Chapter Sixteen: The Final
The week leading up the final went rather quickly for Harry. Matthews had him quickly to work, using him as her own pet practice dummy for nervous trainees. There was only a brief period where they held back, terrified about facing the savour of the wizarding world but after Harry had initially gone easy on them, they soon rose to the challenge. He couldn't remember the last time that he had gone home feeling so bruised and battered. What they lacked in skill and technique, Matthew's trainees made up for in sheer bloody mindedness and eagerness to impress. They quickly went from scared to wanting to impress Harry, a change which left him desperately trying to find the correct balance of defending himself but not taking it so seriously that he caused them serious harm. He might have had a few months off but he was still a fully trained auror after all. Couple that with a childhood that had left him facing a megalomaniac with a snake obsession and it was little wonder that he was leaps and bounds ahead of the recruits.
But despite his newfound profession of trainee punching bag, Harry struggled to stay entirely focused on his work. When he wasn't having curses and hexes thrown at him, his mind was irrevocably drawn to Daphne and the confession which Andromeda had forced out of him. It wasn't that she was wrong, quite the opposite. The problem came from what the hell he was supposed to do now. Living in blissful ignorance, Harry decided, had been far easier. Back then he had simply dismissed how he felt about Daphne as nothing more than close friendship. That had been manageable. But this? This was nowhere near manageable. The primary issue was the World Cup, what had originally been a friendly and thoughtful birthday present had morphed into a blind panic about how to act.
It was different than how he had felt about Ginny. Before they'd got together, Harry had come to realise that he had barely known her. Sure they'd spent summers together, shared the same house and risked their lives in the Department of Mysteries or at the Battle of Hogwarts. But he had never really known who she was; what she loved, what she hated, her dreams what she dreamed of, none of it. That came later. They had never really been close friends. Daphne, on the other hand, had made herself essential to him. He didn't want to have to imagine his life without her in it. Her passion for her work, her love of Quidditch, her downright hatred of cooking or her family; all of things that made Daphne so her. The good and the bad. They were all the reasons behind why he felt like he did. It was somehow more intense than it had been with Ginny. Probably because he was actually close to Daphne and this wasn't just some teenage crush which later became something deeper, something important, something a part of him still regretted losing.
So come the Friday of the Quidditch World Cup final, with England having secured their place in the final three days earlier, Harry found himself sitting in Andromeda's front room staring at the fireplace but not really seeing it. Gone was the usual happiness which held his heart when he visited his godson. Instead, it had been replaced by a nervous tension that he wished he could banish. Teddy was blissfully unaware, being far too preoccupied with the school work which Andromeda insisted that he finish before being able to listen to the final. There was no such luck however, when it came to Andromeda.
"Nervous?" Andromeda asked from Harry's side when she had finally managed to settle Teddy down to the work that his maths teacher had set for him.
"Terrified," Harry admitted.
"She's still the same person that you've spent the last few months with," Andromeda pointed out.
"Yeah, but then I didn't feel like this," Harry said frustration tinting the edge of his words. He wished that Andromeda had never said anything, never forced him to see what he had been so happily ignoring for Merlin only knew how long. Somewhere along the line he had gone from simply being friends with Daphne to something more, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out when. It turned out that his feelings for her weren't attached to a switch that could be turned on and off. There had been no precise moment. It had just happened and he'd too wrapped up in the past to notice what had been sitting right in front of him.
"You're still friends Harry, just treat her like you always have," Andromeda suggested with the ease of the person giving the advice and not the one who had to live the awkward situation. Words were easy, actions not so much. "Or you could actually say something. You never know, she could feel the same."
"No."
"No she couldn't feel the same?" Andromeda asked. "Or no you aren't going to say anything?"
"Both," Harry answered glumly.
"With that attitude you're never going to take this further."
"I'm not even sure that's what I want," Harry protested. The truth was he had no idea where he wanted any of this to go. It had crept up on him, taken him by surprise and left him flailing in the uncertainty of knowing that one false step could change everything.
"Of course it is," Andromeda snapped as gently as it was possible to whilst holding on to her temper. "People don't just have feelings like this because they want things to stay the same. I know you don't want to spoil it. But Harry, trust me, sitting on it and letting it fester is worse. So you either do something, tell her how you feel, or you move on. There really isn't a third option here."
