Snakes, Cats, and Ladders

Another flake joined those already littering her plate as Daphne finished what remained of her croissant, primly wiping her hands and mouth with the napkin provided.

She'd never heard of a croissant before. It'd been written on a sign, and she'd butchered the pronunciation. Harry had arched his eyebrows, choosing not to tease her. He'd pulled her towards the small riverside cafe, getting them a table for two under an umbrella.

Now she knew exactly what she wanted for breakfast every day.

Croissants.

Not any regular croissants, but the ones with chocolate inside them.

Mmmm.

The scent of fresh pastry was one she'd found to be completely intoxicating.

Daphne doubted she'd be able to fit anything else in after the veritable feast she'd had for breakfast. However, she had frowned a little when Harry only ordered himself a tea.

Gazing back across the water, she took in the view once more. It'd been a short walk from their point of arrival. Small blocks of flats lined the opposite bank of the river whilst pedestrians strolled past on the footpath right beside them, occasional snippets of chatter mixing with intermittent birdsong. The clear sky was something she hadn't seen for a good while, and she missed it dearly. It made her feel free, absolved of all the responsibility, stress, and tension that was so abundant back at Hogwarts.

Daphne wasn't sure how something as simple as this could achieve that. Yet she already wanted to do it again.

She wasn't sure if Harry knew about it before, and she remained unsure if she should ask. He'd seemed very comfortable leaving the castle.

If found out, they would be in big trouble. At the same time, however, Daphne also couldn't find it in her to care. Being expelled would probably be an improvement. Maybe then her father would see fit to send her elsewhere — somewhere she could make friends without the whole 'snubbed heiress' reputation, where she would enjoy her education, and where she wouldn't need to see her sister married off to someone like Malfoy, losing her all over again.

Somewhere that Daphne wouldn't always be seen as second-best. It still baffled her how she'd become the so-called 'second-best' Greengrass daughter. She just was, according to her father.

She could also avoid the fallout of their family throwing in their lot with those people.

The business deal was inevitable. Or at least, that's how Daphne felt. The extra galleons would tempt her father too much to refuse. She didn't know the deal's specifics, yet she knew the Notts would get the better end. The Malfoys, too, for it was nigh impossible that they were not involved to some extent. And they always knew where to sniff out the galleons from.

Greedy bastards, the lot of them.

Lord Greengrass was a businessman at heart. It didn't matter what he was involved in so long as he made a tidy sum.

She wasn't privy to those exact details, however. Only her sister, who was now acting as her father's representative with Nott, knew what the deal entailed. It would be practice for when she took the mantle of the family.

If there's anything left by then, Daphne thought.

Her father had put her sister up to it. Daphne couldn't help but feel bad that she'd been thrust into such a position, which left her wondering if Astoria would regret blindly following along eventually.

He was a fool to her. A malicious, self-obsessed man that put his fortune before his family. Now that he'd been consumed by greed and desperate to keep growing, he'd resorted to his most recent venture.

Selling out to the Nott family. He might as well be selling her family to the Dark Lord.

"Positions of power change hands as often as galleons in a bank. If you can't keep up, you'll be left behind and trodden all over. Always stay ahead."

It was one of the first things she'd learnt from her father. Then he'd used that exact advice against her in her sister's first year, where she'd ended up left behind and trodden all over.

Daphne was sure that he couldn't see the full implications of the deal, which she'd tried to emphasise to her sister, too. The cold shoulder she'd received stung more than it should have.

Harry's silence drew her attention to him. He had barely said anything since her food had arrived, apparently content to sit back and observe.

As she was about to open her mouth, a woman came to their table. A 'waiter', Harry had called her. She handed him a slip of paper, and Harry glanced at it.

Daphne panicked a bit, realising she didn't have any galleons from her meagre stash with her. Harry, however, immediately withdrew a rectangular card from a pocket and inserted it into the black object held by the woman. He pressed a few buttons, and it beeped in response.

The waiter suddenly thanked him, winking at Daphne as she took her plate away.

Once she'd left, Daphne stared at Harry.

