A/N Thanks for showing such a positive response on the first chapter, it's really motivating

Chapter Two:

The Dobby Dilemma

The deserted hallway stretched before them, illuminated only by the soft glow emanating from Harry's wand. The silence was punctuated only by the soft crunch of their footsteps on the stone floor and the occasional rustle of a portrait as they passed. Daphne, ever cautious, kept a wary eye out for patrolling prefects or worse, the ever-grumpy caretaker, Argus Filch.

"Are you sure about this, Potter?" she whispered, her voice barely louder than a rustle. "Sneaking into the kitchens at this hour? We'll be in serious trouble if we're caught."

Harry, surprisingly calm considering his usual rule-breaking antics, flashed her a reassuring grin. "Relax, Greengrass. The kitchens are practically a free-for-all at night, especially with Dobby around. Trust me, he'll be happy to see a friendly face – well, two friendly faces, technically."

Despite her reservations, Daphne couldn't help but be intrigued by this Dobby character. A house-elf friend of Harry Potter? It was a concept so outlandish it almost defied logic. Yet, the sincerity in Harry's eyes was undeniable.

As they rounded a corner, the delicious aroma of baking bread and roasting meat hit them like a wave. Daphne's stomach rumbled again, a loud and embarrassing sound that made her cheeks burn. Harry chuckled softly.

"See? Even your stomach agrees," he teased.

The warmth and fragrance emanating from a large oak door at the end of the hallway was impossible to ignore. Harry pushed it open cautiously, revealing a bustling scene unlike anything Daphne had ever witnessed. House-elves of all shapes and sizes scurried to and fro, their nimble fingers working tirelessly on an assortment of culinary delights. Cauldrons bubbled, ovens roared, and the air was thick with the mouthwatering smells of a thousand different dishes.

Suddenly, a tiny house-elf with large, tennis ball-sized eyes popped out from behind a mountain of freshly baked rolls. His oversized ears twitched with excitement.

"Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is honored by your visit!" he squeaked, his voice high-pitched and full of awe. "And a Hogwarts student! Dobby is honored twice over!"

Daphne, momentarily speechless, watched as Harry clapped Dobby on the shoulder, a gesture that seemed almost comical given their size difference.

"Easy there, Dobby," Harry chuckled. "Just here for a late-night snack, that's all. And this is Daphne Greengrass, by the way. She's a friend."

Dobby's eyes widened even further, if that were possible. He bowed low to Daphne, his large ears brushing the floor. "A friend of Harry Potter, sir, is a friend of Dobby! What can Dobby get for the esteemed Miss Greengrass? Perhaps a slice of treacle tart, still warm from the oven?"

Relief washed over Daphne. It seemed Harry hadn't been exaggerating about Dobby's hospitality. A sliver of treacle tart, enjoyed in the company of an unlikely pair, suddenly seemed like the perfect escape from the weight of her grief.

"A slice of treacle tart sounds lovely, Dobby," she replied, a small smile gracing her lips for the first time in what felt like forever.

As Dobby scurried off to fetch the dessert, Harry offered her a conspiratorial wink. "See? Told you he wouldn't mind."

Dobby reappeared moments later, bearing a plate piled high with a glistening slice of treacle tart. The golden pastry, still warm from the oven, sent another wave of delicious aroma wafting through the air. Daphne accepted the plate with a grateful nod, the rich scent momentarily pushing away the worries that had been plaguing her.

As they found a quiet corner amidst the bustling kitchen, tucked away behind a towering stack of copper pots, Harry noticed the way Daphne carefully studied the treacle tart before taking a bite. It was a far cry from the ravenous hunger she'd displayed earlier, and a pang of concern shot through him.

"Is everything alright?" he asked softly, his voice barely a murmur above the clatter of pots and pans.

Daphne took a hesitant bite, the sweet pastry melting on her tongue. For a moment, her eyes fluttered closed, as if savoring the simple pleasure.

"It's delicious, Dobby," she finally said, her voice soft but genuine. "Thank you."

Dobby beamed, his large eyes sparkling with delight. "Dobby is happy to serve, Miss Greengrass! Harry Potter, sir, is always welcome in the kitchens, and his friends are always welcome too!"

With a grateful smile, Daphne turned back to Harry. The worry that had clouded her features earlier seemed to have lessened a fraction, replaced by a flicker of something akin to gratitude.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, her voice sincere. "For listening, for the distraction, and for the delicious treacle tart."

"It's no trouble at all," Harry replied, his gaze lingering on her for a beat longer than necessary. He couldn't help but wonder if the shadows under her eyes were a product of her worry for Astoria, or if his own exhaustion was mirroring itself in her appearance. The lack of sleep that had plagued him ever since the Quidditch World Cup was a constant companion, a dark undercurrent beneath the surface.

"Though," he continued, a playful note creeping into his voice, "I wouldn't mind hearing more about this curse Astoria has also rumour hai it that you are interested in healing, right?"

Daphne's gaze sharpened slightly, the vulnerability that had peeked through earlier replaced with a more guarded expression. "I am," she admitted cautiously. "Healing magic has always fascinated me. But—" she hesitated, a flicker of doubt clouding her features, "curses are a complex area, even for the most advanced witches and wizards. Astoria's curse is… unusual."

