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Harry

I could use many different analogies and legends to try to describe a girl who was named Daphne Greengrass. I could liken her to Scheherazade, being clever enough to avoid death with her storytelling and her silver tongue. Or I could say she's like Morgana , who was as dangerous with a wand as without it when she won allies with beauty.. There's the Japanese kitsune, the fox spirits who are clever enough to outsmart wolves. I could say she's like the lotus flower or any other narcotic, sweet and sedating. There's a hundred stories, but the problem is every last one of them is fucking faulty and doesn't do the real her justice. Scheherazade told stories and Daphne didn't need to tell stories. Daphne could spin real life into a romantic daydream. Morgana had to tussle with the enemies and Daphne would never have needed to because she'd charm any enemy and would not have to fight anyone. Kitsune are closer but they often had to run off when their trickery was discovered and Daphne's wasn't something that would ever make you angry.

Instead, I'll say that I'm pretty sure my path was crossed with Daphne's by some touch of the devil's. If you figure that God touched people's lives in delicate little manipulations and the devil pridefully tried to imitate him, then he might try that same tactic. Hear me out on the happenstance. This time you can call Severus Snape a devil. It was he who connected me with Daphne, which is why we exchanged more than a few words for the first time.

You get the gist. I ended up with one table with this blond-haired, high energy, wild eyed demon to work together with me every week on a cauldron blasting steam and colorful sparks. For every appearance, the encounter was absolutely normal except for one moment. I heard her curse behind me while I lit a fire under the cauldron and looked around to see her crouching to pick up the tail of the fire newt she'd dropped. Her black skirt fit her well, yeah, but it wasn't even anything meant to be sexual and the moment wasn't even sexual. It was just that when she crouched, it drew her skirt up a little above her knee - still long in length - but there was an angry red welt there, low on the outside of her thigh.

We finished the potion, though I couldn't concentrate and left, heart beating fast because I'd never seen one of those stripes in person. It was something I had seen on several photos, but nothing really makes you ready for when you see something like a cane stripe in reality, not in a scenario like that. It was so much more vivid than I would have thought, this raised welt that made my blood race. I didn't know why I had always been drawn to the things I was, only knew that I had gone down the paths of stories and dreams, enough to recognize that mark easily. It made me even more curious to see it on a Princess of Slytherin like Daphne Greengrass, who was a powerhouse name in enemy houses. She was excellent at what she did, she had endless amounts of energy without the appearance of being overly dominating or threatening, and everyone thought she was the sweetest, most adorable person they'd ever met.

But that's not where the real story started. I never expected that I will talk to Daphne outside of the Elixir Master's dungeons, but something seemed to keep putting us in each other's paths, despite the fact that I'm an introvert and rather reclusive. She was definitely neither of those things and she took over conversations when we spoke to each other, so much so that even I couldn't be overly stressed by the social interactions. I started to like them, started to go along whenever she asked me to go eat lunch or whatever else. I have no idea what she got from these moments because I was a quiet person, but I can tell you what I got from them.

I got a connection with someone that didn't require me to overthink, one of two forms of social interactions that I willingly took part in. And, of course, every now and again she would turn around, having taken her jacket off, or she would walk in front of me to lead the way and there would be another mark. The top of a whip line high on her back, for instance. They were little things that no one would have paid any attention to otherwise and it definitely wasn't the kind of thing that I would bring up to her, but it was the kind of thing that started to have sway in my fantasies, even while I felt guilty about that fact. Even so, I wouldn't approach her on it. It wasn't in my nature. She was the one who initiated most of our friendship actually.

Eventually, she started another freak series of events that would start the real story.

—

Daphne

After the whole story was said and done, Harry would always say that I was the romantic, but he was full of shit. Later on, he would always be the one to talk about how some force of religion made us cross paths. It wasn't.

It was obviously because of my lucky pencil skirt I wore the day professor Snape decided to combine two feuding houses. I had had that skirt so long that there wasn't even a zipper anymore, but I had sewn the skirt rather than throw it away because it was lucky. It fit just right and everything turned up aces when I wore it.

I went and found Harry on days before I had things like tests because he was calm and I wasn't. He was quiet and I never even thought before I spoke. He chose so much as every word and my life was chaos. So when I felt frantic for lessons or I felt like I was fraying, and I couldn't play my masochism games because I didn't have time or for another reason, then I found him and he always made me think straight. By that point, I had had to experiment with ways to make him talk more, too.

I struck gold with that question and I knew it when he made a face. "I can't actually tell you a single incident, but I can tell you that the higher up the school ladder you go, the angrier people seem to be about it."

I laughed and took a drink of beer and that was another thing."

He smiled into his beer, his head lowered in this shy way. That was another thing. Harry Potter was cute right from the start. He had this perpetually matted black hair and these emerald green eyes, but more to the point was his mannerisms. He kept his eyes lowered a lot in this subjugated way. He always let me talk to waitresses, he never fussed when I was too energetic or when I chose things like where to sit without thinking. "I'm not exactly a 'good with names' person, Harry."

"Liar. You just said mine."

"Sure, because even I'll remember them eventually."

