A/N: Hope you will enjoy it. The story will focus on Daphne POV and Fluer's and from to time mixed with the golden trio.
Disclaimer:
All characters, proper names, and the world belong to J.K. Rowling
NOTE 2: This is a test chapter for now to see how the text positioning appears on this website.
I Chapter "When The Sparks fly"
"Look there, mate! See?! That blonde girl in front of the group—there's no way she isn't at least half Veela! She's so hot!" Ron was screaming into Harry's ear so loudly and with such excitement that his friend had to push him away a bit to avoid going deaf for the rest of his life. It was impossible to miss the girl who was stealing the spotlight from her group at the stadium, dancing with such perfect synchronization that one could think they were born just for this. The dancing group of twelve beautiful girls was a foretaste of the main event—the Quidditch World Cup between Ireland and Bulgaria. The dancers had been on stage for about fifteen minutes, performing impossible figures and poses, accompanied by visual effects from their wands, all led by the blonde girl who seemed to draw every eye to herself.
True, all twelve dancing girls were stunning beyond words, but that particular blonde had no competition in a beauty contest. "Ron!" Hermione and Ginny screamed at him in unison. Ginny began cursing her brother with words that weren't suitable for the youngest Weasley.
"I see her! Maybe I wear glasses, but I'm not completely blind! And yeah, she is!" Harry shouted back without looking at his best friend, although he doubted Ron could hear him. It was so loud that Harry could barely hear his own thoughts. Ignoring the trio's escalating argument—two girls berating a redhead for objectifying women based on their looks, while the boy blushed and insisted he was merely stating facts - He put on his omnioculars again. Harry was determined not to miss a second of this spectacular performance, so he focused on the face of the blonde girl—she had a pretty smile, but perhaps it was the lights casting shadows on the mysterious dancer or the fatigue from the dance, but the smile on her lips wasn't reaching her icy blue eyes. Harry remembered that type of look; it was like when dementors were trying to suck the soul out of Sirius—his godfather whom he had met last summer. Those blue eyes were like the ocean on a peaceful day at the beach, but at the same time, they were empty, focused on something no one else could see—something only the supposed Veela dancer could perceive.
Ron's foot suddenly stomped on Harry's feet, jolting him out of his thoughts and causing him pain. Harry wanted to tell Ron to be more mindful of his surroundings, but when he turned his head to the right, he saw a group of teenagers standing in front of them. Unfortunately for the Golden Trio, the two groups knew each other from Hogwarts. When Harry realized who they were, he wished it had been anyone else—hell, even dementors would have been better.
In the group that appeared was Draco Malfoy, who, as always, was dressed in the finest black clothes from head to toe, probably costing a small fortune—fitting perfectly to his body without a single flaw. Over the summer, he had grown even taller, so Harry had to raise his head a bit higher to meet his gaze. A smirk was already plastered on his face, signaling that he had found new insults to ruin the peaceful lives of the Golden Trio, and he wouldn't hesitate to use them.
Standing right next to Draco was a girl with raven-black hair, shorter than him by only half a head, with green eyes. Like Malfoy, she was dressed in black, but instead of pants and a blazer, she wore a black dress that reached her knees, tightly hugging her slim body with well made cleavage showing no more no less to leaving things to the imagination. Her shoulders were covered by a jacket, and on her feet were high heels with golden accessories wrapped around girl's slim ankles. Her face was gorgeous and pale, so pale that it made her emerald eyes appear even greener, and her black silky were falling down on her backs, reaching half of them. Her bangs fell to one side, slightly covering one of her emerald eyes. Her face was so pretty that she could stand on any stage without shame. Instead of a smirk, her face showed curiosity mixed with calculation, as if she was already regretting being there at all. Around her neck hung a gold necklace. Harry hadn't had many encounters with this girl during the past three school years, except in the classes they shared with Slytherin. Her name was Daphne Greengrass. Most of what he knew about her came from rumors and casual conversations with Hermione and Ginny.
