Chapter 2: Changes and Regrets

Daphne woke the next morning with an odd pounding in her head. She barely had time to recognize her surroundings—why was she in her secret room again?—before she bolted for the fountain and threw up. Once she'd finished vomiting, did she look around the room again. Weasley was asleep on the bench, wearing his dark red dress robes. That's right, she gone with Weasley to the Yule Ball. No, Ron.

Daphne sat back, wincing as she put pressure on her ankle. Come to think of it, her thighs were rather sore, as well. She glanced down at her dress, and sighed. Wrinkled

The headache returned with a vengeance, and she groaned. This felt like what her Uncle had described as a hangover—had someone spiked the punch? That would explain the strength of the drinks.

She turned her attention to her memories of the previous night. She'd shown Ron the fountain room after she'd figured out something about Sirius Black—she'd remember what it was later—and then she'd kissed him. She'd only meant to give him a short kiss, but then—

Daphne felt her face burn. She hadn't meant to, but it had felt so perfect at the time, and then—

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. She paled.

She crawled over to him and shook him. He groaned and turned over. That caused him to fall off the bench, and he hit the ground with a thud and a curse. He sat up, rubbing his shoulder, and then his forehead. "What happened?"

Before Daphne could answer, he lurched, and vomited onto the floor. He wiped his mouth with his robe, and then looked down at it sadly.

"Ron," Daphne started, "last night…"

He looked up, and for a moment, with bed hair and his face spouting drool and vomit, Daphne regretted that this was the boy who'd taken her virginity. He frowned. "Wait, last night, we—we did that, didn't we?"

Daphne nodded, and then held back a sob. She'd imagined her perfect wedding night for so long—and now that vision was in shambles, thanks to some alcohol and a good date.

"Daphne—Greengrass, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…you know…" Ron trailed off, looking down.

"I didn't either. But it happened." Daphne felt a trail of wetness trace down her cheek, and she wiped the tear away.

"So what happens now?" Ron asked.

Daphne thought a moment. "We go back to our dorms, and pretend this never happened. If anyone asks where we were last night, just say that I fell asleep on you, and that you stayed to watch over me."

"It's not that far off from what happened," said Ron. "And then…?"

"You keep looking at me like I have a plan," said Daphne, snapping at him. "I don't. I didn't plan any of this."

Ron scooted over and wrapped his arms around her hesitantly. "You're right. I'm sorry." Daphne leaned into the embrace, just to feel comforted, if only for a moment. She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. After a moment, Ron withdrew, and said, "We should talk in a few days, once we've thought this through."

Daphne nodded. "We can talk here. Wednesday morning?"

"Ok." Ron stood up and offered her his hand. She took it, ignoring her sore ankle. He offered her an awkward smile, and turned to leave.

"Ron." He turned back. "Despite how it ended, I had a good time last night. Thanks for taking me to the ball."

"It was my pleasure." He had a real smile now, and she returned it. Then he left, and Daphne was alone with her thoughts. She sat back down on the bench, and let the tears come.


Ron exited the secret room, only to find Harry and Hermione standing outside the door, looking at the tapestry. "What're you guys doing?" he asked.

"We came looking for you when Harry realized you didn't come back to the dorm last night," said Hermione. "We've been trying to get past this tapestry for at least ten minutes."

Ron considered telling them how to get into the room, and decided against it. "Daphne showed me the room last night." He stretched, yawning, and set off down the hallway. "I need to wash up. Harry, how was your date last night? I didn't see you after you sat down with us."

"It went alright, I guess," said Harry. "Parvati kept me on the dance floor too long, and by then you'd left, so we went to bed shortly after."

"You at least escorted her back, right?"

Harry nodded, but before he could say anything, Hermione came up alongside them and said, "Don't think you can change the subject, Ron. Tell us what happened."

"Well, Daphne fell asleep, and I didn't want to leave her, so I stayed, and fell asleep myself."

Hermione didn't look entirely convinced, so Ron asked, "Have you two had breakfast yet?"

"No," said Harry.

"Then I'll meet you in the Great Hall once I'm finished washing up." And Ron strode forward, leaving his friends behind.