"What was that?"

"What?" he replied.

She could see the mirth in his eyes.

"That thing you did."

"What, pay?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Whatever you did with that card," she pressed.

"I paid."

"Oh…" Daphne replied, suddenly feeling a mixture of guilt and gratitude. "Umm… thank you."

"No worries."

Her curiosity remained at his vague answer.

"What's that card called?" she asked.

"A credit card," he said, "though it's mostly a contingency plan for me. It works by drawing funds from a muggle bank account."

"So you can buy anything in the muggle world with that?" Daphne continued, eyes wide.

"Well, not anything, but if I had enough money, then sure, most likely."

Now she was curious.

"What do you do in the muggle world?"

"Oh, this and that," Harry replied casually. "I like to go out. People, places, the lot."

She frowned at the vague answer. Harry was also beginning to make her realise how ignorant her upbringing had made her. Her parents had never broadened her horizons beyond her future duties as a pureblood wife. Daphne had never eaten out somewhere proper before, and her parents would never consider this 'proper'. For them, 'proper' was a stuffy pureblood dinner. She'd had to attend quite a few of them in her earlier years.

It took her a moment to realise that what she felt was envy, just as she had on the first night back at Hogwarts. The feeling wasn't projected towards him, serving only to dim her mood.

Was it immature of her to feel like this?

Her knowledge of the muggle world was incredibly fragmented. She hadn't even seen a car before today.

Compared to Harry, she knew nothing at all.

"Something wrong?" Harry asked, picking up on her sudden change of mood.

"It's nothing," she said quickly. "Just something I thought of."

He eyed her speculatively, but Daphne quickly changed the subject.

"Why did you trust me?" she asked.

Daphne knew it was a bit of a bombshell question, yet her curiosity got the better of her. That, and the need to avoid embarrassing herself by revealing how little she knew outside of her schooling. Better to throw him off a bit.

"I don't know," he answered, his face now blank.

Having expected more than she was given, Daphne couldn't contain a grimace.

"You'd make a terrible poker player," Harry added.

"A what?"

"Don't tell me you've never heard of poker."

She crossed her arms, frowning at him.

"I spent most of my childhood not doing a whole lot of anything," Daphne grumbled. "I might as well have spent it locked in my closet or something equally dull. Why should I know about 'poker'?"

During her short speech, she noticed that he'd closed off somewhere.

"Nevermind then," Harry mumbled, abandoning the rest of his tea and standing up.

"Where are you going?"

"We should get back," he said, scanning the scarcely-populated cafe as he stood. "We're pushing it a bit already."

"Speaking from experience?" she asked with a smirk, but he answered with only a nod.

At least it'd been fun while it lasted.

"...might as well have spent it locked in my closet or something equally dull."

That sentence brought back unpleasant memories. While it wasn't a closet he'd essentially lived in, it was close enough. Harry's mood had immediately taken a nosedive.

It was now Monday, and he was still stewing as he stormed through the corridors on his way to his first Defence Against the Dark Arts class since skipping out on detention twice now. He'd done his best to dismiss Daphne the previous day politely, but she'd seemed a bit confused, if not sceptical.

Had he made a mistake? The sensible part of him knew that his reaction had been immature, probably rooted in some sort of insecurity.

He hated being a victim.

The thought had come up again that maybe he ought to inform a professor, but none of them appealed to Harry as the sort he'd go to help for. He'd always depended on Sirius. For those two short years, his godfather had his back in everything.

His Head of House would be the easy choice usually, but it was Snape. Snape wouldn't do a thing. The dour professor lived only to hand out punishments, not for Harry to go whinge to, regardless of how illegal Umbridge's methods were.

At best, he'd need to face the humiliation of having endured it for one night. Harry still didn't know why he'd put up with the detention, but that was irrelevant now.

Perhaps something in his subconscious had figured out it was a perfect way to develop a simmering, righteous anger. Motivating anger. A reason to feel victimised. It was disgusting, but it worked.

He'd been lacking it since the start of term. It was a nice change to feeling like he simply existed for the sake of it. He knew it was probably quite unhealthy, but he didn't feel like dealing with another bag of issues.

