"I hate this."
"You look fine. Too fine, actually."
A chuckle escaped his lips.
"Thank you."
A spluttering of noises met his ears.
"I didn't mean it like that!"
When Harry imagined finally getting to go on his first proper date with Daphne, this had been among one of the very last ways he'd imagined it. As much as they both wanted to do this properly, needs were a must, and digression was all too necessary. Keeping away from each other in public was easy, as was spending time together in the Room of Requirement. But sending time together in public, however, was nigh on impossible.
As night drew nearer, the best he was able to scrounge was an uncomfortable, oversized checker-pattern blazer and flat cap, ones he'd had to raid Seamus's wardrobe to find. It was the first time he'd seen Daphne in anything other than some variant of uniform robes, and it had made him pause when first spotting her. Apparently she had a similar idea to him and was wrapped up entirely in a Wigtown Wanderers hoodie that was so large it came down over her hands, and definitely didn't belong to hers. It was an unnatural sight, almost as though someone had pasted a picture of her face onto another person's body. Her hood was up, her hands in her pockets and she was wearing normal pants and not a skirt for the first time in what could probably have been her entire life. It was, admittedly, a cute look for her.
She grimaced awkwardly at him behind the hood.
"Well, no, you are, I just mean… shut up!" she blushed, flustered. "I meant you still look like Harry Potter."
She produced her wand from her sleeve and waved it in his direction, then spoke an enchantment he'd briefly heard in Professor McGonagall's transfiguration lessons.
"Cisuo Muto."
A tingling feeling spread across his face. It was similar to the effect of Polyjuice Potion, but not nearly as unpleasant. He could see his nose a lot more clearly now and what of his fringe he could see, appeared much browner than it was used to.
"Can you pull your hair over your scar?"
He was surprised when he felt his scar still on his forehead, but quickly deduced that just like the transformation, the effects of the spell mustn't be as powerful as polyjuice was. He brushed his hair into an unpleasant fringe and looked back at Daphne for approval.
Her eyes narrowed and she moved her hand to brush softly against his cheeky.
"What happened to your face?"
"Cut myself shaving."
She frowned.
"How do you cut yourself while shaving?"
He peaked a curious brow at her, not seeing the joke.
"... with a razor?"
She gave a very demeaning scoff - an action which made her resemble someone Harry couldn't remember.
"Is that how muggles do it? How barbaric, we have potions for that sort of thing..." she said, as her eyes then narrowed. "What about women? How do they… ?"
He leaned in and whispered something he rather wished he hadn't had to, to her.
"All over?" she squeaked, suddenly looking somewhere between embarrassed and petrified.
"Usually."
Very quick, Daphne did not look like she wanted to know any more. Harry smiled. As much as her hoity-toity-ness caused problems for them, he secretly loved it.
It was then that a rather uncomfortable thought occurred to him. That scoff she had done was very near identical to the ones Aunt Petunia would come out with. Which was then his cue to realise what a fool he was not recognising the similarities between Daphne and his aunt sooner. They held similar stances, the exact same down-the-nose sneer and just everything right down to the same up-tight energy about them was too close for comfort.
The main - and most important difference being - Daphne actually had a heart beneath it all and, for the most part, her cold exterior was an act. He could play around with her, make her flustered and frustrated, without having worry about being starved over the next few days. It almost felt like getting approval from Daphne now, here in Hogwarts, was making up for years worth of the affection-starving he had suffered at the hands of the Dursleys. In a rather sad twist of dramatic irony, if the situation ever arose where he introduced her to his family at Private Drive, he imagined they would be rather fond of her. If she wasn't a witch. And they weren't magic-hating muggles.
Don't get him wrong, Daphne was still better than Petunia in every way, shape and form, but nonetheless, as soon as the two images blurred together he very much struggled to separate them again. He didn't know why in some messed-up, Freudian kind of way, he enjoyed it, but probably imagined there was a therapist out there who would have a field day with him.
He straightened himself up, trying to brush the mental image out of his mind. Daphne gave another glance around the abandoned entrance hall, then nodded affirmatively.