"I know you're right," Harry conceded, blowing out a sigh, his lips rippling together as he did so. "But that doesn't make this any easier."
"Who said it was meant to be easy?" Andromeda asked, a note of sympathy at the edge of her voice. If it was, it wouldn't be worth it. Besides you're lucky, at least the majority of your family doesn't hate her or think you're treacherous scum for abandoning your heritage. Trust me, Harry, that isn't easy and looking back I realised that was the point. While I understand that what you're going through is different, it is hard. Daphne is important to you, if she wasn't you wouldn't feel so strongly about her. You don't want to ruin what you have, but doing this, wallowing and worrying, that's going to do exactly that."
"I'm not wallowing," Harry tried to argue defiantly. He knew it was a lie though. He had been ever since Andromeda had forced the confession from his lips. As had happened with Ginny, his age old habit of turning in on himself and not opening up to his friends had reared its ugly head once more. The only one who knew about this was Andromeda herself, not Ron, Hermione or any of the others. Instead he'd let the problem consume him and let all his fears and doubts take hold. Again. So much for learning from his mistakes.
"You've been staring at the fire for the last ten minutes," Andromeda pointed out, as kindly as she could.
"What would you do?" Harry asked after a long moment.
"Tell her," Andromeda replied rather bluntly. "That way you both know where you stand. She might agree, she might not. But that's the risk you take."
Harry was saved having to give any further opinions on the matter by the small chiming of the clock striking the hour. That meant only one thing; it was time to leave. Getting to his feet and pulling on the best smile that he could for his godson, Harry rose from his seat and approached the young boy.
"Hey kiddo," Harry said when he had lowered himself to eyelevel with Teddy. "I'm going to have to go now, but I'll see you soon. Promise to look after grandma for me?"
Teddy nodded obediently and with all the enthusiasm that Harry had come to associate with him. Despite everything Teddy had always managed to be amazing; joyful and happy, a light out of all the darkness that had come before him. It still astounded Harry and he supposed that it always would. It was a part of why he loved his godson more than anything else on the planet. He had been born of war, a war that had tainted everything it touched with an irremovable darkness. Yet Teddy was so beautifully pure, the only good thing to come from that time.
"Promise," Teddy grinned before sticking out his small arms, waiting expectantly for a hug from his godfather who readily obliged. When the hug was over Harry stepped back and gave his godson a smile and a small wave before heading for the fire.
"When are we going to see you?" Andromeda asked as she handed him the jar of floo powder that she kept on the mantle. She wasn't overly fond of people using the floo network as it made a mess of her living room, but allowed its use on rare occasions.
"Sunday," Harry answered as briefly as he could, it was a loaded question. He knew where this was going. He had been hoping to completely avoid the topic of Daphne's experiment. But Andromeda had a way of forcing him to discuss everything which he did not want to talk about. "Should be the evening, if that's okay?"
"Of course," Andromeda nodded. "Promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise," Harry answered. This wasn't the time for joking. While he couldn't understand why Andromeda was making such a big deal out of it, he could never begrudge her the sentiment behind it: she worried because she cared. Over the last few years the two of them had become closer than Harry had ever anticipated they would. Mrs Weasley had once claimed that viewed Harry as her son, and while Harry's relationship with the Weasley matriarch was somewhat strained, he had no doubt that Andromeda shared Mrs Weasley's maternal feelings.
"Good," Andromeda said before quickly adding, "Off you go, have fun."
"Thanks, see you," Harry smiled, giving her a small wave before throwing the floo powder into the grate and stepping into the emerald flames, clearly pronouncing his destination and vanishing from sight.
After the usual sight of grates and the dizzying sensation associated with most means of magical transportation, Harry was thrown with force into the living room of Greengrass manor. He stumbled, did his best to regain his balance and grabbed the nearest thing he could find which happened to be a leather armchair.
"Graceful as ever," Daphne commented from her position on the sofa opposite him. One of her legs was curled under herself, the other just about brushing the carpet. A playful smirk pulled at her lips as she placed a bookmark into the pages of the book on her lap.
"Grace is over-rated," Harry shrugged, brushing himself down and internally cursing as he realised the magnitude of the mess that his arrival had caused. Soot was strewn all over the light coloured carpet and had manged to plaster itself all over his jacket. Mentally berating himself, Harry pulled out his wand and set about clearing up the chaos that he had caused.
