Chapter One: Foundation

A Letter

Another day, thought Harry Potter. Limping from his cupboard, he quietly opened the cabinet to start the morning fry up. Bacon first, he thought while the skillet warmed. Carefully balancing the packet in his left hand, he stood on a footstool to carefully lay out the breakfast meat to cook.

Eggs, toast, tomatoes, beans… his mental list ticked of the items that were required to create a suitable meal for his relatives.

Today was young Harry Potter's tenth birthday, not that he made any conscious note of the fact. His relatives' conditioning of him had been for so long, so thorough and so brutal, that it suppressed even his long simmering resentment of the Dursleys that bordered on hatred.

The toaster popped up the first round of lightly browned bread simultaneous to a groaning and creaking noise from upstairs. Harry froze with fear, terrified that he'd inadvertently woken his Uncle. There would be hell to pay if he had done so. Watching the ceiling while transfixed, young Harry's hand remained outstretched to pluck the toast from the appliance. After a long moment, he exhaled the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Just Uncle Vernon rolling over. The thought of his cetaceous uncle flopping over in bed brought an involuntary, if fleeting, grin to his face.

After filling the kettle, he set up for the tea. Hopping back on to the step stool, he reached for the spatula to flip the bacon when a loud POP behind him nearly made him shriek in surprise. Whipping around (and falling off the stool in so doing), young Harry saw an envelope propped up on the egg carton.

An envelope addressed to him.

An envelope that had not been there thirty seconds before when he fetched the eggs out of the icebox.

An envelope that had not been glowing yellow.

"Oh boy," Harry murmured to himself as he reached for the glowing envelope. Despite the 'Freakishness' of the situation, for Uncle Vernon's favourite epithet was all that came to mind, Harry somehow knew that the letter was safe.

When his fingers touched the standard white paper envelope, there was a tingle that jumped to his fingertips. It was like the static electricity that shocked him in the winter time, but instead of the unpleasant pinch associated with the shock, Harry felt a warmth that filled him with vague feelings of contentedness and delight. Smiling, the newly minted ten-year old boy clutched the envelope to his chest. The feeling immediately swarmed up his arm, into his chest, filling him with this wonderful nimbus of feeling that was, sadly, a foreign situation for him.

An eternity passed in the span of five seconds. After exhaling long and slow, Harry quickly opened the letter to read its contents.

31/7/90

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday! I know that your birthday isn't very grand. But then again, with your relatives as they are, it's never very grand, is it? Nonetheless, Happy Birthday!

I know you're cooking breakfast right now, so I'll get to it. I'm sending this letter to you from the future. I am the fifty-seven-year-old version of Harry Potter and want to help you – or maybe us? – to have a better crack at life than I've experienced.

Harry frowned. Oddly enough, a letter that was from his future self wasn't too hard to believe. It'd appeared out of thin air and had been glowing. And the feelings it created…all of that led him to believe the time travel claim from his future self. No, the frown came because even at ten, Harry quickly realized that life must've been a 'pile of shit' (as Dudley often said) for the future Harry. Readdressing himself to the letter, he continued reading.

I won't get into the 'why' life has been so unsatisfactory, but I'll give you three things to do that will avoid the vast majority of the difficulties that have been the central struggle of my – or is it our? – life. There's a bit of background before we get into these three things, though.

To start, it's the most important thing; you're a wizard Harry. All those strange things that happened around you like Miss Westerhouse's wig turning blue, and appearing on the gymnasium roof when Dudley and his gang were chasing you? That was you unconsciously using magic. Adult wizards and witches (lady wizards) call that accidental magic. The name makes sense given the situations it happens. Second, your parents were a wizard and witch, as well. They were good people who were killed by a very bad wizard, which is why you live with the Dursleys. The last thing is that there is a whole society of witches and wizards out there, hidden from the non-magical society so as to protect the magical people from the non-magical. I know that you've always felt different, like you didn't belong with the people around you. I remember feeling like I had blue hair at a brown-haired person party. This is why; you're a wizard.

With a small tear in his eye, Harry sniffed loudly. That was exactly how he felt. Rereading the last sentence, he smiled a bit as he thought about his crazy hair being an electric blue colour.

Now the three things.

First: There is a magical area in London (hidden but you can still find it) called Diagon Alley. Say it fast and you'll get the joke.

Harry muttered, "Diagonally." Smiling he read further about trains to take and addresses.

