Thank you to everyone who's favorited/followed and commented! It's been rather fun to write as it's been a while reading and watching Harry Potter. I'm a bit more of a pantser writer these days so I'm finding the story along with you as we go.
I think it might make more sense to say the characters are aged up a few years than their canon ages. I think the dialogue and romantic elements might be too advanced (I don't have plans for nsfw however). Feel free to critique, comment, and suggest! Thanks for reading and all the best!
The next night arrived and Harry ate his supper at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, once again absentmindedly twirling his fork into his food—this time a meat pie. He had endured a long day of classes and a rainy evening of Quidditch practice.
"You all right, Harry?" Hermione asked, looking at him with concern. "You've been awfully quiet tonight."
Harry shrugged. "Yeah... just a long day getting longer," he muttered. "I've got a detention with Filch tonight."
"What? Why'd he give you a detention?" Ron asked, his brows raised.
Harry sighed. "Peeves dropped some dungbombs in the corridor when I was passing by last night," he said, careful to leave out the fact that he was talking with Daphne at the time.
Hermione frowned.
"That bloody poltergeist," Ron scowled. "Fred and George reckon even the Bloody Baron's given up trying to control him nowadays."
Hermione sipped on her goblet of pumpkin juice. "What's Filch having you do?" she asked Harry.
"Scrub and polish the trophy room," Harry muttered, shaking his head.
Ron gave another distasteful groan. "Merlin's beard not that again. Say 'hello' to Mr. Riddle's hoity toity Special Services trophy for me will you? He deserves a few slugs sliming it up permanently."
Harry smirked, nodding in agreement. He checked the ancient clock at the back of the Great Hall and grimaced. "Right, I'd better get going then."
"Want us to wait up?" Hermione offered.
Harry shook his head. "Don't bother, it might run late. I'll see you later tonight."
Hermione gave him a pitying look and nodded. Ron grimaced, nodding as well.
The trophy room appeared exactly as depressing as ever to Harry's mood - dusty and tarnished goblets, plates, and trophies stretching wall to wall, filling the room with centuries of achievements. The smell of metal polish hung thick in the air. A few torches crackled as they hung against the walls.
Daphne entered the room a minute later, her black school shoes clopping against the stony floor. A rather nice strawberry scented perfume wafted into Harry's nose as she passed by him.
Her hair was fashioned in a simple ponytail today, swishing softly as she walked in the room. Her glaring expression softened into a small grimace as she spotted Harry. Harry gave her a nod in return along with a small hint of a smile, his stomach swooping. From Daphne's body language, she did not appear bemused by the situation. Harry hoped he didn't blame him for getting her in detention, given Peeve's excited antics from finding them both in the classroom the day prior.
Buckets of water, bars of polish, and old rags lay on the cold floor. Filch sneered as he entered the room, his yellowing teeth on full display as he gave them their instructions.
"I want everything spotless and polished by nine o'clock. Every single plaque, plate, and cup. Got it?" he said in his gravelly, discomforting voice.
"Yes sir," Harry said, nodding.
Daphne nodded as well, swishing her mouth in a sour, annoyed expression. "As you wish," she muttered.
Harry heard Filch grumble something about 'bloody kids' as he left the room, leaving the two of them alone in silence.
A few minutes passed in silence as Harry and Daphne started scrubbing and polishing trophies on opposite sides of the room.
Daphne hadn't said a word to him since they arrived, and at this point Harry wasn't sure if she even wanted to acknowledge his presence.
Harry looked over for a moment and saw her scrubbing a tarnished goblet with rigorous force—clearly motivated by more than just removing grime.
Harry turned back to his own work, dipping his rag into a water bucket and then wiping down a nearby trophy. He glanced over at Daphne again. A burning curiosity to know more about her, tugged at him to say something—anything really to start a conversation. This feeling clashed with the prickly doubt that Daphne probably didn't want to talk with him at all. Harry felt a rising tension in his chest as the minutes passed, and the silence continued to linger.