"I don't know why dad chose that colour carpet," Daphne said when Harry had finished cleaning up the mess that he had made. "You should've seen the state of it before Tori's wedding. Tisly had a fit, banned us from coming in until she'd fixed it."
"Sounds like my aunt," Harry commented as Daphne got to her feet. The evening was warm for England and according to the weather reports it was even warmer in France. As a result Daphne had chosen to forgo robes and instead was wearing a summer dress that Harry vaguely remembered seeing in one of the shops in London a few weeks previously. Clearly, their little excursions into Muggle London were having more of an effect on the eldest Greengrass than she let on. Not that Harry was complaining, she looked amazing. Even more beautiful than usual. How had he never noticed it before?
"Was she a cleaning obsessed house-elf too?" Daphne asked sarcastically.
"You're closer than you think," Harry replied. Daphne grimaced, as Harry had come to learn she was not what anyone would describe as clean. Far from it. Instead, Daphne favoured her own brand of organised chaos. For someone who loved structure in her life, planned everything in meticulous detail, it was surprising how much she avoided tidiness.
"When are we leaving?" Harry asked.
"A few minutes, we're booked for five past." Daphne answered before reaching down and picking up a very old and very battered mug from the coffee table which sat in the middle of the room. "Think it's conspicuous enough?"
"No-one's pinching that," the mug looked as if it belonged in a muggle museum about the First World War more than a kitchen. Any pattern that it had once had had long since faded and the rim was chipped and cracked. Anyone who thought it'd be a good idea to drink out of it would be sorely mistaken.
"Excellent," Daphne said, "let me just get a bag and some shoes and I'm all yours."
With that she turned on her heel and headed out of the living room, missing the frown that creased Harry's brow. He sighed slightly, this wasn't going to be easy. Andromeda was right; he just had tell her. And he would… just not right now. Later. Definitely later. Getting a grip of himself Harry followed Daphne into the huge hallway that served as the entrance to Greengrass manor. Without the hundreds of guests that had filled it the last time that Harry had visited, it became clear just how gigantic it really was. Harry sometimes forgot that Daphne's family was so rich, mainly because she didn't act like the typical pureblood princess. But then again, Daphne wasn't the typical anything.
"I thought you'd gone," a voice said from a door way further down the hall. Harry turned to see Matthias Greengrass standing there, a drink in his hand and a gentle smile on his face.
"Without saying goodbye?" Daphne remarked as she drew her wand and with a flick summoned a delicate pair of sandals and small leather brown handbag. "What do you take me for?"
"Busy?" Matthias suggested, "Preoccupied? Otherwise engaged? There's a whole list if you'd like."
"I'm good," Daphne said, rolling her eyes at her father's antics.
"Shame, I had a speech laid out and everything," Matthias grumbled with mock annoyance before shifting his gaze to Harry. "Where are my manners, how are you Harry? Excited for the game?"
"I think that's a bit of an understatement," Harry grinned. He had been looking forward to the match all week. Despite whatever it was that was going on with Daphne, it couldn't stem his boyish excitement about the match. According to the Weasley's it had been generations since England had done any good, usually getting knocked out early or just before the final. Ron couldn't remember them ever getting that far.
"Thank Merlin, you won't mind Daphne's rants then, she's been going on at me all week about it."
"They are not rants," retorted an irate Daphne from the stairs where she had sat down to put on her sandals.
"Maybe not from where you're sitting," Matthias argued. "You don't have to listen to it."
"And whose fault is it that I got into Quidditch in the first place?" Daphne asked as she got to her feet and slipped her wand into the tiny handbag.
"That's not the point," Matthias dismissed with a wave of his hand.
"I think it's exactly the point," Daphne said, before adding quickly, "but, as much as I'd love to have this argument, dear father of mine, we've got somewhere to be."
"Right, yes, of course." Matthias nodded quickly. "You kids have fun."
"See you later, Dad," Daphne said shaking her head as she did so. He gave them both a wave and retreated back into the room that he had come from. Harry had given up trying to map out the manor in his mind without further exploration. "Sometimes, I wonder how I'm so well-adjusted."
"Luck?" Harry suggested garnering a small smirk from the eldest Greengrass daughter as she held out the mug for him to hold. Almost as soon as Harry's hand touched the ceramic surface it happened. The all too familiar jerking of his naval, the rushing sensation as the world blurred and then the hard realisation that all matter wasn't fluid as he slammed into the ground, staggered and fell over.
