AN: Yeah this one was delayed a bit. I fought like hell with 7, but ended up with something I'm pretty pleased with.
Daphne:
With the madness that had been the crowd at the first task of Hogwarts' Triwizard tournament, Daphne thought that maybe Beauxbatons would have a bit more space for the audience. As it was, the hour leading up to the first task had been a mix of elbows, apologies, and standing on benches in an effort to find someone she wouldn't mind sitting with.
A shoulder bumped into her backside, almost pushing her from her perch on the end of the bench. Maybe it'd be worthwhile to just stand on one of the ends of the tiered setup to avoid the cramped seating.
Just as the narrow walkway between rows was growing more and more inviting, a large movement from the opposite side of the circular platforms caught her attention. In the front row, right above the tunnel that would soon produce the champions, Jorge was waving his arms over his head.
She waved back, scanning the crowd one more time. Sitting shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg with strangers was far worse than talking with her sort-of-protégé. Especially since he'd finally got past the idea that there was any sort of romantic possibility.
He'd even quit asking her to the ball.
But as she was stepping down to squeeze her way around the stands, a bushy beacon popped up through one of the nearby stairwells with Harry not far behind.
If her stomach — and other parts of her — did a few flips when she saw him, well…it was because she'd been too frustratingly busy to sneak out for a repeat of their last encounter. Working with Jorge and checking in with her father had filled entirely too much of her schedule, especially now that the ball was only a month away. Instead, her nights were, filled with either research or staring at her ceiling, trying to sleep.
Staying up late imagining the sorts of things he'd do to her on their next meeting was corroding her brain.
More than once she'd fumbled her words in the middle of her mini-lectures with Jorge as Harry popped — wholly unwelcome — into her thoughts. Him. And his hands.
She pushed her way over to where he and Hermione were taking seats near the front. When she was still a few rows away, the Delacour girl plopped herself down next to Harry, already in the middle of talking and pointing to the transparent room at the center of the circle.
Well.
Joining Jorge would leave Harry to his strange little friend and avoid the inevitable awkwardness.
She not-so-gently moved a young Beauxbatons boy to the side before he could take the seat next to Hermione and sat down.
"Hermione," she said, scooting in close as a Durmstrang girl sat down on her other side. "You look…tense."
"Of course I'm tense," she snapped, her voice so tight Daphne could hear it creak under the tension. "My boyfriend is about to participate in this stupid tournament."
"What she means is, thanks for your help," Harry said, leaning forward around Hermione's straight-backed form.
He really was feeling the lack of…personal time, if the way he couldn't finish a sentence without glancing down at her chest was any indication.
Such an irritatingly standard fact of life since their fourth year was, with him…
Thrilling.
Which in itself was infuriating. She was no window decoration, no matter who was doing the shopping.
She forced her eyes to focus on him.
"I wish I could have found out a little more," she said, looking down to the room and its confusing mix of plants, cauldrons, stone piles, and shelves packed full of instruments and books all too far away to identify.
"At least we know it's not going to be too dangerous," he said, nudging Hermione with an elbow. "Right?"
The noise she made in response could be described as agreement by only the loosest of definitions.
"Been keeping busy?" Harry asked after a moment.
"Unfortunately so," she said, pretending not to notice the way Gabby — Gabrielle — was ignoring her as obviously as possible. "My lessons with Jorge have been going well, but with the ball coming up, I don't have much time left to build on other potential avenues of introduction."
"Who are you going with?"
"Nobody at the moment. My father keeps telling me to ask Matteo as a way to meet his family, but I don't think it will be necessary. I can arrange a meeting on my own."
"I don't know," Gabrielle cut in, her smile and friendliness as fake and fragile as could be, and was probably the best the girl was capable of. "I think you two would make an excellent couple from what I know of him. You should ask."
Harry's head whirled around and Gabrielle's eyes went comically wide and innocent as she mouthed 'what?'