This isn't so nice. Pinch twenty pounds from Aunt Petunia's money that she keeps in the sugar jar. You know what I'm talking about. You'll be able to pay it back when you return, but you'll have to pay for your trains on the way to town. When you get to the Leaky Cauldron, ask the bartender, Tom is his name, to let you into the Alley. He'll do some fancy wandwork and you'll be in. Do yourself a favour, wear a cap. You're somewhat famous, but it's the scar on your forehead that's a dead giveaway as to your identity. A cap should cover it nicely. At the far end of the alley are two places that you need to go: Gringotts Bank, and Flourish and Blotts bookstore.

Harry, flip the bacon.

The note jarred him, causing Harry to jump onto the stool and flip the bacon before it burned. Returning to his letter, he kept half an eye on the food. It was worth more than his life to burn the food.

At the bank you'll meet some odd creatures called Goblins. They make rudeness a sport, so don't take it personally. They aren't being mean to you specifically, they're like that to everyone. You have to be firm, but not rude. Ask for Snotshot.

A giggle burst from Harry's lips as he plated up the bacon before reloading the skillet.

I know, it's a terribly funny name, but he's in charge of minding the Potter fortune. Yes, I said fortune. Tell Snotshot…

Another giggle escaped Harry.

…that you're Harry Potter. He'll poke your finger to draw a bit of blood. It'll hurt, but not worse than that time that Piers held you down while Dudley cut your leg with the broken glass.

This line sobered Harry. Up until now, there was a thought in the back of his mind that this was all a bit of tosh. No one, though, knew about that time that Dudley cut him. Only Piers, Dudley and he knew. "It's real," he whispered.

He'll wipe your blood on a special piece of paper that will not only confirm that you're really you, but also will help free you from your relatives.

Stunned, Harry reread the last line three times. "Free."

Work with Snotshot, he'll help you. He'll be very rude while doing it, though.

There was no giggle this time from the ten-year-old this time.

Second, once you're done at the bank, which will be a long time, go to the bookstore and get the following books.

Harry eyed the very long list with trepidation, but then remembered the all-powerful word: "Free."

Read the books, Harry. They're important. The third one down can be boring sometimes, but the rest are like the fantasy books that you started reading last year. Fascinating.

Third, and last, after you're done with the bank and have your books, go back to the Alley on September 20th. Be in the bookshop no later than 10 o'clock. There will be a girl who comes in that will change your life, just as you'll change hers. Her name is Daphne Greengrass. You can't miss her; her hair is golden blonde and her eyes are very blue. She's frightfully smart, but nearly as lonely as you are. She needs a friend, just like you do.

The only thing I'll tell you about the future, is that some people will lie to you Harry. You're rich and your Father was an Earl. Yes, you will be too, when you turn seventeen. There are two people you cannot trust: the first is the Headmaster of your school. He wants to use you to kill the bad wizard who killed your parents. That isn't necessarily bad, as the bad wizard (Lord Voldemort was his made-up name) needs to be stopped. What is bad about the Headmaster is that he will do whatever he has to do so that Lord Voldemort is stopped, even if it means you have to live with the Dursleys and a bunch of other hateful things. Yes, he put you with your Aunt and Uncle.

Unreasoning anger and hatred seethed in Harry. The Headmaster put him with his Aunt and Uncle who'd belittled, beaten and hated him all his life. Future Harry implied that there was more, but that was enough for ten-year-old Harry. The Headmaster was not to be trusted.

The second person you cannot trust is a much sadder story. There is a witch named Molly Weasley. She had two brothers who she loved fiercely, but Lord Voldemort (isn't that a silly name?) killed both of her brothers. She never really got over their deaths. Molly has a loving husband, and seven fine children but a part of her broke when her brothers died. She is convinced that having you as part of her family is the only way to make things right for her and her family. Ron, one of her sons, is your age and will be in the same year as you in the magical school called Hogwarts. While Ron and his older brothers could be good friends, the whole situation is not good. I strongly suggest not becoming friends with any Weasley. The whole situation is heart-breaking; first for them, then for you. Relationships with the Weasleys will cause you more pain and heartache than you can possibly imagine. I know that by living with the Dursleys that you can imagine quite a bit of badness. This is much, much worse.

