The sensation of apparition was always deeply unpleasant. This time it was absolutely agonizing. Harry's broken ribs ground against each other with every shift. His cracked leg felt like it was being systematically twisted off his body. Beside him, pressed against him in the compression of apparition, Daphne made a sound of pain that tore at his heart.
They materialized in the middle of a clearing and the transition was violent.
The momentum of their desperate escape carried them forward, and they hit the frozen ground hard. Harry instinctively wrapped his arms around Daphne and twisted desperately, angling his body so his back would take the brunt of the impact, pulling Daphne against his chest as they tumbled.
They rolled across the clearing, over rocks and roots, through patches of snow and dead leaves. Harry's back slammed into a tree trunk with a sickening crack. He genuinely couldn't tell if it was the tree or his own vertebrae or both, but he felt something give way in his ribcage.
White hot pain exploded across his entire back, radiating outward like fire through his nerves. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and could only hold onto Daphne as the world spun around them.
Finally, they stopped moving.
For a long moment that felt like eternity, neither of them could do anything but breathe. They just lay there in a heap, gasping for air, too hurt and too exhausted to do anything else. Every breath Harry took sent sharp pains through his chest.
His lungs burned, each inhale sending fresh waves of agony through his broken ribs. Blood filled his mouth, and he spat it out onto the snow beside them.
Daphne was sprawled across his chest, her weight pressing against his injuries in ways that made him want to scream. But he didn't let go. Couldn't let go. She was alive. They were both alive. That was what mattered.
Slowly, painfully, Daphne pushed herself up on her elbows. She was straddling his waist, her hands braced on either side of his head for support. Her face was inches from his. In the moonlight filtering through the bare branches above, he could see the blood covering her. Bathilda's blood, her own blood, all mixed together into a horrible mask.
She looked down at him, her eyes wide with concern and something else. Relief, maybe. Or disbelief that they'd actually survived.
"Harry," she breathed. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, her hair matted and wild. "Harry, are you alright?"
He tried to laugh but it came out as a wet cough. "Define alright."
"We made it," she said, and there was wonder in her voice. "We actually made it out."
"Barely." Harry shifted slightly and immediately regretted it. Pain lanced through his back where he'd hit the tree. "That was too close, Daphne. Way too fucking close."
"I know." Daphne's hands were shaking as she touched his face, checking for injuries. "When they arrived, when I saw Bellatrix, I thought we were dead. I was sure of it."
"We should be dead," Harry said quietly. "If that connection hadn't happened, if the echoes hadn't distracted them, if you hadn't cast that Fiendfyre."
Daphne's expression flickered with something dark. "I couldn't control it. The Fiendfyre."
"I know," Harry said quietly, reaching up to touch her face despite the pain it caused. "I wanted to kill him too. Still do. Every second of every day. But not today. We weren't ready for that fight."
"It just came out of me. All that rage, all that hatred."
"It saved our lives."
"It almost killed us too." She pulled back slightly, sitting up properly, and winced as the movement pulled at her own injuries. "We need to check your wounds. You're bleeding."
"So are you."
"You're hurt worse." She started to pull back carefully, to climb off him. Harry's hands came up automatically to steady her hips. She froze at the contact but didn't pull away. "Let me look at you properly."
"I'm fine," Harry lied automatically. "Just a scratch or two."
Daphne's expression made it abundantly clear what she thought of that statement. She carefully climbed off him and knelt beside him. "Can you sit up?"
Harry tried and nearly cried out from the pain. "Give me a second."
"Take your time." Daphne's hands were gentle as they touched his shoulders, helping support him. "Slowly. Don't rush it."
With her help, Harry managed to get into a sitting position, his back against the tree that had nearly killed him. Every breath was agony, every movement a fresh reminder of his injuries.
"Let me see," Daphne said, reaching for his shirt.
Harry didn't protest as she pulled his shirt up carefully, peeling the blood soaked fabric away from his skin. It stuck in several places where blood had dried, forming a seal. Harry hissed sharply as it came free, fresh blood welling from reopened cuts.
Her sharp intake of breath told him it was bad before he even looked down.
"Harry. This is absolutely not just a scratch."