"Right. Cast it for me, now."
But his mind drew a blank.
"What?"
"Cisuo Muto, human transfiguration?"
His next pause was apparently too long.
"I'll do it myself," she sighed.
It was that exact "Right, I'll do it myself" look on her face that he had grown to love about her.
She cast the disillusion charm over herself and a moment later, he saw a similar transfiguration happen occur over her. Her nose shrank a little, her eyebrows became less pronounced and then, spreading like spilled ink over a sheet of parchment, her blonde hair turned black.
"Well?"
He looked the girl before him up and down. If he hadn't seen the change himself, he would have never guessed it was his girlfriend standing in front of him.
"You look like your sister."
"Which one?"
"Astoria."
"Then I'll take that as a compliment. Shall we get the carriage?"
Though Hogsmeade trips were usually held annually, the village wasn't off-bounds to students during other hours. Friday night had arrived and with it, Harry and Daphne took a thestral-drawn carriage down to the wizarding village, which was light by lamp-light.
Compared to travelling with Ron and Lavender or a lonely, scornful Hermione, it being just he and Daphne was a much more enjoyable experience. Though the journey down was mostly silent, it wasn't the usual, uncomfortable kind he had with other people. He had grown used to long-drawn out silences around her during their revision sessions last year, and felt no more awkward about them now than he did then. The scenery was pleasant and the gentle taps of rain against the window was calming. It made the ride pass in no time, and they had quickly arrived at the Hogsmeade train station.
The same one that, not a few months ago, she had tried breaking up with him in. Thinking about how far they had come from that point did bring a smile to his face, but he was the only one being optimistic. The short walk between the station and the rest of the village, he also couldn't ignore the frequent glances Daphne gave to the patches of dark, or the tight grip she kept on his hand as they moved.
Before long they emerged into the warm, fire-light streets of Hogsmeade. He had only been here at night during the winter, and seeing it now starved of it's usual snow made the place near-unrecognisable. Daphne's shoulders seemed to relax at the familiar sight, but he still thought it best they got inside as quick as they could.
"Let's get inside."
As they walked, he noticed there were no sideways glances directed their way. That would have been an odd thing to pick up on if he were a normal person, but he had become far too accustomed to catching people staring at his scar, both here and in Diagon Alley. He'd usually make eye contact back and after a long, awkward second, they would realise they were staring and look away, which just made it more obvious. But it was non existent now. It was like being back in the muggle world - or, under the invisibility cloak, anyway. Daphne had a similar way of attracting people's gazes, but for much the same reason, was now being ignored. The deeper they got, the more confident she seemed, also realising their lack of attention. Suppose there was only so much reassurance he could give her, but seeing it in person had restored her usual strength. Holding her head high, he was now having to compete with her strides to keep up.
They kept walking and he noticed for the first time quite how much nightlife Hogsmeade seemed to have. Suppose it made sense, being the only all-magic village in the country. Every once in a while a drunken wizard in a suit came out of a bar, usually being supported by another, but for the most part the street was just as crowded as it was the day time. Different kinds of music came and went as they passed each bar, and Harry was sure he even heard the distinct bellow of Hagrid come from inside one of them.
The Hogs Head Inn was by no means the usual kind of place either of them would find themselves, but both agreed they were going all out on the precautions tonight, which meant it would be best to avoid The Three Broomsticks, which was their school's usual drinking spot.
He expected his eyes to need readjusting once in, but found the inside not much brighter than the out, being light by torch light. The sound of classical music was present, but drowned out by the sound of glasses moving on the tables and the husky chatter of other patrons. It was mostly men, and though there were indeed a handful of women, none of them looked under forty. The smell of cigarette smoke was thick in the air, but the area was far from seedy, and it was little amusing seeing Daphne's reaction to the smell. Harry imagined if he was about fifty years older, he would probably feel quite at home here.