Blinking, Harry tried to process the statement. His relatives were horrible; really, really bad people. If being friends with the Weasleys was worse, he was well shot of them before starting. Nodding again, he accepted the advice from his future self.

That's it. I don't want to tell you too much, as I don't want to tell you how to live your life. I just want you to be happy. Hold on to this note, if certain situations come together as I think, it will glow again to let you know that I've updated the note with some thoughts.

Be Happy Harry. Live. Love. Be Happy.

There was no signature. It needed none.

A Bank

Puffing, Harry ran down Charing Cross road. It had taken him a grand total of forty-seven seconds to decide that he'd forgo cooking the rest of his family's breakfast. Rushing to the pantry, he reached into the sugar jar. With thirty-seven pounds in his pocket (the entire contents of the money stash), he fled the home of his relatives; his own personal house of torment. Three trains and twelve blocks of walking later, Harry paused at the door under the sign labelled, "The Leaky Cauldron."

Smiling, he murmured, "It's real," while pushing open the door. Remembering the admonishment from his future self about his apparent notoriety, Harry tugged down the blue and white Tottenham Hotspur cap he purloined from his cousin as he approached the bartender.

"Pardon me, sir, but could you please let me in the alley?" The bald man regarded Harry with a strange expression for a long moment. In a panic that Tom wouldn't let him into the alley and derail his plans. Blurting, "My parents are at the bookshop. I'm to meet them there," Harry rubbed his sweaty palms on his oversized trousers.

Tom nodded and grinned a toothless smile. "Right then. Just this way, young master."

Ten seconds later, a wide eyed ten-year-old Harry Potter walked down the byways of Diagon Alley for the first time. His commentary reflected his concurrent state of disbelief and excitement.

"Broomsticks?"

"Frog Spawn?"

"Ice Cream!"

Harry marvelled at the display of the pet store. "The fire crab is beautiful," he murmured.

Passing the bookshop on his left, Harry proceeded to the large building that he'd been watching for the past twenty yards. Once again wide eyed, he quickly read the warning over the doorway as he passed through. It was early, so the bank lobby was nearly empty. The row of tellers was open, but there was what had to be a goblin at a desk off to his right. Heading over to the desk, Harry asked, "I'd like to see Snotshot, please."

Snorting, the goblin replied without looking up from the ledger he was reviewing. "And who are you to disturb a senior account manager, human?"

"Harry Potter," he replied in a soft tone.

Abruptly, the goblin looked up, eyes narrowed. After inspecting Harry for a long moment, he barked, "Down the hall behind me, fourth door on the right."

Nodding his thanks, Harry made to pass the goblin's desk when it added, "Make sure you knock. It's rude not to."

Eyes wide, this time at the dichotomy of the goblin chastising him peremptorily for being rude, Harry made his way down the hall. The door had a very nice sign on it with 'Snotshot' engraved in gold. Now the giggles made their way back to Harry. It seemed that every time he recognized something in this madhouse that was the magical world that had been described in his letter, Harry found comfort in it.

With a quick rap-rap-rap, Harry knocked on the door.

"What!" roared the voice on the other side of the door. "Do you want!" It wasn't really a question. Rather, it was more of an indignant shriek masquerading as a question.

Deciding that his future self was right, he opened the door so as to stick his head in before announcing, "Harry Potter to see you, Snotshot."

"Of all the ridiculous claims, human. Get in here before I have you thrown into the Pit of Despair!"

Harry had absolutely no idea what the Pit of Despair was, but desperately wanted to avoid it. Scuttling in the doorway, he quickly shut the door before spinning around. In front of him stood a very squat…goblin? Nearly as thick as he was tall, the goblin had rows of gold rings in his extraordinarily long (and hairy) ears along with gold rings on every extra-long finger. And he wore a purple velvet suit. Harry thought he looked rather dapper.

Harry goggled for a moment before blurting, "I was told to talk to you and you would help me."

Snotshot grimaced, "Who told you that?"

Waving his hand at his own question, the goblin turned back to his desk so he missed Harry's whispered reply, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Hand!" Snotshot bellowed again.

Harry hurried to the desk where he thrust out his hand, closing his eyes against the predicted pain. His future self was wrong. The blood test didn't hurt; it REALLY hurt. Stifling a shriek of pain, Harry opened his eyes to see the goblin lay down a dagger that he'd drawn across Harry's palm. "Ouch!" Harry complained.

"Rub your hand on this sheet."