His torso was a mess of cuts, bruises, and burns that would have looked more at home in a morgue. A particularly nasty looking gash ran along his ribs that was still bleeding, the flesh torn and angry looking. But worse was the discoloration spreading across his left side, dark purple and black, where Nagini's tail had caught him and where he'd hit the tree.
"Well," he said after a moment. "It's not great, I'll admit that much."
"Understatement of the century." Daphne's wand was already moving, casting diagnostic charms with shaking hands. Her face grew more worried with each result. "Three broken ribs. Fractured femur. Spinal contusions. Multiple deep lacerations. Internal bleeding. Harry, you need a hospital."
"Can't go to a hospital." Harry's voice was flat. "You know that as well as I do. They'd turn us over to the Ministry before we even got through the door."
"I know." Her jaw tightened. "Which means I'm doing this myself with what little I know. Hold still and try not to scream."
She worked quickly and as efficiently as she could manage. Her wand traced careful patterns over his injuries, knitting flesh back together and mending shattered bone. It wasn't perfect healing by any measure. She didn't have the skill or the supplies or the training for that kind of advanced magic. But she did what she could, closing the worst of the wounds and stabilizing the broken bones enough that he could move without making things catastrophically worse.
Harry watched her work through half closed eyes. Even covered in blood and clearly in terrible pain herself, her hands were steady. Her focus was absolute. Her lip was caught between her teeth in concentration. She'd come so far from the broken girl he'd found dying in the forest weeks ago. That girl had been ready to give up, to let death take her. This woman was a fighter.
"There," she said finally. She sat back on her heels, breathing hard from the exertion and her own injuries. "That's the best I can do for now. But you'll need proper healing soon. This is just battlefield medicine."
"Thank you." Harry reached up and gently cupped her face, turning it toward him so he could look at her more properly. Blood was still trickling from the gash on her forehead, and her shoulder was a mess where Bellatrix's curse had caught her. That was not to mention the blood that covered both of them. Bathilda's and their own.
"Your turn."
"I'm fine."
"Daphne."
"I said I'm fine."
"And I said it's not just a scratch," Harry countered, echoing her own words from before. "You took curses too. Multiple direct hits. I saw Bellatrix connect at least twice, maybe more. Let me help you."
She hesitated, clearly wanting to protest. Then she nodded slowly and started to lift her shirt. Harry stopped her with a gentle hand on her wrist.
"I'll do it. You're hurt. Moving too much will make it worse and might undo what little healing you managed on yourself."
She lowered her arms and let him work. Harry's hands were steadier than he expected as he lifted her bloodied shirt, revealing the damage beneath. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached at what he saw.
Her right side was a horrific mess of purple and black bruising that spread across her ribs and down to her hip. A deep cut across her shoulder was still seeping blood steadily. But worst by far was the mark on her ribs where Bellatrix's bone breaking curse had connected directly. The skin there was swollen to nearly twice its normal size and discolored in shades of purple and yellow. The bones beneath were clearly fractured in multiple places.
"Fuck," Harry muttered with feeling.
"That bad?"
"Bad enough to make me want to go back and kill her properly. This is going to hurt," he warned.
"Everything already hurts. What's a little more?"
He started casting the same healing charms she'd used on him, his hands shaking slightly. Not from the magic itself but from the rage building inside him. Bellatrix had done this. Had hurt Daphne. Had laughed while doing it. Had taken pleasure in causing this pain.
He forced the anger down with an effort of will and focused entirely on healing. Rage wouldn't help Daphne now. The cuts slowly closed, the edges of torn flesh knitting back together. The bruises faded somewhat though they didn't disappear completely. The broken ribs mended enough to take pressure off her lungs and allow her to breathe without agony. It would hold for now. It had to.
Neither of them acknowledged how much skin they were seeing, how intimate this moment was. They were too focused on survival, on patching each other up enough to make it through the night.
"Better?" he asked.
"Better." Daphne's eyes met his, and for a moment they just stared at each other. Two people who'd just survived the impossible, who'd faced death and somehow come out the other side.