During their time at Hogwarts, Hermione often described the black-haired girl as her personal rival when it came to getting the best grades (which made Harry roll his eyes countless times whenever he heard it). Although Hermione didn't want to admit it publicly, deep down she knew that her nemesis was... is better. From Ron's sister, Harry had heard less flattering descriptions like "ice queen," "walking corpse," or "sucker of souls and minds." The last one made Harry laugh, but he also thought there might be some truth to it. With such beauty, many men would lose their minds around her. Besides that, the golden boy was almost certain that he had never seen those two hanging out together—or maybe he just hadn't paid much attention to Malfoy's circle? Well, things do have a way of changing, don't they?
Behind Malfoy and Greengrass, hidden like shadows, stood Crabbe and Goyle—boys a bit shorter than Malfoy but significantly broader in the shoulders. As always, their faces bore expressions of vacant oblivion. If trolls are as stupid as they are tall, then these two must be trolls—there's no other explanation.
"Keep drooling, Weasley, and you might just fall to the ground, leaving a red stain—red like your hair. No wonder you don't have a girlfriend; your attitude towards women is as poor as your family's."
To everyone's shock, it wasn't Malfoy who greeted them, but the Greengrass girl. Her voice was cold, piercing to the soul, yet calm and, in a certain way, sweet. Ron turned as red as a tomato. He began to open his mouth to retort to the black-haired girl, advancing toward her with clenched fists, forgetting his wand. Meanwhile, Ginny, who was quicker, had already drawn her wand and was aiming it at Greengrass.
Even though Ginny's move was fast—Harry had to admit it—unfortunately for Ron's sister, Greengrass was even faster. For a moment, Harry wondered where she had pulled her wand from; she didn't even have a small her demeanor had changed. She stood straight with half-closed eyes, like an eagle right before it attacks. Malfoy's smirk widened even further. To prevent bloodshed, Harry rushed to Ron to stop him from doing something he might regret, while Hermione moved to stop Ginny from committing a crime that could land her in Azkaban.
"I wonder what it would take for someone as beautiful as that blonde down there to even glance at you. Maybe Daphne's right; if you fell, she might just step on you!" Malfoy said, laughing with his irritating smirk.
"Better hope you don't fall off your broom like last year, Malfoy," Harry hissed angrily, struggling to hold Ron, who was becoming increasingly harder to control. "As you know, even the best brooms can't help the talentless." Feeling that Ron had lost a bit of strength from struggling to escape Harry's embrace, Harry released him.
"Watch out, Malfoy. Gits like you might find themselves stepped on, too!" Ron growled back, simultaneously wondering how someone as snake-like as Malfoy could be in the company of such a pretty girl as Greengrass—it was beyond his understanding. Although the comment about his family made him seethe inside, he couldn't deny the beauty of the black-haired girl. What only made him angrier.
Hermione, gripping Ginny's arm, had to admit that although Ginny was a year younger, she was far stronger. Finally, Ginny broke free from Hermione's hold, ready to hex Greengrass with a full arsenal of spells. 'Girls like you are definitely full of themselves, aren't they, Greengrass? I wonder how you managed to fit into that dress without ripping it with your ego!' With fire in her eyes, Ginny spat the words out as quickly as a blizzard, flashing a vulgar gesture when she noticed Greengrass starting to smile—a smile devoid of any positive feelings, as if her red lips could swallow the whole world.
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"Chicks like you are definitely full of yourselves, aren't you, Greengrass? I wonder how you managed to fit into that dress without ripping it with your ego!' Ginny screamed at Daphne, looking like a wild squirrel trapped in a cage—an image that made Daphne smile, only intensifying the tension between the two groups. It seemed Granger could no longer control her poor excuse for a friend and finally let her go. Daphne had always considered the only Weasley daughter a loud nuisance, constantly trying to impress the famous boy who lived, but with no success since hers first year. A poor thing—nothing more, nothing less, just like the rest of her family.
