"Blaise." A quick rapping against said boy's door was followed by the sentiment, but not before being proceeded with a long sigh. "I didn't do anything that would make Harry think it was you. I swear."

Blaise, back against the wooden door, head resting beside the golden door knob, clamped his lips tighter, drawing them into a thin red line.

"Blaise, let me in," Daphne repeated softly. She slid down to her knees and pressed her forehead against the door, so that her forehead was flush with where the back of Blaise's head was on the opposite side.

"I didn't do any harm."

He drew in a sharp breath.

"Now at least he'll be thinking about it."

He shut his eyes.

"Now at least Longbottom won't get the credit so easily."

An agonized moan escaped from the bottom of his throat.

"Blaise."

He didn't answer. And although Daphne knew that he wasn't going to, she stayed there nevertheless.

"It was so odd," Seamus agreed, nodding his head fervently at the small group of Gryffindors that had gathered around him in the Gryffindor common room.

"What exactly happened, again?" Ron asked.

Seamus and Parvati exchanged sly glances before looking pointedly at Harry, forcing him to retell the story.

"Well," Harry began, "The three of us were eating lunch when Daphne Greengrass came up to us, completely out of the blue…"

"…and she goes to Harry, 'You are an idiot," Parvati took over, missing the raised eyebrow Seamus sent her way. Harry gladly accepted the change of attention and took the new turn to snuggle up to Neville. "Just like that. 'You are an idiot.'"

"So naturally," she continued, "Seamus asked, 'Who's an idiot?'"

"And she replied…"

Daphne stared coldly at Seamus, who returned with a cheeky grin. "Harry," she continued, without moving her eyes, "is the idiot I'm speaking of at the moment. Although I'm not completely averse to making the assumption that you are as well, Finnigan." She completely ignored Parvati, who sat there observing the situation with a fascination.

"I barely know you," Harry half-chuckled, half-said, "So I doubt you know that well either."

"True," Daphne gave him. "But I'm qualified enough in this aspect of your life to tell you that you're being a complete and total idiot."

Harry sighed. "How am I being an idiot?"

"Do you really think that Neville Longbottom is capable enough to have written you all those poems?" she asked quietly.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, more making sure that what she had said was true than him not hearing her.

"You heard me," Daphne told him, before turning on her heel and walking out of the Great Hall.

"It was so weird," Parvati repeated.

"What does she mean, write you all those poems?" Neville asked confusedly.

Harry flashed him a smile. "All those amazing poems you left for me. You know, the ones that I replied to. They're mainly the reason I agreed to go out with you in the first place," he said.

Neville's mouth opened slightly and looked confused. When he closed his mouth a moment later, a calm and collected expression replaced it. "Oh yeah," he lied. "How could I forget?" He laughed.

The group laughed with him.

"Yeah, for awhile those notes were the only thing Harry'd talk about," Ron teased.

As the group went on talking about the ordeal of the last weeks, Neville detached himself from them, telling them that he had to go to the restroom. As he was walking, he thought.

I know that I didn't write those notes.

But I know that if I want to stay with Harry I'll have to pretend that I did.

"Blaise," Daphne said the next night, both of them in the same position.

"What?" The voice was gritty and sleep-deprived, as he had curled up in front of the door in a fetal position last night to sleep.

Daphne smiled slightly. Talking back to her was definitely progress. "Longbottom doesn't have a clue about the notes," she told him.

"What does that mean?" Blaise asked. He twisted the door knob and shoved the door open, a sign that Daphne took for her to come in, which she followed.

She sat down in the chair across from his bed. "It means that since he hasn't written Harry the notes, he'll either lie to Harry, which is a grandiose mark against his character, or he'll tell Harry the truth," she said simply.

Blaise's mouth twisted into a grim smile. He replied softly, "I don't want Harry to get hurt."

Daphne was sympathetic. "He's going to be hurt either way."

"Ignorance is bliss," Blaise quoted.

"Ignorance is ignorance," Daphne retorted, "And if Harry is anything like the person who I think he is—who you think he is—he'd rather know the truth and be hurt than blinded and happy."

Blaise chose not to reply.

He knew it was true.

Harry returned to the bathroom outside of the library. Head in his hands, he slid down the tiled wall once more.

Something in his subconscious tugged at his heartstrings, Daphne's words repeating over and over in his head.

Do you really think Neville Longbottom is capable enough to have written you all those poems?

Neville had quickly discouraged that thought. Harry knew he ought to trust him.

But something just didn't fit.

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