Chapter Six: Meeting The Parents
Easter, annoyingly, rolled around rather quickly and before Daphne knew it she was getting ready to go home. It wasn't that she hated her family, quite the opposite, it was just that they had a tendency to be a bit much. Harry, whose familial experience extended to the Weasleys and his own relatives' pathetic excuse for child-rearing, had tried to do his best to assure her it would be fine.
It did not feel fine.
"You'll be fine," Astoria told her as Daphne nervously critiqued her reflection. It wasn't usual for years to intermingle across dormitories, but with most people out enjoying the sun or cramming for the upcoming exam season, there was no around to question Astoria's presence in the fourth-year dorm. "And I'll be there to stop them being too weird."
"But you're already weird."
"And Harry likes me, so what does that say about you?" Astoria teased. It was true that she and Harry got along quite well, but then Harry got on with pretty much everyone once they realised he wasn't a fame-hungry narcissist. He could probably get Pansy to like him if she didn't jinx him first. The truth was Harry liked Tracey and Astoria and even he and Balise had struck up something oddly akin to friendliness.
Daphne, on the other hand, had initially struggled. Granger was fussy, but easy enough to get on with, while Weasley was lazy and annoying - a fact he'd probably try and blame on having loads of brothers and being in Harry's shadow, which Daphne would point out was stupid and so was glad he'd never tried to justify in front of her. They had begun making some progress with Ron Weasley after her prank on Malfoy. The second-youngest Weasley had been astounded when he'd found out what she'd done and, apparently, been convinced that if she could take on Malfoy she was worth talking to. They would never be friends, Daphne knew because she found his laziness and general attitude towards life far too self-pitying to be anywhere near tolerable, but they rubbed shoulders without cursing each other so she viewed that as a success.
"Speaking of the wonderful Mr Potter, hadn't we better go and get him. Don't want you to be late, do we?"
"No, god forbid," Daphne scowled bitterly. She checked herself over one final time. It was the exact opposite of how she'd dressed at the Yule Ball. Her hair was down and doing its best to ignore the curling charms and products Daphne had spent an hour using, her make-up simple and her pale blue summer robe was pulled around in a wrap-style that other girls probably suited better but Astoria had insisted was fashionable in the holiday before school. She wouldn't say she was comfortable, by any stretch of the imagination, but it would do.
They headed to the Great Hall where Harry was waiting for them. He'd ditched his school robes and wasn't in the oversized clothes Daphne had learned had used to belong to his cousin and weren't just a fashion choice. Instead, he was wearing dark charcoal trousers, a white shirt - thankfully without his Gryffindor tie - and a matching grey outer robe that stopped just short of the floor.
"You've made an effort," Daphne remarked, for whatever reason he seemed to rather enjoy her barbs and playful bites, unlike most people who simply saw her as rude. After almost four months of dating she had, for the most part, stopped panicking about what she was going to say. Not that it ever stopped her anyway.
"And you look beautiful," Harry said simply, his smile lighting up his face and his words making her heart melt. Even after four months - was he ever going to stop making her feel like this?
"Bold-faced lies will get you everywhere."
"Ignore her, she's never been good at taking compliments," Astoria interjected, "I, however, love them, so feel free to tell me how great I look whenever you want." She tipped a wink at Harry, who looked baffled, and withdrew a trowel from her pocket and offered it out to them all. Trust her dad to use a trowel. Anyone else would pick an object that might give off a good impression, him? The first thing he found in the greenhouse. "Ready for the big day? Excited to meet our wonderful family?"
"You can say no," Daphne added as she placed her hand on the Ministry-approved portkey that apparently had taken her dad three weeks to get set up and a lot of talking to an annoying man named Roger in Magical Transportation.
"Oh yeah, feel free to say no."
"We won't be offended." Daphne assured him.
"I might be offended."
"It'll be good," Harry laughed, taking the portkey, "just nervous, I guess."
"Understandable, it's not every day you get to meet your girlfriend's parents for the first time," Astoria nodded sagely, making her look one hundred and thirty and not thirteen. "But don't worry, they're not your normal pureblood lords and ladies, all diamonds and pearls and casual bigotry."
