Much thanks to my betas, akamoroti and Webstriker!
Until Next Year
A Harry Potter oneshot
First
Harry stalked toward the library, burying his frozen hands in his robes. To be honest, he agreed with Wood — no matter how bad the rain got, they needed all the practice they could get to beat Hufflepuff. But the rest of the team had threatened mutiny, and Harry couldn't express his opinion before Wood accepted defeat and called off practice.
Oh well, at least it gave him more time to research Nicholas Flamel. Trying to forget about Wood's heartbroken face, Harry's feet took him to their usual library table and he said, "Hey, practice was canceled, have you found anything about Flamel —"
His mouth hung open and his hands became even colder. Ron and Hermione weren't at their usual table. Instead, a young girl with long blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and green and silver trim on her robes was staring at him, her mouth a thin line.
"I don't recall Professor Binns assigning us homework about a Flamel," she said in a perfectly neutral tone of voice.
His heart hammering in his chest, Harry grasped wildly for some idea of what to do. He vaguely remembered seeing this girl in his Potions class, meaning she was a first year. Who were the other Slytherin first years again?
"What's the matter, Harry Potter? You look sick. Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?"
"Ah, no, I'm just a little tired. Um, have you seen Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger by any chance?"
"No."
They stared at each other in silence.
"Can you tell me about this Flamel?" she asked, a small smile on her lips. "If I missed an assignment, I'd like to know."
Harry gulped down the saliva that had built up in his mouth and tried his best to calm down. Snape was her Head of House, sure, but that didn't mean she'd report this to him; Harry barely ever talked to Professor McGonagall, after all. He just needed to pass it off so she'd forget about it. "It's not an assignment," he said. "Hermione got interested in Flamel for some reason and she's making me and Ron help her find books about him, that's all."
Like a lightbulb inside her head had switched off, the girl's face instantly darkened as her smile disappeared and her eyelids drooped. "Oh, just a Mudblood thing then. How boring."
"Mudblood?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You don't know what a Mudblood is, Potter?"
"Um. No?"
The girl sighed and muttered something.
"What was that?" Harry asked.
After a short pause, she turned around in her chair to face him. She stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes, saying nothing. After a few seconds of his heartbeat steadily speeding up, she smiled and said in a light, mocking tone, "Grow up around Muggles, you'll always be a Muggle."
Harry's hands balled into fists. He should've known, this girl was just a female Malfoy. "I guess you grew up around annoying jerks, then."
The girl opened her mouth in surprise, and Harry felt a thrill of victory. She leaned down — and started giggling. It was very quiet giggling, but definitely giggling, she was even doubled over.
"What's so funny?" Harry snapped.
Through her giggles, the girl said, "You were just so proud of making the dumbest comeback in history."
Harry's hands turned white-hot. "You're the same as Malfoy," he said, and turned on his heel to leave —
"Take that back."
Harry glanced back, and almost flinched. The last time he'd seen someone so angry was Aunt Petunia when he burned the chicken.
"Malfoy is a moron," the girl said, emphasizing each word. "I'm not like him at all. So take that back."
Harry grinned as an odd, floating sensation took hold of his mind. "Why should I believe you're not a moron? What grades do you get?"
The girl scoffed. "Only Mudbloods care about grades, Potter. And if I'm a moron, then since you ran away when you couldn't make a good retort, what does that make you?"
He stopped himself from asking what a 'retort' was. "I wasn't running away!"
"You totally were."
"I was leaving because of how annoying you are."
She leaned back in her chair. "Then go ahead and leave, Potter. Nothing's stopping you."
Harry opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and said, "Alright then, I will." He turned around and started walking.
"You don't know my name, do you, Potter?"
He stopped. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck. "Why do you think that?"
"Because I've been calling you by name this entire time. Potter."
Harry didn't turn around. No way was he going to let her see his face right now.
"It's Daphne Greengrass. If you ever have the misfortune to talk with me again, make sure to remember it."
Second
As January progressed and no more Muggle-borns got attacked, Harry found himself thinking about Daphne Greengrass. Now that he knew what 'Mudblood' meant, he felt a mix of anger and shame whenever he remembered their brief conversation. No matter what she might say, anyone who used that word so casually really was not any different from Malfoy. He kept fantasizing about what her expression might be if he told her that to her face.
Unfortunately, he didn't have any opportunities to. Greengrass didn't seem to ever interact with anyone outside her House, and certainly not Gryffindors. In fact, he basically never saw her outside of their shared classes and mealtimes. Did she spend her entire life in her Common Room?
On January 22nd, one year to the day after he met her — which he only remembered because it was exactly one month before his Quidditch match with Hufflepuff — he found himself going back to the library. Not that he did it to meet her, she wasn't even going to be there…
And yet she was, sitting at the very same table.
"Harry Potter," she said, looking up from her book. "Do you remember me?"
"...Greengrass."
She smirked. "I'm honored. Now, what brings you here? Looking for your friends again?"
"Hermione's still in the Hospital Wing, in case you forgot."
"Ah yes, that's right." She tapped her temple with her index finger. "Apologies, Potter. I don't tend to remember the affairs of Mudbloods."
"Don't call her that."
Greengrass looked up at him with a perfectly angelic expression. "Call who what?"
"Hermione doesn't have dirty blood. She's a better witch than you are."
"And how would you know that? What do you know about me, Potter?"
Harry shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You —"
"Giving up that quickly?"
"It doesn't matter. You can't hate someone just because they have Muggle parents."
"See? You really don't know anything about me. I don't hate Mudbloods, Potter."
Harry slammed his hands on the table. "Stop saying that!"
In the silence that followed, he realized he had just shouted in the library. Thankfully they were deep in a secluded corner, and nobody seemed to have heard him.
"Fine," Greengrass said acidly. "I don't hate Muggle-borns. Potter."
"Then why do you keep using that word?"
She scoffed. "It's just a word."
"It's not just a word. You're literally calling them dirty."
"It's a figure of speech. If I say you're a bloody idiot, that sadly does not mean you're actually bleeding."
"But…" He felt like he was swimming through mud. "But Ron said —"
"Oh, well, if the most Muggle-loving family in the world says so, it must be true."
