Chapter 16
CwD
September 9th, 1996
"The Moonlight Surrender: The Duke's Forbidden – "
Harry snorted as Daphne all but hurled the book into her bag, her movements frantic, as though she could erase the evidence of whatever she'd been reading. She shot him a glare that might have been deadly – if not for the furious blush creeping up her neck and swallowing her face.
"You could at least let me see the title of the book that had you looking so – what the – "
His words were muffled as Daphne abruptly slapped both her hands over his face, her mortification palpable.
"Forget you ever saw that!" She shrieked. "Obliviate… obliviate yourself!"
Harry, struggling against her grip, let out a muffled laugh. "A-Alright! Alright! Merlin, woman – what are you trying to do? Kill me?"
"Yes," Daphne let go, looking half humiliated and half resigned. "And then I'd kill myself."
Rolling his eyes, Harry reached out and tugged her cheek. "Don't joke about stuff like that."
She let out a startled "Ow!" and swatted his hand away, rubbing her face. "My face still hurts, you dolt!"
Harry simply stared at her, unimpressed. "Then don't give me a reason to pull it."
Still grumbling, Daphne turned her attention back to the table as Harry pulled out a chair opposite her. He dropped his bag onto the desk, rummaging through it for parchment and ink.
"Sorry I was late," he began as he unrolled a scroll. "Katie wouldn't stop badgering me about the upcoming Quidditch trials. Apparently, I was somehow made captain by McGonagall and now I have to deal with that."
"It's fine."
Something in her tone made him glance up. She was staring at him blankly, an almost expectant look in her eyes.
"What?"
Daphne blinked, then looked away haughtily. "Nothing."
"Just say it already." Harry sighed.
She hesitated before gazing at him through her bangs, "Why are you sitting all the way over there?"
"Come again?"
Her blush deepened as she scowled at him. "You sit next to me in Potions, but you can't sit next to me in the library?"
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. "I just figured – it gives us more space to work…"
"It's fine," Daphne cut in quickly. "Just stay there."
Harry muttered under his breath before shoving his things toward the space beside hers. Getting up, he dragged the chair out and dropped into it, his shoulder brushing against hers.
"Happy now?" he asked, exasperated.
For a second, something flickered in her expression – something unreadable – before she lifted her chin and turned back to her parchment.
"You didn't have to force yourself, Potter."
Harry squinted at her. "Fine. I'll just go back – "
Before he could finish, Daphne's hand shot out, gripping his forearm. Her eyes locked onto his, daring him to even try.
Harry cracked a smile. "So dramatic."
Daphne slowly peeled her fingers away from him, shooting him an almost smug grin before going back into her back.
Yeah.
I'm never going to understand girls.
CwD
"What about this?"
Daphne barely glanced at what Harry was pointing at before dismissing it with a wrinkle of her nose. "No. Too simple."
Harry let out a sigh.
"That's the seventh one you've shot down." He leaned back slightly, arms crossed. "What exactly are we looking for?"
"I already told you," Daphne murmured, flipping through her book with a practiced air of impatience. "It needs to be something worthy of an Outstanding with Distinction. I won't settle for anything less."
"And you don't think the…" Harry frowned as he squinted his eyes, "Thaumaturgic Decoction of Arcane Equilibrium is worthy?"
Daphne scoffed. "That's just an unrefined version of the Dreamless Sleep Potion. It does the same thing but takes triple the time make. It technically fits the assignment's criteria, but the potion itself is utterly impractical."
Harry hummed thoughtfully, and the quiet sound made Daphne pause mid-page turn. Turning to regard him, she raised a questioning eyebrow.
"You're really serious about this, huh?" Harry said, tilting his head slightly with a small grin.
She blinked; her expression turning flat. "Obviously."
"I don't think I've ever seen anyone get this worked up over a Potions project before."
Daphne's lip curled, turning back to her book. "That's because you've only ever worked with Granger," she replied, casting him a sidelong glance.
"And what's wrong with Hermione exactly?" Harry questioned, raising an eyebrow.
Daphne's eyes flickered, but she returned her focus to the text.
"Nothing. Granger has her way of doing things, and I have mine, not that I agree with them or anything."
"And I'm guessing yours is superior?" He asked, smirking.
Daphne turned back to him, her lips curling into a slow, confident smile. "In every way."
Harry raised both his eyebrows before huffing out a quiet laugh. He leaned in slightly and rested his chin on his hand with a casualness that made Daphne's heartbeat quicken.
"So, Miss Superior, have you actually picked a potion yet, or are we just going to sit here while you reject every single one of my perfectly reasonable suggestions?"
Daphne narrowed her eyes and jabbed a finger at his chest. "I wouldn't have to reject them if you actually suggested something worthwhile."
"Well, excuse me for not meeting your exacting standards." Harry rolled his eyes, watching as Daphne resumed flipping through the pages of her book.
Then, suddenly, she stilled.
Slowly, her lips curved into a smirk – a dangerous, dazzling thing that sent a ripple of emotion through him. Without a word, Daphne turned the book toward him, tapping a passage with her perfectly manicured, emerald-painted fingernail.
"The Aetherial Draught…" Harry read under his breath, "What is it exactly?"
"An exceedingly rare and complex potion, believed to momentarily heighten magical strength and endurance. And most importantly… It takes five months to brew. It's perfect!"
Harry raised a brow, smiling at her rare enthusiasm. "Believed to? So, basically, we spend five months brewing this thing and we don't even have concrete evidence if it works or not?"
Daphne's eyes gleamed with unshaken confidence. "It works… if we make it work, Potter. And we will make it work."
Harry shook his head, half in amusement, half in reluctant admiration. "You really don't do things half-arsed, do you?"
Daphne lifted her chin, her smirk unwavering. "Of course not."
"There's just one problem, Princess," Harry began, deliberately ignoring the way she bristled at the nickname as her cheeks coloured ever so slightly. "This potion is only mentioned in the book. There's no recipe, no instructions, nothing. How exactly are we supposed to brew it?"
Daphne let out an exasperated sigh, her tone laced with condescension. "Of course, it's not in the book."
Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Daphne's tone before tugging at her cheek again.
She let out a sharp "ow!" before scowling, rubbing her face gingerly. "It's not in the book because it's a highly regulated potion. Only those with explicit Ministry authorisation can brew it. Honestly! Didn't you read what I showed you?"
"So how on earth are we going to brew it then?" Harry asked sceptically, deflecting her weak attempts at smacking him.
Daphne blinked, her hands stilling mid-motion in his grip as if realisation had just struck her.
Then, slowly, her expression fell.
"We'd need permission from the Ministry…" she murmured, sounding genuinely disheartened. "And there's no way they would grant it."
Harry frowned. "Why not? It's just a potion."
Daphne shook her head. "It's not just any potion, Harry. It is said to heighten magic and extend magical endurance. Imagine what would happen if that kind of power fell into the wrong hands. That's why its ingredients are classified. Only those in the Department of Potioneering Standards and Regulations know them. Unless…"
"Mm?"
"Unless…" Daphne repeated again, the beginnings of a plan forming in her mind as she shook their still-clasped hands back and forth, "we get a reference from a certified Potions Master to advocate on our behalf…"
A sinking feeling settled in Harry's gut.
"Please tell me that this Potions Master is Slughorn." He sighed.
Daphne's lips thinned. "Professor Slughorn can't – he's proctoring the assignment. It'll have to be Professor Snape."
"Good luck with that," Harry muttered, "Snape would rather skin himself alive than do me a favour."
"Perhaps if you actually attended his classes, he'd be more inclined to help." She offered, far too optimistically.
"Yeah, no." Harry snorted; tilting his head, "How'd you know I've been skipping his classes?"
"For your information, I'm in his classes. You'd know that if you attended." Daphne deadpanned. "Besides, it's not as if it's a secret or anything. The whole class knows. Professor Snape has been keeping tally; doubling your detentions for every lesson you've missed."
"Of course he has. Miserable git." Harry rolled his eyes, "Alright then, so what's Plan B if Snape tells us to piss off?"
Daphne sighed, detangling her hands from his. "I'll just have to ask him and hope he doesn't know that you're my partner."
Harry was silent for a moment before murmuring, "Sorry."