No, that was true enough. They weren't bad. Not really. They loved their daughters and had a modest estate, her father had long since not bothered replacing the family House Elf when she had eventually died and out-sourced any of the food and entertainment services to several businesses he knew, and on the whole, they were good, decent people. Embarrassing. True. But good.
The trip was instantaneous, as all trips by magic usually were. One second they were in the Great Hall and the next they landed heavily on the gravel driveway that led up to Greengrass Manor. Harry nearly toppled over, but Daphne caught him before he went face-first into a nearby rhododendron bush.
"Dad likes gardening," Daphne explained, as Harry took in the garden. It was a sight to behold. All manner of muggle and magical flowers lived in harmony, or occasional spats of leaves and snapped twigs as a pair of enchanted beech trees near the edge of the grounds could attest to. Blues, red, unnaturally bright oranges and muted yellows, it was like walking through a kaleidoscope of flowery imagination.
"I'll let them know we're here," Astoria said, before plucking a daisy from one of the flowerbeds and tucking it behind her ear. "Give you two a chance to get ready."
"Is it going to be that bad?"
"No," Daphne tried to reassure him, "it's just, they're a bit… much."
"Much?"
"Have you looked at this garden?" Daphne pointed out as a large blue plant she couldn't remember the name of magically elongated itself, unfurled its fanged petals and ate a passing wasp. "It's like dad's brain, only more murdery."
"At least they're not clean freaks," Harry said, "you should see Privet Drive. It's spotless. You'd think it was cleaned by magic."
"Well, everyone's got to have a hobby."
"Getting me to wash a bath with a toothbrush shouldn't be one of them," Harry muttered darkly.
"They get you doing it?"
"Used to," he admitted with a small shrug. It was oddly nice in a way, that he could be that open with her. Not the cleaning bit. That was vile and, because it was Harry, she suspected that this was just the tip of the iceberg. "They stopped when they got scared I'd turn them into a pig or something."
"Three more years and you can give it a good go," Daphne smirked. "Although, I'm taking that stupid cousin of yours."
"You've never even met him."
"I don't need to meet him, he beats up kids half the size of him for a laugh." It dawned on her that Harry was probably in that bracket. Now she really wanted to hurt Dudley Dursley.
"At least he doesn't jinx people so badly they get a concussion."
"I healed up fine," Daphne shrugged, "and Draco's been as nice as pigmy puff to me since. Almost as if having his mother scream at him in front of a bunch of people was embarrassing or something."
"I still can't believe you did that," Harry laughed, pride tinging his words.
"Told you I'd get my own back," it was more than that. Most of the older Slytherins who had sided with him began distancing themselves from him, believing Lucius Malfoy now detested his own son and looking for better alliances amongst themselves. The girls that occasionally flocked to him had taken Daphne's little declaration to heart and begun dating for themselves. Even Pansy was getting a bit miffed with how Draco treated her. The beauty of it was that Malfoy would never, ever raise it to his parents out of sheer shame and so would only find out it was all nonsense, if he ever did, long after the damage had already become irreversible.
"Just don't mention it to mum and dad, they don't know and I'd like to keep it that way."
"Yeah, 'course." She missed his reassurance, too wrapped up in internalised panic to notice.
"I just don't want them worrying over nothing."
He touched her shoulder. "Daph, it's fine. I get it."
"Thanks," she looked up, gave him a quick peck on the lips that she desperately wanted to become more and then forced herself to pull away. "C'mon. Let's get this over with."
The sun was beginning to set as they entered Greengrass Manor, casting a low fiery orange light on their backs and making their shadows stretch out on the stone floor. It wasn't what most people would call home, Daphne knew. She was lucky. The manor was the perfect combination of homely and grand, where there were giant sweeping staircases, a pair of her dad's muddy gardening boots would lie at the foot of them. Huge impressive gothic architecture clashed with her mother's collection of bright robes on the rack nearest the door.