Everyone was talking between themselves and drinking, meaning no faces were dragged their way as they went between the tables. Daphne took a place at the counter without glancing around. He doubted she had been here before and imagined this was just what she behaved like in public. Even under such heavy disguise, she didn't look like someone he wanted to mess with. It made him all gooey on the inside. An elderly man with a beard - one Harry had to do a second glance at, after mistaking him for Dumbledore - came over to her.
"What'll it be?"
"What red wines do you have?"
The bar-keep took a momentary glance down below him.
"Celery and Beetroot, Elf-Made, Superior and Ramiel."
"Two glasses of Ramiel, please."
He nodded and began to assemble their order. A couple of seconds passed before she suddenly remembered that Harry was indeed here she turned to him, apologetically.
"Ramiel Pure is fine with you, isn't it?"
Harry, who the most alcohol he ever had was whatever was the cheapest or what was bought for him, nodded. A bottle of dark red liquid was poured into two glasses, which came their way. He snatched them up, determined to be useful.
"That'll be three galleons, please."
He did a double take to make sure he had heard correctly. Three galleons for two glasses of wine? He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped as Daphne handed over three golden coins and what was presumably a generous tip without problem. She was the heir to the Greengrass estate. That shouldn't surprise him. He was by no means poor, in the wizarding world at least, but it boggled his mind how readily she could depart with large amounts of money without flinching.
"Ah, thank you very much! 'Ave a nice night, you two."
They turned and set off for an abandoned corner of the pub, again with her taking the lead. The prospect of a nice, quiet night away from everyone was now on the horizon. They found a table that was empty, clean and well-lit, despite the surrounding darkness. There weren't many people milling about this corner of the club, and Daphne let her hood down finally as a result.
"This place is disgusting," she said finally, as though she had been itching to voice it since the second they entered.
Harry looked at their glasses.
"We don't have to come here? Just thought it was a better place than…"
"It will do, don't worry," she readjusted her attitude quickly.
She picked up her glass and moved it side to side, examining the liquid. Quickly, he did the same. The dark liquid glistened in the candle light as it moved around in the glass, but other than that, it just looked like wine. He guessed it took a lot of education to judge how the liquid inside tasted based only on how it responded to gravity.
"Surprised they didn't ask for ID."
She nodded quietly, still concentrating on the liquid in her glass.
"They rarely do, in here."
He rose a curious brow at her.
"You come here?"
"Tracey does."
"Of course," he sighed.
Oblivious to his raised eyebrow, she took a sip from her glass. The wine slipped down effortlessly, her fondness for alcohol evidently helping her deal with the flavor. Harry had been trying to put it off, but eventually did the same. And he failed spectacularly. What could only be described as lava slipped down his throat and he coughed roughly back into the glass. Daphne recoiled, watching him aggressively pat his chest with an amused look.
"Not a wine drinker?"
"Sometimes," he wheezed. "Rarely. Once or twice. Not really. No. Not at all, actually."
"I should have asked what you wanted before ordering, it's my mistake."
"No, no, don't worry about it," he fought to regain his normal voice. "I just haven't tried before is all… It's okay, in its own way. Not for everyone's taste. Like you, I suppose."
Daphne paused for a moment, a wistful look on her face, before she smiled softly. The bizarre compliment seemed to go a while in brightening her mood. A small giggle escaped her mouth, which she disguised as a cough. It was at that cue, they both relaxed a little into their seats. Even now, their nervousness was still present, but seemed to finally be dissipating. It had been built up in their heads that this was their first proper date, and now they were unnecessarily worked up over nothing. It was nice how alcohol seemed to loosen her up a little.
"So, how has Hogwarts been treating you?" she asked after a long pause.
"Better, lately. Definitely. Well... Ron and Hermione are still being iffy around each other, but they both seemed to like you well enough."
"That was Hermione's way of liking someone?"
There was resentment in her words, but that was also the first time he could recall her using Hermione's first name.
"You did call her a mudblood, to be fair."
She looked as though he had quite suddenly trodden on her toe under the table.
"I am sorry about that... It's not intentional it's just-"
"I know, I know. Force of habit. It's fine."
