Cavorting with Death

Chapter 15

CwD

September 9th, 1996

Some way or the other, Harry found himself leaning against the far wall of Quirrell's old classroom.

The place was a wreck – empty bookshelves toppled and splintered, debris scattered across the floor, and the stairs leading to the bedroom quarters cracked and crumbling.

He reckoned it must've been a sight to say the least. Like a miniature warzone. But none of that held a candle to the frozen chaos around him.

The room was encased in ice – walls frosted over, icicles dangling precariously from the ceiling. The air itself felt sharp, biting at his skin.

Daphne seemed to have an affinity for ice magic.

Daphne…

The blonde girl who had essentially draped herself over his lap, still refused to speak. Small, broken whimpers escaped her lips every now and then, muffled as she pressed her face into his robes, as though she could disappear into him entirely.

To Harry though, every continued sob felt like it was another twist of the knife.

He shivered.

Whether it was from the glacial chill of the room or the haunting image of Daphne collapsing to her knees. Either way, the feeling sat heavy in his chest, clawing at him. And knowing he was the cause of both – the ice and her pain – made him despise himself all the more.

"Daphne…"

His voice was quiet, soft, non-threatening and despite that, Daphne flinched in his arms.

She tightened the grip on his robes, burrowing closer into his body.

Harry sighed but kept his hand moving, his fingers threading gently through her hair.

At first, he'd only meant to brush away the bits of dust and debris tangled in the strands, but the motion had quickly become hypnotic. He didn't know if it was helping her, but it was grounding him, keeping his fraying thoughts tethered.

"Dobby."

A soft pop echoed through the frozen room.

Daphne flinched at the sound, her entire body stiffening. Instinctively, Harry's arms tightened around her frame, his grip firm, protective. It was only when he felt her settle again – pressing closer instead of pulling away – that he realised what he was doing. He hesitated, a mental war taking forth, then ultimately, chose not to loosen his hold.

Swallowing thickly, he turned to Dobby. The little elf, for once, hadn't spoken immediately. He stood ironically frozen in place, wide eyes darting over the ruined, ice-laden room.

"M-Master Harry?"

"A calming draught, Dobby."

"But – "

"Nick it from Snape's stores if you have to." Harry's voice was firm, brooking no argument. "Bring some healing salves while you're at it and a pepper up potion too."

Dobby immediately nodded, vanishing with another sharp pop before reappearing mere moments later, clutching a small pouch. He held it open for Harry, who nodded appreciatingly.

"That'll be all. Thanks, Dobby."

"Master Harry is most welcome." The little elf bowed lowly before vanishing again.

Still holding Daphne against him, Harry placed the potions and salves in a neat line on the floor and frowned at them.

Of course, the greasy bat wouldn't label the bloody things.

With a sigh, he grabbed what he hoped was the calming draught and took a tentative sip. The tight, guilty knot in his stomach didn't vanish, but it did ease ever so slightly, like a rope loosening from around his chest. He exhaled, then turned back to Daphne.

"Daphne…" Harry tried again, his voice soft as he combed his fingers gently through her golden hair, tucking a few behind her ear in an attempt to glimpse her face.

His stomach twisted at the sight. Scratches marred her forehead, welts marking delicate skin. A fresh wave of self-loathing surged in him, but he forced it down. Now wasn't the time.

Reaching for the draught, he brought the vial close to where he imagined her lips to be.

"Drink this," he murmured. "You'll feel better."

She didn't move. Didn't respond. Only curled into him tighter.

Harry swallowed.

"You have no reason to accept anything from me, after what I did – said – I get it." His voice was heavy, thick with something raw. A moment passed, and then, almost hesitantly, he lowered his cheek to rest against the top of her head.

Shame burned at the edges of his mind. He looked away.

"I-I just don't…" He exhaled sharply, eyes shutting for a brief moment as he fought for the words. "Just drink it, please."

A beat.

Then, so quietly that he almost thought he imagined it –

"Don't what…?"

Harry stiffened before he slowly lifted his head and leaned it back against the wall. For a long moment, he didn't answer.

And then Daphne shifted.

A warm breath ghosted over Harry's fingers, followed by the featherlight press of her lips against the vial.

His hand moved automatically, gently tipping the potion back, letting it spill past her lips though he still refused to look at her.

A soft sigh escaped Daphne once she finished, the calming draught dulling the erratic pounding in her chest to a steadier, quieter rhythm. The tremors in her fingers slowed. Her breathing evened.

"Don't what?" she asked again. Her voice was stronger now, clearer.

Somewhere along the way, Daphne had shifted closer.

Much closer.

Every curve of hers, every line of his – they could feel it all.

At some point, she had slid onto his lap, her knees bracketing his hips, her chest pressing firmly against his. The position was improper, reckless even. In any other circumstance, she would have been mortified, her face blushing up a storm.

But right now?

Right now, all that mattered was that Harry still wouldn't look at her.

Daphne snaked her hand up his chest, past his collar and then along the column of his throat until they met the back of his head; her ringed fingers threading through his long, jet-black hair. With a firm but gentle grip, she guided his head down to her level.

Dull emerald eyes met with piercing electric blue.

"Say it." Daphne demanded.

Harry flinched when he saw her face.

Her porcelain skin – usually flawless, untouchable – was marred. Dried blood clung to the small cuts littering her face. Smudges of dirt streaked across her forehead, cheek, and chin. Sharp, angry bruises bloomed along her jaw and neck.

The sight of it made something heavy twist in his chest.

He turned away.

But Daphne didn't let him.

"Look at me."

The moment Harry met her gaze, Daphne saw it.

Overwhelming remorse.

It bled through the cracks of his carefully guarded expression, raw and unfiltered, pooling in the depths of his green eyes like something heavy, something drowning.

Her fingers tightened in his hair.

"Say it," she repeated, her voice quieter this time, less demanding – almost pleading.

Harry's throat bobbed, but he didn't look away. Not this time.

"…I don't know how to fix this," he admitted, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Daphne's breath hitched.

His words settled in the space between them, fragile and unsteady, like a house of cards ready to collapse at the slightest touch.

A bitter smile tugged at her lips.

"I thought I did…" Daphne whispered. "You think I wanted this?"

Her hand slid down from his hair, trailing over his cheek, her fingers ghosting over the sharp edge of his jaw. There was no hesitation in her touch – just quiet frustration, quiet pain.

Harry's hands, which had been resting on her waist, twitched slightly.

"Then why?" His voice was rough, edged with something that wasn't quite anger – but wasn't far from it, either.

Daphne exhaled through her nose.

"Because I didn't have a choice."

The words felt like glass against her throat, sharp and jagged, each syllable cutting her open in a way she had spent years trying to avoid.

"I would've understood," Harry said after a beat, his voice laced with something unreadable. "You could've told me."

Daphne let out a quiet, humourless laugh.

"Told you?" Her lips twisted slightly. "And then what? Would you ever look at me the same? Would you ever trust me?"

"I trusted you, Daphne." Harry countered. "Did you not feel the same way about me?"

Daphne's face fell. "I do trust you."

"Then why?"

"Because I'm weak… powerless," she mumbled bitterly. "Because I didn't want to lose you. And now, that's exactly what's happened."

Harry's hands tightly clenched her waist, a look of defiance on his face but Daphne didn't react.

"You pushed me away."

"And I apologised." Daphne replied softly. "Over and over. I tried any and every way to win back your trust. I wanted you to see it from my point of view."

"And what if I never do?"

Daphne fingers twitched against his cheek. For a moment, the question hung between them, heavier than the silence pressing in from all sides.

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

She didn't have an answer.

Because, in truth, she didn't know.

"I don't know what I'd do," Daphne finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't stop trying. I can't explain it. I've never felt this way about anything – anyone."

"I've never met someone so stubborn." he murmured more to himself as he closed his eyes.

Without warning, Harry dropped his head, his face falling into her chest as if the weight of it all had finally become too much. The tight hold he had over his emotions shattered instantly.

Jasmine and vanilla.

Her scent surrounded him, something familiar yet overwhelming, twisting the guilt in his stomach even as it anchored him to the moment.

And then – his magic slipped.

It bled out of him, raw and unrestrained, the control he fought so hard to maintain unravelling in her presence.

Daphne inhaled sharply. He knew she had seen it – the tattoo of the Hungarian Horntail on his neck was hard to miss after all.