"You really can't tell you were raised by muggles," Daphne commented from somewhere above him as Harry swore under his breath. He hated magical travel. "You hide it so well."
"At least they don't try and kill you every time you want to go anywhere," Harry muttered darkly before getting to his feet.
"And yet they waste so much of their lives travelling," Daphne pointed out. "I'll take instant over boring."
Only because you don't know any better, Harry thought idly. It was a common attitude that he had discovered in most purebloods. No matter how open-minded they were, somewhere a small part of them thought that magic was simply better. There was no getting around it. Daphne had come to embrace some aspects of that world, but Harry suspected that she would always prefer the familiar.
"Tickets please," a bored looking man said from his position in a small hut. Daphne quickly rummaged around in her bag, procuring the tickets and handing them over to the man. He glanced at them, ripped a small section off of each and handed them back to Daphne. "Zat way." He continued, pointing vaguely over his shoulder. "Portkey?"
Daphne handed it over, the man threw it into a large box and then went back to staring off into the distance.
"So much for job satisfaction," Daphne commented dryly once they were out of earshot of the grumpy ticket attendant. The conversation soon steered away from the manners of the staff, however, and instead shifted towards the game. Matthias had been right. Once on the topic of the team, it was difficult to get Daphne to stop. Not that Harry minded. He enjoyed listening to her. Any nerves that he had been feeling vanished as he walked with Daphne, the familiar sense of comfort washing over him as they proceeded down dirt path that led towards the campsite.
The walk didn't take long and soon Daphne and Harry were overwhelmed by witches and wizards running about in different directions. The match was about to start and everyone was trying to grab as much merchandise as they could before they headed to the stadium.
"What're you getting?" Harry asked as he led the way to a man whose stall was less busy than the others due to the fact that it was situated slightly further away from the main camp itself. No doubt he would catch the passing trade as people poured into the stadium.
"I hadn't really planned on getting anything," Daphne shrugged.
"Oh, come on, you've got to get something, it's all part of it," Harry protested, "I've still got my hat from last time somewhere, and I know for a fact that Ron's still got his miniature of Viktor Krum."
"He got a what?" Daphne asked evidently dumb-founded by this nugget of information.
"You heard, it flies and everything," Harry grinned, "mind you, he wouldn't even look it at for years but that's a different story."
"I'm amazed it's lasted this long," Daphne said, eying a tiny roaring lion with mild interest. "The spell should've worn off by now, surely."
"Well, technically, it didn't, he smashed it into tiny pieces," Harry admitted. "It was only because Hermione found it at the bottom of his trunk that he's still got it. But, you can't not buy something."
"That double negative actually hurt," Daphne complained. "What are you getting?"
Harry paused for a moment, examining the cart. His eyes were drawn to a gigantic, and hopefully roaring, lion hat sitting at the end of the front row. The vivid memory of Luna Lovegood's homemade and frankly ludicrous hat filling his mind, Harry stepped forwards, the money already in his hand.
"You look ridiculous," Daphne laughed as Harry proudly put the red and white lion hat firmly on his head.
"That's the point," Harry countered happily. He had spent all week being serious, responsible and adult for the benefit of a highly-strung auror and her trainees, it was about time he got to have some fun. That and Teddy would love it. "So, what are you getting?"
"You're not going to give this up, are you?"
"Nope," Harry grinned.
"Fine," Daphne said, rolling her eyes in what Harry knew was mock annoyance. Given that she was supposedly against the idea, it transpired that Daphne bought more than Harry did. Despite his attempts to make her appreciate the hat, Daphne refused to get one. Though she did invest in the tiny lion, a pair of ominoculars, a rosette – which she claimed was for Tracey- and an England badge which she pinned to her dress.
Their shopping trip was cut short by a loud voice saying, first in French and then in English, 'Five minute warning, could all supporters make their way to their seats.' Harry and Daphne soon found themselves being whisked away in a stream of excited fans, Daphne struggling to retrieve her tickets so as they could find their seat numbers in the throng of eager supporters. She glowered at one particularly exuberant American fan who seemed to forget that bouncing off people went unappreciated by those whose day he was interrupting. But even his rudeness could not deflate her mood as they climbed the many stairs up into the stadium. A huge grin had spread across her face as she led him to their seats. Somewhere along the way, Harry wasn't entirely sure when, she had taken his hand to stop them getting separated. He felt his heart beat quicken and his throat run dry. How had he manged to lie to himself for this long?