"It's not treated as a bad word where I come from…" she emphasised. "Of course we all know it's derogatory origin, but it's much more just become a word descriptive of people with that blood status these days."
"It might be like that for you, but not so much for other people."
There was probably a lot more he could say on the matter, but at risk of souring the evening, decided to save it for another time.
"But, hey, Sirius likes you."
She seemed appreciative of the change of subject.
"I quite like him myself," she said in a sing-song voice that was quite unlike her, "He has Tracey's attitude but your charisma. A rather lovable combination, I must confess. And I see a certain new Potions Professor has taken a liking to you also. Horace is a good person for you to ally yourself with, I'm impressed."
"He seems alright. As far as people who only like me because I'm famous go, he's one of the nicer ones."
She tutted loudly back at him.
"He has an eye for people with potential. You should be quite flattered - being invited to join the Slug Club is an honour! Nearly everyone who's a member goes on to do great things. He is definitely the kind of person you should be surrounding yourself with. Connections, and all that."
He took a brief glance around their settings and deduced they had enough privacy for what he had to say next.
"Actually, it was Dumbledore who asked me to get close to him. He wants me to spy on him."
She gave an amused snort and a mocking smile.
"Why ever would Professor Dumbledore ask you to do that?"
He cleared his throat subtly.
"It's complicated… Slughorn used to teach Voldemort when he was at Hogwarts, see. Dumbledore reckons there was something important that taught him, something that let him get so powerful. Slughorn won't tell anyone what it was, though. Just pretends he has no idea what we're talking about. Dumbledore reckons I have a good chance of getting him to tell the truth, and once we find out what it is, it might be the key to defeating him."
Daphne's face, even under her disguise, responded appropriately to that bombshell of information he had just dropped on her. There was a long stillness before she formulated a spluttered response.
"I cannot imagine Horace having anything to do with the Dark Lord!" she said defensively.
He shook his head quickly.
"He doesn't think he told him deliberately. They were friends, he probably saw no harm in it. Thought it was all hypothetical."
"And - so you're trying to get into his good books, to try and make him tell you what he told him?"
He'd been watching her reaction closely the last time he'd said Voldemorts name, and while she hadn't scolded him or reacted massively, there had definitely been a look on her face that said she wished he hadn't.
"Pretty much. Me and Dumbledore have been working more closely on You-Know-Who this year."
She frowned and moved ever closer.
"How so?"
His mouth opened but shut again.
It was stupid of him to be feeling anxious now, really. After all he and her had been through the past few months, he should be past this. But try as he might, there was a loud part inside of him, speaking with Tonks and Ron's voice, reminding him it was technically a Death Eater sitting opposite him. He was here, revealing secret, vital information to an undercover Death Eater. Secret, vital information that Dumbledore himself had deliberately asked him not to share with her. But the path went both ways. If he wanted her to trust him with every fibre of her being and not hold anything back, he would have to do the same.
And so he told her. He told her all about the late-night meetings he had been having with Dumbledore. How they had discussed Tom Riddle's rise to power, how Harry himself had seen Dumbledore first meeting with the boy who would go on to become the greatest dark wizard of all time. And about how Slughorn manipulated his memory to protect himself, thereby putting them all at a disadvantage, and how he had specifically been brought out of retirement for a chance to rectify that mistake. A good ten minutes passed while he talked and Daphne listened, a look of shell-shock plastered on her face, only interrupted by swigs from her glass.
"The Dark Lord is half blood?" she asked for a second time.
He took another drink from his glass - a bigger one this time, after he bracing himself for it. The wine slid down his throat without issue, but it was a good few seconds before he was breathing out of both nostrils again.
Daphne looked very distant from their table now and when she spoke again, it seemed not directed at anyone in their room.
"If people knew… if the Death Eaters knew…"
"We could get them to turn against him!"
She returned to the conversation and offered a cold, icy laugh.