Glowering a bit, Harry rubbed his bloody palm on the extra-long form Snotshot had rummaged from a filing cabinet. Instantly, the blood seemed to transform into ink forming words

Harry James Potter

"See, I am me!" he growled at the goblin. Snotshot's reply was a two fingered salute.

Minor 13th Earl of Gryffindor, formed next. "Griff-en-dor," Harry sounded out.

His lineage blurred across the next few lines. He saw names he didn't recognize as his forebears: Black, Rozier, Davis, Peverell, Longbottom and others flew across the page.

Finally, the writing stopped, but the sheet began to glow red.

Wide eyed, he looked over to Snotshot for guidance. The last time a paper had glowed it'd been a good thing, but that had glowed yellow and looked friendly. This was glowing red and looked decidedly unfriendly.

Snotshot shouted something in a foreign language that sounded like the sound Dudley made that time that he'd eaten too much pudding and thrown up for an hour. It didn't sound happy. Stomping back to his desk, Snotshot pounded on a cube that rested on his desk before shouting, "Get that Healer in here now!"

Afraid at the goblin's reaction, Harry asked weakly, "What's going on?"

"Shut up, I'm working here my Lord."

.oOo.

"Ow."

Harry rubbed his forehead. Whatever Snotshot had been 'excited' about had been fixed. The (human) healer had come in, waved his wand at Harry before exclaiming, "My word!" After running out the door, he returned in four minutes with two more (human) healers and three goblins (healers?). Before Harry could say, "What are you doing?" they had trussed him up, poured three potions down his throat and formed a circle around his levitating form while chanting the most arrant nonsense that Harry had ever heard.

That's when the real fun began.

At first it was a tugging feeling in his forehead; almost right under his unfortunate scar. He'd never liked that scar. It was ugly and constantly sore. When the healers started their balderdash, Harry's forehead began to throb. Shortly, it began to hurt.

As the crescendo of grunts, spitting and various anatomical noises came from the healers, Harry's scar burst open. After the spilled blood and a viscous goo was cleaned from his face, Harry was somewhat gently returned to the floor and his bindings removed.

In a blink, the healers were gone and he was alone with Snotshot again. The goblin was holding out a form that Harry could barely see, much less read.

"That will be fifty galleons, my Lord."

Even ten-year-old Harry Potter knew better than to ask what the paper was. Signing the form with his nearly illegible scrawl, the young wizard muttered, "Ow."

Sitting in his chair heavily, Harry rubbed his forehead.

"Now," snarled Snotshot, "you need to sign for your inheritance and the deeds to your property."

Stunned, Harry stared at the surly goblin until Snotshot's glare was nearly incandescent. "Where do I sign?" he asked as excitement began to build. The first steps toward his freedom had been taken. Somewhere to live that's not with the Dursleys!

.oOo.

He was really beginning to hate his future self. First, the goblins (and wasn't saying that a bit much) had sliced open his hand, done some strange thing to his forehead that hurt like the dickens and now he was carrying what felt like seven stone of books. Shaking his head, he returned to the bookstore.

The teller was obviously waiting for his return. "Change your mind about me shrinking and lightening those books?" they nice witch behind the counter asked with a half-smile.

"Yes, please," Harry muttered. "You're sure that they'll go to the right size later?"

"One hour," the witch promised him.

Thirty seconds later, Harry pocketed his purchases before risking a question. He didn't like asking questions; questions led to unpleasantness at 4 Privet Drive and that was a learned behaviour that wasn't going to fade anytime soon. Squaring his shoulders, he asked, "Could you please tell me how to use the Floo to get to…" he fished a scrap of parchment out of his pocket where he'd scrawled the location of his rescue, "Rowan Hill?" The hope that'd blossomed in his chest as Snotshot read his father's will wanted to explode in a tangible essence of Harry's combined joy, relief and fear.

The witch regarded Harry with a confused expression before gesturing toward the fireplace on the opposite side of the room. "You grab some Floo powder, throw it in the fire, after the fire goes green call out 'Rowan Hill' and jump in."

Trusting that she wasn't having him on, Harry before making his way to the fireplace. Glowing letters. Goblins called Snotshot. Bloody foreheads. Now he was going to jump into the fireplace. Grabbing some of the glittering powder he tossed it in the fire. Once more, the impossible happened as the fire turned green. Now smiling Harry called out, "Rowan Hill!" With a wide grin, he took another step toward freedom that happened to be through a green fire.