An ancient chandelier hung in the centre of the hall, emerald green flames a permanent fixture on candles that never went out. What it illuminated was a poorly organised umbrella stand and an oak cupboard that was used as a place for her father to throw paperwork he didn't want to deal with. Lords and Ladies of ancient generations looked down at them from all around, eyes that had been dead one hundred years or more widened and Daphne's great-grandmother gave her a small wave.
"This is amazing," Harry breathed, "you really live here?"
"Most of the time, we've got a villa in Spain that dad takes us to when the Quidditch season's over," a villa she absolutely adored and would definitely be asking her parents to invite Harry to in the summer. He'd love it. Tracey hadn't wanted to leave when she'd visited. "But yeah, this is me."
"You could fit the Dursley's whole house in here," Harry craned his neck to look up the staircase.
"We're not even the rich ones," Daphne told him, "you should see Nott Manor, or Zabini's mother's place," now there was gaudy, talk about extravagance. It took an entire army of House Elves to run that place. "She's done very well for herself."
"Amazing what a few dead husbands will get you!" The voice was loud, cheery and overly friendly in every sense of the word. Daphne had to resist sighing. This was it. No going back now.
"Hi, Dad," marching towards them in dark red robes and a gigantic grin plastered across his face was Matthias Greengrass. His blonde hair was thinning slightly, but that didn't stop him from having a pretty thick beard (much to his wife's continued annoyance). It was like he'd put his hair on upside down. Kind blue eyes sparkled with delight, familiar lines creasing themselves into his face as he basically bound towards them. Normally at this point in the day he was either traipsing mud around the place or tucked away in his office talking about Puddlemere United and definitely wouldn't be wearing formal robes. He'd made an effort, of course he had.
"This is Harry," Daphne said, her brain kick-starting when her father was only a few feet in front of them. "Harry, this is my dad. Matthias Greengrass."
"Nice to meet you, sir."
"Sir? Good lord, no! Call me Matty," her father said merrily, offering out a hand and shaking Harry's entire arm when he accepted it. "Everyone else does."
"No-one else does," Daphne nearly groaned.
"But I'd like them to and that's what counts. Lovely to meet you, Harry. Now, before we get any further, I must ask you," he paused for what he clearly thought was a dramatic effect but instead just made him look like he got lost in simple sentences, "what are your intentions for my daughter?"
"Dad!"
"I hope that you don't hope to be holding hands," her father continued, "just because you can see her knees, doesn't mean she's the type of girl to hold the hand of any strange-haired boy in front of her parents."
The world couldn't swallow her fast enough. There was an awkward silence as Harry's brain tried to catch up with what was happening. Daphne, who had no such issues, spoke first. "Why are you like this?"
"Because it's fun," her father shrugged, "and because you're so easy to tease. I'm only joking, of course, Harry. Your hair isn't strange." Harry, who was clearly not accustomed to Matthias Greengrass or middle-aged men that convinced themselves they were funny, didn't have an answer for that. "Now, your mother is waiting for us, or rather you, she sees me every day. Almost every day." He mused on that for a moment, nodded to himself and then turned on his heel and led the way towards the kitchen.
"Sorry," Daphne whispered, giving Harry's hand a small squeeze while her father wasn't looking. To her astonishment, Harry was smiling.
"It's fine, he's nice."
"He's off his rocker."
"Well, you had to get it from somewhere," Harry teased, earning himself a discreet whack across the midriff.
"Hilarious, aren't you?"
"One of us has to be."
"Thin ice, Potter," Daphne growled, but she knew her smirk gave her away. Their hushed words died as they entered the kitchen. A large open room that clashed completely with the gothic appearance of the rest of the house. Where other rooms were full to the brim with thick, dark wood, the kitchen was light and airy. White cupboards were tucked under glittery marble surfaces. The walls were painted decorated with a carefully hand-painted tree that her mother had spent months perfecting, before enchanting so that it matched these seasons. Pink blossoms and buds clung to branches that waved in an invisible wind, snaking under cupboards that hung on the walls and leading back to the large wall at one end by a small table.
Most of the time they didn't bother using the dining room and ate most of their meals in the kitchen. Given that the table had been pulled to one side and a large cauldron simmered over bluebell flames, Daphne suspected that this wouldn't be the case for their meal this evening, which smelled delicious, but her mother's cooking always did. God, she missed it.