Maybe Greengrass wasn't like Malfoy after all. He wanted to punch Malfoy, but at that moment, he wanted to strangle Greengrass. He spoke, his voice low: "You dismiss everything I say, but aren't you just repeating what your parents tell you? So why should I believe anything you say?"
She glared at him more fiercely than Wood did when Harry missed the Snitch in practice. But he refused to quail in front of her.
Then, finally, she…smiled. "You finally managed a decent retort, Potter. Well done."
Harry stifled a groan and collapsed into a chair. Greengrass giggled, providing further evidence that she was bloody crazy, yet sadly not actually bleeding.
"So if you don't hate Muggle-borns," Harry said while studying the grain of the wooden table, "why are you in Slytherin?"
"I don't recall the Sorting Hat saying that Slytherins must hate anyone."
"Salazar Slytherin himself hated Muggle-borns!"
"That's a common misconception."
Harry was getting angry again. "You're saying that while the Heir of Slytherin himself is going around trying to kill Muggle-borns right now?"
"Someone calling themselves the Heir of Slytherin is indeed doing that."
He stared at her. She rested her chin on her left palm, still smiling.
Resolving not to let her get to him, Harry said, "If Slytherin didn't hate Muggle-borns, why did he want to kick them out of Hogwarts?"
Greengrass put her hands behind her head and leaned back in her chair. "Of course I cannot speak for our illustrious Founder. What I can say is that I, myself, think we should kick out the…Muggle-borns…for the same reason I told you last year."
"You want to kick them out?"
"You don't remember, Potter? Grow up around Muggles, you'll always be a Muggle. The entire reason we have the Statute of Secrecy is to keep the Muggles out. Every Muggle-born we let in brings with them Muggle values, not to mention their Muggle families and friends. Eventually there won't be any Wizarding World left. So you see," she grinned wide, "it has nothing to do with hatred." She stopped talking and looked at him expectantly.
What was Harry supposed to say to that? Sure, she definitely got it all from her parents, but he couldn't use the same retort twice. Just as Greengrass's lips started to curl up, before she started laughing at him again, Harry said, "You can't hurt people because of…some weird theory that's probably not even true."
"Hurt people?" If he didn't know better, he would've thought Greengrass was genuinely offended. "How am I proposing to hurt anyone?"
"You're the one who wants to kick out the Muggle-borns!"
"Right, to live as Muggles. Harry Potter…don't tell me that the Boy Who Lived, savior of the poor and downtrodden, thinks that living like a Muggle is…a bad thing?"
Harry gaped at her, and she really started laughing. Rage filled his stomach, and he spoke loud enough to be heard over her laughter: "Well Voldemort didn't just kick out Muggle-borns, he —"
This was only the second time they'd talked, but Harry thought he was basically used to her games by now. This wasn't a game. Eyes in a deep glare, lips pressed together tight…she was looking at him with genuine hatred.
"My family did not support the Dark Lord," Greengrass said in a low and cold voice. "And we didn't need to plead the Imperius, either. We are not the Malfoys. We were neutral, and anyone you ask will tell you the same. Even Albus Dumbledore."
Harry's heart was beating as fast as it ever had. But he didn't want to apologize, not to her, not for this. He said, "So you just stayed out of it while Voldemort was murdering innocent people?"
Greengrass stood up straight, causing her chair to scrape loudly against the floor. "That's right. Next time I see Grandfather, I'll ask him if he regrets ensuring none of our family died." And she left, leaving behind only the sound of her shoes clacking against the marble floor.
Third
When Harry realized he'd read the same page three times, he sighed and put his head on the table.
This year, January 22nd happened to be a Saturday. So he decided to head to the library table early. He figured that even if Greengrass didn't show up, he could catch up on his homework, maybe prove to Hermione he was capable of doing it without her if he really tried.
Of course there was a good chance Greengrass wasn't going to show up, considering how their last argument had ended. That would mean all the work he put in during summer would go to waste, but… oh well. He certainly wasn't going to apologize to her; he hadn't said anything wrong.
"You missed me that much, Potter?"
Harry's head snapped up, and sure enough Greengrass was standing there, two books in her arms and a small smile on her lips. Neither of them said anything as she sat down across from him, opened one book, and began reading.
He tried to read himself, but when the silence became unbearable, he said into his book, "I'm not going to apologize, you know."
"...I'm sorry, what?"
"I said —" Harry looked at her, was flustered a bit by Greengrass's raised eyebrow, then rallied and said, "I'm not going to apologize."
"Apologize…for what?"
Was this another of her games? "For what I said last time we talked! You seemed pretty upset, but…" Her large blue eyes kept staring at him like he was a monkey in a zoo, which made him feel very stupid. "But I don't think what I said was wrong…so…"
After a few more seconds of staring, Greengrass started giggling. As she covered her mouth with her arm, semi-successfully stifling her laughing fit, Harry wondered if this was just the type of person she was. She was always stone-faced when he glanced at her in class or during mealtimes, but maybe she laughed a lot in private with her friends? The only girl he knew was Hermione, and he knew enough to know she was not a good representative of her gender, so he didn't know what to think.
"Potter," Greengrass eventually said, "that was a year ago. If I held petty grudges that long I'd be hexing half my House."
"...I guess," Harry said. He was actually feeling a little distracted at the moment. While he'd noticed it before, when she was this close it was impossible to not see how pretty Greengrass had gotten over the last year. Not as pretty as Cho Chang, of course, but compared to the other girls in their year at least…it was taking a little bit of effort to keep his eyes locked on her face instead of moving down.
"Besides," Greengrass broke up his embarrassing reverie, "I was a bigger bitch to you in return, so we're even."
"Huh? You mean about Muggle-borns?"
Greengrass blinked a couple times. "Potter, I insulted your dead parents."
"...You did?"
She groaned and buried her head in her hands. "This is what I get for talking with a Gryffindor," he heard her mutter.
Despite their topic of conversation, Harry started laughing. Finally, he was the one driving her crazy. He felt like he understood her a bit better now. "Well," he said, "if you feel bad about it —"
"I never said I felt bad about it."
"— I have something to say to you. About why…Mudblood is a bad word."
Greengrass sighed. "Fine." She spread her arms. "Convince me."
