So somebody said I'm using AI to write the fic for me. Assuming I'm stupid enough to use AI for something non-commercial and purely a hobby, let's see if the upcoming chapter looks anything like AI-writing, shall we? Would love your thoughts.
Scene 4.1
Sunlight crept through the gaps in the curtains, tickling against Harry's weary like a warm, angelic being. He stirred under their strokes. He turned over on the bed, the softness of his unusually comfortable pillow pressed tightly against his chest by all four limbs. Eyes still closed, Harry couldn't help leaning in and planting a deep kiss on it, for no apparent reason.
It tasted intoxicatingly sweet, and Harry kept kissing, that is, until a divine knowledge hit Harry with the force of a million sunrays: pillows don't kiss back.
His eyelids flew open in horror, trying to comprehend, but all they could do was to immediately meet a pair of equally startled blue ones. As far as he remember, pillows don't have eyes either.
Harry gulped. A few moments of desperately focused gaze revealed it wasn't a pillow at all: it was Daphne Greengrass. Their limbs were scattered and entwined all over each other in a crazy mess. Her small lips were trembling in horror too, yet she didn't pull away. Her warm, flushed breath was pounding against his chest.
The events of last night began crashing over Harry like a colossal wave. The drunken scene, the sneering people, bringing Daphne home, sitting with her, kissing her, climbing onto the bed with her and then...
Harry was jerked back into the present by Daphne letting out a small hiccup. Their scorching-hot, bare skins were still in extensive contact, his arms curved tightly around her waist and stomach. Daphne was looking up at his face like a small child, her lips quivering, as if asking questions whose answers he didn't have.
Next, Harry did the only thing he could think of: he got off the bed. His heart raced as he realized he was standing in front of the bed. Daphne kept on staring at him, her expression somewhere between horrified and confused. He could feel the heat rising to his face as he realized she was looking at his body deprived of the tiniest piece of cloth, rather intensely.
"I... uh... sorry," Harry mumbled, scrambling towards the nightstand. He grabbed his glasses and had them shoved onto his face in mere milliseconds.
Daphne sat up, clutching the waves of snow-white sheets to her chest with those petite hands. Her long black hair was an even messier entity now, and her cheeks were flushed bright red, not much unlike his.
"Harry, I-" she began to form words. Harry had no mind to hear it: whatever she'd to say.
"I'll make breakfast," he blurted out, his intention being nothing nobler than cutting her off. He practically ran from the room, the door banging with a thunderous loud as he emerged outside, the cold wooden floors of the empty, dim hallway licking at his miserable, bare feet.
A few minutes and Harry was seen entering the kitchen, his face still tinged pink, now dressed in a set of clothes he'd grabbed from his closet. A substantial portion of his face was still pink as his brain went into overdrive, trying to make sense of the absolutely nonsense situation.
It wasn't long before Harry moved on autopilot. He cracked a couple of round eggs into a pan, the cackling sizzle shattering the silence in the kitchen like anything. His mind raced, and so did his heart.
What had they done? What had he done? How could he have let this happen? She'd been crying, her mother had died. She'd been vulnerable, desperate and what'd he done? Shagged her! Right! Nothing says "I'm with you" like taking advantage of her the way he'd done. Good job, Potter.
And then came the public response if the universe played some kind of cruel joke on him and the whole incident was revealed to the media. Just imagine… Head of the Auror Department, the Harry Potter himself, banging a new employee who'd just lost her mum. He would almost certainly lose his job, no doubt about that, and even any lingering shreds of respect he had among the masses would dissipate. Not to mention how many more people would start calling Daphne his 'whore' - the thought sent a shiver down Harry's spine. She won't be able to take all this. She was simply too fragile: he must protect her.
Harry was so lost in this chain of self-berating thoughts that he never heard the sound of footsteps coming into the kitchen until a loud clearing of throat behind startled the wits out of him. Harry spun around, mortified, nearly knocking the pan off the stove.
