Chapter 25
A Promise Given
Chapter Twenty-Five
……
The Ancient Runes classroom buzzed with low murmurs and the occasional hiss of frustration as students hunched over their projects, the air tinged with the faint tang of burning chalk and old parchment. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, catching motes of dust that danced lazily in the air. The rhythmic scratch of quills and soft rustle of fabric blended into a quiet symphony of concentration, broken now and then by Professor Babbling’s firm but encouraging voice as she moved between groups.
At a desk near the back, Harry and Daphne sat side by side, Daphne's lower leg gently hooked around Harry's, their heads bent over a stretched square of fabric pinned to a wooden frame. Between them, runic charts and scraps of parchment lay scattered, some ink-smudged from impatient hands. Harry tapped his wand lightly against his notes, his brow furrowed in thought.
“So, if the issue is stability when the fabric flexes,” Harry mused, “then adding a rune for rigidity isn’t going to help. We need something that complements movement.”
“Agreed,” Daphne said, leaning forward. Her silver pin rolled absently between her fingers as her eyes scanned a chart of runic translations. “Flexibility without compromising the integrity of the primary protection rune. But which rune captures that balance?”
Harry drummed his fingers on the table, the rhythm soft but insistent. “Nothing water-based!”
Daphne wrinkled her nose. “Not wanting to get wet again, Potter?”
“I’d rather not, drying charms or not,” Harry said with a grin. “What about this one?” He pointed to a rune labeled viðbragð—a Norse symbol loosely translated as resilience through movement.
She leaned in, studying the rune. The faint scent of lavender wafted from Daphne’s robes, though she seemed oblivious to his brief pause. “Resilience,” she echoed, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “That might be it. If it’s used in dynamic wards, it could balance out the instability.”
They exchanged a quick nod, setting to work. Harry’s hand moved steadily as he traced the protection rune with inscribing chalk, the white lines shimmering faintly against the fabric. Beside him, Daphne sketched the viðbragð rune in fluid strokes, her precision unmatched. The classroom noise faded to a dull hum as they focused, their movements synchronized on the fabric piece. Harry glanced up briefly when her shoulder brushed his, but she seemed unaware, her attention fixed entirely on the task.
“Final loop,” Daphne murmured, her voice low and steady.
Harry nodded, his breath catching as he completed the last stroke. The runes flared to life as before, a warm golden glow pulsing faintly across the fabric. Both of them froze for a moment, then exchanged a glance as the light settled into a steady gleam. Slowly, Daphne reached out and tugged one corner of the fabric. The runes shimmered but held.
“It’s working,” she said, a hint of astonishment creeping into her tone.
Harry’s grin widened. “Try moving it more.”
She twisted the fabric gently, then more vigorously, testing its flexibility. The glow dimmed slightly but stayed intact. Daphne’s lips curved into a rare, triumphant smile. “Finally.”
Harry let out a quiet laugh, the relief evident in his voice. “We actually got it. You’re brillant!”
Daphne flushed pink but carried on.
“I know, you might not actually ruin my stellar marks after all, Potter,” she smirked, earning a light nudge from the boy beside her.
“Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that. Now we need to see what fabrics this works with and what it doesnt”
Around them, the classroom buzzed on, oblivious to their small victory. A few desks away, a pair of Ravenclaws debated loudly over the proper placement of a binding rune, their voices rising in frustration. Nearby, Ernie Macmillan let out a startled yelp as a glowing charm fizzled out with a sharp pop, leaving a scorched mark on his parchment. Neither Harry nor Daphne paid any mind, their focus entirely on the flickering runes before them.
The euphoria of their success quickly shifted to methodical testing. Over the next half hour, the desk became a clutter of various fabrics: coarse cotton, stiff polyester, smooth silk, and supple leather. The initial excitement of their breakthrough dulled slightly as failure after failure revealed new complications.
“Alright, let’s try it on linen this time,” Harry said, pinning another square to the frame. His voice carried a faint edge of frustration, though he masked it well.
