Needing Is One Thing; Getting? Getting's Another

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Prompt: "Anonymous asked: Hey, #BlackBeltAnon here. I am just shy and i have already fangirled all over you once or twice, you might think me insane. Can you please write something about how Harry and Daphne met and some scenes from their relationship, from the same Dramione/Drinny drable you just wrote. Sending a hundred hugs and kisses, and then a thousand more."

Harry: Part 1

Spring 2002

A year and a half was a long time to go without loving someone.

Which was crazy, because he'd certainly gone longer, in his life. Harry Potter had spent the first eleven years of his life having the love slowly beat out of him, after all. He'd thought himself in love with Cho Chang, but that wasn't quite correct.

He thought himself in love with Ginny, but maybe Ginny had just been what was easiest at the time. She loved (idolized?) him. He loved her family.

That felt like it could have been enough, but in the end, it wasn't. They'd both cried when they'd ended things, but Hermione was quick to assure him that some things were for the best – that sometimes people just didn't work out, even when they really wanted to.

Now, Harry wondered if she was trying to hint at something, because she and Ron had split up just two weeks prior. It was damn depressing, really. Why did young love always have to grow up?

And why did it have to hurt so much when it did?

"Are you the one that has my cousin's case?"

Harry startled a bit, blinking owlishly up at the vaguely familiar woman. She had blonde hair and green eyes, and for a second his mind tried desperately to place her. He knew he knew her, somehow. Hogwarts, maybe? "Uh, I'm sorry, your cousin is…?"

She huffed a soft laugh, shooting him a wry look. "Come on, now, Potter, we're only four years out of school. Surely I wasn't that forgettable? Our class size was, what, a hundred people?"

"Greengrass!" he blurted out, his eyebrows shooting up. She'd grown up in an interesting way; he barely remembered her at school, to be honest, always kind of mentally lumping her in as one of Pansy's insipid little gaggle. "Wow, it's been a long time," he said, feeling his face heat a bit with embarrassment at his mental slip. "Sorry, I knew I recognized you, I just couldn't… Yeah."

She smiled, shrugging, and for a moment they just stared at each other as Harry momentarily forgot why she was even here. After a beat, her eyebrows rose. "So… my cousin…?"

"Oh! Right! Yes, sorry, yes, I do have it," he said, scrambling to find the file. "Um, I can't release it to you, though. I need his parents' approval."

Her face flickered, and she swallowed. "Alright," she said, with a wan smile.

"You can get it, can't you?"

Her smile tightened. "They're not too fond of him, or of me. We weren't really… sympathizers," she said, pointedly. Harry knew that, of course. The Greengrass' hadn't been among those that supported Voldemort, at least not openly. But the Montagnes – their French-born cousins – had been. The parents had been put to trial like everyone else and were sentenced to ten years in Azkaban.

The son had ran.

"If he wasn't a sympathizer, why's he on the run?" Harry pointed out, gently.

"Well, you and your group were stringing up everyone even loosely affiliated, weren't you?" she pointed out bitingly. "He watched it happen. Why would he expect leniency?"

"The Malfoys got a full pardon," he reminded her.

"Well, they saved your hide, didn't they?"

Dumbstruck, Harry stared at her for a few moments. "That's not why they got pardoned."

"It's why you testified on their behalf. No one's going to go against your word. You're the Golden Boy," she said, softly. "Besides, he's already run. That's at least five years, you know. Or, at least, it was before."

"New administration," Harry said, firmly. "If he's innocent of any Death Eater activities, he'll be pardoned for fleeing."

She was silent a beat, not quite daring to hope. "Can you promise me that?"

"Yes, I can," he said, without hesitation.

Daphne held his gaze for a moment longer, searching his eyes for something that he wasn't saying. What she saw must have satisfied her, though, because she smiled again – small and tired. "Thanks. For promising, anyway. I know it's not entirely in your hands."

Harry's smile was wry, self-deprecating. "Well, you never know. I am the Golden Boy."

She laughed, and the sound was soft and melodic. "I'll work on that approval," she promised, turning away. "For now, I'll leave you to your work. Until next time, Potter."

"Later, Greengrass," he murmured, watching her go.

A year and a half was a long time to go without loving someone. That was probably why he couldn't stop thinking that she looked awfully pretty these days. There really was no other excuse for that kind of insanity.

Right?


They hadn't given her the approval, but with Harry's promise of leniency for the innocent, she started stopping in more and more to help him try and track her cousin down. Jacques, she'd explained, was an exceptionally clever young man – one of the top of his class at Beauxbatons. He wasn't stupid enough to try and cross any borders on his flight, and she was certain that he was still in the UK.

"You seem to love him a lot," Harry finally observed, after five weeks of seeing her two to three times a week. He'd never seen someone so dedicated to finding someone, unless it was a missing child.

Daphne hesitated, shooting him an uncertain look, like she wasn't sure how much to say. "We grew up together when we were young. I spent summers with him, and we always wrote when we were in school. He feels more like an older brother than a cousin," she said, quietly. "I'm worried he'll be found by some overzealous Auror and Avada'd on sight."

"That would never happen," Harry said, shocked. "Those spells are illegal."