Crap, this is awkward… how do I break the tension? Harry thought. Just need to try to think of something relating to the moment… maybe a joke?
Harry grimaced, as he watched Daphne scrubbed particularly hard into one of the Special Services to the School trophies. Her ponytail shivered as she scrubbed with frustrated effort.
Harry swallowed hard, trying to quench the nervous dryness in his throat as he looked at Daphne. "You know, I'm not sure what that trophy did to deserve the punishment you're giving it," He said,
Daphne didn't look up. "I'm just doing the job," she muttered, her tone clipped.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Looks like you're trying to polish it out of existence."
Daphne paused, her grip tightening on the rag she held. She looked over at Harry, her eyes narrowing. "Is this your way of trying to make small talk, Potter? Because I'm really not in the mood."
Harry grimaced for a moment, put off by her icy demeanor. "Er— well, I'm just saying, it's not like scrubbing off every speck is going to win anyone extra favors."
Daphne let out a frustrated huff and went back to scrubbing. After a moment, though, she seemed to relax slightly, and the faintest trace of a smirk appeared on her face. "Actually, I think I'm doing you a favor, making up for your shoddy effort."
Harry chuckled, surprised by the slight crack in her usual icy facade. "Oh, so that's how it's going to be, is it?" he asked.
Daphne nodded, smirking at him. "That's how it's going to be," she repeated matter-of-factly.
Harry smiled to himself as they fell back into silence once more, the tension in his chest subsiding. As the minutes passed, Harry absentmindedly focused on cleaning, stealing occasional glances at Daphne. She was still standoffish, but he could sense that the wall between them was a little lower than it had been before.
A sharp hiss of pain broke through his thoughts. He looked up to see Daphne clutching her hand, blood trickling from where a trophy's edge had nicked her palm.
"You okay?" Harry asked, stepping beside her.
"I'm fine," Daphne said quickly, though her wincing face betrayed the sting. She tried to wave him off, but Harry gently took her wrist.
"Here," Harry said, pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it against her cut. "Don't worry, it's clean."
His fingers brushed against hers for a moment, sending an unexpected flutter through his stomach.
"I can manage," Daphne insisted, pulling her hand and his handkerchief away from him. She grimaced, her cheeks tinging pink. "Thanks though…"
Harry smirked, nodding. "Just like a Slytherin to avoid accepting help," he said in amusement.
Daphne scoffed lightly. "Just like a Gryffindor to rush in playing hero," she countered, but there was no bite in her words. Her blue eyes met his, and for a moment, Harry forgot what he was doing. The flickering torchlight cast warm shadows over them.
Harry cleared his throat, letting go of her wrist. "Well, someone has to save you from your bloody battle against the trophies."
Daphne stifled a laugh, rolling her eyes. "Great. As if this night couldn't get worse."
Harry smiled. "What? Cleaning trophies in silence is your idea of a fun night?"
She snorted, despite herself. "Hardly. But I'm already miserable enough having to listen to your terrible quips."
Harry chuckled. "So why are you trying to murder some perfectly innocent silverware then?" he asked.
Daphne glared at him half-heartedly. "Maybe it's because they deserve it. Or… maybe it's because I've had to put up with nonsense like this all my life."
"What, pain or cleaning?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
A faint smile crossed Daphne's face, but it faded. "Both, honestly. My father… he always said chores like this 'built character.' Whenever I didn't live up to his expectations, he'd have me do things like this. Said it was good for me."
Harry frowned, reminiscing on his own less than fond memories, scrubbing dishes and sweating over the Dursley's chores.
"Sounds familiar," Harry said. "Though my chores usually involved garden work and cooking rather than trophy polishing."
Daphne tilted her head, looking at him curiously. "I wouldn't have expected the famous Harry Potter to have to do menial chores."
Harry felt his shoulders tense. "Trust me, fame doesn't count for anything with my aunt and uncle. They're Muggles, and they're... not exactly fond of magic," Harry said lightly, knowing all too well how much they despised even a mention of the word.