Harry cleared his throat, then took a piece of paper out of his pocket. Greengrass giggled when she saw it. Annoyed, Harry said, "Look, I didn't want to memorize it in case you didn't come, alright?"
"I said nothing," Greengrass replied. Though that smirk on her face said enough, Harry thought.
Whatever. He took a deep breath and began reading from his script.
"There's no such thing as a private language. That's because language is something humans use to communicate with each other; I need language to talk to other people, not myself. So we don't get to decide what words mean all by ourselves. They have their meaning, um," as Harry read he realized it wasn't phrased very well and he frantically tried to correct it, "um, that is to say, our culture sort of…decides, I guess, what words mean, and we have to follow that in order to communicate with each other." He looked up, but couldn't discern anything from Greengrass's expression. "Does that…make sense so far?"
She shrugged. "Sort of. Let's see where you're going with it."
"Right." His eyes returned to the paper. "So. When it comes to 'Mudblood,' we have to ask what meanings it holds in the broader culture. Wittgenstein —"
"Who?"
"Just let me finish."
"Fine."
"Wittgenstein says that meaning comes from how a word is used. 'Mudblood' is largely used to insult Muggle-borns. When a pureblood calls a Muggle-born Mudblood, they do it to communicate that they consider the Muggle-born…um, less than them, right? Like, subhuman. And because of that, almost everyone who hears you say it will assume you're using it as an insult too. So it doesn't matter what you personally might intend, because meaning is made by your culture, you're basically sort of, um," another part of the script that sounded a lot worse when read aloud, "whenever you use it you're inherently saying you think Muggle-borns are worse than you are. So that's why you shouldn't say it."
He looked up at Greengrass again, but he still couldn't read her expression. "That's it."
She didn't say anything for a little bit, making Harry's heart bash his ribs harder and harder. This was so far outside his comfort zone. But he had to explain to Greengrass — no. He had to explain to himself why Greengrass was wrong.
Finally, Greengrass said, "I assume you didn't come up with all of that yourself. Where did it come from? I've never heard anything like it before."
He wondered briefly if it was a good idea to tell her, but he decided lying to her was an even worse idea. "I read a lot of Muggle books over the summer. I didn't understand a lot of it, but I kind of combined the stuff I did understand with my own thoughts."
It had taken a month in the public library for him to come up with that speech. Surprisingly it had been very easy to convince Uncle Vernon to let him go there; he just had to mention that he'd be out of their hair all day. He was thinking of going next summer too, despite the risk of turning into Hermione.
Greengrass tapped the table with her finger. "Let me see those notes." Harry handed them over, she looked them over a few times, then leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Harry tried to do some homework, but he was way too nervous to write more than a couple words.
"Alright," Greengrass said, and his eyes darted up. Hers were still closed. She continued, "I do more or less understand what you're saying, I think. But it's so different from everything I've ever heard that I…suppose I don't really know how I should respond. I can't say I agree with you, but I'm unable to come up with a good reason why not." She opened her dark blue eyes and looked at him evenly. "I'll have to think about it. In the meantime, though, I admit defeat. You win, Potter. I won't say the word around you."
Harry smiled, surprising himself at how happy he was. "Thanks, Greengrass. I appreciate it."
"But!" She pointed at the ceiling. "In the Slytherin Common Room that word flows like water, and if I don't say it that'll be noticed and remembered. So I'll still use it there. Is that acceptable to you, Potter?"
"...I mean…does it matter if it's acceptable to me?"
"It won't change what I do, but I am curious."
He looked at the table. "I don't really know what it's like in Slytherin, so…I guess you gotta protect yourself, right?"
Greengrass smiled. "I'm delighted to have your support."
They sat in silence again, but for the first time it didn't feel uncomfortable. It was actually kind of nice.
After some time spent reading and doing homework, Greengrass suddenly said, "What about my other question, then?"
Harry looked up. "What other one?"
"You don't remember? I asked you whether you think living like a Muggle is a bad thing. You never answered me." She put her chin on her palm. "I'm really curious to hear your retort."
"Oh. That. Um…to be honest I haven't really thought about it."
"It's Saturday. We have time." Her focus returned to her book.
So Harry thought about it. And thought about it. Then did some homework. Then repeated that cycle a couple times.
As the sunlight filtering through the windows started to dim, Greengrass said, "It's getting late. Now or never, Potter."
"Right." Harry sighed. "I'll be honest, Greengrass. I…don't really have any happy memories about my time with Muggles. So I guess I do sort of feel like living as a Muggle is a bad thing." He stared at the ceiling. "But I was the exception, I'm pretty sure. Most of the Muggles I knew weren't really unhappier than most of the wizards I know. So I guess that means living like a Muggle isn't actually a bad thing."
Greengrass said nothing, but she didn't have to. Harry continued, "But I think I also feel like…if someone can do something, and you stop them from doing it because of who their parents are, that's really sad. Maybe kicking out the Muggle-borns wouldn't make then unhappy —"
"Especially if we Obliviate them," Greengrass interrupted.
Harry gaped at her. "...You're joking, right?"
She just smiled.
"...Anyway. It's not about happiness, I think. It's about…the loss of potential? You're preventing someone from achieving everything they can. I think that's bad." He gulped. "Does that make sense?"
"Oh yes, absolutely," Greengrass said. Harry felt relieved. She went on: "It's so brave of you to support goblin citizenship, Potter."
"...Huh?"
She tapped the corner of her lip. "Didn't you say it's bad to stop someone from achieving everything they can? Right now we don't even let goblins possess wands. Unless…" She covered her mouth with her hand. "Do your lofty principles only extend to humans, Potter? The Boy Who Lived, savior of the poor and —"
"Shut up."
"Oh no, you are! Our hero is a speciesist! I'll need to inform the Daily —"
"Shut up, Greengrass!"
She laughed as long and as hard as she'd ever had, and all Harry could do was regret every decision he'd ever made.
When she eventually, finally stopped, Harry grumbled, "I don't know what you want from me."
"Me?" Greengrass smirked. "What I despise about Dumbledore is his hypocrisy. So as long as you're not a hypocrite, I'll be satisfied." She stood up, leaned over, and patted him on the shoulder. "Get going then, Potter."
