Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone. I don't get especially emotional at this time of year, but I know these few weeks are important to many, so I hope you all have had an enjoyable, positive time lately, and I'm wishing the best for all of us heading into the new year.
This is just a fluff piece I wrote for the holidays. I was hoping to get it out before Christmas, but the day of is good enough, I think.
Enjoy.
She is sunlight incarnate.
Despite the fact that they're inside the library, her skin shines and her hair glows. She's golden and bright. Warm and luminescent. It might have something to do with the fact that his glasses are temporarily askew on the table rather than perched on the bridge of his nose, but it doesn't matter. He puts his glasses back on, and the effect is still the same.
Her shine should be dulled by the green that lines her robes and the perfectly placed silver snake badge on her chest, but it doesn't. If anything, she shines brighter.
He knows her name. He's seen her walk the halls, gliding like a ghost, unbothered and unseen. Daphne Greengrass is neither famous nor infamous. By all means, she's unassuming and ordinary.
Here though, tucked away in the silent Hogwarts library, she is anything but ordinary. She shimmers in the golden rays of the light that pours from the number of grand chandeliers and floating candles and warming lamps. Her usual stony exterior is soft and tender. While the stone walls and regal interior of the Hogwarts hallways bring out the primped pureblood appearance that a heiress should maintain, the library brings out a different side of her that he's never been given the privilege to perceive.
He tries to observe her as discreetly as possible from a neighboring table, but for the life of him he can't stop his repeated glances. Then again, why would he want to? She looks so… innocent. Like a butterfly fluttering through a secluded meadow in the middle of nowhere. She's in her element, seemingly blissfully unaware of her surroundings with her eyes intensely focused on the large tome before her.
He doesn't think he's ever seen her hair without some sort of smooth ribbon or silver pin or stretchy hair-tie, but here her hair flows freely down her back. Loose strands of silvery blonde frame her face. Her normally perfect striped green tie is loosened around her collar. Her posture is more relaxed, less stiff. He can vaguely spot that her eyebrows are scrunched together, but rather than holding disdain they tell a tale of concentration and interest.
He'd come here to work on some Ancient Runes research, and even though it's one of his favorite aspects of magic, he can't focus. No matter how much he tries to immerse himself in his own work, his gaze can't help but flick towards the girl peacefully ignorant of his struggles.
To clear his head, he pushes himself up from his desk and ambles down toward the bookshelves behind him. He doesn't search for anything in particular, walking rather aimlessly among the shelves, easily weaving between the aged textbooks and descriptive instruction manuals and slightly moldy encyclopedias.
He eventually picks out a random book with a title pertaining to the application of runes on brooms, and usually it would be interesting, but he stares blankly and unfocused at the random page he's flipped to.
Why is he here?
He's never ascribed to the cookie-cutter attributes everyone thought certain houses to have. He doesn't think of himself as a proud Gryffindor, and thus all brave and foolish and head-strong. But he's always been sure of himself. He knows what he is. He's never been especially courageous, per se, but he's also never been one to run away.
So why in Merlin's saggy trousers is he hiding amongst books, all because he saw a pretty girl? Hell, he's seen her before, he's seen her for the past 6 years. It's not like this should be any different.
He snaps the book shut and slides it back onto its shelf. With a sense of purpose, he heads back with long, quick strides and an intent to just go up and talk to Daphne. He doesn't exactly know what he wants to say, but the confusion within him has created this desire to prove something to himself, if that even makes sense.
He exits the row of shelves and turns the corner with a greeting already in his head, his lips twitching with ghosted words. He stops. He blinks. She's not there, nobody is.
Well shit.
He doesn't find her in the library again for about a month. He uses the word "find" because he's indeed been searching for her. He's seen her in classes and at meals, but it's not the same. Not even close.
Perhaps he hasn't gone into the library at the right times, but he's nothing if not persistent. Hermione's been asking him why he's been intent on going so often these days without her, and he uses the excuse of an extracurricular runes project that he needs to be alone for. Which isn't entirely a lie, but it's not exactly the truth either.