But she didn't pull away.

She didn't stiffen or recoil. She just sat there, steady and warm.

Every part of him screamed that this was reckless, dangerous. That he was exposing too much, giving too much.

And yet –

Somewhere beneath the fear, beneath the instinct to push her away after everything she had done, came something quieter. A whisper of something he wasn't ready to name.

It's okay.

"I regret hurting you."

Daphne stilled.

The words were quiet. Barely more than a breath. But devastating, nonetheless.

"A breath of fresh air… that's what you were," Harry mumbled. "And then, like a breath, you disappeared. You betrayed me. I wanted to push you away. Wanted nothing to do with you because… because it hurt."

His grip on her waist tightened. "I'm sorry that I hurt you."

Daphne's breath hitched. She hadn't expected him to say it – not like this, not with his walls lowered and his voice stripped of everything but honesty.

Her fingers moved before she could stop them, trailing through his wild black hair; long, manicured nails scratching lightly against his scalp. The motion was unconscious, soothing, grounding. She felt the way his body stilled beneath her touch, the way his breath deepened and the way he sunk into her just as she had done to him earlier.

Daphne had been so angry.

So furious at him for turning his back on her, for refusing to see her side of things. She had no right. She knew that, but she couldn't help it.

She had let that anger fester and coupled with the week's stress, twist into something dark and unrelenting.

And yet – here, now – none of that seemed to matter.

Not when she could feel the warmth of his body against hers.

Not when she could hear the unspoken weight behind his words.

Not when he was talking to her like she mattered.

Daphne swallowed; her hand never stilling, moving through his hair, gentle and slow.

She hated him.

The way he had spoken to her. The way he had looked at her with such hate filled eyes.

Daphne hated him.

Didn't she?

So then why –

Why did it feel as though she was falling even deeper?

She barely had time to make sense of it before Harry shifted beneath her, his green eyes rising to meet hers.

"I'm not good with healing charms," he hesitated, breaking the silence. He twisted the lid off the tin of salve next to him, scooping a small amount onto his fingertips. Then, with careful, almost hesitant movements, he brushed her hair away from her face and began smoothing the potion over her wounds.

Daphne didn't move. She just watched him.

His fingers were warm against her skin, his touch deliberate and measured. Every stroke was precise, as if he was afraid of pressing too hard, of doing more harm than good.

She winced when the salve stung, the sharp sting catching her off guard.

"Sorry," he mumbled immediately, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it.

Every time the pain surfaced, so did his whispered apologies, murmured between them like something delicate, something only meant for her ears.

It was intimate in a way she hadn't expected – the quiet concentration in his expression, the way his brows knitted together, the faint furrow between them as he worked. There was no trace of the anger, the bitterness that had built between them for so long. Only focus. Only care.

Daphne swallowed; her throat tight.

It should have been meaningless. Just an act of kindness, or maybe obligation. But why did it feel like more?

She shouldn't have noticed the way his fingers lingered a moment too long after each pass, or the way his breathing shifted when his knuckles brushed against the curve of her cheek.

She shouldn't have felt the warmth curling in her chest at the way he looked at her, as if she was something fragile but worth tending to anyway.

She had no business thinking that. Not when she still held onto the embers of resentment. Not when –

Daphne glanced to the side, catching her reflection in the ice-covered floor.

The small, sharp wounds were already gone, only faint traces of dried blood left behind.

"Madam Pomfrey's salves work fast," Harry said, as if reading her thoughts.

Daphne tore her gaze away from her reflection and turned back to him.

Their eyes met.

It felt as if time slowed to a stop.

Her stomach twisted, her pulse skittering in her throat.

Harry looked so unguarded, so perfect and so, so free.

Daphne's breath hitched; her eyes flickering – just for a second – to his lips.

She hated him.

Right?

It was barely a second. A fleeting glance.

But Harry noticed.

His grip on her waist tightened.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them breathed.

She felt herself lean in ever so slightly and she could've sworn he –

" – Merlin's beard! What on earth – ?!"

Daphne flinched and Harry tensed, his body stiffening, instincts snapping back into place.

The moment between them shattered, the weight of reality slamming back into his chest.

The frozen room. The scattered debris. The sharp, unrelenting cold clinging to their skin.

The undeniable truth of what had just happened.

They stared at each other, their faces barely a breath apart.

"A blizzard?! In a classroom?!"

Slughorn's voice carried through the corridor, growing louder, closer.

Daphne swallowed hard, the precariousness of their position finally catching up to her. She shifted off his lap in one fluid movement, her body reluctant but her mind screaming at her to move.

Before she could fully pull away, Harry's fingers closed around her wrist.

She froze.

He didn't say anything. Just held her there.

Daphne met his gaze, her heartbeat hammering in her throat.

A conversation through their eyes spanned a moment, maybe two before she slowly shook her head.

Not now.

Harry hesitated for half a second before his grip slackened, his fingers ghosting over her skin before finally letting go.

He exhaled sharply and turned his head away from her eyes – only for them to land on the tattered mess of her robes.

His face burned.

The rip in her skirt exposed a long stretch of pale skin that had gone past her mid-thigh, and the torn fabric of her blouse revealed the faint outline of bruises and dried blood beneath. A glimpse of emerald lace peeked through the damage, and Harry jerked his gaze away so fast, he thought he got whiplash.

"Hello…? Is anyone in there? I say – "

Slughorn's voice was right outside now.

By the time Harry dared look back at her, Daphne was already standing in front of him, robes magically mended. The transformation was seamless – pristine fabric, not a single tear in sight, as if nothing had happened at all.

She reached out, fingers brushing his forearm, her grip light but commanding.

Harry got up, using her as support and looked down at her.

Another unspoken conversation was initiated between them.

Deal with him.

We can't let him see us together.

Harry stared at her for a moment or so longer before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar cloak.

Daphne's eyes flickered with recognition as Harry got back into her space and swung his arms around her frame, draping the Invisibility cloak across her shoulders.

Ensuring she was covered completely; Harry began to make his way towards the door but paused when he felt Daphne take his hand.

"What?"

"So you don't run away." Daphne's muffled voice replied.

Harry scoffed but didn't let go.

Making their way to the door, Harry took a breath and with a harsh tug, he dislodged the door from the ice and met the wide eyes and startled expression of Professor Slughorn.

"Hello, Professor."

"Good heavens!" Slughorn gasped, holding his belly in fright until recognition slowly settled in. "Harry, my boy? What on earth is going on here?"

Harry put up a confused face and innocently looked around, his eyes widening appropriately.

"Oh! Apologies Professor, I was just practicing some of my spellwork." He turned back to look sheepishly at Slughorn. "Seems I went a bit overboard…"

Slughorn's round face twisted with confusion as he peered into the room. His moustache twitched as his wide eyes took in the frozen disaster before him – shards of ice clinging to the desks, frost coating the floor, the air still thick with the remnants of wild, untamed magic.

"Spellwork – ? Merlin's ghost! This looks like the bloody Arctic, Harry!" The large man gestured at the icicles dangling precariously from the ceiling. His gaze flickered to the centre of the room, where the magic had been thickest.

Harry shifted slightly, subtly blocking his view of where he knew Daphne was though in the back of his mind, he knew he didn't need to.

"I was – I got a little too into it." He kept his voice even, but the words felt like ash in his mouth.

Slughorn gave him a shrewd look.

"I see," he said, his usual jovial tone tempered with suspicion. "And do you always practice your spellwork in classrooms?"

"When I can, Professor." replied Harry, his lips curving slightly. "Got to stay in tip-top shape, y'know… for what lies ahead."

Slughorn raised his eyebrows before a knowing expression settled across his face.

"Always a man of action, eh, Harry?" He tapped his nose conspiratorially, his round face lighting up with amusement.

Harry gave a tight smile, resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder.

"Though try not to freeze over the entire castle, m'boy," Slughorn continued obliviously. "I dare say Professor McGonagall wouldn't be too happy if she had found out."

"No… I suppose she wouldn't."

"Anyhoo, must be off! Fifth years next." Slughorn dusted off his emerald-green robes before perking up as if a thought had just struck him. "Speaking of Potions, I don't mean to pry, but I'd be remiss if I didn't ask – how's your project with Miss Greengrass coming along?"

Harry felt Daphne stiffen beside him.