He got a few strange looks as he walked through the common room, but fortunately his brothers weren't around to pester him as he climbed into the shower. As he let the hot water run down his body, he couldn't help but think of Daphne. She'd summed up his feelings earlier—he'd had a good evening, up until—well.

It wasn't that it had been bad—it was the stigma. Ron hadn't been planning on doing anything of the sort until he was older—preferably when he was married. And he thought Daphne felt the same. If they'd kept to an intense snogging session, they'd have both been embarrassed, but since they'd gone a step further, it added a layer of complication.

In some ways, Ron was glad they wouldn't talk for a few days. He had too many conflicting emotions to sort through, but perhaps the biggest feeling of all was the desire to be with her more. Somehow, he'd gotten her to smile, and that excited him.

Of course, it all could be physical attraction. Daphne was very beautiful, and he'd only spent one night with her. But he couldn't help but want there to be more. And that surprised him. He had gone into the evening trying to forget that she was a Slytherin, and sometime during dinner, he had.

Ron stepped out of the shower, dried himself quickly, and rushed to breakfast. Harry and Hermione would be waiting, and he knew they'd have more questions for , the Great Hall had returned to its usual organization, so Ron plopped down next to Harry at the Gryffindor table, piling his plate with muffins. Hermione had already finished her oatmeal and whatever had left crumbs on her plate—toast crumbs, looked like—but Harry was still eating a banana.

Before either of them could say a word, Ron said, "How was the party after I left?"

"Didn't stay much longer, really," said Harry. "Though we did sit down and Krum and Hermione came and talked with us."

"Was that at a different table? Cause we stopped by ours for a minute before leaving."

Harry shook his head. "Must've been after you left. He asked if we had to fight a troll before becoming friends with Hermione."

"That was a petty thing to do, saying that he'd have to fight something to gain my friendship," said Hermione, looking at him crossly.

"I never said that," protested Ron, pausing mid-bite.

"You implied it." Her glare didn't lessen.

"Well, maybe, but it was funny." He turned to Harry and said, "He had to claim the dragon fight as grounds for the friendship."

That caused Harry to chuckle, and Hermione exclaimed, "Not you too!"

Ron took another bite of his muffin, and Hermione faced him. "More importantly," she said, "We need to talk about you almost giving away Snuffles."

Ron swallowed. "Honestly, I didn't mean to bring him up. It just sort of slipped out."

"Did she figure anything out?" asked Harry.

His thoughts racing, he tried to see if he could answer without lying. No, better to tell the truth. "She asked about my robes earlier, and then there was his advice, so yeah, she did."

"Ron, you know how important it is to keep secret," Hermione hissed. Harry was looking at him, disappointed.

"I know, I know," said Ron, trying not to get angry. "I'll be more careful."

"She's not going to say anything, is she?" asked Harry.

"She said she wouldn't," answered Ron. "I did tell her that he'd been framed."

"You didn't say where he was, did you?" asked Hermione.

Ron shook his head, and then wished he hadn't, as his headache came back.

"You alright?" asked Harry.

"Headache," said Ron. "D'you think someone spiked the punch last night?"

"Dunno," said Harry. "I didn't have much to drink last night."

Hermione pinked a little, though. "Something happen last night, Hermione?" asked Ron.

"N-no, nothing happened," she said firmly.

"No?" said Ron. "Not even a little smooch between you and Victor?"

Now she was bright pink. "Nothing of the sort happened."

Ron leaned over to Harry. "Sounds like she got a good snogging session in."

Hermione stood. "Ronald Weasley!" Her expression changed from outraged to smug. "I suppose you were up to nothing with Greengrass in that room."

"We had a very nice kiss," said Ron, as straight-faced as he could.

"Was I the only one who didn't get a kiss last night?" lamented Harry.

Ron leaned over again. "To be fair, mate—you didn't really deserve one."

Harry sighed glumly. "Yeah, I guess."

Ron took the chance to take another bite from his muffin, only to see Daphne come in the Great Hall. She met his eyes, and then Ron looked away. She'd cleaned herself up, and had her typical stone-cold expression on her face.

However she was presenting herself, he hoped she was okay.


Daphne was not okay. She'd had a good cry in the fountain room, and that had helped, but now she just felt empty. As she entered the Great Hall, she saw Ron, Potter, and Granger sitting at the Gryffindor table. She met Ron's eyes, but he quickly looked away.