Daphne was standing in the doorway, convincingly dressed in another one of his old t-shirts. It was too big for her, hanging off one shoulder, but at least she was dressed! Her head was tilted onto her right, and her hair was in much better state. She'd even got it tied back somewhat neatly. A few strands still escaped though, fluttering in the air in front of her pale face.
"Um, eggs?" Harry offered weakly, gesturing to the pan, desperate to avoid any discussion, confrontation, or worse, accusation.
Daphne didn't utter a word: she just offered one of her silent, chilling nods before coming forth and taking a seat at the small table. Harry finished cooking the omelets in silence, the only sounds being the scrape of the spatula and the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall.
Why wasn't she talking? Was she shocked? Disappointed? Angry…? She had every right to be all of them.
Soon, he was done with the cooking. Setting a pair of gleaming white plates, both adorned with a bright yellow omelet in the centre, Harry set down opposite her. They ate in pin-drop silence, not even daring to look at each other, though Harry thought he noticed her sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye. Harry pushed his omelet around his the curves of his plate with his fork, his eyes heavy, his fingers trembling, his appetite gone, vanished, aborted.
Finally, Daphne opened her mouth, her omelet forgotten.
"Harry," she squeaked in a meek tone.
Silence again.
"Don't worry," her lips broke into a very small smile. "I won't tell anyone about it."
A tide of relief swarmed over Harry, even though he didn't show it.
His fork clattered against his plate loudly.
"Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse. "I guess we shouldn't. Thank you."
Daphne closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then, she stared right into his.
"It was a mistake," she said quietly, her eyes bearing the same lifeless, grim look.
Even more relief warred in Harry's chest. But in the midst of all that, he thought he felt a slight, the smallest of the smallest twinge, a twinge of disappointment. But he shoved it away quickly enough: what the hell was he expecting from her?
."Right," Harry nodded his agreement. "We were both... emotional. It shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. It wasn't like you forced me into it," Daphne protested, still not meeting his eyes. "Maybe it's best if we just... forget it ever happened?"
"Yeah," Harry said quickly. "Forget it ever happened. Good idea."
The room lapsed into silence again. Daphne finished her eggs first and stood up. "I should go back to my flat," she said, her voice unnaturally high and shrill, her face expressionless.
"Right," Harry said, rising to his feet as well. "Just… take care of yourself, okay? You know I'm here for you, in a more… more… platonic way."
Daphne didn't say anything, but his words seemed to have a dramatic effect on her demeanor. Her lips broke into a huge smile as she said, "You're a good man, Harry. I'm lucky to have a friend like you."
Harry returned the smile but not without flinching internally. Something was amiss.
Daphne took small steps out of the room, down the hall and the front door, Harry following her all the way. Eventually reaching the door, she paused briefly, her hand resting on the doorknob. For a moment, Harry thought she might turn around. But she didn't, she just shook her head slightly and left, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
Harry stood right there, gazing at the closed door for several moments. This girl was a mystery.
Feeling weary, Harry trudged back up to the the kitchen. It felt suddenly empty. Of course, that was understandable: he hadn't had anyone to share breakfast with for years. To be honest, it was kind of nice to have her with him: at least he hadn't felt lonely this morning, unlike the other mornings. Maybe he should invite her over to breakfast occasionally. Anyways…
With a sigh, Harry began clearing the table. It was going to be a long day.
Scene 4.2
Harry drummed his fingers on his desk, his anxious eyes darting to the large, empty chair looming across the table for another day. Daphne hadn't shown up for work in over two weeks. His office felt eerily hollow without her. Yes, it was kind of nice of have her at work. He'd gotten too used to her soft voice, the small smile tugging at her lips every time she handed him a bundle papers and the way she'd silently snicker at his terrible jokes - jokes nobody found funny except her.
Harry put his head in his hands. He missed her.
Casper Thomas strutted by, a smirk on his face. "Looks like the Death Eater's spawn finally realized she doesn't belong here," he sneered at anyone willing to listen. "A rather good riddance, I'd say."
Harry's jaw clenched. He wanted nothing more to hex that smug look right off the old fool's face, but he settled on taking a deep breath instead. Getting into a fight wouldn't help Daphne.
