Stargazers

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A/N: Here we go! The first chapter of one of the longer stories I have ever written! Huge thanks to HonorverseFan and Webstriker for doing the heavy-lifting and making sure this is readable!

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It had taken Harry a while to adress his crush on Ginny. A... long while. Years, to be precise. Years that had left him in his Seventh Year and Ginny in her Sixth. But! But Harry had finally gotten around to dealing with this... thing. A thing Hermione—and even Ron with his emotional range of a teaspoon—had identified as a crush, though they worded this in a rather unhelpful way.

"You're into her, mate," Ron had said just a few days ago.

"And it's becoming rather unsightly to watch" Hermione had added.

"Fine!" had been his answer, "Fine! I'll talk to her!"

He still hadn't. Mostly because he really didn't know what to say. He honestly didn't! Really! Though, Harry could at least claim to know Ginny a lot better than he knew all those other girls that supposedly had a crush on him. He also liked to think that he had been a bit distracted in recent years with his early mastery in Defence and the assistant teaching thing, but Hermione had, again unhelpfully, pointed out that even that didn't take up so much time that he couldn't talk to Ginny at all.

It wasn't like they didn't talk. They did! About, uh, Quidditch and stuff! And about Defence, at times. Not that she cared too much for it, she was far better in Charms and more interested in that.

... Where was he going with that again?

Lunch break was upon them and Harry left the classroom a bit faster than necessary, mostly to get away from the nagging Ron and Hermione, who would no doubt point out that Ginny had a free period right after lunch. He knew, dammit!

During lunch, Harry kept glancing down to the Gryffindor table and he had to once again admit that Ginny had grown up a lot since he had first met her in his second year. Ron's bratty sister had grown into a young woman. Who apparently had a crush on him.

She caught his eye, so Harry offered a smile because waving at her seemed stupid. She all but beamed back at him in return.

Well. So. The crush thing might be true. For both of them, Harry supposed.

So he returned to his food, the decision to at least talk to Ginny made up in his mind. The meat pie tasted strange that day. He attributed that to his frazzled nerves. Halfway through he pulled his notebook from his bag, going over Professor Snape's notes once more. He would still need to prepare for the next Defence lesson. And then there was their current potions project he still had to work on.

Before he knew it, lunch was over and he caught Ginny leaving the Great Hall just as Professor McGonagall approached him.

"Mr Potter," she greeted, accompanied by the short nod that scared so many first-years to death these days. "Have you found time to see to the Second Year's Transfiguration Project yet?"

Harry blinked at her, his mind absolutely blank for a moment. He had honestly no clue what she—

"Oh!" he exclaimed, reaching for his notebook. "The Animagus study!"

The Professor nodded again. "Quite. And I assume that means you have not yet found the time to prepare the material?"

He nodded, flipping to the relevant pages. Most of them were blank. "I haven't. But I'll have it ready by Wednesday, Professor."

McGonagall's lips twitched into something that was almost a smile. "It is Thursday, Mister Potter."

Ah. Harry blinked. "Wait. Really?"

"Indeed."

His eyes widened, "My Potion!" Harry took off in a hurry, not waiting for any kind of response from Professor McGonagall.

She merely shook her head quite fondly as she watched students leap out of his way. "So much like his mother," she sighed wistfully before leaving the Hall for her office.

Harry was down in the dungeons before anyone could think to stop him. He had forgotten the date! The Luminous Draught, his potions project—the one that made up half of his grade this year—was still gently simmering in one of the potion classrooms and he did not need the precious concoction to evaporate—which was exactly what would happen if he didn't take it off the burner.

Right now.

The door that obstructed his path was quickly banished open, almost broken off its hinges—he would apologize to Professor Slughorn later—and Harry dove into the classroom and down the aisle.

Only to find that his potion had been taken down already.

And there, at his desk, was Daphne Greengrass, head girl and potions prodigy, taking off her thick leather gloves. She had bound her absurdly pale hair, white essentially, into a high ponytail that still almost fell all the way down to her hips.

"Harry," she said by way of greeting, staring down at him as he tried to catch his breath, "You would do well to take better care of your projects in the future."

Momentarily, he toyed with the idea of telling her to sod off but as he glanced up at her she allowed a smile that caught him a bit off guard. He didn't remember ever seeing her smile. Not at him, at least.

"Speechless in face of my beauty?" she queried airily in obvious mockery.

He paused at the unexpected question. "... No?" he croaked. His hands felt sweaty.

Daphne flicked her gloves aside. They landed on the table next to his, her own workplace. "Why did that sound like a question?" Her smile turned into a smirk, her sharp blue eyes narrowed with pure amusement and she peered down at him through her pale lashes. "Am I not beautiful?"

His tongue felt awfully dry for some reason but her teasing didn't faze him. This was nothing compared to what Sirius could dish out. "You are," he said, wiping his hands on his jeans, the bout of nerves subsiding. "Very much so." Good thing his heart had calmed down a bit. "And... thank you for taking my potion off the burner."