The crowd was slowly getting louder and louder as they eventually managed to get to the top of the stairs and made their way to the seats that Daphne had bought. Unlike the last time that Harry had been to a World Cup game they were not seated in the ministerial box. Instead, they joined the rest of the crowd, half way up the end which housed the England supporters. It was far noisier, crowded and less intimate than the ostentatious box, but that if anything made it better. Here he and Daphne were a part of the game. Across from them Harry could see a wall of red, white and blue. The Americans. A huge American flag levitated high above them, a sign of patriotic feeling which was mirrored by the English fans further down the stadium. The two gigantic flags were coupled with thousands of smaller flags held by individual fans showing that the stadium was awash with patriotism and hope that both nations would walk away with the cup. But only one could.
"What do you think?" Daphne asked when they had found their seats and made a few people stand up so as they could squeeze past to their designated seats.
"It's amazing," Harry beamed, raising his voice so as to be heard over the cacophony of noise that was being made by the English. "I still can't believe you managed to get tickets!"
"I'm just glad you like it," Daphne told him.
"Why wouldn't I? Great match, great company, what's not to love?" The words were out of his mouth before he had any time to filter them. But judging from the smile on her face and the lack of suspicion Daphne hadn't noticed the double meaning to his words, even if it was true. He could think of nothing he would rather be doing, and more importantly of anyone he would rather being doing it with.
"It's true, I am pretty amazing," Daphne said, swinging her hair back so as she looked like a perfume model.
Harry was saved replying by the booming voice of none other than their old schoolmate and now professional commentator Lee Jordan. Each section of the stands had been fitted with speakers, allowing the fans to listen to their own specific commentary on the game. It was a new system which had been introduced that year, and while it no doubt costed a little more, the fans had loved it. It also had the added bonus of meaning that Lee could be as biased as he liked without receiving complaints for such behaviour, like he had done at previous matches.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the final of the Quidditch World Cup!" Lee's voice yelled enthusiastically through the speakers. The fans roared. Most leapt to their feet as they cheered and soon Daphne and Harry were forced to follow suit as the pitch was obstructed by the back of too many peoples' heads. "My name is Lee Jordan and I'll be your commentator for this evening's game, England versus America!" Another cheer met his words. "Now, put yours wands in the air and welcome onto the pitch: England! Captaining tonight – Clarke."
A shot of white flew from the low entrance onto the pitch. Clarke came to a slow hover in front of the England fans who shrieked and yelled at their captain.
"Joining her are Scott!" Another white-clad player hurtled out onto the pitch. Harry noticed that the American team was doing this at the same time. Gone were the processions of mascots, which had preceded the match last time. After the violence that ensued almost every game where mascots were involved the International Association of Quidditch had banned them from games and, if the Bulgaria/Ireland game had been anything to go by, with good reason. "Houghton, Brady, Williams, Taylor and Carney!"
The English team, a mixture of men and women much like the Gryffindor team that Harry had been a part of during his time at Hogwarts, lapped up the applause from their fans before taking their positions in their half of the pitch.
"And playing for the USA," Lee said with much less enthusiasm, "we have, Howard, Dempsey, Rourke, Hitchens, Crane, Stone and Jackson. Jackson against Carney in that all important chase for the snitch tonight. Jackson's not been in the best form of late so let's hope that continues tonight!" That earned Lee a laugh from the England fans, Harry among them. He was glad to see that Lee hadn't lost his trademark opinionated style despite the big occasion.
"Refereeing the game today: Jurgen Schmit," the referee was a stocky mass of black amidst the clashing waves of white and red. A silver whistle was pursed between his thin lips. Sharp blue eyes glanced at both sides warily as he kicked open the crate that contained the balls. The snitch and bludgers whizzed into life and shot into the air. Schmit picked up the quaffle before kicking off and flying to the centre of the pitch. There was sharp in-take of breath as all eyes focused on Schmit, followed by a whistle blow and the quaffle being hurled into the air.