But, he finally enters the library one fateful winter weekend, and lo and behold, there she is. As if she'd never left, her hair loose and her jacket draped over the back of her chair. He does a double take when he sees her, as if his mind is conjuring what he wants to see, but no. Unless he's gone insane in the past few days - which isn't wholly out of the question - she's there.
He stands there for a moment, looking like an absolute idiot, before he comes to the same decision he had those handful of days ago. He runs a hand through his messy hair and makes his way towards her. Despite everything, all the build up and uniqueness of what he's experiencing, he's not nervous.
After all, what's the worst thing that's going to happen?
He stops a foot in front of her desk. He waits for her to notice him, but she doesn't deign him a single glance. He just stares at her, which after a minute or so feels intrusive and just a tad weird, so he clears his throat.
Daphne finally raises her head from her book, and momentarily he's startled by how piercing her eyes truly are. Twin sapphires stare up at him, orbs of ice freezing him in place.
"Yes?" She asks when he says nothing. He shakes his head to rid himself of his stupor.
"Uh, yeah." Harry clears his throat again. He admittedly awkwardly gestures to the chair across from her. "Do you mind if I sit here?"
"Yes."
"Perfect," he drags the chair out and halfway to sitting down, her answer registers in his brain. "Wait, what?"
"Do I need to spell it out for you, Potter?" Daphne raises a cool eyebrow.
"Well, no." Harry frowns.
"Good," she says, and then calmly goes back to her work. He blinks.
The image in his head, the one of an angel surrounded by filtered golden rays, doesn't disappear. If anything, it becomes shrouded, hidden, egging him on to find out more. Call him a romantic, or an optimist, or whatever you desire, but he knows he hasn't imagined everything.
So, he sits down.
He slings his satchel over the back of his chair and takes out his halfway-finished Transfiguration essay. He fishes his enchanted quill out and then, with a roll of his neck, he writes.
The only sound between them is the scratching of his quill on his creased parchment, but he can feel the emotions rolling off of the girl in front of him in waves. The tension and confusion and frustration. He's tempted to look up, curious to see if her eyes are glued onto him or if she's staring at her book in an attempt to ignore him, but he manages to fend off the thought.
At the top of his vision, he sees Daphne place her quill into the slot of her book and close it. She calmly stands up, stuffs her belongings in her bags, and with a flourish, promptly leaves.
Harry continues to work on his essay, and by the time he leaves the library himself, he's actually finished it. Before he fully exits the place, he takes one last look behind him. There are only two desks in the area, each supporting four chairs. Beyond that, there are only books. Books, and books, and books.
Despite what happened, he smiles.
He's never been one to back down from a challenge. This will be no different.
The period of time between their next little meeting is shorter than the last. It's only two weeks before he sees her again, and this time, she enters when he's already been seated for an hour.
He looks up when he hears the soft footfalls of her flats against the carpet, and she almost unnoticeably pauses in her advances when she spots him. She recovers quickly and continues towards her usual table, easily sitting down where she has before
She's facing him, but he wouldn't be surprised if she'd rather be looking anywhere but him. He's fine with that. Probably something about staying on guard. Mad-Eye Moody's grunts of "Constant Vigilance" echo through his head, and he has to suppress a chortle.
It only takes him a moment to gather all his things and move to Daphne's desk. He tries to be as quiet as possible as to not interrupt whatever she's doing, but he expects his presence alone is probably enough to distract her.
She puts her fluffy white quill down, folds her arms, and looks at him expectantly.
"What do you want, Potter?" She asks. And, he doesn't really have an answer, does he?
"Do I need to have some sinister ulterior motive?" Harry asks without looking up from his text.
"I wouldn't put it past you."
"And why's that?" He scratches a sentence out of his homework.
"You're a Gryffindor," she says, but the tone she uses is mocking. He grins.
"And you're a Slytherin," he says matter-of-factly, finally looking up at her.
"Exactly." She says unblinkingly. "So, I'll ask again. What do you want?"
