Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading my story. I greatly appreciate HonorverseFan taking the time to edit this chapter. Your friendship and suggestions are a constant source of inspiration.
I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
Cheers.
Chapter 4: Ice Sculptures and Swan Songs
The night of the Yule Ball struck like lightning and no amount of preparation could ready the boys of Gryffindor tower for its electrifying arrival.
Most of his yearmates fell into one of two categories. The first were those who turned up their nose at the night's festivities, feigning coolness even as they ironed their dress-robes to perfection. The second group were more honest with their excitement, exuberant and open towards the social event serving as a buzzing nexus between the three schools.
Harry and his date fell firmly in the much smaller smattering of students. Those cynical and weary few who, either through nature or nurture, were unequipped to deal with tedious crowds and blaring noise.
Sighing, not for the first time, Harry finished lacing up the sleek dress-robes Mrs Weasley had been kind enough to buy for him at the beginning of the year. Sneaking a glance at Ron, who was lamenting his frilly monstrosity, Harry let slip a small grin. It was clear Mrs Weasley had good taste, just not the funds to support it.
With that thought in mind, he resolved to put into action his plan, which had been a consideration he'd harbored since the summer of his second year. He'd pick up some galleons from Gringotts and surreptitiously leave them around the Burrow, since Mr and Mrs Weasley had been unbudging with his offers to pay them for his occasional room and board.
Feeling a bright spot of optimism at the thought, Harry completed his preparations. With one last exasperated look at the messy state of his hair, he turned to begin his trek down to the Champion's gathering spot.
The night was beautiful, starlight peeking through windows as he walked. Snow gleamed mutedly from below, casting the darkness into sharp relief. Small fairy lights and torchfire flickered playfully upon the landscape, evoking a sort of whimsical mysticism he'd always associated with the age-old castle.
His walk served as a pleasant distraction from the drudgery ahead. Dancing nor socializing were particularly strong suits of his. So it was with a last look at the beauty outside that Harry arrived, coming to a stop at the designated spot already populated with Krum, Roger Davies, and Cedric.
The three men gave short nods in greeting but remained silent, standing away from one another in isolated bubbles. Harry rolled his eyes.
Slowly, the dates began to trickle in with the rest of the student body. Hermione was stunning and gave him a warm hug and a smile. Cho was elegance personified and drifted towards Cedric, not a thought of another in her eyes. Fleur was… well, Fleur. Gorgeous, aloof, and impressive in a way not entirely human.
Her cerulean eyes glanced his way briefly, an acknowledgement of something, before she glided towards Roger. She didn't seem particularly interested in him, judging by the brittle indifference cloaking her face.
Shrugging, Harry went back to leaning against the stone wall, awaiting his own date.
When he'd first been informed of the necessity of, not only his attendance, but having a partner, he'd bemoaned the hardship. Though, he did have the fortune of knowing at least one student who would share his sentiments and, hopefully, his company the night of the dance.
Luckily for him, she'd readily accepted.
However, she was also late.
Checking the clock face hanging upon the wall above the doors leading to the Great Hall, Harry chewed his lip in contemplation, a habit picked up from the very person he was waiting on. It wasn't like her to be so late, typically being punctual to a fault.
He let out another sigh before gathering himself and setting off for her likely location. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he locked gazes with the stern disapproval of Professor McGonagall, who tapped the watch on her wrist in heavy meaning.
Nodding, he picked up his pace.
The dungeons were cold, even with the warming charms sunk into the castle walls. No amount of magic could completely eradicate the heat-sucking power of old stone. Even the torches lighting his way seemed to be smaller, less bright.
Perhaps he was just being melodramatic, he chuckled to himself. There was a reason he didn't come down this way after all. An insufferable, blonde reason.
Luck was favouring him tonight, because all of the students were already at the Great Hall, so slipping through the entrance to the Slytherin common room was easy. As was tiptoeing to the girl's dormitory where he found the single room with lamplight shining underneath the door.
He gave three soft raps of his knuckles against the wood, having already learned by accident what occurred when attempting to open any of the girl's dorm rooms uninvited.
