mom said it's my turn to get the plot

"After this," Harry started, over a probably spiked punch he shouldn't have gotten. Daphne, in her red dress and red satin ribbon, looked at him. He dreaded the words to come, but he knew they needed to be said. "I'm going to go hunting for… You know."

A somber mood set between the two of them, like a grey shadow over the sunny day of the people dancing. They had had their dance, together for as many songs as it took to get Daphne's feet hurting (five songs). The Polyjuice potion was slowly fading, and Harry's dark hair was starting to appear between the red strands.

They had talked about this, briefly. He had explained to Daphne what happened in the night Dumbledore died, and she had nodded, merely.

"Okay. Okay." Her hand found his, and Daphne squeezed it tight, eyes focused on the dance. "Promise me you'll be safe."

"I'll -" Harry said, but she shook her head, squeezing his hand tighter, almost as if Daphne was willing him to not go away.

"You won't try. You will be safe. Promise me."

Harry sighed, leaning into her. Daphne sniffed, but did not cry, and the two watched the dancers for a small eternity.

"I'll be safe." He said, as something silver zapped by. A cat, by the look - and a Patronus.

After that, hell had broken through: the last time Harry saw Daphne was as Hermione Disapparated him away, watching as she took a curse for him.

He didn't have news on anyone on the outside bubble of himself and Hermione until Ron came back. He brought a radio, and at night, Ron fiddled with the controls, wand on the station selector and muttering Dumbledore like a chant, until voices sprung forth, familiar.

"- And tonight, the messages for our local hero. River, Laurel, with you." Said the voice of Fred, with Harry and Hermione frowning at it. Ron did, as well, cussing. He seemed more frustrated than anything.

"Damn, we got the tail end." He pushed his hair back, sighing, and looked at Harry. "You have a whole radio show named after you."

"What?"

"Harry, keep on fighting! We know you can get through this." Said Lee Jordan, and Harry looked at the radio, hearing more supportive platitudes coming from a familiar voice. When Lee paused, another voice came on.

"Harry, if you're listening, I hope you kept your promise." Said, Daphne, and Harry choked as she went to reading more messages, instersped with Lee's voice. He felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders: Daphne was safe. The people he considered his family were safe.

When the program was over, Harry slept and did not have visions of Voldemort.

Harry was stuck, upside down, in Voldemort's lair. He was pretty sure this was Draco's house, or maybe the whole line of Malfoy family portraits that looked at him as he was guided to the throne room was something to throw him off. Or maybe Draco and his parents were seated at the table to confound him. He didn't know.

Harry wasn't even sure how they'd been caught; after all, who would've thought werewolves had such good noses? He was at least glad he'd been able to make Hermione flee, hearing her Apparate away before everything, and Ron - Harry could only hope he was safe.

Back at the situation at hand, Harry was slowly spinning, staring at the gleeful Death Eaters. They hadn't taken out his wand from his pocket, which was weird.

Bellatrix poked him with her wand, and Harry spun slightly faster. Maybe puking on them would get him a death sentence, but then he'd die, which was bad.

Voldemort entered in a flurry of robes, his snake following him like it was a puppy, and all the Death Eaters rose and bowed. Harry kept spinning, because really, was he supposed to do something else?

"Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, come to die." Voldemort drawled, sitting on his throne - which looked made of gold. Very fancy for a man half snake, half human. - and looking, disdainful, to Harry. "Seems like things are not going your way, so to speak."

"Yeah, I've been having a shit time here. Terrible customer service from the Death Eaters, too. How was your day?" He said, and there was some hissing from the Death Eaters, some whispering of his manner of speaking, but really, Harry was stuck, upside down, in the depths of Voldemort's lair. There wasn't much he could do other than be sarcastic.

Voldemort cackled, showing a mouth without teeth - gross - before looking back at Harry.

"You're being very cheeky for someone who's going to die. I'll allow it." He rested against his chair, hands clasped together. The snake climbed on the table, like some sort of gross cat, and coiled itself underneath where Harry was.

"Thanks, Tim. Can I be allowed to breathe, too?" Voldemort threw a spell at him, and Harry used the swing factor to avoid it. It hit some sort of decoration, which fell to the ground and shattered. "What, suddenly not in the mood to talk?"