Something in Daphne's expression shifted. "That… must be annoying," she said, her voice lacking its usual edge. "Living between two worlds."
"Sometimes, yeah," Harry admitted. "Though I'm sure living with your ancient family's expectations aren't enviable."
"Well... it has its challenges," Daphne said softly.
Harry nodded, curiosity getting ahold of him. He wondered just what living in a pureblood family was like. "Er—what sorts? If you don't mind me asking," Harry asked, his brows raised in curiosity.
Daphne sighed. "Oh… there's just a constant pressure to live up to the family name. Grades, appearances, behavior… I suspect I'll receive a howler for my latest round of disappointments," she said bitterly.
"I'm sorry…" Harry said, his voice softening.
Daphne gave him a curt nod and started scrubbing a new trophy in front of her.
Harry wondered if he may have hit too close to home. At the very least it appeared that he had soured the levity of the conversation by bringing up something less than fun.
For a moment, the sound of their rhythmic scrubbing and the crackling flames from the wall torches echoed through the room.
A knot in Harry's stomach urged him to offer something personal in return, feeling that Daphne had donated more than her share already.
Harry gulped, realizing just how dry his mouth felt.
"I… er—I wasn't lying when I told you about what happened on the train. I… I did faint from the dementors," he said.
Daphne's cheeks tinged pink as she paused her scrubbing. She glanced at him for a moment and swallowed. "Oh…" she said, blinking fast, returning her gaze downward. Her expression appeared a mixture of sad and grateful. "That's… I'm sorry about that," she said awkwardly.
Harry felt an awkward tension tightening his chest. He felt a sickening regret swirling in his stomach as he now thought this might be a topic of discussion he should have avoided.
Harry cleared his throat.
"Yeah… they er—well they really are awful… so I… I don't really blame you… for what happened yesterday that is," Harry said, finding his throat dry and his palms sweating. "I er—I think that if I had the chance to face the boggart that day it… it would've been a dementor as well."
Daphne swallowed, her expression appearing an emotional mix of hurt and relief. She turned to Harry, giving him a momentary small smile of gratitude.
"Well… I should thank you by the way… I… well, I heard you trying to stand up for me after… after what happened to me so… um… so thanks," she said, blushing as she resumed scrubbing the trophy in front.
"Oh, yeah… er—no problem," Harry said, finding his own cheeks burning. He cursed himself silently at not know how to respond to her gratitude. The tightness in Harry's chest returned as the awkward tension hung in the air.
After about a minute of scrubbing, the awkward tension felt unbearable to Harry. His mind panicked to come up with another icebreaker.
"So um…" Harry muttered, as he moved onto another trophy to scrub, his hands sweating as he prayed Daphne would still want to talk to him. "midterms are coming up soon."
Daphne groaned, rolling her eyes. "Oh Merlin, don't remind me. Snape's been piling on the extra reading like we've got nothing better to do."
Harry chuckled in relief, nodding. "Yeah, I don't think I've ever seen Hermione this stressed out before."
Daphne frowned. "If Granger is stressed, then there's no hope for the rest of us, is there?"
"Probably not," Harry admitted with a grin. "I don't think Hermione's even human sometimes. I'm really just glad she's not Malfoy."
Daphne smirked. "Thank Merlin for that. Can you imagine if she was?"
Harry shuddered. "I think I'd have to drop out of Hogwarts. Dealing with one demented ass is enough for a lifetime. But an intelligent demented ass… " Harry trailed off.
Daphne laughed, her eyes sparkling. "We'd never hear the end of his gloating," she said, smiling at Harry.
Harry smiled back at her. His heart skipped a beat, now realizing just how pretty Daphne looked in that moment as she swept a strand of her blonde hair around her ear.
Harry chuckled, his stomach somersaulting. "Yeah, dealing with one Malfoy is enough for a lifetime."