"We've met… a few times already." Harry began diplomatically, "We're still in the planning stages. G – Daphne had mentioned that she doesn't want to half-arse it or anything."

Slughorn's eyes twinkled with approval.

"Excellent! Simply excellent! A good head on her, that Miss Greengrass." He wagged a finger as if reinforcing the point. "You're a lucky man, Harry. She is an exceptionally talented potioneer, you know. One of the brightest I've had the pleasure of teaching! Why, did you know she scored one of the highest OWL marks in Potions in recent history? Simply extraordinary!"

Slughorn chuckled and patted his belly. "Well! No pressure, of course, but I do have high hopes for your collaboration!"

He gave Harry a hearty clap on the shoulder before waddling off down the corridor, humming to himself.

The moment he turned the corner, Harry shut the door, exhaling through his nose as Daphne took off the cloak.

"Smooth," she murmured.

Harry shot her a dry look but didn't reply.

She looked composed again, every inch the cool, untouchable Daphne Greengrass.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, the strands still mussed from where she had touched him.

A long silence stretched between them, thick and charged with everything left unsaid.

"Is this it then?" Daphne asked suddenly.

Harry stilled.

"Now you send me away and we go back to being nothing?" Her voice quiet, controlled. "You said you regret hurting me… will you regret it if I walk out of this room and we go back to being less than acquaintances?"

Daphne watched him, searching, hoping – waiting for something. Waiting for him to tell her no. For him to stop her.

But Harry didn't answer.

If her heart wasn't already broken enough, it was surely destroyed now.

Daphne let out a soft, humourless laugh, shaking her head as tears burned at the edges of her vision. "Right… of course… I don't know what I was expecting…"

She dropped her head, exhaling sharply before stepping forward.

"Your cloak," she whispered.

Lifting it gently, she draped the fabric over Harry's extended arm, her fingers barely grazing his.

Then, she turned to leave.

She took a step –

And felt his hand close around hers.

"Wait…"

Daphne froze.

Harry's grip wasn't forceful. He wasn't pulling her back or holding her against her will. But it was firm – steady, like an anchor.

Her breath hitched, her lips trembling. Slowly, she turned her head, her gaze lifting to meet his.

"Don't hurt me anymore, Harry." Daphne begged, her eyes barely holding back her tears. "Please."

Harry's jaw tensed.

Those green eyes – so often guarded – flickered with something unreadable, something that sent a shiver down her spine.

Then, he spoke.

"No one can know."

For a moment, Daphne thought she heard wrong. But then she played back his words in her grief-stricken mind and let it sink in – what he was saying, what he was offering – and her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

"No one will know! No one!" she said quickly, earnestly, nodding her head like an over eager puppy waiting for a treat.

Harry let out a soft breath, something that almost resembled a chuckle, but there was no humour in it. His lips twisted into something closer to regret.

"You don't understand," he murmured.

Daphne's face fell, her fingers instinctively tightening around his.

"We're in a war, Daphne," Harry continued, his voice low, almost hoarse. "A war of which I'm in the centre of."

His other hand lifted, hesitating for only a second before it cupped her cheek, his fingers impossibly gentle as they brushed over a fading bruise on her cheekbone.

Daphne thought her heart might have stopped as she couldn't help but lean into his touch.

"My enemies are many," Harry said, his thumb moving in slow, deliberate strokes. "Many of whom are in this very castle."

"If even one person finds out that we're more than partners in Potions," Harry went on, his voice barely above a whisper, "your safety, your sisters' safety, your family's – " He shook his head, jaw tightening. "They will stop at nothing to hurt me through you."

Daphne barely noticed she was trembling until his thumb swept over her cheek again, grounding her. Her mind reeled, the gravity of his words settling over her like a suffocating weight.

"Are you willing to risk that, Daphne?" Harry asked softly, his eyes searching hers. "Are you willing to risk the safety of your family, of your loved ones – for me?"

For a fleeting second, Daphne thought of Astoria. Of Fiona. Her baby sisters, her blood. Despite the chasm, despite Astoria's resentment, she loved them more than anything.

Then she thought of her mother – distant, cold, a ghost of a parent who had never truly seen her. And her father, who treated her not as a daughter, but a bargaining chip, a cheap pawn to be sacrificed on a grand chessboard.

Daphne Greengrass. The black sheep of the family. The disappointment. The unwanted.

But then – her gaze dropped to Harry's hand.

Still cupping her cheek. Still warm, despite the ice that had coated the air moments ago.

She thought of the way he had held her earlier. The way his unbreachable walls had cracked, just for a moment, when he had buried his face against her. The way he had finally looked at her – not as an asset, not as an obligation, but as something worth holding on to.

And now, here he was.

Harry was scared. She could see it in his eyes – the same eyes that held so much power, so much resilience, yet now brimmed with something far more fragile. Vulnerability. He wasn't just afraid of what this would mean for her family. He was afraid for her.

For the girl he had tried his damned hardest to push away.

For the first time in her life, Daphne was certain – absolutely, irrevocably certain – of what she wanted.

Him.

Every sharp word, every cold glance, every cruel attempt to sever whatever it was between them – it didn't matter anymore.

She had him now. Even if Harry didn't know it yet.

And she wouldn't let go for anything.

"I know what's at stake," Daphne whispered eventually.

Harry didn't move, didn't react. He was waiting, letting her make the choice.

"I'm willing," she said with surety.

Something flickered in Harry's expression – raw, hesitant, something like disbelief.

He let out a sharp breath, then dropped his head onto her shoulder.

"You're crazy." Harry whispered.

Daphne only smiled, threading her fingers through his hair, feeling the tension bleed out of him as he sagged against her.

"Yes."

"Delusional."

She hummed in agreement, pressing herself closer, feeling the way his arms instinctively tightened around her waist.

"Reckless."

Daphne nodded against him; her breath warm against his neck.

Harry exhaled slowly, eyes shutting as the scent of her – clean, soft, intoxicating – wrapped around him like a spell he couldn't break.

"You're going to be the death of me, Daphne Greengrass." His voice was nothing more than an undertone, a confession meant only for her. He buried his face in her hair, as if surrendering to the inevitability of it.

Daphne grinned against his ear, a wide, larger than life grin, her lips brushing the shell of it as she murmured, smug and certain –

"I know."

CwD

By the time they parted ways, Daphne had managed to coax a future meeting out of Harry – later that evening in the library, where they would finally start on their Potions project. Yet, throughout their conversation, he had struggled to meet her gaze.

Daphne reckoned she would've found it mildly annoying if it wasn't so adorably amusing.

Here Harry was, a giant of a wizard; an individual who held immense political power and someone she found, the painful way if she may add, an absolute titan of a duellist, struggling to maintain eye contact with her.

I suppose he felt embarrassed, she thought, lips curving slightly as she descended toward the dungeons.

The castle was quiet in the lull during classes, and Daphne welcomed the momentary solitude. She had a free period after lunch and intended to use it wisely – first, a much-needed shower.

She paused by a window, the midday light casting a soft glow against her reflection. Her face appeared as it always did, composed and elegant, but a trained eye would catch the faintest traces of a glamour charm, hiding the stubborn bruises that still lingered.

Harry had assured her they would fade in a few hours.

Of course, thinking about the bruises inevitably led her mind elsewhere.

To him.

To the way his fingers had been careful, reverent, as he applied the healing salve.

To the warmth of his palm against her cheek.

To the moment she had been –

…

– sitting on his lap…

…

Daphne froze then let out a strangled squeal, somewhere between horror and disbelief, before she buried her face in her hands. Heat flooded her skin, burning from her neck to the tips of her ears.

"Mummy, I think there's something wrong with that girl."

"Shh, just ignore her, Laura."

Daphne stiffened. Slowly, she turned to see a handful of portraits regarding her with mild apprehension.

Straightening, she cleared her throat, ruthlessly shoving her Occlumency to the forefront of her mind.

Composure. Grace. Dignity.

With slow, measured steps, she continued walking, as if nothing had happened.

In the heat of the moment, I didn't think much of it.

They had hugged before. Held hands. Cuddled on a bench.

But sitting on his lap?

Morgana, she had almost kissed him!

Daphne groaned.

She had been so close. So very, painfully close. Mere centimetres away from sealing the deal.

But then – bloody, pissing Slughorn had to interrupt them.

Daphne's jaw clenched.

Gods, she hated that man.