Harry sighs. He hadn't expected this, but he should've. He'd been too distracted by all the reverie of the moment that he hadn't really thought his through, even though he was granted more than enough time. He should've known that she would be suspicious. Hell, he would be too.
"Is it too hard to believe I just want to be friends?" Harry cocks his head with a soft smile. Daphne's face is largely impassive, but the slight twitch in her eyebrows is either a good sign or a bad one.
"Yes, it is." She says with finality. Still, Harry can't help but think that she's hesitant. Perhaps he's too enthralled with her to be thrown off so easily, and maybe he's making a huge mistake, but to be entirely honest, he's, well, lonely.
Sure, he still has a lot of his housemates and long-time friends, but for some reason this sixth year at Hogwarts has him feeling especially isolated. And, maybe he needs an escape. He hopes she needs one too.
"Well, what are you working on?" Harry decides to ignore her. "I might be able to help."
"I sincerely doubt that." Daphne all but rolls her eyes.
"I'm not that stupid, you know," he grins. "And, I have access to the notes of the top student of our year."
"Top student, hm?" She scoffs. His grin widens. "And I suppose this top student can conjure a corporeal Patronus?"
"Er, maybe not," he frowns. "You know that's not until next year, though, right? And we're not even expected to be fully successful with it?"
"I'm aware."
"Okay." He coughs. "Well, if you really wanna know right now, I can help you."
Daphne only looks at him skeptically. It isn't quite a rejection though, so Harry runs a hand through his hair and leans his chair back until only the back two legs support him.
"Well, you already know that the power of magic is your intent. The Patronus isn't different." Harry shrugs. "The happy memory thing is really just a crutch. What you really want to focus on is the feeling of pure euphoria, which is the exact opposite of the Dementors' reason of being."
"And I'm assuming you can do this," she's doubtful, but there's a subtle smirk hinting at the edge of her lips. So subtle in fact that Harry's not sure if he's imagining it or not.
He decides to indulge her, twisting his wand toward the ceiling with a whispered "Expecto Patronum", focusing with all his might on the familiar yet scarce feeling of unadulterated happiness. A silvery essence jumps out from his wand and a scaled serpent begins to slither through the air, searching for the reason for its summoning.
It disappears after a moment, and he finds himself quite proud.
"Once you get it down the first time, it's pretty easy." Harry shrugs. "It's a bit draining though, so I wouldn't do more than 3 or 4 attempts at a time."
Daphne only stares at him silently, studying him still as a garden statue. It's better than completely ignoring him like before, but he can't help shifting and fidgeting rather uncomfortably under her gaze.
She drops her gaze suddenly and picks up her quill. She scribbles on her parchment silently, ignoring him like he's not even there.
It's better than leaving, so Harry takes it and runs with it. He chuckles softly and goes back to his homework, and for the duration of their stay, neither of them say a word. Eventually, Daphne just picks up her stuff and leaves without so much as a second glance back, and Harry lets her.
Progress.
For a few weeks, he finds any excuse he can to go to the library. He doesn't find Daphne there every time, but on more than one occasion, there she is, working silently at that same table. As gracious and beautiful as ever.
Sometimes she comes in after him, and even if she doesn't join him at the table he sits at, he's okay with it. He just gathers his things and moves to the space she lays claim to.
She's always silent, and Harry doesn't really mind it. He's content to say something every now and then, asking her a question he knows he won't get a verbal answer to or commenting on what she's working on.
It's like he has her attention now. He's right at the edge, so close to tipping over and free-falling into her graces. He knows he's close, he just doesn't know what it is that's holding him back. She largely ignores him still, but there's no outright rejection. She doesn't leave. She doesn't tell him off. He even thinks he's spotted a nearly-concealed grin at a few of his antics.
It's painfully static.
He searches for answers for hours on end every single day, even considering consulting some of his friends on the subject before realizing it's so bizarre, so private an experience that he doesn't want anyone to know about it. It's hard to explain, and not even all that intimate. He's probably being unreasonable.
