Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K.R.
AN: This story was written as a contribution to the Haphne Holliday Collection. You will find the collection here:
Ao3 Winter Holiday Collection:
archiveofourown dot org/collections/Haphne_Winter_2022
FFN C2:
community/HarryDaphne-Collection/133850/99/0/1/0/0/0/0/
This way to the Haphne server on Discord:
discord dot gg/pKSdvJQvhU
Just delete the spaces and replace 'dot' with '.' after you copy and paste into your browser.
A big Thank you! to my beta DrQuilava!
A guy's night out had sounded fun when Seamus suggested it. He should have known that his old roommate's sense of fun wasn't compatible with his.
He squinted against the strobe lights pulsating in time with the beats of the music. The air was heavy and warm from too many people crowded in one place. He caught a whiff of stale beer and perfume and scrunched up his nose. The many anonymous bodies in close proximity, bumping into him without giving it a second thought, made the hairs at the nape of his neck stand up.
His hand fingered for the wand hidden in its holster. Would he alert the ministry if he just Apparated out of here?
Harry grimaced. Probably, so this escape plan fell flat. He didn't need the kind of publicity it would cause. The magical newspapers and magazines were finally leaving him alone after his spectacular break-up almost a year ago with his long-time girlfriend, Ginny Weasley. He had no desire to make the front page again.
Harry sighed as he followed Seamus and Dean through the seemingly endless maze of jam-packed bars and dance floors of their favourite Muggle dance club to the lounge they had booked in the VIP section at the topmost floor for the night.
"Only the best for you, mate," Seamus had said. "It's about time you stop moping about what you can't have anymore and return to the game. I know just the place where you can do that without finding your picture all over the Prophet the next morning."
Dean had nodded to that, and Harry had agreed to their suggestion of visiting a Muggle dance club without giving it another thought.
They meant well and they were right. It was about time he moved on. However, how were the chances he'd find The One and Only in a Muggle dance club? Close to zero. He snorted to himself. You didn't look for commitment in the birds you'd find here–
Someone tugged at his arm. Harry turned his head and squinted against the light. Seamus leaned in close to him.
"There we are,'' he shouted in his ear and motioned towards a low, rounded booth close to the dance floor on the highest floor of the club. With a sigh of relief, Harry slid into the leather booth next to Dean. Seamus brought up the rear.
The moment they sat down, a waitress in a black leather mini-skirt and tank-top approached them. "What may I bring you, gentlemen?" She had to shout to be heard over the music.
Dean bent forward and picked up the drink's menu that laid on the low cocktail table. Harry and Dean leaned over both his shoulders to have a look, too.
"I'll have the mojito," Dean said, and put the menu back on the table.
"Whisky cola for me," Seamus said.
"A beer, please," Harry said.
Seamus eyed him with an expression akin to horror. "Are you sure you don't want something stronger, mate? To get in the groove?"
Did he want to know what Seamus meant with that? Probably not. Besides, he hardly drank, Molly didn't approve of her children drinking, so he didn't trust his ability to deal with anything stronger. "Yep; a beer is just fine."
"Suit yourself." Seamus shrugged, his attention already somewhere else. His head bopped in time with the music as he looked at the crowd on the dance floor.
Their drinks arrived, and they each picked up their glass and toasted towards each other.
"To a successful night," Dean shouted over the noise. He bent forward to look at Seamus. "Already saw anyone who picked your fancy?"
"Many!" Seamus grinned and put his drink back on the table. "Come on, gentlemen, let's join the fun." He jerked his head towards the dance floor and stood up.
Dean followed suit. The two roommates approached a pair of girls dancing with each other and shouted something in their ears. The next moment, they split up into two couples and moved to the wild rhythm of the music.
Harry had lagged behind, not sure what was expected of him. At the sight of his dancing friends, he gulped. Seamus and Dean made picking up girls look so easy. If only he had an ounce of their self-esteem—
Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the dance floor. His wand slid into the palm of his hand by instinct, and his head jerked around, towards the direction of the attack.
Big, cerulean blue eyes, accentuated by long lashes, smiled up at him. His assailant leaned closer towards his ear. "Dance with me, Potter?"
His nose caught a whiff of her spicy perfume, a fragrance he was very familiar with, and his brain at last made the necessary connections. He let his wand slide back in its holder. He didn't have to be afraid of an attack from her.
"Daphne Greengrass?" he blurted and let her pull himself deeper onto the dance floor.
"The one and only," she shouted back, turned towards him, grabbed his hands and pulled him into a dance.
He did his best to follow her movements. Years of grueling Auror training had given him excellent body control, so he didn't make a fool out of himself—he hoped.
While he moved to the music, his eyes and brain tried to catch up with the idea of Daphne Greengrass in a Muggle dance club and dressed like a Muggle.
It was a big contrast to the woman he knew—or thought he knew.
Magical Public Prosecutor Daphne Greengrass was the rising star of the DMLE. The older staff members compared her to the late Amelia Bones: dedicated, incorruptible, and a formidable opponent in the courtroom. Her list of convictions in the hundreds of court cases that followed Voldemort's downfall and lasted until today was unparalleled, and barristers across magical Britain hated her.
In the six years since they had both finished their training—both in record time—they had worked on dozens of cases together. Their take on cases complemented each other, which showed in their rate of success, and Kingsley personally had assigned him as Greengrass' Investigating Auror.