As the clock struck five, Harry got up from his desk, his hands rummaging through the table for the last parchments and documents. His mind was made up on what he'd been thinking all day: he would give her a visit and find out exactly what was wrong. Because when someone simply vanishes from work, there's an awfully high possibility things were not okay.
He should've done that earlier, but the shock of what they did back that night had kept him in firm check. Things were already awkward between them. For heaven's sake, she was his colleague, his junior. In no world would he be able to justify taking advantage of her like that.
With a slightly trembling hand and a fumbling mind, Harry reached out for Daphne's file - the one which had her address on it. He needed to check on her, immediately.
In a few minutes, Harry had grabbed his coat as he headed for the door. Maybe, just maybe, a small part of him was dying to see her: they hadn't met in weeks.
The streets were busy with people heading home from work. Why was he walking, you ask? Well, don't ask. Harry himself didn't know. Maybe he needed time to think and organize his thoughts before he reached her door. Or maybe it was just because he needed some fresh air. Nevertheless…
Harry weaved through the crowd, his mind and heart racing in equal measures. What if something had happened to her? What if she was in trouble? Harry shoved off these thoughts with great difficulty. A sharp pang hit his chest: he felt terribly guilty for not going to her before.
Harry kept on checking the address on the paper as he walked. Did this place even exist? Harry had his doubts.
Eventually, Harry found himself in a run-down part of the city, standing in front of a crumbling, grey apartment building. He scratched his head. What the heck? Was this terrible place where Daphne lived?
He felt another, yet sharper pang in his ribs. As if he'd been in the wrong for not doing something for her. Stupid thought, he knew. It wasn't like they were in a relationship, but he couldn't stop caring about her like his own. Some things come naturally.
The paint was peeling, and the stairs creaked under his feet as Harry trudged up the staircase, his hand sliding up along the ice-cold railing. A pool of sweat was partying on his broad, anxious forehead.
Before he knew it, he'd climbed up to the third floor. Apartment 3B. The door was slightly ajar. What…
Harry's heart pounded furiously as he pushed it open, his mind speculating a thousand reasons why her door was open. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good, could it?
"Daphne?" he called out in a low tone, stepping into the tiny flat. It was dark and stuffy, the air thick with the smell of unwashed dishes and something sour. A terrible place to live indeed!
"Daphne!" Harry called out again, a little desperation ringing in his voice. Was she even here? Was she okay?
But then, a chilling thought hit Harry. What if… people of the so-called "Light Side" had done something with her? It was unlikely, but not something entirely impossible. As much Harry wished it otherwise, he couldn't help the fact she did attract a lot of hatred almost everywhere she went. But one thing was certain: he wouldn't spare anyone who'd dared lay a finger on her.
"Daphne?" Harry panicked a little this time, marching forward inside.
"Where are you?" he called out, his head spinning on his neck like a child's spinning top as his eyes scanned every morsel of the house.
A huge swan of relief swam through Harry's chest when he heard a weak, distant groan coming from somewhere.
Harry rushed in towards the direction of the groan, wand at the ready. Auror instincts, you know.
His feet sprang up on his toes as he entered a dimly-lit room. It turned out to be a bedroom, but Harry was least interested in that particular fact. His eyes had gone dead still at the sight greeting him.
Daphne lay on the bed, her hair matted to her forehead. She looked awful – pale and sweaty, with huge, dark circles under her sorry eyes. "Harry?" she croaked, trying to sit up, but failing miserably.
"Shh, don't move," Harry hurried over to her, kneeling beside the bed. "What happened? Are you sick?"
Of course she was! What a jerk he was being!
Daphne's eyes stared deep into his for a few big moments before they slowly welled up with tears. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Gasping, she threw one hand sideways, grabbing Harry's unsuspecting one. With a great deal of effort, she pulled it over to her and made it land on her vibrant, breathing stomach.
Harry froze in pure, adulterated shock and horror. Could it be…? Was it really…? He couldn't believe it.
There was a small, but unmistakable bump under his palm. Yes, it was what he was thinking. No place for any doubts.