Before Harry could respond, a shower of blue, gold, and red sparks shot up from the judge's table down next to the champion's tunnel and Madame Maxime stood from her seat next to McGonagall.
"Students, friends, and visitors," she said, her already resonant voice rolling through the crowd with magical amplification. "Thank you for coming to the first task of the 127th Triwizard Tournament."
A cheer went up from the stands and Daphne applauded along.
"The first task is traditionally a test of a champion's ability to react to unknown circumstances under pressure. Last time, this was done with dragons," she said, the disapproval clear in her charmed voice. "We will not be so cavalier with the lives of our champions this time. We hope to encourage a new tradition that respects the tournaments and champions of the past, while not endangering the lives of some of our most promising students."
Daphne couldn't help but glance over at Harry, who, perhaps unsurprisingly, seemed nonplussed that he'd had to participate in the final deadly version of the tournament. Which, she supposed, made sense since one of his best friends was participating.
"The room in front of you may seem simple, but I assure you, it is not. Inside, there is no light and it has been warded so that spells cannot be used. Their task will be to find a method of opening the doors once locked inside, and we have provided numerous components of other magical disciplines for them to use. Finally, they will be operating under a short, half-hour time-limit. Those, if any, who do not finish in time will be judged based upon their progress and ingenuity."
Next to her, Hermione's corded tension started to ebb and she relaxed a bit from her statuesque posture.
"See," Harry said, leaning in to be heard. "Not as dangerous."
Hermione nodded, but her focus was still on the tunnel which would soon produce the first champion.
"The order of champions has been chosen randomly, and is as follows. First, Matteo Walser, of Beauxbatons." Madame Maxime paused, allowing the majority of the crowd the opportunity to appreciate their champion. "Second, will be Elitsa Nenova, of Durmstrang."
Though fewer, the cheers from the Durmstrang audience were almost as loud.
"Finally, Ronald Weasley, of Hogwarts."
The words were barely out of her mouth when Harry shot to his feet, applauding and shouting nonsense like some sort of fool with Hermione not far behind.
Daphne smiled and joined them, if a tad more dignified, but she still clapped until her palms stung and Madame Maxime had grown annoyed with the Hogwarts enthusiasm.
Once they had settled, Madame Maxime raised her wand and shot a shower of blue light into the sky. "I declare the first task, begun!"
Matteo Walser emerged from the tunnel to a wall of cheering and shouting that would surely leave Daphne's ears ringing. Although, strutted might be more apt. Sauntered, maybe.
He walked up to the room's door, waving like some sort of vapid celebrity.
Which, Daphne had to begrudgingly admit, was true. Just because she personally knew two champions, didn't make it an exclusive little club.
Well, personally knew one. Knew of the other.
Well…she personally knew the taste of his tongue and the roughness of his fingertips on her skin. The rest of him was still an odd mystery.
Her teeth bit into her lip and she used the sting to focus.
Every detail of the task could be used to launch a conversation with Matteo. The more specific and unique, the better. He'd be hearing generic praise from all sides, assuming he succeeded, and she needed to be able to make an instant impact.
When Madame Maxime shot another blast of blue light into the air, Matteo darted through the two massive doors which swung shut behind him, a loud series of locks clinking into place.
While the audience could see inside, it was clear that the darkness inside was complete by the way he ran his hip directly into a table that sat just inside the doors. With one hand on his side, he felt around with the other, his fingers trailing across numerous metal instruments laid out in orderly rows across the table.
Maybe one of those silver potioneers' knives had been one she had helped de-tarnish.
Carefully, he made his way across the table and to the cauldron, then over to the shelves full of various ingredients. With delicate touches, he ran his hands over herbs and jars, lifting a few and bringing them up to his nose.
"What's he going to do," Harry muttered, squinting down at where Matteo was laying out a bundle of firebloom on the table, "make an unlocking potion?"
"An acid, maybe," Hermione muttered. "Ron's not good at Potions, and he didn't take Ancient Runes, so the stoneworking station will be useless."
"Is that what that is?"