"Ah, there you are," smiled Daphne's mother, who had been engrossed in a floating recipe book that hovered over the hob. She flicked her wand, sending onions into a large pan, which began hissing as soon as they hit the hot oil. Where Daphne got her hair, large eyes and narrow face from her father, Astoria looked the spitting image of their mother, except for her mother's olive skin.
Dark hair that normally curled elegantly down her back was tied loosely into a bun, which her mother promptly stuck her wand into for safe keeping. Her smile was bright and her cheeks much fuller than Daphne's ever could be.
"It's good to have you home, cocca," she pulled Daphne into an embrace, kissing her cheek.
"Hi, Mum," she waited until her mother was done with her before adding, "mum, this is Harry. Harry, this is Aurora Greengrass."
"Daphne has told us so much about you," her mother beamed, giving Harry a very similar greeting as she yanked the poor boy into a hug that he had not been prepared for. Daphne had learned relatively early on in their relationship that Harry wasn't well-versed in physical affection. It wasn't that he hated it or would flinch away, it was just that he rarely thought to instigate it. For a while, she'd freaked out thinking it was a sign he didn't like her until she found out more and more about his relatives and put two and two together.
"Has she?" Daphne's father asked curiously while he picked at a small mountain of cheese that was magically grating itself near the boiling pasta.
"You'd know if you bothered to read her letters," Daphne's mother countered.
"You give me the highlights," her father shrugged, to which her mother just rolled her eyes and banished the cheese he was eating.
"You can eat that later. We have guests."
"So we do," said her father, brushing off flakes of cheese from his fingers and beaming. "How about you girls catch up and I can give Harry here a tour of the house."
"He means the Quidditch pitch," Astoria told Harry from her position by the cauldron.
"I do not only mean the pitch, but now you mention it…"
Daphne's mother rolled her eyes at her husband's antics. "Go on, dinner will be in half an hour. Don't be late."
Daphne's father did a small dance and, like the overgrown child that he was, bounded out of the room, with Harry dutifully following him and clearly trying to hide his own excitement.
"Men, give them a broom and you could lose them forever," Daphne's mother sighed good-naturedly. "So, Harry Potter?"
This was going to be fun. "That's his name, yeah."
"And how did I end up cooking him dinner?"
"Tea," Daphne corrected, it was an argument she'd long since had with Tracey and wasn't about to lose with her mother. "And, I dunno, I asked him out," her mother looked stunned, "yes, I asked him. Blame Tracey. I didn't mean to." The irony of it being impossible to make an active decision wasn't lost on her, but she ignored it. It was an accident. Kind of. She'd not gone there meaning to, she wasn't even entirely how she'd even done it. A brief bout of mild hysteria was her current thinking.
"You fancied him for months!" Astoria pointed out. "You should've seen her mum, proper puppy eyes. Trace said she kept staring at him in Potions."
"Anyway," Daphne ground out, trying not to be sent to Azkaban for killing her sister. "We got on, went to the Ball, then Hogsmeade. You know, normal stuff."
"You do realise you're dating a literal celebrity, Daph?" Astoria asked. "This isn't 'normal stuff'."
When were people going to give this up? "You know as well as I do, he's not like that."
"Then what is he like?" Daphne's mother asked.
"Really?" she was whining she knew, but she hated this. Then again, at least she wasn't Harry. She could only imagine what kind of weird questions her dad was firing his way. She'd wanted to go with him, wanted to help and at least make sure he wasn't left alone with her father, but knew full well there was no point in arguing. Once her father got an idea into his head it was hard to get out. Wonder where she got that from.
"I have been waiting to quiz you about whoever you bring home for the last fourteen years and you bring me an international icon," Daphne's mother said, "yes, really."
"Okay, fine. He's nothing like The Prophet or any of those rags say, he's…" how best to say it? Without gushing. Oh God. She wanted to. No. Keep it simple. Keep. It. Simple. You can do this. Think and speak. Think and speak, it's simple. "Amazing." Great job. "I mean, you know, he's just… ugh," why is this so hard? "he's nice, okay? He's kind and sweet and caring and funny and puts up with this," she gestured at her overactive mouth, "and for whatever reason thinks I'm pretty."