In the endless hours they had worked together, he'd never seen her in anything but sharp pressed dark blue robes with silver embroidery around the hems over a crisp white shirt, combined with high heels you could use as a weapon, if necessary. She wore her blonde hair in a tight bun, hardly ever used make up, and hid her blue eyes behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. Yet her plain appearance couldn't counteract the beauty of her delicate features. The only sign of female vanity he'd ever noticed on her was the spicy fragrance of her perfume—a fragrance he liked very much.
He wouldn't have believed it was her without her trademark fragrance.
Her light blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, almost down to her waist, subtly applied make-up enhanced her eyes and lips, and the tight mini-dress she wore, while long-sleeved and high-necked, left nothing of her figure to his imagination.
Harry gulped and closed his eyes for a brief moment. Merlin! Would he ever be able to look her in the eyes again, now that he knew what was under those bulging robes she wore at work?
He leaned towards her. "I wouldn't have recognised you, Daphne."
The red lips turned into a pout. "That's not a nice thing to say, Harry."
"Sorry." His face heated up. Those lips pouting at him did something to his innards he had not felt in a long time. "It's just–this is such a big difference from work." He made a fluttering motion with his hand, gesturing at her whole appearance.
The pouting intensified. "I have a private life, you know." The next second, her face was wreathed in smiles, and she put a finger on his lips. "Let's not talk shop tonight. Let's enjoy ourselves!"
"I can live with that."
They laughed and continued dancing with one another. Soon enough, Harry had forgotten about the dozens of people around them, or what had become of Seamus and Dean. All that mattered was the young woman in front of him, how she twisted and turned in time to the music and sent coquettish smiles over her shoulder each time she pirouetted.
Gods, he was a goner. And by the way she smiled and winked at him, the little minx knew what she was doing to him.
He and Daphne had hit it off from the first time they worked together. There had been an instinctive understanding of the other, a certain chemistry between them that was the reason for their success. They both knew it could easily turn into more, yet they never acknowledged it. After all, they'd both been in long-time relationships that had failed. Maybe now the time had come to act on that strange undercurrent between them?
The mere thought made his heart hammer and the blood rush faster in his veins. He couldn't wait to find out.
"I need a drink," Daphne said at last, and they went to the bar.
Harry ordered another beer, and Daphne asked for a soft drink.
"Always the sensible public prosecutor." He winked at her over the rim of his glass.
"I still have to Apparate home. Splinching myself isn't high on my to-do list." She emptied her glass in one long gulp and put it back on the bar top. "Besides, I'm thirsty."
They returned to the dance floor. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself that much. Nor could he remember the last time he'd felt that hot and bothered—and it had nothing to do with the exertion of the dance or the heat radiating from the bodies moving around him. Still, it was a pleasant grade of uncomfortability, one he welcomed very much, as it showed that he was still a hot-blooded young male who enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman. At least the Ginny fiasco hadn't neutered him, something he hadn't been sure about for a long time.
It didn't take long, and Daphne grabbed his hand for a second time and pulled him along, off the dance floor.
"Thirsty again?" he shouted into her ear.
She turned her head and gave him a smoldering glance from under long lashes. "No, I just wanted to go somewhere more… private."
Harry blinked. Had he heard right? His innards danced a happy jig at the prospects Daphne's statement implied. It seemed he was going to be one lucky Auror tonight.
He followed Daphne out of the club and onto the street. Even though it was well past midnight, the area was still crowded and full of life. People walked down the street, and taxis pulled up to the curb to spill out more partygoers, or pick up those who still hadn't had enough and wanted to go to yet another club.
"Somewhere more private"' turned out to be a service alley next to the club, separated from the street by a row of potted palms. Huge dustbins were visible in the dim light that fell through the milky window panes on the ground floor of the club that probably belonged to the kitchens or maybe staff rooms. Something rustled in the darkness, and a small shadow vanished between the dustbins. A rat? A cat?
Harry couldn't care less. Daphne turned around and gave him another smoldering glance, and he put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer. Her hands splayed on his chest, her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned closer until her lips met his. Exquisite shockwaves shot through his body, his arms closed around her and pulled her flush against him, and with a satisfied growl, he deepened the kiss and lost himself in the primal bliss of kissing an eager partner.
A soft groan from deep within her throat was a sure sign of her arousal, and her long leg slid between his legs until her thigh pressed against his crotch. Little Harry, already happy with the development of the night, became almost delirious.
Daphne stiffened and pulled away. "H–harry?"
Her small voice had the effect of a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. With wide eyes, he stared at the woman in front of him.
She averted her eyes and looked to the ground, yet not fast enough for him not to see the fear of a young girl in them.
The fear of a young, inexperienced girl.
Daphne bit her lip and kept looking to the ground.
The hormonal brain-fog clouding his rational thinking cleared away. Something didn't add up here. Magical Public Prosecutor Daphne Greengrass had had a boyfriend before, Blaise Zabini, one of his Auror colleagues. He couldn't stand the man, but hadn't been able to escape the talk about his preferences and how he expected his girlfriend to perform, either. Gods, that man loved to hear himself talk on shifts. He had not been surprised when Daphne ended the relationship not much later and had silently congratulated her for having gotten rid of the egomaniac.
For all he knew, Daphne wasn't a blushing virgin anymore. Yet she behaved like one at an accidental contact with his willy?
Harry took a double-take at the young woman in front of him.
It was Daphne, wasn't it? The shape of her face, the shade of her hair, even the way she bent her head was familiar. Still, something was off. Her face was too soft, as if it held to the chubbiness of youth, and the shade of her hair seemed a tad darker than he remembered it. On a hunch, he let his wand slip into his hand.
"Finite Incantatem!"
t.b.c.