Probably not; the only thing he could do was correct Harry on his name and then let everyone know Lord Voldemort was just an old man named Tom.

"No. Someone put him down so we can put an end to this farce." The Dark Lord hissed, rising from his seat, and Nagini lazily flickered her snake tongue on Harry's face, almost hitting his eyeball as he kept swinging from side to side. Voldemort was a terrible pet owner. Why did they even allow a snake on the table?

Someone cut the chain, and Harry almost smashed the snake to death. The animal complained loudly, and Harry offered it a mumbled apology. Nagini huffed at him, and slithered away, to where Voldemort was: a clear area behind his throne, which, if the small splatters of blood was any sign, was either a dueling circle or a torture area. Possibly both.

Harry stood on the table, jumping out and hitting the ground in one continuous movement. He was still dizzy from the spinning and swinging. Shit, maybe Harry just should've taken that spell.

A glance at the shattered decoration told him that no, maybe not. He went to the dueling circle, taking his wand off his pocket, and steadying it. His hands trembled a little, but he ignored it.

Like two animals in a too small cage, they started circling each other almost immediately, trying to assess where the other's weakness might be. Harry wasn't in the mood to use an Unforgivable - it wasn't in his nature to do so, even though he knew that, if he did, the duel would be over in a flash. Yes, there were still the Horcruxes, but the was as a whole would stop to a halt if its main figure died right in that moment.

As if this were a meeting between old friends, Voldemort immediately spoke.

"I've been looking inside your mind for a while, boy. Seeing the world through your eyes." A chill ran down Harry's spine, and he looked, puzzled, at Voldemort. Surely, he didn't mean…? "You know, back in my day, inter-house relationships weren't well seen either."

Was he - was he talking about Daphne?

"I'm surprised you went for a Slytherin. They were always the more fickle beings, in my experience." Gross. Harry felt nauseated just to imagine Voldemort, young and handsome, chasing skirt. He was old enough to be his grandfather! Who wanted to hear about their grandfather's glory days? "And this girl, this… Greengrass, yes? Such a shame she's a blood traitor. What's her name, Daphne? Maybe we should add her to our ranks. She's on the run, isn't she? Perhaps your body and hers should be placed together, in the pile of corpses where all your friends and found family will be."

Harry heard a loud crack, and something snapped.

With a wordless scream, Harry Potter threw a spell at Voldemort. The peanut gallery watched as the spell went straight for the Dark Lord, who barely had any time to react before it hit him, making the space where Voldemort once stood rain down flesh and blood. Seconds after, as the frozen Death Eaters started screaming as well, their arms exploded.

Harry fainted soon after, blood gushing from his forehead.

Unbeknownst to anyone in the room, Harry had thrown an overpowered Bombarda Maxima at Voldemort. The spell destroyed everything that was Voldemort, including the physical Horcruxes (which set off several alarms in Gringotts and Hogwarts), the tiny bits of soul in the Dark Marks and the Horcrux in Harry's head. Confusion spread itself quickly in the Wizarding world, as suddenly there were several people lacking one arm, screaming at the cooling mass of warm flesh on the ground that once had been their Lord.

Narcissa, the only person in the room who was without a single mark on her arm, blinked slowly as she watched everyone in the room panic because they were suddenly without an arm, and grabbed her wand, setting herself to work. She cauterized the wound on her son's arm, giving him a mild anesthesia in the form of one of the mildest potions she carried to keep herself sane, then went to cauterize her husband's wound.

She did not offer him any sort of pain relief. Lucius, after putting her family through what he did, did not deserve it.

"Get yourself together, grab our son and follow me." Narcissa hissed to him, and Lucius nodded, picking up Draco by the scruff of his robes like a puppy, forcing him up. Draco said something that made no sense, which meant that Narcissa's potion was working well enough

Rising from her seat as she went to Voldemort's dueling circle, she casually put her sister's misery to an end with a cutting spell, "accidentally" hitting her neck instead of the arm. Her bad; it was so hard to aim when everyone was screaming and running like headless chickens.