"And we're off!" Lee screamed, "England winning the first ball. Goes to Houghton! Scott! Back to Houghton, lovely reverse pass there. Houghton to Clarke. Clarke dummies to Scott, dodges one, no two bludgers! To Scott now. Scott scores!" The stadium erupted as the first points of the game went to England. "And that's a fantastic shot from Scott! Howard was never getting there, not in a million years! 10-0 England!"
"Now it's with USA, Dempsey to Rourke, to – No, it's intercepted, now England have it with Scott, to Clarke, back to Scott. Houghton now. Clarke takes over, lovely dodge there, with Scott. She's going for it again! Yes! Scott scores again! Alex Scott for England. What a game she's having! The Americans just can't get near her!"
The game progressed in a similar fashion, the English chasers putting more and more pressure on the USA as Lee's commentary got slowly more and more supportive of the English and less professional about the American's. Rourke's poorly timed tackle on Alex Scott, which almost sent the English chaser off her broom, caused Lee to shout outraged at the referee. England soon got their revenge with a timed, and deliberately late, bludger from Taylor which Lee tried to claim was all part of the game but which the referee saw as a distinct foul as Rourke didn't even have the quaffle.
As the match got faster and faster, the USA began to show just why they were finalists too. Brady managed some excellent saves but even he couldn't keep them all out and soon it was neck and neck. Both sets of chasers were fighting with all they had and the beaters on each side were landing blow after blow, not always going for players who had the quaffle as the game got dirtier. Fouls racked up, and at one point play was suspended so as Scott could receive treatment for a bludger to the head that had sent her plummeting off her broom. Not that that stopped her. Within minutes she was back on her broom, much to the delight of Lee and the apparent concern of the English staff.
"150-130," Lee recapped as England slammed home another goal. "England leading by just twenty points! C'mon Carney, find the snitch!" Lee's words were practically prophetic, no sooner had they left his mouth than Carney had launched into a dive. "He's seen it! Carney's seen it!" The entire crowd seemed to forget the rest of the game, all eyes were on Carney as the English seeker hurtled down, Jackson hot on his tail.
"Where is it?" Daphne yelled, standing on her chair so as to see over the shoulder of the man in front of her.
"There!" Harry shouted, pointing to bottom of one of the American goal hoops.
"They're going to crash!"
Daphne was only half-right, Jackson, misjudging the distance between his broom and the base of the hoop was sent spinning off into the ground with a sickening thud as his broom clipped the base. But Carney was still going, the snitch changed course, rocketing upwards. Carney flipped, his broom parallel with the hoop as he hurtled skyward, one arm extended. A bludger missed him by inches and a second rattled off the hoop as the American beaters tried desperately to stop the inevitable.
"He's done it!" Lee yelled as Carney's fingers closed around the golden snitch a millisecond before he hurtled into an unaware Howard who had dived to save the quaffle from being thrown into the hoop that Carney's break-neck pursuit had led him up. Any sound of the collision was drowned out as the English section of the crowd erupted. Fans leapt up and down. Someone grabbed hold of the person next to them and hugged them. Tears split, shouts burst from the lips of delighted supporters as Lee continued to commentate. "Carney's done it! England win! 300 to 130! You heard all the doubts, all the people who failed to believe. Well believe now! England are world champions!"
Harry felt arms wrap around him as Daphne hugged him. He found himself hugging her back as he practically screamed himself horse. They had actually managed it. After all the build-up. All the pressure, and doubts as England had prepared to face serial World Cup winners the United States of America, none of that mattered anymore. They had won. Against all odds England had actually won. Despite having failed to win anything for generations and being the underdogs throughout the tournament they had won. Fairy tales, it turned out, really could come true.
oOo
"I still can't believe he crashed, who hits a giant fifty-foot hoop. They're not exactly easy to miss." Daphne said exasperatedly, continuing the conversation that she and Harry had been having ever since they had left the ground and made their way back to Greengrass Manor. Unlike almost every other fan they weren't staying for the after-party, so instead of reminiscing about the game in a field in France, Daphne and Harry were discussing it in the privacy of her kitchen.
"You try flying that fast," Harry pointed out. "It's not as easy as it looks."
"He's a professional Quidditch player," Daphne countered, "isn't he meant to be used to it?"
"You'd think so," Harry admitted. "Good thing he did though, made winning for us easier."
