AN: Hello, hello. This is just a quick one-shot that popped into my head and I felt the need to get down. This will be canon through all 7 books, but non-epilogue compliant.

I wanted to try my hand at a consistent romance arc since I kind of buggered it in my PJO fic, and thought that a one-shot would be a good place to start.

Also, I'm used to writing in omniscient third person, but I'm trying to experiment with semi-omniscient third person instead. Again, I thought a one-shot would be a good place to practice. POV will switch throughout the story but won't be labeled. We'll see how it turns out.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

/

Hippocratic Oath

It was somewhat amusing– ironic, really– that Harry James Potter, the Master of Death, had become a healer in the aftermath of the war.

After the Final Battle and the subsequent restoration of the castle, Harry had returned to Hogwarts for his seventh year, along with many of his yearmates who had suffered from the lackluster quality of education provided by the Death Eaters that had taken over the school during his year on the run. He had spent much of his time during his year back in the infirmary, whether it was under Poppy Pomfrey's oh so tender care or to be taught the tricks of the trade while helping her treat other students. To his surprise, he'd found the work quite gratifying and had thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

The war had truly changed everyone, and it was a welcomed change to be able to interact with other students without the oppressive pall of darkness or the hostile lines drawn between the school Houses. Upon realising that he really didn't have friends besides the Weasleys, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and his dormmates to a certain extent, Harry was determined to reach out to his peers from other Houses.

Ginny hadn't waited for him while he was off hunting horcruxes– not that he'd expected her to. She'd gotten back together with Michael Corner while he was away, which Harry had already discovered from his time spent watching her dot on the Marauder's Map. They seemed to be happy together, so Harry let them be and remained good friends with both of them.

In his attempt to branch out, Harry had gone out briefly with Lisa Turpin, a Ravenclaw from his year, but their short-lived relationship had gone up in a rather spectacular bunch of flames. Not long after, to the surprise of everyone, except McGonagall for some reason, he'd dated Daphne Greengrass for the entirety of the second semester. No one had expected him to like a Slytherin, much less go out with one, but he and Daphne had a whirlwind romance and he had loved her as best as he could, considering the fact that he didn't exactly have a lot of experience with that particular emotion due to his less than stellar upbringing with the Dursleys.

But barely a week after graduation, Daphne had broken things off with him without a single word. His letters were returned unopened and her floo was blocked off, and he was left stew in his anger, furious that she had betrayed his trust by leaving him without an explanation and that she had ignored him until he'd finally given up. He knew himself well enough, though, to admit that his response was slightly over dramatic and was likely due to his severe abandonment issues that came from various psychological trauma while growing up. And so, his burning rage slowly turned into cold depression, then finally into an hallowing sense of loneliness.

For a year after his graduation, Harry had disappeared from the public spotlight and dove headfirst into the daunting task of setting his affairs in order, both regarding his House duties to Houses Potter and Black, and also his duties in the Wizengamot. He had learned what was expected of him as the Head of an Ancient and Noble House from Andromeda Tonks over the course of the school year during his weekendly visits to see his godson, Teddy Lupin. Harry found pureblood customs and wizarding traditions to be especially tedious and bothersome, but recognised their importance, and therefore trained himself to be able to behave in a manner befitting of his station when it was prudent for him to do so.

Harry's visits to see the lovable metamorphmagus had not only continued, but had increased significantly in frequency after he had completed his NEWTs. He adored little Teddy and spoiled him rotten, much to Andromeda's chagrin, but he really didn't know any better. In his defence, the only godfathering example he had to go off of was his limited time with Sirius, and given that Teddy was just over a year old, he didn't really think that his personal experiences were a feasible reference point, especially since his options were giving his godson 'The Talk' a few years too early, or getting himself sent to Azkaban for the first decade of Teddy's life. Neither seemed to be terribly responsible in Harry's eyes.

Talking to Teddy had helped him heal following his break-up with Daphne, even though he doubted that he would ever truly get over what had probably been the worst heartbreak in his life. Despite the fact that Teddy couldn't respond to Harry's rambling, he looked up at his godfather with wide, adoring eyes that changed to a deep, emerald green whenever Harry entered the room, and somehow managed to slowly ease the pain of loss.

