Author's Note: Well, this is my first fanfiction in the HP universe, and my second altogether, so I'm not entirely sure how to proceed, other than give you a full summary.
In this fanfiction, like oh-so many more out there, Harry becomes a little more proactive in the fight against Voldemort and takes his destiny into his own hands, unknowingly screwing shit up for canon plotlines. Set in the summer after fourth year, and all that good stuff. Pairing is Harry/Daphne Greengrass, as the title implies. Maybe other smaller pairings as the story flows along, but everything takes a back-burner to the main pairing.
Warnings: There will be swearing up the wazoo later on, and controlled substance use/abuse as well. Nothing explicit, but it's not for little children who'll ask, "Mommy, why's Harry acting like a doofus after he drank that bottle of brown stuff?
Disclaimer: Nope, I'm not J.K. Rowling. I don't own the Harry Potter franchise.
Chapter 1: There's No Place Like Home...Unless You're Harry Potter
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, universal transportation for all magical persons of Great Britain." Harry tossed a bag of ten sickles into the young man's hand. His name was Stan or something, but Harry couldn't be completely sure.
"Get me to Diagon Alley. Now," Harry said, neither noticing nor caring that Stan was staring open-mouthed at him. Or, to be more precise, his scar. The elderly bus driver put the lumbering triple-decker into gear and it shot off.
Harry Potter was having a bad summer, and it was only his second week back to Little Whinging. He'd been revisiting the fateful graveyard in Little Hangleton every night since Voldemort's return, and he was getting bloody well sick of it.
Since his discovery of the bus he was riding on two years ago, Harry had made about three unsanctioned trips to Diagon Alley, and today's little trip was no different, except for the intent. Two weeks ago, he'd returned to 4 Privet Drive, and he hadn't had a peaceful moment in all that time.
Dursley the Angry had decided that his young ward looked a bit scrawny (of course it had nothing to do with the lack of food or the fact that he lived in a cupboard for the first ten years of his life, Harry thought bitterly), and his home needed a few touch-ups, as he'd called it. Therefore, Vernon had contracted his nephew for the remodeling of his garden, front and back lawns, the repainting of the exterior of his house and garage, the re-shingling of his roof, and general upkeep of the Dursley home. Petunia still cleaned the inside, but everything else was Harry's responsibility.
Although, Harry mused as he sat quietly in the bus, the hard labor had actually had the desired effect upon his body. He wasn't buff, not by a long shot, but there were muscles there, honed not only from the lawn-keeping, but from his Quidditch training as well. Not many people knew how difficult it was to perform a sloth roll at just under a hundred miles an hour and not go flying off thanks to everyone's two best friends, centrifugal force and gravity.
As the Knight Bus flew across the United Kingdom, Harry reviewed his reasons for going to Diagon Alley. First and foremost, he needed to buy a stock of Dreamless Sleep to get him through the rest of the summer. He'd already read up on the potion and was glad that it didn't come with the possible addiction that Pain and Numbing Potions had.
His duel in the graveyard with old Slither Face had impressed upon him just how weak he was compared to the Dark so-called Lord. Hell, if it hadn't been for the brother wand phenomenon, he'd probably be just so much distasteful goop right now. Thus came his second reason, which was to get as many books that he could that would even remotely help to stave off the idiot Voldemort, since he would more likely than not come after Harry again, for whatever inexplicable reason the Dark Dork had come up with.
And then, Harry glanced down at his clothes, which brought to mind his final reason for his little jaunt to London: he needed a new wardrobe, and not just magical, either. His last set of robes were getting a bit too tight around the shoulders for his liking, and he felt that as the savior of Wizarding Britain, he needed to look a bit better. He always felt so ridiculous when he took his usual walks through Little Whinging wearing clothes that were almost twice his size and looking like they could do with a good sewing. At the moment, he was wearing his least-degrading pair of ripped and faded blue jeans, which he still needed a belt to hold up, and an ugly yellowish t-shirt with some football team's logo stamped on the front.
As he contemplated his journey, he noticed an extremely pretty young witch whom he vaguely recalled as being in Slytherin and in the same year as he was. Something Greengrass was her name, he thought. Her dark hair fell like a curtain of jet down her shoulders, and her silvery eyes were scanning through a book in her lap. There was a pair of reading glasses perched on her slim nose, and every now and then, her small mouth would curve upward, presumably at what she was reading.