Hermione shook her head and Daphne couldn't suppress her grin. "Maybe all those Divination classes you two took will help him glimpse the answer in the future."
"Maybe the past," Harry replied. "There was that one time his dreamless sleep potion melted through the bottom of the cauldron."
That time, Hermione laughed and her body released just a little bit more of the tension it held.
It was in the same way a reservoir lets out the occasional trickle through a dam, but progress was progress.
Matteo's sightless potioneering came to an abrupt halt when he sliced his finger on one of the smaller knives. He grabbed the offending utensil and cut off a small strip from the sleeve of his robes and wrapped it around his thumb.
"I can't imagine blood would be good for a potion like that," Harry muttered.
"Serves him right," Gabrielle said while she glared down at the room.
The girl really did wear her heart out in the open. How Harry didn't see it was a worrisome mystery.
Aside from the small knife interruption, Matteo's potion popped and fizzled at all the appropriate times, turning from a bright orange to a sickly green right at the end, and, if Daphne's guess was right, with just a handful of minutes to spare.
Holding a golden ladle out at arms length, he dipped it into the simmering liquid and walked it over to the door with slow, shuffling steps. Once there, he tipped it away from himself and onto the hinges, stepping back when the metal began to boil and smoke.
With an overwhelming thud the door crashed to the ground, and Matteo stepped through and raised his arms in victory to deafening cheers from the majority of the audience.
It made Daphne's head ache. And the fact that he'd done nothing of note — other than hurt himself twice — only added to the building pressure.
His score, lessened somewhat by the minor injuries, set the bar at a respectable 7 out of 10, and he waved his way back into the tunnel and out of sight.
An old, wrinkled witch hobbled her way up to the doors and put them back into place with a wave of her wand while the Potions Master and another teacher — the Herbology Professor, if the armful of plants was any indication — went inside to replace the cauldron, clean the utensils, and replace the used ingredients.
After a quick reset, the room was ready for the next contestant, and Madame Maxime summoned Elitsa with a shower of red light.
The Durmstrang students, while a much smaller contingent than their Beauxbatons counterparts, made up for their lack of numbers by stomping their feet and chanting something in an old Bulgarian dialect that Daphne struggled to understand. As the chant grew louder and louder, Elitsa threw both fists up into the air and the red and black quarter of the stands erupted into cheers.
With another burst of light, Elitsa yanked open the door and darted inside. She too ran into the table, but rather than slow, she yanked out her wand and waved it in front of her. When nothing happened, she shrugged and put it away, then bent and began feeling her way along the floor.
She found the cauldron first but not the table, and made her way through the shelves of ingredients without the slow care Matteo had shown. She continued around to the stoneworking bench, her hands sliding across chisels and hammers of various sizes all laid out across its surface. A bit more inspection found the small pile of stones to her right, and she grabbed one and set to work with the largest chisel and a hammer, smashing away big chunks of the stone.
Where Matteo's method had been at least somewhat interesting, between the various stages of the potion and his accident in the middle, Elitsa's was a bit boring. Whatever runes she was working on were obscured by her hunched shoulders and hands as she moved to smaller and smaller tools.
She finished sooner than Matteo had, and carried her handful of small stones over to the doors. Running her thumb over the indent of each rune, she placed them in a semi-circle around the doors. When she placed the last one, the carvings lit a painful blue to the audience, while Elitsa stood in the permanent darkness. When the blue flashed to white, the shattering of glass echoed through the stands, and a rock bounced against the ground outside the room.
Elitsa stepped over the shards of what used to be the door, a grin plastered across her face.
With both the better time and lack of serious injuries, Elitsa's score averaged out to a 9 out of 10, earning her another stomping exclamation from her peers.
Hermione's fingers tugged at the hem of her shirt as she stared down at the room as she watched the small team of witches and wizards reset the room for Weasley's turn.
"I'm not sure what he's going to do," she murmured. "His best skills are flying and spellwork."
"See," Harry said, leaning over. "A dragon would've been better."