She forced the thought of the meddlesome Potions master from her mind, her focus shifting back to him – to Harry. And try as she might, she couldn't stop the slow, creeping smile that curled her lips.

What were they now? Friends? Partners? Confidants? Best friends, even?

Definitely one of those titles. But the one she craved – the one that had yet to be spoken aloud –

Lovers.

A shiver ran down her spine, heat prickling across her skin.

Daphne had once resigned herself to the idea that it might never happen. That whatever fragile thing lay between them would remain undefined, suspended in uncertainty.

But after today?

She was closer than ever before; she just knew it.

Her pace quickened, and it wasn't until she heard distant voices around the corner that she realized – Morgana help her – she had been skipping.

Like some doe-eyed four-year-old!

Daphne inhaled sharply, squaring her shoulders.

Daphne Greengrass did not skip around like some love-struck fool.

Reining in her giddiness, she lightly fanned herself with her hand and slowly smoothed her expression, letting Occlumency slip into place like a well-worn mask. By the time she turned the corner, she was once again the picture of effortless composure – cool, poised, untouchable.

As if she hadn't just been practically glowing over the thought of him.

Of course, any semblance of happiness shattered the moment she saw the group gathered ahead, their hushed, sullen voices already reaching her ears.

"Honestly, Cassian, how you can stand her is beyond me," Alice Ropier bemoaned, tugging at Cassius' arm incessantly.

The two were surrounded by the same mob of Slytherins who had confronted Harry and the Gryffindors in the Great Hall earlier and a few extras as well. Their faces were still twisted with frustration, some with barely concealed fear.

"We had him!" Rhys Maybury seethed; his voice sharp with frustration. "Potter – he was cornered! Before – Before…"

He trailed off, wilting slightly under Cassius' cold, unimpressed stare.

Cyril Meakin scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. "You're mental."

Rhys whirled on him. "Grow some fucking balls, Cyril!" His words lashed out, causing Cyril and the quieter Slytherins to flinch. "Potter wouldn't have done nuffin'! Didn't you see? It was all a show! Theatrics!"

Elspeth MacGillony, standing stiffly at the edge of the group, let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "His eyes were glowing, you bloody moron."

Rhys' bravado flickered.

"You know any spell that can make your eyes glow like that?" she pressed, her voice low.

Silence.

Rhys' jaw worked uselessly for a moment before Elora Dunn murmured, almost to herself, "… He must've spelled them. Somehow… someway."

"What? Potter can do silent and wandless magic now?!" Elspeth retorted immediately, her voice rising.

The unease, the doubt, the fear.

It was all creeping in.

Harry had left them shaken, and Daphne savoured the satisfaction that came with it.

She watched the group carefully, reading the unease in their stances, the unspoken fear lingering in their eyes.

Cassius must have sensed it – her amusement, her pleasure – because his head turned slowly, sharp eyes locking onto hers.

And in that moment, she knew.

She couldn't put off this inevitable headache any longer.

A hush fell over the group as they followed his gaze.

"Well," Alice drawled, tilting her nose up and crossing her arms over her chest. "Speak of the devil."

Daphne merely lifted a brow, expressionless. "That would imply I was being discussed."

"More like how Cassius still puts up with you," Alice sneered.

Daphne barely spared the bitch another glance. She wasn't worth her time. Instead, her attention remained on Cassius, who was watching her with unreadable eyes.

"I need to have a word with Daphne." Cassius eventually said quietly.

The others hesitated before filing into the common room, Alice lingering just long enough to shoot one last glare before disappearing inside.

And then – silence.

Tension crackled in the air, thick and suffocating, as Cassius stood across from her, his gaze hard, expectant.

"Nothing to say?" The older boy questioned with a tense jaw.

Daphne's eyes grew cold. "What is there to say?"

Cassius' eyebrow twitched.

"What did Professor Snape tell us the first time we entered this common room?" His voice was low, measured, but there was something sharp beneath it. "In any given situation, you are to stand with your fellow housemates."

Daphne remained silent.

Cassius stepped closer. "Forget the housemates," he continued, voice darkening, "who am I, Daphne?"

Her jaw clenched.

When she refused to answer, his eyes flared with something almost violent.

"Your betrothed!" He hissed, stepping into her space. "And you had the gall – the absolute audacity – to humiliate me. Me. Not just in front of our house, but in front of the entire fucking school!"

Daphne's control snapped.

"You did a fine job of humiliating yourself."

Cassius stilled.

For the first time since he had known her, Daphne wasn't retreating. She wasn't silent, wasn't indifferent.

She was angry.

His face hardened into something colder, darker.

Daphne could see the repulsive emotion the moment it entered his eyes.

"You're defending him," Cassius said, voice quiet but razor-sharp.

Daphne refused to back down. "I'm defending myself."

His lip curled. "By siding with Potter?"

She exhaled sharply through her nose, stepping forward, closing the distance between them. Let him rage. Let him burn.

"I don't answer to you, Cassius."

Cassius' hand twitched at his side, his control fraying. "You don't answer to me?" he echoed, incredulous. "Daphne, you are mine – "

Her wand was at his throat before he could even finish.

Daphne didn't know what came over her.

No…

That was a lie…

She did know. The moment that filthy, possessive claim left his lips; her body moved before her mind could catch up.

"You are not my keeper," Daphne said, voice soft, almost a whisper, but thrumming with quiet fury. "And I will never be yours. Do you understand me, Cassius?"

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then –

Pain exploded across her back as she was shoved against the wall, hard enough to steal her breath.

Daphne gasped, the stone cold against her spine, her wrist pinned above her head, her wand useless in her trapped grip. She slowly opened her eyes and despite the rage and pain that was coursing through her veins, fear reared its ugly head as she saw Cassius standing inches away, his face twisted in ugly fury.

And it was that fear in her eyes that Cassius rapidly capitalised on.

"No," he growled; voice low, dangerous. "I don't think you understand, Daphne."

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, hatred burning through the sheen of unshed tears.

"You were given to me," Cassius continued, his grip tightening. "Promised to me. You. Are. Mine. And I always get what I want."

The words felt like a curse, like chains tightening around her throat.

Then, as suddenly as he'd pinned her, Cassius let go, stepping back as if nothing had happened. His face smoothed into something eerily composed, but even a first-year could see the cracks beneath the surface, the false veneer of control.

Daphne pressed her free hand against the stone to steady herself, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"You will cease this rebellious behaviour immediately," he said, adjusting his cuffs as if they hadn't just been moments away from hexing each other. "I don't know what has come over you but we will go back to the way we were. Cool, serene – the picture-perfect couple that the school look up to and envy."

He looked at her, waiting for her to submit.

Daphne fingers curled tightly around her wand. Her skin burned where he had touched her, but it was the weight of his words that made her stomach churn.

Cool. Serene. Picture-perfect.

Like a doll on a shelf. Like something for him to own.

As if her compliance was inevitable.

Cassius smiled, slow and assured, as though he had already won. He reached into his pocket, and Daphne tensed instinctively. Even when he pulled out nothing more than an envelope, the feeling didn't abate.

"The invites to the tournament the House of Azure is hosting have finally arrived," he said smoothly. "Here, this one is yours."

He extended the letter toward her, waiting. The seconds stretched, his fingers tightening slightly when she didn't immediately move. His smile remained, but his eyes darkened with something colder, sharper.

Daphne exhaled slowly through her nose and reached for the letter – reluctantly, deliberately.

Cassius' expression softened, shifting back into something falsely benign.

"See?" he murmured. "If you just listen and do as you're told, everything falls into place. Just how it's supposed to be."

Daphne's stomach churned.

She could feel the walls closing in, the air thick and suffocating.

Cassius checked his wrist watch and sighed. "Now, I must be off. I'll see you at dinner." He took a step back, then paused.

"Oh, and ensure you wear something more conservative," He eyed her shorter than normal skirt and knee length socks with a frown. "I don't want people to get the wrong idea."

And just like that, he turned and strode away, vanishing into the common room, leaving Daphne alone in the dimly lit corridor – her fingers clenched around the letter as though it were something diseased.

The cold of the dungeons coiled around her like a spectre, but it was nothing compared to the ice settling in her veins.

Daphne forced herself to breathe, to still the trembling in her hands.

She should have expected this. Cassius had always been like this – controlling, possessive, smug in his belief that she was his by right.

But tonight, had been different.

Tonight, he had pushed her.