"That? No, I doubt that. For many, following the Dark Lord isn't done because you agree with him - a lot do it because they're afraid. But if Professor Dumbledore can get out the knowledge that he is only half-blood, however… may very well begin to spread the seeds of doubt just enough..." she said thoughtfully. "You should definitely try to find out what it is Horace knows. I will help you with it, if you like? I'm often good at getting what I want."
He smiled, knowing all too well how true that was.
"More tutoring sessions?"
She maintained a smile, but with a distinct lack of laughter. Black humour wasn't her cup of tea, then.
As he opened his mouth to speak, he could feel his face turn slightly dour. Right now, he was quite appreciative of the fact his expressions were being filtered through someone else face. Daphne too, found herself suddenly quiet. Apparently neither of them were expecting the topic to move into such a sensitive area for them both, and now they were embarrassed.
"On that, I should have asked earlier. How did it go with your dad?"
She gave a glance around their establishment, similar to how he had done, and her voice drew ever more quiet before answering.
"As well as it could have. He has no idea where my allegiances lay," then with a sad but bemused grin, she said, "He's rather thrilled about us getting together, in fact."
She looked like there was more after that she wanted to say, but stayed quiet. Or rather, while keeping contact with him, she let out a slow and dishevelled sigh. By now he was able to recognise that meant there was something she wanted to say, but was stopping herself saying it. He decided it was worth following up.
"That's good though, right? If he had no idea? That means they won't be suspecting you anymore, doesn't it?"
"It is good, but... Well, in that respect, yes. But... it's not exactly how I pictured introducing my first boyfriend to my father."
Then, he went quiet. He understood the turn her mood had taken. He definitely agreed with that, he knew all too well the struggle of balancing a normal teenage life with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He wanted to communicate this to her, let her know he knew exactly how she felt, but she spoke again quite suddenly.
"That's the trouble with all this stuff... It seeps into everything. Nothing's innocent any more. It pollutes everything, nothing gets away clean."
She took another big sip of the wine, but wasn't done talking yet.
"My father wasn't a Death Eater for the first war, you know? That was my aunt and uncle, Jarvis and Estelle Greengrass. Of my grandfather's three children, father was the youngest. Though he was never neutral, he did not drop quite as far as taking the mark the first time around. After his brother and sister received the dementors kiss, though… it send him down the warpath. A downwards spiral that turned my mother against him. She was the black sheep of their friendship group in school, being the only not to pursue a dark path. He claims he regrets it but I don't believe he does."
It felt strange hearing her speak so candidly about her past. She was very noticeably forcing the words out, but was holding herself miles better than the way she was at Slughorn's party, the first time she'd properly confessed to him. Her words lingered in the air for a long moment, during which the sound of the other patrons laughing among themselves filled his ears. Even out here, in a world where nobody knew either he or Daphne, the war had still found its way to them.
"Have you had a chance to speak to her yet?" he offered.
She looked mildly surprised for a moment, then nodded and took another drink from her glass. Her expression became the same as when they revised together; stern and focused concentration. It reminded him of how he felt getting into the zone before a Qudditch match, and wondered if it was a similar feeling for her. She hesitated for a moment, then began to address him while watching her wine.
"No, it is… something I am building to. I need to choose my words carefully."
"You know, if she and my dad were on the Quidditch team together, she probably knew Sirius too. Might have even been friends. Maybe we could invite her to Grimmauld Place next time you're there?"
Then she looked at him for a long time, which took him a bit off guard. Expressions were still recognisable under her disguise, and the fact she was holding such prolonged eye contact made that stare all too recognisable. She was judging him. It was a very strange and vaguely uncomfortable feeling, one that he previously thought he had gotten used to.
"What's up?" he asked.
It was a rare sight to see her lost for words. She never had any problems with awkward silences before. Her entire persona seemed above the concept of it.
"Could we avoid talking about my parents tonight, please?"
"Oh, yeah, of course!"
"It's just everything I do seems to get infected by my father's poisonous touch and…" she said very quickly, "I would like to have one evening where that isn't the case."
