House: Slytherin
Category: Theme
Prompt: [Pairing type] Former Enemies.
Word Count: 2274
oO0Oo
She has been surrounded by green her entire life. Last year, although she found no pride in her House, she found safety and protection; however, now that Harry Potter has defeated the Dark Lord, her green tie marks her as a defeated enemy. The looks she gets in the halls from the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and self-righteous Gryffindors turn her stomach, but she keeps her face shuttered, never showing them just how much their pointed snubs hurt.
Still, as she stares in the mirror and knots her tie, she can't help thinking just how patently unfair it is that she has to return to Hogwarts. She knows — everyone knows — that Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley weren't forced to come back. But every Slytherin, even if their families did not support the Dark Lord, were ordered back for "proper instruction". Anger flashes through her, and her hands shake, mussing the tie; with pursed lips, Daphne loosens the tie and starts to knot it once again.
When she is finally presentable, she joins her younger sister and they walk together to the Great Hall. Along the way, Pansy tries to join them, but Daphne sends her away with quiet scorn — showing solidarity with the woman who screamed for Harry Potter's death, no matter how close they were in previous years, is a terrible idea. Upon entering the Great Hall, she sits near Blaise and pointedly ignores Draco Malfoy's greeting.
She can't help but notice the deep green tablecloth draped over their table. It marks them as Slytherins, and for a moment she can't help but hate it. It's a terrible dull green, made dull with the passage of the years and the thousands of students who have eaten over it. More than that, though, it reminds her of the expectations that weigh upon her: get good marks, marry well, bear pureblood children, and preserve the family name. As of late, the last task has fallen heavily upon her, and she finds herself wanting to chafe against its restraints — she may be a Slytherin, but her family did not take the Mark. They gave the bare minimum, enough to protect their daughters and nothing more. Yet the Greengrasses are nevertheless lumped with the Malfoys and Lestranges, a fact which brings a bitter taste to her mouth.
"Hey, you okay?" She looks over to find Blaise looking rather concerned. "You were scowling… you want some eggs?"
She pauses. "Sure," she finally says. "Eggs sound great. Thanks."
While passing her the platter of eggs, he says in a low undertone, "Potter's watching you again, Daph."
Her eyes flicker to the side, and sure enough, out of the corner of her eye, she can see Potter staring at her. "Ugh," she groans. "How embarrassing. I wish he'd stop."
Blaise raises an eyebrow. "You're welcome for the eggs," he says, straightening back up and putting the platter of eggs back on the table. "Are you ready for Astronomy tonight?"
Disconcerted by the sudden topic change, Daphne takes a moment to respond. "Astronomy? We're mapping Ophiuchus tonight, aren't we?"
"We are," Blaise reponds. "And it's double Astronomy." He tilts his head towards the Gryffindor table, to where Harry Potter is sitting and talking with Hermione Granger while Ginny Weasley glares.
"Ah." Daphne nods. "I'll consider it, Blaise. Thanks for the eggs. I've got some Charms work to finish — see you in Transfiguration?" With that she leaves the Great Hall and makes her way back to her dorm, her mind humming with half-formed plans.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
That night, after she's drawn Ophiuchus three times and most of the class has already crept back into their dorms and fallen asleep, she finally musters the courage to confront Harry. "Potter," she says, making him jerk and glance up from his star map. "We need to talk."
"Greengrass," he says back. "Can it wait ten seconds? I'm so close to finishing my Ophiuchus."
She nods and settles on the stone floor, watching him work. Of course, ten seconds turns into ten minutes, which turns into an hour — when he finally finishes, he has to shake her awake, and no one's up in the Astronomy Tower except the two of them. "Where's Sinistra?" she asks.
"She left. Said I was taking too long, and that we were mature enough to be up here alone. What was it you want to tell me?"
Daphne bit her lip. "I wanted to ask you—" Might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. "Why do you stare at me?"
He blinks at her, and in that completely inappropriate moment, Daphne can't help but notice how beautiful his green eyes are. They shine like emeralds in the starlight, so bright and full of life, so unlike the dull green of her life, that she barely hears his mumbled answer: "Well… I sorta fancy you."
Startled, Daphne blurts, "What?"
He flushes. "I said I fancy you."
"Oh." This casts the entire situation in a new light. He's the Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, yet in this moment, she, Daphne Greengrass, whose family name is virtually worthless, has all the power. "You… fancy me?"
"Look, I've said it twice and I'd rather not say it again."
"But Mister Potter," she says, looking up at him through her lashes, "they do say third time's the charm."
He chuckles, though he's still watching her warily. "And what happens if I say it a third time?" he asks.
Daphne bites her lip. "Well… I might just admit to fancying you back."
His eyes go wide, and in them, Daphne can see herself reflected back at her. "Are you serious?" he says, slack-jawed with amazement.
"What do you think?" She regards him with a secretive half-smile.
"I— I don't know—"
Getting to her feet, Daphne reaches over and runs her fingers over his jawline and presses a kiss to his throat. "Now what do you think?" she murmurs, her voice husky.
He swallows hard. "I think you're trouble… but you're my kind of trouble." He reaches out and pulls her against him and she lets herself get lost in his voice, his skin, his lips, and his burning heat.
When they finally pull apart, Harry gasps, "Daphne, will you be my girlfriend?"
She smiles. Her, Daphne Greengrass, dating Harry Potter. "Of course," she says, pushing back his unruly hair to reveal his lightning bolt scar. "Do you even have to ask?"