And for the first time, she had pushed back.

He had won this round, yes, but not without cost. She had seen it – the flicker of surprise in his eyes, the crack in his perfect composure. It was a small victory, but it was hers.

Daphne exhaled sharply, shoving the letter into her robes without sparing it another glance. Let him believe he had control. Let him revel in his delusions.

She still had time.

The betrothal bound her, yes, but its full weight wouldn't come into effect until after she graduated. Until then, she had room to manoeuvre, to scheme, to find a way out.

"Wear something more conservative…"

She sneered internally. We'll see about that.

Daphne would bide her time, chip away at his ego, pick at the cracks until he broke.

And when the moment came, she would be the one to walk away – free.

Head held high, Daphne strode past Cassius and his insufferable circle, barely acknowledging them as she ascended the stairs to her dormitory.

Daphne refused to let his presence linger in her mind any longer. Instead, she turned her thoughts to the upcoming meeting after classes today – a meeting that sent a spark of anticipation through her.

Her mood lifted, the weight of Cassius and his threats momentarily forgotten.

She didn't hear the soft creak of the common room door opening behind her.

Didn't feel the piercing gaze that latched onto her retreating figure.

Didn't catch the low, knowing chuckle that followed as those sharp blue eyes flickered toward Cassius and then back to where she had disappeared – amusement dancing at the corners of their lips.

CwD

"Class dismissed," Professor Flitwick announced, retreating to his desk as students filed out of the classroom.

He was in the middle of floating a stack of parchments onto his desk when a knock at the door drew his attention. He looked up, one eyebrow raised.

"Mr. Potter… just now remembering you had a lesson with me?"

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped inside. "Apologies, Professor. I was… preoccupied with something beforehand, and by the time I realised, it was too late."

Flitwick regarded him with a sceptical look as he perched on his seat – a stack of thick tomes boosting his height. "I never took you for the type to skip lessons, Mr. Potter."

"And I had no intention of skipping yours, Professor," Harry replied with a wince.

"Just mine?" Flitwick asked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Harry scowled but said nothing as he pulled out his roll of parchment and placed it on the pile with the others.

The Charms professor hummed knowingly. "Albus has informed me of your absence in Severus' classes."

He gestured for Harry to take a seat, which the teen did – reluctantly.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told the old man," Harry said, arms crossing over his chest. "I won't learn anything in Snape's lessons, and I'd rather not waste two hours enduring his glares and muttered insults."

"Harry," Flitwick began, his tone softer now, "Severus wasn't given the Defence position on a whim. He is a highly accomplished wizard, and his knowledge of the Dark Arts is second only to Albus'."

"You and I both know that just because someone is good at something, doesn't make them a good teacher, Filius," Harry gritted out. "Besides, why did Dumbledore even put you up to this? You knew what my answer would be already."

Flitwick chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Oh, I volunteered. Thought I'd try persuading you before Andromeda got involved."

Harry's expression faltered at the mention of his mother. "My mother knows?"

"Not yet, though Albus was considering it in case I was unsuccessful." The older man smirked.

"Fine." Harry sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "I'll think about it."

Flitwick beamed. "Excellent! I knew I could get through to you. Now, I presume you're not just here to hand in your assignment?"

Harry straightened in his chair. "What can you tell me about Cassius Warrington?"

"Cassius?" Flitwick blinked before raising his eyebrow.

"I realise I may be overstepping here, Filius."

Flitwick looked at him for a moment before he leaned back into his chair.

"Cassius is a dueling genius. One of the finest wands I believe has ever walked through these halls. His origin story however, is a bit of a surprise, I must say."

Harry's brow arched.

Flitwick nodded at the unasked question. "In his early years, he was competent but rather unremarkable in duelling. Clear-cut, efficient, but nothing extraordinary. Then, after his third year, something changed. He returned from the summer with a sharp, almost unnatural improvement. Before long, his father had him competing in small-league tournaments, and not long after that, he became a public star."

"Just like that?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"Like I said, his wandwork was always solid, but his duelling ability spiked seemingly overnight. I had the pleasure of watching him in a few tournaments – his control, precision, and sheer mastery of technique were truly remarkable. He commands magic with a refinement I've rarely seen in young duellists." He chuckled. "Reminds me a bit of myself when I was around his age, actually."

The teen hummed, drumming his fingers on the desk. "Hypothetically, Flilius – "

" – Who'd win between you and him in a duel?" Flitwick interrupted with an amused glance.

Harry gave a sheepish grin in response.

"This wouldn't happen to be related to your… confrontation with him yesterday, would it?"

"I heard you were in a staff meeting." Said Harry with raised eyebrows.

Flitwick chuckled out loud. "Hard not to hear about it when the entire student body was abuzz with the spectacle. I suspect it'll be the talk of the castle for quite some time. Severus, in particular, was most displeased to have missed it."

"I bet he was," Harry muttered sarcastically. Snape would've made his life hell the moment he so much as raised his wand – never mind holding Warrington to the same standard.

Flitwick's amusement lingered for a moment before his expression sharpened. "Cassius is a duellist, Harry. A wizard who fights with finesse, precision, and an almost theatrical grace. He's everything a future world-class duellist ought to be."

He steepled his fingers, his gaze turning even more piercing. "You, on the other hand, are a fighter. You don't duel for sport or prestige – you fight because you have to. Because you've been given no other choice."

Flitwick let that settle before continuing. "In a controlled setting, Cassius would push you to your limits. But outside of a formal duel? Where rules and etiquette mean nothing?" His voice lowered slightly. "With the sheer power you wield, and the ruthlessness you are capable of when necessary – right now, I believe Cassius wouldn't stand a chance against you."

Harry's expression didn't change, but he leaned back, a contemplative look settling over his face.

Flitwick sighed. "I told you the same thing over the summer, Harry. Your duelling technique may be unpolished, but the raw force behind your spells has carried you through. And it will continue to serve you." He hesitated, then added grimly, "But against the level of opposition you now face, power alone won't be enough. The best fighters – those who survive – don't just hit hard. They hit precisely, without wasting movement, without offering an opening. The higher you climb, the smaller the margin for error. And at this level, the smallest flaw is the difference between surviving and dying."

A tense silence followed.

Then, Harry exhaled slowly, nodding. "Believe me, I understand. My grandfather never fails to remind me whenever he overseas my training."

The Charms professor smiled as he leaned back into his chair. "As long as you are aware and you are working to correct that, then that is all that needs to be said. Now, if that's all, I do need to get ready for my next class."

Harry stood up. "Appreciate you hearing me out, Filius."

The half-Goblin's face softened. "You are always welcome, Harry."

The teen nodded with a smile before turning away but paused when he reached the door frame.

"Filius?"

Flitwick looked up from his desk. "Yes?"

Harry hesitated before speaking up.

"Warrington's father… you don't happen to know anything about him, do you?"

Flitwick tilted his head into a frown. "Can't say I do. Once thing I do know is that he didn't go to Hogwarts."

"Beauxbatons?"

"Durmstrang." The half-Goblin corrected. "It's where most Scandinavians go for their schooling."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "He's not British?"

"Cassius' father was Swedish. If I remember correctly, he took his wife's name when they married. I'm afraid to say I don't know much more. Your questions may be better served for someone like Horace. There's not a family that slips from his eyes, especially Cassius'."

Harry took a second to ponder what he was told before he smiled gratefully at the Professor. "No, thank you, Filius. I won't take up much more of your time."

He bid farewell to his once duelling instructor and walked through Hogwarts' halls, his mind deep in thought.

"Then, after his third year, something changed. He returned from the summer with a sharp, almost unnatural improvement…"

Harry frowned.

He hoped to seek some answers regarding the arrogant Seventh Year and who better than a former duelling master but he was left with more questions than answers.

Looking down at his watch, he saw the time nearing three o'clock and realised that it was almost time for another conversation.

Turning around, Harry made his way towards the Astronomy Tower, opening the large door to make his way up the stairs. Peeking through the spacious hallway of the fourth floor, he was glad he didn't spot Professor Sinistra and continued his way up until he reached the very top.

The cold chilly air greeted him prompting him to tighten his robes around his body but that was not all, it seemed his guest was also waiting for him by the terrace too.

"You're early." Harry remarked, walking up to the bannisters.

He looked across at the magnificent view of the Hogwarts ground with awe as always. The weather was murky today though it did nothing to diminish the natural beauty that was Hogwarts.