"You're... pregnant?" he whispered, his mind reeling anxiously to make sense of the situation.
Daphne nodded, a tear visibly sliding down her cheek. He felt his heart breaking for her.
Harry sat back on his heels, stunned as reality furiously struck all its chords. A baby. His baby. The room seemed to spin around him. Was this whole thing real, or just a dream? A really, really bad dream.
All this - it was his fault. If he hadn't used her like that that night, if he hadn't done that awful thing with her, none of this would've happened. Good job, Potter. If her life was awful, it was going to be downright horrible now. All thanks to him, her so-called well-wisher and, he daresay, friend.
No, he'd no right to call himself her friend after where he'd landed her in. It was a wonder she wasn't swearing curses at him yet.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry's voice was hollow, dripping with pity and guilt.
"I just… didn't know if you'd want to help," he finally heard Daphne whisper from the bed after a while, her voice barely audible. But then, a fresh bout of crying ensued. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I'll understand if you… you want… want nothing to do with me, with us."
There, those words snapped Harry out of his daze with an electric shock. What the heck did she mean by that?
"No," Harry said firmly, taking her hand. "No, I'm not going anywhere. Do you think I'll dump my own child?"
He looked at Daphne – really looked at her. Their eyes maintained a strong, almost supernatural connection for several moments. She was scared, trembling from heat to foot, alone, and carrying a child - his own child, for heaven's sake. A fierce protectiveness welled up, surprising in its intensity. The mere idea of leaving her in this state sounded revolting.
"I think we both agree abortion isn't the way to go," Harry told her gently, squeezing her hand. "No way will the media not smell that news and besides, I believe we've got no right to take an innocent life for something the two of us did. It's… wrong It's simply wrong.."
Daphne was too weak to say anything. She simply gave a small nod.
"Good," Harry said gently, bringing a hand to caress her cheek. "This isn't just your child, Daphne. It's mine too. It's our child. And I'm staying right here with you whatever happens."
Harry spent the night right there, beside Daphne. He cleaned up the room, fed her some cereals he'd cooked with a spoon and even held her hair back when morning sickness announced its rowdy presence in the early hours of daylight.
Finally dawn broke with its its brilliant, sunny glory, painting the dingy room in soft pinks and golds. Harry was sitting on the edge of Daphne's bed, looking at her sleeping face. She looked noticeably better – some of the lost colour had returned to her cheeks by now. The meal had done her good.
Harry had her tiny, left hand held softly in his, while his other hand was busy running its fingers through the strands of the dark, black hair enveloping her face.
Without thinking, Harry stooped down and placed a gentle kiss on her full cheek. It had the desired effect, though. Daphne stirred, her eyelids fluttered open with all the grace of a blooming, spring flower.
"Daphne," Harry whispered, his voice serious, his brain in a heated, intense overdrive. "I've been thinking."
Harry felt her fist squeezing his: fear flashed across her face brighter than fire itself as she looked up at him, her miserable lips quivering.
"I think we should get married," he blurted out, feeling like the most idiotic creature on the planet
Daphne's jaw dropped. They stared at each for what felt like ages.
"What?" she finally managed to mutter.
Harry ran a hand through his messy hair, shrugging. "I know it's not... very romantic. But it makes sense, doesn't it? For the baby. For us? And it would give you some protection from all those... awful stuff people say all the time."
Daphne looked down at her hands placed on her lap, quaking. "You don't have to do this, Harry. I don't want you to trap yourself - you've got your life to live."
"Not really" Harry said quickly. "I don't exactly have a pleasant life, Daphne. Maybe this is what I want - to take some responsibility, to do something for someone. Maybe this is what both of us have been looking for all along. I mean, if you want to marry me, of course."
A ghost of a smile instantly flickered across Daphne's face. "Okay," she said softly, looking down and refusing to meet his eyes.
"I'll marry you, Harry," she continued in a broken voice, now looking up at him, clinging onto his arm like anything, "not because I love you, but because I know you're a good man, and I'd like to be your wife. I trust you with my life - and our child's."
