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

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.

Daphne Greengrass was a vision of elegance and control, her raven-black hair cascading down her back like a silken waterfall, reaching just past her shoulders. Her bangs, styled to fall gently over one side of her face, added a touch of mystery by partially concealing one of her striking emerald-green eyes. These eyes, often described as the color of the deepest, most vibrant forests, held an icy calmness that could pierce through anyone who dared meet her gaze. Her beauty was undeniable, with a complexion so pale it almost appeared translucent, making her emerald eyes pop even more vividly against her fair skin.

She was dressed impeccably in a fitted black dress that hugged her slender body, stopping just above her knees. The dress featured a low-cut neckline that elegantly accentuated her collarbones, revealing just a hint of her smooth, pale décolleté. The neckline was both modest and alluring, with its delicate curve and the way it framed the gold necklace resting against her skin, adding a touch of understated luxury. The subtle yet revealing cut of the dress allowed just enough of her alabaster skin to be visible while leaving much to the imagination.

Completing her ensemble, Daphne wore sleek black high heels with delicate gold chains wrapped around her ankles, adding a touch of opulence to her outfit. The shoes elevated her stature and complemented her overall look, creating a harmonious balance between sophistication and grace.

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 purse. Now 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.

:Daphne;s POV start here:

"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's words were like a wild squirrel trapped in a cage—a comparison that only made Daphne smile, her amusement contrasting sharply with the escalating tension. Daphne had always found the Weasley girl to be an annoying loudmouth, desperate to gain the attention of the famous Boy Who Lived, but failing miserably. A pity—nothing more, nothing less.

Daphne had often wondered why Malfoy enjoyed tormenting Gryffindors; it was hardly a challenge. A small provocation would ignite their tempers, much like toddlers throwing tantrums. Although she occasionally participated in such provocations when in a bad mood, she mostly reserved her ire for the Weasley siblings. Tonight, however, she was merely indulging in a bit of fun.

Her interactions with Hermione Granger had been minimal. The Muggle-born's predictable know-it-all attitude never captured Daphne's interest beyond the occasional snide remark. The real amusement came from watching Granger's disappointment when she failed to answer questions, then rushing off to the library.

As for the Boy Who Lived, Daphne regarded him with indifference. Despite his knack for trouble, she considered him an unpleasant necessity. The boy's misfortunes seemed almost cursed, considering Voldemort's attempt on his life as a baby. Daphne had even searched the Restricted Section for any confirmation of her suspicions, but to no avail.

In response to Ginny's outburst, Daphne's eyes narrowed slightly, her smile remaining as she prepared her retort. Her amusement was sharp, reflecting her dark mood. She tilted her head, considering the best way to address the fiery Weasley.

"Is that the best you've got, Weasley? You're just another disappointment, like your brothers before you. I wouldn't worry too much about my dress; it's well-fitted, unlike your arguments, which always fall short. And as for ego—well, some of us have the grace to back it up with more than just noise. 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 was 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 make a difference. But then again, that would require insight and self-awareness—qualities, judging by your performance tonight, that seem as absent as your ability to control your temper." Daphne finished her cutting remarks, eager to end the spectacle and return her focus to the dance performance. She took a deep breath, thinking, "Good thing I brought a jacket; it's getting chilly. I suppose I could have worn a longer dress."

Before Ginny could retort, Mr. Weasley's voice cut through the commotion. It was clear he was trying to defuse the situation.

"Ginny, stop! Save your energy for the grand finale! We have a match to watch, and we'll need your voice to support the Bulgarian team!" Mr. Weasley said, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder and trying to ease the tension. He turned his gaze to Daphne and Draco, acknowledging them with a polite nod. "I assume you must be Daphne, daughter of Jack and Mary Greengrass?" he asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer. Daphne responded with a subtle nod.

Mr. Weasley then turned to Draco. "And you must be Draco Malfoy, correct?" His eyes revealed a hint of reluctance as he regarded Draco, who didn't even bother to respond. Instead, another figure emerged behind Daphne, placing his hands on her shoulders. The man, wearing dark leather gloves, was immediately recognized by Daphne as her father, whose calm yet commanding presence made it clear that he accepted no objections, not even from his own daughter.