"If you're sorry, make sure you'll attend his classes from now on." Daphne huffed, shooting him a glare that had no heat, "Watching Pansy making a fool of herself has quickly become tedious."
Harry hummed; his lips curling into a lopsided grin. "Are you complimenting me, Greengrass?"
Daphne looked away, her cheeks colouring slightly at how unfairly handsome he looked when he smiled like that.
Stupid smirk.
"Don't get a big head, Potter. You're not that special."
If anything, Harry's grin only widened.
CwD
"Tempus."
Still got time…
Hermione exhaled as she walked through the dimly lit halls, the flickering fire from the torches casting long, restless shadows along the cold, stone walls. Though it was only six in the evening, the sun had already dipped beyond the horizon, draping the castle in an early, uneasy darkness.
She had never liked how quickly the daylight faded during this time of year. It made everything feel shorter – like the hours were slipping through her fingers before she had the chance to make proper use of them. The cold certainly didn't help.
Harry, for one, had always struggled with it. It was almost comical – he could master the most complex spells in record time, yet when it came to something as basic as a warming charm, he was utterly hopeless.
She supposed it wasn't all bad, though. His gratitude had always been endearing, even if it usually came with him trudging up to her like a half-frozen puppy, green eyes pleading until she relented with an exasperated sigh and a flick of her wand.
Hermione smiled at the memory.
They certainly were simpler days.
"Just over an hour left till curfew, boys." She reminded to a group of fourth year who nodded at her before scurrying away.
Ron's sudden change in attitude toward schoolwork was something Hermione, in a million years, would have ever expected.
Ever.
So, when he, of all people, had suggested earlier in the week that they start planning their Potions project ahead of time, Hermione had been too stunned to speak.
If she were being honest, she still didn't know how she felt about it.
And so, here she was – making her way to the library to gather research material on the Mandrake Draught. Ron had actually been the one to propose it, albeit offhandedly, and to her surprise, after extensively deliberating the pros and cons, Hermione had found no reason to argue. It turned out to be a solid choice, after all.
Complex. Challenging. Worthy of an Outstanding.
The potion's difficulty lay in the maturation process of the mandrakes, which dictated how long it took to brew properly. Its most potent stage was around the five-to-six-month range and Hermione knew this better than most – she'd spent days relentlessly pestering Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey with questions after being force-fed the stuff during the Heir of Slytherin fiasco.
Yes, if brewed correctly, there was no doubt they'd secure top marks and she wouldn't settle for anything less. Potions was one of her best subjects.
Not as good as Greengrass, though.
Hermione's eye twitched. Damn that traitorous voice in her head – the one that sounded infuriatingly like Harry.
She let out a slow breath, pushing the thought away.
Hermione had always been the smart one – the one Harry and Ron could rely on to get them out of whatever reckless trouble they landed in. Harry was the brave one, always charging ahead without hesitation, always the first to act. And Ron…
Ron was Ron.
And then, suddenly, everything changed.
Harry changed.
Hermione wasn't naïve. She knew people grew, that they changed over time. But change was supposed to be gradual.
Harry's wasn't.
It was immediate.
He no longer wore glasses. His clothes fit better. His posture was different – more confident, more self-assured. His body was firmer, leaner, stronger.
Hermione felt heat rise to her face and quickened her pace.
Then she frowned.
It wasn't just physical.
Sure, Harry had grown, which was natural. That was fine. But his entire personality had shifted, as if the boy she'd known for years had been replaced.
And then that Potions class happened.
Hermione had known Harry for a long time, and not once had he acted the way he did that day. The way he spoke, the subtle control in his voice, the way his expressions shifted – everything felt deliberate, as if each reaction was carefully measured, designed to achieve some unseen goal.
Her expression fell as she replayed their falling-out after class.
So, what if he'd earned a better grade than her? That wasn't the issue. The issue was her. The things she had said in the heat of the moment… she shouldn't have let them slip.
Perhaps Ronald was right… perhaps something had happened towards the end of Summer that caused this sudden shift in Harry's persona.
Hermione worried her lip between her teeth.
Was Harry really attacked by Voldemort?
The same question rang through her mind like a never-ending loop.
Why wouldn't he tell us? Why wouldn't he tell me?
Hermione needed to find out what happened.
Harry was her best friend. Her first friend.
She clenched her fists as she rounded the corner, her destination in sight.
Since that argument, it felt like Harry had slipped further and further away from her. She had let her emotions get the best of her and, in doing so, had damaged something that once felt unshakable. And now, more than anything, she wanted to fix it.
Still… he could have at least defended me in front of that insufferable Greengrass!
Shaking off the thought, Hermione pushed open the large doors to her favourite abode.
"Miss Granger…" Madam Pince greeted her – warmly? Hermione could never quite tell, but compared to how the librarian treated most students, it almost sounded pleasant.
"Good evening, Madam."
"Quite." The older woman nodded before returning to her writing. "The library closes in an hour. Ensure everything is left exactly as you found it."
Hermione hid a small grin. Some things never changed.
"Of course, Madam."
She wove her way through the towering shelves, nodding in quiet acknowledgment to the few familiar faces she encountered. The library was vast, its endless aisles swallowing sound and time alike – and, of course, the Potions section was inconveniently tucked away toward the back.
Deeper and deeper she went, the air growing cooler, the scent of parchment and old ink thickening until something flickered at the edge of her vision.
A flash of unruly jet-black hair.
Hermione halted mid-step, heart skipping.
Harry?
Eyebrows lifting, she took a careful step back and narrowed her eyes down the aisle. For a fleeting moment, she thought she might have imagined it, but no – there he was.
A notice-me-not ward… she quickly realised. It was rather subtle and for an instant, she wondered where he'd learnt it from but pushed the thought aside.
This was it!
A perfect opportunity. A chance to mend things before the rift between them stretched any further.
No way was she letting him get away this time.
"Harry."
Harry blinked, slowly raising his head, and when his eyes landed on her, he looked almost… surprised.
"H-Hermione?"
She nodded hesitantly, forcing a small, uncertain smile. "D-Do you mind if I join you?"
Before he could answer, she had already dropped her bag into the seat opposite him and sat down.
"Hermione – "
" – I've been meaning to talk to you," she cut in, quickly avoiding his eyes as she rummaged through her overstuffed bag. "I-I suppose I've just been putting it off… um, Ron – Ron was supposed to be here with me, by the way, but he found out that the application for the Quidditch trials had gone up on the notice board and he – he rushed to go sign up. Typical of him, I know but – "
She was rambling, she knew but all of a sudden, it felt like her courage had slipped away.
Her mother's voice filtered into her mind that one time she categorically refused to cross a rickety bridge on a hike.
"The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear, sweetheart."
Hermione remembered the smile her mother had given her when she had immediately replied with the name of who had said that line.
Slowly, her cheeks turned red, her voice quietening as she looked up at his stunned face. "Harry… Harry look I… I – what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry for the things I said. I-I didn't mean it, I – what… what're you working on?"
Hermione's stomach twisted when she finally took stock of the numerous books and pieces of parchment spread around the table.
Dazzling Concoctions Even a Flobberworm Can Understand by Rok Akku.
The Mystic Arts of Potions by –
"Potions project." Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Y'know, the one Slughorn set."
The unease in her gut grew.
"B-By yourself?" She questioned with a forced smile.
" – Of course he's not."
The voice was cool, edged like serrated ice.
Hermione's head snapped up, her jaw clenching as Daphne Greengrass stood at the foot of the table. In her hands was a chained-up book that was pressed against her obnoxiously large chest that was only emphasised further by her lack of robes.
"Greengrass…"
CwD
"What are you doing here?"
Daphne sneered, stepping closer, her movements slow, deliberate. Hermione's eyes tracked her every step, irritation prickling at her skin.
"It's like Potter said," Daphne replied smoothly, placing the heavy book on the table with a loud thud. Harry winced. "Potions project. Didn't you catch the memo? He and I are partners, after all."
Hermione's brow twitched as she shot Harry a pointed look, only to find him suddenly engrossed in the open book before him, eyes steadfastly avoiding hers.
"I see," she said coolly.
"Good," Daphne drawled, slipping into the seat beside Harry's, pressing her shoulder against his as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her smirk deepened when Hermione's eyes flickered to the contact. "Now, if that's all, you'll have to excuse us. Potter and I are quite busy, as you can see. We'd rather not have any… unruly distractions. No?"
