Slytherins & Escape

"Daphne…," Harry called out softly, his voice laced with concern, but she did not respond. Her pace was slow and measured, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though warding off a cold that only she could feel.

"Daphne," he tried again, this time with more urgency, his footsteps quickening to catch up to her. "We shouldn't just walk around in this corridor. What if Filch sees us?"

Still, she gave no indication she had heard him. Her eyes were fixed ahead, unseeing, her breathing shallow and uneven.

"DAPHNE!" Harry shouted, his voice bouncing off the ancient stone walls. He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder, turning her towards him. "What's wrong with you?"

At last, Daphne stopped. She turned her head, her pale, ice-blue eyes meeting his—or rather, seeming to look straight through him. They were dull, distant, as if the Daphne he knew had retreated somewhere far away, leaving behind an empty shell. Harry felt a pang of unease ripple through him, but then, as if a switch had been flipped, her gaze sharpened.

"I'm fine," she said tersely, her voice clipped but steady. "Let's go back to the common room before we get caught."

Harry frowned. She might have regained her composure, but the moment had left a heavy weight in the air between them. Something had shaken her to the core, and it wasn't like Daphne to be easily rattled.

He pressed his lips together, deciding not to push further for now. "We have to get my cloak," he said after a pause. "It's still in the room."

Daphne merely nodded, her face unreadable. Together, they retraced their steps to the room where the enchanted mirror stood. Harry's Invisibility Cloak lay crumpled near the door, forgotten in the whirlwind of emotions and revelations earlier. He bent down to retrieve it, but as he straightened, he caught sight of Daphne again, her gaze locked on the far wall, unmoving, unblinking.

And then he felt it, the pull.

The mirror stood there, silent and alluring, its ornate frame gleaming faintly in the dim light. It called to him, beckoned him, as if whispering promises of comfort and belonging. He could see the faint outlines of his parents again, their smiles warm, their arms outstretched in welcome.

"Daphne," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "I just... I want to see them again. Just once more."

"No," Daphne snapped sharply, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. Harry froze mid-step, his eyes wide. She was glaring at him now, her expression fierce and unyielding.

"You shouldn't look into that mirror again," she continued, her tone as cold and biting as the winter winds outside the castle.

"But—" Harry stammered, his heart aching with the desperate longing to see his family. "Why not? What's wrong with it? It shows me my parents. It makes me... happy."

"Happy?" Daphne repeated, her voice laced with bitterness. She stepped closer to him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Did you even bother to read the inscription on the mirror? Do you even know what it says?"

Harry blinked, caught off guard by her sudden intensity. He thought back to the strange words etched across the top of the mirror's frame. "It was... something I didn't understand. A weird language or—"

"Read it backwards," Daphne interrupted impatiently. Her eyes were sharp and piercing, though there was a hint of something else behind them—something vulnerable. "It says, 'I show not your face but your heart's desire.'"

Harry felt a chill run down his spine. "Your heart's desire?"

"Yes," she said curtly. "That's what this mirror does. It shows you what you want most in the world. But it's not real, Harry. It's just an illusion. A fantasy."

"But I don't even know what my parents looked like," Harry protested, his voice rising in desperation. "How could the mirror show me something I don't even know?"

Daphne's expression softened for a fleeting moment, but then she steeled herself again. "Magic, Harry," she said simply, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. "The mirror taps into your mind, into your soul, and it shows you what you crave most, even if you don't consciously realize it."

Harry stared at her, his thoughts swirling like a storm. "Then... what did you see in the mirror, Daphne?"

Her reaction was immediate. Her body tensed, her jaw clenched, and her eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and pain. "That's none of your business," she snapped.

"But I told you what I saw!" Harry argued. "I trusted you with my feelings, my secrets. Why can't you—"

"Because not everyone is as naive as you, Harry!" Daphne cut him off, her voice rising. "Not everyone wants to wear their heart on their sleeve and share their deepest desires with the world!"

Harry felt the sting of her words, but he refused to back down. "You're my friend, Daphne. I care about you. I just want to—"

"We're not friends!" Daphne's voice was sharp and venomous, her words cutting deeper than any curse. "We're just two people who happen to share a house and a school! Stop clinging to me like a lost puppy, Potter. I don't need your pity, and I don't need you!"

Her words hit him like a physical blow, leaving him momentarily breathless. He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he fought them back, unwilling to give her the satisfaction.

Daphne's fury seemed to deflate as quickly as it had flared. Her shoulders sagged, and for the first time, she looked away, as though ashamed. "You wouldn't understand," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "You couldn't."

"Try me," Harry said quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest.

Daphne hesitated, her hands trembling at her sides. Then, in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper, she confessed, "I saw my parents in the mirror too. But not like you. They weren't smiling at me. They weren't proud of me. They… they were punishing me. They were angry. They always are."

Harry felt his stomach drop. "Daphne..."

"They hate me, Harry," she continued, her voice breaking. "They always have. No matter what I do, it's never enough. And when I fail... when I disappoint them..." She swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "They use the Cruciatus Curse on me."

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, heavy and suffocating. Harry stared at her in horror, his mind struggling to process the enormity of what she had just revealed.

"Daphne, that's... that's illegal," he said weakly. "They can't—"

"But they do," she interrupted, her voice hollow. "And no one can stop them. No one cares. That's just how the world works, Harry."

Harry clenched his fists, his body trembling with anger. "No. That's not how it works. That's not how it should work! I won't let them do that to you anymore, Daphne. I promise—"

"You can't save me, Harry," she said bitterly, though there was a flicker of something—hope?—in her eyes. "No one can. That's why I've decided to save myself. I'll become stronger. Stronger than them. Stronger than anyone. I'll make them regret ever hurting me."

Her voice grew colder, harder, as she spoke, and Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. But beneath her icy facade, he saw the truth. She wasn't a monster. She was just a scared, broken girl trying to protect herself from a cruel, uncaring world.

"You don't have to do it alone," Harry said firmly, stepping closer to her. "I'll stand by you, Daphne. No matter what."

For a long moment, she simply stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nodded. A single tear slid down her cheek, and she didn't bother to wipe it away.

"Together," she whispered.

"Together," Harry echoed.

As they left the room, the mirror stood silent and forgotten in the background. Hidden in the corner, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore watched them go, his eyebrows furrowed and heart heavy with sorrow. He had hoped to protect them from the darkness, but now, he feared it might already be too late.

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