Andromeda had come upon Harry pouring his heart out to the attentive baby more than once and had repeatedly told him to move on and called him a 'lovesick fool' for not doing so. Harry never protested the insult though. It was true, after all.

When Andromeda finally managed to drag Harry off his arse to get him to do something, anything, besides hiding behind his 'family duties' as a means to shelter himself away from the world, he reflected on his life experience and decided that there was really only one thing that he wanted to do. Thus, the very day, Harry woke up early, apparated straight to St. Mungo's, and signed up for the entrance exams to be admitted into healer training.

/

Daphne Ophelia Nott née Greengrass studied her reflection critically in the mirror in her bedroom at Nott Manor, where she had lived for the past four years. With a heavy sigh, she raised her wand and held its tip to her right temple and slowly dragged it across her lower eyelid, healing the swollen bruising of her black eye. Satisfied with her shoddy patchwork, Daphne crawled under her bed and pried open the loose floorboard, smiling wistfully as she took into her hands the sole resident of the hidden space, its existence she and she alone was aware of. A single framed picture, a black-haired man with one hand waving at her and his other hand resting dangerously low on a blonde girl's waist. A blonde girl that seemed almost unrecognisable, with a spark of life in her eyes that Daphne had not seen in her own for a long, long time.

She had known what she was getting into from the moment she'd learned that she was to wed the Death Eater scum, and she wasn't all too surprised with how it had all turned out. Oh how she had wished to murder her father when he'd first informed her of that damned contract. Her fingers had itched to wrap themselves around his throat and strangle him to death when he'd nervously entered her room and told her that she had to marry Nott, of all people. She wanted to watch his eyes bulge as she suffocated him until his body fell limp and cold in her bare hands. She'd desired nothing more than to seem him dead, no matter how apologetic he was and how guilty he felt.

Eventually though, Daphne came to terms with her father's actions. He did what he'd felt was best for the family, trying to protect her and her sister. She would never forgive him, but at least she understood. Her acceptance, however, did nothing to dull the pain of her broken heart, and she suspected that nothing ever would.

When she'd returned to Hogwarts to repeat her seventh year, she had been worried that she'd be walking into hostile territory, seeing as how she was a Slytherin pureblood in a post-blood-war world. Even more concerning was the distinct possibility that she, or more importantly her sister, would be the target of cruelty and harassment from the other Houses.

She needn't have worried though, as she had received an olive branch from a most unexpected source on her second day back. Harry Potter, of all people, had brazenly plopped down at the Slytherin table for breakfast on the morning of 2 September, 1998. What a silly Gryffindor he was.

Tracey, her best friend and ever the chatterbox, was quick to engage Potter in conversation, while the rest of the House sent hostile, albeit subdued, glares down the table. Daphne had been sitting next to her sister, Astoria, and across from Tracey and Potter, but made no attempt to assimilate herself into their rapport, settling for studying the enigmatic, yet admittedly handsome, green-eyed youth that sat confidently at the heart of the snake pit, seemingly without a care in the world.

Potter sat at the Ravenclaw table the next morning, and it was a great surprise to Daphne when she'd found that she missed his cheerful and lively demeanor. Her eyes lingered on him through breakfast that morning, then again through the next as he rotated to sit with the Hufflepuffs. She tried to ignore him when he had once again rejoined his own House for breakfast, since glances directed all the way across the hall would surely be noticed and teased about by her gossip-mongering best friend and nosey little sister, but she couldn't help the occasional peek at the raven-haired young man.

When he had finally come back to the Slytherin table, she'd readily engaged him in conversation and was pleasantly surprised to discover how much they had in common. From their shared brand of dry humor to their cynical outlook on life in general, Potter was almost like a kissable version of herself. That is, of course, if you ignored the fact that he was still a noble idiot, while she herself was far more shrewd and intelligent.

Eventually, after a couple shared meals, they began to spend time together without the presence of the school populace.

It had begun with studying; he helped her with DADA and Transfiguration, while she helped him with Potions and Arithmancy. She'd been impressed with his grasp of the latter, given that he hadn't selected the class when it was offered as an elective in third year, but he'd explained that he'd picked up some things during his year away from school.