The door remained obstinately closed even as the light inside flicked off. As if he wouldn't have already noticed it.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "I know you're there Daphne, let me in," he called out in Parseltongue.
A shuffle and then silence.
"Daph-" he began again, only to stop as the door swung open. Her name died upon his tongue at the smudged makeup decorating her tear-streaked face.
Suddenly, his mood nosedived. "What the hell? Daphne, what happened? What's wrong?" He spoke rapidly even as he took her by the shoulders and walked through the entryway so the door would close and give them privacy.
She shook her head, unwilling to meet his eyes.
He gripped the tip of her chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up so those yellow-green eyes constantly aflame would enter his view. He swept over her face and expression, cataloguing everything.
His eyes traveled past her shoulder to rest on her bed, where a dress was stuffed inside a box along with a letter.
The mystery solved, and feeling an icy nausea settle into his stomach, Harry dropped his hands from his friend so he could walk around her. Realizing his aim, she shot out a hand and gripped his wrist but he continued undaunted.
Innocuous enough, the letter lay on the bedspread, but he knew what sort of poison he'd find inked there. Snatching it up, he briefly skimmed through only to crumple the parchment in blackened rage.
"Your father and I think it best that you not attend the Yule Ball," he read out in English so his muttered words wouldn't reach her ears. "Astoria will represent the Greengrass house in society." The letter held none of the warmth a mother should exhibit towards a child, only bleak orders coated in shame.
"Hag," he spat venomously. Mrs Greengrass was a cold woman whose spiteful view of her own daughter grated against Harry's soul.
Ceto Galatis, the daughter of an old Greek pureblood family, had no idea the English line she was marrying into was cursed, the arrangement being made when she was only a child. Mr Greengrass was able to use his legs via a complicated and clever set of automation enchantments, so she'd been none the wiser until their wedding night. Having a child she viewed as inferior was her greatest humiliation, and that darkness had twisted and decayed her relationship with Daphne all her life.
Astoria was sickly but extroverted and exuberant, a total opposite to Daphne's shy, calm demeanour. The two sisters loved one another, greatly, but the difference between how each was treated by their parents caused fractures no amount of love could entirely ease.
It had been his third year that Harry had learned the true depravity of the Greengrass family. How her mother had forbidden Daphne to speak because of her 'horrible voice.' How her very laugh was chained down because it was too loud and uproarious.
To old pureblood families, prestige was everything. Even cursed, the Greengrasses had done their best to keep their afflictions secret. But Daphne's deafness was too obvious. That his friend had lived her whole life knowing she was the shame of the family hurt him like naked glass cracking against his organs.
Because he knew, knew in the deepest parts of him, a sliver of what that could cost.
The Dursleys hated, abused, taunted and neglected him. But never, not for a single day, had he truly cared what they thought of him.
That might have been what saved him.
Daphne did not have that advantage. She had spent her whole life not understanding why she was so reviled and tried, oh Merlin, how she tried to make her parents happy with her.
It never worked.
His first reaction was to whirl around and rage, to confront Daphne with the truth. To scream and shout so the whole world could hear how malicious and terrible the proud and noble Greengrasses were. How rotten and putrid their hearts beat.
But Daphne loved them. Even still, she loved them. It was her greatest weakness and most wonderful gift. To have such a vulnerable, special heart.
If she could not grow a thick enough shell to guard her own soul from the pain inflicted by others then Harry was determined to become it. He was barbed enough for the both of them.
Smoothing his ire and hoisting a mask to cover the fire within, he turned to face his friend who peered up at him with a meekness that he despised. She didn't deserve to be beaten down like this, by those she should trust. He hated that bent posture, hated that she was anything other than proud of herself.
Under his scrutiny a familiar jittery energy began to build within her. The fidgeting started with her twisting fingers, turned to a shifting of weight from foot to foot, and just when she was about to open her mouth, she stilled. He watched, mood cracking further, as she convulsively tried to swallow the words fighting for freedom within her slender throat.