He could sense the discomfort in her voice and quickly readjusted himself in his seat, hoping to physically move the conversation on. Daphne lowered her face slightly, her expression pensive. She was embarrassed, and it was his fault.
He took another gulp from his glass. Again, it was easier this time. Or maybe the alcohol was helping with the taste. He only had a little in his glass left. She finished her glass in little time, then sat and watched him as he downed what remained in his.
"Done?"
"Yeah. Was alright, actually."
Content with his appraisal and evidently agreeing, she gave a small nod.
"An acquired taste, as you say. Red isn't for everyone. Tracey says it tastes like vinegar… I don't entirely disagree, either. But you get used to that. Same again?"
It was then he noticed she was making towards for her purse, which made him leap to his feet.
"I'll get this one!"
But he kept moving. He had stood up, and then kept standing up, and up, going further and further away from the table. The room was moving around him, and it took him a moment to realise he was already on his feet, and his head was spinning. The alcohol's effects on him had been minimal up until this point, but quickly came crashing in at once - He only had one glass, how had it gotten to him this much?
"Everything okay?" Daphne's voice came to him, with the relieving sound of smugness attached to it.
He looked back around the room with its continuing quiet hum of patrons. He felt like he'd been hit in the head by a powerful confundus charm. He flashed a thumbs up to her.
"Absolutely splendid. I'm getting this one."
She made some noise of disagreement to that, but he didn't stick around to hear it. He was able to find his footing fairly quickly as he manoeuvred his way through the other tables and chairs. He was able to do this by picturing the environment around him as a Quidditch game, with the other patrons being rival players he had to avoid. That made things easier, though it was probably not the most sober way to get across the room.
He found his way back to the bar and gestured over the same bearded barman that had served him earlier.
"Same again please, mate."
The gruff man nodded.
"You from Hogwarts?"
"Y-yeah. Seventh years."
"Mmhmm. That'll be three galleons, please."
He thought for a moment. The effect alcohol had over Daphne and the fondness she had for it was still fresh in his mind.
"Actually, make it the whole bottle."
He reached out his wallet and began drawing out coins, but then remembered the size of the tip Daphne had given earlier. So instead he decided to empty the entire dragon-skin wallet onto the bar. A little less than he would have liked came out, but the barman scooped it u[ and handed over two glasses and a bottle. It had cost him all the wizarding money he had on him and unless they were planning a drunken escapade to Gringotts, he was now spent for the night. He had been determined to impress her, to spoil her, but now he risked coming across as cheap if they decided to stay after this bottle was done.
"Cheers."
He gathered his bottle and turned, only to find with quite horrid shock that he couldn't remember which table he had come from, nor what Daphne's disguise looked like. Far longer than it should have taken him, and after very nearly sitting at a table with completely the wrong woman, he eventually found his way back to her.
But it was immediately apparent she was not in the same good spirits he had left her. Her smile had dropped and her mood seemed inexplicably dark. Even her hands retreated to her lap, where they sat fiddling with a beer mat.
"You okay?"
After a long while in which she avoided his eye, she replied.
"I'm sorry, Harry..." her voice was dark. "Trust me, it's equally annoying always hearing about him for me as it is you. My first bloody date, and we're talking about my father…"
He quickly shook his head from side to side.
"It's not annoying! It's important, and something we need to discuss…"
"But I wanted at least tonight for ourselves! Just one night without him leaking into it," she sighed.
He put the bottle between them and settled into his seat, then leaned importantly across the table.
"I'm having a good time," he said in a meaningful whisper. "Are you having a good time?"
"Mostly…" she said with unease, staring off into the crowd of patrons.
"Mostly?"
She contemplated for a moment.
"I'm sorry. I'm just getting anxious. Dates are just a social construct, there is nothing we are doing here that we couldn't be doing in the Room of Requirement! We shouldn't be out here risking all of this..."