But then again, he's basically attempting to court a Slytherin. So, maybe not being all that unreasonable considering a good chunk of his friends are Gryffindors and prejudiced towards the lot. Course, it isn't fully unwarranted considering the grief dear Draco gives them on a daily basis. Not to mention Snape. Yuck.
All that's to say, he doesn't make much progress for about a month, and it's driving him up the wall. He could just call it quits and stop, but he knows he won't. Not even if she comes out and says she hates him, which very possibly is the current truth.
He's in too deep.
"What are you even working on?" She asks one day. It takes him a second to process what she's asked him because he's so surprised that she's said anything at all.
It's the first words she's said to him in practically a month, and of course his instinctive response is "Er. What?"
She rolls her eyes because of course she does, but at least she's willing to clarify her question. "I don't recognize any of it." She nods towards the papers in front of him.
"Oh." Harry frowns and looks down at what he's been mulling over for the better part of the past hour. The scattered pile of pieces of parchment is wildly assorted and different. Some papers are pristine and wrinkle-free while others are littered with creases and fold lines and faded liquid stains. "This is just a project I've been working on. It might be about a year and a half now since I started."
"Mhmm." Daphne hums. "But what is it?"
"It's honestly not much." Harry shrugs. "I've just been researching different ways to apply runes to common muggle items."
"Really?" Daphne cocks her head in thought. She seems genuinely curious now. "Like what?"
He reaches a hand into the weathered leather of his bag and fishes out a small metallic object. It's cold against his fingertips, and he flips it in his hand and offers it to Daphne.
"It's a ballpoint pen," he explains. "Instead of having to dip the tip in ink every couple of lines, the shaft houses a cylinder filled with ink. It lasts for a while, and all you have to do is click the end and start writing."
Curiously, she presses the button at the end of the pen with her thumb, and with a click, the point juts out. She writes a few words on her parchment and comes away seemingly impressed by the object.
"And how are you utilizing runes?" She asks, handing the pen back to him.
"Well, I've been toying around with different rune clusters, but the main functions I've been going with have been mainly utility based." Harry spins the pen between his nimble fingers before holding it up to his eyes to inspect the body, where a handful of barely noticeable interconnected runes are etched into the metal. The warm light of the library glints off the edges of each rune, sparkling brightly. "This particular pen can never run out of ink and actually can erase the ink if you turn the end like so. There's other runes for durability and such, and I've also toyed with the possibility of changing ink colors. That's a little trickier, though, and I haven't gotten the right rune combination to put it all together."
She nods and hums in thought, her eyes trained on the pen in his hands. Harry sets it down on the table before shuffling through his pile of assorted papers. He finally finds one with a healthy amount of messily written runes accompanying a sketch of a rather ordinary car.
"I know Ron's dad has a car that has a number of enchantments on it, but runes are more permanent and theoretically more versatile, so I have a number of different ideas for different applications." Harry slides the paper over to Daphne, who studies it under her scrutinizing gaze. "Professor Babbling's familiar with a lot of the muggle objects I've been theorizing with different runic effects, so she's helped me out from time to time."
"And what's your end goal with this?" She asks once she's finished inspecting his work. "What's the purpose?"
"Well, if I get good enough with this, I'm hoping to start a business and maybe sell what I make. The market that I'm targeting is pretty barren so I think I can do well." He explains. "But if it doesn't work out, I'm trying to go into a career with runes anyways, so it's good experience."
"Really?" Daphne looks genuinely surprised. "I didn't think you were that ambitious. I'd have thought you'd go into something more plain like Quidditch or law enforcement."
"Like an Auror?" He laughs and shakes his head. "Maybe in another life. And I like flying, sure, but professional Quidditch is a little too hardcore for me."
"Hm." Daphne stares at him with a look that he hopes is approval. "For what it's worth, I think the idea's fairly good. The ways you're using the runes seem decent enough, and you're right in the market for your products being especially dry."
"Thanks," is all he can say, albeit with a slight tint to his cheeks. This whole conversation feels like an olive branch, and he sort of wants to hold on to this for as long as he can. "What about you? Any particularly malicious plans in the future?"