"What?" His thoughts were filled with haze.
"I left first last year, so this year's your turn. Right, Potter?" She smiled, flashing her shining white teeth.
Fourth
"Hm? Our glorious No School champion has the free time to chat with little old me?"
"I still have a month before the second task, Greengrass," Harry said while sitting down. Besides, he told himself, he had spent the last 24 hours straight trying and failing to think of a way to breathe underwater, he could use the break.
Greengrass hummed, chin on her palm. She said, "I'll help you out if you tell me how you got past Dumbledore's age line."
Harry sighed. "So you think I did it too?" He was actually kind of hurt by that.
"I am, of course, entirely neutral on this question, Potter." She put on her 'angelic' face, with a smile as innocent as a child soldier's.
"Well for your information, I didn't. Someone else older than 17 put my name in."
Greengrass crossed her arms. "So what you're saying is Dumbledore accounted for every possibility except just getting someone else to put your name in for you."
Harry opened his mouth to argue, then realized he couldn't. In the end he just sheepishly said, "You know, I hadn't thought of it like that."
"Of course not. You Gryffindors all worship Dumbledore."
He glared. Greengrass put her hands up in a placating gesture. "Don't get me wrong, Potter. If he favored me as much as he does you, I'd worship him too."
"He does not…" Harry sighed. "Okay, I guess he does favor me."
"The privilege of being the Boy Who Lived, savior of the —"
"Shut up, Greengrass." She giggled, then fell silent.
Harry's eyes roamed the room. Their arguments were ending quickly this time. Which was probably good, it meant they were getting friendlier, but…he kind of didn't know how to interact with Greengrass outside of arguing with her.
"So Potter, have you been thinking about the question I asked you last year?"
Maybe she was thinking along the same lines as him. Harry smiled. "Goblin citizenship, right? I've been thinking, but I don't have a speech prepared this time." Muggle books hadn't been particularly helpful for this one.
"That's fine," Greengrass said, leaning back. "You're funnier when speaking extemporaneously anyway."
Harry chose to ignore that. Breathing in the oddly calm atmosphere, he talked without planning out his words. "I don't know if you've heard, but Hermione's started this campaign to free the house-elves."
"It'd be hard not to hear. That girl is very loud."
That was the first time someone had ever described Hermione as loud. "Anyway, Ron and others have been saying the house-elves are happy the way they are, and I guess that's true. But then I remember what I said to you last year, that it's not about happiness, it's about…achieving your potential and stuff. So…"
It made him a little nervous when Greengrass just stared at him silently like that. More than a little nervous, actually. But he regrouped. "If I'm not going to be a hypocrite, I guess maybe the goblins and house-elves do deserve citizenship."
Greengrass kept staring at him, and he eventually had to look away. Why did she have to look so much like a Veela?
"Here's what you have to understand, Potter," she suddenly said. He looked back and her expression was blank. She continued, "Granger is the first person I have ever heard question the way we treat house-elves. So neither I nor you have any reason to take her seriously."
"What, 'cause she's a Mudblood?"
"I see you're allowed to use the word."
Harry clenched his fist. "Greengrass…"
"Yes, because she's Muggle-born! She has no clue about what she's talking about — and you don't either, Potter. What's more likely, that she's a world-historical genius who can perceive things no one else has with a glance, or that she's a self-righteous antisocial bitch who just wants to feel like she's better than everyone else?"
"I notice you haven't tried to respond to her actual arguments. Does your family have house-elves, Greengrass?"
She sneered. "Well, if you're so convinced, I look forward to seeing you refuse to touch anything made by a house-elf. Maybe if you ask nicely they'll show you how to make porridge." She slammed her hands on the table, stood up, and started to stomp off.
He could let her go. Maybe it'd be the same as two years ago. Maybe she'd stop showing up to their weird yearly meetings. The former seemed more likely, but he couldn't say for sure. What did he really know about her, in the end?
Harry said, "Running away?"
Greengrass stopped. "I know when I'm being baited," she said without turning around.
He didn't reply, his hands damp with sweat.
Greengrass sighed deeply and dramatically, then trudged back to her seat at the library table.
"You're just defending your friend, Potter," she said. "Objectively speaking, she has no idea what she's talking about. You must recognize that, at least."
"Then it should be easy for you to make a retort."
"How am I supposed to respond to an argument nobody else has ever been insane enough to make?"
"You've had almost five months now."
Greengrass glared, stood up…then let out a long breath and fell back into her chair.
"Admitting defeat?" Harry asked lightly.
"Of course not," Greengrass said, her eyes closed. "But I do admit I don't have a real retort. Honestly, I hadn't even given house-elves a second thought until Granger made her fuss."
Harry nodded. This was about as much as he could expect —
"And...I'm sorry for calling your friend a self-righteous antisocial bitch. Even though she is one."
The shock hit him like a ten-ton Bludger to the face; goosebumps erupted across his arms and legs. Eventually, Harry forced out, "The problem wasn't that she's my friend."
"It is to me," Greengrass mumbled, almost whispered.
Her eyes were still closed. She was leaning back in her chair, her flowing blonde hair covering half her face. Harry said, "Apology accepted. Just don't call her a bitch again."
"How about the two adjectives?" Greengrass asked lazily.
Harry smiled a bit. "She can certainly be those."
Greengrass let out a single bark of laughter, then stretched, opened her eyes, and stood up. "No stopping me this time, Potter," she said.
But instead of going straight out, she took the long path around the table, and brushed the back of Harry's neck with her fingers as she walked past him.
His neck felt hot for a while after that.
Fifth
Harry stood at the door to the library and sighed. What was he doing? Voldemort was back, Umbridge was taking over Hogwarts, and he'd gone as far as to re-schedule a DA meeting just so he could keep up this…whatever it was…with Greengrass. If she didn't show up, then he'd feel really stupid.
That must've been why he felt so relieved when he rounded the corner and saw the familiar figure sitting at the familiar table. Though she didn't look up from her book as he approached and sat down across from her.
The two of them read in silence for a time. There was a weird feeling in the air. It wasn't quite tension, but it wasn't a peaceful silence either.