When Potter had started helping Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing, Daphne had often joined him there– studying, reading a book, or chatting with him when there weren't any patients to look after.

She realised that she truly enjoyed his company and was finding herself growing more and more attached to him. Potter had seemed to feel the same way, so they began to hang out even more, no longer needing an excuse such as schoolwork to spend time together.

He'd always stuck up for her when their less ethical classmates had decided to take their frustrations out on the 'slimy snakes who didn't deserve a place in their world,' and she loved him for it. Daphne let out an involuntary shudder as she recalled the way that his eyes had glowed during the few times he'd needed to remind people just who it was that had kicked the Dark Lord's bony arse.

But that had all changed when he'd started dating that cow, Lisa Turpin. All of his free time was spent with the stupid bint, and Daphne had gone on the figurative back burner of his priority list. She'd be lying if she said that she wasn't positively giddy when their relationship had very publicly self-destructed.

After giving Harry the obligatory grace period to get over his failed relationship, Daphne had kissed him at the New Years party that he had invited her to attend in the Gryffindor common room. Not long later, he'd asked her out to Hogsmeade and they'd dated for the rest of the year.

She loved him dearly, and felt that Harry loved her too, but she knew that he'd never really felt love from anyone before, and thus was patient with him. He was always so kind, so gentle and caring, and she was truly happy for the first time in her life. And then she found out about the contract. How could she face him and tell him that she had to marry another man? She couldn't bear the thought of seeing the anguish and heartbreak marring his normally exuberant countenance. Perhaps it was selfish of her, but she'd ended up deciding to simply vanish, to ignore him as much as she could and suffer quietly by herself.

Over the years, Daphne often wondered if she'd made the right choice in cutting ties with Harry without any form of communication. Because if anyone had ever deserved anything, it was Harry who deserved an explanation, or even just some form of closure, seeing as he was easily the best man she'd ever known. But in the end, her guilt stayed her hand, and kept her away from her love for years.

/

Harry sighed as he hung up his St. Mungo's robes, preparing to go home for the night. He'd completed his healer training within a record two years and had been slowly moving up the ranks within the hospital over the course of the following year. For lack of anything better to do with his life, Harry worked Mondays through Wednesdays on both the ground floor and fourth floor wherever he was needed, treating spell damage and artefact accidents, including but not limited to cauldron accidents, cursed objects, and broom crashes. On Friday and Saturday, he worked on the third floor, which dealt with poisoning from potions and plants. Thursdays and Sundays he spent at home, looking over his family assets and reading through any Wizengamot memos. Harry often visited the Burrow for Sunday brunch with the Weasleys, but for the most part stayed with his godson and his grandmother or buried himself in his work while holed up in Grimmauld Place. It was strenuous and repetitive, but Harry revelled in it; the tedium did well to keep his thoughts from straying to more unpleasant places.

As soon as he reached St. Mungo's apparition point, Harry twisted and disappeared with a barely audible pop, then shortly reappeared just outside the wards of the Tonks House. He smiled softly when he saw the kitchen lights on inside. They had probably just started on supper.

"I'm home!" Harry called out as he entered the cosy, two-storey cottage.

"Unca Harry!" Teddy cried, followed by a pattering of small feet on the wood panel flooring. "How's work?"

Andromeda followed her godson at a more sedate pace and came to greet the man who she had come to see as a son. "Hello, Harry."

Harry grinned tiredly at the regal, middle-aged woman. "Hey Andi."

He then turned his attention to the blue-haired tyke clinging to his leg and swung Teddy up into his arms. "And hello to you too, kiddo!"

Teddy giggled and poked Harry's nose. "Didya help more sick people today, Unca Harry?"

"Mmhmm," Harry hummed. "There was a wizard who accidentally turned his ears into elephant ears!"

Teddy looked up at his godfather with wide eyes before scrunching up his nose and enlarging his ears, so he vaguely resembled a humanoid Dumbo. Still relatively unpracticed, the young metamorph couldn't hold the form for very long, and soon collapsed into his godfather's arms, cackling hysterically.

