Disclaimer:

All characters, proper names, and the world belong to J.K. Rowling

IV. Chapter: Behind Green Eyes

"Mother, Astoria," Daphne greeted the two women with a slight nod, which seemed more like a gesture of courtesy than a genuine expression of interest. Although she maintained a semblance of calm on the outside, her mind was engaged in an intense struggle over whether it was worth responding to her mother's unspoken question. She knew that Marry was already aware of the reason for her tardiness—after all, nothing escaped her notice. Still, her mother did not press, waiting patiently for Daphne to decide to speak on her own. Marry was a master of subtle pressure—her silence spoke louder than words, and although Daphne was strong and independent, she felt that pressure more than she would like to admit. In this silent duel, she sometimes felt like a student being constantly reminded of how much she still had to learn.

In response to her older sister's greeting, Astoria gave a barely visible wave of her hand, which, however, was brimming with excitement. Her eyes sparkled with joy, as if every moment spent with Daphne was the highlight of her day. This cheerful nonchalance contrasted with the gravity of the situation, but Astoria, as always, seemed unconcerned. Before Daphne could decide whether to answer her mother, Astoria started to spew out words at a hundred miles per hour. Her words, full of energy and enthusiasm, flowed endlessly, creating an astonishing torrent of sentences. Even though Daphne had known her sister for 15 years, she was still amazed by how Astoria could talk so quickly without taking a breath.

Daphne, with her typical cool humor, had once told her sister that her chattiness would eventually get her into trouble and that if she choked on her own saliva while talking, Daphne would not come to her rescue. In response, Astoria had told her to be careful in the summer because she might melt like ice, and she wasn't going to dirty her hands cleaning up the remains of her older sister. These words, though said with humor, momentarily broke through Daphne's distance, eliciting a smile that barely flickered on her lips before disappearing behind her mask of indifference. Daphne felt her defensive walls crack slightly but quickly rebuilt them, returning to her cool, calculating nature.

"Daphne is in trouble with Draco again, I saw it! They were going in a completely different direction from the gates we went through, Mother!" Astoria burst out like a red spark from a wand, in a way that was irritating and annoying to Daphne. "They're probably plotting something together again, just like when..."

"Astoria," Daphne interrupted her coolly, raising an eyebrow. "Have you ever considered that not everything you see needs to be discussed at the first opportunity?"

Astoria fell silent for a moment, then shrugged with a smile. "Maybe, but you know I'm curious. And besides, I know you'll thank me someday for keeping my finger on the pulse."

Daphne sighed quietly, refraining from a more sarcastic response. Instead, she turned her gaze to her mother. "Is there anything else you'd like to know, Mother?"

Marry looked at Daphne with a gentle smile that did not reveal her thoughts. "You know I don't need to ask, Daphne. Your silence is more eloquent than a thousand words. I'm just glad you understand what your priorities are."

"Of course," Daphne replied with equal calm, though inside she felt an unsettling sense that her mother knew more than she was willing to admit.

Astoria, undeterred by the silence, eventually couldn't hold back and exploded: "Well, tell me, what are you plotting with Draco this time?"

Daphne looked at her sister with narrowed eyes. "Astoria, not every moment is suitable for such discussions. And now, if you'll excuse me, we have more important matters at hand."

Astoria, despite her enthusiasm, sensed the seriousness of the situation and fell silent, though a slight frown of disappointment appeared on her face. Daphne, feeling control over the conversation returning to her, turned to her mother with a polite but cool tone: "Is there anything I should be doing now, Mother?"

Marry looked at both daughters with a look of satisfaction. "No, Daphne. Just remember who you are and what you represent. The rest will come naturally."

Daphne nodded, thus closing the conversation. She knew her mother rarely gave clear answers, but her words always carried a weight of responsibility that Daphne felt on her shoulders.

She breathed a sigh of relief and focused on the performance of the beautiful dancers, which, unfortunately, was nearing its end. She regretted not arriving earlier—had she done so, she could have enjoyed the entire show in peace. Unfortunately, she owed the delay to Malfoy and his foolish trolls, who had effectively distracted her from her pleasure. She would have been here much sooner if she hadn't had to waste time dealing with that Weasley floozy and her brother, who could only gawk at her with his tongue hanging out, staring at her feminine curves. He hadn't dared to look her in the eyes, which was quite appropriate—he should know his place.

As for his sister, Ginny—what an absurd name—she turned red at the sight of Daphne. "It's not my fault I look much better than she does," Daphne thought. However, she imagined the younger girl as a furious squirrel, ready to scratch her eyes out. Fortunately, squirrels were just small, powerless creatures that could be stopped by throwing them a nut. In the end, Ginny was just a minor nuisance.

Granger and Potter, as always, were indifferent to her. Daphne couldn't understand what was so special about them, considering everyone at school kept talking about them. Sure, Granger knows the answers to almost every question, but is that something exceptional? Her abilities weren't unattainable—anyone who can read can look it up in the library, and after a week of intensive reading, Granger won't seem so impressive. And Potter? He always turned to Granger for help and always found trouble. Though his magical skills were impressive, they were nothing extraordinary—just a bit of practice would achieve a similar level. Perhaps it was the contrast with the rest of the Gryffindors, who often came across as real apes, unable to distinguish between the Draught of Living Death and Felix Felicis, that made this pair seem so dazzling.

Daphne focused her entire attention on the stage, where a group of dancers moved in perfect synchronization, their movements fluid and precise. One of them, a blonde, particularly caught Daphne's eye. She seemed to lead the rest of the group, displaying confidence and a sense of rhythm that set her apart from the other girls.