"Unusual?" Harry echoed, his curiosity piqued. He has experienced a fair bit about unusuality himself, thanks to his past encounters with Lord Voldemort, but there was always more to learn. Perhaps Daphne, with her brilliant mind and interest in healing, had stumbled upon something he hadn't considered.

Daphne hesitated for a moment, then leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It seems to be… draining her life force," she confided, her voice barely audible above the din of the kitchen. "The Healers are baffled. They can slow it down, but they can't seem to break it entirely."

Harry frowned, a knot of unease forming in his stomach. A curse that drained life force? It sent a shiver down his spine, a chilling reminder of the Dementors and their soul-sucking powers. The connection was tenuous at best, but the thought was unsettling nonetheless.

"Is there any kind of cure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Daphne shook her head, her expression grim. "The Healers haven't found one that works consistently. They keep experimenting, but…" She trailed off, her voice thick with emotion. "But nothing seems to be strong enough to break it completely."

The weight of Daphne's despair settled on Harry like a heavy cloak. He understood the frustration, the helplessness in the face of a relentless magical malady. It mirrored the fear that had gripped him ever since the world cup, a constant undercurrent of dread that he couldn't seem to shake.

"There has to be something," he said with a conviction he didn't quite feel. The statement hung in the air, a challenge against the seemingly insurmountable odds. He knew next to nothing about Astoria's curse, but the sight of Daphne's despair ignited a spark of determination within him.

Daphne looked at him, a flicker of hope battling with the ever-present worry in her eyes. "Do you think so, Harry?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Do you think there's a way to save her?"

The question hung heavy in the air, a desperate plea for reassurance in the face of uncertainty. Harry met her gaze, a newfound resolve hardening his features

Harry forced a smile, a touch more confident than he felt. "There's always a chance, Daphne. We just have to keep looking, keep learning. Maybe there's a book in the Restricted Section, a forgotten spell no one's thought of in centuries. We'll figure something out, together."

His words, though laced with a hope he didn't entirely possess, seemed to have a calming effect on Daphne. A flicker of gratitude softened her gaze. "Together, you say?" she echoed, a hint of a wry smile playing on her lips. "Isn't that a bit ambitious, Potter? Considering our… house rivalry and all?"

Harry chuckled, the sound genuine. "Maybe so," he admitted. "But sometimes, the best discoveries are made outside the lines of Gryffindor and Slytherin. Besides," he added, a playful glint in his eyes, "even the brightest Slytherins need a Gryffindor with questionable impulses as a research partner, wouldn't you agree?"

Daphne snorted, a genuine laugh escaping her lips for the first time that night. The sound, light and unexpected, filled the air, chasing away some of the tension that had hung between them. "Perhaps," she conceded, a playful smile mirroring his own. "But don't expect me to share all my brilliant ideas with you, Potter. Some Slytherin secrets must remain hidden, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course," Harry replied, feigning offense, clutching a hand to his chest. "Though a little hint wouldn't hurt, you know, just to point me in the right direction. Maybe a cryptic clue or two?"

Daphne's smile widened, the amusement dancing in her icy blue eyes a stark contrast to the composed demeanor she usually presented. "We'll see, Potter," she said mysteriously. "Perhaps if you prove yourself worthy as a research partner, I might just offer a nibble of knowledge."

Their conversation flowed easily, filled with a newfound sense of camaraderie. They discussed obscure magical ailments they'd encountered in their studies, debated the merits of specific potions ingredients, and even shared a few whispered jokes about Professor Snape's perpetually glum expression.

The hours seemed to melt away as they delved deeper into their shared interest in magic, a world that transcended house colors and rivalries. But as the pre-dawn light began to creep through the high kitchen windows, casting long shadows across the room, Harry knew it was time to leave.

"Well," he said with a sigh, reluctantly pulling himself out of their comfortable conversation. "We should probably get back before Madam Pomfrey starts wondering where elder Miss Greengrass has disappeared to."

Daphne nodded, a hint of sadness flickering across her features as the playful banter subsided. "Thank you again, Harry," she said sincerely. "For everything. It's been… nice."

"Nice," Harry echoed, the word feeling inadequate. He had found solace in their unexpected connection, a sense of camaraderie he hadn't anticipated. "Look," he continued, his voice dropping to a murmur, "if you need anything at all, owl me. Gryffindor Tower, room number two-hundred and eleven. Don't worry about house rivalry or anything like that. Hedwig always finds me."

Daphne studied him for a moment, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "I'll keep that in mind, Potter," she replied. "And who knows, maybe you'll even get a slice of pumpkin pie specially made by me in return for your… questionable research assistance."

Harry grinned, a genuine one this time. "Now that's an offer I can't refuse, Greengrass. Until next time, then."

With a final lingering look, Daphne gave a curt nod. "Until next time, Potter."

And with that, they slipped back out of the warm haven of the kitchen, disappearing into the deserted corridors of Hogwarts, their paths diverging but a newfound connection forged in the quiet hours of the night. The weight of their worries hadn't vanished, but for a brief moment, they had found solace in shared knowledge, unexpected camaraderie, and a sliver of hope for a future yet unwritten.

And Cut

until next time... ShabbaKhar