Harry shot the blonde a side glance, a quiet warning in his eyes, but Daphne merely arched a brow. The two locked gazes, unspoken words crackling between them.
Hermione watched the interaction, the unease growing.
Eventually, Harry conceded, exhaling through his nose as Daphne's smirk turned ever so triumphant.
"It's like Greengrass said, Hermione," he began, offering her a small – almost strained – smile. "We really need to get a move on with our project. Talk back at the common room?"
Hermione hesitated for only a fraction of a second before lifting her chin. "Perhaps I can help."
" – Perhaps not." Daphne interjected firmly.
Her hand which was hidden on her lap now travelled to Harry's knee, fingers curling with just enough pressure to making him stiffen imperceptibly in his seat.
"We are more than capable and we certainly don't need your help whatsoever."
But Hermione was anything if not persistent. Besides, there was no way she'd lose to Greengrass this time.
"Three heads are better than two, Greengrass," she hummed, her tone saccharine, "and it just so happens that I plan on working on my potions project too." Daphne's mask never cracked, but Hermione caught it – just the slightest flicker in her eyes.
Annoyance.
"And judging by all this clutter, it certainly looks like you could use an extra hand." Hermione tilted her head, "you have chosen a potion, haven't you? The deadline is tomorrow."
A pause. Then a slow, deliberate smile.
"Or did you forget? Like you seemed to forget to wear your robes this evening? A bit too early for summer, no?"
Harry, sensing the air turn razor-thin between them, moved to intervene, but before he could, Daphne's grip on his knee turned just a fraction tighter.
The meaning was clear.
Don't get involved.
Harry held his tongue, gaze flickering between them wearily.
Eventually, Daphne exhaled; a smirk appearing on her face with an almost lazy, indulgent quality.
With deliberate ease, she lifted a hand and threaded it through the long, silken waves of her golden hair, the movement fluid, practiced – an effortless display of elegance. The rich strands caught the dim light of the library, gleaming like woven starlight, cascading over her shoulder as she tilted her head just so.
It was an infuriatingly delicate act, but one done with undeniable precision. Her already perfect posture adjusted just enough to accentuate the way her uniform hugged her body, and as her fingers played idly with a lock of her hair, the slightest shift of her shoulders subtly – yet unmistakably – thrust her well-endowed chest forward.
The fabric of her blouse strained, the buttons holding barely despite the tension in the seams, and the soft glow of candlelight caught the delicate silver of her earrings, making them gleam. A small luxury, no doubt tailored specifically for her.
Judging by the way Hermione's expression tightened, jaw clenching just a fraction, Daphne knew her theatrics had struck the mark.
"I wasn't aware that forgoing robes was against the rules, Granger…"
Daphne leaned forward, staring at Hermione patronisingly, her chest practically spilling over the edge of the table.
"I am rather potent in temperature charms. It's quite a speciality of mine. Besides, hope you can understand that I simply wanted to try out the new clothes I ordered. It would be an absolute shame not to enjoy them."
Harry swallowed, averting his gaze.
Hermione dug her nails into the spine of her book as Daphne's flicked her amused eyes to Harry briefly.
Of course, Greengrass would make a spectacle of herself, she thought sardonically. It was practically second nature for the unbearable girl. Nevertheless, she refused to give the blonde the satisfaction of a reaction.
"New clothes?" Hermione said cocking her head in mock curiosity. "That would explain the fit… a touch too tight for my taste. Though I'm sure you're betrothed, Warrington, approves."
Harry stiffened.
Daphne's smirk didn't falter, but the glint in her eyes turned positively dangerous.
"Wouldn't you like to know… fortunately, all my clothes are tailored perfectly – as all things made for me tend to be. Though I suppose," she sighed dramatically, "some people wouldn't understand the luxury of clothes designed to flatter. Awfully drab…"
"Flattery is hardly a priority when one's focus is elsewhere, on more important things," Hermione replied, flicking her eyes toward the clutter of books on the table. "For instance, on actual academia. But I don't expect you to relate."
Daphne chuckled. "Oh, Granger, darling – " Hermione scowled at the mock endearment, "I relate quite well. After all, I am at the top of our year."
"In Potions," Hermione corrected sharply.
"And in this case, it's all that matters," Daphne shot back, her smirk widening. "Though I understand you must take your victories where you can. Tell me, darling, how does it feel for the resident bookworm to be second best in not one but two subjects? Potter doesn't even show up for Defence and yet he's still got you beat. Not mention his new found skill in Potions now too! You might be relegated to third best now. After Potter and I, of course."
Finally, Hermione's rather impressive impassiveness finally cracked and Daphne's smile grew feral. The blonde had struck Hermione where she was most vulnerable.
Her pride.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance as the tension between the two girls was about to reach its climax.
Alright… this has gone on long enou –
"OUT!"
All three of them froze, turning their heads toward the furious librarian who was standing near the hallway, her face twisted with outrage as she glared at them.
"I will not tolerate this bickering in my library! Out, out, out! All three of you!"
Hermione's face burned as she scrambled to gather her things.
Daphne, ever the picture of composed elegance, merely sniffed with derision before flicking her hair over her shoulder, rising with infuriating grace.
Harry, stuck between the two, muttered a curse under his breath as he flicked his wand to gather his things. Aiming his wand at a book he borrowed, he went to summon it until –
" – Don't you dare, Potter." Madam Pince hissed.
Harry scowled at the woman. "Just to clarify, this was not my fault – "
" – OUT!"
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face before shooting both Hermione and Daphne a flat glare.
"You heard her. C'mon."
The moment the doors slammed shut behind them, the three stood in silence for a moment before Daphne turned to Hermione, her face twisted with irritation which was only mirrored by the bushy-haired girl.
"Outstanding work as always, Granger," Daphne drawled, her voice laced with biting sarcasm. "Thanks to your ever-pestering presence, Potter and I are now potentially barred from researching our potion. Not only have you sabotaged my grade, but you've ruined his too."
Hermione's scowl faltered, guilt flickering across her face as she turned to Harry.
Daphne caught the movement, and her expression darkened further when she saw Hermione place a hesitant hand on Harry's forearm.
"Harry, I – "
" – Merlin, the both of you are absolutely unbelievable." Harry groaned out, massaging his temples.
"Excuse me?!"
"H-Harry?"
"Oh, just give it a rest, will you!" He snapped.
Instantly, both girls stiffened, their lips pressing into thin lines. Neither met his gaze, but after a tense pause, it was Daphne who recovered first.
"A… minor setback," she conceded with forced neutrality, folding her arms under her chest. "Regardless, we'll just have to make do with the books we have. Come along, Potter. I'm sure there's an unused classroom where we can continue without any further distractions."
Harry exhaled slowly. He hesitated for a second before replying. "No… we're done for today, Greengrass."
Daphne blinked, momentarily thrown. Her gaze flicked past Harry to Hermione, whose scowl hadn't faded – though there was now the barest hint of smugness beneath it, one that made Daphne's fingers twitch with the urge to wipe it clean.
"Listen here, Potter, we've barely scratched the surface of our research! We can't afford to waste any more – "
" – Yeah and who's fault was that?" Harry shot back, his eyes pinning her in her place.
Daphne flinched as if she was struck. The hurt lingered on her face for barely a second before it disappeared completely, vanishing under the might of her Occlumency. If Harry had noticed, he didn't say anything.
She gave him one last lingering look that said everything but nothing at the same time before spinning on her heel.
Her golden hair bounced as she walked away, the soft click of her heels echoing down the corridor as Harry watched her figure turn the corner, his face impassive.
"Good riddance." Hermione huffed angrily, "God! Who knew someone like Greengrass was such an insufferable cow!"
Harry let out a slow breath, tilting his head to look at her, unimpressed. "You weren't exactly a saint either, Hermione."
Having said his piece, Harry walked past her, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder whilst Hermione scrambled to catch up.
" – Harry, wait!"
He slowed his steps until she did.
Her cheeks pinked as she hesitated. "I might've said a bit too much, I admit, but – "
" – A bit?"
" – I wasn't the only one who was running their mouth!" Hermione said heatedly.
"No… you weren't," Harry agreed, "but I didn't expect you to act the way you did. The Hermione I know wouldn't have."