Life felt emptier by the day without Sirius. The mirror still lay at the bottom of his trunk, and he hadn't been brave enough to look at it since.

Glancing at the back of his right hand where the faint scar tissue remained, Harry thought he'd certainly achieved his so-called 'motivating anger' — if he could call it that. Hatred, more like. However, it'd come at a cost to his pride and left a mark on him.

One of many.

With Sirius, he could only blame Voldemort. And himself. But he'd been blaming Voldemort since he'd found out who he was, and that had lost its appeal a while ago.

No, he'd sort out his issues on his own. Umbridge would get much more than she'd bargained for.

The students around him looked stunned at seeing him walking around. Usually, he'd do most of his travelling in the castle as a cat, but he felt that he'd maul the gawkers if he did.

He wondered if the student population had anything better to talk about. Were their lives really so dull too?

The thoughts were still running through his head as he entered the Defence classroom, shoulders squared, right as the bell rang.

As soon as he met Umbridge's glare, he had to stifle a laugh.

She stood at the front of the classroom, seemingly torn between instructing the class and screaming at him. In an odd twist, she chose the former, her face already red with anger.

"Chapter two," she gritted out. "A week's detention if I hear so much as a peep from any of you."

Taking his seat, he caught Daphne's eyes for a moment. They were wide, appearing to betray her nerves. Harry looked away quickly. He didn't want to involve her more than he already had. It would be asking for needless trouble.

Keeping his head down and pretending to read the textbook, Harry heard her footsteps as she hurried towards his desk.

With strength he didn't expect her to have, she yanked him up by the back of his collar.

"Where have you been, boy?" the professor hissed.

After his shock had subsided, he jerked out of her grip. Evidently, it'd been a mistake to put up with Friday's detention. She thought him easy prey.

"Get your hands off me, woman," Harry snapped back, ignoring the gasps that echoed around the classroom.

Her face became an even uglier shade of puce.

"Out!" Umbridge ordered. He followed her stubby, trembling finger pointed towards the door, hearing a few snickers from the Slytherins in the back.

Umbridge slammed the door shut, leaving only the two of them in the corridor outside.

"You've missed two of your detentions. What have you got to say for yourself?"

She had seemingly abandoned her disgustingly sweet tone of voice, for she delivered the sentence in a furious whisper.

"Good fucking riddance to you and your detentions," he replied in the same tone, delighting in how she swelled up even more. "You're a disgusting, filthy wretch of a woman."

Once more surprising Harry, her hand flew through the air, aimed at his cheek. Though fast, she wasn't quick enough for him.

He caught it, twisting it quickly as his own anger mounted. Umbridge gasped, and her pained expression quickly turned to fear.

He'd thought the conversation to be quite funny until she tried that. If only she knew what he was capable of.

Umbridge screamed, her wide eyes darting around. It was a hideous sound.

Having foreseen that she might try something now, Harry had already silenced the corridor after grabbing her wand from her robes. She seemed overdue to be taught a lesson.

He couldn't risk anyone coming across their corridor for that.

Her eyes bugged out when she tried to scream again, but nothing came out. Smirking, Harry lifted her wand until it was pointed directly between her eyes, having just silenced her.

As loathed as he was to touch any part of the squat professor, he dragged her by the arm into a neighbouring classroom. Even when she sank to her knees, Harry kept pulling her across the stone floor.

Slamming the classroom door behind them, he once more delighted in how she flinched at the sound.

"Not so tough now that you're on the receiving end, eh?"

Umbridge tried to shout something at him again. He laughed in response.

"You're so pitiful," he taunted, sneering at her. "Disgusting."

Remembering how she'd forced him to effectively gouge out the skin on his hand only served to make him angrier. He'd fallen back to being a victim.

He absolutely hated being a victim.

Oh, woe is me.

His sardonic thoughts did nothing for his mood either.

The tip of his wand glowed a deadly red. He held it on her, enjoying how she went cross-eyed trying to track it. It was becoming an effort not to let loose, knowing what she'd done to him and would've continued to do. The Cruciatus would undoubtedly put her in her place.