"Undecided," she deadpans. He can't help the laugh that escapes him. "I'll most likely go into the Ministry. Magical law is rather ambiguous and I'd like to amend that."
"Sounds interesting," he admits.
"Oh, it is." She nods like she needs no validation for her choice of career path.
"20 minutes!" Madam Pince's magically enhanced voice booms throughout the library. "Curfew is in 20 minutes! I want you out of here within the next five!"
Harry rolls his eyes because of course that vulture of a human being has to do something like that.
"Well, I guess I'll see you next time," he says as he begins to gather his things.
"I suppose," she replies. Her tone is reluctant, but he thinks she's smiling. It's hard to tell because her expressions barely alter, but that might be a dimple that's showing along with her small smile.
"See you," he says once all his things are gathered. Daphne only rolls her eyes and leaves without saying a word. His grin is shit-eating.
"How was your summer?" He asks before he even sits down. She blows a strand of hair out of her face, and he can't help but grin. She's already fully back at Hogwarts, with a barely written essay and large textbook spread out before her. Still, she's not fully engrossed in her role as an upper-year Slytherin. Her tie is discarded and strewn on the table and her snake badge isn't too far from it.
"Ordinary," she answers. "My family went to Italy for a few months, so that was nice, but otherwise nothing special happened."
"That's cool," he said. He's never been outside of England besides the obvious stays at Hogwarts, and traveling to different places is an idea that's quite enticing. Obviously, it would have to be after he graduates and gets away from the Dursleys.
"And you?" She asks, although her voice is slightly strained. He ignores it. She'd been getting increasingly more receptive to his attempts at conversation before they'd left for summer holidays, but old habits die hard.
"The usual, I suppose," he settles for. They're not quite at the level where he feels comfortable burdening her with the knowledge of a family as parasitic as his relatives. "Just stayed at home the whole time."
"Sounds boring," she says bluntly. He chuckles.
"It is." He slides into his seat and begins to unpack the first assignment he'd been assigned by McGonagall. Seriously, a whole concept and application essay after the first class of term? Not cool.
She clears her throat, "At least you had time to work on your project, right?"
"Yeah, I guess," he lifts a shoulder. He doesn't mention that his family hates magic and at a single glance of anything resembling something distantly related to the wizarding community, he'd be sent back down to the cupboard under the stairs.
He settles into his essay and is able to write a decent chunk of the damned thing when he looks up to give his hand and brain a rest. Across from him, Daphne stares down at her own homework, and there wouldn't be anything weird about that if her hand wasn't tightly wound into a fist and her jaw wasn't clenched.
Her eyebrows are scrunched up and she's biting her bottom lip, but there's a sort of tension about her that he doesn't usually see. She's writing, but it's slow. And in the few minutes he takes to observe her, she even misses her ink pot when attempting to refresh her quill.
"Are you alright over there?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm fine," she says, which would be more convincing if she actually looked at him.
"Are you sure?" His eyebrow raising even higher, if that's even possible.
"Yup." Her voice is small, but he decides to let it go. He's not going to pry, doesn't want to be overbearing, and so unless it becomes more of a problem at a later date, he'll try to forget about it.
Because despite the fact that he'd been initially clouded by his romanticized outlook on life and the intrigue he found in the halo surrounding her person, he's come to treasure her presence and time for entirely different reasons.
Their shared experiences in the library are so unlike the other regular occurrences in his life. Whenever they're here, he has a warm, comforting feeling akin to being wrapped up in a knit blanket by the fireplace on a chilly winter evening. It's like a sip of hot cocoa at just the right temperature, homely and inviting and pleasant. It's like a cushy recliner he can just sink into after a long day of stress.
They talk more than those first few times he'd attempted to befriend her, but they don't always have to. It's just as comfortable sitting in her companionable silence as it is chatting about the most random of topics, from Snape's fashion decisions to upcoming exams to the stupidest spells in existence.