She sat down and tried to push any and all thoughts having to do with Ron out of her head, instead, focusing on her breakfast. Two sausages, two pancakes, a slice of bacon, and a scoop of scrambled eggs found their way onto her plate, and she started picking at them with her fork.

Then Tracey's voice carried through the Great Hall, saying, "—already checked the Great Hall. I think—Daphne!"

Daphne looked over to see Tracey and Nott standing at the entrance of the Great Hall. Tracey hurried over, worried, while Nott followed along at a more leisurely pace, a tired expression on his face. As Tracey sat down next to her, she said, "Daphne! Where have you been? I've been looking for you for at least an hour!"

"Around," she said, taking another small bite of egg. It was starting to get cold, but Daphne didn't feel like putting in the effort to cast a warming charm.

Tracey lowered her voice. "You didn't come back to the dorm last night. Weasley didn't try anything, did he?"

Well, he hadn't done anything she hadn't led him to do. "He wouldn't be sitting there if he had," she said neutrally.

Tracey didn't look so sure. "Where is around, anyway?"

"He showed me to a secluded spot. It was rather romantic, actually." Daphne had better plausible deniability if it was Ron who took her to the fountain room—she'd never mentioned it to Tracey before, and she wouldn't go into more detail now.

"Weasley? Romantic?" Tracey looked back between Ron and her, as if to say, really?

"You didn't come talk to me last night, so you didn't see his killer moves." Technically, Potter had done the killing—Ron had just described it. His sister too, she supposed. Though he hadn't made any major missteps, other than when he had stepped on her sore ankle.

"From what I saw last night," said Nott, introducing himself into the conversation, "Weasley seemed like a decent dancer."

"He was better with his words," said Daphne, taking a bite out of her sausage. "Like when he told a story about how he was so scared of a spider he escaped in a flying car. Very heroic."

"Daphne, are you alright?"

Daphne considered that for a moment. Then she shoved aside her plate, and said, "I'm not hungry."

As she stood up, she saw Tracey give Nott a concerned look, but she didn't really care. "If you need someone to talk to, I'm here," said Tracey.

"I'm fine, Tracey."

And she left the table before she could cry again.


The next two days dragged on, and Ron could hardly wait for Wednesday to come. His friends noticed his impatience, and Hermione commented, "You know, Ron, you seem a little—too…attached. For one date, at least."

"You've only been on one date with Krum," Ron said in return. That quieted her verbal concerns, but Ron could see bother her and Harry sharing quiet glances when they thought he wasn't looking.

He occupied himself by getting his holiday homework done, which Hermione actually approved of. It helped to crush his restless spirit.

The only other conversation of note was with George. It was after lunch on Monday, and he managed to sit next to him. "Oi, George."

"Hm? What can I do for you, o brother of mine?"

"Just wanted to know—did you spike the punch?"

George shook his head. "If we had spiked the punch, there would have been very different symptoms. But I've heard through the grapevine that there were at least three attempts to spike it. For what I heard, some batches were affected more than others. "

Now assured that his decisions (and Daphne's) had been more than influenced by alcohol, Ron was left wondering what to do with that information. Oh, the only reason you had sex was because you were too drunk to consider otherwise. It didn't feel genuine, even if it was true.

Finally, Wednesday came, and as Ron woke up, he realized he hadn't set a time to meet her at, so he rushed through his morning routine and headed off to the fountain room. He stroked the unicorn's mane, and he was let in to find that Daphne wasn't there yet. That left him alone with his thoughts.

He'd played out what their conversation would look like in his head constantly, and now that the conversation was impending, none of the scenarios he'd thought of seemed to fit. How should he greet her? Were hugs okay, since she'd accepted the one he'd given her the morning after?

Before he had too much to doubt himself, the door opened, and Daphne walked in. She hadn't done up her hair, and was just wearing casual clothing. "Hey," said Ron, standing to greet her.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He couldn't manage better than 'hey'?

"Hey," Daphne said back. There was a short pause, and Ron began to feel the weight of the situation fall on him. The pit he'd felt before this had all happened? It was back, and with a vengeance.

"D'you want to sit down?" Ron asked.