"I have feelings too!" Her face twisted into a glare. "She practically insulted me the moment she saw me, Harry, and you – you didn't even say anything! You didn't even defend me! Your best friend! Not now or back in the Great Hall earlier!"
Harry looked down at her from the corner of his eye, something cold creeping into his gaze.
"Oh? And are we friends, Hermione? I clearly recall not speaking to you for the past week. Last I checked, friends actually speak to one another…"
Hermione faltered mid-step, his words hitting harder than she expected. Reflexively, she reached out, gripping his forearm, forcing him to stop. Only then did it fully register – why she had even sat down with him in the library in the first place.
Curse Greengrass.
"You stopped speaking to me," said Hermione in a small voice.
"Don't act like you don't know why."
Hermione exhaled a shaky breath, her voice cracking. "I'm – I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to say those things. I shouldn't have said those things to you. I just – I – it was like you changed and I… I didn't want the Harry I knew to go."
Harry watched her for a moment, taking her in, seeing if she really meant the words she was really saying.
Eventually he sighed deeply and took Hermione's hand off his forearm and held it. "I haven't gone anywhere, Hermione. I'm still the same old. I just… grew up. I have people counting on me, people who matter. I can't let them down."
Hermione nodded earnestly. "I understand that now! I promise I do!" She looked away, a resigned smile on her face, "Neville made sure I did. I guess I'm more aware of your responsibilities now."
He raised an eyebrow. "Guess I'll need to thank Neville, then. For getting through to your thick head."
Hermione scowled at him, poking him in his chest. "I resent that."
He smirked, and just like that, the air between them lightened, a glimpse of familiarity settling in. But then Hermione's expression turned hesitant, her voice quieter when she spoke.
"Can we… can we got back to how things were, Harry? Back to being… friends?"
Harry didn't answer right away. He stared down at her, his face unreadable, but Hermione could see it – the storm of thoughts swirling behind his eyes, calculating, uncertain.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until finally, just as it began to tip into something uncomfortable, Harry spoke, his voice quiet.
"Just friends?"
Hermione's eyes widened. She made to pull away from his hand but Harry's grip held firm.
"What are we, Hermione?"
Her throat tightened. "Harry – "
"You're the smartest person I know," he continued, a hollow chuckle escaping him, "hell, I wasn't exactly subtle over the years. It's been pretty obvious since First Year."
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't look at him anymore. Couldn't face the truth she had spent years pretending didn't exist.
Her mind flickered back to memories, old and new. Of Harry following after her, sitting with her when no one else would, studying with her hours on end. The Yule Ball…
She had always known.
Of course, she had.
And she would be a fool to say she didn't feel the same. How could she not? He was Harry. Kind and brave. Fiercely loyal. Handsome, funny, infuriatingly stubborn. Strong in a way that had nothing to do with magic. Loving, in ways he probably didn't even realize.
A most importantly – a good and honest man.
So why?
Why hadn't she taken that final step?
It was because she was Hermione Granger. Because sometimes – most times – she hated her mind.
It never stopped. It analysed everything. Weighed possibilities, counted risks. It turned love into an equation, something to be solved, something to be measured. And when it came to Harry, she hated it most of all.
Because no matter how much she loved him, no matter how much she wanted – just this once – to be selfish, her mind demanded caution.
And for the longest time, she had been certain. Certain that he was the only one.
But then…
Then she saw him again after the summer and it was like he was a completely different person.
The Harry Potter she had known – the one she thought she understood – was gone. And that single realization shattered the carefully constructed image she had held onto for so long.
She didn't know what to think anymore.
But she knew one thing: she didn't want to lose him.
She just needed more –
"Time…"
"What?"
Her voice trembled. "Time. I – I just need a little more time…"
Harry stared at her for a long moment, eyes unreadable. Then, with a quiet sigh, he let go of her hand.
"You're cruel, Hermione."
She flinched.
When she looked up, he was smiling – a sad, weary thing that hurt more than any scowl.
"I'm sorry – "
"Sometimes," Harry interrupted softly, "I wonder how long you'll keep stringing me along."
Hermione's breath hitched. She grabbed his wrist as he turned to leave, fingers clutching desperately. "Please… Harry, please… I – I just need to be sure."
His jaw clenched. "About what, Hermione?"
She shook her head, curls bouncing with the movement. "I just… need to be sure."
Harry's expression smoothed into something unreadable.
"And you want me to keep waiting? I've been waiting since the Yule Ball. Just for an answer. An answer."
She dropped her gaze in shame.
A quiet chuckle left him – bitter, self-deprecating. "It's like I said. You're a cruel person, Hermione Granger."
She bit her lip, blinking back the sting of tears.
Then, after an exceedingly long, heavy silence, Harry tugged lightly at her hand, prompting her to meet his gaze again.
She expected disappointment. Resignation. Maybe even anger.
Instead, she saw a smile though there was something off about it. Something she couldn't quite –
"I'll wait," he murmured. "I'll wait a bit longer… only for you. Just for you."
The dam broke. Tears spilled freely as Hermione threw herself into his arms.
"Thank you, Harry."
He said nothing, only held her close – his grip steady, his eyes dead.
CwD
"What a drag…" Lily groaned, dropping her bag onto her bed with a heavy sigh.
Tracey, lying on her stomach with her legs kicking idly in the air, barely glanced up from her book.
"That bad, huh?"
"Bad enough that I wanted to strangle that cunt, Carmichael, by the end of it… yeah it was bad." Lily scowled, rubbing her temples. "Thank Circe, it was just the Claws and us Snakes. If I had to suffer through another one of those longer meetings with that Weasel shooting me dirty looks again…" She cut herself off with a shake of her head, muttering darkly as she collapsed into her chair. "What's up with her?"
Tracey pursed her lips and flicked her gaze toward Daphne, who sat at her vanity, braiding her hair with a practiced, almost aggressive precision. Her face was impassive – too impassive.
"I think…" Tracey said slowly, watching the blonde, "her little rendezvous with Mr. Sexy didn't go too well."
Daphne's hands stilled for a fraction of a second before she resumed braiding. Her sharp gaze flickered to Tracey through the mirror, cold enough to freeze the lake.
Tracey cleared her throat with a nervous giggle before looking away with a huff. "She's been a right foul mood ever since she got back, Lils. Hasn't said a single bloody word!"
"Pity…" Lily drawled, her eyes glancing over to Daphne, "Then I suppose you don't want to know what I found about Mr. Sexy then…"
A slight twitch in Daphne's expression. But still, she said nothing.
Tracey, however, shot up like a startled Kneazle. "Wait – what? What happened?"
Lily ignored her, eyes still locked on Daphne's reflection. Then, with a dramatic shrug, she stood. "Fair enough, then. I'm off to go shower – "
"Oh, no, no, no – you are not doing this!" Tracey spluttered, throwing her book aside. "You can't just tease us like that and just walk away, you hag!"
Lily rolled her eyes. She turned back to Daphne, one brow arched in silent challenge.
A long pause. Then, finally, with an exasperated sigh, Daphne muttered, "Just say it already, Moon."
The black-haired girl smirked victoriously. Slowly, she sank back into her seat, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate ease.
"Well then," she purred. "Where do I even begin? Those extendable ears made by those Weasleys twins really are something special… guess who I ran into on my way back from the Prefect meeting."
"Potter?"
Lily nodded at Tracey. "Wasn't alone, though. Granger was with him."
Across the room, Daphne's expression darkened. Her fingers curled into fists in her lap, knuckles white.
Tracey, unimpressed, shot Lily a flat look. "That's it? Hardly scandalous."
"Because I haven't gotten to the interesting bit yet." Lily snarked back. She leaned forward; her eyes sparkling. "Did you know Potter asked Granger out at the Yule Ball?"
Daphne stiffened; the action overshadowed by Tracey's dramatic sigh. "I don't know if your memory's failing you in your old age, Lils, but Potter and Granger went to the Ball together."
"That's not what I meant!" Lily snapped, "I mean he properly asked her out. As in out, out."
Tracey's eyes widened. Daphne's expression, however, became completely unreadable.
"No way…"
" – Are they together?"
Both girls turned to Daphne. Tracey eyed her curiously, while Lily hid a knowing smirk.