Harry chuckled fondly and shook his head. "Let's go back to the kitchen, huh bud? Did I interrupt your meal?"

Teddy shook his head vigorously. "Nuh uh, Unca Harry."

Andromeda sighed in exasperation. "He was about to eat his brussel sprouts before he was given an excuse to make an escape," she finished with a mock glare at Harry.

Harry smiled sheepishly as he began making his way through the house with Teddy on his hip and his little arms clinging around his neck.

/

"Mind if I stay the night here, Andi?"

Andromeda gave him a reproachful look. "You know that you don't need to ask that every time, Harry. Merlin knows you stay here often enough."

Harry chuckled lightly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry, force of habit."

Andromeda said nothing, opting to study the young man in front of her with an analysing gaze. After several moments of silence, Harry began to squirm uncomfortably under her scrutiny and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"How are you, Harry?" Andromeda asked quietly.

Harry sighed softly. They both knew that it was a far more loaded question than it appeared. He shrugged tiredly. " I dunno, Andi. I can't bear to think about her, but I can't not think about her."

"You need to move on," Andromeda insisted. "Or your life will pass you by before you realise that you've missed the opportunity to enjoy it."

Harry ran his hand through his messy, raven locks. "I've tried, Andi. It's not that simple. It's her, it's always been her, and it always will be. You of all people should understand."

Andromeda observed him coolly. "My situation is different, and you know it, Harry. I had my time with Ted, and that time has passed. All I have left is to wait until it's my time to join him again."

Harry smiled apologetically before slumping his shoulders. "Then why can't I do my own waiting?"

"Because it's not too late for you to find something else. Something better." Andromeda patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Go to sleep, Harry. You've had a long day."

Harry stood and began to trudge up the stairs, making his way to the guest bedroom. Once he entered the room, he leaned against the closed door and shut his eyes.

"There is no onebetter."

/

Daphne cursed under her breath as she studied her bare torso, her lower chest covered in nasty boils filled with black and yellow pus.

"What the fuck did the bastard hit me with this time?" she muttered to herself.

This was far beyond her limited healing expertise. She'd have to go to St. Mungo's to get fixed after she came up with a convincing cover story. If only she could tell someone about what her husband was doing to her, but unfortunately, the contract was painfully thorough. It wouldn't do to have the wife of a Death Eater going around blabbing about the secrets that he kept for his lord after Voldemort had taken over, after all. Funny how that turned out, wasn't it?

Daphne pulled on a loose blouse and made her way over to the ornate fireplace that lit the sitting room, then grabbed a pinch of floo powder.

"St. Mungo's Hospital!"

With a gentle whoosh of green flames, Lady Nott disappeared from the manor.

/

It had started as a normal Tuesday for Harry, arriving at St. Mungo's at six in the morning and reporting directly to the fourth floor– the spell damage unit. He should've known that it wouldn't last. Fucking Potter luck.

"Do you know who I am?!" an angry voice demanded.

That voice… he knew that voice.

A cold ball of dread began forming in the pit of her stomach. Why her? Why now? Why was she here, of all places?

"Relax, Linda," Harry said smoothly as he strode past the reception desk out to the sitting area. "I'll take care of this."

Harry eyed the witch before him up and down and couldn't help the slight catch in his breath. She was just as beautiful as the last time he'd seen her, regardless of the angry scowl marring her haughty face. As her piercing blue eyes met his bright green ones, they shone briefly in recognition, then… something. Something unreadable that made his heart thump just a little bit harder.

"How can I help you, Miss Greengrass?" Harry asked when he had finally recovered.

"It's Nott now," Daphne replied coolly, her face once again shielded by an emotionless mask.

Harry flinched at the reminder. "Right, of course. How can I help you, Lady Nott?"

"I appear to have inflicted myself with a wound that I find myself unable to heal."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion before nodding curtly. "Right then, if you'd follow me to a room, we'll get you checked out."

/

"It's Nott now."

Daphne's heart shattered further when she saw Harry stiffen at her caustic remark. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest as he composed himself, but she dared not to show how nervous she was in his presence.

"Right, of course," he replied politely. "How can I help you, Lady Nott?"