She is a unique blend of subtle generosity, biting sarcasm, hidden kindness, and sharpened steel. Throughout their meetings that have ranged from infrequent to daily, he's learned that she's as complex a person as they come. Despite her cool, calm demeanor, there's someone else bubbling underneath. It's always a pleasure getting a peek at that more vulnerable part of her, but he just as equally likes the rest of her.
He likes the sarcastic backhanded compliments that should be more insulting than amusing. He appreciates the patient explanations of concepts he can't understand. He loves when she lets loose an unrestrained laugh at one of his especially stupid or goofy moments.
"Daphne." He says suddenly, surprising even himself with the weight that just her name carries. She looks up, because this isn't a tone he uses often. He usually tries to stay featherlight and free during these excursions that are too important to him to burden her with any especially serious topics. That of course hasn't prevented them from wholly avoiding some heavier topics.
"Harry." She responds. He smiles softly, because it took quite a bit to finally get her to call him by his first name.
"Seriously." His right hand twitches with the urge to reach over and ghost her own hand. Instead, he covers it with his left. "What's wrong?"
She sighs, not in annoyance, but in reluctance. Like she knew he would eventually ask. And, she's not wholly wrong. Despite the fact she's a Slytherin and almost too good at masking herself, he's spent enough time with her to think he's extremely good at being able to see through her.
"It's… it's my parents." She runs a hand through her blonde hair, swiping at a stray lock when it falls back in front of her eyes. "They don't want me talking to you."
"Really?" He asks, frowning. He hadn't expected that. At least, not yet. "Why?"
"Some bullshite about a longtime feud with your family and being tainted for future marriage prospects." She practically spits out the words. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to calm herself. It's probably the most heated he's ever seen her get.
"I didn't think you'd even tell them you knew me," he can't help but mutter offhandedly.
"I…" She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it at the last second and doesn't explain further.
"It's not like I'm courting you." He bites his lip in thought. "Do… Do you want to stop?"
"No." She says unwaveringly after a pause, and although Harry interprets it as hesitation, she truthfully only needed the time to stop her waning, weathering, storming emotions from taking over.
"Daphne." He bites the inside of his cheek. She hasn't outright said it, but he's interpreted from past conversations that she dislikes her parents. Or, at the very least, her father. "If I'm cau-"
"Stop." She orders, because she is nothing if not commanding. Strong, resolute, unmoving. "I'll be friends with whoever I want. My family cannot change that."
Any churning fire within him is snuffed out, and he slouches back into his chair with a relaxed smile.
"We're friends?" He asks playfully.
She rolls her eyes with a soft huff and turns her attention back to her homework. With a light tint to her cheeks and a barely intelligible mumbling she most definitely did not mean for him to hear:
"Of course we are."
This is the time of year that he loves. Unequivocally, Christmas is his favorite holiday. The winter months when snow sifts from the sky and covers the grounds in a shiny sheet of white. When the trees suffer under the weight of tufts of softness.
When even exams can't ruin his joyful demeanor. When brilliant ornaments and colorful lights decorate trees. When wreaths and stockings and mistletoe are littered throughout the halls.
It doesn't matter that he doesn't have a proper family to enjoy the holidays with. He doesn't let that bother him, because it really has no reason to. While everyone else goes back to their families, he has the castle practically to himself. No roommates that snore in their sleep. No classes that require his full attention.
He's in the library now, and it's empty because who in their right mind would be in the library during the heart of winter break. But, he finds that it's warm and cozy and inviting. The candles have little red ribbons on them. Wreaths hang from the walls and strings of lights line the tops of bookshelves.
It's peaceful, more so than usual because of the decorations and the fact that he's basically alone. He doesn't really have a goal. He doesn't have the energy required to do any work on his now multi-year long project. All the required homework and readings over the break have already been finished.
And so he roams the shelves, picking up random books at random intervals and reading a few lines on a random page, hoping to find… something. Entertainment, information, or inspiration. He doesn't really care.
He's immersed in some book about the magical properties of grindylow body parts when there's a tap on his shoulder and a feminine cough.
He looks up, and there she is, smirking up at him.