"That's the thing. They're not."
"Granger rejected him? Potter? Harry bloody Potter?!"
"That's what I thought," Lily mused. "But apparently – well, from what I could hear – she never actually gave him an answer."
"And he accepted that?" Tracey asked dumbfoundedly.
Lily's lips quirked as she nodded. "Poor sod. He'd apparently been waiting ever since. Well… until now anyway."
"He asked her again?" Daphne asked quietly.
"I suppose you could say that." Lily said speculatively. "He brought it up."
Tracey went to speak, but Daphne beat her to it.
"So, they're together then?"
Tracey frowned slightly at the edge of the blonde's tone.
Lily shrugged. "Not… exactly." She then raised her fingers in air quotes. "Granger said she needed 'more time.'"
Tracey scoffed. "Bet Potter didn't take that well. I know I wouldn't have."
"He hid his hurt remarkably well for someone – but yeah, he wasn't thrilled."
A silence settled between them before Tracey huffed and flopped back onto her bed.
"For someone so smart, Merlin, can Granger be so thick. Who knew."
Lily absently nodded. "She looked like she was going to pass out from relief when Potter said he'd wait for an answer."
"You think she's seeing someone else on the side?"
Lily snorted. "Granger? Goody two-shoes, teacher's pet, Granger? As if. Anyone could see that the bookworm had her eyes on him since Fourth Year."
"Then why? Why would she reject Potter? I mean, seriously. Women would kill to be in her position. I know I would."
Daphne was strangely quiet, but the girls didn't seem to notice.
Lily gave Tracey a dry look. "Careful, Trace… Last thing we need is someone overhearing you."
"Oh, please. Everyone knows it's true!" Tracey threw her hands up. "There's not a single girl at Hogwarts who wouldn't shag him – even a prude like you!"
"Sure, I suppose," Lily replied, drowning out Tracey's stretched out 'see', "But that's all I'd do. He's got far too much baggage for my taste even if all that money he's inherited is tempting – "
"You're awful." Tracey laughed, lobbing a pillow.
Daphne barely registered the exchange, their chatter fading into white noise as she stared down at her lap.
Her fingers clenched.
Harry… and that toerag, Granger.
The thought of them together was enough to sour her mood even more.
After everything – after the moment they shared in the abandoned classroom, their playful banter in the library – how could Harry still be caught up with that arrogant know-it-all?!
Daphne knew there was something there between her and him. She just knew it and she was sure he did too, knowingly or unknowingly.
However, what she failed to realise was how Harry's long-term feelings for Hermione Granger overshadowed his own thoughts and feelings for her and that was something Daphne could no longer allow.
If she wanted Harry for herself and herself only, she needed him to let go of his feelings for the other girl.
But this was Harry. It was clear his feelings for Granger hadn't changed much over the years but what about Granger herself…?
Daphne needed to be practical. Not to mention careful. Very careful. She couldn't do anything that could jeopardise her relationship with Harry under no circumstances.
But what if – what if – she could do something about Granger's feelings instead…
"Did Granger say why she rejected him?" Daphne asked as non plussed as possible.
Lily stopped glaring at Tracey before she turned to Daphne. "Something about needing to be sure. Whatever about, she didn't say."
Daphne hummed. Methodically, she resumed braiding her hair, her expression still unreadable, but the ice in her eyes had melted, replaced by something far sharper. A sliver of calculation.
Interesting.
CwD
It was barely just over an hour later when Daphne was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, before suddenly –
Pop!
"EEEEP!"
"What was that?" Tracey mumbled sleepily; her voice muffled. "D-Daphne? Yer a'right in there?"
Daphne's wide eyes darted to the source of the sound. A small figure stood just inside the bathroom door – it's garishly colourful, mismatched socks nearly blinding her whilst it covered its eyes with its long ears as though it had intruded on something scandalous.
She knew this elf…
"F-Fine, Tracey." She called back, willing her voice to sound normal. "Just slipped, that's all… just go back to bed."
"Don't have to tell me twi…"
"You're Harry's elf, aren't you?" Daphne whispered soon after she heard Tracey's voice trail off, wrapping her thin dressing gown tighter around her frame.
Dobby peeked cautiously from behind his ears. Seeing no immediate threat, he puffed out his tiny chest and nodded with great importance.
"I is Dobby, miss, the Great Harry Potter Sir's personal elf. Master Harry has a message for his Greenie."
Daphne's cheeks warmed at the ridiculous nickname.
His Greenie?!
" – Master Harry requests his Greenie to meet him outside Master Harry's common room in ten minutes sharp."
Daphne's breath hitched. For a brief moment, she faltered, a indecent thrill creeping up her spine. But she quickly shoved it aside, crossing her arms and fixing the elf with a glare.
"No."
Dobby blinked up at her, looking utterly outraged, as if the mere thought of rejecting a request from his master was beyond comprehension.
"Dobby doesn't understand, miss."
"Tell your master," Daphne said coolly, voice laced with defiance, "that if he wants to see me, he can come meet me outside my common room in ten minutes."
"But – "
"Go. Now."
Dobby flinched but, with a meek nod, disappeared with another soft pop!
Daphne huffed, turning back to the mirror, staring at her own reflection.
As if I'll answer to his every whim… if that stupid arse wants to see me so badly, he better put in the work.
Dobby reappeared a moment later, twisting his ears nervously, a hesitant smile on his face. "Master Harry has given Dobby another message for his Greenie."
Daphne's eyes narrowed but gestured for him to continue.
The elf inhaled deeply, as if bracing himself. Then, in a precise and serious tone, he relayed, "Master Harry told Dobby to tell his Greenie that she is one annoying, stubborn little toenail and that he will only wait five minutes for miss to turn up or else he'd leave."
Daphne's eye twitched.
Her fingers twitched, too – specifically with the overwhelming urge to strangle something. Preferably Harry.
With a deep inhale, she pinched the bridge of her nose, forcing herself to exhale slowly before she did something regrettable.
"And has your idiotic, prat of a master found a way for me to sneak down?" she drawled.
Dobby puffed up, looking scandalised at the insult to his master, but quickly deflated under the weight of her glare. With a grumble, he reached into his pockets and pulled out a familiar fabric, holding it up in offering.
Daphne's irritation wavered at the sight of the Invisibility Cloak.
Her fingers brushed the smooth, weightless material, her scowl softening as she took it from the elf with reverence. Running her hand down the fabric, a small smile played at her lips. The action calmed her – settled her in a way she didn't quite understand.
"At least he's not completely clueless," she muttered, carefully folding the cloak before tucking it into her pocket. "Is that all then?"
Dobby nodded hesitantly.
"Thank you… Dobby. Your master doesn't deserve you."
The elf's large eyes sparkled, his whole face lighting up at the gratitude. He gave a deep bow. "Master Harry's Greenie is most welcome!"
With another pop!, he was gone.
Daphne exhaled, shaking her head. Eccentric little thing…
Turning back to the mirror, she took a final look at herself. Not a hair was out of place like usual. Even better was that she had just completed her night routine so her skin was practically glowing under the dim lighting.
Her gaze drifted down to her dressing gown.
Silky, obscenely soft – Vicunã was exceptionally rare, after all. It clung in just the right ways and barely reached mid-thigh.
Far too slutty.
At first, that's what Daphne thought. Even Tracey had agreed – except, of course, instead of disapproving, she'd loved it.
Lily, ever the voice of reason, was different.
Not like you're going to show anyone, are you?
Daphne smirked.
She wasn't.
But… perhaps he deserved to squirm a little.
Decision made, she tightened the sash at her waist, grabbed the cloak, and slipped out of the dormitory with practiced silence. She had made sure to shut the curtains around her bed before she had left and thankfully the girls were fast asleep which made the whole sneaking out thing ten times easier.
Slipping through the entrance completely undetected, she emerged into the faintly lit corridor outside.
For all his moaning about time, it seemed she had beaten him there.
Leaning against the cold stone wall, still shrouded beneath the cloak, Daphne let her mind wander as she waited.
Her fingers idly traced the silky fabric of the cloak, her thoughts spiralling between anticipation and irritation – until the faintest patter of footsteps reached her ears.
Immediately, she tensed.
Her breath hitched as her back straightened, sharp blue eyes scanning the dimly lit corridor. The footsteps grew louder, closer – her pulse quickened in tandem.