She bowed—curtsied even. "It was my pleasure."

Harry nodded and waited for her to leave. Or something. But she just continued to stand there, in front of his table, and stared at him.

"I... was there something else?" he decided to ask.

"There was." She smiled again, not smirking, and it made his heart stutter. "Would you care to attend Professor Slughorn's little Party with me?"

Slughorn's little...? "The Eclipse Celebration?"

"The very same." She pushed a lock of her ashen hair that had come loose out of her face and behind her ear. It drew attention to the wide collar of her robes. Something about the sight of the pale skin of her neck made him nervous.

"And... you want me to attend it. With... you?" he asked carefully. It was entirely possible he had misheard that. Potion fumes and all.

"Headboy and Headgirl attend traditionally as a pair," she said, "But I would rather we go as... friends."

They weren't friends, by no stretch of the definition. Heck, they had barely been acquaintances up until last year. "Uh.. that's, the day after tomorrow, right?"

"Indeed," she nodded, the strand of hair she had pushed behind her ear coming loose again. "So what say you, Harry? Accompany me?" Her long, pale lashes fluttered at him and for a moment he was entirely too confused and mesmerized at once.

Why would she ask him of all people? They barely knew each other! That head boy and head girl tradition was so out of date, only teachers even bothered to remember it. They would have had to attend so many gatherings and events otherwise...

"I..." His fingers itched for his notebook but he knew that there was nothing in it scheduled for this Saturday. Since he hadn't planned on attending in the first place. "... happen to be free this Saturday."

Daphne abruptly clapped her hands. It made him jump. "Wonderful!"

She surged forward, placed a kiss so absurdly hot against the skin of his cheek, Harry feared his face might catch fire, and strode out of the classroom.

"I shall see you tomorrow to discuss our choice of dress."

Harry stared at the door as it closed—she must have repaired the hinges—before turning to his potion.

It was the perfect colour, like golden milk.

The potion on the desk next to his, Daphne's, had already cooled into a solid golden colour. She must have waited for all of lunch break here to take his potion down.

"Hm," he chuckled to himself, "Well, I owe her that much, no?" He made a note in his notebook for Saturday.

Harry forgot to see Ginny that day.

The last time Harry had worn formal robes had been for a funeral and shortly thereafter this odd Ministry gathering/gala thing last spring. He didn't like dressing up but having a lordship required him to show up for certain events. Draco—he had been there, too, but then again it had been his father's funeral—was much in the same boat, now that Harry thought about it. They were both the last scions of a venerable noble house. Anyhow, Harry found these robes to be uncomfortable and hoped that Daphne was not a fan of them either.

He waited in the suite they shared for the year. Daphne wasn't around much, choosing instead to spend her time in the library or the potions lab. And it wasn't like Harry was here all the time either. No, he spent most of his time with his tasks as an assistant teacher in DADA or with assignments from Professor McGonagall.

Actually, this might be the first time they would be in here at the same time since they moved in just a few months ago.

Nervously, Harry tugged the scratchy collar into a less offending position just as the door to Daphne's room opened.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. She was not dressed up. In fact, she had dressed quite casually in a simple grey blouse and... denims of all things.

Her smile as she took in his robes—dark navy blue with golden trims and silver buttons—had him lick his lips and straighten his posture, as though he could not allow himself to look as uncomfortable as he truly felt.

"It's a good thing you came in those," she said, approaching with a thoughtful smile, "Since this way I can tell you that I do not expect you to wear dress robes in the first place."

Again, Harry exhaled in relief. "Oh thank Merlin... I hate this thing anyways."

Daphne laughed softly, pulling him to his feet. Her hands were much smaller, much softer than his. "Oh, I quite understand. But you do look ever so dashing in them."

Harry blinked at her. "I—Wha—?"

"Come, then." She pulled him over to his door, opened it as if she owned it, and dragged him into his thankfully organized room. "I assume you have some formal clothing other than robes?"

He wanted to ask her why she could open his door without getting zapped but then Daphne was already in his room, sitting down on his bed and smiling expectantly at him.

"Uhm—"

"Go on," she said, getting comfortable on his—thank Merlin he remembered—freshly made bed. "Show me what you got. From Blue to Green, I'll see what I can match."

He nodded numbly. Right. Blues and greens and—Wait. He glanced over his shoulder as he opened his dresser. Was she going to... stay? Watch? Was this the appropriate moment to get flustered? Frantic, even? If Severus ever found out about this, there would be hell to pay.

Sirius on the other hand... Sirius would slap him silly if he embarrassed himself now.

Harry pulled the outer layer of his dress robes over his head and had half a mind to smite them but deemed it sufficient to simply banish them out of the window. He saw Daphne's eyes follow the garment but she gave no response to it other than a bemused smile.