Finally, Harry said, "Do you believe me? About Voldemort?"
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Greengrass slowly close her book, then gaze at the ceiling. He swallowed his nerves and waited.
Eventually, she spoke. "I think every old pureblood family believes you, Potter. It's not hard to see how all the Dark Lord's old supporters are acting differently, if you know what to look for."
"...I see."
"Which means," she trained her eyes on him, "there's going to be a war soon."
Harry looked down. "...And I suppose you'll be neutral, Greengrass?"
This time, the silence was filled with loads of tension. Harry snuck a glance at Greengrass once; she was resting her head in her arms, gazing off to the side.
"Do you know Tracey Davis, Potter?"
He was startled by the sudden noise, but when he looked up, Greengrass hadn't changed her position. "...The name rings a bell," he said.
She smiled, though it was small. "You truly are embarrassingly ignorant sometimes, Potter. She's a Slytherin in our year, and my best friend. My only friend, really. And…" Greengrass finally turned toward him, her eyes looking like a dead fish. "She's a half-blood."
Harry said nothing.
"Did you ever wonder, Potter, why I was here the day we met? Have you ever seen me in the library outside of our little meetings?"
He shook his head.
Greengrass sat up. "Our first winter break, my parents demanded I sever ties with her. Half-bloods are…tolerated by the people in my parents' circle, but to be such close friends with one would damage my reputation severely. So they did it for my own sake. Do you understand, Potter?"
"I…I don't know."
"That's alright, you don't have to. The point is, after I got back, I couldn't stand to be near her anymore. Guilt, anger, shame…" She waved her hand. "Well, I was only twelve, after all. So I hid here for a month."
Harry's mouth was dry. "Then what happened?"
"Oh, I eventually got too lonely and begged her to forgive me." She smiled brightly at him. "It's hard to imagine me doing that, right?"
He didn't know how to respond to that.
"Anyway, that's not the point. The point is what my father did that summer." Greengrass held up three fingers.
"Three?" Harry asked automatically.
"He used the Cruciatus on me three times."
Greengrass's straight golden hair cascaded down her back, vanishing below the lip of the table. Her navy blue eyes radiated serenity. Her red lips curled upwards in the picture of a polite, unassuming, unrevealing smile.
"Before you think too badly of him, Potter, that was all he did. After that, he never spoke ill about Tracey again. The purpose wasn't to punish me, it was to test me. He wanted to make sure I understood what suffering awaited me due to my friendship, and to determine if I was willing and able to withstand it. Do you understand?"
"Honestly, Greengrass, I really don't."
"That's fine, you don't have to. Just consider this: if I were to join your side, what do you think my parents would do? And that's assuming," her smile disappeared, "I even want to."
Harry rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He couldn't look at her. But he said in a small voice, "I would still do what's right."
"But I'm not you, Potter."
"Yeah, I know." He understood that better than ever.
Greengrass was the one who broke the ensuing silence. "I have a request, Potter." She looked down. "The Dark Lord isn't as strict on half-bloods as he is on Muggle-borns, and Tracey keeps her head down. Still…if she ever becomes a target…could you…"
Harry took a deep breath, and allowed his anger to drown out all other emotions. "We'll save whoever we can, but I don't think we can give anyone special treatment. And…" Their eyes met. "I think you need to decide what's really important to you."
She glared at him, but her expression quickly collapsed and she put her head on the table, hair scattering around her. Harry just looked at her.
"Your turn to leave first, Potter," Greengrass eventually said, voice muffled.
"...Yeah." He stood up.
"One last thing, Potter," she said before he could even take a step. Harry paused. She continued, voice still muffled by the table: "Two years ago, you gave me that argument for why I shouldn't say…that word. I talked to Tracey about it afterward, and she told me…she told me she'd always hated when I said it, but didn't bring it up because…she was afraid I might stop being friends with her." Greengrass finally looked up, and there were tears glistening in her eyes. "So thank you," she finished.
Harry gazed at her eyes for a very long moment that was over all too fast. "You're welcome."
Greengrass put her head back on the table. Harry tried to walk away, but his feet were rooted to the floor. Four years he'd known Greengrass, four years of nonstop arguments, until now. How was he supposed to react when someone dropped on him what Greengrass just did?
"...Before I came here, to Hogwarts…" he began, and before he knew it the words were tumbling out of him. The orders, the bullying, the cupboard under the stairs. The loneliness he hadn't even known he'd had until it was over.
It was the first time he'd told anyone this. Even Hagrid didn't know the whole story.
"I don't know if that's better or worse than what you went through," he finished lamely, studying his shoes. "I just…I don't know." He summoned his Gryffindor courage to look up, and when he saw Greengrass's expression, he thought he understood why she was the one he'd shared his past with.
Hagrid would've railed against the Dursleys with righteous anger. Hermione would've cried for him. Ron would've put his arm around his shoulders and cracked the perfect joke to make him laugh. But Greengrass…she just looked at him unflinchingly, saying nothing, expression neutral, dark blue eyes simply accepting everything he had to say.
"...Thanks for listening," Harry said, removing his glasses to wipe away his tears.
"Can I ask one question?"
He put his glasses back on. Greengrass's face still revealed nothing. "Sure," he said.
"Why are you on Dumbledore's side?"
It struck him that he'd never actually thought about that consciously. "Voldemort killed my parents," he answered reflexively.
"But you never knew them."
Harry flinched as if Greengrass had hit him. In a way she had. After an eternity of a couple seconds, he forced out, "I don't want anyone else to go through what I did."
"A lofty goal," Greengrass said. There was neither admiration nor derision in her tone, just a simple statement of fact.
"Yeah," he said. Greengrass's attention was back on her book, a clear signal to go. Harry felt like he still wanted to say something, to tell her something more before their year ended, but his brain was a charred crater and his mouth refused to form more words. All he could do was leave.
Sixth
That year, January 22 was a Wednesday. As usual, Greengrass was already at the table when Harry arrived. Unlike usual, she wasn't reading anything; she was just sitting still with her eyes closed. He thought she was sleeping until her eyes suddenly snapped open. "Good evening, Potter," she said.