Daphne mentally berated herself for correcting him. She'd never felt as dirty when being called that name as she did now, and it tore at her soul to be called that by him.

"I appear to have inflicted myself with a wound that I find myself unable to heal."

He didn't believe her. She could see it in his eyes. He'd seen right through her lie, just like he'd always been able to.

"Right then," he finally answered. "If you'd follow me to a room, we'll get you checked out."

Daphne let out a breath that she didn't realise she'd been holding. She didn't know whether to feel relieved that he'd let the matter drop, or disappointed that he hadn't dug into it deeper.

Once she had entered after him into a room across the hall from the Janus Thickey Ward, Harry spun to face her. The beautiful green eyes that she'd spent hours staring into threatened to draw her in once more, to drown her in the inescapable torrent that was just Harry.

He looked at her expectantly, and it took her longer than she was willing to admit to realise that he was waiting for her to tell him where she needed his attention. Medically, of course. Otherwise they might have been there the whole day.

Without any hint of modesty, Daphne pulled her blouse over her head, leaving her upper half clad in just a lacy, black bra.

She felt a thrill at Harry's slightly slacked jaw and lingering eyes as they roamed over her lithe figure. His eyes darkened as they locked onto her damaged side, which at this point looked rather like a boiling cauldron of some disastrous, gloopy mixture that Longbottom had slapped together in first year while trembling like a leaf in the wind under Snape's scornful gaze.

"Shit," she heard him murmur. Her heart warmed at the genuine concern in his eyes as he glanced up to look at her face. "How are you even still conscious? I thought that I was the one with the ludicrous pain tolerance."

Daphne said nothing as he guided her to a bed to lie down on while he tended to her wounds. She couldn't very well just tell him that she was more than used to the pain by that point, and not just because of the contract. Her pride stubbornly refused to beg for help because that would mean admitting how helpless and lost she truly was, and that was something that Daphne Greengrass would never do.

Daphne shivered as Harry ran his wand over her side, muttering some sort of charms under his breath. To her delight, when she peeked down at her wound, the boils were slowly reducing until all that lingered was a dark, nasty-looking bruise.

Daphne sat up as Harry pulled away, made his way across the room, and began rummaging through a potions cabinet. Her eyes lingered on his form as he withdrew a jar of yellow paste and walked back over to her.

"You can put your shirt back on," he said, looking her straight in the eye.

She followed his instruction without protest, internally cursing his legendary self control.

Harry raised the jar in his hands and wiggled it in front of her. "Apply this salve on the affected area twice a day. Once in the morning, once before bed. You should be back to normal within a week."

Daphne nodded and reached out to take the little tub from his hands, but Harry pulled back and fixed her with a look.

"What?" she snapped impatiently.

"How did this," Harry gestured to her now-covered torso, "Even happen?"

Daphne glared at him. "I told you. It was an accident."

Harry raised an infuriating eyebrow. "You used to be a better liar, you know."

"Whatever," Daphne scoffed. "Give me the damn paste."

With that, she hopped off of the hospital bed, snatched the jar from Harry's hand, and stormed out of the room.

/

Andromeda watched as the godfather of her godson paced agitatedly back and forth in front of her. She sat silently on the couch in the sitting room, waiting patiently for Harry to give her a respite from his ranting.

"She's a housewife, Andi! A socialite!" Harry shouted, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

Teddy sat off to the side, playing with his favourite wolf plushie, looking up at his godfather with large, unblinking eyes.

"Yes, you've said that already, Harry," Andromeda responded calmly.

"Then why," Harry hissed, his anger unknowingly causing a bit of Parseltongue to slip into his speech, "Did ssshe show up with curse marksss from dark magic?!"

"If she didn't want to tell you, then there's little you can do, Harry," Andromeda reasoned. "At this point, I don't think it's really any of your business."

"Not my– not my business?!" Harry sputtered incredulously. "Andi, it's Daphne!"

"Harry," Andromeda regarded him sternly. "I know you loved her, and for some reason you still do, but she is not your responsibility anymore."