"More than enough," Daphne said dryly. Her expression darkened slightly as she continued wiping down a silver cup. "Though, I have to say, you're lucky you don't have to put up with him all the time in the Slytherin common room. You have no idea how insufferable it gets. 'Just wait until my father hears about this!'" Daphne said, mocking Draco's voice. She shook her head, sighing. "Merlin, he's such a bloody whiner."
Harry smirked, stifling a laugh. "I don't envy you there. I think I'd rather room with dementor than with Malfoy. At least the dementor would shut up every now and then."
Daphne burst into a fit of giggles, grasping Harry's arm for balance. She turned to Harry, smiling at him.
"You're actually kinda funny you know," she said, cocking her head at him.
Harry blushed, his mind scrambling. going numb. All he could think about was how pretty she looked. "Ah… I just got lucky," he muttered sheepishly.
Daphne stifled a laugh. "Are all Gryffindors so modest?"
"Er—well only the nice ones I guess," Harry said, chuckling nervously.
Daphne giggled and shook her head, returning to polish a trophy.
The awkward tension tightened in Harry's chest once again as the sudden praise and attention flustered him.
Harry swallowed, trying to wet his dry mouth. "Seriously though… I'm glad Malfoy's not related to me in any way…"
Daphne let out a humorless laugh, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Thank Merlin for small mercies. Though my sister might give him a run for his galleons sometimes."
"Oh, you have a sister?" Harry asked, his brows raising at her.
Daphne nodded. "Yeah, her name's Astoria. She's a year below us. A brat in her own right too."
Harry chuckled, thinking back to how Dudley might outclass even Malfoy in that category.
There was a long pause.
Harry glanced at Daphne out of the corner of his eye, wondering if she'd say more. When she did, her voice was quiet, but edged with frustration.
"I despise them, you know. Malfoy, Parkinson… all of their stupid little gang," Daphne muttered, scrubbing furiously at a plaque, as if trying to scrub them from her mind as well. "They think they're so much better than everyone, like they have the right to push people around."
"Yeah," Harry said, shaking his head in frustration. "Some people just want to see everyone else miserable."
Daphne scrubbed the trophy in front of her with excessive force, causing the trophy to rattle. "As long as he thinks he can bring us down a peg, the insecure little…" Daphne muttered.
Harry looked over at Daphne, raising a brow. "The insecure little what?"
Daphne smirked, tilting her head at him in amusement. "Well… I suppose my parents wouldn't approve what I was about to say so… feel free to insert any derogative adjective from the dictionary. The more inflammatory the better."
"I like the way you think," Harry said, chuckling.
Daphne chuckled along with him. "Cheers to that," she said, raising one of the freshly polished trophy goblets in front her.
Harry picked up his own goblet and clinked it against hers.
They laughed for a second before going back to their work.
After another few moments of polishing, Daphne sighed. "The worst thing about the Malfoys is that our parents are edging for a match between us."
Harry blinked, pausing for a moment. "Oh… er—a match… like in marriage?" he asked her. A unexpected sharp pang of hot jealousy hit him as he said the words.
Daphne nodded glumly. "Yeah… There were so many play dates when were younger." She sighed. "But I think I'd rather marry a basilisk. At least we wouldn't have to look each other in the eye."
Harry burst into laughter. "That's brilliant!"
Daphne blushed, smiling and brushing her hair around her ear.
"You're kinda funny too, you know," Harry said, smiling at her. "Well, for a Slytherin that is."
Daphne's jaw dropped and she playfully punched his shoulder. "And to think I was just starting to like you."
Harry chuckled.
Daphne and Harry continued smiling as they turned back to resuming their scrubbing and polishing.
For a moment Harry wondered whether he should ask her out somewhere… like Hogsmeade! But his heart immediately sank as he remembered how he didn't have his permission slip for Hogsmeade signed. Internally he cursed the Dursleys, Sirius Black, Voldemort and anyone else involved in ruining that opportunity.