She was on the bus alone, just like he was, and Harry tried to think back but couldn't recall anything else about her, except that she didn't hang with that ponce of a ferret, Malfoy. Definite plus for Greengrass. Among the other three Houses, she and her friend Davis were known as somewhat odd for the simple fact that they were the about the only two Slytherins in the whole bunch that weren't 'purebloods.'
Everyone knew Davis' story, a cute little Death Muncher daytime soap that involved a reluctant Voldie servant who was ordered to kill a Muggleborn witch, but got cold feet, hid her, and in the process, fell in love with her. After Moldyvort was banished by his own death magic, said Death Eater was able to legally wed his Muggleborn lover, get a slap on the wrist from the law and raise their misbegotten love child legitimately, thus the origins of Tracey Davis.
For Greengrass, however, Harry could remember nothing of what he'd been told about her. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the girl glance up at him, recognition seeping into her expression in seconds. He also didn't see her close her book, remove her glasses, and get up to sit down next to him.
It was only when she spoke up did he take notice of her. "You look lost in thought, Potter. Should I send a search party?" Harry was startled out of his train of thought and he looked at her in bewilderment.
"Oh, um, hello Greengrass," he managed to reply lamely. "It...uh...is Greengrass, right?" he added, horrified that he'd had a case of mistaken identity.
"Yes, it is," the girl said. "Daphne Greengrass, to be more precise." There it was, Harry thought with relief. Her first name was Daphne. He knew it was something with either a D or a V, and he didn't want to make an idiot out of himself.
"So, er-" Harry cast about for a common topic, but he was drawing up a major blank. "I'm sorry, but why exactly are you talking to me?"
Daphne's lips quirked up into a wry grin. "Right. Slytherins don't talk to Gryffindors at school, much less in random settings such as the Knight Bus. It's fine, just forget about it." She made to stand up, but Harry grabbed her robe's sleeve.
"No, it's not that," Harry said. "I'm just, well, surprised. I'm not even sure we've ever spoken to each other once. Here, let's start over," he held out his hand. "I'm Harry James Potter, also known as the Boy-Who-Lived. Pleased to meet you."
The wry grin turned into a rather charming smile as she took his larger hand and shook it, saying, "The pleasure's all mine, Boy-Whose-Name-Has-Too-Many-Hyphens. Daphne Aria Greengrass, at your service."
"Well, now that that's taken care of," Harry said, "what brings you to the Knight Bus today?"
"I wanted to get my school supplies today," Daphne answered, then her face soured slightly. "That is, if the goblins don't rip me off like last year."
"Why would they rip you off?" Harry asked, flabbergasted. "They're always pretty decent with me. At least as far as goblins can be to a wand-holder," he tacked on.
"Of course they would," Daphne snorted. "You're the heir to the Potter fortunes. There's more gold in your vaults than even the Malfoys have!"
"But that doesn't answer my original question," pointed out Harry, while stashing that particular nugget of information away for a later time. Daphne glanced at him sidelong through a dark curtain of hair. She looked, if anything, rather embarrassed, and he realized that she was acting a bit like Ron when it came to the discussion of any monetary subject.
He fit the pieces together with a small 'oh' of understanding. "You're poor." It was a statement, not a question. Daphne returned his stare defiantly.
"So?" she shot back, immediately going on the defensive. "What of it? Just because you've got galleons shooting from your arse doesn't mean you can make fun of me!" She pulled a bag from behind her and showed him its contents: a few gold necklaces and some rings with precious jewels set into them. "My mother is selling her family jewels to-"
Harry tentatively put a hand on her shoulder to silence her. Gently, he said, "I wasn't making fun, Daphne. You know my mate Ron Weasley, right?" She nodded slowly. "He's much in the same position you are, 'cept he's got three other siblings their family has to put through school. I've offered to help, but they're too stubborn. I can offer you the same."
"I'm not some charity case, Potter," she growled, but there was uncertainty in her eyes as she glared at him.
"Listen," Harry said. "I spent my first few years of life in Hell. I would've given anything, anything just to have someone say, 'do you nee some help?' I would've killed to have a friend just help out and do something about it. When I found out that I was magical, the whole Potter vaults came up, and now I've got so much money, I don't know what to do with it all. I'm not going to think any less of you because of your position, financially or otherwise. I'm just trying to help out somebody who looks like she needs it."
Daphne stared at him, gobsmacked. Harry actually left her speechless! "Look, today, I'm going to be getting some books and potions and clothes. If you want, you could come along."