Harry slumped down against the wall and screwed his eyes shut. "Yeah… yeah, I know. It's just hard, you know? It's so fucking hard for me to see her like that. You didn't see it Andi, but it was bad. This wasn't even combat dark magic; it's the stuff used for causing pain. For torturing people."

Andromeda stood while giving Harry an admonishing glare about his language in front of Teddy. "I'm sorry, Harry. And I'm sorry I can't be of much help with this. I'll go get started on supper, yeah?"

Harry sighed tiredly and gave her a jerky nod. "Yeah, thanks Andi. And it helped, you know. Just to have someone to talk to."

Andromeda smiled gently and headed off to the kitchen.

Soon after his grandmother left the room, Teddy crawled across the room before hopping into his godfather's lap.

Harry felt the tension seep out of his body as he held the 4 year old close to his chest.

"What would I do without you, bud?" Harry chuckled lightly.

Teddy patted his godfather's head like he was a sad puppy rather than a man nearly two decades his senior. "It's okay, Unca Harry. I know you'll do the righ' thing."

Harry smiled at the small child in his arms. "Thanks, Teddy. That means a lot to me."

Teddy said nothing as he turned around and squirmed himself deeper into Harry's embrace.

/

"Fuck!" Daphne shouted as soon as Theodore had left the manor. The idiot thought that her injuries would go unnoticed if he could hide them in the places that were normally covered by her clothes, so he'd ended up cursing her in the exact same spot as the last time. Her skin had been mostly healed, but was still light pink and slightly tender. Well, not anymore. This time, it was an ugly, pulsing mess of blue and red lesions. Fan-fucking-tastic. Perhaps her corpse would be decorated with a full rainbow of bruises.

She was starting to lose her resolve, and she knew it. The temptation to go to someone about her abuse was becoming greater and greater, and she didn't know how long she could resist violating the contract. She should tell Harry. He'd understand, and he'd avenge her death after the contract killed her. He was always sweet like that.

Not today, she decided as she changed her shirt and prepared to leave to go to St. Mungo's once more.

/

"Back so soon?"

Daphne looked up and saw the face that haunted her dreams peering curiously down at her. She rose out of her seat and smoothed down her skirt.

"I appear to have inflicted myself with a wound that I find myself unable to heal."

Harry's eyes narrowed as his muscles visibly tensed. He looked like a coiled snake, ready to lash out and strike at his enemies. He was suspicious, she knew, and he was picking up on her hints. Good boy.

"Follow me, then."

Daphne followed quietly as Harry led her to the same room as the previous week, moving out of the way as he closed the door behind them.

Without preamble, she pulled her shirt off and revealed her newly cursed side.

She heard Harry suck in a breath through his teeth as he guided her to a bed and made his way to the potions cupboard.

He returned with a vial of blue liquid and a vial of some green substance that looked slightly more viscous. He also had a tub of the yellow paste that she recognised from her previous visit.

"Drink these," he said as he handed her the vials.

As she drained them, she felt a cool sensation envelop her injured area and looked down to see frost coming out of the tip of Harry's wand and covering her wound. The potions began coursing through her system and the frost began to melt, leaving water that trickled down her body and dripped onto the bed. Harry cast a series of spells before nodding, apparently satisfied.

He handed her the jar of yellow paste. "Same deal as last time, twice a day– once in the morning, once at night."

Daphne nodded and took the jar from him, standing to leave. Seeing that Harry was deep in thought, she made her way out of the room without another word.

/

Harry strolled into the Department of Marital Affairs in the Ministry of Magic. No one dared to try and stop him as he made his way around back and into the archives.

Sometimes it paid to be Harry Potter.

He ran his fingers along the shelves of files as he perused the marriage records.

"L… M… N…" Harry murmured as he searched for his quarry. "Nott."

Harry pulled the file off the shelf and opened it, flipping past three centuries' worth of marriage details of the Nott family, stopping finally when he found the record he was looking for.

Marriage Contract for Theodore Cantankerous Nott and Daphne Ophelia Greengrass

"Bastard," Harry hissed. "Of course it was a contract."

Signed by Lord Cyrus Greengrass and Lord Theodore Nott Sr.