What if I just let go?

Harry wasn't a stranger to the Unforgiveable Curses, nor dark curses in general. He'd made liberal use of the Black library at Grimmauld Place back when he'd had access to it. Now that Sirius was dead, however, he wasn't yet recognised as the Head of House Black. That was even after his godfather had the foresight to make a will declaring him the sole heir. He would need to wait until he was of age before the wards would let him back through, and it'd frustrated him to no end in the summer. All he had access to now was whatever he'd kept in his trunk.

But did he want to go down this path? Did he need more?

With a start, Harry remembered the end of the final task. Writhing under the Cruciatus Curse, a haze of pain, blood, and bruised flesh, a cup, and a flash of green. Life fleeing from Sirius' eyes as he pushed the cup into his hands, shielding him from Voldemort's curse.

At the last moment, he jerked his wand to the side, letting the spell split the stone floor in half beside Umbridge. She'd frozen, looking on in disbelief, as if she hadn't believed he'd actually have the nerve to do such a thing.

Another red spell flew from his wand, impacting her. This time, it was only a stunning spell.

Harry let his wand drop, gasping for air.

He was just like him. Just like the creature that had killed his parents and godfather. Ready to torture and humiliate for the thrill of it. To make them feel lesser.

Stumbling backwards into the stone wall, Harry slid down it quickly. The pain of the harsh impact seemed dulled, almost as if it'd happened to someone else. His lungs felt constricted, refusing to allow any air down. He forced himself to take measured breaths.

Umbridge had a classroom to be in.

Shit, he thought in a moment of clarity. We've got to get back. They'll come looking if we're too long.

Clamping down on the raging emotions, he blanked his mind and picked up his wand from where it had fallen.

Walking over to Umbridge, he stared impassively at the woman, cursing his own impulsiveness.

Obliviate.

The silent spell shot out of his wand. It struck the professor in the forehead, causing her to jerk slightly.

He thought for a moment.

A secondary measure would be the safest. I've made enough of a mess here already.

After several minutes, Harry brought the professor back to consciousness.

She blinked at him.

"Mr Potter?"

"Professor! Are you alright?"

Scratching at her head, she frowned.

"You collapsed! Should I get the nurse?" he asked hurriedly, trying to lay it on as thick as possible.

He'd never planted a fake memory before and desperately hoped that it was working. Nor had he ever removed so much from someone's mind before.

"A lack of sleep, I suppose. I shall have to visit her at a later time," she declared haughtily as she stood.

Harry handed her wand back to her, and she just stared at it dumbly for a moment before pocketing it.

Umbridge abruptly turned, heading back towards the classroom.

"Thank you, Mr Potter. Ensure that your homework is up to standard next time."

He nodded, his heart racing.

The rest of the class might buy it, thinking he'd acquiesced to her demands, but Daphne would know better. She wasn't like the rest.

Forgive me.

Harry had removed every memory she'd had that involved him as a singular individual. She'd come to hate him to a worrying extent purely on principle after hearing about his reputation — Slytherin's lone wolf, who purportedly thought himself better than everyone.

No doubt the Malfoys or whoever Fudge was in with had fed her that. They secretly knew what he stood to inherit from Sirius, and they wanted it. Not that he planned on giving them any chance to get it.

But for that, he would need to survive Voldemort first.

Harry wiped the lot, instead rapidly thinking up slightly more favourable scenarios to replace the poor ones with so that she wouldn't have a reason to target him. The detentions were as good as gone, and he'd even removed her knowledge of where she had hidden her own blood quill.

To her, he was but another student now.

There was also a degree of satisfaction that came with the knowledge that no one else would need to endure the quill. Perhaps he should remove it from her office at some point, but he'd risked enough today.

Plans always went awry, but never to this extent. Harry needed to get a handle on things fast. Himself included.

Re-entering the dead-silent class, he kept his eyes downcast, feeling his peers' attention shift to him and the professor. The whispering rose to chatter before Umbridge put a stop to it.