She smiled and looked away, but it felt stilted. Daphne wasn't very good at faking emotions, and this was no exception. He leaned across the table and took her hand in his own, but that didn't seem to work. Was she being truthful or was this just her anxieties speaking? No, he was overthinking it. And they didn't need two of them doing that. While her long silences were just an accepted fact of life by now, sometimes he did wish she'd speak more.
"Well... this is my first date too and I'm having a great time."
That seemed to have finally gotten through to her. Her mood seemed to turn in its tracks. She took a deep breath, and then, after a long moment, let it out. Finally, she caught on to the bottle of wine he had bought and with an approving look, she moved to unscrew the top and began to pour for them both.
"Oh, let me do that!" he said quickly.
But she pulled the bottle out of his grasp with a frown.
"You don't know how to pour wine."
She probably didn't mean for that to come out as damning as it did, but it made him sink back into his seat. The contents of the bottle were quickly and professionally poured into their glasses, then she placed the cork back into the half-full bottle.
"But, Chang?"
It took him a second to figure out where that had come from. Then, the last thing he said before she noticed the wine came back to him. She was asking him if this was really his first date. And was that a hint of jealousy in her tone? It wasn't the first time he'd heard that from her, and the last time, alcohol had also been involved.
"We never went on a proper one, no. We were both busy," he thought briefly back to the state the world was little over a year ago, shuddering. "No time for romantic stuff. Actually was part of the reason we ended up splitting. That and I was cheating on her."
Daphne had been in the middle of taking a fresh sip when he'd said that and as a result, spat loudly into the back of her glass. She brought her sleeve quickly to wipe her dripping chin, her face flushing as red as the liquid that was splashed across it.
"Something funny?" he perked an amused brow.
She shook her head aggressively.
"No! No! It's not funny! I'm sorry!" she coughed.
So dark humour did appeal to her, if done correctly. He would remember that.
"I'm surprised it's your first date!" he shot back. "Considering what some of the other girls in your house are like, I'd have thought you were highly sought after."
Daphne offered him back a snarky laughter.
"You're presuming no one has asked me out before?"
The simple statement managed to take him off guard. He shouldn't be surprised, given he was complimenting her just moments before.
"Really?"
Her response was a nod, followed by a surprisingly playful grin.
"I have fancied people before, you should know. You were just the only one I thought it worth acting on."
The words hung in the air. He resisted smiling very hard.
"You've fancied people?" he said, struggling to keep his face straight.
"Is that shock or jealousy?"
He ignored the teasing and pushed for her to continue.
"Back then…" she cleared her throat, "I was more concerned with getting good marks than I was pursuing anything. I either thought it too distracting or too taboo to pursue."
"Taboo?"
Her face dropped, but it felt different from earlier.
"Promise me you won't laugh."
He held his hand up.
"I solemnly swear."
She glared at him.
"Harry, I mean it."
He nodded again, more vigorously, and she eventually conceded.
"Well… I've always been attracted to people who know how to handle themselves. I like seeing people with ambition and self-discipline; who have goals and put the work and effort into achieving them, not caring what other people think of them in the process. Those are the people that go onto doing great things, and it's gone a long way in defining myself as a person today."
Nobody he could think of was coming to mind. Then again, he didn't exactly know a lot of Slytherins, and didn't exactly associate Malfoy with the phrase "hard-work" often.
"Alright?"
"Plus, people in my class were too immature for me. Always messing and causing trouble, never caring about the important things… Every time I improved my grade, his praise was my reward. It's rather ridiculous now, looking back on it. And especially considering how our relationship with him has soured since. It's downright disgusting now, but… I trust you enough to tell you… that an eleven year old Daphne Greengrass used to have a crush on her Head of House."
Whatever was coming up his throat, be it a laugh or a vomit, was only stopped by shoving his fist into his mouth.
"You fancied Snape?!"
With a glare to made that made her resemble a dark creature, she glowered at him seriously.
"Be quiet. Shut up! I was young and I liked the fear and respect he demanded."
"He looks like a frog person!"
This earned him a swat on the arm.
"It was a schoolgirl crush and nothing more!" she said defensively. "What, should I expect you haven't gotten any embarrassing stories yourself?"