The Slytherin girl scrutinized him for a long moment, then slumps back into her seat, eyes staring up at the ceiling. "You know," she said after awhile, eyes still cast upward, "that ponce Draco is always calling you 'Harry Goody-Two-Shoes Potter.'" She turned her head sideways so that she was looking at him and gave him an uncertain smile. "I think he may be onto something."
Two hours later found the pair in Flourish and Blotts. Harry was perusing the titles of books in the Transfiguration section, while Daphne searched for her course texts. After withdrawing a sizable amount of galleons and having roughly a quarter of it converted to Muggle pound notes, they had visited the apothecary, where Harry had purchased a two-month supply of Dreamless Sleep (Daphne had raised a questioning eyebrow at this but held her tongue), along with potions ingredients for the both of them.
Next, they'd traveled onto Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions for Harry and, at his demand, Daphne some new robes. He remembered last year, during which he'd noticed that her robes had been a bit tight-looking, and had just mentioned it to her before realizing how much of a perv he sounded.
When he'd said this, Daphne smirked playfully and replied, "Why, Mr. Potter, I had no idea you've been checking me out at school." Harry's face had been crimson for at least ten minutes.
Now, as they headed out of the bookstore, Harry put what had been on his mind for a while into words. "So Daphne, tell me. You, along with everyone else in the Wizarding World, knows my story. What's yours?"
"Not much to tell," said the girl. "Mum was a pureblood, dad was a Muggle. A few months after I was born, Mum's family came and killed Dad. End of story."
She looked over and saw that Harry's face was nebulous with anger and sadness. "Fucking purebloods," he muttered softly, eyes on the cobbled street they walked on. "Them and their half-breed master have ruined so many lives."
"Half-breed master?" Daphne asked blankly.
Harry looked up and grinned slightly. "Oh, yeah. Forgot that it wasn't common knowledge that Voldemort's dad was a Muggle. So much for blood superiority, huh?" Despite the shudder that went through Daphne's slender frame at the Dark Lord's name, she laughed.
"Well, don't that beat all," she said.
"I'm sorry about your father," Harry said quietly. Daphne glanced at the savior of the Wizarding World to find him studying the cobblestones again and had to shake off her surprise once more. She'd always wanted to know what the real Harry Potter was like, but she'd never expected this pensive young man.
"It's not your fault," Daphne answered finally. Deciding to lighten the conversation, she said, "So I've always wondered about something."
They had made their way through the Leaky Cauldron, and were now in Muggle London on Charing Cross Road, while Daphne hadn't even noticed the change.
"Wondered about what?" Harry asked.
"Remember all those attacks in second year?" Harry nodded. "Well, what really happened? Tracey came running into the common room one day near the end of term screaming and shouting that you'd gone and killed a basilisk with your bare hands."
Harry chuckled along with her. "Too much of an over-exaggeration. I did it with a sword. Filthy snake almost did me in too. It was coming down, ready to bite me, and I just put my arm up. Either extreme luck on my part or extreme stupidity on the basilisk's made it fall right onto Gryffindor's sword, but its bloody fangs were so big that it got me in the arm. Lucky that Fawkes-that's Dumbledore's phoenix, mind-was there, else I wouldn't be."
Still laughing, he only noticed that Daphne had stopped after a few steps. He turned back to see her staring at him, open-mouthed and in complete shock.
"Maybe I should've saved that story for another time," Harry decided, going back and pulling her along to a Muggle clothing store.
By the time the sun had set, the two had become fast friends. The night traffic in London was beginning to thin, so Harry stuck out his wand and leapt back hurriedly so as not to get run down by Ern the bus driver.
Stan helped Harry with his Muggle purchases, since his magical ones were shrunken and stowed safely in his pocket, and the two new friends sat down behind the driver's seat again.
They spent the commute talking of more trivial things until, finally, the Knight Bus stopped off at the corner of Magnolia and Privet. Harry pulled out the bags belonging to Daphne and her sister from his pocket, picked up his own Muggle ones, and turned to the Slytherin girl.
"Well," he said, holding out a hand. "It was an extreme pleasure to meet you, Ms. Greengrass." When she took his hand, he felt a bold urge and raised it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on the back of her hand. "I'm glad I got the opportunity."
"Look for an owl in the next few days," Daphne answered after him as he stepped off the bus. "Talk to you later."
The doors closed, and the bus shot off with a bang, leaving Harry coughing in a cloud of bright purple smoke.
"BOOOOOOYYYYYY!" Harry winced. If he could hear Uncle Vernon from four houses away, he must be in a fair amount of trouble. Sighing resignedly, the savior of the magical world trudged up the street to face the wrath of his uncle.