"If I hear anything else, DETENTION!" she stated loudly, glaring around the classroom.

Apparently, his tampering with her mind hadn't affected her temper. It'd done just enough to get him out of trouble, and now he had to stay out of it. The fresh silence was no comfort to him either.

He couldn't resist chancing a glance at her as he sat.

Daphne wore an unreadable expression, staring at him as if waiting for an answer there and then.

Harry minutely nodded his head towards the door, trying to tell her that he would speak later. He didn't know if she'd seen it or not.

Why do I even feel the need to hold myself accountable to her?

He couldn't answer it with certainty, but he had to tell someone. It was getting harder to keep things bottled up to himself. He'd already blabbed a whole lot to her, and it seemed she'd kept his secrets for now.

If not, he'd likely be in Ministry custody already.

He couldn't tell her everything, though. Not yet. She'd murder him if she found out he was the cat.

The thought brought a reluctant smile to his lips.

Seeing the professor lay her hands on Harry like that, she'd had to clench her fists not to curse the woman.

The treatment he received from her was so openly disrespectful and cruel that it made Daphne's blood boil. Umbridge was a piece of work, but she had a different hatred for Harry.

Her hand had gone for her wand when Harry had fought back, panic mounting as Umbridge had gestured for him to leave the room and then followed.

The room settled, her mind shifting back to their outing.

Daphne looked back on it fondly. It'd been fantastic. If she could omit the bitter thoughts that had crept in towards the end of it, then perfect. That was through no fault of Harry's, though.

He'd seemed to pick up on something just before they'd left that had changed his mood, and Daphne could not figure it out. Was it something she'd said? Had he read her thoughts somehow? How did she give it away?

She sighed, supporting her head with her hands.

Maybe it'd happen again. She'd have another go and be able to get away from the castle a second time.

Every second away from this hellhole was a second in heaven. Especially if it was with Harry.

Reminding herself of his current predicament, she dispelled the thought.

Why am I in so deep already?

The staggering level of trust he'd shown her had immediately lowered most, if not all, of her defences. From the moment she'd first talked to him, she knew he was a kind soul.

Harry might have a hard exterior, but she could see through it now.

It was evident that he was still hurting from losing his godfather. She'd seen something before, but now that she knew, it was glaringly obvious. At least when he wasn't closed off. Once he was, she found it much harder to read him.

Rather than making her angry when Harry did so, it only worried her, and she ached to help him. He'd done so much for her already. There was no motive she could see; nothing planned five steps ahead as her father might, and no empty promises or manipulation anywhere in sight.

If he'd wanted to, Harry would've most likely hinted at something already and have her hook, line and sinker. But he hadn't.

She continued down the same train of thought for the rest of the class, ignoring the useless reading she was supposed to be doing.

Once the bell rang, Daphne rose quickly and made a beeline for Harry. Before she could get to him, however, someone else grabbed her arm lightly.

"Tracey?" she asked distractedly, neck craning to see which way Harry would walk from the classroom.

"What's with you and Potter?" Tracey asked almost offendedly, jerking her attention back to her.

"What's it to you?" she retorted frostily.

Sure, she'd been her best friend for years, but now Daphne wasn't too pleased with being let down when she needed her the most.

Her friend's immediate hostility sunk her hopes further, but Daphne wouldn't be pushed around like this again.

"It's strange for you to act like this, Daph. Why? Why him?"

Pulling out of her grasp, she glared at her friend. Or was she a former friend? Daphne didn't know where things stood between them anymore.

"What gives you the right to ask me? You distanced yourself, and now you start interrogating me. Leave it alone," she replied, just about to storm off.

The whispered reply she received stopped her in her tracks.

"Opposing Malfoy's group will get you nowhere. It's no wonder you have no friends if this is how you think, Greengrass. Use your brain for once. You aren't normally this daft."

Tracey stormed off, leaving Daphne to process what she'd just said as her peers shuffled past. Her blood ran cold at the implications of her short rant. The ruthlessness of its delivery only numbed her further.