Harry nodded and gulped. It wasn't like he hadn't been aware of his feelings on some level. He had spent a good portion of the previous few years thinking of January 22, especially after their last conversation. But it felt like all of Hogwarts had become obsessed with love since the school year started, and when he was constantly turning down confessions from half the female student body, it was impossible not to realize who he was thinking of while doing so.
He steeled himself and sat down. "I was surprised you weren't in the Slug Club," he said with a forced levity he hoped wasn't obvious.
Greengrass scoffed. "A social club for bootlickers. Not interested."
A jab at him, but Harry couldn't help but smile.
"More importantly," Greengrass went on, and looked at him absently. "I read about what happened to you last year. Do you regret not staying on the sidelines?"
Sirius falling through the veil flashed through his mind. Harry scrunched his eyes shut, then opened them again. "I don't regret it."
Her smile was a lot less sad than it was last year. "There's a fine line between courage and stupidity, Potter."
"If I didn't know any better, Greengrass, I'd think you were worried about me." He said it casually, expecting a biting retort in response. Instead, Greengrass looked away and said nothing. As the silence wore on, Harry's heart started beating faster and faster.
"Can you blame me?" Greengrass said in a small voice. "People are already dying, and you're at the top of the Dark Lord's list."
Harry's face was growing hot. He whipped his brain into coherent thought. "Well…thanks for worrying about me, I seriously appreciate it. But…"
"I know, you don't have to say it." She kept her head turned away. "Unlike me, you're a good person."
"That's not what I'm saying." Harry sighed; he knew he was stalling. There was only one thing he wanted to say to her. If he didn't take the plunge now, when would he?
Harry took a deep hbreath, thought of his parents, and said, "I think I love you."
Harry could almost feel the blood barreling through his veins. His heart was beating so intensely he idly wondered if it might crack his ribs. It was so hard to breathe that he wanted to eat some Gillyweed. These and other such thoughts filled his mind in order to drive out the anxiety that was threatening to crush his soul.
Then Greengrass finally made a sound: laughter.
"You think," she gasped between gales of mirth. "You think," more laughter, "you love me…. Watch out fathers…no girl can resist…Harry Potter's…masterful…"
"Okay fine, I get it!" Harry snapped. His entire body was on fire, but all he could do was lock eyes with the floor and accept his fate until Greengrass tired herself out.
"Merlin, Potter," she wheezed after she finally finished. "If that was intended to cheer me up, you're the most thoughtful boy in the world."
"Sure, let's go with that." If Voldemort attacked Hogwarts right then and there, Harry might join the Death Eaters himself out of gratitude.
"Turn around," Greengrass said.
"What?"
"Turn around." She traced a circle with her finger. "Only for a minute."
Harry sighed, but obeyed.
"Alright, Potter, you can turn back now."
He did, and —
Harry's brain stopped.
Daphne Greengrass stood in front of him, in a secluded corner of the Hogwarts library, completely naked, her robes in a pile by her feet.
"So?" she asked, her cheeks tinged with red. "What do you think?"
"I think your robes did an unbelievable job of hiding how big your breasts are."
They blinked at each other.
"Did I just say that out —"
He was interrupted by, what else, yet another fit of hysterical laughter. He somehow felt even more embarrassed this time.
"Greengrass, wait, I didn't —"
"Stop talking, Potter," she said, no longer laughing but with a wide grin on her face. She held out her hand, and he took it unthinkingly. She pulled, and next thing he knew, his lips were on hers.
Harry's kisses with Cho were always over quickly. To be honest, he hadn't really understood what the big deal was. This kiss, though…he could really get used to this kind of kiss.
Then she stuck her tongue into his mouth, and he fell down in shock.
"Oh?" Greengrass said, grin bigger than ever. "You never did that with Chang? Don't tell me you're a virgin, Potter?"
His mouth was agape, but he couldn't form words.
Greengrass giggled. "Don't act like I'm a Dementor, Potter. It's alright, I don't mind. However," she grabbed the hem of his robe, "don't you think it's unfair for me to be the only one naked?" She looked down at him with shining blue eyes.
"Um. Greengrass. Are we going to…do it?"
"Even the Dark Lord lets his followers say 'sex,' Potter. And what's the matter? You don't want to?"
"It's not…" He couldn't look at her for too long. "It's not that I don't want to, but isn't it a little…early?"
"We've known each other for five years, Potter."
"That's not what I meant!"
That came out harsher than he'd intended. He looked back at her to apologize, but her expression froze his throat.
She wasn't smiling anymore. She wasn't angry or annoyed. She was…nothing. Completely emotionless.
"Potter." Greengrass spoke in a monotone. "There's a war going on. Either of us could die tomorrow. Especially you. Do you really think we have the time to spare?"
Harry had to admit, he didn't have a retort for that. Plus, the more he looked at her body, the more ridiculous his objections seemed. When he realized he was staring his eyes shot down to his robe, which took a very long time to remove with how much his hands were shaking.
Then his whole body jolted as he felt Greengrass hug him from behind, her breasts pressing firmly into his back.
"I understand why you're nervous, Potter," she whispered into his ear. "I was too, my first time. But it'll be fine. Just follow my lead, okay?"
Harry nodded, then smiled. "We're about to have sex but you're still using my last name?"
"Well," she said, resting her chin on his shoulder, her hair tickling his chest, "that's kind of what I do, isn't it? Besides, I prefer it to your first name anyway."
"Why's that?"
"I'm not sure. It's manlier, I suppose. Might be the hard consonants."
He was…well he was still really nervous, but he did feel a bit calmer. "As for me…" He turned around, ginned up his courage, and pecked her on the lips. "I think I prefer Daphne."
Daphne chuckled. "You think a lot of things, don't you, Potter? Now then," she picked up her wand and cast a very welcome warming charm on the two of them, "shall we do it?"
They did.
After they finished they lay on the floor next to each other, still naked. As his brain returned from his lower half to his upper, Harry realized something he really should have thought of earlier. "Um, Daphne?"
"What is it, Potter?"
"I, um…" God, how was he supposed to phrase this? "I didn't have any rubbers on me, so…"
"Rubber?" Daphne turned her head to look at him, eyebrow raised high. "A rubber what?"
