Daphne woke up in an unfamiliar bed, but the smell of sanitising solution and aerified calming drought was unmistakable. Her head felt groggy and her lips were parched. On cue, Madam Pomfrey popped her head in with a glass of pumpkin juice and a bowl that smelled of garlic and warm butter. "You know, if you like my stew so much, you could've just asked for another helping," she chided gently.

Daphne blinked at her in confusion, and the matron's expression grew concerned. "Miss Greengrass, do you not recall coming in earlier?"

"I do, Madam Pomfrey, but that was for Astoria, and I don't remember having anything to eat. How is she, by the way?"

"Your sister is fine, Miss Greengrass. I discharged her yesterday."

"Yesterday? But…"

"It's alright dear, why don't you have some stew? It'll warm you up." Daphne obeyed with gratitude and let Madam Pomfrey cast several unfamiliar charms on her while she ate. Sansmemoria revelio caused Daphne's head to throb, and she visible winced.

"Miss Greengrass," said Madam Pomfrey gravely, "What is the last thing you remember?"

Daphne put down her bowl, and tried hard to recollect her thoughts. She remembered sitting with Astoria and Bertie, and being physically (if not mentally) present in arithmancy, and heading off for herbology. Everything after that seemed to be coming in vignettes and flashes, as though she had just woken up and was trying to recall fragments of a dream that was fast slipping away.

"I was helping Professor Sprout in the greenhouses after herbology class, and came back to the castle. It was past dinnertime, but I was quite tired and hungry, so maybe I fainted or fell…"

Madam Pomfrey looked relieved. "Good, you don't seem to be missing much. At around half ten you came in to check if your sister was still here, and I gave you some stew because you looked famished. It's now a little past midnight."

"So I lost two hours of memories?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes, although it is rare that we ever truly lose memories – mostly they just become hazy, or locked away somewhere inside. Your memories should probably return in a day or two, but I wouldn't worry too much in any case. Now, you were found near the foot of the dungeon staircase with a large bruise on your head. I understand you've had a long day, but do try to be careful when descending stairs in the dark."

Daphne frowned, but nodded. She was a cautious person by nature, and had never in her life fallen down the stairs, but it was not impossible… she had been unusually tired and hungry, after all. She was taking on a lot this year. Though not by choice, she reminded herself.

"It's really quite alright, dear," Madam Pomfrey assured, "it happens to the best of us. Why, I seem to recall giving Sybill anti-swelling potions on at least two occasions, once for walking into a suit of armour. It's important not to neglect the outer eye."

Daphne returned Madam Pomfrey's kind smile. She declined the matron's offer to stay the night, and was discharged after a gentle reminder to take better care of herself. As she was leaving the Hospital Wing, Daphne realised that she had forgotten to ask who brought her there.

"Oh, I never told you, did I? You see, you're far from the only one who forgets things. Miss Granger was on duty and found you, and levitated you here all by herself."

Daphne smiled. Somehow, the thought of Granger looking out for her was comforting, even though she knew that as a prefect she had a duty to help any student in need. "Do you think she might like chocolates?"

"Bless you, dear. In all my years I've never met a student who doesn't."

Two days later, Daphne's lost memories still had not returned. "Easy there, hippogriff," said Tracey, plopping down on the bench beside her. Daphne had filled her plate with three pancakes and generously slathered them in butter and honey, and was about to reach for a second helping of eggs. "I've just been really hungry lately," she replied.

"I had no idea tumbling down the stairs took so much energy," said Tracey. "Sorry Daffy, but you walked into that one." Daphne rolled her eyes at Tracey. By now the whole of Slytherin had heard of her mishap, and Tracey was right in pointing out that it would further impugn Daphne's dignity if she was seen as some sort of hoggish urchin. Not without reservations, she decided against the last slice of communal black pudding. Greg reached for it with surprising dexterity before Vincent could have a go, which prompted the latter to monopolise the whole plate of sausages in response. Before the two could embarrass themselves further, there was a great flutter of wings and feathers.

An old tawny owl landed in front of Daphne with a heavy package. He glared at her impatiently as she undid the binds on his claws, before taking off with two of Vincent's sausages in his mouth. Daphne vanished the string and wrapping-paper with a flick of her wand. Tracey eyed the box of chocolates, which was wrapped in velvet ribbon and bore the Honeydukes seal in inlaid emerald. "Do I get your fancy jewellery after you die of gout?"

"You'll get my old stockings if you're lucky," said Daphne, "though these aren't for me. They're for Granger."