Daphne flicked her wand to smooth the fabric. “Linen’s rigid. It won’t hold any better than the others,” she said, though her tone lacked the sharpness to make it a true reprimand.
Sure enough, when Harry completed the runes, they glowed faintly before flickering out the moment Daphne flexed the fabric. He slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Linen is definitely a no.”
Daphne’s lips twitched, the barest hint of amusement glinting in her eyes. “If we learned anything today, it’s that magic prefers the fabrics it can play nice with.”
Harry snorted. “Play nice. Sure. Let’s see how it likes cotton.”
When they tested a piece of soft, pliable cotton, the runes held. Daphne bent and twisted the fabric, her brows rising as the glow dimmed but remained stable. “Interesting. Flexibility does seem to make the difference.”
“Silk next,” Harry suggested, his enthusiasm creeping back. To their shared surprise, the runes not only held but seemed to shimmer more brightly. Daphne jotted down notes in neat, precise handwriting as Harry began theorizing aloud.
“Maybe it’s about adaptability. Rigid fabrics can’t accommodate the rune’s magic, but flexible ones can spread the energy evenly.”
Daphne hummed in agreement, tilting her head. “That would explain why leather worked earlier but polyester didn’t. Leather has natural pliability, even if it’s thick.”
“Alright, so no starchy robes or polyester battle gear,” Harry quipped, earning an eye roll from Daphne.
“The fact Muggles wear polyester seems horrid—surely it doesn’t last very long,” she muttered.
“Maybe so, no different from wearing fancy fabrics that come from a large man-eating spider's backside,” Harry teased with a mischievous grin.
Daphne raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “Well, at least spiders don’t need to be killed for their silk,” she said, a smirk playing on her lips. “And I’m fairly sure the magical version doesn’t come from their backside either. I’d imagine there’s a very delicate, well-protected process. You know, something involving magic, carefully extracted webs, and possibly a few stunning spells to keep the giant, venomous spider from eating you alive.”
Harry chuckled, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. “No silkworms were harmed in the making of polyester! Though, one might argue a wizard would prefer to kill a giant man-eating spider than harvest its silk…”
Daphne smiled, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her parchment. “It’s mostly done on farms—”
“Wait, there are Acromantula farms?” Harry muttered, his eyes wide.
“Oh yes,” Daphne replied casually. “They weave the nests, and each year the keepers go in to harvest the silk.”
“I think Ron would die if he knew people kept them in farms,” Harry said, paling slightly. “My time with Aragog was bad enough.”
Daphne chuckled. “We all have our vices, it seems.”
“And what do you fear, Miss Greengrass?” Harry smirked, enjoying the warmth of her leg against his own.
She furrowed her brow, her gaze drifting to the ceiling thoughtfully. “Not being seen for who I am, I suppose. And Pixies,” she added with a shudder. “Nasty little things.”
“Well, you’ve nothing to fear from me then,” he replied, his voice low. Without thinking, he placed his hand on her outer thigh. The action made her look him in the eye. He quickly glanced around, relieved to be at the back of the class, and moved to retract his hand, about to mutter an apology, when her hand stopped his.
She offered him a smile, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “I know I don’t.”
With the stability issue seemingly solved with them discarding the stiffer textiles they had procured, they moved on to testing the runes’ resilience. Daphne sat back, arms folded, as Harry aimed his wand at the fabric stretched taut on the frame. “Start small,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.
“Rictusempra,” Harry muttered. The tickling charm zipped across the space between them, striking the fabric with a faint sizzle. The runes flared briefly before settling back into their steady glow.
“It’s holding,” Daphne said, leaning forward to inspect the fabric. “Try another.”
Harry obliged, sending a volley of minor jinxes—Locomotor Wibbly, Flipendo, Tarantallegra—each one absorbed with little more than a faint shimmer of the runes. He glanced at Daphne, his smile widening. “Not bad.”
She gave a faint nod, jotting down notes with quick, precise strokes. “Try a hex,” she said without looking up.
Harry hesitated. “Are you sure? We just got it to hold.”
“Exactly why we need to push it,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She met his gaze, her expression cool but faintly amused. “We won’t learn anything if we don’t test the limits.”
