Well, that's sorted. I won't see her again.
Like a bad penny, or a disturbingly attractive stalker, Daphne Greengrass turned up in his consult room a week or so later. She was obviously experimenting with putting waves in her hair, and Harry felt the experiment was a success. Her hair looked fantastic, and had a lot more body. Not that Harry would say to any adult witch that her hair was looking a bit naff – he got to treat people who'd said things like that most nights. Hexes that caused leeks for ears was a… perennial favourite.
"Potter, this is urgent. There's something horribly wrong with Astoria!" said Greengrass. Only she was more angry than panicky. Harry raised his eyebrows. And no smutty joke, she was really off her form.
"She's going on a date with sodding Malfoy!" she exclaimed. Harry felt that was possibly not any of his business.
"Well, that does show poor judgement, I suppose," said Harry, "Has she been doing anything else strange?"
"Apart from thinking she can ride a horse now – god she's got a dreadful seat – no."
"Look, it's her life," said Harry, seeing himself embroiled in Greengrass sister drama and not wanting a bit of it. Well, a bit on the side, possibly, but it was all too much drama.
Daphne Greengrass took the opportunity to inhale, put her hands on her hips, and glare at him. As gestures went, it was a little unsettling. She had a quite memorable waist, and the robes bulged a bit in the chest region. Thankfully less than… before. Harry's memory unhelpfully played paint-by-numbers at this point, reminding him what she looked like topless.
"Considering that you're the one that saved her," said Daphne, her Caribbean-blue eyes drawing Harry in, "I think it's entirely inappropriate!"
"Well it's not like I'm exactly going to demand she marry me, is it!" said Harry.
"Of course not," said Greengrass haughtily, her blonde, wavy hair bobbing as she tossed her head, "I saw you first."
Harry's brain tried valiantly to process that as the last blood departed his brain to other places.
"Wha?" said Harry, unable to enunciate, lacking enough oxygen in his brain all of a sudden.
"It's not as if I want to throw myself on you," said Greengrass, and Harry felt oddly disappointed. But also, that was probably just as well, as it wasn't medically advisable – bedroom leaping-style shenanigans were responsible for a surprising number of injuries coming into St Mungo's.
"And anyway, you're always in Hawaii when you're off work. Astoria doesn't like floral shirts, pineapple, or roast pork," said Greengrass, then she said offhandedly "The floral shirts are a trifle loud, but at least you aren't going around looking like you're about to become Britain's next dark lord," She lifted her nose, and snorted. "While there might a frisson to have wizards with dramatic colouring dressing like the heads of old, mysterious families, there's no reason that sort of thing couldn't be kept discreetly at home." And she smiled, very briefly.
Harry took stock of that and managed to ask, "Doesn't like Pineapple?"
Greengrass shrugged.
"Just on pizza, or in general?" asked Harry.
"Don't try and sully me with your… terrible pizza choices," she said. She was, Harry remembered, horribly judgemental. He was also not sure if she was kidding. And too afraid to offer her pineapple pizza to find out. Not that he wanted to take her out for take-out. That would be unprofessional. And she looked more like a bistro sort of girl anyway.
"I wish to continue to come to your supervised mind-healing sessions," she said politely.
"My what?" asked Harry.
"Luau in your parlour with daydream potions, Potter," she said, sounding irritated. "At least I know it's not medically inadvisable."
Harry sighed, but she was right – it was clearly helping him, and Greengrass was possibly less upset – though it was hard to tell right now. Which could just be the extra stress of Malfoy. And suddenly, he realized that his house was far from her parent's house, so she could avoid Malfoy. And that was practically a public health measure. He would, he thought admit almost anyone to his house, if it meant they avoided Malfoy, who had served his time, and his parole, and gone home.
"Fine," said Harry. And she smiled at him, and that was completely unfair as she even had a single dimple on one cheek, and combined with white teeth, pretty lips and Caribbean-blue eyes, the smile left him feeling all tingly. The poor old chest-monster was dead; doubtless Ginny's breakup thing had killed it.