"We're a matched set," Daphne said. There was dark humor in her voice, the kind that came from staring death in the face and somehow living to laugh about it. "Both half healed and covered in blood that isn't even ours."
"Yeah. At least it's not all our blood." Harry lowered her shirt carefully, his fingers lingering perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary. "Mostly Bathilda's. Can you stand?"
"I think so. Can you?"
"Only one way to find out."
They helped each other up slowly and carefully. It was painful. Harry's ribs screamed in protest, and Daphne's leg nearly gave out, but they supported each other. Together, they were stronger than they were alone.
Eventually they were standing upright, swaying slightly but on their feet.
Harry looked around properly for the first time since they'd landed. Bare trees surrounded them, their branches reaching toward a dark sky like skeletal fingers. Snow covered the ground in uneven patches.
"I know this place," he said slowly as recognition dawned on him. "The Forest of Dean. Hermione and I camped somewhere near here once. Back before we found out about the manor."
"How far are we from the manor?" Daphne asked quietly.
"Couple hundred miles at least." Harry ran a hand through his hair, wincing as the movement pulled at his newly healed injuries. "We can apparate back once we've caught our breath and recovered a bit more strength."
"Do you want to go back?" The question was quiet, almost hesitant. "Right now, I mean. Immediately."
Harry looked at her. Really looked at her for the first time since they'd escaped. She was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Exhaustion and pain, certainly. But there was something else underneath. Something vulnerable.
"No," he admitted after a moment. "Not yet. I need—I don't even know what I need. But it's not going back right now and explaining what happened. Not facing questions and concern. Not yet."
"Because if we go back, Hermione will want to know everything that happened. Celeste will fuss over our injuries. We'll have to explain about Bathilda, about Nagini, about how close we came to dying."
Harry's jaw tightened as he nodded. "And I can't. Not yet. I need time to process what just happened. To breathe without having to explain or justify or reassure anyone."
Understanding flickered in Daphne's eyes. "I feel the same way. After what we just went through, after seeing them." Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "After hearing what Bellatrix said about my family."
Harry reached out and took her hand. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly, but they gripped his tightly.
"There's a stream or maybe a lake nearby. I can hear it flowing."
"It's a lake. Just through those trees. We could go there. Clean up. Catch our breath before we have to face anything else."
Daphne was quiet for a moment before she nodded. "Yes. I'd like that."
They started walking slowly through the forest. Every step was painful. Every movement sent fresh aches through their battered bodies. But they leaned on each other and somehow kept moving forward. The sound of flowing water grew steadily louder as they picked their way carefully through the trees.
The forest opened up suddenly onto a small clearing. The lake stretched before them, dark and perfectly still in the moonlight, reflecting the stars overhead. Snow covered the banks and clung to the rocks scattered across the shore.
It was unexpectedly beautiful, peaceful in a way that seemed utterly impossible after the violence of the battle they'd just survived.
They stood at the edge of the water, neither speaking for several long moments. Harry's arm was still around her waist, and hers was around his, both supporting each other. Neither made any move to separate. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the gentle lap of water against the shore.
"We could have died tonight," Daphne said finally. Her voice was barely above a whisper, like speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace. "We should have died. By all rights, we should be corpses right now."
"But we didn't die," Harry said firmly. "We survived. Again. Against impossible odds."
"How many times can we keep doing that?" There was genuine fear in her voice now. "How many times can we look death directly in the face and somehow walk away? Our luck has to run out eventually."
"As many times as it takes." Harry's hand found hers almost automatically, rough with dried blood. Their fingers intertwined without conscious thought, fitting together perfectly. "We're not done yet, Daphne. Neither of us. We have too much left to do. Too many people counting on us."
She was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the dark water. Then she squeezed his hand tightly.
"I saw my parents tonight," she said softly. "In my head, while Bellatrix was laughing at me. I saw them die all over again in perfect detail. Felt the same helplessness, the same overwhelming rage. And I wanted to kill her so badly it physically hurt. I would have done anything, sacrificed anything, just for the chance."
"I know the feeling better than anyone," Harry said quietly.
"You do," she agreed, her voice soft. "Does it ever get easier?"