The carpeting would need to be redone. Sighing, Narcissa cleaned the blood from the boy's face, seeing that it was oozing a disgusting black substance from the crater where his lightning bolt scar used to stand. She used a spell to vanish the goo, cleaned the wound, and forced Draco to grab Harry Potter. He did, looking somewhat queasy.

It would leave a nasty scar.

"Not the time, Draco. You three go to our safe house, and I'll grab the baby." Someone died behind Narcissa, with a dull tud against the carpet. Merlin, she was so going to splurge.

"Are you sure…?" Lucius asked, and Draco cocked his head. She sent him a glare.

The screaming was dying down, and Narcissa didn't know if that was a good thing.

"It's my flesh and blood, and I'll have a say on how to raise her. Now go, before something happens." She replied, and Lucius nodded, forcibly Apparating the three away.

Narcissa had never been so thankful to have changed the Apparating permissions a few days ago. Voldemort hadn't even noticed, too busy gloating over the fact he had an heir. Narcissa made a mental note to disinfect the whole house when this was over, and looked around.

Most Death Eaters were either dying or had fainted: the herd mentality had sent them into a frenzy that had sped up the blood loss. Humming to herself, she slowly made her way upstairs, cutting heads as she went along.

She had become tired of wars many years ago. If it was up to her, Voldemort could've stayed dead, but her stupid husband just had to put his head where he wasn't called, didn't he? Maybe she should get a divorce.

Shaking her head, Narcissa headed upstairs, calling for an elf with orders to free the prisoners as she went along. She hoped they were well; Bellatrix was a cruel woman, after all.

Narcissa soon reached the nursery, where Voldemort's daughter was fast asleep. Narcissa packed a light baby bag, trying to remember what Draco needed all those years ago, and then Apparated away.

"This is the Potterwatch radio, and, uh, how do we put this…" George's voice crackled on the radio, and Ron, who had been busy looking at the ceiling while listening to static, moved his eyes. Lying low was boring, but the radio helped. A little.

"Yeah, those are some complicated news. We aren't exactly sure on how to put this, because we, as a group, don't know what the hell happened." Fred continued, and he sat down, frowning. What could've possibly happened…?

"For you suckers, maybe, but I can say for sure." Lee's voice came in, crystal clear. "We've been receiving reports from all over that, with no rhyme or reason, Death Eater's arms are exploding. Yes, you heard it right. They're exploding. We don't know what's going on, but we can surely say that Harry has something to do with this."

Ron started to hurriedly get dressed, jumping out of bed and grabbing his coat as he did.

"Harry Potter, if you're listening, know that… Well, we want to know what the fuck is going down." Daphne said, confusion clear in her voice. "Also, if you're hurt, I'm going to kill you. That's all."

The radio died down, but Ron didn't notice: he had to find his family.

Hermione was going to have a field day with taking all that gore from her hair. She vowed to make Harry pay, because she knew he had to be involved in this sudden rain of flesh from her captors, but gently.

First, she had to undo these chains she found herself stuck in, and get out of the torture dungeon. Then, the rest of her life.

In Hogwarts, the rebellion of students and ex-alumnae overtook the Death Eater forces pretty easily. The professors turned a blind eye to the violence, mostly because they had joined in.

Harry woke up slowly, feeling like a heavy pressure on his head had given up, substituted by a dull ache he could easily tune out. The sheets on him were soft and smelled like lavender, and he opened his eyes to a white ceiling. In the background, he could hear the faint noises of a crying baby, distant like the city noises he could hear.

Alright, so he had died. Great. Sitting down with a groan, he looked around, finding a well-furnished room. He frowned: there was no depth perception to it. That was weird. Perhaps the afterlife he ended up in was just like that, two-dimensional and white?

His throat was as dry as a desert. Maybe wherever this afterlife was had a kitchen, and this kitchen would have water. Right? Rising from the bed, Harry stumbled, as if he had slept for a long while.

The carpeting was soft, at least. And his clothes looked clean, which was a miracle. But, well, that was the afterlife for you: it had soft carpets and clean clothes. What else he could ask? Harry saw a window, a small gap between the curtains billowing gently on a weak breeze, and opened it, revealing a bustling city with the Eiffel Tower in the background.