She snorted. "Your idealism is certainly refreshing."

"No Auror would risk getting thrown into Azkaban to catch some Death Eater potential affiliate."

"You're assuming, of course, that all the Aurors here are upstanding citizens who would never dream of tampering with their wands to remove evidence," she said, flatly. "You can't tell me that's never happened, before."

"No, I can't," he admitted. "But I can tell you that I'm fairly certain it's not happening now. Our Department Head got rid of a lot of those types when he came in. He's a good man."

"All he did was remove the obvious ones."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head a bit. "You're awfully cynical for someone your age, you know that?"

She shot him a condescending look. "And you're a naive farm-bred idiot."

"Better than a bitter old hag," he shot back. "You must have a hell of a time keeping that dance card full when you go to those posh Pureblood parties."

"Don't talk about me like you know anything about me."

"I give as good as I get, Greengrass."

For a moment, they just glared at each other. Finally, she huffed, gathered her things, and left, leaving him fuming at his desk for the rest of the day.


The next time he saw her, she was running into the Ministry – at a full sprint, in her high heels. She stumbled when she saw him, and he hurried to grab her. "Where is he?" she demanded, before he could ask her what on Earth she thought she was doing running around in those shoes. "Where's Jacques?"

"In custody," Harry murmured, bemused, and caught her elbow when she made to run past him. "No visitors."

"They can't stop me, I'm family," she seethed.

"They can, and they will. Until he's finished questioning, nobody's going in there," he said, firmly. He hadn't released her arm. "Come on. Grab a cup of coffee with me. I'll keep you company until you're allowed in."

She hesitated, looking desperately at the door to the department he'd just walked out of.

"Greengrass, the only thing you're going to end up doing in there is waiting. You might as well wait with me," he suggested, gently.

Ten minutes later, she was looking rather overdressed for the Starbucks line in Muggle London, which she'd balked at entering to begin with. Harry had transfigured his robes into a Muggle jacket, but she'd steadfastly refused to transfigure anything she was wearing. As a result, she looked patently ridiculous, her chin raised haughtily when she caught the blinking stares of the Muggles around them.

"You'd think they'd never seen silk before," she sneered.

"Oh, no that's rather commonplace in coffee shops. You're just coming in at an off-time when all the riff-raff shows up," he said, in a light tone, earning a narrow glance from her as she tried to determine whether or not he was being sarcastic. "They're probably just jealous of the furs."

"I suppose you think you're awfully funny," she said, sourly.

He bit back a smile. "I've my moments."

"Rare as they are," she drawled. As they drew closer to the register, she added, "Order me a proper cappuccino."

He did, and when he handed her the little paper cup, she let out a long-suffering sigh as she wrapped her perfectly manicured hand around it. He popped the top off of his to add some sugar and cream, stifling another smile at her snobbish behavior. Watching a Pureblood flounder about out of their element was oddly endearing. "You alright, there?"

"Am I meant to drink it out of this little hole?" she demanded, a faint sneer twisting her delicate features. "Merlin, Muggles are positively ridiculous."

Harry was shaking with silent laughter as he followed her out.


Jacques Montagne received a full pardon at the conclusion of his trial two months later, partially in thanks to Harry and Daphne's testimonies. She was so thankful afterwards that she kissed him on the cheek before running to hug her cousin.

He could feel the imprint of it days later.


"That's a disgusting habit," she commented. Harry had been in the process of tossing nuts in the air and trying to catch them with his mouth. Of course, when she interrupted, it bounced off his glasses and fell somewhere beneath his desk.

"Ah, shit," he muttered, peering under his desk for it. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, since I was so helpful to you these past few months, I thought I'd make myself available should you decide to continue availing yourself of my services," she said, inspecting her fingernails.

Harry huffed incredulously. "Is that so?"

She rolled her eyes a bit. "For Merlin's sake, Potter. I'm trying to help you preserve your masculinity by giving you opportunity after opportunity to ask me out to dinner, and you are hopelessly dense."

Stunned, he stared at her. He could feel a dumb smile forming on his face and did his best to bite it back. "For your information, I couldn't have taken you out while your cousin's case was still active," he said. He could feel his ears and the back of his neck growing warm.

"Were you going to ask me out after?" she asked, skeptically.

"… Probably not," he admitted. "But, in fairness to me, it's not because I'm dense. I just didn't think you'd be–"

"Well, you were wrong," she interrupted. "Do you like to eat late, like a proper person? Because I was thinking maybe eight-thirty. I'm partial to this little seafood restaurant a bit out of town, Lex Roux."

This was going awfully fast. Trying to keep his head from spinning, Harry stammered, "Uh– I suppose I'll make a reservation–"

"I already did. It's under your name," she added. "You should pick me up around eight."

He stared at her. "You're very efficient."

"Why waste time?" she said, straightening up from where she'd been leaning against his desk. "I know you've got my address on file somewhere, so… I'll see you tonight."

"See you tonight," he repeated, dumbly. He knew there was a stupid grin on his face, but try as he might, he couldn't quite remove it.

He noticed a similar one on her face as she turned away with a little wave.

Two years was a long time to go without loving anybody. He supposed, though, that sometimes the wait was worth it.