"Oh. I guess you don't have those. It's…" This was even more embarrassing than when she took her robe off. But he was a Gryffindor, so he summoned the bravery to power through. "It's a Muggle thing, I guess. It's sort of like a…sleeve? You put it on your, um," he gestured at his lower half, "so that when you have sex, you don't risk…you know…getting pregnant…" He slowly trailed off under Daphne's withering gaze.
Then she laughed again. Harry sighed. Well, it could've gone worse.
"Honestly, Potter, you really are a Muggle sometimes. You seriously thought witches need to use some rubber item to not get pregnant?"
"Just forget I asked, please." Harry turned away.
Daphne grasped his shoulder and said, "Not on your life."
The two of them lay in silence for a time. But then Harry had a thought. He had told Daphne he loved her plenty of times while they had sex, but she hadn't said it to him once.
It was probably nothing. Daphne was weird like that. But…just in case…he asked, "So you've had a lot of experience, huh?"
"Oh, you don't love me anymore now that you know I'm sullied?"
"That's not — !" He looked at her, and her smile calmed him down a little. "Sorry, that came out wrong. I'm just curious, I only dated Cho before, so, how many guys have you dated?"
Daphne faced the ceiling. "Hmm. Eight I think?"
"You think?"
"At some point you start losing track." She turned to him, still smiling, but somehow her smile now looked a little…off. It wasn't quite reaching her eyes.
Harry's mouth moved. "Are you dating anyone right now?"
Silence.
Daphne said, "Yes."
More silence.
Her smile grew, but it didn't become any happier. "You should've known from the beginning, Potter. I'm not a good person."
Harry could barely breathe. His throat felt thin as a needle. "Who is it?"
"You don't know him."
"...Do you love him?"
"No."
"Then why…"
She turned away. "I'm not you, Potter. I can't devote myself to someone I only see once a year."
"So let's meet —" Harry gasped, his words and thoughts stolen away. The look she was giving him…it wasn't anger or hatred. It wasn't cold or emotionless. It was like a promise, that the next word he said would be his last.
Daphne stood up slowly, then started putting her clothes back on. Harry did the same. He finished shortly before she did. After she fixed her hem and hair, the two of them gazed at each other, but Harry had no idea what to say.
For her part, Daphne glanced up at the ceiling, looked back, closed her eyes, and said, "Wait for a bit, Potter." She walked over to her bag; Harry just watched as she rummaged through it. She finally drew out a simple green bracelet. "You can wear this and think of me," she said, placing it in his hand and closing his fist around it. "It's a poor substitute for the real thing, I know, but it'll have to do." She smiled grimly. "Until next year."
Seventh
"Thank you, Miss Parkinson," said Professor McGonagall in a clipped voice. "You will leave the Hall first with Mr. Filch. If the rest of your House could follow."
Harry's eyes found Daphne. She stared at him, face frozen, unblinking. Then she glanced to her right. A girl with short brown hair, eyes red, was leaning on Daphne while clutching her arm.
A lifetime ago, he had told Daphne that she needed to decide what was important to her.
He nodded. She nodded back.
Daphne left, and Harry never saw her at Hogwarts again.
Eighth
On Friday January 22, 1999, almost nine months after Tom Riddle's final death, an owl arrived at Harry's apartment bearing a letter. There was no name on it; all that was written was an address in green ink. Not that the sender was at all mysterious, of course.
Harry fingered the bracelet he'd worn every day for the past two years. It wasn't a hard decision.
After doing his best to dress up, Harry grabbed his broom and Apparated to the closest location he knew to the address. He'd gone to almost all the wizarding settlements in Great Britain due to his work, so he didn't even have to fly far afterward. As he approached a small, isolated cottage, his heart was beating almost as fast as when he'd faced down Voldemort. His fist shook as he knocked on the door.
The door opened, but it wasn't Daphne on the other side. It was the brown-haired girl who'd stood next to her last year. Her eyes bulged. "Harry Potter!? How do you know Daphne?"
"Let him in, Tracey," a voice called from somewhere inside, and the jackhammer in Harry's chest started up again.
Tracey Davis, still clearly in shock, led Harry to what appeared to be the dining room after he put his coat and broom in a closet. Daphne was sitting at a table with a half-finished meal in front of her, wearing a forest green nightgown that revealed a generous amount of skin.
"Have you had dinner yet, Potter?" Daphne asked.
Harry blinked. "Uh, no. I've been traveling."
"Of course. You're my guest, so I'll make you something. You can get acquainted with Tracey in the meantime." She stood up.
Davis looked at Daphne, then Harry, then Daphne again. "Wait — Daphne —" But she was already in the kitchen, and Davis just sighed miserably. "Sorry about this, Potter," she said. "As you can tell, Daphne didn't say a word to me." Davis examined him curiously. "She really gave you a memory safe charm?"
"...A what?"
Davis gaped again, then turned to the kitchen. "You didn't tell him about that?"
Daphne just hummed. Davis pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. "There's this old spell passed down in Daphne's family," she said. "They don't let outsiders know the details," she shot Daphne a glare, "but basically it makes it so that nobody can keep in their mind the location of their house. Like, even if you have the address in front of you, or if you've visited before, even if you're standing right in front of it, you can't remember it. Unless you have a memory safe charm like this." She reached into her robe and drew out a necklace with a green chain.
"Ah." Harry held up his wrist to show Davis the bracelet.
"Wow, she really did give you one," Davis said, a strange expression on her face.
Harry looked down at the bracelet. His stomach felt light.
"So," Davis said. "How do you know Daphne?"
He hesitated. He glanced at Daphne, but she was very deliberately not paying attention to him. Harry shrugged and gave Davis a somewhat abridged summary of his encounters with Daphne. He had just finished the fifth one by the time Daphne returned with food, the timing perfect enough that he strongly suspected it to be deliberate.
"I can't believe you never told me about this!" Davis said. "A secret tryst with the Boy Who Lived!"
"If we told anyone it would hardly be a secret, would it?" Daphne said after reheating her food with a spell.
Davis harrumphed and turned back to Harry. "So, what happened in your sixth year? I guess that's when she gave you that?" She pointed at the bracelet.
"Ah." Harry glanced at Daphne. "Well —"
"We fucked," Daphne said evenly, then started eating.