Now, that left him in the wide cotton shirt and those semi-leather breeches that came with the robes. And while the dyed leather didn't look bad at all, it could not have been more uncomfortable to wear had it been made of sandpaper. The rough kind.

He glanced over his shoulder once more, catching Daphne's eye. Her lips twitched into a small smile that was almost coy. Harry's heart missed two beats in a row and promptly redoubled its efforts of pumping blood up into his head. This was nerve-wracking. Was she really going to sit there and watch him... undress? How was this troubling him more than his first time flying a broom? He hadn't been this nervous when he first had sex!

Harry swallowed. She'd suit herself, no? Sirius would be proud of this one. Probably.

So he undid the buttons of his shirt and pulled it over his head, banishing it out of the window as well. This time, Daphne's eyes stayed on him.

"My," she said suddenly, "I did not expect you to be so bold, Harry."

He whirled around to her. Him? Bold?! She was the one who came in here and basically ordered him to strip while—

"I had thought a simple switching spell would do." The words died on his tongue and Daphne smiled serenely at him but it did nothing to hide the mischief in her voice.

Harry's pride took most of the damage. She'd done that on purpose.

"Switching spell," he repeated quietly, eyes fixed on Daphne who had yet to take her gaze off him. He could feel her eyes burn a hole into his sternum.

"Not that I am complaining, of course," she went on, the smile turning more into a smirk, and Harry could feel the heat rising from his stomach all the way up into his ears. But he remained upright, standing as proud as he could. His ego would not survive the encounter otherwise.

"Of course," he said as evenly as possible while his heart thundered against his ribs.

A few switching spells later, he was dressed in his best fitting dress shirt, complete with tailored pants and a matching vest, both about as black as could be, safe for the silver buttons that adorned the fine garments. The overcoat he wore was woven from acromantula silk—or so Harry had been told, he didn't overly care for what it was made of—and was woven from what must have been the darkest of green colours they could have possibly found. Severus called it dark emerald but it was neither just dark nor emerald green. In fact, the coat appeared black in anything but direct sunlight.

Daphne nodded to herself as she looked him up and down. "What do you say? Simple tie? Or even a bow tie?"

Harry inhaled as carefully as possible, glad that the heat stayed under his collar. "I... don't own any bow ties."

She smiled brightly at him. "That's good! It would not match your... frame."

A muscle in his neck tensed. Something about the way she worded that had him stand straighter. What was it about Daphne Greengrass that forced his shoulders back? He didn't know enough about her to feel like she had expectations of him. But... that gleam in her eyes... Merlin help him, he felt so small under her scrutiny. Maybe that's why he was trying to prove her wrong.

According to Daphne, none of his vests or ties—"regrettably", spoken with great and undiluted sarcasm on her part—matched her available dresses so they had to visit Diagon Alley to find something suitable. Harry agreed. Much in the same slightly out of his depths way that he had agreed to accompany her to the party as well.

Not that he minded. Retrospectively, it was a nice chance to relax for a bit—even if he still had to do that lesson next Monday and get Professor McGonagall a lesson plan for the Animagus thing.

"I would gladly help you with that," Daphne told him on their way to the Apparation point in Hogsmeade. "Though I have yet to achieve my first transformation, I like to think I'm well-read on the subject."

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "So you want to become an Animagus, huh?" He glanced at her, observing the way her braided hair swayed ever so slightly with her gait. Her hair colour still fascinated him but he tried not to dwell on her possible ancestry too much lest he felt like Malfoy did whenever new students arrived at Hogwarts. "Mind telling me your form?"

It was a rather intimate question, seeing as one's Animagus form was a reflection of one's soul, and it was not to be casually shared.

She smiled lightly in his direction, not turning her head too much. "Take a guess."

The Animagus form of Daphne Greengrass... What could that be? Well, it had to be something rather beautiful... And, uh, feisty.

"Well, let's narrow it down a bit," he decided, "Canine or Feline?"

They passed Madam Rosmerta on her way to the Three Broomsticks with some groceries floating behind her, who smiled fondly at them. Daphne greeted her with a small bow. Then she glanced at Harry again. "Neither," she said, smirking, and the fact that she decided to answer at all pumped pride through his veins.

"Hm," he hummed to himself. "It's hard to say."

"Is it?" she asked, clearly amused. "You narrowed it down to canine and feline in a moment, so you must have had an idea already."

Well, she was hardly a rodent. And anything of the insect family seemed unlikely, though she would certainly match the beauty of a butterfly. Avian, perhaps? But before he could ponder more on the matter, Daphne grabbed his arm and stopped him from walking right down the path to the Shrieking Shack.

She smiled up at him, eyes sparkling in the sunlight. "Do take us away, Mister Potter."

There was a tingling in his chest that Harry couldn't quite place and he almost splinched his leg off as he Apparated them to Diagon Alley.

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