"Not for my heart it wouldn't."
At that, Harry just nodded.
"Since it's not dangerous, I kind of hope he does badly," Gabrielle said in a whisper loud enough to be heard. "It'd be kind of funny to tease him about it at Fleur's wedding."
Harry turned and frowned at her. "Do you tease Fleur about how she got disqualified from the second task and I had to rescue you instead?"
If Daphne hadn't been watching intently, she might've thought Harry had slapped the poor girl for the stricken look she had on her face.
"No," she mumbled to her knees. "I guess not."
A golden burst of light drew Ron from the tunnel, and the entirety of the Hogwarts students — those that could only visit for the tasks included — shot to their feet to cheer on their champion.
Like the others, he walked up to the door and waited for the go-ahead.
But, when the golden light shot into the sky, he pulled open one of the doors and peered inside, then pulled his wand from his pocket and stuck his hand into the room. After a few flicks of his wand, he drew his hand out, turned, and walked along the outside wall of the room, periodically lighting the tip of his wand. Whenever it didn't light, he'd stop, check the ground at his feet, then continue until he was back in front of the doors.
He narrowed his eyes at the darkness beyond the doorway, then looked up.
He stepped back, and with a wave of his wand, the floor between him and the doors bubbled up into a narrow set of stairs leading to the top of the squat, square building.
The audience, hundreds of students and visitors, were utterly silent as he climbed up to the roof and walked to the center. Once there, he kneeled down, ran his hand along the surface beneath him, then pointed his wand down and made a small circle.
A chunk of stone excised itself from the roof and he held it in his free hand, running his thumb across the surface.
With a nod, he dropped it onto the ground and reduced it to dust with a wave of his wand and a flash of light.
He walked back down the stairs with an almost lazy air, then returned them to their original state with another quick spell. Experimentally, he stuck a hand through the open doorway and lit the tip of his wand.
Nodding, he stepped inside, closing the doors behind him. The audible clicks of the locks sounded in quick succession once closed, and he turned, casting a simple, familiar spell at the door.
Almost as soon as they had engaged, the locks sprang back open and he pushed open the doors to an audience struck stupid.
The entire little stadium probably would have stayed that way if Hermione hadn't leapt to her feet and started clapping loud enough for any three people. Harry, Daphne, and Gabrielle followed suit, resulting in a wave of deafening cheers and applause.
Ron left soon after with a perfect ten out of ten.
—
Daphne tagged along with her impromptu group and tried not to acknowledge the odd sense of satisfaction she got whenever she caught Gabrielle glaring at her general presence.
It was…concerning, somewhat, but mostly a problem for later.
She wove her way through the gaggle of eager students and curious visitors that surrounded the archway that would soon produce the champions. At the front of the semi-circle, was a break-wall off reporters and their photographers, all poised with their respective tools at the ready.
Hermione, their leader by speed alone, elbowed her way the rest of the way through the crowd and to the front, where she popped out between a skinny reporter and his equally lanky photographer partner.
Harry pulled up a few steps behind the reporter line, stopping as surely as if he'd run into a wall.
Gabrielle was up with Hermione before she noticed her actual person of interest hadn't followed, and she slid her way back through the crowd, her shorter stature making it a bit easier to slide between onlookers.
"You don't want to see Ron come out?" she asked.
"Reporters," Daphne guessed, earning a slow nod from Harry and an irritated frown from Gabrielle.
"See," Harry said, pointing to where Hermione had been pulled into little interviews with the waiting journalists. "Better her than me. She always was better at the whole…talking thing."
"You do alright," Daphne said with a smile he slowly returned. "You sure you want to stick around? It's not like you won't see Weasley tonight."
"A few interviews is a small price to pay to see him come out of that room as the tournament leader," he said. "But I'm not going to seek them out, either."
"You could confound them," Gabrielle said, her head cocked to the side in thought. "Then they wouldn't even realize it's you!"