And yet…
No one was there.
Confusion flickered, swiftly morphing into unease.
Then, out of nowhere –
A hand clamped over her mouth.
Daphne's eyes widened in shock as she was yanked to the side, dragged into the shadows of a small alcove near the entrance. She thrashed instinctively, heels skidding against the stone as a muffled sound of protest tore from her throat.
"Shh!"
Harry!
The invisibility cloak shifted, his head emerging beneath the folds. His emerald eyes met hers, flashing with something between amusement and apology.
Daphne glared daggers at him, furious, her breathing ragged from the sudden manhandling. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes from the sheer shock of it all, but before she could bite his head off –
Harry's head snapped toward something behind him.
His entire body went taut.
"Stay still and be quiet," he murmured, his breath ghosting against her cheek. "Snape's coming."
Before Daphne could react, he pulled the cloak fully over them, pressing her close.
Her fingers clenched instinctively in the fabric of his shirt; forehead pressed against his neck. Eyes squeezed shut, she forced herself to stay still, but the thought of being caught – by Snape, of all people – was damning.
Was this how it would be from now on? Always hiding? Always meeting up in secret?
Daphne shook her head against him, pressing herself even closer.
If this was how it would be from now on then so be it. She'd rather meet in secret, in the dead of night, than not see Harry at all.
"The cloak's not big enough!" She panicked.
"It is. Trust me. Now shush."
Slowly, her breathing evened out, matching the quiet confidence in his tone. She felt his heart beating steadily, despite the tension of the situation and her resolve strengthened.
Then –
It was almost like she felt the sallow man round the corner.
Her head of year had a certain… presence to him.
Daphne didn't dare make a sound.
A moment passed. Then another.
Then finally, it was over.
Snape had left.
She could finally breathe as she opened her eyes blearily.
Harry put his finger to his lips and only when Daphne nodded, did he take her hand to slowly lead them away from the dungeons.
Neither of them spoke as Harry led her through the corridors. Daphne, still rattled from their narrow escape, barely registered where they were going. Though it seemed Harry knew.
She did, however, notice him glancing down at an odd piece of parchment every few seconds, but exhaustion weighed too heavily on her mind for her to care.
Suddenly, they arrived at the seventh floor.
Now, to her knowledge, the only rooms that were on the seventh floor was the headmaster's office, Professor McGonagall's quarters, the Hall of Hexes and the –
And just like that, clarity returned like a force of nature. She felt her face heat up, her eyes widening.
S-Surely not…? The audacity! But-But… I wouldn't entirely be opposed –
" – Get your mind out of the cauldron, you're not jumping into my bed."
Daphne felt as if she was doused with ice cold water. Reining in her absolute mortification, though judging by his knowing smirk, not nearly reined in enough, she sent him a scowl so withering that Harry actually flinched. Satisfied, she looked away with a huff.
"Bundle of joy tonight, aren't you?" he said dryly.
She didn't dignify him with an answer, but that didn't stop Harry from pulling her along anyway.
When they finally stopped, she found herself staring at… a blank wall?
Daphne raised a sceptical eyebrow, silently questioning if he'd lost his mind.
Harry's lips twitched up in amusement. "The Silent Queen strikes again…"
Morgana why was he so infuriating?!
Before she could deliver a sharp retort, he closed his eyes and walked back and forth three times.
Then, right before her eyes, the wall shimmered and transformed.
"W-What?"
"Wait till you see the inside."
Harry pushed open the newly formed door and gestured for her to enter.
Daphne hesitated at the threshold, then stepped inside –
And promptly lost her words.
"It's called the Room of Requirement. It equips the seeker with whatever they need." Harry explained, looking over the cozy living room with a grin. "I wanted the room to look like my living room at Potter Manor and… voilà. Neat, huh?"
"Whatever they need?" Daphne gaped. "So, if I wanted it to become a garden o-or a… swimming pool – "
" – Then that's what it'll become," he replied before raising an eyebrow amusedly, "a swimming pool, Daphne?"
Her cheeks pinked adorably. "Something Tracey had mentioned the other day…"
Harry snorted.
"How does it even work?" she mumbled to herself, ignoring his teasing gaze. "No… more importantly is how on earth you found such a place?"
"Found it last year," he answered, leaning against the armrest of a couch. "We needed somewhere to practice Defence against the Dark Arts – somewhere Umbridge couldn't find. Dobby happened to know of a room that only appears when someone needs it."
Recognition flickered across her face.
"So, this is where you were hiding…" She shook her head exasperatingly. "Draco and his lot were going absolutely spare trying to find you. Though, I'd admit, it was rather entertaining to watch."
Harry snorted. "I bet it was. Stupid git."
Daphne stifled a giggle, trailing her fingers over the polished wood of an end table, admiring the delicate vases and still paintings. With a quiet sigh, she slipped off her pink, fluffy slippers and curled her toes into the plush carpet.
"Go on then. Why'd you bring me here?"
"Well," he held back a grimace, "after your little incident with Hermione – "
" – The incident which she caused!"
" – The one which you caused." Harry corrected flatly.
"I did no such thing!" Daphne hissed.
He raised an unimpressed brow. "Please. You were hostile the very moment you saw her."
"Because you let her weasel her way into our table!"
"I didn't know she was going to turn up out of nowhere! I even had placed a Notice-Me-Not ward, but somehow, she got past that."
"Yes… somehow the Great Harry Potter Sir forgot to key out his know-it-all girlfriend from the ward scheme." Daphne drawled.
Oh, bloody hell, Dobby… Harry moaned internally.
"For your information, I didn't key her in. I didn't even tell her that we'd be meeting up!"
"– And then you had the absolute gall to send me away like I was some – some – some shoddy, two knut w-whore!" Daphne scowled, her blush returning in full force at her own words though it was barely overshadowed by her anger.
Harry stared at her as if she had sprouted another head before he groaned loudly. "Merlin, Daphne, you really should stop reading those stupid, sappy novels you know – "
"Shut up!" If anything, her blush intensified.
Just when she looked like she was going to start breathing fire, Harry held up his hands.
"You know, I couldn't just leave Hermione standing there," he explained. "If I left with you, it would've looked suspicious – like I was taking your side over hers. It's why I called you here, now."
Daphne, hearing the logic in his reason, held back her tongue, but her glare didn't disappear. "You could've said it nicer, you prat."
"You insulted her," Harry pointed out.
"She insulted me too, you know."
Harry faltered, noticing her face turned unreadable but her eyes didn't waver from his.
Sighing, he walked up to her and hesitantly raised his hand and patted her awkwardly on the head. "Sorry."
"Don't pat my head, moron." Daphne mumbled.
He then lowered his hand to her cheek and tugged it. "Sorry."
Daphne kicked him.
"Look," Harry winced, "what I was trying to say is that I doubt we'll be allowed back in the library anytime soon."
"Speak for yourself, Madam Pince adores me."
He shot her a sceptical look.
"I'm sure I can come to an agreement with her," the blonde added nonchalantly before she ran a hand through her and sighed. "It's you that's the issue. I don't think she'll let you anywhere near her library again and despite my better judgement, I regrettably need you, Potter."
"Hence why I brought us here." Harry spread his arms wide, ignoring her jab. "Who needs the library when you can summon any book straight to you."
Immediately a book appeared on the small table beside him. He picked it up and promptly handed over to Daphne who's eyebrows rose when she read its title.
Moste Potente Potions
"This book is from the Restricted Section…" Daphne muttered in disbelief, turning the heavy, worn-out tome over in her hands.
Harry smirked.
She shook her head at him, a mixture of exasperation and reluctant admiration flickering across her face. "This is crazy."
" – We'd have to make sure we make frequent appearances somewhere where people can see us but other than that, we can pretty much use the room to work on our potion seeing as I'm the only one who knows how to open it. And… I wouldn't be adverse to teaching you a few things or two." Harry added faux reluctantly.
Daphne beamed at him, her earlier anger vanishing, as her mind spiralled at the endless possibilities within such a proposal.
This was a like dream… She squealed internally in joy.
She cleared her throat delicately, sticking her nose up slightly. "I suggest we meet up here every day."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'll think about it."