As Harry moved along to the final group of tarnished trophies, he thought about what it must be like for someone like Daphne, caught in the toxic swirl of Slytherin house politics, stuck with people she couldn't stand. It sounded suffocating and he couldn't help feeling gratitude for Ron, Hermione, and all the other amiable Gryffindors.
Well, perhaps I could ask if she ever wants to join us for studying or something, Harry thought to himself.
He felt a horrible ratcheting of tension in his chest as he thought about asking Daphne this idea. Would she laugh in his face? Or perhaps roll her eyes and scoff?
With his mouth suddenly dry, Harry swallowed hard. He looked at Daphne and spoke.
"You don't have to deal with them, you know," he blurted.
Daphne looked to him, brows lowering in confusion. "What's that?" she asked.
Harry winced, realizing how out-of-the blue that sounded.
"Er—Draco and Pansy I mean. Um… I just wanted to say, If they're making things unbearable for you… you know, you're welcome to spend time with me… and my friends, you know… if you want."
"Oh…" Daphne said simply, blinking at him. It was clear she was caught off guard by the offer. Harry's heart sank, already bracing for rejection. For a brief moment he saw a flicker of hesitation in Daphne's expression—something vulnerable and uncertain behind her usual cool exterior.
But then, just as quickly, she regained her composure, lifting her chin slightly in that familiar prideful Slytherin way. "You want me spend time with you?" she asked, a teasing glint in her eyes. "I'm not sure your little Gryffindor group could handle a Slytherin's company, Potter. The entire world might explode."
Harry grinned, catching the levity in her tone. "I wouldn't mind taking the risk. Seems like the world is always about to explode anyways."
"True enough."
Harry smiled. "But serious—"
"Sirius Black?" Daphne asked, raising a brow.
Harry chuckled. "No… serious-ly if you ever get bored of Malfoy's endless prattling or ever want to study together, the offer's open to join us."
Daphne didn't respond right away, but Harry could see the briefest flash of consideration in her eyes. He could almost imagine her agreeing, saying that she might take him up on it, but before he could hold onto the thought, her smirk returned.
"Thanks, Potter, but I think I'll survive."
Harry tried to mask his slight disappointment with a shrug. "Oh… ok, no worries."
As Daphne's smirk faded into a grimace, Harry felt a flicker of confusion. Was she being amusing? Or did that subtle change in her expression mean something else? He wanted to believe that her hesitation meant she wasn't as dismissive as she seemed. But then again, maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part. Could she actually want to spend time with me?
At that moment, the sound of shuffling footsteps as Filch returned to inspect their work. The caretaker eyed the polished trophies with his usual grumpy expression and thankfully couldn't find any fault in their efforts. Although on second thought, maybe Harry wanted a few more minutes alone with Daphne.
"Well, I suppose this'll do," Filch grumbled. "Detention's over. Get out of my sight."
Daphne set down her rag and polish and straightened, her usual composed demeanor settling over her like a cloak. "Always a pleasure, Mr. Filch."
Harry had to stifle a laugh at her deadpan delivery. Filch, oblivious, scowled at both of them before stalking off.
As Harry and Daphne walked out of the trophy room, Harry hesitated for a moment, glancing sideways at her. He wanted to say something—maybe suggest taking a walk by the lake, or at least try to break the barrier that still lingered between them—but the words stuck in his throat. As they neared a corridor junction, all Harry managed was a quiet, "Well, see you around then."
Daphne's eyes flicked to him, and she gave a small nod and smile. "See you," she said, before turning and heading down the corridor, her footsteps echoing against the stone. Harry glanced back at her, feeling an odd mix of heart-wrenching frustration, warmth, and curiosity. He found himself wondering again why Daphne's boggart was a dementor, which had slipped his mind while speaking to her. And he wondered what she did for fun on the weekends. And though he tried not to admit it, Harry's thoughts lingered on the moment their hands touched, and her spine tingling charming laugh, and how pretty her smile was…