"No." Harry's voice was hard as steel. "Every single time I see him, every time I hear his voice, I want to make him suffer. Want to hurt him the way he's hurt everyone I've ever cared about. The rage never goes away. It's always there, burning. I've just learned to use it instead of letting it use me."
Daphne turned to look at him fully. "Is that what tonight was? Using our rage productively?"
"Tonight was pure survival. We did what we had to do to stay alive." Harry met her eyes steadily. "But we also learned something very important. We're not ready to face them yet. Not that bastard and definitely not when that bitch is with him. We need to be stronger, smarter, and better prepared in every way."
"The Horcruxes," Daphne said, understanding immediately.
"The Horcruxes," Harry agreed firmly. "That's still the absolute priority. Everything else has to be secondary. Even revenge. Even justice. We destroy those first, and then we can think about facing them properly."
"I hate that you're right about that."
"So do I, believe me." A ghost of a smile crossed Harry's battered face. "But we're still here. Still breathing. Still fighting. That means we get another chance. And next time we face them, we'll be ready. We'll be strong enough."
They stood together at the water's edge in comfortable silence. Two broken people literally holding each other up. The night was bitterly cold and their bodies were battered almost beyond recognition and they were covered in layers of blood both their own and others'. But they were alive.
A few moments later, Harry pulled out his wand and erected a series of privacy wards around them. The magic settled over the clearing like an invisible dome, sealing them away from the rest of the world.
"We need to get all this blood off," Daphne said quietly. She was looking down at herself, at the layers of gore coating her skin and clothes. "I can still smell it. Bathilda's blood. That poor woman."
"She was already marked for death," Harry said gently. "Before we even got there. He cursed her when he came looking for information about the Hallows. And then he left Nagini behind for good measure."
"I know. But still." Daphne's voice broke slightly. "She was a kind woman once. A historian. She wrote books. And he turned her into a weapon. Into bait for a trap."
"That's what he does. He corrupts everything he touches. Takes what's good and pure and twists it into something monstrous." Harry's hand tightened on hers. "But we're not going to let him do that to us. We're going to survive this. We're going to stop him."
"By getting into a freezing lake in the middle of winter while we're already half dead from injuries?" Daphne's lips quirked into a small smile despite everything. "That's your brilliant survival plan?"
"You have a better idea?"
"Not really, no."
They stood at the water's edge for another moment, neither quite ready to take that first step. The lake looked impossibly cold, the surface dark and uninviting.
Harry turned back to Daphne. She was staring at the water, her arms wrapped around herself. Even in the moonlight, he could see her shaking. Not from cold, he realized, but from everything they'd just been through. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving exhaustion and shock in its wake.
"Together?" Harry offered.
"Together," Daphne agreed.
They walked into the water side by side, still holding hands. The cold hit them like a physical blow, stealing their breath and making their already battered bodies scream in protest. Harry's teeth started chattering almost immediately. Beside him, Daphne was shaking so hard he could feel it through their joined hands.
The icy water sent fresh spikes of pain through every cut and bruise, but it also woke them up, cleared their heads in a way nothing else could have.
They kept going, wading deeper until the water reached their waists. The cold was brutal, shocking, almost unbearable. But it was also cleansing in a way. The blood began to wash away from their skin, dark clouds spreading in the water around them.
Harry turned to face Daphne fully. In the moonlight, with blood still streaking her face and her hair plastered to her head, she was still beautiful. Not despite the damage but somehow because of it. She'd survived. She'd fought beside him and held her own against impossible odds.
"Harry," she said softly.
"I'm here."
She reached for him and Harry met her in the middle. Their arms went around each other instinctively, holding tight as the cold water swirled around them. Her face pressed against his chest and his chin rested on top of her head. They stood like that for a long moment, just breathing, just being together, just alive.
"We're safe," Harry murmured against her hair. "For now at least. No one can find us here."
"I know." Her voice was muffled against his chest. "Thank you. For everything."
They pulled back slightly, just enough to look at each other. Harry's hands came up to cup her face, his thumbs brushing across her cheekbones. Blood was still smeared there, dark against her pale skin.
"Let me help you," he said softly.