With a small shrug, Harry raised his wand. “Petrificus Totalus!”
The hex struck the fabric with force, and for a moment, the runes burned brightly. Then cracks appeared along the glowing lines, spiderwebbing outward as the glow faded. The edges of the fabric frayed, and with a faint hiss, the runes extinguished completely.
“Well,” Harry said, lowering his wand, “it didn’t explode.”
“Progress,” Daphne replied, setting the frame down with a thoughtful expression. She tapped the fabric lightly with her wand, smoothing the scorch marks. “We knew it wouldn’t hold under heavier spells. This just proves that it can hold against minor spells, but we need to expand the chain.”
“Somehow, I don’t think dark wizards will tickle me or others,” he chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his grin undiminished. “You’re remarkably optimistic for someone who just watched her work disintegrate.”
Daphne gave him a sidelong glance, the barest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Resilience, Potter. The rune doesn’t just apply to fabric. And this is our first rune, we can try and strengthen it once weve mastered the chain and its layout”
“Valid point”
As they worked on Daphne did her best to ignore the thrill that had shot through her when his hand had rested on her thigh, some primal feeling sending sparks through her body and her magic flared to life, slamming against her as if to drive her actions. Were it not for them being in a classroom where people could turn around she might have lunged at the boy beside her and let her hormones guide her actions, the thought alone caused her to shift in her seat, her breath hitching slightly as if her body was responding without her permission. She gripped the edge of her desk, willing herself to focus on the project, but her mind betrayed her, replaying the moment over and over. Heat bloomed in her chest and spread outward, a distraction she could not entirely ignore. Even her magic, usually steady and controlled, pulsed erratically, an echo of her rising emotions. She bit her lip, glancing at the clock, counting down the seconds until she could escape this torment, preferably with him.
“You alright?” she heard him ask.
“P-perfectly fine, just thinking about the next rune to add to the chain” she muttered.
“How about-” he was cut off by the school bell going off to signal lunch time which was greeted with the sound of chairs being pushed out and lively chatter. Harry stopped and began helping Daphne pack their supplies away. She noted he was watching her questionably as she rapidly stuffed the fabric folder into her bag. “Are you sure?” he asked again.
“Just follow me” she asked, though not unkindly.
The corridor buzzed with the usual chaos of students spilling out of classrooms, their chatter and laughter bouncing off the stone walls. Daphne strode ahead, weaving through the crowd with purpose, her bag slung over one shoulder and her magic still humming in her veins. She didn’t check to see if Harry was following; she could feel his presence trailing behind her, a steady pulse in her awareness that only seemed to heighten the storm brewing inside her.
When they reached a quieter section of the castle, she glanced back, catching his curious but concerned expression. Her heart quickened, but she pressed on, leading him further from the main thoroughfare. The distant echoes of the Great Hall faded as she turned a corner into a dimly lit alcove tucked behind an ancient tapestry. The space was secluded, the thick fabric muffling the sounds of passing students.
“Here,” she said, her voice soft but firm as she dropped her bag to the floor. The stillness of the alcove contrasted sharply with the whirlwind in her chest. She turned to face him, her composure a fragile mask.
“Daph-”
The alcove felt smaller now, the air charged and alive, like the moment before a summer storm. Daphne stood with her back to the tapestry, the stone wall cool against her palms as she tried to steady herself. She had led him here with a purpose, though now, with Harry standing so close, his green eyes searching hers with a mix of concern and curiosity, words seemed to fail her.
“You can talk to me, you know,” he said softly, his voice grounding yet laced with a gentleness that made her chest ache. “Whatever it is, I’m here.”
She hesitated, the rational part of her urging restraint, but the tension that had been building between them for weeks—months, even—broke through her resolve. His closeness, his steady patience, the way he always seemed to understand her without pressing too hard, it all swirled together into a feeling she couldn’t hold back anymore.
She didn’t answer him with words. Instead, she stepped forward, her hands reaching up to cup his face, and before she could second-guess herself, her lips met his.
