Author's Note: As usual, I own nothing because I am not JK Rowling. Thanks for reading and enjoy!


The next few weeks passed without significant incident, as the entire school anticipated the upcoming Gryffindor-Slytherin quidditch match. Harry wasn't especially nervous himself - being talked about and mocked because of quidditch was much easier to deal with than whispers about him being a mad attention-seeking prat. Ron, on the other hand, was struggling with the pressure. Harry tried to help him through it, but he wasn't having too much success.

The day of the match, Harry and Ron went down for an early breakfast, partly because Angelina had instructed the team to get down to the pitch early for her pre-game pep talk, but also because Harry was trying to get Ron out of the Great Hall before Draco and his crew got there. And maybe - though Harry was hesitant to admit it even to himself - because he didn't really want to see Daphne beforehand; playing Slytherin would be difficult enough without adding to the equation his complicated feelings for that particular Slytherin.

"I'm done Harry. I'll play today, because I know we'd have to forfeit if I didn't, but I can't do this. I don't know what possessed me to try out in the first place, but I'm lousy, and when we lose tod-"

Ron never got a chance to finish as Harry slapped him across the face.

"Look mate, I know you're nervous, but you're a hell of a player, you can save anything if you can just get over your nerves. You've got this, we're going to win today, and with a little luck, we'll be holding the Quidditch Cup at the end of the season, okay?"

"Right. I think I needed that, thanks," Ron managed to respond, although he still looked a bit shaken.

"C'mon then, let's just grab a bit of toast and head down to the pitch."

"Okay, yeah, let's do that."


Most of the Slytherins had been singing "Weasley is Our King" for the past 10 minutes, and Ron's keeping ability was suffering accordingly, much to Harry's chagrin. Fortunately, Gryffindor's chasers had been quite active at well, and they were only down 30-50. Harry was trying to block out the screaming Slytherins, hoping that the DA members were above such low tricks to win when he saw a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye. He spun around and dove, finding Malfoy right behind him. He urged his firebolt forwards, extended his arm and - YES, he'd caught it! Suddenly, he felt a dull pain in his back and saw a bludger soaring away. He landed, dismounted, a laid on the ground for a second, letting the pain fade to a dull throb.

Malfoy walked over as the fans rushed the pitch in celebration. "Well, did you at least like my lyrics Potter? Weasley didn't seem to, but what would you expect of someone who was born in a bin?"

"Get lost Malfoy, no one needs you around here, especially after such an embarrassing performance. You can't talk shit when you lose."

As Malfoy skulked away, Harry sat up and looked around to see who had stepped in to defend him, expecting to see Hermione or maybe one of the Gryffindor chasers, but was surprised to see Tracey Davis, with Daphne and Blaise in tow. He was also pleasantly surprised to see that none of them were wearing "Weasley is Our King" pins, at least, not that he could see.

Daphne walked over to Harry, looking concerned. "Potter, should we get Madam Pomfrey? It looked like Crabbe got you pretty good with that late bludger."

Harry got to his feet, replying "No, I think I'm good, just a bit bruised, but thanks for asking. And thanks for stepping in with Malfoy there, you probably just kept me from doing something really stupid."

"No problem," Daphne answered with a smile, "We'd hate to lose our teacher to detention after all."

"Well I should go get cleaned up, but I'm sure I'll see y'all around," Harry said, turning towards the locker room.

"No problem, and congrats on the game!" Daphne said walking away, hoping Harry didn't notice the slight blush on her cheeks.


"Okay, what's up between you and Potter?" Tracey Davis asked her best friend in the library that evening.

"What do you mean?" Daphne said quickly, not quite meeting her eyes. "He's the leader of the DA, we have classes together, but there's nothing 'up between us' as you put it."

"And I'm a Mimbulus mimbletonia," Tracey replied. "You couldn't keep yourself from blushing while you were talking to him after the game, and don't think I haven't noticed how often you glance at him during classes either."

"I was NOT blushing earlier," Daphne replied blushingly, "It was cold out there. And I have NOT been staring at him wistfully."

"Well no one said anything about staring wistfully until just now, but thanks for confirming it. You're crushing on Potter, aren't you?"

"No..." Daphne answered unconvincingly. "Besides, even if I did think about him… that way… it wouldn't matter, he barely acknowledges my presence."

"That's not what I've seen. He defended you - well, us - that first day at DA, he thanked you for stepping in against Malfoy today, which you didn't even do, and, well, let's just say you aren't the only one staring wistfully."

"What? Harry? Staring at me? Wistfully? When? Where? What?"

"Slow down Daphne. In classes, he's looking at you at least as often as you're looking at him. I think there might be something there."

"Really?"

"Yeah. So, let's try this again. What's happening between you and Potter? Actually, what do you want to be happening between you and Potter?"

Daphne paused for a moment. "You know, I might be developing a bit of a crush on Harry Potter," she admitted to her friend.

"I KNEW IT!"

"Keep it down or Madam Pince will have our necks!" Daphne whispered furiously. "So what do I do now?" she whispered to her friend.