"Colour me surprised, Potter. It's not every day when a Gryffindor especially The Chosen One himself asks to speak with me." Blaise Zabini replied with a smirk.

"Yeah, yeah." Harry replied. "I'm shocked at myself too, believe me."

Blaise stared at Harry shrewdly before joining him and looking out into the view. A moment later, he shuffled his hand into his pockets, seemingly fumbling for something before pulling out a small box.

"You mind?" The dark-skinned boy asked.

Harry shook his head with raised eyebrows. "Awfully muggle of you, Zabini?"

Blaise took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips, lighting the end with a casual flick of his wand. He took a slow drag, exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the crisp air. His gaze remained distant, following the trail as it vanished into the sky.

"I don't care much for muggles but I wouldn't say their inventions are not convenient." He drawled, "Certainly, beats those archaic looking pipes. Want one?"

Harry's lips twitched with amusement. "Rather not. If I add smoking into my arsenal too, I don't think I'll ever beat the 'dark and brooding' image people seem to have of me."

Blaise snorted before shrugging. "Your loss. They do wonders to take off the edge."

"Schoolwork stressing you out, Zabini?"

The dark-skinned teen glanced at Harry from the corner of his slanted eyes before looking back out into the view. "If only." He muttered softly.

Harry decided not to pry. Instead, he leaned against the stone railing and looked out over the Hogwarts grounds, a sudden thought striking him. He let out a sharp whistle, the sound carrying through the open air.

A moment later, the steady beat of wings grew louder until Hedwig swooped up from the direction of the Owlery, landing neatly on his outstretched arm. The snowy owl preened happily under Harry's gentle strokes until a pointed throat clearing broke the quiet.

"If you've called me up here just for me to watch you play with your bird, then I'd be severely underwhelmed, Potter." Blaise said dryly.

Harry pressed his chin down gently on Hedwig's head when she settled on the banister and peered at the large mountains in the horizon.

"And what were you expecting exactly?"

Blaise's lips curled into a smirk as he took another drag. "I'd likely have been hexed by now if I had done something to offend you so the next best thing is that you need a favour. And since you're asking me, a Slytherin, I'm guessing it involves my house otherwise you would've done whatever you needed to do without me. We're hardly close enough for you to be interested in the House of Azure or my grandfather so it cant be that either."

"Slytherins," Harry muttered, shaking his head. He scratched Hedwig fondly behind the ear. "I'll see you later, girl. Off you go."

Hedwig nuzzled Harry's neck affectionately before gliding off into the sky, leaving him alone with Zabini.

"You're right," Harry admitted. "I need information on Slytherin."

Blaise sighed, vanishing the cigarette butt with a flick of his wand. "You want me to spy on my own house."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Don't be dense, Zabini. We both know things aren't the same around here since term started."

Blaise arched an eyebrow. "And you think something's festering in Slytherin?"

"Not think – I know," Harry replied, a hard glint in his eyes.

Blaise stared, unblinking. "Out with it, then."

"Fine," Harry said tightly. "I want to know who's pulling the strings in Slytherin now that my idiot cousin isn't top snake."

Blaise's expression remained carefully blank. "Why?"

Harry clenched his jaw. "We're in a war."

"You're in a war. My family is neutral."

"You think this war won't involve you just because you claim neutrality? Are you truly that naïve?" He shot back.

Blaise didn't respond, his mouth pressed into a thin line but Harry could see the gears in his eyes shifting.

"Why me?" Blaise finally asked.

Harry met his gaze. "You keep to yourself. You don't get caught up in people's business, but you're amicable with everyone – even those outside of Slytherin. Perfectly unassuming."

A brief silence stretched between them before Blaise tilted his head slightly. "And what's in it for me?"

Harry exhaled, his shoulders losing some of their tension. "A favour for a favour."

Blaise hummed, considering. Then, with a small smirk, he said, "I'll see what I can find."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. "You haven't said what you want in return yet."

"Granger."

The temperature around them seemed to drop instantly. Harry's magic stirred, a dangerous green glow flashing in his eyes.

Blaise held his hands up. "A joke. Relax."

Harry didn't, his jaw clenching as he wrestled his magic back under control.

"Seems the rumours aren't true, then," Blaise mused.

"What rumours?" Harry asked sharply.

Blaise's smirk returned. "After what happened in the Great Hall, word is that you and Granger have broken it off."

Harry blinked. "Broken what off?"

"Your relationship." Blaise arched an eyebrow. "Aren't you two together?"

Recognition flickered across Harry's face, but he masked it quickly. "No."

Blaise studied him shrewdly before shaking his head with a chuckle. "You really have changed. You used to be all over her."

Harry remained silent, his gaze drifting back toward the horizon. As of late, Hermione had become a subject he avoided, a wound that only deepened with time. In fact, he was slightly guilty to admit that his mind was filled with another female; less brunette and more blond. Way more blonde.

Blaise seemed to sense the shift in mood. "I won't pry. Not my business. Though, I won't say I'm happy about it."

Harry glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't know you were a closet fan of mine, Zabini."

Blaise sneered, though without any real venom. "You ignoring the rest of the girls who were pining after you for five years was honestly a boon for us guys." He turned, making his way toward the exit.

Harry smirked. "I'm sure." He glanced down and noticed the pack of cigarettes Blaise had left behind. "You forgot this."

"Keep it," Blaise called over his shoulder without turning around. "You look like you need something to take the edge off."

Harry shook his head, watching the Slytherin disappear through the door.

"Zabini."

Blaise paused, glancing back with an expectant look.

"And keep a close eye on Draco. He's hiding something."

Blaise studied him for a moment before nodding. "I've noticed. I'll keep in touch." Then, without another word, he was gone.

CwD

"Suppose we'll see you after dinner?" Tracey asked, her tone carrying a trace of disappointment as she and Lily glanced at Daphne.

The three of them stood just outside the Great Hall, the sounds of dinner echoing from within – clinking cutlery, low murmurs, the occasional burst of laughter.

Daphne barely registered it. Her gaze drifted past her friends and into the hall, more specifically, towards the Slytherin table.

Her sisters sat near the staff table, just the two of them, isolated from the rest of their house.

Usually when they were sat isolated like the way they were, it meant Draco was not far behind but try as Daphne might, she couldn't spot him.

Must've left early…

Her eyes then flicked further down the table.

Cassius sat at the centre of his usual crowd, his presence effortless, commanding. As expected, the seat beside him remained vacant – reserved for her, like always.

Daphne's lips curled.

"Follow me."

The blonde didn't wait for their replies, walking straight through the pair with her shoulders squared, head high, and gaze unwavering.

"Daphne? What're you doing?" Tracey questioned with a frown, trudging along after her while Lily followed in silence, watching carefully, almost knowingly at what was about to happen.

Daphne's lips barely moved as she muttered, "Something I should've done a long time ago."

Inevitably, Cassius' gaze met hers as she passed behind his group, his expression carefully blank. But his eyes told a different story – sharp, assessing, and then narrowing at what she was wearing.

Cold satisfaction thrummed through her, a wicked little thrill sparking in her chest. She almost felt like skipping in mocking glee.

Daphne had ignored his demand.

Like the one she had worn earlier in the day, her skirt barely toed the line of acceptability, shorter than what he would have preferred. She usually wore tights or stockings, but tonight, she left her legs bare – partly to piss him off, partly because she had noticed Harry staring earlier.

As if Daphne would miss Harry staring at her legs.

The blouse was new, an owl-order purchase made on a whim. Frilly, soft, fitted just enough to skim along the curves that standard Hogwarts uniforms never quite highlighted. Nothing scandalous, nothing against the dress code, but just enough to be noticed.

And judging by the brief hush that rippled across the hall, Cassius wasn't the only one who had.

Maybe it was also because she had forgone her outer robes.

Because as the quiet stretched a second too long, heads subtly turned, murmurs rose, and she knew – Cassius wasn't the only one paying attention.

Daphne wasn't vain.

But one thing was for certain. No one told her what she could and couldn't wear.

Well…

Apart from Harry.

Maybe.

Purposefully avoiding looking over towards the Gryffindor table, Daphne eventually stopped behind Fiona and Astoria, the former not noticing her until she gently threaded her fingers through her golden hair.

Fiona turned, eyes brightening instantly.