The kiss was electric, a rush of heat and emotion she hadn’t known she was capable of feeling. Her magic surged, flickering at the edges of her awareness like fireworks, but for once, she didn’t try to contain it. Harry froze for the briefest moment, his surprise palpable, but then he responded, his hands, one coming up to rest lightly on her waist, and the other holding her neck causing a quiet shuddered breath as he pulled her closer as he deepened the kiss.
Time seemed to stop in that hidden corner of the castle. There was no classroom, no noise from the Great Hall, no world beyond the two of them. Daphne poured everything she couldn’t say into the kiss—the longing, the frustration, the unspoken moments between them that had built into this moment. Her heart raced as she felt him match her intensity, his touch steady and grounding in contrast to the storm inside her. Despite this being her literal first kiss she seemed to adjust to the new sensation quick enough.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathless. Harry’s hands lingered at her waist, and she could feel his heart pounding beneath her fingers where they rested on his chest.
“Well,” he said, his voice slightly unsteady but his lips curving into a small, wry smile. “That was... unexpected.”
Daphne let out a breathless laugh, her cheeks flushed. “I—sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t apologise,” he interrupted gently, his thumb brushing against her side. “I’m not complaining.”
She looked at him, her guard lowered in a way she wasn’t used to, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of clarity. Maybe this wasn’t how she’d planned to say it—or how she’d planned anything—but it was real. And judging by the warmth in his gaze, Harry felt the same way.
For a moment, they simply stood there, the world outside the tapestry forgotten. Daphne’s breath mingled with his, their foreheads almost touching as they both tried to regain some sense of balance after what had just happened. But it was impossible to ignore the magnetic pull between them, as though every unspoken word and lingering glance had culminated in this moment.
Harry tilted his head, his hand brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “So… what now?” he asked, his voice soft and teasing, though his gaze was anything but playful.
Daphne smiled faintly, her lips tingling from the kiss they’d just shared. “I think,” she murmured, her voice low and almost shy, “that we’re not going anywhere for a while.”
Without waiting for a reply, she leaned in again, her lips finding his once more. This kiss was slower, less urgent, but no less intense. Time blurred as they let themselves sink into each other, every touch and brush of lips a new discovery. Her hands slid to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring herself to the moment, while his arms circled her waist, holding her as though afraid she might disappear.
The muffled sounds of students bustling through the halls outside barely registered. Lunch, schedules, and responsibilities all faded into insignificance as the two of them remained hidden behind the tapestry. Daphne lost track of how long they stayed there, kissing softly at first, then with growing fervor, her magic still thrumming faintly beneath her skin, echoing the emotions surging through her.
She had never imagined herself like this—so utterly undone by someone else, yet so wholly content in the moment. Harry’s touch was gentle but steady, his kisses alternating between tender and passionate, as though he, too couldn’t get enough.
By the time the distant chime of the bell signaled the end of the lunch break, Daphne finally pulled back, her cheeks flushed and her breathing unsteady. She looked up at Harry, her lips curving into a small, private smile that was just for him.
“Well,” she said, her voice husky but amused. “I think we missed lunch.”
Harry chuckled, his forehead resting lightly against hers. “Worth it.”
Daphne couldn’t have agreed more.
…
Sirius sat at the sturdy oak table in the center of the library, its polished surface gleaming under the gentle light, as he combed through the crimson-bound volume he'd pulled from one of the higher shelves.
The polished room around him, a reflection of his efforts to make Grimmauld Place more of a home than a crypt, felt distant now. Yet here Sirius sat, holding the grim legacy of his family’s past, contemplating whether this ancient spell was the only thread of salvation they had left.
Pulling it free, Sirius opened the book carefully. The parchment crackled with age as he turned the pages, his breath catching when he stumbled upon an entry scrawled in a narrow, spidery hand. The title of the passage sent a chill down his spine: The Redemption of Cygnus Black: A Recounting of Possession and Exorcism.