"I suppose it's better than standing," said Daphne, and she sat down with him. After another long moment—Ron could feel the pit in his stomach pull on him another six feet. "I—" "Daphne—"

"Were you going—" "I thought you were—"

They both stopped, and if the context had been less serious, Ron might have laughed. "You go first," said Ron, finally.

"All I was going to say was that I had no idea where to start."

"Me either." Ron looked at his shoes, and hated once again how beaten up they were, compared to the elegant flats Daphne wore. "What do you think you need to tell me?"

Daphne let out a long breath, and seemed to fold up in on herself, like a turtle, and Ron resisted the urge to put his arms around her. "I only ever accepted the date to see if you made you look bad."

The words hit like a gut punch. "I only asked because of a bet."

Daphne started laughing, but Ron could see the tears in her eyes. "We're both fools, then." She wiped her eyes. "I thought I'd be getting a bad date with poor manners, and I kept a running tally of when you did something wrong or when you did something right. And then you kept getting points in the right column, and you told those stories, and it was like you were a different person. Then I figured out your connection to Black, and felt like I had to make it up to you."

"Why?" Ron asked, his voice almost croaking.

"Because…because it was an important secret—one you shouldn't've shared. The kind of secret Dumbledore should know, not me."

"He knows."

Daphne nodded. "I thought as much. And when we were in here, it felt like the perfect moment, and—and…I wanted to see what it was like, kissing someone."

Daphne's voice softened, and broke. "And then…and then I gave myself to you, and—" Tears streamed down Daphne's face, and Ron couldn't stop himself any longer, and wrapped her in a hug.

Daphne pushed back and shrieked, "Don't touch me!"

Ron recoiled, the pit in his stomach cracking and twisting. "Daphne, I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't think you can take advantage of me, Weasley!" she snapped.

"I—Never," said Ron.

"Never?" Daphne stood up. "Then what would you call that night?"

"Now hold on a moment—"

"No, I won't!" Daphne's face was red and splotched, her eyes a cold blue. "Did you think I wanted this? Any of this? I thought—I thought, after hearing your stories, that maybe—maybe you'd actually be a Gryffindor I could respect!"

The pit in his stomach shattered, and Ron roared with fury, "Like I'm the only one to blame! You were the one who took us here! You were the one who kissed me! You were the one who pulled up my robes! You—!"

And then he saw the fear in her eyes. The tear stains on her cheeks. The way her fingers trembled. Ron bowed his head. "You were the one who wanted to know me. You were the only who said that I was brave, and loyal, and that I could stand out by being me. Me! Ronald Weasley! You—your smile, it…I—I'm sorry Daphne. I shouldn't've shouted. I shouldn't've let things go too far. Maybe I shouldn't've have even asked you."

"Don't say that," said Daphne. "Don't you dare say that. Just because we went to far doesn't me we shouldn't have tried."

"What does that make us now, then?" asked Ron.

"I still don't know."

"Is there any chance that what we had that night continues?" Daphne looked up at him, and he quickly added, "Not the sex part."

"I…I want to say yes. But I can't. Not yet."

"I'll wait for you, then," said Ron. "Next Hogsmeade weekend—tell me before then."

"…Alright."

Sensing that the conversation was about over, Ron started to leave. But Daphne grabbed his elbow. "Ron, whatever happens, I won't forget you."

Ron's throat dried up. "Me neither, Daphne." And he walked out the door.


Daphne watched Ron leave the fountain room for the second time, and felt a longing to go with him. Shaking her head, she sat back down on the bench. She'd gone into the meeting ready to rebuff him, to tell him that she wanted nothing more to do with him—but she couldn't do it. Couldn't tell him that 'they' would never become a thing.

And now she had three weeks to consider if she wanted any possibility of 'they' to happen. On one hand, it reassured her. She didn't have to make a decision now. On the other, it scared her. Ron had awakened feelings she'd repressed for years. She wasn't called the Ice Queen for nothing, and Ron just barreled over her mask. That terrified her.

It terrified her because she wanted more.

Daphne sat on the bench for another fifteen minutes, and just watched the fountain trickle, the soft sounds of running water helping to soothe her excess thoughts. Once again, this room was helping to calm her down. She'd found it two days after she'd learned that her mum had come down with a severe case of Dragon Pox, and she'd had a good cry. She'd come every day for two months, until she got word that her mum was on the up and over.