Daphne had always wondered how Malfoy could enjoy tormenting Gryffindors; there was no real challenge in it. A small provocation would set them off, turning them red and angry like a group of toddlers. Of course, there were times when she joined in the fun, but mostly when she was in a particularly bad mood, often directing her ire at the Weasley siblings. Tonight, however, she was in a really foul mood. It was just a bit of fun, nothing more.
Her interactions with the Muggle-born Granger had been few and far between. The bookworm had never caught Daphne's attention beyond the occasional snide comment about her teeth and hair. Granger was always so predictable—always the know-it-all, always the brightest witch of her year. What amused Daphne, though, was their little private battles during lessons. It wasn't about the grades; it was about the entertainment value of watching the bushy-haired girl's face fall in disappointment when she didn't know the answer, and then scurrying off to the library as quickly as possible.
When it comes to the Boy Who Lived, she never really pays him much attention. Unlike most of her classmates and housemates, she regards Potter as an unpleasant necessity. She has to admit that the boy has a knack for getting into trouble. Sometimes she wonders if it might be some sort of curse, given that Voldemort tried to kill him when he was just a baby. It could be true, right? A few times, Daphne sneaked into the Restricted Section at Hogwarts to find something that could confirm her suspicions, but she had no luck so she gave up.
In response to Ginny's outburst, Daphne's eyes narrowed slightly, but her smile remained as she prepared her retort. The amusement in her gaze was sharp and calculating, a reflection of her dark mood. She tilted her head slightly, as if considering the best way to address the fiery Weasley.
"Is that the best you've got, Weasley? It seems you're just another disappointment, like your brothers before you. I wouldn't worry too much about my dress; it's rather well-fitted, unlike your arguments, which always seem to fall short. And as for ego—well, some of us have the grace to back it up with something more than mere noise. But do keep barking; it suits you."
Daphne's voice was icy but laced with a sardonic sweetness, her gaze flicking between Ginny and the rest of the Golden Trio. The tension in the air seemed almost palpable as she continued, her tone carrying an undertone of genuine curiosity.
"Perhaps if you spent less time shouting and more time reflecting on your own shortcomings, you might find a way to actually make a difference. But then again, that would require insight and self-awareness—qualities that, judging by your performance tonight, seem to be as absent as your ability to control your temper." Daphne finished her venomous speech, eager to be done with this spectacle and see the end of the dance performance. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "Good thing I brought a jacket; it's getting cold this time of year. I suppose I could have worn a longer dress," she thought.
In response, the Weasley girl started to open her mouth again, but she was cut off by the voice of an adult man. It was probably… wrong, it was her father given the hair color and the resemblance to the Weasley boy.
"Ginny, stop! Don't waste your energy before the grand finale! We have a match to watch, and we'll need your voice to support the Bulgarian team!" said Mr. Weasley, trying to ease the tension between the two groups while placing his hand on his daughter's shoulder. He then turned his gaze to Daphne, and then to Draco, who was standing beside her with an idiotic grin, as if waiting for Christmas (some things never change). "I assume you must be Daphne, daughter of Jack and Mary Greengrass, am I right?" he asked politely, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer. Daphne responded with a slight nod of her head in confirmation.
Mr. Weasley then turned his attention to Draco. "And you, young man, must be Draco Malfoy, correct?" his gaze lingered on Draco longer than it had on Daphne, revealing a hint of something more in his eyes. Draco didn't even bother to respond, nor did he have the chance, as another man appeared behind Daphne and placed his hands on her shoulders. The man wore dark leather gloves, but that didn't stop the Slytherin girl from recognizing him immediately. It was her father, whose calm yet commanding demeanor made it clear he would accept no objections.
This is where Chapter 1 ends for now—it's intended as a draft for editing and revision. If you've read it, please share your feedback!