He lowered himself onto a nearby chair, the creak of the fresh leather echoing in the stillness. The account was grim, each word dripping with an ominous weight. Cygnus Black, an ancestor from centuries past, had been afflicted by what the family described as a spirit of great malevolence, bound to him by his own folly. Descriptions of the possession were vivid and horrifying—Cygnus had been plagued by violent outbursts, speaking in tongues, and visions of unspeakable horrors. His family had turned to desperate measures when all else failed.
The entry detailed the exorcism ritual, which Sirius recognized immediately as the same siphoning spell Remus had shown him. It described the intricate preparations—the protective wards, the carved runes, and the enchanted object chosen to contain the extracted spirit, in this case, a reliquary forged of obsidian and silver.
The words grew heavier as they described the spell’s execution. It required not only precise incantations but also an unyielding determination from the caster. The one performing the spell had to hold an element of genuine care or love for the afflicted, as the bond served as an anchor to draw the invading spirit out. But the ritual inflicted excruciating agony on the victim, pushing them to the brink of death.
Sirius’s jaw tightened as he read the final lines of the entry, which detailed the moment of choice. Many falter, for love often cannot bear the burden of inflicting such suffering. To stop before the ritual’s completion, however, is to doom the afflicted entirely. They will perish, their soul shredded, leaving only a vessel for the invader.
But Cygnus had survived. The spirit was successfully bound to the reliquary and later destroyed. The account ended with a stark warning: This spell is a double-edged blade, steeped in pain and sacrifice. It offers salvation, but at a cost few can bear to pay.
Sirius exhaled shakily, closing the book and resting it on his lap. The flicker of hope that had carried him into the library was dimmed now, tempered by the grim reality of what the spell entailed. His mind raced with questions and fears. Could they even attempt this with Harry? And if they did, who would be strong enough to see it through? Could he really cast the spell that caused his Godson such agony? Could he focus the spell whilst the pained screams of the boy he loved rang in his ears?
He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the book as though it might answer the question for him. They needed a reliquary first and they were incredibly hard to come back given the fact they weren’t made anymore due to the International ruling, they were initially created by dark wizards to bind blood curses too, a effective method of blackmailing other magicals as killing the caster would not lift the curse after binding it to a reliquary.
“Any luck?” Remus’ voice broke him from his thoughts.
Sirius looked up from the crimson-bound book, his thoughts still heavy as Remus entered the library. The worn yet familiar figure of his friend was a comforting sight against the bright, carefully curated room. Remus's gaze flicked to the book on Sirius's lap, his brow furrowing slightly.
“Depends on what you call luck,” Sirius replied, his voice rough with the weight of the discovery. He gestured for Remus to take the chair across from him.
Remus settled down, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, taking in the tension etched into Sirius’s face. “You found something,” he said, not as a question but as a statement.
Sirius pushed the book across the table, the dark title facing Remus. “The Redemption of Cygnus Black,” he said. “Apparently, my ancestor had a run-in with a spirit possession, and this spell—the one you found—was used to... exorcise it. The details are grim, Moony. Worse than we imagined.”
Remus’s lips thinned as he opened the book and began skimming the passage. He read in silence for a long moment, his expression growing graver with every line. When he reached the part about the spell’s toll—the excruciating pain it inflicted, the necessity of unwavering resolve—he exhaled slowly, setting the book down.
“It requires someone who cares for the afflicted,” Remus murmured, his tone quiet but thoughtful. “Someone who can endure inflicting that kind of pain for the sake of saving them.”
Sirius nodded, his jaw tightening. “And that’s where it gets bloody complicated. How am I supposed to do that, Remus? Cast the spell while Harry is screaming in agony? Watch him suffer and keep going? What if I falter? What if I can’t finish it?” His voice cracked, and he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face with both hands.
Remus sat quietly for a moment, his steady presence a counterpoint to Sirius’s rising turmoil. “You wouldn’t be doing it alone, it also doesn't have to be you,” he said finally, his tone calm but firm. “We’d prepare, Sirius. We’d safeguard the ritual, ensure everything is in place. If it truly comes to this, you’ll have help. Harry will have help.”