Daphne nodded, and Harry began the slow process of washing the blood from her face. He was gentle, careful, his touch reverent. He used the lake water to clean away the gore, revealing unmarred skin beneath. The cut on her forehead had healed over thanks to his earlier magic, leaving only a faint pink line that was barely visible now and would be fully gone in a few hours.
As he worked, Daphne's hands found his shoulders, steadying herself. Her eyes were closed, her expression peaceful despite the cold. She trusted him completely in this moment. The realization sent warmth through Harry's chest.
When her face was clean, Harry moved to her neck, washing away the blood that had splattered there. His fingers were gentle on her throat, tracing the line of her pulse. She tilted her head back, giving him better access, and Harry felt something shift in the air between them.
This was intimate in a way that went beyond simple necessity. This was care and tenderness and something more. Something neither of them had named yet but both could feel building between them.
Daphne's eyes opened and met his. There was heat there now, cutting through the cold. "Your turn," she said quietly.
Her hands moved to his face, cupping it the same way he'd cupped hers. She began washing away the blood from his skin, her touch just as gentle as his had been. Harry closed his eyes and let her work, focusing on the sensation of her fingers on his face.
"You saved my life tonight," Daphne said softly as she worked. "Again. When Bellatrix had me down, when she was about to kill me, you stepped between us."
"I wasn't going to let her hurt you."
"You could have died."
"So could you." Harry opened his eyes to find her watching him intently. "I won't apologize for keeping you safe."
"I'm not asking you to." Her hands moved from his face to his neck, washing away more blood. "I'm just saying thank you. For caring enough to risk yourself."
"Always," Harry said simply.
They continued cleaning each other, their movements slow and careful. The cold was becoming more bearable, or perhaps they were just growing numb to it. Either way, they didn't rush. This moment felt too important to hurry through.
Daphne's hands moved to the collar of Harry's shirt. She hesitated, her fingers curling into the blood-soaked fabric. "We need to get these off. The clothes. They're ruined anyway."
"Yeah," Harry agreed. His voice had gone slightly rough. "They are."
Her eyes met his, and there was a question there. Permission being asked without words. They hadn't felt the need for it previously when they were healing each other, but they both knew this was different now. Intimate.
Harry nodded slightly.
Daphne's fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, working them free one by one. The wet fabric clung to his skin, making it difficult. Harry helped her, pulling the shirt over his head when enough buttons were undone. It fell into the water with a soft splash.
The cold air hit his bare chest and Harry hissed. His skin immediately broke out into goosebumps, but Daphne's hands were there, warm despite everything, resting against his chest over his heart.
"You're freezing," she said.
"So are you."
"We're both idiots for doing this. Without warming charms too."
"But we both need this, I think," Harry said softly, a small smile on his face. "And at least we're clean idiots."
That got a laugh out of her. The sound of it warmed Harry more than any fire could have. He reached for the hem of her shirt, his fingers gentle as they grasped the fabric.
"May I?" he asked quietly.
Daphne nodded, raising her arms slightly to help. Harry lifted her shirt carefully, mindful of her injuries. The fabric peeled away from her skin, revealing the bloodied bra underneath. He dropped the ruined shirt into the water beside his own.
They stood facing each other, both half naked, both shivering in the freezing water. But neither moved to cover themselves or look away. This wasn't about sex or desire, not primarily. This was about trust and care and two people who'd survived hell together.
Harry's eyes traced over Daphne's exposed skin, cataloging the injuries that marred it. The bruises were still visible, dark purple and yellow spread across her ribs and shoulder. The healed cuts showed as pink lines. She was beautiful and broken and strong all at once.
"You're staring," Daphne said. There was no accusation in her tone, just simple observation.
"You're beautiful," Harry replied honestly. "Even like this. Especially like this."
Color rose in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. "You can't mean that. I look like I went ten rounds with a troll."
"You look like a warrior who survived a battle she had no right to survive. You look strong and fierce and absolutely stunning." Harry's hand came up to touch her face again. "I mean it, Daphne. You're beautiful."
She stared at him for a long moment, clearly struggling to believe him. Then she reached for the clasp of her bra, her fingers fumbling slightly from the cold.