"We'd have won anyway," Daphne said with a lot less confidence than her words suggested. It was the lack of faith that only a true England fan, who had been subjected to years of failure and the ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, could have. "Do you want a drink or anything, by the way?"
"Tea, thanks," Harry replied, leaning against the counter as Daphne drew her wand and flicked it at the stove, lighting it. He had always been mildly fascinated by how wizards and witches cooked. Everything seemed to need to involve magic, even if there was no actual need for it. Magic was something different to them, it had always been there, a cornerstone of their lives. For Harry, it had been something wonderful and astounding. It still was and as such it wasn't his first instinct to solve any problem.
"Are you sure you're still okay for tomorrow?" Daphne asked once she had finished making the tea, filling the silence that had drawn out between them.
"I'm sure," Harry nodded. It was the first time that Daphne had sought to discuss the topic ever since they had agreed on the finer details a few days previously. She had seemed so confident, so sure of herself. But as he looked at her now, he couldn't see any of that. "Why?"
"I don't know, it's just talking about it was fine but now that it's actually here, it feels… strange. I'm actually kind of nervous." Daphne admitted.
"Good to know you're just like the rest of us then," Harry said, trying to inject some kind of levity into her mood.
"Harry, I'm serious, I never feel like this. Never. Before every other test I've done I've always felt so sure it's going to work, but now…"
"It's probably just because you've put so much effort into it," Harry tried, "I mean, Luidhard's tried to close you down about what five, ten times?"
"That's not it," Daphne sighed, setting down her mug and rubbing her eyes. "Okay, yeah, maybe it is a little bit but not really." Harry stared at her, confusion causing his brow to furrow. He had never seen her like this. Ever. Daphne had always been so cocksure, so sure of herself when it came to her work. Nothing had stopped her. Anyone else wouldn't have bothered to carry on after so many set-backs, but not Daphne. She'd ploughed on, never once doubting herself.
"You know what? Forget it," Daphne muttered. "It's stupid, I'm being stupid. Just forget I said anything."
"No way, Daph I-"
"Leave it, Harry, just leave it, please?"
"No, not if there's something I can -"
"I said leave it!" Daphne snapped, her temper flaring and her jaw going tight as she turned the glare that he had seen her use so many times on other people turned on him. "This isn't your problem, okay? You can't fix everything, Harry!"
"I never said I could," Harry protested as gently as he could, his own temper beginning to fray. What the hell was going on? They'd been having a nice time, a great time. Where was this even coming from? "Daph, what's wrong?"
"Nothing!" Daphne shouted. "Alright? It's nothing, and even if it was, there's nothing you can do. So, for once just drop it, okay?"
"What do you mean for once?" Harry asked indignantly, his own voice rising now. "All I'm doing is trying to help you."
"Yeah, well I don't need your help, Harry! Actually, you know what? I don't need anyone's help. So thanks, but no thanks."
"What the hell has gotten into you?" Harry demanded.
"Are you not listening? Nothing! I said, nothing!"
"I'll start listening when you start making sense!" Harry shouted back.
"Then you're going to be waiting some time," Daphne retorted exasperatedly, as if somehow Harry was the one in the wrong. He wanted to shout back, to get the bottom of all of this. But memories of arguments with Ginny came flooding to the surface of his mind, of nights spent trying to get to the bottom of her rage or her fury that in her stubbornness she had refused to talk about. Hours had dragged by as Harry had tried all the words he could think of and eventually she would talk. But that had been the old Harry, the one who hadn't grown sick of lies and half-truths. As much as a part of him still wanted to stand there, to try and talk it through with Daphne, the rest of him was tired of fighting.
"Fine," Harry said, letting out a sigh and setting down the drink he had long since forgotten about. "Have it your way."
And with that he turned on his heel and headed out of Greengrass Manor. He knew that she wouldn't follow. Her pride wouldn't allow it. Daphne valued her independence far more than anything else, she wouldn't come chasing after him just as much as he refused to cave or relent after a life time of solving other people's problems. Gone were the imagined possibilities of what he had hoped would come of their outing. Instead, Harry found himself walking away from the woman that only hours earlier he had shared an amazing evening and wondering just where it had all gone wrong.
AN: Sorry everyone for the huge wait on this chapter, life has been crazy but hopefully everything should be back on track. Hope you guys like it, thanks everyone for your reviews and favourites. They are immensely appreciated!