The unguarded joy in her expression made something warm curl in Daphne's chest.

"What are you doing here?" Astoria's voice cut in, sharp as ever. Fiona's happiness dimmed slightly, and Daphne had to fight the urge to berate the scowling girl.

She turned to regard her younger sister coolly, one brow arched. "It's dinner time, and I'm hungry."

Astoria's eyes flicked past her, straight to Cassius at the center of the table. He was still watching, his expression unreadable.

"Well, go on then," Astoria said, waving a dismissive hand in his direction.

Daphne smirked. "Why, thank you."

With all the grace of a queen, she slid into the empty seat beside Fiona, who practically vibrated with excitement.

Astoria gaped at her. "I meant with your betrothed! Not with us!" she hissed, careful to keep her voice low, only now realising the watchful eyes around them.

Daphne smiled, the picture of ease, and reached for a goblet. "Too late."

She sent a small wink to Fiona, who giggled, only for Astoria to shoot her a glare before turning back to her plate with a sullen expression.

Behind them, Tracey and Lily exchanged amused looks before sliding into the seats opposite the Greengrass sisters, quickly piling their plates with food and began talking quietly.

"Hey, sweetie," Daphne murmured, brushing her thumb over Fiona's rosy cheek. "Had a good day?"

"Yep!" Fiona laughed, her tired eyes crinkling with warmth.

Daphne smiled back before starting on her meal, keeping an eye on for Fiona in the process but also on Astoria too.

If she was being honest, Daphne had expected more of a fuss from Astoria. It was the first time she had chosen to sit with them instead of Cassius, and considering the tension from earlier that afternoon, she had braced herself for some kind of confrontation.

But Astoria remained silent, idly pushing her food around her plate, her expression unreadable.

Daphne nudged Fiona gently and tilted her chin in Astoria's direction. "What's with her?" she whispered.

Fiona's lips twitched, a small mischievous expression lightening her pale face as she whispered back. "L-Lovers' quarrel? D-Draco and Tori barely spoke while he was eating earlier b-but when they did, t-they didn't let me hear them though."

She clearly wasn't quiet enough.

"Fiona!" Astoria hissed; her voice sharp enough to make the little girl jump in her seat.

Daphne's gaze snapped to Astoria, sharp and warning. It was enough to make the younger Greengrass falter, if only for a second, before she turned away with a haughty huff, nibbling on a piece of broccoli as if nothing had happened.

Dinner carried on much the same. Conversation between Daphne and Fiona flowed easily, with Tracey and Lily chiming in from time to time. Astoria, however, remained silent.

Daphne didn't mind.

Not exactly.

There would be plenty more opportunities to break through that stubborn exterior.

Because for all their differences – for all the ways Astoria resented her – Daphne still cared immensely.

She had spent the latter half of the afternoon replaying her confrontation with Harry in that abandoned classroom, turning over every word, every look, every moment in her mind. His spells had hurt but his words had broken something in her. As if he had reached into her chest and carved through the brittle pieces she had spent years pretending weren't there.

She had needed to hear it.

Morgana, was it overdue.

Daphne had been living in a carefully constructed delusion, projecting an image of herself that was cool, composed, untouchable. But inside?

Inside, she was still that little girl – the one who her mother had closed her heart to and the one who's father's disdain shone through.

No warmth. No comfort. No love.

She had spent years learning to take it. To live with it. The coldness. The dismissal. The weight of being unwanted. And she had thought that was what she was meant to be.

An emotionless doll.

But Harry had seen through it. Somehow, that brilliant, wonderful man who she deserved nothing from, had pulled her out of the haze she had been drowning in for so long. And for once, she didn't want to run from it.

He was right.

She did hate herself. And there was no one she despised more.

Nothing more than a hypocrite.

She loathed Cassius for being a weak-willed man beneath all his bravado – yet wasn't she the same? Hadn't she spent her entire life letting others mould her into whatever suited them? Playing a role because it was easier than fighting for something real?

No more.

Daphne wouldn't be weak anymore. If she wanted to stand by Harry's side, she couldn't afford to be. She had to face her demons, piece by painful piece. No longer would she be a puppet. No longer would she let her father – or anyone else, for that matter – walk over her as if she didn't exist. As if she didn't feel.

She wouldn't do that to herself.

Harry had accepted her. Not a piece of her, not the version she carefully curated for the world – all of her.

And she would make damn sure he got the best version of her.

It would take time. Small steps. But she had to start somewhere.

And if there was one thing she was certain of, it was this: she would mend things with Astoria. Whether the younger girl wanted her to or not.

Because it was the right thing to do.

Astoria and Fiona were innocent. They didn't know better than to blindly accept the labels that were placed on her by their parents. Daphne couldn't and wouldn't fault them but her mother and father on the other hand… she didn't know if she had it in her heart to forgive them.

She set down her fork and folded her hands neatly in front of her, levelling a steady gaze at her sister.

"How are you, sister?"

The words were soft, but they landed like a hammer.

The tension at the table shifted instantly. Fiona stiffened, her grip tightening on her utensils, while Tracey and Lily fell silent. The former cast a wary glance between the two Greengrass sisters, as if bracing for an explosion.

Astoria, who had been cutting her chicken with far more force than necessary, went rigid. It took her a moment to realize that the conversation around her had died – that the question had been directed at her.

Her jaw clenched. She didn't look up. "None of your business."

Daphne hummed, unfazed. "You're in your O.W.L. year." Her voice remained smooth, composed. "Your workload will only increase as the year progresses. Have you prepared yourself for that? Professor McGonagall can be particularly demanding."

Astoria's fingers twitched.

Her grip tightened around her fork as she stared down at her plate, hoping that if she ignored Daphne, she'd stop talking.

"I asked you a question, Astoria."

Fiona's gaze flickered between them, wide-eyed and worried. Even Tracey looked uneasy, a faint crease forming between her brows. Only Lily remained calm, her piercing eyes fixed on the sisters, quietly observing.

"You have some nerve," Astoria whispered, venom lacing her voice as her hand shook.

"T-Tori…" Fiona whimpered, tugging at her sister's sleeve.

For a fleeting moment, Astoria's expression faltered.

She glanced at Fiona – at the worried, tearful look on her little sister's face – and inhaled sharply through her nose. She exhaled slowly, as if steadying herself, but the stiffness in her shoulders remained.

When she turned back to Daphne, her glare was scathing.

Her older sister sat there, impassive. Her expression unreadable. But there was something in her eyes – something deep, something powerful – something Astoria couldn't place.

Something Daphne had no right to possess.

"Don't you dare act like you care now."

"I've always cared," Daphne replied, her voice eerily calm.

"Liar." The word was barely more than a breath. "You know nothing about me. Nothing."

Astoria grabbed her things in a flurry of movement before standing up, as though she couldn't get away fast enough. "I'll come by your room later, Fiona. With your potions." She said as an afterthought and just like that, Astoria was gone.

"T-Tori!" Fiona called after her, voice cracking. Her emotions got the better of her, and she broke into a fit of coughs.

Daphne was already moving.

"Hey…" she soothed, pressing a cool glass of water into Fiona's hands. "It's okay, sweetie. Just breathe."

Fiona took slow, trembling sips. Her coughs subsided, but tears welled in her eyes.

"Daffy…" she mumbled, voice thick with sadness.

"None of that now," Daphne murmured sternly, wiping away Fiona's tears with gentle fingers. "Tori and I will be fine. She just needs time, okay?"

She glanced at Tracey and Lily, her gaze pleading. They understood immediately. Without hesitation, they steered the conversation in a different direction, pulling Fiona's attention away. It took some coaxing, but soon enough, Fiona's little frown began to ease.

Daphne exhaled shakily, picking up her knife and fork once more.

One step at a time.

CwD

As dinner carried on, Fiona gradually returned to her usual self, her earlier distress melting away like snow in the sun. She giggled at Tracey's antics, her shoulders shaking as the brunette animatedly recounted some ridiculous tale. Lily, ever the composed one, chimed in with stories from when they were younger, her wry humour adding to the laughter at their end of the table.

Daphne couldn't help but smile fondly at the scene.

She picked up her cup, raising it to her lips in a slow, deliberate motion. And under the guise of taking a sip, her gaze flickered toward the Gryffindor table – more specifically, to him.

Harry sat opposite Longbottom, his posture easy, relaxed. A rare sight.