"Fair's fair," she said quietly. "If we're doing this, we're doing it properly."
Harry's breath caught as she removed the garment and tossed it aside. She stood before him bare from the waist up, making no move to cover herself. The moonlight painted her skin, highlighting every curve and hollow. The bruises looked worse in this light but that didn't diminish her beauty. Nothing could.
The cold had made her nipples peak, and he had to force himself not to stare.
"Harry," Daphne said softly. There was amusement in her voice. "You're staring again."
"Sorry. Can't seem to help it."
"Don't apologize." She reached for him, her hands sliding up his chest. "I like that you find me attractive."
"That's putting it mildly."
"Your turn," Daphne laughed, nodding toward his trousers.
Harry's hands went to his belt, working it free. The wet leather was difficult to manage but he got it eventually. The trousers followed, heavy with water and blood. He pushed them down and kicked them off, standing in just his boxers.
Daphne's eyes traveled down his body, taking in the damage. Her expression flickered with something dark, probably renewed anger at the injuries he'd sustained. But then she met his eyes and gave him a small, gentle smile.
"You're not bad looking yourself, Potter. For someone who looks like they lost a fight with a Hungarian Horntail."
"Lost?" Harry grinned despite the cold and the pain. "Last I remember, I sent it tumbling at least fifty stories down the tower."
"Your ego is intact then. Good to know the damage wasn't too severe."
They were both grinning now, the tension broken by humor. It was easier this way, joking through the intimacy rather than making it serious and heavy. They'd had enough heavy for one night.
Daphne hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her trousers, raising an eyebrow at Harry. "Are we really doing this?"
"Seems like it," Harry said. "Unless you want to stay in blood-soaked clothes?"
"Fair point."
She pushed her trousers down and stepped out of them, leaving her in just her knickers. The water lapped at her thighs, dark and cold. She was shivering harder now, her teeth chattering.
Harry removed his boxers without any formality, dropping them with the rest of their ruined clothes, and she followed suit, removing her knickers.
For a long moment, neither moved. They just looked at each other, taking in everything. Harry's eyes traced over Daphne's body, memorizing every curve and line. She did the same to him, her gaze appreciative despite their injuries.
"We're a mess," Daphne said finally.
"The most beautiful mess I've ever seen."
She smiled and moved closer.
Her arms came around his neck, and his settled on her waist, pulling her against him. The contact was electric, skin on skin with nothing in between. Harry could feel every inch of her pressed against him, could feel her heartbeat matching his own.
"Better?" he asked.
"A bit," she said against his chest. Her arms came around his waist, holding tight. "Still freezing though."
"Let's finish cleaning up," Daphne said softly. "Properly this time."
They worked together now, using the lake water and their hands to wash away the remaining blood. It was everywhere. In their hair, under their nails, in every crease and fold of skin. They cleaned each other thoroughly, methodically, neither rushing despite the cold.
Harry washed Daphne's hair, his fingers gentle as they worked through the tangles. She made a soft sound of contentment, her eyes closing. When it was her turn, she was just as careful, massaging his scalp and rinsing away all the gore.
They washed each other's backs, their shoulders, their arms. Every inch of skin that had been touched by blood got cleaned. It was intimate and strangely innocent all at once.
When he reached her breasts, she caught his wrists.
"Careful," she breathed. "That's a bit more than just cleaning."
"Sorry."
"Don't be." She guided his hands back. "Just don't stop."
They continued washing each other, the lines between cleaning and caressing blurring more with each passing moment.
Finally, they were clean. The blood was gone, washed away into the dark water. They stood together in the lake, both naked and shivering, but no longer covered in grime and gore.
"We should get out before we freeze to death," Daphne said.
"Probably a good idea," Harry agreed.
They waded back to shore, both moving stiffly. The air was somehow colder than the water had been, and Harry felt his muscles seizing up. They needed to get warm and dry immediately.
Harry grabbed his wand from where he'd left it on the shore and cast a quick drying charm over both of them. The water evaporated from their skin in seconds, leaving them dry if not warm. Then he conjured a large blanket, thick and soft, and wrapped it around Daphne's shoulders.