Daphne pouted but instead of arguing, she went back to admiring the room again. "You said you changed the room to make it look like your living room?"
"Right." Harry nodded, running his fingers along the soft fabric of a loveseat. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
Something in his tone made her pause.
"What's wrong?" She frowned, stepping closer.
The young Lord hesitated; his expression unreadable. Then he offered her a smile – one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I never had any of this when I was young. I only found out about this room… my house… last summer. Before then, I never even knew any of this existed."
Daphne's frown deepened.
"I grew up with Muggles, remember?" Harry elaborated. "Everything you see here is really new to me."
She blinked. "I… didn't. Know, I mean."
"Oh." He said, momentarily caught off guard. "I figured you'd read about it in the Prophet last year, like everyone else."
Daphne scoffed, crossing her arms beneath her chest – a motion that, to Harry's great misfortune, only drew attention to the way the fabric of her nightgown stretched across her chest.
Merlin almighty…
"Don't lump me in with your sycophants, Potter."
"Right," he chuckled, "my apologies."
Daphne's eyes softened as she reached out a hand and held his forearm. "There have always been stories about you – wild ones, ridiculous ones. There still are."
"And you believe them?"
She shook her head. "I wouldn't be here if I did. The point is no one really knows the real Harry Potter. You've never once confirmed or denied any of them."
"And should I?" Harry scoffed.
"No," Daphne responded firmly. "You have every right to your privacy. If anything, you deserve it more than most."
A wry smile played on lips. "I remember you saying something similar back at the Gala."
"Because it's true." Her smirk returned, though the warmth in her chest lingered. "Though… I wouldn't be opposed to hearing a secret or two. Especially that one rumour that you sent away a hundred Dementors with a Patronus Charm in our third year."
"Perhaps if you're good." He laughed.
"And when am I not?" She asked, prodding his chest.
"I'll be the judge of that."
"Oh?" Daphne arched an eyebrow, "Planning on spending a lot of time with me, Harry?"
Her eyes sparkled but Harry saw through it. "Don't get a big head, Greengrass."
She sniffed, huffing at his use of her own words before looking away, feigning disinterest.
A beat passed. Then –
"By the way," Harry cleared his throat, his voice deliberately casual, "aren't you… cold?"
Daphne tilted her head, confused, until she followed his line of sight – down to the silky gown that skimmed the tops of her thighs, its thin material barely covering her shoulders.
"Well, I was getting ready for bed, you know," she responded dryly, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she stepped closer, "does my attire… bother you, Harry?"
Harry swallowed. He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. "You know exactly what you're doing."
Daphne's smile widened. "Do I?"
"Yes."
"Well, I was going to change before coming down, but someone gave me only five minutes to show up."
Harry rolled his eyes. "And yet, somehow, you still got there before me."
"Unlike you, I'm punctual."
"Or just eager," he shot back.
Daphne flicked her hair over her shoulder before pivoting gracefully on her heel and sinking onto the nearest couch with effortless poise.
Harry had the clarity of mind not to stare at her arse – it was a struggle, but he somehow managed.
Daphne had always possessed an allure that felt almost prohibited, the kind of beauty that made people hesitate, unsure whether they were meant to admire or worship from afar. But now, in the dim warmth of the Room of Requirement, draped in nothing but silk and silhouettes, she was something else entirely. Something far more dangerous.
A lesser man would have folded ages ago.
If she had let them.
Her nightgown clung like liquid moonlight, dipping scandalously low at the front, skimming high on her thighs in a way that felt almost too effortless. It wasn't intentional – he knew that. But Merlin, did it feel intentional. Every glance, every shift of her body, every slight tilt of her lips carried an unspoken challenge.
She angled her head, watching him with sharp, knowing eyes. She didn't have to say anything. She knew what kind of effect she had on people. On him.
"Never underestimate a woman's intuition, Harry."
Harry supposed he was finally beginning to understand Tonks' words now.
Daphne was no doubt deadly, perhaps the deadliest woman he's ever met. Not because of her wicked fast wit or the kind of beauty none could compare to.
But because of the physical effect that she had on him.
He was not infallible to a woman's whims.
Harry exhaled slowly and sat beside her on the spot she had patted, deliberately putting some space between them. Not that it mattered much. He had quickly come to find after all their interactions with one another that Daphne was the kind of girl who blurred lines effortlessly, who made you forget there had ever been any space at all.
Though, now that he thought about it, he had never once seen her act the way she did with him, with anyone else.
"So…" Daphne began, crossing her legs. "When will we meet each other next?"
He ran a hand through his hair as he leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "Tomorrow's out. Quidditch Trials."
"Afterwards, then?"
Harry's arm twitched as if the pain from last week brought itself back. "I've got to meet Dumbledore."
"You say that as if it's a bad thing." Daphne said amusedly.
"It's not… technically, but when a wizard like Dumbledore is hurtling dangerous spells at you with that stupid smile on his face, you suddenly wonder whether it's bad or good." He grumbled.
Her eyes widened as she leaned in, the neckline of her gown dipping enough to make his brain short-circuit.
"Dumbledore's training you?"
"I wasn't supposed to tell anyone but, oh well."
Daphne shook her head incredulously. "Only you could act as if being taught directly by arguably the most accomplished wizard in recent history is such a burden."
"If it means anything, he's unbelievably annoying to get along with."
She huffed a soft laugh. "So, we can't meet at all then?"
Harry hesitated, then mentally shrugging.
Oh, what the hell…
"I guess we could meet after the Quidditch Trials, before I have to go see Dumbledore – "
" – Don't be late." She cut in immediately.
Harry chuckled. "Fine."
Daphne gave a satisfied nod, a touch of smugness in the gesture that amused him more than it should have.
Glancing at the clock he'd willed onto the wall behind her, Harry sighed and pushed himself up. "We should probably go. It's late as it is. Come on – w-what… what are you doing?"
Daphne arched her back in an exaggerated stretch, arms lifted above her head, her nightgown slipping just enough for him to lose his breath.
"Yawning ~ " she drawled, the motion punctuated by a giggle as she let her arms drop.
Harry dragged a hand down his face. The tips of his ears were burning – he could feel it. He just hoped she didn't see it.
Daphne most definitely saw it.
"Now you're just doing it on purpose…" he muttered, voice half-defeated.
She grinned unabashedly.
"Perish the thought, darling."
CwD
September 19th, 1996
"What is it, Miss Greengrass?"
Daphne stepped in Professor Snape's office with cautious precision. Odd trinkets and peculiar artifacts lay scattered amidst methodically arranged potion vials, while jars filled with eerie, unidentifiable substances cast murky reflections in the dim glow.
She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised by the décor. Professor Snape's entire persona was the personification of dark and dreary, and it was clear his office was merely an extension of that.
"A moment of your time, Professor?"
Daphne had planned this encounter meticulously, preparing a week in advance – ensuring she was ahead on assignments, maintaining her impeccable behaviour in class (not that it had ever faltered), and being particularly attentive during his lessons.
If there was one issue she was teetering on however, it was Harry.
Of course it was, Harry, she thought, mentally rolling her eyes.
All she thought about nowadays was him.
Professor Snape's disdain for Harry was well known. All Daphne could hope was that the man didn't know that Harry was her partner or she could kiss her referral goodbye.
"For my N.E.W.T. in Potions, Professor Slughorn has assigned us a long-term brewing project. We are required to create a potion that takes at least five months to complete," she began smoothly.
Snape folded his arms.
"I am aware. Go on."
"After extensive research, I have selected my potion. I strive for excellence, as I always have, as you have always taught us to do."
"You have picked your potion then." It wasn't a question.
"The Aetherial Draught," Daphne stated, her voice steady.
Snape stilled. His fingers twitched slightly at his sleeve, though his expression remained impassive. A flicker of something crossed his gaze – recognition, perhaps even something deeper.
For a brief moment, he wasn't in his office but years in the past, kneeling before a different figure, presenting the same potion to the wizard who had changed the course of his life forever.
Snape exhaled quietly through his nose as he stood up and loomed above her behind his desk.
"That is… very ambitious, Miss Greengrass. Very ambitious, indeed."
"And yet, I know I can complete it, sir." Daphne's response was immediate, firm. She couldn't allow herself to falter now.
Snape studied her, his gaze piercing, dissecting. Silence stretched between them, heavy, measured.
