment. “You’ve made great strides in your training. But remember, you cannot use such spells when confronting Voldemort or his death eaters.”
“I understand, I am just wary of using more harmful spells in practice in case I lose control or harm someone” he replied.
Dumbledore’s gaze softened as he summoned two chairs with a wave of his hand, gesturing for Harry to sit beside him. When Harry settled, the headmaster let out a thoughtful sigh, his eyes flickering with memories both heavy and distant.
“There’s something important I wish to discuss with you, Harry,” Dumbledore began, folding his hands in his lap. “Something I hope will add depth to what I am teaching you here.”
Harry nodded, curiosity flashing in his eyes.
“You see, Harry, long before the battle against Voldemort began, I fought another dark wizard, Grindelwald. A man I had once called a friend.” Dumbledore’s voice was steady, yet tinged with a trace of regret. “It was a duel of the ages, people say. But for me, it was more than just a battle; it was a clash of convictions and old, painful memories.”
Dumbledore’s gaze grew distant, as though he could see the duel playing out before him. “When I first faced him, I tried to rely on restraint, on spells designed to subdue rather than to injure. I still believed there might be some semblance of my old friend that I believed existed within him. In the beginning, my wand cast only what I thought would subdue or block him, never to harm him, hoping—foolishly, I see now—that he might yield.”
Harry watched Dumbledore carefully, noting the weight these memories carried.
“For the majority of the duel, Grindelwald and I exchanged spells and counters with precision and power. But I failed to make any progress,” Dumbledore continued, his voice firm. “He was relentless, his magic focused entirely on defeating me. The more I tried to spare him, the more he pushed, the harder his attacks became. At that moment, I realised that the boy I had once known was gone, replaced by someone for whom my restraint was nothing but a weakness. Grindelwald was both surprised and, I daresay, caught off-guard when I finally resolved to abandon non-harmful spells. It was only then that I began to gain the upper hand and, ultimately, bring him down.”
Harry looked pensive, absorbing each word. “He thought you were soft, so when you changed your approach he struggled to adapt”.
“Exactly, Harry,” Dumbledore replied, his tone gentle but insistent. “Grindelwald was unprepared for the change in my tactics, and it was that shift which led to his defeat. I had hoped, as any wizard would, to avoid inflicting harm upon someone I once cared about. But it became clear that to show mercy to someone without mercy would lead only to my own ruin.”
The headmaster leaned forward, his piercing blue eyes fixing on Harry with a steady intensity. “When you face Voldemort or his followers, Harry, you must be prepared to meet them with every strength you possess. They will have studied your dueling habits. They will believe you will not seek to harm them and that will be your advantage. And while I wish dearly that such harm was not necessary… this war and this enemy require that we fight with everything we have, including the willingness to protect ourselves with strength that may sometimes feel uncomfortable.”
Harry nodded, understanding settling over him. Whilst he hated Voldemort and those in league with him, the idea of causing harm to another person did not sit well with him, no matter how much they may have deserved it. In truth, he always pictured himself at the mercy of Vernon when he had dropped a dish, or accidentally not moved out of the way in time. He didn’t want to ever be in the same picture as his Uncle.
“From our next sessions, I expect you to practice with a variety of spells—some defensive, yes, but also those that are designed to truly impact your opponent,” Dumbledore continued, his voice grave. “In a duel, hesitation can cost your life. When the adrenaline is high, and your heart is racing, school-level spells won’t suffice. Voldemort will expect them from you, just as Grindelwald expected them from me. In this war, Harry, I wish you did not have to make such choices. But to save yourself, and the lives of those you love, you must.”
The room fell silent, the gravity of Dumbledore’s words settling around them like a shroud.
“Right,” Harry finally replied, his voice stronger, steadier. “I understand, Professor. I’ll be ready.”
Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, a trace of sadness in his smile. “I have no doubt, Harry.
Harry shifted, feeling the unfamiliar weight of a wand still in his hand. It wasn’t until he looked down that he realized, with a jolt, that he was still holding Dumbledore’s wand. He blinked at it in surprise.
“Oh! Here—sorry, Professor,” he stammered, hurriedly extending the wand back to Dumbledore, a bit embarrassed.
Dumbledore raised a brow, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he took the wand back with graceful precision. “An honest mistake, Harry,” he said, slipping the wand back into his sleeve with a practiced flick. “Though, I must say, it’s a rather bold one. Not many young wizards would inadvertently try to leave with the wand of an old man such as myself.”
Harry laughed, a bit red in the face. “ I think I’d be in way over my head if I actually tried to keep it.”
“Wise words,” Dumbledore said with a small smile. “The wand does indeed choose the wizard, and in this case, I think it would have a mind to find its way back to me.”
“Wouldn’t want you to come chasing me down,” Harry chuckled.
“Indeed, no one wishes for that.” Dumbledore’s gaze softened, his eyes crinkling. “Now, if you’re quite done absconding with my wand, I shall look forward to our next session.
……
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