"Thank you," she said, pulling it tight around herself.
Harry conjured a second blanket for himself, then cast a warming charm that made the air around them several degrees warmer. It wasn't perfect but it helped. The shivering began to ease.
"We should do something about our injuries," Daphne said. She was looking at his chest where the bruising was still visible. "The battlefield healing was just to keep us alive. We need to actually fix the damage properly. At least as much as we can before Celeste gets her hands on us."
"You first," Harry said. "Your ribs are worse than mine."
"Your back is worse than my ribs."
"Daphne."
"Harry."
They stared at each other for a moment, neither willing to back down. Then Daphne sighed and sat down on a flat rock near the shore, keeping the blanket wrapped around herself.
"Fine. But you're next and I'm not taking no for an answer."
Harry knelt beside her, his wand already moving. He cast more detailed diagnostic charms now that they had time and privacy. The results made him wince. Three cracked ribs that he'd only partially healed, significant muscle damage, and some internal bruising that could cause problems if left untreated.
He pulled several potion vials from his pocket. Thank Merlin they'd both had the foresight to carry emergency supplies. A pain relief potion, a blood replenishing potion, and a bone mending solution. He handed them to Daphne one at a time.
"Drink," he ordered gently.
She did, grimacing at the taste. "These never get any better."
"No, they don't."
While the potions worked, Harry used his wand to finish what he'd started earlier. He knit the broken bones back together properly this time, taking his time to ensure they healed straight and true. The muscle damage required more delicate work, carefully repairing torn fibers and smoothing out the worst of the bruising.
Daphne sat still through it all, her jaw tight but no sounds of pain escaping her. She was tougher than most fully trained Aurors Harry had known. The thought filled him with both pride and sadness. She shouldn't have had to be this tough.
When he finished, Daphne took a deep breath and smiled. "That's much better. I can actually breathe without wanting to cry."
"Good." Harry sat back on his heels. "Now it's your turn to work your magic."
They switched places. Daphne made him lie down on his stomach so she could get to his back properly. Her hands were gentle as they traced over his spine, checking for damage.
"This is bad, Harry," she said quietly. "You've got fractures in two vertebrae and significant soft tissue damage. If you'd hit that tree any harder, you could have been paralyzed."
"But I wasn't," Harry said. "So let's just fix what is broken and move on."
She gave him the same potions he'd given her, plus an extra dose of pain relief. Then her wand began moving in complex patterns over his back. Harry felt the magic sinking into his damaged spine, knitting bone and healing torn muscle. It wasn't pleasant but it wasn't agony either. Daphne knew what she was doing.
She worked for what felt like hours but was probably only thirty minutes. Methodical and careful, she repaired every injury she could find. The broken ribs, the damaged back, even the smaller cuts and bruises. By the time she finished, Harry felt better than he had in hours.
"All done," she said softly. "How do you feel?"
Harry sat up carefully and stretched. No pain. No grinding bones. Just a dull ache that was manageable. "Like a new man. Thank you."
"We're even now," Daphne said. She was still kneeling beside him, her blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. "You saved my life tonight. I healed your back. We're square."
"That's not how it works and you know it."
"Maybe not. But I like keeping score anyway."
They sat together in comfortable silence for a moment. The warmth from Harry's charm made the clearing almost pleasant despite the winter night. Above them, stars glittered in a clear sky. It was peaceful in a way that seemed impossible after the violence of earlier.
Harry looked at Daphne and found her already watching him. Their eyes met and they held each other's gaze. There was so much unspoken between them, so many things that needed to be said. Things they'd been avoiding since that first kiss in his childhood home.
"We need to talk," Harry said quietly.
"I know," Daphne replied. Her voice was equally soft. "We've needed to talk since Godric's Hollow. Before tonight, even."
"Yeah."
Neither of them moved to start that conversation though. They just sat there, looking at each other, both knowing it was coming but neither quite ready to begin.
Finally, Harry reached out and took Daphne's hand, their fingers intertwining naturally. She squeezed back, her grip firm and sure.
Numerous thoughts were running through both their minds, but there was one constant. They both knew nothing would be the same anymore.
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