"If he did that, they wouldn't be able to accurately report on what will be one of the biggest stories of the year," Daphne said, glancing over at Harry. "Aside from what you did over the summer, of course. It could significantly impact their careers."
"I wasn't talking to you," Gabrielle snapped, then pushed her way up to where Hermione was having her picture taken with a couple of girls who looked like they were barely old enough to be in the double digits.
Harry watched her go, then let out a long sigh that seemed to come from the bottoms of his feet.
"She really doesn't like me."
Harry nodded, finally tearing his eyes away from his friend and glancing over at her.
"She's not dumb. I'll bet she can tell there's…" he waved his hand in the air between them and let it fall when she grinned at him.
"That there's what, exactly?"
He put a hand on her shoulder, the heat of his palm radiating through her shirt as though it weren't even there. The thought of it made her pulse race.
"That there's…"
His thumb brushed across her collar bone, then he let it fall.
"…the Weasleys," he said, his eyes focused on a point somewhere behind her.
He made her want to scream. And also kiss him.
Among many, many other things. Things that were entirely inappropriate for consideration while she followed him through the sea of people and over to an island of red hair and extra noise.
"Has anybody seen Charlie?" Mrs Weasley asked, spinning in place as though she could spot him despite being a head shorter than almost all the rest of her family. At least.
"He hung back," one of them said. One Daphne hadn't seen before.
He was…handsome, in a startling way she had never thought the Weasleys capable of being. His eyes were alert, focused, and his long hair was pulled back into a short ponytail.
And on his left, familiar silvery hair drew her eye to the elder of the Delacour sisters.
"Oh! Harry, Dear, we've been looking for you too," Mrs Weasley said when her revolution brought her face to face with Harry. "We tried to find you in the crowd but were held up and only just made it in time to see that Beauxbatons boy slice his finger open."
She tsked and pulled him into a hug all in one breath, then held him out at arm's length and squinted.
"You feel like skin and bones," she muttered, before letting him go. "I'll make sure to get you a little extra when you come visit for the holidays."
"Thanks, Mrs Weasley," he said, without a trace of irritation. Which was shocking, since Daphne knew from feel alone that there was plenty covering his bones.
Though, she supposed, if it'd been her mother back to tell her she wasn't eating enough or her grades were slipping, she'd have drank it in with a smile.
No sooner had she finished the thought, than the woman's eyes landed on her and widened a fraction in surprise before she got herself under control.
"And is this your girlfriend?"
"No," Harry said. "This is a friend. Daphne Greengrass."
"Ah yes," her husband said, turning from where he'd been craning his neck to see if the champions had come out yet. "I've run into your father a number of times," he said. "You always know you'll be finished with a few minutes to spare if you've got a meeting with him. Very efficient. Makes him popular in the office."
Daphne nodded. "He's usually very busy, and understands how valuable people's time is," she said, his many lectures about punctuality bouncing around in the background of her thoughts. "I'm not surprised you know him. He's got a finger in almost every sector of exports, despite our specialization."
Mrs Weasley seemed to shake herself, then smiled at Harry. "Ginny is probably off with Charlie, if you wanted to say hi. I imagine she'd appreciate it, what with most of your year being spent here, after all."
Harry only nodded, then turned when a roar went up from the crowd.
The champions stood in a line just outside the archway, with Weasley standing in the middle, grinning so wide it looked like it hurt.
He had certainly earned it.
The journalists rushed forward only a few steps behind Hermione, who swept Ron up into a hug that hid him from a wave of photographs.
Moments later, the circle of reporters had closed and blocked them all from view.
"It'll be a bit before he's done with all his fans," one of the twins said.
"Even though he wasn't any fun to watch," said the other.
"He was brilliant," Fleur said, shooting the pair a look.
"You've just got a soft spot for people who make the first task boring to watch."
Heat crept into her glare that dissipated in a flash when one of Bill's large hands came to rest on her shoulder.