Nowadays, she came by once or twice a month to relax, when Malfoy or Parkinson were particularly vicious, or she did poor on an assignment, or had a row with Tracey. Then she'd shown Ron the room, and her feelings about the place got all the more complicated.

Daphne stood up—it was better if she didn't linger. Tracey would want to know all about her meeting.

Her friend was in the library, reading the latest Witch Weekly, and when Daphne approached, Tracey looked up, and her eyes lit up with curiosity. "How'd it go?"

"Fine," said Daphne, sitting across from her. "He asked me to Hogsmeade."

"And?" Tracey asked.

"I said I'd think about it." Daphne rested her cheek against her hand. "I'm in two minds about it."

"I think you should turn him down," said Tracey.

"Why?"

"Well, you're clearly not good for each other. I mean, he's a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake." Tracey put her hand on Daphne's. "He's loud, rude, and runs away from spiders, apparently."

"Swarm of acromantulas, actually, but continue. Tell me all about the misconceptions I had about Weasley before I went on the date."

"Acromantulas? You said spiders," said Tracey, confused.

"He told me about an adventure he went into the Forbidden Forest to complete on the advice of Hagrid, and ran afoul of the acromantula nest there."

Tracey opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, and said, "Oh."

"I'm more trying to sort out how I feel about him. Because is loud and rude, sometimes. But from the stories he tells, he's got more going for him." Daphne bit her lip. "Add that I kissed him…"

"You didn't tell me that!" said Tracey, a little hurt. "Still...are you really thinking that Ron Weasley of all people is going to be a good match for you?"

"I suppose not," said Daphne, but internally, she wasn't so sure. And that's what made it complicated. On paper he didn't look good at all—but in person he'd been so much more likeable and engaging. "I've still got a couple of days before he wants an answer back. I'll think it over a bit more. Thanks for talking with me."

"Any time, Daph. I'm here for you."

In the end, Daphne decided to turn him down. The first potions class they shared after break ended, she walked over to him before class started, and said in a low voice, "So, Weasley, after thinking about it, I've decided against Hogsmeade."

Ron's jaw twitched, and said, "Alright."

"This isn't a no forever," she said, even quieter. "Just a no for now."

"I understand."

And she walked back over to the Slytherin side of the room. As she took her place next to her cauldron, Malfoy came over and asked, "What was that about, Greengrass?"

She met his eyes, giving him as cold a stare as she could. "Turning him down."

And Malfoy smiled. That stung, in a way that it hadn't before. He only said one word before turning back to his cauldron. "Good."

Professor Snape came in in the next moment, and once class began, Daphne could spare little time to think about matters other than potions, but she did catch Ron's eyes several times throughout class, and they looked sad, and a little confused. Daphne tried to signal her apology through her glances, but she didn't know if she succeeded.

She didn't see Ron out of class afterwards, or even much at all throughout January. They passed by each other in the halls twice, and the first time, Daphne said an awkward greeting, but when Ron passed her by without so much as a second glance, she didn't try the second time.

But things changed the moment February arrived. She woke up that morning with a heavy wave of nausea, so much so that she had to rush to the toilet to throw up. She remained nauseous for the better half of the morning, but when she didn't have any other symptoms, she went about her day, with a concerned look from Tracey.

Any chance of it being a one off went away the next morning, when she again felt nauseous. It wasn't enough to make her vomit, but it was still distracting enough in Charms that she almost missed being called on by Professor Flitwick to perform the banishing charm they'd been practicing the past two weeks.

It was on the third day, as she finished her business with the toilet bowl, that Tracey raised her concerns. "Are you sure you're feeling fine? Shouldn't you see Madam Pomfrey about this?"

Daphne sat down on the edge of her bed, and sighed. "I guess I should."

And she went, explaining to the medi-witch her symptoms, and letting the matronly woman work her diagnostic charms. After a half minute of casting, she frowned, and tried a few others. "Ah, I've found the issue. You aren't sick, my dear—you're pregnant."

Daphne went very white.


A/N: NaNoWriMo has been going well, even though I started late. I've managed 2.5k a day for the past week—we'll see if that holds for Thanksgiving week.