'Remember Daphne, don't speak where others can hear.' 'Stop sharing useless information, it is freakish.'
The lines from the letter bubbled up magmalike into his mind, melting away his attempts at calm.
Rubbing his chin, he eyed her briefly before speaking. "You are thinking about the uses for Unicorn horns, aren't you?"
She glanced up at him, eyes darting away to flicker about the room before her shoulders slumped. "No, I was remembering the uses of Boggart spit," she admitted with a mumble. Her voice, in Parseltongue, was melodious, even through all the hissing.
"Damn it," he spat.
She peered at him, worried, afraid - ridiculously - that he was upset with her. Such beaten reactions only aggravated him more.
Taking a few clomping steps towards her, he gripped her shoulders once more. His eyes held hers, refusing to let her gaze wander. When he spoke it was with every ounce of conviction he possessed.
"You are a wonderful person," Harry stated, intensely focused on the suddenly still girl. "That is what I want you to think about, how important you are, to me," he paused, throat suddenly dry, "and others." Anger rolled from him like storm clouds over a churning ocean. He felt the force of it in his gut. "And if your parents are too foolish to see that then they're the unlucky ones. Because you're exceptional Daphne."
A scarlet hue suffused her cheeks as her eyes widened. He watched her throat bob and the vein in her neck pulse as he waited for her reaction.
Finally, whatever shock had befallen her passed and she drew herself up to her full height. She nodded as though to reassure herself and the beaming smile she graced him with slammed into his chest like ten Stupefy spells.
He felt dizzy, winded.
Harry also realized she hadn't changed into her dress and was wearing a simple shift.
A crimson blush of his own erupted across his face, causing him to quickly turn and wave towards the dress laying across her bed. "Erm, you should get changed. We can't be late."
Her hand brushed his shoulder as she walked by, picking up the garment and nodding in agreement.
He shifted from one foot to the next before clearing his throat and saying, "Right, well then. I'll, er, be outside."
His escape was rapid.
Harry only waited a few more minutes before Daphne's door opened and she stepped through, looking exquisite. Her dress wrapped around her slim figure, tight in some places, and flaring or floating elsewhere. Shimmering chiffon accented the sleekness of her, adding flavorful adornment to the otherwise classically-styled design. Onyx tresses were pulled up, in some fancy twist but he missed the riotous curls snaking their way over her bare shoulders.
She bemoaned her curls, calling them a snake-nest. He, however, was an avid fan.
Her honeyed jade eyes looked at him and she grinned at the dumbfounded expression undoubtedly painted across his face. She laughed, her snorting, ridiculously loud laugh and its noise sent him into his own fit of humor.
Bowing slightly at the waist, he offered his arm for her to take. She gave a mocking curtsy, before clutching him and allowing them to begin their trek to the Yule Ball.
They were quiet for a while, passing through the Dungeons and, while the silence was not awkward, Daphne sought to break it anyways by informing him of the myriad uses of Boggart spit.
He listened closely, and interjected jokes when appropriate but the familiar routine relaxed him like nothing else had today. But when she was done, he halted his steps, forcing her to stand beside him. Turning, he eyed her once more so as to ensure he had her full attention.
"I appreciate your intelligence and pursuit of trivia," he stated with a grin that quickly failed at his following words, "but I hate when you use it to hide. When you use it to numb what you feel. Don't do that, please. Never hide who you are."
Be proud he wanted to add. Love yourself the way… the thought was hurriedly packed away.
His friend blushed scarlet, her eyes widening as she took in his words. His tongue suddenly felt heavy and unwieldy at the sight.
Daphne was like a goddess with feet of clay. She wasn't perfect, no one who had to listen to such a deluge of ridiculous trivia over four years would think her so, but the perfect pieces of her shone through with such clarity as to be stunning.
Her tongue slithered out to wet dainty lips the color of soft rose petals. His eyes flickering helplessly downwards at the innocent, potent gesture. She nodded in agreement, or gratitude, he wasn't entirely sure.
He coughed, feeling blood rushing to suffuse his neck.