Daphne turned to Harry, who had been pulled into a conversation with Mr Weasley about cars, of all things. She poked him on the shoulder and pointed a thumb towards the outside edge of the crowd when he turned.
"I'll leave you to it," she said, forcing her voice level to keep it from betraying the jumble of bizarre nerves in her stomach.
He nodded, the split attention he'd been giving to the entire chaotic family coming together to a pinpoint on her, just for a moment.
"See you soon?" he asked.
She forced the smile down too.
"I would hope so."
—-
But, he didn't.
He didn't find her, didn't divert from his little group of friends for the week following the first task, didn't even bother to send a little note that said, 'I'm busy, talk soon.' Or 'I'm busy, but I'll make time.' Or 'You're so attractive I can't think of anything else.'
Which, as Daphne speared a piece of chicken with her fork, wasn't even the most irritating part.
Nothing was stopping her from pulling him by his collar to some secluded corner of the school. But she wasn't about to be as obvious and plain as Gabrielle. Having a thirteen-year-old girl fawn over you thanks to her terminal case of hero worship was one thing, but a woman his own age was likely to go to his head.
He should be the one to do something. At least once.
This time, a piece of roasted potato died on the end of her fork.
Someone pulled out the chair in front of her and dropped down into it.
She wasn't hoping it'd be Harry, so she obviously felt no disappointment to see Blaise sitting across from her, his stupid face put together in the picture of relaxed nonchalance.
"Branching out from the house conglomerate?" she asked, looking over to where most of Slytherin still sat on their own. They'd even pulled three tables together to mimic the one back at Hogwarts.
"Nothing wrong with sticking with your friends."
"Sure thing, Hufflepuff."
He rolled his eyes and she stuck the potato into her mouth, raising her eyebrows when he didn't say anything else.
"What do you want?" she finally asked.
He leaned forward and tried to pin her with what she once had considered an intense, attentive stare.
His dark eyes were wide, and he was looking at her.
But that was it. No focus. No intensity.
Which fit with everything else she knew about him.
He blinked and licked his lips. "I actually wanted to ask you to the ball."
What the hell?
"What the hell?"
He laughed. "I figured that might be your response. Listen, I get why we didn't work out."
"'We…'" she echoed.
Clearly not.
"But testing the waters with the other schools is a pain, even without the possibility of a language barrier."
"Almost everyone here speaks English."
"But not well," he said, poking the table with a finger like he'd made some significant point. "Plus, we don't know what they're going to be like. What if they're clingy, or have expectations?"
"Yes," she muttered, stabbing and eating another potato. "What if?"
"So, I thought we could go together. We already know each other. It'd be an easy, casual thing."
Casual was right.
"You're too late," she found herself saying. The lie would come out easily enough at the ball, but he knew better than to make a scene. "I'm spoken for."
"Potter," he said. Less a question, and more a confirmation.
"Hardly, Malfoy Junior. You know I'm friends with Hermione. I don't know if you've had your head up your arse with your eyes closed for the last seven years, but the two of them are pretty good friends. It makes sense that we'd cross paths. That doesn't mean we're together."
"Who then?"
"You'll find out, won't you?" she said, pushing her chair back and standing up.
Sure, he'd find out she was lying. No matter what her father said, she wasn't going to use a date to the ball as leverage with her potential contacts, and with Harry so infuriatingly silent, she and her shiny little dress would go alone.
Though she would have absolutely turned Harry down, anyway.
Especially now.
As she walked from the dining hall, she made it a point to avoid turning her head to look at where Hermione and her two friends sat. Even so, she couldn't miss the distinct silvery hair of his hanger-on.
The doors to the dining hall swung shut behind her as she slipped out into the chilly December evening.
She pulled her wand from her pocket and cast a warming charm on her clothes before leaving for her cabin.
Idiots and other idiots aside, there was still work to be done. Matteo wasn't going to network himself, Harry could keep pretending he hadn't kissed her a little stupid, and Jorge really was making progress with his understanding of the more social side of business.
It'd be interesting to see how he fared at the ball all on his own.