"Yes… perhaps you can." He turned away, moving toward a bubbling cauldron. Picking up a ladle, he absentmindedly mixed the potion, whilst writing something down. "So, you're here to ask for my referral."
"Yes sir."
"Very well."
Daphne blinked. For just a second, her carefully curated mask slipped, surprise flashing across her face. She recovered quickly. "Thank you."
" – My referral does not guarantee you permission from the Department, Miss Greengrass," Snape said over his shoulder, "However, I will say this – your abilities far surpass any other student I have had the personal punishment of teaching."
Daphne recognized the words for what they were – the closest thing to a compliment she would ever receive from the notoriously scathing professor.
Snape eventually turned back and faced her, his dark eyes unreadable.
"I shall complete the letter and send it to the headmaster for his final approval promptly. I'd advise you to have a backup potion."
Daphne inclined her head in gratitude. "Thank you, Professor."
He gave a curt nod, the conversation seemingly over.
She pivoted toward the door, but before she could take a step –
" – A word of caution, Miss Greengrass…"
Daphne halted, a frown flickering across her face as she turned back.
"The Aetherial Draught… I assume you've realized by now, is not a typical potion. It is dangerously complex, but its rewards are unparalleled," Snape began quietly. "However, there is one thing no book will ever tell you."
Her fingers twitched at her sides. "Yes sir?"
"Once completed, there is only one way to determine its success – it must be drunk."
Daphne's eyes widened in shock.
"There is no spell, no incantation, no external test to verify its perfection. That is what makes it so perilous."
She swallowed. "And if… if someone drinks a failed version?"
Snape's expression darkened. "The potion directly affects a wizard's magic, temporarily heightening it based on potency. But anything – potion, spell, or ritual – that tamper with one's magic is temperamental at best and catastrophic at worst. Scholars have debated for centuries, and their conclusions remain the same: to alter magic is to meddle with one's soul." His voice dropped even quieter into something almost menacing. "And tampering with one's soul, Miss Greengrass, is something one must never do."
A chill went down her spin. "I… agree, sir."
"You will be taking a major risk. Getting approved to brew the potion is one thing; making a perfect vial and testing it, is another. The client must have absolute faith that the potioneer has made it correctly. Then again," He turned slightly, gesturing toward the door, "you are always welcome to try it on yourself."
Daphne hesitated. "If I may, Professor?"
Snape scowled at her but gave a sharp nod.
"When did you make the Aetherial Draught?"
The question landed like a stone in the silence.
For a moment, Snape didn't move. Then, ever so slightly, his posture went rigid.
"What makes you so certain that I have?"
Daphne studied him. "A feeling."
Something flickered in his dark eyes.
"I was twenty-one."
Her breath caught. "Did it work?"
Snape's gaze dropped to his forearm.
"Unfortunately."
Later, as he sat in front of Dumbledore's desk, nursing a glass of firewhiskey, the past crept in like a spectre. Memories – sharp, bitter – wrapped around him, tightening like a vice.
Empty promises. Naivety. A desperate thirst to prove himself.
Perhaps even a hint of revenge was mixed in…
"Too much of that, is not good for you, m'boy."
Snape ignored the old man, opting to take a larger gulp of the amber liquid just to spite him.
Dumbledore sighed. "He manipulated you, Severus. Just like he has done to many others… you were no exception."
"I did not know that then…" Snape let out a slow breath, fingers tightening around his glass. "How could he have been so certain it was made correctly?"
Dumbledore's gaze was steady. "You already know the answer. A mix of his natural acumen and his mastery of the Mind Arts. Even you, for your remarkable proficiency in Occlumency back then stood no chance against him."
A humourless chuckle left Snape's lips. "I suppose having the Horcruxes as a safety net helped. Not that I would have made the potion incorrectly."
"Indeed. It goes to show how truly affected Tom was over the Prophecy that he willingly drank such a temperamental potion."
Silence stretched between them before Snape spoke again, voice low.
"He wanted to take no chances. He promised me…" His jaw clenched. "Promised me he would spare her if I made the potion for him."
Dumbledore looked out his window. "I will not coddle you, Severus. Tom was testing you. To see where your loyalties truly lied. To see how far you were willing to go for him."
Snape's lips curled, bitterness coating his features at the older man's words. Then, in one swift motion, he downed the rest of his drink and set the empty glass aside.
"What do you think the chances are that the referral will be approved?"
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, his expression contemplative. "Not high, I'm afraid. The ICW will not sanction the brewing of a Class Five potion simply for a school project, no matter how prodigious Miss Greengrass may be."
Snape's gaze darkened. "Even if you appealed directly?"
A faint smile ghosted across Dumbledore's lips. "Your dedication to your student is admirable, Severus."
Snape sneered. "Don't patronize me, Albus."
"My apologies," Dumbledore said amusedly, "but yes, even if I were to advocate on her behalf, the odds remain slim. As you know, the ICW does not view me favourably at present."
"No doubt because of your foolhardy decision to put that dunderhead, Potter – of all people – forward as the next Premier Mage candidate," Snape said, his voice dripping with disdain.
Dumbledore shot him a pointed look but merely shook his head. "If Miss Greengrass's father were to petition on her behalf – "
"Unlikely," Snape interrupted. His tone was flat, final. "You know why."
Dumbledore pursed his lips, but a flicker of amusement softened the lines on his face. "Then perhaps Harry may finally use some of his influence to get his way."
Snape's expression twisted into an immediate sneer. "And why, pray tell, would Potter insert himself into this matter?"
"Because, my dear boy," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling, "it is his project as well."
Snape stiffened, his sharp gaze narrowing. "Yes… an individual project, just as it has been – "
" – Horace thought otherwise this year. He decided to partner them for the project. Griselda agreed, though it did take some convincing. Did Miss Greengrass not mention that when she asked for your referral?"
"No… she did not." Snape growled, though Dumbledore was sure he detected a hint of respect in his younger colleague's voice.
"I must say then, a masterclass of a performance on Miss Greengrass' part."
Snape rose, placing his glass back on the desk with deliberate precision.
"She's as cunning and ambitious as they come, though I cannot say the same for the rest." His robes billowed as he turned for the door. "By your leave, Albus."
Dumbledore watched him go with quiet amusement. "Very well – "
As soon as he said that, suddenly, the fireplace began to pulse steadily. Emerald flames licked at the grate indicating that someone wanted was requesting to come through.
Dumbledore's brow furrowed – he was certain he had no further appointments for the day. With a wave of his hand, he granted access, and a voice followed through, one he hadn't been expecting.
"Yes… you may come through."
Snape's eyes narrowed as he shifted behind Dumbledore, instinctively positioning himself like a shadow at the old man's back. The flames roared higher, and two men stepped onto the worn rug, brushing away soot with effortless ease.
Dumbledore rose, a pleasant smile on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Lord Greengrass, Lord Warrington… a pleasant surprise."
Cold, electric blue eyes surveyed the office, only matched by the sharp, brown eyes of his companion.
"Indeed, Headmaster," Matthias Greengrass replied smoothly whilst Malakai inclined his head. The former then turned slightly, offering a nod to the man standing just behind Dumbledore. "Severus."
"Matthias."
Snape's gaze then shifted.
"Ah. You two haven't had the pleasure."
Malakai stepped forward; his greeting measured. "Malakai Warrington, of the House of Warrington."
"Severus Snape. Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts."
With introductions out of the way, Dumbledore gestured toward the chairs before his desk. "Please, have a seat."
"First, allow me to apologize for the lack of notice, Headmaster," Matthias began as he settled in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Given the heightened security at Hogwarts, I imagine unannounced visits are rarely entertained."
Dumbledore's eyes flickered briefly to Malakai Warrington who held his unwavering gaze on him before settling back on Matthias. "Think nothing of it. I make exceptions for matters of importance – and I suspect this is not a social call."
"Yes," Matthias drawled, idly tapping his fingers against the polished armrest of his chair. "Hogwarts is never lacking in intrigue."
"A rather charitable way of putting it, Lord Greengrass."
Silence settled between them, taut yet measured. It was Matthias who leaned forward first, the glint in his electric blue eyes sharpening.
"If I may be direct, Headmaster."
"By all means."
"I would like to meet with Mr Potter."
CwD