He grins sheepishly, then he's snogging her again, and above them shine the Northern Lights — cold and cruel in their beauty, yet majestic and awe-inspiring in their ferocity. At the sight, Daphne smirks: they dance against the dark night sky, illuminating it; yet, in the end, they always fade.
But her relationship with Harry won't fade. At least, not until she restores her family name… although she certainly wouldn't mind marrying Harry Potter. He'd certainly be more bearable than Theo, Blaise, Draco, or that odd Ravenclaw Stephen Cornfoot.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The following weeks are a blur of lessons, exams, and pointless assignments; Daphne spends her time on Harry's arm or curled against his side as they study for NEWTs that no longer seem to matter.
However, those happy days fade all too quickly...
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Slytherin slag," Ginny Weasley hisses as she passes in the halls.
Daphne ignores the girl, just as she ignores everyone else who has seen fit to comment upon her virtue, moral character, and House affiliation. In all honesty, it isn't that terrible, for it isn't as though she particularly cares what Ginny Weasley thinks of her, while most of Slytherin is impressed that she's managed to snag the Boy-Who-Lived as a boyfriend and watch with jealous eyes, no doubt imagining how her relationship is improving her family's good name.
Still, she can see how Harry is buckling under the casual condemnation. He isn't overly affected by the tawdry newspaper articles, but Daphne can tell that the Weasleys' disapproval is hitting him hard. They've always treated him like an unofficial son, and Daphne knows the Weasley matriarch has always dreamed of his marrying her daughter and making it official.
Come to think of it, she only ever sees him with Granger and Longbottom now, and sometimes that Lovegood girl. He looks tired and sad, and it seems some of the fire of his eyes has gone out, which, in turn, makes her sad. He shouldn't have to bear more crosses: he's already suffered enough pain for a dozen lifetimes.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
They meet in a broom closet, and as they snog, Daphne thinks she sees some of that old light return to his eyes. He's enthusiastic, excited even, and for a second she lets herself melt into him, and get lost in the lusty haze.
Sometimes, she feels the only time they're truly together is when they're snogging; however, she pushes the matter from her mind, and instead focuses upon the heavenly feel of his hands upon her bare stomach, thinking, We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
When her family's owl lands on the breakfast table, Daphne's eyes go wide. "Fuck," she hisses before she untying the note.
Daphne,
While dating the Chosen One may yet restore our family's name, the press is ripping you to shreds. If he tires of you, it may be difficult to find suitable husband. Please, daughter, do not do anything you might regret.
Anthony and Heather Greengrass
Daphne sets the paper alight with a mumbled incendio. Nevertheless, her parents' words echo in her mind… is her relationship with him worth the pain?
She begins avoiding him, seeking time alone to think this through.
The solitude is pleasant, though. She hadn't realized what a burden a boyfriend was until she was without him.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Is it terrible that when she sees him, excuses start tumbling from her lips? "I'm sorry I wasn't at the Pitch, I had Transfiguration work, and I won't be able to go to Hogsmeade with you next weekend. I'm too busy."
"Too busy," he says slowly, so slowly that it seems he is tasting the way those words linger on his tongue. If his face is anything to go by, they don't taste good. "You're too busy for your boyfriend?"
"I know," Daphne replies. "But I am. See you around!" She bustles away before he can say anything else.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Harry," she says, looking up to see him waiting for her in the halls. "I'm sorry I can't stay and talk, I'm going to be late for Herbology…"
"Daphne." His tone brooks no argument. "Please. Why do you keep saying goodbye?"
"I—" She stands stock still, not knowing what he meant and at the same time knowing exactly he meant with icy cold clarity. "I— I—" She swallows hard, and then says, not daring meet his eyes but with a fake bright smile, "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."
He shakes his head, watching her far too close for comfort. His bright green eyes are on the edge of her peripheral vision. "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about."
"Harry, please not now. How about—" she casts about wildly "— how about we talk about this tomorrow night. My family has a cottage in Norway and we can go out there and watch the Northern Lights. How does that sound?"
He looks unconvinced, but he nods anyways. "Tomorrow night. But you'd best not stand me up again."
She gives him a tight smile, then hurries away.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Portkey is easy to procure when it's for Harry Potter. In fact, it's startlingly simple to whisk the two of them away for a weekend — there are certain advantages to dating the Savior of the Wizarding World. Once they get to the cottage, they climb a nearby hill, and then Harry summons a blanket, which he spreads over the grass. "After you, Daphne."
She smiles, even if it it tinged with sadness. "Thanks, Harry."
"No problem," he says, sitting down beside her. "Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?"
"Can it wait until after the Lights?"
He frowns. "I think we should discuss this now. The sooner, the better."
Gnawing at her lip, Daphne replies, "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
She sighs. "Harry… this isn't working. I can't do this anymore. It's not fair to either of us — I'm calling this off." She turns away from him, hot tears running down her cheeks, but he grabs her wrist.
"No," he says lowly. His green eyes are almost glowing in the starlight. "You can't — we can't— we don't have to break up, Daphne!"
She swallows hard. "No, Harry… we do." Wrenching out of his grip, she begins to run back to the cottage. She's aware that the Northern Lights have started above her, but she doesn't stop — with a flick of her wrist, a fire appears in the fireplace, into which she tosses a pinch of Floo powder.
She cannot help her tears, but she knows that this is how it was meant to be. After all, her entire life has been a dead dull green — she is a Greengrass and a Slytherin — and Harry, with his bright green eyes, could never be the one for her.
She steps into the dull green flames and whispers, "Goodbye, Harry."