I couldn't keep back the hysterics. Harry had this sense of humor that was so flat and dry as a result of being a pacifist. It had taken me a while to learn that he really was a pacifist, too. He would go out of his way to avoid and negate confrontation because it stressed him out. So when he talked to people and he felt something like "are you fucking kidding me", his face went blank and his eyes were the funniest part of it. He would hide it so well, except for just a little bit of nihilistic exasperation that he couldn't completely cover.

I drank more so that he drank more, enjoying the company after a high stress day. The problem with this is how impossible it is to tell if a quiet person is buzzed or not. I had made the mistake of adding alcohol to the conversation, for both of us, so he would talk more and then I realized I had a problem when my tongue felt really numb when I was trying to talk.

We didn't live in a bad part of Hogwart, but he was the kind of guy who made sure I got home okay. He was laughing those soft laughs at whatever I said too, while I wondered how much I was going to hate myself in the morning when he seemed the same as he always did and I was a fast talking drunk. I apologized when we got to my door while he shook his head and said it was fine and entertaining.

"Wait, hang on, let me see your communication notebook. I just realized you don't have my second nickname."

He gave me his communication notebook easily, quietly asking, "Who would ever want two of those?"

"Me. There's too many people on the main one, so I feel like I can't ever post anything without running the risk of offending someone. So I made the second one because I'm actually a pretty terrible person. There's a lot less people on it and they... Okay, as a warning, they're pretty damn vulgar and they curse a lot, but if you don't mind that..." I used some of my own blood, to add me and then accepted it in my notebook because I knew if I just gave him the name and told him he could, then he wouldn't.

"I don't mind. You okay, Daphne?"

"Yeah, I'm great! And I'll see you tomorrow."

And I honestly never once considered what might show up or be referenced on that alternate page. It was actually exactly what I said, the page with far fewer friends where I could post things like my dark humor. Of course, that meant that a lot of the friends on it were people I had met during my night life sadomasochistic forays and I wasn't thinking of what would be indirectly referenced in things like, I don't know, the comments sections.

—

Harry

Lucky skirt? Lucky skirt? That's what we're going with while accusing me of being romantic? She-! You know what, I'll just let the story decide it. So, that night.

Her last words before she left made me curious, made my heart race a little again. Vulgar friends, she'd said. What kind of vulgar friends did she mean?

The kind who left cane stripes down her thighs, low enough to see?

Even so, that wasn't the reason that made me open my communication notebook when I got home. Her adding me had made me think of something else, which was how another friend of mine named Ron had messaged me for the one other social event I was willingly part of in life. Don't judge me, but it was De-gnoming with Ron's siblings. Look, I was shy, but I wasn't a total recluse.

Pulling it up on that night was another event that... Merlin, I swear to this day that she was sent to me by the devil. It was these little random touches in life, these coincidences that were wild. Her alternate communication notebook name made me laugh. It was Morgan Le Pharaoh and it was the exact kind of random nonsense I'd expect from someone as chaotic as Daphne Greengrass. I still have no idea why it was easy for me to relax around her because she was everything that should have made me more anxious. Maybe it was the fact that I had met her along with my first real sight of a cane stripe, the fact that during our encounters she would have random other little marks and some of them I didn't even recognize. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't actually an overly domineering person, but she was so excited and high energy all the time that she didn't think about how she was taking the lead with me. She just did it, while I fell quiet and it was the little things like the restaurant when we drank together. She didn't realize it, but the way she'd talked to the hostess and made those small decisions made me really appreciate her. And the way her cheeks turned flush when she was drinking made me smile, too.

It kind of made me feel all the more guilty that I had started to orgasm to twisted fantasies like someone spreading her agonizingly wide with a speculum. Even when we went to eat, I would sometimes visualize her with thin cords wrapped around her tits so that whoever was leaving whip marks on her could whip those as well...

I had meant to answer Ron. With the thoughts I was having, though, I got distracted with a feed post that showed up from that Morgan Le Pharaoh page. It wasn't even something I had to look for. It was a random picture, something cute and funny about kittens.

But someone had commented on it and it was the comment that got my attention because it referenced a fetish porn magazine, one of the ones where amateurs could post pictures. And it referenced Daphne.

It was someone teasing her about having a profile on that magazine, someone not so subtly bringing up her nick on that magazine. It was right there and we had been talking for weeks by that point, while I kept having images inspired by moments with marks on her body. Even when we'd been drinking a little together that night, there had been another one of those smaller events, one where her shirt sleeve had fallen over her shoulder when she'd stood up and she hadn't been wearing a bra, but when she turned around, there was another mark again, one that seemed like a thinner whip stripe this time. It was another of the ones I didn't recognize.

Before I returned to the Gryffindor common room, I directed my steps to the owlery and sent for this magazine, indicating that I was looking for a person with this nickname. The magazine arrived the same day. I had thought my fantasies about her were bad before? They were nothing to the door I opened by doing that. The more I learned about Daphne, the more she interested me. She talked about being a cynic, but she was so optimistic in every other aspect. She had brought up being a dark sorceress, but she was so reserved about talking about it. She was sweet, but she had cane stripes that made me wonder. She was so sunny, so happy.

I also invite you to my p atreon.

New content every day.

There is a chapter available on my p atreon: 2,3,4,5,6

pa treon .com(slash)pandorastories (remove the space)