"More than pretty," Astoria winked.
"I hate you."
"Girls," her mother said tersely, "that's wonderful, cocca. When you first told us, well, we were a little sceptical." Understandable given that Harry was, well, Harry. No matter how much Daphne preferred to ignore the fact. As her mother said, he was a damn icon. Girls and boys across the country had grown up hearing about him. "We just want you to be happy and as first boyfriends go, this is a bit of a big one."
"I know," and she did. She really did. There was so much unseen baggage that came with him that you couldn't ignore. You Know Who. The Tournament. Even just being the youngest bloody Gryffindor Seeker in a century would've been enough to cause high school gossip to go into overdrive. Add everything else on top, it was like she was painting a particular exquisitely drawn target on her back. "Mum, really. I get it. But, I dunno, I just… when I'm with him I'm happy and he lets me be, well, me. Surely that's worth it?"
Something that was increasingly becoming clear would be an issue for most of the other boys, pureblood families would've said she should be with. Malfoy wanted a trophy wife. They all did. Someone who ordered around House Elves, organised parties and whose definition of overexerting themselves was making a particularly strong cup of tea. That wasn't her. That was never going to be who she was.
"It is. He's like your father, now there's a man who doesn't care what people think."
"Well aware," Daphne smirked, dreading what her father was showing Harry or even asking him. She found out later that her father had skipped the rest of the house entirely and had decided to see how fast Harry could catch a Snitch. The answer? Faster than anyone her father had seen under the age of seventeen and the majority of the rest of the conversation was dedicated to him trying to convince Harry to join the Puddlemere United Youth Team.
"I'm glad you're happy."
"Me too, mum and I am, honestly. I know he's…"
"A living legend. A magical phenomenon. A destroyer of dark wizards." Astoria supplied. "I can keep going."
"That," Daphne summarised, "but he really is just normal. I mean, he didn't even know magic existed until he got his Hogwarts letter." That had been a bit of a shock apparently. "I know people will go on about You-Know-Who or the Tournament or whatever, but he's not this power-hungry maniac obsessed with the limelight or anything."
"I was just worried, I know what boys your age can be like. Especially ones looking for a way up the ladder."
"I know, Mum. But he's not like that." The Potter family vault probably had more money than her family had ever seen, but a political alliance between the families would be advantageous. After all, the Greengrasses weren't dark, so that cut out Death Eaters and were probably the best he could get if he wasn't willing to go near Parkinson, Flint, Bulstrode or any of the others. Except for Bones. Maybe Abbott?
"As long as you're sure."
"I am, promise."
"Good enough for me," her mother smiled, giving her a quick squeeze. "Now, as neither of you are doing anything, you can help me with this."
The food was, simply put, incredible. It always was, but Daphne could never get enough of her first meal back at Greengrass Manor after the substandard dishes the Hogwarts Elves made. They were lovely, but there was something authentic about her mother's cooking that just couldn't be replicated.
"So, Harry," Daphne's father began once they had all eaten their fill and the dishes began floating towards the sink under her mother's instruction. "If you're not going to be becoming a national Quidditch star, what would you like to do?"
"I don't know, I guess, maybe an Auror? Professor Moody reckons I'd be pretty good at it."
"Mad-Eye? He would. But you don't want to be running stakeouts in the rain or chasing a bunch of nutters down dark alleys. No, you want a fun job. Not that you'd need it I imagine."
"Sir?" Harry blinked, clearly remembering her father's words earlier. "Sorry."
Her father waved his hand dismissively, "don't worry. No, I just mean, your father would've left you plenty to get by. Merlin's beard, a year didn't go by that he wouldn't have the best broom or the coolest clothes."
"You knew my dad?"
"Knew is a strong term, he was the year below me. Didn't much like me, for obvious reasons, we weren't as enlightened as you and Daphne back then." He chuckled to himself. "Mind you, I know a few girls would've broken that rule for him. Not that he'd have listened. Always had eyes for your mother. Wasn't the only one. Now there was a girl who had admirers." He cleared his throat, clearly realising how that had just sounded. "I wasn't one of them, of course."