Davis laughed. Then she stopped laughing. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them; Daphne's cheeks were visibly flushed, and Harry's face was probably much redder than that.
"...Are you serious?" Davis asked.
Daphne just continued eating. Davis looked pleadingly at Harry, and he eventually gave her a small nod. She practically collapsed into her chair.
"Wait," Davis said, "hold on." She covered her face with her hand. "Daphne, is this why you broke up with Geoffrey yesterday?"
Daphne chewed slowly. "I didn't know for sure Potter would show up. I suppose it was a combination of guilt and hope."
Davis squinted at her for a little while, then leaned back and smiled. "I see. Guess I'm in the way then, huh?"
Harry spoke up frantically: "Oh, no, not at —"
"I'm glad you understand, Tracey," Daphne said and floated the last bit of food into her mouth.
He must've had an awful expression because Davis giggled at him and said, "Don't worry, Potter, I'm more than used to her by now. We're still on for Sunday, right Daphne?"
"Of course," Daphne said, a napkin dabbing her mouth by itself. "I'll need someone to either celebrate with or comfort me while I sob. Not that the Boy Who Lived, savior of the poor and downtrodden, would ever let a beautiful woman cry, of course." She batted her eyelashes at him.
"I only save the poor and downtrodden, Lady Greengrass," Harry replied.
Daphne tapped the corner of her lip. "That retort gets a four out of ten. The two year gap seems to have made you rusty, Potter."
"Alright," Davis said, standing up, "I'm not going to stick around just to listen to you two flirt. Walk me to the door, Potter?"
"Um…" He glanced at Daphne, who just leaned back and closed her eyes, then turned back to Davis. "...Sure?"
Neither of them spoke as Davis collected and put on her coat. Then she looked at him, looked down, and sighed. "Potter… There's a lot I want to say, but…" She grasped one arm with the other. "I know I don't have the right to tell you who to date or anything, but…please do your best not to hurt her, okay?"
Harry nodded slowly. "You're a good friend, Davis."
"Don't need you to tell me that. And you can call me Tracey — as long as I don't actually have to comfort her as she sobs. Nice to meet you, Harry!" Tracey exited, waved, and Disapparated with a pop.
He gazed at the open door for a few seconds, then closed and locked it, then realized he probably didn't need to lock it because of that weird memory spell, then wondered why Daphne had a lock at all, then took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
She was staring at him when he returned to the dining room. He stopped at the doorway. Now that they were alone, he was all the more conscious of her bare arms, long hair, dark blue eyes, the size of her —
"What did you think of Tracey?" Daphne asked.
"She was really nice."
"Don't get used to it, she was on her best behavior after you arrived. But I wanted you to meet her. She's the most important person in my life, after all."
"I…see."
Silence, save for the softly burbling stream outside the window.
"So," Harry said, holding up the bracelet, "if I wasn't wearing this I couldn't have come here, right?"
"We Greengrasses love our tests, after all." Daphne lifted her teacup to her mouth, then frowned. "Empty."
Harry shifted on his feet. "No offense, Daphne, but I don't think I'm the one whose feelings need to be tested here."
"Oh? I heard you had a good time with that Weasley girl."
Now she was getting jealous? He clenched his fist. "She kissed me, you know, I just went with it. It was fun, but…we only ever felt like friends." Even when they were having sex. "It wasn't like how it was with you. So I broke it off after our sixth year." He looked down. "She did ask me out again, after the war, but I turned her down. It wouldn't have been fair to her." Ron and Hermione had been pissed at him for a month afterward.
"Ever the noble gentleman," Daphne murmured.
"Not always. I…I'm not willing to just meet once a year anymore, Daphne."
Daphne drummed her fingers on the table. "Would you like some more tea, Potter?"
"Huh? Um, okay, sure."
She stood up silently and went to the kitchen. Harry took the opportunity to sit down, calm down, and collect his thoughts. Daphne came back with two cups of tea, then sat down next to him.
"We're adults now," she said, cradling the teacup in her hands. "I don't have to worry about looking good in front of my parents or housemates anymore. And you've built up enough of a reputation that you won't destroy it just from dating the daughter of prominent pureblood supremacists. So…"
Harry's heart was beating as fast as his Firebolt, but it sounded soft. His pulse was racing, but his mind felt at ease. He leaned over, held Daphne's naked shoulders, and kissed her.
They didn't touch the tea the rest of the night.
Epilogue
"So you can get nervous after all."
"Shut up, Potter."
"Daphne, remember — "
"Yes, I know, don't worry. I'm perfectly aware of the need to use your first name in public, Harry." She poked his cheek. "It's more fun to keep it private anyway. A reminder of our secret tryst."
Harry fought to keep a smile off his face, unsuccessfully. "Ron and Hermione are good people, trust me. You don't have to be so nervous."
"Being the only evil person surrounded by three good ones is supposed to make me less nervous?"
He sighed. "Daphne…"
"Look, Potter, this is the closest I'll get to meeting your parents since your actual parents are dead. Some nerves should be perfectly understandable."
Harry blinked at her. "Yeah, I would recommend not saying something like that in front of them."
"I know, Potter. I am perfectly capable of putting on a mask and acting as I'm supposed to. I just don't have to while I'm around you."
He put his arm around her shoulders. "You're not a bad person, Daphne. Ron and Hermione will see that too, I'm sure. Now let's get going." Harry started moving, but Daphne remained rooted in place.
She said: "What if they don't, and they tell you to break up with me?"
Harry gave her a long look, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. He wanted to say that wouldn't happen, but he couldn't deny the possibility. "They don't have to approve of everything I do," he said carefully.
"And if they threaten to cut ties with you?"
Now that was impossible. "They would never do that."
"I'm speaking hypothetically."
"Don't —" But the flash of anger subsided as soon as it began, when she held his hand and squeezed it hard.
"If they do," he said, "then it means they aren't who I thought they were. But they won't." He removed his arm from her shoulders, but their hands remained linked.
They left together.
End
Author's Note: This fic is loosely inspired by DarknessEnthroned's excellent "A Spoonful of Sugar.
The first paragraph of "Seventh" is copied straight from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Everything else is my own words.