Daphne had to admit that the blonde was attractive, as Weasley had clumsily put it, but that wasn't what intrigued her the most. What caught Daphne's attention was the dancer's expression. Despite her wide smile, her blue eyes seemed absent, as if she wasn't fully present in what she was doing. There was something unsettling about her that Daphne noticed right away—something that didn't match the energy she exuded on stage.

The blonde wore a custom-fitted red and black gymnastics costume that clung to her body like a second skin. The fabric seemed to almost shimmer in the spotlight, accentuating every detail of her figure. The costume was made of an elastic, glossy material that highlighted both her slim waist and shapely hips. The black and red colors intertwined in an intriguing pattern that led the eye from her shoulders down to her thighs, creating the impression of movement even when the dancer stood still.

The neckline of the costume was deep, but not excessively so, revealing just enough to emphasize her feminine curves while maintaining elegance. The fabric around the neckline was delicately ruched, adding volume and drawing the eye while still remaining subtle. The sleeves ended just past the elbows and were finished with fine, intricately embroidered lace, whose pattern resembled plant motifs. This lace, though it appeared delicate, was perfectly fitted, adding an air of mystery and sophistication to the outfit.

The costume transitioned into a more intricate pattern around the hips and along the legs, resembling winding lines, as if the fabric itself was alive and moved in rhythm with the music. The blonde's legs were fully visible, accentuated by long, straight lines of black fabric that visually elongated them. The costume ended just above her ankles, revealing the dancer's delicate, yet pale skin.

Daphne noticed the finishing touches on the costume, observing that every edge was meticulously stitched, giving the ensemble an air of elegance and attention to detail. The shoes the blonde wore were also perfectly matched to the outfit—made of black material, adorned with delicate red accents, harmonizing with the rest of her appearance. The high heels added to her confidence, and the way she moved in them on stage spoke of years of practice and perfect control over every step.

This outfit, though undeniably provocative, was also carefully thought out in every detail. Daphne was fully aware that such a meticulously crafted appearance was no accident—it was a tool that the blonde consciously used to impress the audience and draw their attention. As Daphne watched the dancer, she felt a growing curiosity—who was this girl who so skillfully manipulated her image? What lay behind that perfect costume?

In the blonde dancer, Daphne saw something that resembled a reflection of herself, which only deepened the fascination she felt towards the girl. Her movements, perfectly synchronized and full of grace, brought Daphne an unexpected sense of calm. It was a kind of inner harmony that Daphne rarely experienced, but that now emerged simply from watching the dancer. In those moments, it seemed to Daphne that the blonde's dance was not merely a performance, but a kind of ritual through which the girl expressed her inner self—calm, composed, and perfectly controlled, much like Daphne herself.

However, her mind couldn't quite grasp what exactly made the dancer have such an impact on her mood. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to recall a magical creature that could be the equivalent of this being on the stage. Daphne's thoughts immediately turned to Veela—magical beings known for their supernatural beauty and their ability to influence people. It was the only plausible explanation, considering the dancer's unearthly beauty and mesmerizing presence. Yet, Daphne quickly realized that something didn't add up.

Veela were not only known for their stunning beauty but also for their ability to unleash deadly chaos in moments of anger. Daphne knew that if the dancer were a full-blooded Veela, instead of performing on stage during the Quidditch World Cup, she would have undoubtedly incited a mass outbreak of uncontrollable fury and death among the spectators. Men would be throwing themselves over the railings, willing to do anything just to get closer to the creature, while women would succumb to destructive jealousy. Meanwhile, the atmosphere on stage was calm, almost hypnotic.

From what Daphne knew, the only explanation for this strange contrast was that the dancer must possess only some of the characteristic traits of a Veela. She then recalled stories of people who had even a drop of Veela blood in their veins, passed down through generations. Such individuals, though not as powerful as their full-blooded ancestors, still emanated an extraordinary aura that could captivate and enchant others.

Daphne realized that the girl on stage was likely a descendant of Veela, whose ancestors had that magical blood, even if it was from several generations back. What she saw before her was a more subtle expression of magic—a kind of charm that, though dangerous, could not fully convey the power of its mythical forebears. This realization, while bringing her some relief, also sparked even greater curiosity. Daphne wondered what secrets the blonde dancer might be hiding and felt as though their paths would cross again someday.

As Daphne watched the dancer on stage, a new and unsettling thought crept into her mind. The dancer's undeniable allure and the way her body moved with such fluid grace stirred something deep within Daphne, something she had not fully acknowledged before. She had always known that she could appreciate beauty, but this was different. It wasn't just admiration—there was a strange pull, a magnetic attraction that she couldn't easily dismiss.

Daphne had been raised in a world where appearances were everything, where beauty was a tool to be wielded for power and control. She was no stranger to using her own looks to her advantage, manipulating the desires of those around her. But this—this was different. It wasn't about power. It wasn't about control. It was about something far more personal, something that made her feel vulnerable in a way she wasn't used to. Could it be that her fascination with the dancer was more than just an admiration of beauty? Daphne shook her head slightly, as if to rid herself of the notion. She was not one to entertain such whims. She was Daphne Greengrass—cold, calculating, and immune to the base desires that governed others. But even as she thought this, her gaze remained fixed on the blonde, tracing the lines of her body as she moved across the stage.

She had never given much thought to her own desires, considering them trivial compared to her ambitions. Her focus had always been on power, control, and maintaining the image of the perfect daughter—the one who would make the Greengrass name even more respected, or feared, depending on the perspective.

In the end, she decided, it didn't matter. She would lock these thoughts away, bury them deep where they could no longer disturb her. There were more important things to focus on—her family's legacy, her place in the world, and the power she sought to wield. These were the things that defined her, not some fleeting attraction to a dancer she would likely never see again.