Daphne studied him, taking in the slight squint of his eyes as he grinned or the way his hand moved absentmindedly over his hair as he listened. He looked… different, somehow. Lighter.

Her fingers tightened around the cup as her attention shifted.

Weasel's sister – Ginny or something – was practically pressed against him, her shoulder dangerously close to merging with his.

Daphne's lips thinned.

Her irritation simmered, bubbling just beneath the surface – until Harry suddenly chuckled at something the Bell girl had said, shaking his head in amusement.

Daphne blinked, momentarily thrown.

That was a genuine laugh. Unrestrained.

The tension in her shoulders eased. Slightly.

But as her eyes lingered on the curve of his lips, the soft crinkle at the corners of his eyes, a quiet thought whispered at the back of her mind.

It was because of her.

Daphne wanted to hope it was because of her.

She and Harry did make up after all and now he was all smiles and laughs. The sight of him made her stomach do little flip-flops.

She mentally shook her head.

Morgana, was she pathetic.

Was there anything that annoying boy could do that wouldn't make her want to shove him against the nearest wall?

As if sensing her thoughts, Harry suddenly glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

Daphne froze, cup hovering near her lips.

Slowly, deliberately, she placed it back down, fighting the warmth creeping up her neck. Then, with all the poise she could muster, she arched a questioning brow.

Harry lips twitched; his expression turning slightly smug. A playful smirk danced on his lips as he scrunched his nose at her teasingly before turning back to his teammates.

That same damn smirk still plastered on his stupid, infuriatingly attractive face.

She could hear his voice in her mind.

"Struggling to take your eyes off me, Greengrass? My, my…"

"Daphne?"

"H-Hmm?" she stammered, snapping her attention back to the conversation and ruthlessly shoving away her indignation.

"Lily asked if you've started on your Potions project yet," Tracey repeated with a frown.

"Potions…? O-Oh. Right." Daphne dabbed at her lips daintily, regaining her composure. "Potter and I are meeting in the library after dinner to begin."

She made sure to sound appropriately put out by the arrangement – though inwardly, she felt anything but.

"When did you plan that?" Lily asked, her tone curious whilst a sly smile began appearing on Tracey's face.

Daphne knowing the look, instantly shut down whatever nonsense Tracey was thinking. "Get your mind out the cauldron, Davis."

Tracey raised her hands in mock surrender. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to." The blonde responded with a sniff before turning back to Lily who was watching with amusement. "Earlier. When you two took Fiona to the infirmary, I had pulled Potter aside."

Tracey looked as if she had won the lottery.

"Did you know that Harry Potter knows who I am?" Fiona mumbled, cheeks tinged pink, a shy smile curving her lips. "He even held my hand…"

Daphne shared a look with Tracey and Lily, all three barely suppressing their grins.

Looked like Fiona – like many others – had a bit of hero worship going on.

From the corner of her eye, Daphne noticed Snape rising from his seat. At dinner, that was usually the silent cue for Slytherins to begin filtering out of the Great Hall.

She stood as well, smoothing out her skirt. "Make sure she gets back in one piece, would you?" she murmured to Tracey and Lily.

"Can't," Lily huffed, clicking her tongue with irritation. "Prefect meeting. That insufferable cretin, Carmichael, wants to go over schedules with everyone again because some clueless Gryffindor ponce forgot where he was supposed to be."

Daphne shot her a disapproving look for the language, to which Lily only rolled her eyes.

Tracey, meanwhile, grinned down at a wide-eyed Fiona. "Looks like it's just you and me, blondie."

Daphne sighed, much to Tracey's mock indignation. "Try not to let her get caught up in your shenanigans."

Tracey gasped, clutching her chest theatrically. "The audacity!"

Fiona giggled, then turned back to Daphne with a beaming smile before throwing her arms around her in a tight hug. "See you later?" came the muffled question against her robes.

Daphne hugged her back, her heart swelling as she ran her fingers through Fiona's hair. "Of course, sweetie."

As the pair left, Tracey shot Daphne a pointed look, the meaning crystal clear.

You better tell me every detail about your meeting with Harry.

She could groan.

Lily lingered just long enough to throw over her shoulder, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Greenie," in a sing-song voice before strolling off.

Daphne scowled at her retreating back. Sometimes she wished she remained friendless.

Shaking her head, Daphne made her way towards the library – but not before taking a small detour to the girls' lavatory.

Of course, she had to make sure she looked presentable.

That was non-negotiable.

She was Daphne Greengrass! It certainly wasn't for Harry's benefit whatsoever…

By the time she entered the library, Madam Prince flicked her a sharp glance before relaxing, giving her a small nod of acknowledgment.

The two had an amicable understanding.

Daphne never caused disruptions – not even a whisper of sound – and that was heaven to the strict librarian. Naturally, that made her one of the few students Ms Prince actually tolerated and allowed certain concessions to.

Selecting a table that could seat four, Daphne settled in.

It was positioned just right – not too secluded to seem suspicious but tucked away enough to ensure their privacy.

And now, she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Daphne Greengrass did not wait on people. It simply wasn't done.

She crossed one leg over the other, exhaled sharply through her nose, and glared at the empty chair across from her. As if sheer force of would summon Harry bloody Potter into existence.

But the chair remained unoccupied. The library remained quiet. And the seconds dragged on, slow and mocking.

Technically, she hadn't told him exactly when to meet. But she had implied – no, expected – he would have the decency to show up promptly.

The warm feeling she'd had at dinner, that little flutter in her stomach when she saw him laughing, had long since fizzled out.

Now, there was only a gnawing, twisting irritation creeping into her chest.

Her fingers tapped against the table. Then curled into her lap. Then twisted a lock of her hair. Then – Morgana, was she biting her lip?

This was getting pathetic.

Surely ten minutes have passed?

With a flick of her wand, she murmured, "Tempus."

Two minutes.

Daphne shut her eyes, inhaled through her nose, and counted to three.

He would come.

She sat up straight in her chair.

He better come or she'd hex him into next week.

She needed a distraction. Something – anything.

Daphne hesitated momentarily. Glancing around to make sure she was alone, she reached into her bag and slipped out a book.

Moonlight Surrender: The Duke's Forbidden Desire.

Daphne couldn't help but grimace at the title.

She had definitely not stolen it from Tracey's trunk. And she was absolutely not reading a ridiculous romance novel featuring a brooding, tragic Duke and a stubborn woman who swore she'd never fall for him.

Except she was.

She grumbled inwardly.

Daphne would rather die than let anyone found out that she sort of, kind of, enjoyed reading this rubbish.

She flipped to where she had left off.

Chapter 7: Rendezvous.

The thick of night, they were to meet under the eyes of their only watcher.

The moon cast silvered shadows upon the clearing, bathing the trembling leaves in a ghostly glow. Elizabeth sat against the large oak tree, her fingers curling into the fabric of her gown as the wind whispered through the branches above.

Elizabeth had told herself she would not come but he finally wanted to talk. She didn't know what good that would do… all they had done was argue for the past week.

Her breath caught as she heard the steady, deliberate crunch of boots against the grass.

The duke.

Elizabeth dared not move as he stepped into the moonlight, his broad shoulders casting long shadows against the trees, his face hidden.

"Yes?" Despite herself, her voice was sharp. "Why have you called upon me?"

The duke remained quiet.

The space between them crackled. The air thickened, weighted with all that had been left unsaid between them.

And then suddenly, the duke surged forward like a man possessed, claiming her lips roughly, unrepentantly, passionately.

Elizabeth gasped against him, her body arching instinctively into his embrace as his hands roamed, possessive and demanding. Heat coiled in her belly, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

No…

She couldn't let him win. Couldn't let him take control.

Her mind, clouded with lust, fought for dominance. Her fingers trailed down his chest, their tongues locked in a searing duel, as she reached for the band of his waist.

Lower.

Further.

Without hesitation, she flung her hand down blindly –

Her knees buckled as she grasped his –

–

"Hey."

Daphne nearly leapt out of her skin as a warm breath ghosted over her neck.

Her fingers fumbled, snapping the book shut with a violent thud as she whirled around – only to come face-to-face with Harry bloody Potter.

The sharp green of his eyes practically danced with amusement. His grin stretched wide, unapologetic.

"Nice book you got there."

Absolute glee. He was radiating it.

Yup.

That was it.

Daphne wanted to die.

CwD