"Right, well, we best be off," he muttered, pulling her along beside him. Suddenly the upcoming dance didn't seem quite so off-putting.
XXXXXXXX
"I hate heels." The words were tossed into the night air with a carefree joy that pulled up the corners of Harry's lips. The shoes followed the words, thrown up by kicking feet only to land with a thud into the snowy grass of the garden outside.
Daphne leaned back onto her hands, braced on the bench she sat upon, her feet continuing to swing in an indle, indulgent manner.
He moved to sit next to her, moving her hands away so her full weight would fall against his side. She leaned her head back to rest against his shoulder.
"They do seem like death traps," he agreed, pointing to the glittering shoes. "Not sure what their purpose is to be honest."
"I don't expect a boy like yourself to know," Daphne teased, light and easy. She became so unguarded rarely, and only ever in his presence.
"Hmm, funny you should say that actually. Fred and George seem to think that me being picked by the Goblet of Fire legally emancipated me. I'm practically a man now."
"That is the silliest thing those boys have ever said in their entire lives, and I know them well enough to recognize what a claim that is," she replied airily.
He shrugged, his mood buoyant to match hers. "I don't expect a kid like you to understand."
Her braying laugh filled the otherwise quiet night.
"Thank you again for taking me," she stated when her laughter died down. "I wouldn't have gone at all had you not pulled me along, I would have missed out."
"I should be the one thanking you," he confessed in reply. "Who knows who I could've been stuck with had you not saved me."
"Ah, so I was your safety pick?"
Stricken, he fumbled with his words. "No! I mean, no, of course not. I didn't mean-"
Daphne's contagious laugh rang out again, its volume high enough to make him wince even as a smile broke in sympathy to her joy.
"I'm joking, Harry," she admonished. "It was nice to go with you, perhaps I could even go so far as to grade it tolerable."
"You've gotten awfully cheeky as of late."
She sent him an indulgent look. "What some call cheek, others call personality."
"And I call those people ridiculous."
They both chuckled, relaxing into their comfortable relationship of quips, trivia, and warmth.
The Yule Ball had been much better than he'd expected, Daphne and Hermione's company at the Champion's table a balm. Even the actual dancing had been surmountable, a feat he'd not had much expectation of even with Daphne's careful instruction. Honestly, neither of them had been any good. She'd probably stepped on his toes as much as he'd stumbled over hers.
But the banter had been fun and her eyes bright, which made even the dreariest of events bearable.
They hadn't been able to speak much during the Ball because Daphne wanted to keep her abilities as a Parselmouth secret. So, they'd reverted to the typical method of communication using lip-reading and her board. A mode of communication she'd confessed hating, ever since learning she could actually speak and hear - even restricted as it was.
The night was bright and his mood was high enough that Harry made a split second decision to give Daphne her Christmas gift early. With a lazy wave of his wand, his summoning spell shot off into the night.
Because he spoke in English, his partner continued to jabber about Wizarding emancipation law.
Soon enough, his intended present arrived, hovering briefly before him so that he could reach out to nab it.
Obviously having felt the shift in weight against her back, Daphne scooted forward so she could turn around, only for her mouth to split open in surprise. Her expressive eyes seemed dull with shock, even as they focused intently on what lay in his hand.
There, nestled in a gilded carrying cage was a curling King Cobra. The snake's olive green scales were dappled with yellow pigmentation and its tongue flickered out to cautiously taste the cold air. The cage was heavily enchanted to be constantly warm for its cold-blooded inhabitant but Harry cast another warming spell on the snake itself anyways due to the chill of the night.
He watched Daphne's reaction carefully, unsure if he'd overstepped. Finally, her blank face broke. Tears brimmed in her eyes to spill over her pink cheeks. The teartracks cooling rapidly against her warm skin. She looked at him with such emotion that it broke him, the watery smile gifted his way cobbling him back together.
"So that I always have someone to talk to," she whispered, seeing right through him.
Harry nodded, offering the gift to her. She took the cage in trembling hands and softly murmured, "she's beautiful." Unlatching the door, Daphne held up her arm so the snake could wind its way up her limb. "Hello," she spoke reverently. "I'm Daphne, what's your name?"