"I thought you went back home?" He frowns. Daphne laughs. She's wearing a comfortable-looking knit sweater and her hair's down, as always. It's a little messy, like she just rolled out of bed and went straight to the library, but it doesn't make her presence any less enchanting.
"I did." She smiles. "They were getting on my nerves, so I thought I'd come back early."
"Everything alright?" His eyebrows scrunch up in concern.
"As alright as it can be." She lifts a shoulder nonchalantly. "I got your gift by the way."
"Did you like it?" He asks, putting the book down back in its slot.
"Love it." She says honestly, lifting up her hand and twisting it about to show off the golden bracelet he'd gifted her. It looks innocent enough, with two intertwining chains that create a double helix, but tiny runes are engraved on some of the links, providing a host of benefits from minor spell protection to live translation for hundreds of different languages.
"Although," she cocks her head. "I didn't realize we were giving each other gifts."
"Oh," he shakes his head and waves her off. "It's fine. I wasn't expecting anything."
Without prompting, she procures a rectangular box covered in green and silver wrapping paper. It's even topped off with a silver bow in the form of a snake that slowly slithers and flicks its tongue out animatedly.
"Daph-"
"Hush." She interrupts without hesitation. She hands him the box, and he accepts it reluctantly. "Open it, like the good little Gryffindor you are."
"And I suppose that explains the theme of your wrapping paper?" He raises an eyebrow and flips it in his hands.
"Who am I if I don't show a little house pride?" Daphne shrugs. She rolls her hand in a hurrying gesture. "Well, on with it."
"Yeah, yeah." He shakes his head in amusement, but nonetheless goes to delicately slip the ribbon holding the box together. Once the silver ribbon is flung into the air, it dissipates like it had never existed, and after taking the wrapping paper off of the object, a plain cardboard box is revealed.
"I had to get this on short notice, so don't judge it too hard, yeah?" She says when he lifts the lid to the box. Her voice is almost shy, bordering on small.
"Do you like it?" She asks when he says nothing.
"Of course I like it." Harry says, softly smiling.
"You don't even know what it does!"
"Well then why did you ask!?" He shoots back at her, sending them both into a fit of laughter. He reaches into the box and holds up her present, which is a silver snake ring that holds glinting emerald eyes. "How much did this cost?"
"Doesn't matter," she answers. And, she's right. "But, if you look on the inside, I engraved a few runes."
His eyes light up at that, and he turns it over in front of his eyes to look at the inner coilings. He can't make out everything, but there are a few runes that he recognizes.
"So you were paying attention." He smiles. She slaps him on the chest, which is more physical contact than she's ever initiated. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she blushes under his gaze.
"It has some of the more basic stuff that you put on my bracelet, but I also know how hard you work and how much you get in your own head, so the snake will start hissing whenever you're disregarding your body's needs." She explains. "It's a little ambiguous, but whenever you really need to sleep or eat or anything like that, you'll know."
He stares at the snake for a bit, just soaking in her words and the fact that she had even gone through the effort to make something for him. Then he puts the ring on his finger. It slithers about, shifting to the right size before it slots comfortably on his left middle finger. He turns his hand about, and the light glints off of it wonderfully, the scales shimmering captivatingly.
"I know-"
He steps forward, and even though Daphne has all the space and time in the entire world to step back, she doesn't.
He's about to lean in when she surges towards him. Always the forward one, even when he was the one being stubborn enough to try to be her friend.
Her lips are soft and when he cards his hand through her hair, the feeling isn't at all disappointing to how he'd imagined. The kiss is much too brief for his liking, but he doesn't complain one bit when she pulls back breathlessly.
"I suppose you liked the gift, then." She whispers up at him. Her face is flushed and her eyes are sparkling.
"You're the one who kissed me," he whispers back. She laughs. He laughs.
"Nobody'll believe you." She leans in and kisses him again, softer this time. It's just as magnificent as the first.
"I don't care." He says after she pulls back. He reaches up and cradles her face with both hands.
"Good." She responds, gripping tightly onto the sleeves of his sweater. "Neither do I."