Witnessed by Lord Cyrus Greengrass, Lord Theodore Nott Sr., Lord Lucius Malfoy

Dated 18 July, 1995

"1995?" Harry wondered aloud. That was right after Voldemort had come back. Ol' Cyrus must have either been trying to protect the family when the Dark Lord took over or was pressured into it by Nott and Malfoy.

Terms and Details Redacted.

Of course they were. Harry knew though, that a contract put forth by a Death Eater would be anything but pretty, and would likely restrict Daphne from speaking about what happened within the house.

She was trapped, Harry suddenly realised.

Despite the fact that she didn't have any more choice than he'd had, he couldn't help but feel slightly put out with Daphne's actions. He was upset that she hadn't told him what was going on and had simply disappeared without a word.

She pulled a 'Dumbledore' on me!

Well, not really. Dumbledore had hidden information from him in some misguided belief that it was 'for his own good,' while Daphne had been cowardly and selfish and had refused to face him.

But that was okay. She was allowed to be cowardly. She was allowed to be selfish. He was coming to realise that she'd been suffering far worse than he had for the past few years, and he had to make up for it.

No more, he swore, I'm coming, Daphne.

/

Daphne felt a strange lurch in her magic as she was bidding her sister Astoria and her husband goodbye. Draco was… strangely unchildish nowadays. They were trying for a kid, but had been unsuccessful thus far.

Despite Daphne and Draco's best attempts to dissuade Astoria from the idea of having children, for fear of the pregnancy putting additional strain on her body which was already plagued by her blood curse, Astoria insisted that a child was what she wanted. She argued that she was condemned to die regardless, and refused to let Draco be alone in the world after she passed.

With a final kiss on the cheek to her sister and brother-in-law, Daphne apparated away and back to Nott Manor.

She appeared with a slight 'pop' outside the front gates. She always used the floo to leave the house, but apparated to the outskirts of the wards on the way back in. It minimised her time with him, even if it was just by a little bit.

She pushed in the main door and stepped into the foyer, kicking off her shoes as she shed her day cloak.

"Topsy!"

Nothing.

Daphne frowned. The elves always came when she called, even if they were busy doing something for her husband. They liked her a lot more than they did him, after all.

She drew her wand as she made her way through the halls of the manor, eventually coming to a stop in front of the doors to the ballroom. The doors were cracked slightly open, which was suspicious in and of itself. The doors were always either fully opened or fully closed, never anything in between.

With that thought in mind, Daphne took a deep breath and barged her way into the cavernous room, her wand at the ready and her eyes darting around frantically for any signs of danger.

She couldn't help the small, involuntary gasp that escaped her lips when her eyes found the center of the ballroom.

Hands bound and hanging from the crystal chandelier, naked as the day he was born, was her husband, Theodore Nott.

As Daphne made her way closer, she noticed blood leaking out of Nott's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Vicious cuts ran along his arms and legs, but his torso was left bare and unmarked.

All except for a single jagged lightning bolt, burned into the flesh above his heart.

As soon as her brain registered the meaning behind the symbol, Nott's body began to dissolve into dust, which dispersed into the air as it floated down to the ground. Soon, the only evidence of the grizzly murder was the ropes that still hung from the chandelier and the small puddle of blood that had formed on the otherwise pristine floors.

With a jolt, Daphne suddenly realised what she had felt when she was leaving Astoria's. She was free! She was finally free of the bastard!

Daphne idly noticed Topsy in the corner of the room, apparently stunned and laid down gently. With a quick flick of her wand, Daphne enerverated her beloved elf, cleared away the blood, and vanished the ropes, before sprinting out of the ballroom.

Without bothering to make herself presentable or even put on shoes, she quickly made her way to the sitting room fireplace and threw a handful of floo powder into the flames.

"Number 12, Grimmauld Place!"

/

AN: Well, I'm actually quite happy with this story. It turned out roughly how I envisioned it, and I feel like it was relatively successful with the POV switching.

I know that the romance was on easy mode because of the pre-established Haphne, but I think it was still pretty good. I feel like the slowburn Golden Boy/Ice Queen thing is overdone in this fandom by this point anyway.

Well, I hope you enjoyed my first little one-shot.

-MP