At this point Harry was reminded of a thought that had been chasing him a while, the observation he had made earlier. About the similarities between Daphne and Aunt Petunia. He suddenly decided to be quiet.
Most unexpectedly though, was that a second later she started to laugh. It wasn't a giggle, or her usual hoity-toity snigger, but an honest and genuine laughter. He joined in, not just at the display of relief and happiness, but for getting the rare glimpse of Daphne he rarely got to see. Although, that was probably the alcohol having it's effect.
"Well, considering Snape was my competition then, I consider myself lucky you chose me!"
She shook her head, the brilliant teeth of her smile catching his attention.
"You're... different."
Again, he perked a curious brow.
"Oh yeah?"
She watched him carefully, though something was giving him the feeling it was now more the alcohol talking than it was Daphne.
"You're wrong for me, for starters," she held a finger up. "All your ingredients are wrong. You have no sense of discipline, no interest in the arts and you draw far too much attention to yourself. But yet, people still like you. That is weird, for me. Contradictory. You get places by keeping your head down and working hard. And then there's me ... Who, all the ingredients are right with. I'm disciplined. I'm organised, I'm dedicated to my career, I always get top marks. The result? Total bitch who is despised by everyone except the squid in the Black Lake."
He was sure there was an insult somewhere in what she had just said, but the loving gaze she was giving him brought him past it.
"Well, you made a decision, didn't you?" he asked. "You chose your career over your personal life. Nothing wrong with that."
"I suppose I did…" she said, before her face came over a lot more serious. "But, I'll tell you something, Harry. I'd trade it all in. My marks, my awards, my certificates, everything. I'd trade everything in... to love and to have been loved."
He felt something, and looked down to see her fingers touching his hand. Her touch is gentle as ever, with her thumb slowly stroking his cheek.
"And I…"
"Yeah?"
"Well, I… really, really like you."
He smiled and hung his head. That wasn't what she had been trying to say, but he got her meaning all the same.
This woman could easily run rings around him, of that he was quite sure. Around her he was strapped down and along for the ride, and she would never leave him astray.
"I really, really like you too, Daphne."
Soon they would have to go back to the castle. Soon they would have to return to the lives where they pretended not know each other for the majority of it. Soon the secrecy would be back. But for now, they had each other. They were theirs and theirs alone. Just them, and the rest of the bottle of Ramiel Pure.
By the time they returned to the castle, reversed their disillusion charms, said goodbye and snuck back to their separate dorms, most of the Gryffindor boys were already asleep. As Harry returned to the comforting, orange glow of the dormitory, he found but one other person awake. Ron was leaning on his bedpost, looking out of his rain-washed window with a strange look on his face.
"Date go alright, then?"
It took him a second to answer His mind was racing a million miles a minute. The entire journey up the stairs, his mind was non stop replaying the events that had just transpired in his head. He felt very strongly and had a lot to say about it, but words failed him.
"Yeah," then he pushed out a bit more, and said, "Brilliant, actually."
"I bet it would be nice to go on a date…"
He brought himself to his neat bed and began dismantling the covers.
"Well, I'm not taking you on one," he said with a laugh.
Ron gave a desperate gesture.
"She probably doesn't even know I exist."
Harry looked up at him.
"She definitely knows you exist, considering she keeps snogging you."
What ever confused look he was giving off, Ron repeated it tenfold.
"Who are you talking about?"
A spluttering of sounds left his mouth as he tried to answer.
"Lavender…? Who are you talking about!?" he repeated.
His face suddenly glowed, as though someone had cast a particularly strong confundus charm over him.
"Romilda Vane," he said softly, as though the name was the most whimsical thing to ever leave his mouth.
They stared at each other for a long minute as Harry waited for the joke to hit him. When nothing did, a sudden truth occurred to him with the force of a stampeding troll. His eyes sunk slowly over a box of open chocolates on Ron's bed, as the words Hermione had said to him before Christmas rang in his ears.
"... Can't have one bloody night, can I?"