Those within earshot were visibly affronted, but only Vincent had the lack of sense to challenge Daphne. "You're giving a gift to that mudblood?"

Daphne was considering whether to dignify him with a retort when Theodore made the decision for her. "Who knows, Crabbe, if one day you're imperiused into helping a lady in need, you might get something from her too. But with a mouth like that at the table, you'd be lucky if you don't mysteriously die of something you eat long before that." It was hard to tell if Theodore was a wizard of gentlemanly conviction, or simply revelled in glaring menacingly at Crabbe and Goyle. Probably the latter.

After breakfast, it was not difficult for Daphne to find Granger – coincidentally they shared every class, though Daphne suspected that Granger took even more subjects than her. Daphne arrived exactly on schedule for charms, and slipped Granger a self-vanishing note as she walked past her to the predictably empty desk right in front of the teaching dais.

"That was a rather clever note just now."

"Thank you, Granger."

"Vanishing charm melded to a tempus?"

"Yes, I got the idea from the Great Hall plates that vanish when you eat too much." That earned Daphne a chuckle – no doubt Gryffindor had its own Crabbe or Goyle.

"Good thinking, Greengrass. I've always been trying to figure out how those worked. Intent-based enchantments are finnicky."

"Maybe you should ask Flitwick, or Dumbledore. One of the must have cast the enchantments." Granger looked as though she had somehow never thought of that. "Anyway, Granger, I just wanted to thank you for helping me to the Hospital Wing the other day. I must've taken a really bad fall, so it was a good thing that you were there to find me. I got you a little something: these are my sister's favourites."

Granger's eyes widened, as though artisan chocolates were the last thing she had been expecting from Daphne. "Oh no, I can't accept this. It was mainly Harry, he should be the one –" She abruptly stopped herself. Daphne was surprised, suddenly acutely aware that she had lost two hours of memories.

"Granger, do you mean Potter was there?"

"Yes, I mean no, he was only…"

"Please, Granger, this is important to me."

Granger looked hesitant, but something in Daphne's pleading tone must have won her over. "It was Harry who discovered you and brought you to the Hospital Wing. But he wasn't supposed to be out after curfew, so he called me to take you inside to Madam Pomfrey. But you can't tell anyone, alright?"

Daphne felt her heart racing, and took several moments to consider this new information. "Granger," she said at last, "do you mind if I ask a favour?"

By nightfall Daphne was feeling incredibly anxious, though she took pains not to show it, leaning against the window and crossing her arms with practised indifference. She was at the alcove in the top floor of the North Tower, across from the locked divination classroom. It was the most remote location in the tower relative to all four dormitories, which was precisely why she had suggested the location. She checked her pocket-watch: five minutes to nine. The wind howled, heralding a fast-approaching winter, and a warming charm did little to relieve her shuddering.

For the dozenth time since the afternoon, Daphne went over the possibilities in her head. She had lost two hours of memories, which Madam Pomfrey could do little to help recover when she had visited her earlier – "mind magic is terribly complicated," she had said, "there's no simple potion for this sort of thing."

It had been Potter that found her, unconscious. That was the most exasperating part. She must have had some interaction with Harry Potter that night, but for Merlin's sake she could remember none of it, and nobody had told her anything. She supposed he seemed to be the reserved type, but she did end up in the Hospital Wing, so it must have been something serious. So why did he not mention anything in the two days following?

Something else nagged at her: there was absolutely no reason she could think of that he would be right outside the dungeons after curfew, on the other side of the castle from Gryffindor Tower. Had he been waiting for her? Perhaps he was upset over her display in Defence class a few days ago, and he had… ambushed her? Or they had duelled for real? Both hypotheses seemed unlikely – unless Daphne was very much mistaken, Potter had enjoyed that class as much as her.

Perhaps, then, she had invited him there. But why? Had she done something… untoward? The thought made her blush, but she quickly dismissed it – it was simply not how she would approach things. If there was one person Daphne could account for, it was herself. But what if she had been imperiused?

Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps echoing across the empty tower. Daphne grasped her wand beneath her robes on instinct, but visibly relaxed when she saw the figure that emerged from the stairwell a moment later. What should she say to him? She mentally berated herself for failing to rehearse for this moment despite considering a hundred increasingly unlikely explanations.

He was before her now. Unlike their previous encounter, he no longer seemed haggard and unsure, but had a look of grim seriousness – it was his eyes. For a moment, Daphne forgot where she was and why she was there. All she could see was his wispy breath in the cold moonlight.

"Greengrass," he said.

"Potter," she replied.