“That’s assuming we can even get that far,” Sirius muttered, lowering his hands and fixing his gaze on Remus. “The spell requires a reliquary—a proper one. And those haven’t been made legally in decades.” He gestured toward the book. “The Ministry and international community banned them for good reason, but without one, this entire plan is dead before it starts.”
Remus nodded slowly. “Finding a reliquary won’t be easy, but we have resources. Dumbledore has connections, and if anyone knows where to find something like that, it’ll be him.”
Sirius frowned, his reluctance clear. “Dumbledore’s got reach but this level i'm not sure”
“I am not looking forward to touching this subject with Harry in the future” Remus asked carefully, watching Sirius’s reaction.
“I think...” Sirius paused, his expression conflicted. “I think Harry deserves to know everything. But telling him about a spell that could save him while we’re still scrambling to find the tools to make it work? That’s cruel. Nothing should be in doubt before he knows as we all agreed.”
Remus considered this for a moment, then nodded. “We’ll need to loop Dumbledore in sooner rather than later. He might know someone who has an old reliquary in their possession—or where one might be hidden.”
Sirius sighed, standing and pacing to the nearest bookshelf. He traced the edge of a shelf absentmindedly, his mind still racing. “Alright,” he said finally. “We talk to Dumbledore. But we keep this between us for now. The last thing Harry needs is more questions without answers.”
Remus stood as well, placing a steadying hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out,” he said quietly. “One step at a time. But this is hope!.”
Sirius nodded, his jaw set with renewed determination. “For Harry,” he echoed.
…
The cold night air carried the faint scent of snow, the signs of winter approaching as Nagini moved with silent purpose, her dark, scaled body gliding through the underbrush like a shadow made flesh. The faint moonlight flickered through the skeletal branches above her, illuminating her path as she weaved through the dense forest, every movement deliberate, every flick of her tongue searching.
The scent was faint, a whisper of something ancient and familiar, but it was enough to draw her forward. Her master’s will burned in her mind, the unspoken command to find what was lost, to restore what had been broken. She followed the trail with an eerie precision, her senses attuned to every shift in the air, every faint vibration beneath her coiled form.
The forest began to thin, and the scent grew stronger. Nagini’s tongue darted out again, tasting it with a flicker of anticipation. The trail led her to the edge of the trees, where the sprawling hills gave way to the flickering lights of a village nestled in the valley below. She paused, her unblinking eyes fixed on the faint glow of Hogsmeade.
The scent was here. Close.
Nagini lowered her head, pressing her massive body closer to the frost-covered ground as she slithered forward. The smell of human life—of firewood and cooking, of sweat and laughter—was almost overwhelming, but beneath it lingered the unmistakable trace of her quarry. A fragment of him.
She slipped through the shadows, her form blending seamlessly with the darkness as she skirted the outskirts of the village. Her path was unerring, her mind focused solely on the task at hand. The presence of wards around the village pricked faintly at her awareness, but she knew they were not designed for her. She was not some crude intruder.
As she passed the cobbled streets and glowing windows, she felt the fragment’s presence pulse faintly, as if calling to her. It was close, closer than it had ever been. Her tongue flicked again, and this time the scent sharpened, rich with the promise of reunion.
Nagini paused at the edge of Hogsmeade, coiling briefly as her head rose, the faint glow of her eyes catching the light of the village. Somewhere beyond, hidden in the distant darkness, lay her master’s goal.
She would find it. Nothing would stand in her way.
With one last flick of her tail, Nagini disappeared into the night, the ancient forest swallowing her whole. The faint sound of her movements was lost to the wind, leaving only the quiet hum of the village, blissfully unaware of the danger that had passed so near.
……
I am having a huge internal debate about the M rating which is mainly for the fight scenes later in the story but potentially for romance between Harry and Daphne. I don’t write porn smut, it ruins a story but it would be tastefully done but I am wondering what my audience thinks about this.
Oh and go read Cavorting With Death, wonderful read, that and Colours of Obsession, Inevitable is great as a well as Monotone (Harry/Fluer and Harry/Daphne) but that one has been updated in a while!