A Friend

Readjusting his collar, Harry hurried down the alley. The previous month and a half had been…amazing. Talking portraits of his ancestors. House elves who cared about him. Reading books and not being punished for it. Eating good food – as much as he could stand without having to beg for more. Owning clothes of his own. It still brought tears to his eyes. What most people take for granted as the basics of existence: clothing, food, shelter – Harry felt as if he was being spoilt in luxury nowadays.

The head elf, Rauri, had taught Harry how to wear his new robes and what the embroidery all meant. The portrait of his great grandfather (or was it great great grandfather?) had given him a crash course on magical society, leavening his lectures with amusing anecdotes that made Harry laugh out loud on more than one occasion.

He knew that his Letter (for he thought of it as a proper noun) from himself was not only true, but held the key to more information. Losing track of how many times he read the missive, there were no creases, stains or tears. Still crisp and clean as when he took it out of the envelope in the house of his torment, Harry had – on more than one occasion – fallen asleep with the letter under his pillow. His gratitude for deliverance had no focus, so he showered it on the Letter.

The unfulfilled promise from the letter was to meet Daphne Greengrass. He'd no idea what she looked like aside from her (apparently) blonde hair and blue eyes. He hoped that she'd be kind. Or maybe even nice to him. Despite everything turning out amazing (his new favourite word), Harry was lonely. For a while, after coming to Rowan Hill, he'd been too excited to be lonely. Now, though…the newness had worn off and the long pervasive cold loneliness had crept back into his heart.

But today was September 20th and was his day to meet his new friend – he hoped. The previous two days, he'd come to the alley just in case the Letter had been wrong (which he doubted) and Daphne was to arrive earlier. He had no such luck, but he did purchase an amazing book (What a great word, he mused to himself) about his family that the nice lady at Flourish and Blotts had set aside for him. Apparently, she wasn't a Hotspur fan and was able to look past the cap; figuring out who he was in short order.

It was 9:30 in the morning and Harry was hurrying to the bookshop so as not to be late. Rauri had dressed him in a navy-blue robe with a bright white shirt underneath. Embroidered in a darker blue up his arm were the designs of the Head of House Potter. He'd learned about that the day before and it'd nearly made him cry when he realized that his father, grandfather, great grandfather and so on back into the years had all worn the same embroidery on the sleeves.

The bell over the door tinkled its tune as Harry opened the door. Waving happily to the nice witch behind the counter, a thought suddenly occurred to the young wizard that caught him up in the traces, as it were. What do I say to Daphne Greengrass? Head spinning, he moved to the side of the stacks where a series of overstuffed chairs and a settee were arranged for perusing the stock prior to purchase. Dropping into the nearest, he nearly moaned in misery. I've been so worried about not missing her, it never occurred how we become friends. Snorting to himself, he dropped his tousled head into his hands. How about, "Hi, my future self sent me a letter and said we'd be great friends, so let's be great friends." Now, he was beginning to panic.

Carding his fingers through his long-ish hair, he muttered, "I am sooooo doomed," while hanging his head.

"Why is that?" a soft voice asked.

Without looking up, he groaned, "Because I'm supposed to meet someone today who I've been told will be my best friend and I don't know how to introduce myself or make sure she becomes my friend."

"Well, my mother always tells me that I should start with my name when meeting someone new," the soft voice offered with a hint of a smile in her voice.

Harry smiled before lifting his head. Maybe this person can be my friend. Time froze when he saw the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. Her eyes were blue and her hair golden. Her eyebrow cocked a bit as he stared at her for a seeming eternity. A short shake of his head preceded a reflexive, "Hello," extending his hand, he finished, "I'm Harry Potter."

She lightly took his hand, offering her own to be kissed in the manners his great (or great great) grandfather described. As he stood to bend over her hand, he heard her reply, "Hello, Harry. I'm Daphne Greengrass."

.oOo.

"Prásino Grasídi!" Harry called out after dropping his pinch of floo powder into the entry hall fireplace. He liked this fireplace, as it was so huge that he didn't need to crouch down to enter it. The fireplace in the main sitting room (which had the painting he liked so much) was tiny and he felt like he'd have to crawl through the ashes to use it to go see Daphne.