The snake stared unblinkingly at her before flicking its tongue out to taste the air around her new owner. It wound its way further up the arm it was perched upon so its head could rise above Daphne's shoulder.
"Name isss Mimsssy," came the answering hiss, the snake's head bobbing along with the words.
"Mimsy?" Harry repeated aghast.
"Mimsy," Daphne uttered dreamily. "What a lovely name for a lovely snake."
"Mimsy." Harry shook his head, marveling at the goofiness. Regardless, he watched in fond amusement as Daphne and her new pet became acquainted, the two asking one another questions in their magically shared language.
Finally, Daphne moved back to face him. "Thank you," she pushed out with a shaky voice. "Thank you so terribly much."
He could only grin weakly at the adoration lighting up her face at his simple gift. It was too blinding. Harry knew she missed having someone that could understand her, that could speak to her over holidays and the long summer months. But he'd not dared expect his present to be half so well received.
"I'm glad you like her," he replied, shuffling his feet. "I picked a King Cobra because they're said to be the most intelligent species of snake." He grinned. "And because they're the only snake in the world that builds a nest." He grinned as he reached up to untug her hair from its formal confines, sending the curls cascading crazily across her shoulders.
She huffed a laugh and attempted a vexed expression but failed horribly.
"You're so kind to me Harry." Her words took on a dulcet tone and her eyes were so intense on his skin that he swore he could feel their caress as they passed over his face.
The soft kiss she pressed against his cheek scorched like a brand, causing his heart to constrict painfully.
"Goodnight," she whispered in his ear before passing him by on her way back to the castle.
"Right," he spoke numbly, "goodnight." His mumbled voice trailing off as he watched the Slytherin make her wobbly way through ankle-deep snow.
She tossed another smile his way over her shoulder and walked inside, leaving him alone with his thoughts and palpitating heart.
"Merry Christmas Daphne," he whispered, sitting heavily back down on the stone bench as he reached up to press shivering fingers to his cheek. "A very merry Christmas," he repeated as a grin stole across his lips to zing into the snow-filled night around him.
Author's Note: I figured I'd write this to stem the tide of PMs and reviews from, mostly well-meaning, folk who point out that all sound is based on vibrations and thus, Daphne shouldn't be able to hear regardless of Parseltongue or not.
Because suspension of disbelief obviously extends past talking snakes and wands but doesn't seem to quite reach a deaf person hearing magical languages, I've decided to outline how I envision this concept to work.
The barebones explanations I've given in the story itself was purposeful. After all, a wizarding world so divorced from scientific findings of its muggle counterpart wouldn't necessarily be aware of the inner ear's anatomy. So, Dumbledore obviously could only give a hypothesis and, short of shoehorning in a random character straddling the line between a muggle otolaryngologist and a wizard, there wasn't a character capable of elucidating on the way Parseltongue affects Daphne.
Snakes do not hear the same way humans do. With humans, sound waves travel through the air and hit the eardrum, which causes vibrations in tiny hairs and a small bone within the inner ear. Those vibrations travel across nerves to the brain. Snakes, on the other hand, do not have eardrums or a middle ear. Their inner ear is also, uniquely, filled by air rather than fluid and connects to the jaw bone.
Some Deaf individuals, like Daphne, do not have a functioning eardrum. Hearing can be impacted through a myriad of ways, but if Parseltongue is able to use magic to forcefully vibrate the air to a degree that reaches the unimpacted small bone and tiny hairs of Daphne's inner ear, then she could, theoretically hear even without an eardrum. Separately, the magical language could directly impact the hearing nerves, similar to how modern cochlear implants work.
This is all to say that magic can find a way. Just as deaf people are able to sit in classrooms all around the world today and understand what their teacher is saying through lipreading and paying attention to body language. The human spirit is indomitable and my experiences with the deaf community has sunk that knowledge deep in my bones.
On a different note, kudos to the readers who figure out the meaning behind Daphne's mother's name.
All the best,
Char