Chapter Text
The sound of Voldemort’s voice cut through the air like a dull, rusted blade, its cruel, triumphant cadence twisting in Daphne’s ears as the crowd stood frozen in horror.
"Harry Potter is dead!"
Daphne's entire body locked up.
No.
No, this wasn’t real.
But then she saw him.
Hagrid’s massive form loomed at the entrance of the ruined courtyard, his huge hands cradling a limp, lifeless body.
Harry.
His glasses askew, his black hair falling over his forehead, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides—
Dead.
Daphne’s legs gave out.
The ground rushed up to meet her, but Tracey was there, her strong arms catching her just in time, slowly lowering her to kneel on the rubble-strewn floor.
Daphne’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, her vision blurring, but she couldn’t make a sound.
No screams, no sobs—just silent, empty tears that slid down her cheeks, her hands trembling against the stone beneath her.
Her mind betrayed her, cycling through every moment, every piece of him she had come to cherish.
Their first year—Harry’s awkward smile when they had been paired as Transfiguration partners, the way he had never let her feel like she wasn’t good enough, even when she had doubted herself.
Their second year- How she grew to understand he really did have a death wish, but seeing him smiling at her with those bandages making her grin despite herself.
Their third year—Harry catching her wrist after a particularly bad row with her father, whispering words of comfort in the empty corridors.
Their fourth year—the way he had stared at her in that dress at the Yule Ball, like she was the only person in the entire room.
Their fifth year—the way he had held her that night in the hospital wing, his body trembling with grief, but never once pushing her away.
Their sixth year—his smile, his stupid, cocky smirk, the way he always tried to make her laugh, even when things felt impossible.
The way he had held her, kissed her, loved her.
And now—
Now he was gone.
Daphne’s heart cracked, split wide open, and for the first time in her life, she felt truly, utterly empty.
Because what was she without him?
What was she supposed to do in a world where Harry Potter didn’t exist?
She was cold, so cold, her breath shallow, the voices around her distant, muffled—
And then—
Then everything exploded.
A blinding flash of fire erupted from nowhere, crashing into Nagini, sending the snake reeling back—
Gasps, shouts of disbelief—
Daphne’s eyes snapped open.
Harry was moving.
He was alive.
He was alive.
She didn’t have time to process it.
Didn’t have time to cry, to breathe, to let herself feel anything but shock.
The moment Voldemort’s voice twisted into a snarl, chaos descended upon them again.
And then she was running, her body acting on pure instinct, her fight-or-flight response screaming through her veins as spells lit up the air like an unholy storm.
Daphne barely registered the fighting, barely felt anything as she was pulled aside, pushed through the doors of the castle, her feet stumbling over bodies, the screams of the wounded and dying pressing in around her.
It was all a blur.
Because all she could think about—
Was Harry.
The battle was over.
Voldemort was dead.
The Dark Mark had vanished from the sky.
And yet—
Daphne still felt hollow.
She should have been helping Madam Pomfrey, tending to the wounded, offering what little healing knowledge she had left in her exhausted body—
But she couldn’t move.
She just stood there, frozen, her fingers curled into tight fists, her gaze locked on the entrance of the Great Hall, waiting.
Then—
He walked in.
Harry.
His movements slow, his limp noticeable, his eyes sweeping the room.
Ron and Hermione were already beside him, talking to him, touching his shoulder, offering him their unwavering support—
But Harry was looking for someone else.
And then—
His eyes found hers.
Daphne sucked in a breath.
She barely had time to react before Harry was moving toward her, not quite running, but moving as fast as his exhausted body could carry him.
And then—
He was in her arms.
Daphne wrapped herself around him, her hands fisting into the back of his jumper, her face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, holding him tighter than she had ever held anyone in her life.
She was shaking, her body pressed against his, and Harry clutched her just as fiercely, like he was afraid she might slip away if he let go.
They stood there for what felt like eternity, until finally, they pulled apart just enough for their eyes to meet.
Daphne swallowed, her voice hoarse, cracked from all the things she hadn’t been able to say.
“Are you finally done running off to meet your end?” she whispered, her breath uneven.
Harry let out a weak, tired laugh, his forehead pressing against hers.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a small, crooked grin. “I think I am.”
Daphne laughed wetly, shaking her head, relief crashing over her like a tidal wave.
And then—
She kissed him.
Softly, but deeply, her hands tangling in his messy hair, her lips desperate to remind him that he was still here, that he had come back to her.
Harry hummed against her mouth, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her closer, grounding himself in her warmth.
The war was over.
And he was never leaving her again.
Daphne pulled away just slightly, resting her forehead against his, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Then let’s start our life together.”
Harry smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in what felt like years.
“I’d really like that.”
And this time, when she kissed him again—
It tasted like the future.
Like hope.
Like forever.