She eventually returned to the present, still grappling with what had unfolded. It had hit her with such force that she'd nearly lost her balance.

Daphne rushed out of the classroom, pushing through the fast-filling corridor. A desperate ache filled her as she saw a head of dark hair.

Grasping his arm in much the same fashion she had the other day, she held onto it like a lifeline.

Harry tensed, looking down at her with a lethal glare. It disappeared as he realised who she was, taking in her pleading look.

"Here," he muttered in her ear, scanning the corridor. Daphne looked to him for direction, but his face betrayed nothing.

An arm suddenly wound around her, and she sank back into the warmth, allowing him to muscle his way through the cramped corridor with her.

Once he'd led her into some empty classroom, Daphne went limp, the emotions overwhelming her. Harry pulled her back up before she could hit the ground.

He turned her around, and Daphne sunk into him again, though this time, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, her head against his chest. He was all she had to hold onto.

Stifling the tears didn't seem to work, though. A few leaked out into Harry's shirt.

Daphne thought she'd scared him off or disgusted him, for he'd initially gone stiff. But then his arms came around her, and the feeling of safety that washed over her was heavenly. She sniffled, but these emotions no longer stemmed from her sadness.

A while later, she reluctantly let Harry pull away from her and sat down with him, their backs against the wall. He surprised her by scooting over a little more so that their shoulders were touching. The gesture prompted a watery smile from her as she met his gaze, the tenderness in his eyes striking.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly, breaking their prolonged silence.

She stared back at him, now feeling more in control of herself.

"Tracey," she murmured before recounting the encounter to him.

"What a bitch," he responded, staring straight ahead.

"Language!" she scolded half-heartedly.

Harry looked over at her with an amused expression.

"Right. Sorry, Miss Proper."

Daphne pouted back at him, eliciting a sigh. She wasn't able to hide a slight grin of her own either. It was hard to put a finger on just how he'd lifted her poor mood so quickly.

"Don't look at me like that," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because I can't say no otherwise."

His reply made her heart lurch.

"So, does that mean I can share notes with you again next weekend?" she asked, unsure of where her sudden bravado had come from.

"Sure," he responded, shrugging. "Maybe one of these days, we'll actually get to sharing some of those notes."

Her cheeks heating, she nodded quickly.

"It should've calmed down outside by now," Harry continued. "Are you fine to get going?"

"Can I ask you something first?"

"Sure," he replied, sounding resigned.

"What did you do with Umbridge? You won't have any more detentions, will you? You can't go to them, Harry. What she did to you is horrible and cruel and-"

He interrupted her with a hand on her stocking-clad knee. It made her shiver, even though his hand wasn't cold.

"No," he said with a sigh. "I wiped those memories and replaced them with new ones. No more detentions."

"Good. I'm sick of that ugly bint treating you like that. I had to stop myself from cursing her in class," she declared, taking in Harry's shocked expression.

"Language, Greengrass," he responded with a cheeky grin once he'd recovered.

"Don't you start. You're terrible," she scolded, though her smile betrayed her.

The thought that he no longer had to go to any detentions thrilled her. But she wasn't done with the woman, not by a long shot. Something fierce inside her refused to let it go so quickly. She'd tortured Harry for hours.

He couldn't have entirely recovered from that already. It wouldn't be human.

Daphne gently took his right hand in hers, staring down at the faint scarring.

I must not tell lies.

"What a monster," she whispered, running her thumb over the words. "You'll be okay, though."

Only now did she realise that Harry was looking at her intently, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Fighting through her embarrassment, she thought she saw a flash of something else behind them.

Oh, what the hell, Daphne thought.

She couldn't stop herself.

Daphne leaned up, only just being able to close the height difference, and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you. For listening."

He seemed taken aback for a moment, nodding stupidly. She rejoiced when she looked up and saw the redness blooming on his cheeks.

"N-no worries," he stammered, more flustered than she'd ever seen him before.

I knew it, Daphne realised, still leaning against him and grinning involuntarily. Her own cheeks were burning too, but she didn't care.

Sometimes it was worth the risk, especially when he'd taken so many for her.