A/N: I own nothing. Parts 8 through 13 will be told from Daphne's POV. For the Harry Potter Rare Pair Shorts community on LJ.
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xi. that's a bit of a disappointment
Daphne Greengrass hates waiting for others, but that is exactly what she is doing right now. Waiting.
For a boy!
You're pathetic!
She taps her foot on the floor and beats her wand against her palm. The sparks from the tip grow more and more intense, matched only by her impatience—
The door opens, and Daphne feels her heart lift.
Michael Corner peaks his head through the doorway. "Daphne?" he whispers.
"I'm here." Her voice is deceptively calm. He comes inside the classroom and shuts the door behind him. He shifts his book bag and looks at her.
"You wanted to see me?"
Daphne suddenly blurts out. "What's going on with you and Turnip-Head?"
He gapes at her. "Turnip-Head?"
"Yeah. You. That bloody Turnip bird." She wiggles her fingers between them. "Anything I need to know about?"
Michael sets his book bag on the floor, he leans against a cabinet and blinks at her. "Are you referring to Lisa Turpin?" There's a horrible, knowing smirk emerging on his face.
"I do not know a Lisa Turpin. I only know a 'Turnip'!"
"Hah!" Michael pushes off the furniture. "Sweet Rowena's Knickers!" He points a finger at her. "You're jealous!"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
She's fuming and she knows she's turning red, but she can't say whether it's because she's angry that she's shown her hand too soon or because she's embarrassed that he—
Oh, of course it's bloody obvious you're jealous!
Daphne grunts. "Fine! All right. I am jealous."
She looks at him. He's smiling a little, but he's no longer laughing. "Okay. Well there's nothing going on with," he smirks, "'Turnip'. Terry says she's had a crush on me for a while or something, but I'm not interested. But I thought that you didn't want anything more with me than snogging." He peers at her with a very sharp gaze. "You really weren't in it for anything but a shag, right?"
She starts a little at his unexpected bluntness. She fiddles with her wand, a nervous habit when she's not quite sure about the next thing she wants to say. "Wh- . . . um, what were you in this for?"
Michael looks at her with softer, steadier eyes. "I just really like you."
His choice of words piques her interest. "'Like'? You still like me?"
"I still like you." He shrugs and nods. "For some reason, I can't shake the feeling that you actually do like me, and, you're not actually biding your time waiting for another bloke to come along."
Daphne cocks her head at this and gives him a funny look. "Is that what it was like with Weasley and Chang?"
He furrows his brow. "Well . . . kind of. With Ginny, even though she was fun, she always talked about Harry Potter. With Cho, it was—"
Daphne winces. "Cedric Diggory."
"And Harry," he chuckles humorlessly. "I mean, how do you compete with a ghost and The Chosen One? Plus," he bites his cheek, "Ginny had all of her brothers and she idolized each one in her own way. Kind of gives a fellow a bit of a complex, y'know?" And he mumbles the rest. "When he's not as good as they are . . ."
Daphne realizes she really can't look at him anymore. Instead, she keeps her eyes focused on some point past his shoulder.
Tell him!
"I do like you." She shuts her eyes. "I j-just—" Her breath stops. "I've never, er . . . done this."
"'This'?"
"This! Wh-where . . . well," she throws her had up, gesturing towards him, "someone's interested in just talking a-and not just about all that 'other stuff'."
Michael has an oddly disbelieving look on his face. "Really?"
Daphne nods. "I've told you before. I push things. I go too far sometimes. I do things without thinking. And I pushed you too far, I know now." She shakes her head. "I-I just thought it'd be easier to have, er . . . that type of relationship with you. Rather than—"
"Rather than actually talk to someone? Get to know them?"
Daphne nods again. "I'm not used to someone telling me I'm pretty—"
"I actually said you were beautiful. At your Christmas party."
Daphne smiles at him awkwardly. She also blushes. "So, your expectations for, um . . . us were — I mean are a bit different than mine." Her voice peters off, and she's nervous now.
"Daphne?"
She looks at him.
"What do you want to see happen? With us?"
She blinks for a very long time, because she is really and truly scared about admitting what's been stirring around in her head and chest ever since she met this boy.
She really likes him, in any possible sense that a teenage witch can.
"I like you."
A smile slowly winds across his face.
"And you said you liked me too, right?" She asks him, a little less sure than before.
He nods.
"Well," she continues "maybe we should try this out. I guess I've liked you since the beginning of this year, when you were flirting with me before Arithmancy—"
"I beg your pardon," he says with fake indignation. "I did not flirt with you!"
She snorts. "You very much did!"
He walks towards her. She feels her face coloring. "I'd be quite upset if you--" She is shaking because he's now inches from her. "If you hadn't been flirting with me." Her voice reveals her nerves, her fear.
"I might not have thought I was back then, but," he shrugs and doesn't take his eyes off of her, "I'll cave in and say I was. And that I meant to."
Daphne takes a breath, and just before Michael leans forwards to kiss her, she stops him. "M-my sister said something to me yesterday."
He hovers for a moment, and she can feel his breath tickling his face. "What?" There's a barely contained note of discontent in not being able to finish the trajectory of his motion.
"She and I talked a-about everything going on out there. The war. The decisions she's made." She looks down at the ground and her brow creases in a struggle to keep her emotions in check. "She's scared, you know. So she clings to what she thinks will keep her safe. And right now, that's what our parents — our lovely, prejudiced parents — deem is right."
"Pure-bloods are best. That's what you mean?"
"Yes." There's sadness in her voice and she keeps her eyes on Michael.
He tips her head up with a finger and peers closely at her face. "So, what are you clinging to?"
Daphne realizes she can't answer that. Not just yet.