"What was he like? What were they like?"
"Well, I knew your mother a bit better," Daphne's father said, "she was decent, never really bothered us, which was nice. Your father, well, let's just say he had a habit of taking exception to proto-Death Eaters."
"Matthias." Daphne's mother only ever used her husband's name when he was out of line.
"Sorry, you're right. Not the time. But, all you need to know is he grew out of it. Yes, he could be a bit boisterous, but he was a good man. Did a lot for the Aurors before all that business with Sirius Black."
"My dad was an Auror?"
It was like everyone at the table was frozen still. Her father was the first to speak.
"Son, did no-one tell you anything?"
Harry shook his head and Daphne's heart sank. How did she know more about James and Lily Potter than he did? Everyone knew the stories of the ex-Auror forced to go into hiding to protect his family. Stories of all the Death Eaters he'd locked up, he was a bloody war hero. Daphne took Harry's hand. She wasn't good at reassurance generally, her brain skipping to jokes to try and numb the pain, but this wasn't ever a laughing matter.
"Merlin's beard," her father breathed, "well, okay. I probably shouldn't be the one telling you all of this, but seeing as no-one else has." He blew out a long sigh, scratched at his beard contemplatively, and said, "your father joined up, what, six months after Hogwarts?" Daphne's mother nodded. "I know that Lupin fella tried too, but given his condition, well… looking back it's no wonder they said no.
"Anyway, him and Black, they both signed up and we all knew where it was going. I'd just met Aurora," he took his wife's hand and smiled, "on a trip to Italy for the Ministry, I was just a junior member of International Cooperation back then, but we could all see what was coming. You-Know-Who. Well, your dad rose up the ranks, partly because he was good at his job and because back then we were hemorrhaging people. They were dark times, Harry.
"Anyway, he fought him. You-Know-Who. A couple of times and survived no less. Not a lot of folk went up against him and lived to tell the tale, but your father and your mother, they both did it and they were heroes. They were the kind of people everyone else looked up to.
"Then you were born and for one reason or another, He Who Must Not Be Named decided they were his next targets. So, they disappeared. Well, you know how that went." Any of her father's normal jovial nature had vanished, it was quite alarming, seeing the businessman behind the jokes and the relaxed stupidity. "They were good people, Harry. It shouldn't have gone like, but…"
"Yeah, I know," Harry said stiffly. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it," her father assured him with a gentle smile. "Now, who fancies dessert?"
The rest of the evening went along fairly quickly after that. Daphne had to admit it went better than she'd been expecting. Her parents were so larger than life that she'd always been scared of bringing anyone, nevermind Harry, home. But the truth was they liked him and, for whatever reason, he wasn't overwhelmed by them. She just wished his parents hadn't come up.
"You okay?" She asked quietly when her mother and father very indiscreetly left to 'do the dishes' with Astoria despite magic existing.
Harry nodded, pushing his glasses back up his thin nose. His jaw clenched and unclenched, but he'd never let go of her hand. She gently rubbed his slightly calloused palms, another physical reminder of his woeful upbringing.
"Fine, it's just still a bit weird. Everyone else seems to know everything."
"We can look up your family tree, if you like? Mum and dad have got loads of books here, I think every pureblood family does."
"Really?"
"Why not? I can't give you details but at least you'd know where you came from."
"You're the best."
"Well, yeah. Obviously." Daphne grinned. She made sure no-one was looking before leaning forwards and giving him a small peck on the cheek. "Anything for you."
Out in the kitchen, unbeknown to either teenager, Daphne's parents teetered on the threshold. Or rather, her father did.
"Don't you dare."
"What?"
"You were going to interrupt them."
"Well, it's my house."
"Our house."
"Our house."
"Leave them be, Matty. They're cute."
"Alright fine, but if they get up to any funny business, it's your fault."
His wife gave him a quick kiss and half-dragged, half-led him away from Daphne and Harry. He leaned his head on her shoulder. They stayed there for a while, neither of them sure for how long, but they both knew it would never be long enough.