Wow, the afterlife sure was modern. Basking into the sunlight for a moment, trying to regain his footing, Harry allowed himself to simply exist. Somewhere, even the baby settled down, quiet, and Harry almost fell asleep where he stood. Was this how peace felt?

Then came in Draco Malfoy's mother, breaking away Harry's peace and quiet to smithereens. She seemed tired, carrying a tray with a towel and a small bowl, and looked at him curiously.

"Oh, you're awake." She said, as if this was the most common thing in the world. Harry looked from her, to the window, and back to her.

"I'm not dead?" He said, and she chuckled, putting the tray aside. "And, uh, can I get a glass of water?"

"You tried to die, but you didn't. Long story, in fact." Narcissa gestured to the bed, transfiguring a small item from the bowl into a glass, and filling it with wand water.

Sitting by the comfortable chair next to the bed, Draco's mother passed Harry the glass, and he drank it slowly as she told him the story of how Voldemort had died.

"So, let me recap. I slept for a week, Voldemort is dead, I'm alive and in Paris, and the war is over?" He asked, and when Draco's mother nodded, Harry rose. "Shit, I have to see my girlfriend."

Draco's mom sighed, and folded the towel, eyes focused down.

"Very romantic. She's downstairs, I've asked Draco to send her a letter. But how about a bath and some clean clothes first? You did just spend a week in bed recuperating, after all." She suggested, and Harry, already distracted, nodded. Clasping her hands together and rising from her seat, Draco's mother smiled to Harry. "Fantastic. I'll have clothes sent to you."

After a bath and some clean clothes, Harry felt vaguely more like a human being, but the scar on his forehead made him feel queasy - once a simple lightning-like shape that covered the left side of his forehead now something shapeless and ugly, his left eye blinded by it.

Harry wondered, would Daphne mind? Would - no. He would not think of it.

Harry descended the staircase of the Malfoy's Parisian apartment, and found himself following the noise of people, the smell of breakfast, Daphne's quiet, hummed voice.

When he arrived at the doorstep of the dining room, he found the Malfoys eating, and Daphne with them, back turned to him.

"Hey, Daphne." He called, and she stopped talking, looking back. Her hair had been cut short, falling to her jaw, and she had a scar from where he couldn't see, under her shirt, passing through her now blind right eye, to almost her hairline: a curse scar, just like the one in his forehead. His heart felt like someone had taken it between their hands and ripped it apart, his feet moving before he noticed. "I guess the war didn't treat you well?"

"Why, do I look any different?" She asked, a hand on her cheek. Approaching him, neither noticed the Malfoys discreetly leaving the room, closing the doors with a spell. "I mean, sure, the haircut is new. And the clothes, too."

They encountered each other in the middle, and Harry hugged her: she felt like a missing piece near him, burying her face in the crook of his neck as Harry rested his chin on top of her head, arms around her too-thin body, or maybe he was the thin one. It was hard to know.

"Mrs. Malfoy told me what happened. You were stupid to get caught." She said, muffled by the clothes. Harry just held Daphne tighter, as if if he didn't, she would disappear from his sight. "And even stupider to fight Voldemort head-on like that. What if things hadn't gone the way they did?"

Harry sighed, and Daphne separated from him, tears welling in her eyes.

"I'm serious. I - I worried. Every news report was hell to me. Not knowing how you were, where you were."

"And every news report you gave made me feel like I could go on another day." Harry kissed her, softly, feeling the wetness of her cheeks. When they separated, she was still crying. "Don't cry. Come on, I'm safe now."

That made her smile, and Harry smiled to her, too.

"I will cry." Daphne shook her head, cleaning her tears away with the back of her hand. "I'm changing the promise. I'm going to cry, and you - you, mister - are going to hold me until I'm satisfied, and then we're going to do all those summer activities we had planned and that a stupid war blocked us from doing, and then we will get married. Okay?"

Harry smiled, and kissed her once more. He could barely wait to have Daphne in his arms again, to have her in his life forever, unbothered.

"Yes, I promise."