Her voice choked at this point, but nothing could stop Harry's face from breaking into a goofy grin. He basically just proposed to a woman. He'd never imagined in his wildest this was how he would ask someone's hand for marriage.
They spent the morning talking about logistics. A small, private ceremony to keep the media's eagle-eyes away. No big reception. Just the essentials to make it legal.
"We'll need witnesses," Harry mused. "A best man and maid of honour."
Daphne's face fell dramatically at that.
"I don't... I don't really have anyone," she admitted. "Last person I had was Astoria, but she hasn't been responding to my letters. I don't know why - I didn't do anything that she'd be angry."
Harry's heart ached for her even as his brain wheeled in, thinking of someone - anyone to do the honours. He wasn't willing to let any of the Weasleys or Hermione know any of this - the sheer weight of their undoubtedly incredulous reaction would be too much to bear for either of them. He wasn't exactly Mr. Likeable at work either, people's attitudes towards him ranged from searing hatred to cold indifference.
Harry put his head in his hands in thought. Who did he have in this world, really?
Then, a chubby, swollen, Muggle face came swimming into his mind – one he hadn't thought about in years.
"I might know someone," he said slowly. "My cousin, Dudley."
"The one who bullied you?" Daphne raised an eyebrow. "I've heard about those Muggles who raised you. Weren't they awful to you?"
Harry shrugged. "We've... sort of made up before I left Privet Drive. Last I heard, he was married. Maybe his wife could be your maid of honour? You okay with that, Daphne?"
Daphne nodded. It wasn't ideal, but it was something. A start, nonetheless.
As the morning wore on, exhaustion crept back into Daphne's features, like a sneaky ghost unwilling to let go. Harry helped her lie down back, tucking the large, blue blanket around her.
"Get some rest, dear" he said softly, lowering himself down on his knees beside her hand as he ran his fingers through her soft, silky hair yet again. He loved doing that.
He looked at her pale face, her white cheeks and then, her breathing lips, still a vibrant shade of red. Harry hesitated for a moment but then, his sight fell upon their hands, linked. They were practically engaged by now. No harm in doing that.
And with that thought, Harry leaned down towards her face, eyes closing. His lips finally caught hers and stayed right there, kissing her tenderly. And to make things better, he felt her lips kissing him back.
After what seemed like several sunlit days, their lips broke apart. Harry smacked his lips, savoring the taste of his wife-to-be lingering on them. He looked down to find Daphne was staring up at him, her little mouth open, her eyes shocked.
Harry gazed lovingly at her for a while. He didn't know from where this overwhelming balloon of emotions was coming from, but he desperately wanted to make this little woman happy - to make her smile all the time.
Daphne caught his hand as he rose up and turned to leave.
"Harry," she said, her voice thick with emotion. her face slightly tinged with redness. "I'm not sure if I love you just yet, but I'm hopeful for that to change soon."
Harry squeezed her hand, a lump forming in his throat.
"Take as much time as you need," he whispered, staring into her eyes. "You've got a lifetime."
As he left the tiny flat, stepping out into the bustling, morning London street, Harry's mind was whirling with thoughts. In the span of a night, his entire life had changed - no scratch that, turned upside down. He was going to be a husband. A father. Just ten hours ago, he'd no idea about either of them.
For the first time since the war, Harry felt a sense of purpose. Of belonging. A strange, fuzzy feeling spread across his chest before creeping up into his neck and face as well.
It wasn't what he'd expected, but as he thought of Daphne - the woman who was going to be his wife soon, and the tiny life growing inside her, he couldn't help but crack a smile at the open air.
Maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what he'd been waiting for all along all these years. To be someone's somebody. God, he wanted that so much.
So, I hope you liked it. I appreciate your time. If you liked it, please please consider leaving a review/comment. It really makes my day, and brings a smile onto my face that's very hard to rub off. 😁 Anything you liked…. even a one word review will be greatly appreciated from my end.
By the way, don't worry about leaving a review even if it's years since I published this story. No, this isn't creepy - it's heartwarming.