Today was a big day, though. It was his best friend's birthday. She was eleven today and Harry had been worrying for weeks about what to give her as an appropriate gift. Mrs Greengrass was a very nice lady who was almost as pretty as Daphne, and when asked, she had merely smiled before advising, "Get her something that you think she will like."

That had been horrible advice.

He didn't want to get her a sketch pad (for she loved to draw), nor a set of pencils. Lame. He didn't want to get her a new saddle (for she loved to ride her horse). Weird. He wanted to get her something that showed her how important she was to him. The portrait of his grandfather Fleamont had suggested a ring, before his grandmother Euphemia had shot that down. "They're not even teenagers yet, Monty!"

Harry didn't understand why his Gran was so down on it. There were some very pretty rings in his mother's jewellery case, but if Gran Phemie (as she told him to call her) said "Bad Idea," then it probably was a bad idea.

A toy was childish. A book was boring. Food was interesting but not 'important' enough.

It was his great great great great (?) grandmother Aelwen who had the best idea and what was in the wrapped box he carried.

Mr and Mrs Greengrass were welcoming and nice, but they weren't very happy, Harry thought. They smiled when they should and said nice things when they should, but there wasn't a lot of laughing around Prásino Grasídi. Daphne's younger sister, Astoria, was a shy seven-year-old witch who seemed to want to play with her sister and her sister's friend, but could never gather sufficient courage to do so. Whenever Harry headed to see Daphne, which was nearly every day once his lessons were complete, it was usually just the two of them. That suited the Boy-Who-Lived just fine. Daphne had quickly become his best friend. Just like the Letter had promised.

"Harry!"

Turning, his face bloomed into a smile. Swiftly moving towards him from the other end of the hall was his best friend. Daphne had a big smile. She was dressed in some very pretty robes for the party later, but he ignored that as she wrapped him in a huge hug. "You came," she murmured into his ear.

Within her embrace, he shrugged, "It would probably be a bad idea for me to stay for the party, but I couldn't miss your birthday." Rauri had told him that the wards were strong at Rowan Hill, but they'd been tested on more than one occasion recently. Grandpa Monty had told Harry that it would probably be best not to be seen in public just yet. Someone (or someones) was trying to get to him; and when wards were tested like Rauri described, those people were up to no good.

There was one last squeeze from both Harry and Daphne before they broke their embrace. "Here!" he excitedly announced as he shoved his gift into her hands. He'd not really understood all his Gran Aelwen had said but he really liked the idea.

Smiling mischievously, Daphne sidled into a chair next to the fireplace. After a murmured, "Thanks, Harry," she tore open the bright blue paper and tossed the yellow ribbon aside. Not much bigger than a book, she then held a simple box with a delicate pattern. After a moment to admire the whirls and lines, she opened the box. On top was a folded piece of parchment.

"Read that first," Harry suggested nervously.

With a happy, but slightly confused expression, she read.

Dear Daphne, his messy writing began. As she read down the letter, he hoped she understood his poor attempts to tell her how amazing she was and how important to him she was. When she finished the letter, a single tear dropped down her left cheek. Alarmed, Harry stood stock still. Swiftly, she folded the letter before unfolding the silk covering to see the candle.

"It's an everlasting candle. Every time you light it, I want you to remember that you're my best friend in the entire world."

Daphne's hand trembled as she reached out for the thick yellow candle. Before she could scoop it out of its box, though, she began to shake. To Harry's horror, she suddenly burst into tears. Covering her face with both hands, she sobbed and shook.

Wide eyed, Harry caught the box with the candle as it slid off her lap. Staring dumbly at the box in his hand, he quietly sat it on the floor before awkwardly patting Daphne on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, Daphne. I thought that you'd like it. I'll get you something different."

Through her sobs, she shook her head.

"O-okay," Harry murmured. Thoroughly confused, he kept patting her shoulder scouring his brain to figure out something to say to make her stop crying. With every passing moment, he felt that he was losing his best friend at the speed of light.

Without warning, Daphne shot out of her chair, wrapping her thin arms around his neck and holding him painfully tight. He sobs slowed enough for her to whisper, "You are my best friend, too, Harry. Forever."

Blessed relief flooded the Boy-Who-Lived. Squeezing her in return, he murmured, "You're amazing Daphne."

1. I own nothing

2. Just a little drabble to try to jump start my comatose muse.

3. Recommendation for this fic is The Queen Does Not Need to Know by Jacob Apples. Great fic