Chapter 6:

The Slytherin common room was alive with its usual murmur of whispers and quiet schemes. The fire in the hearth cast flickering shadows on the dark stone walls, giving the space a foreboding atmosphere. Daphne Greengrass sat in one of the wingback chairs closest to the fire, her spellbook resting in her lap. She turned a page lazily, the crackling flames reflected in her sharp blue eyes.

She didn't look up as the heavy footsteps approached—Pansy Parkinson's distinct, brisk stride flanked by the lumbering Millicent Bulstrode and the hesitant Tracey Davis. They stopped just short of Daphne's chair, their presence looming like an uninvited storm cloud.

"Well, look who it is," Pansy began, her tone falsely sweet. "Wandering around the castle without an escort, Daphne? How bold of you. Or maybe foolish is the better word. And now you're sitting with those dirty Gryffindor blood traitors at breakfast. What's next? Should we expect you to start holding hands with mudbloods?"

Daphne didn't even glance up from her book. "You sound like a broken record, Parkinson. Did you rehearse that in front of a mirror, or are these little quips your own sad attempts at wit?"

Millicent snorted, but Pansy shot her a silencing glare before focusing back on Daphne. "You think you're better than the rest of us, don't you? Too good for your housemates, too good for tradition. But let me remind you—your family has a lot to lose if you keep embarrassing them."

At this, Daphne finally deigned to look up, her expression as icy as the Black Lake in winter. "Tradition? Is that what you're calling your incessant need to grovel at the boots of anyone with more power than you? Tell me, Pansy, is it tradition to crawl like a worm or just a family trait?"

Pansy's cheeks flushed red, but she pressed on, refusing to back down. "Careful, Greengrass. I can write to your parents, let them know what you've been up to. Maybe they'll drag you back home before you make a complete fool of yourself."

Daphne closed her book with a deliberate snap and set it aside, standing slowly. Though she was only an inch taller than Pansy, she carried herself with a commanding presence that seemed to shrink her opponent.

"Go ahead," Daphne said, her voice low and laced with quiet menace. "Send your little letter. I'm sure my parents would love to hear about your pathetic attempt to play puppetmaster. But let me make something very clear, Parkinson—threats are a game for people who can afford to lose."

Millicent took a step back instinctively, while Tracey's eyes darted nervously between the two girls. Pansy, though visibly unnerved, lifted her chin in defiance. "You don't scare me, Daphne. You may think you're untouchable, but you're just as trapped by the expectations of your bloodline as the rest of us."

Daphne's lips curled into a cold smile. "No, Pansy. I'm not like you. You're a pawn, perfectly content to be sacrificed for someone else's gain. Me? I'm the one who moves the pieces. And if you keep testing me, I'll make sure you understand exactly how far beneath me you really are."

The room seemed to grow colder as Daphne's words sank in, her unflinching gaze pinning Pansy in place. For a moment, no one spoke, the tension so thick it was suffocating. Finally, Pansy broke the silence, her voice faltering. "You think you're so clever, don't you? We'll see how long that lasts."

Daphne took a step closer, her presence radiating authority and danger. "Try me, Parkinson. I dare you."

The challenge hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Pansy faltered, her bravado cracking under Daphne's unrelenting stare. Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed off, her lackeys scrambling to follow.

As they disappeared through the dormitory doorway, Daphne let out a quiet breath and sat back down, picking up her book once more. She turned the page as though nothing had happened, the firelight dancing in her eyes.

Unable to focus on her book Daphne left the common room with a sharp click of her heels, her movements precise and deliberate as though her steps alone could dispel the tension that lingered in the air. The cold corridors of the dungeon welcomed her like an old friend, their chill mirroring the frost that had settled over her mood.

She didn't know where she was going at first, only that she needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and the petty snakes she shared a house with. It was exhausting, dealing with people so blinded by the old ways, so eager to prove their worth to others instead of creating their own path.

As she ascended from the dungeons and into the main halls, her thoughts began to drift. Morgana. That name echoed in her mind, a beacon of ambition and power. Morgana had been feared, revered, and unmatched in her mastery of magic. Daphne wanted the same—needed it. The thought of becoming a second Morgana, of carving her name into the annals of magical history, filled her with both determination and exhilaration.

Her pace slowed as she passed the tall, narrow windows lining the corridor. Moonlight filtered through, illuminating her pale features. She caught her reflection in the glass and paused, studying herself for a moment. What would Morgana think of me now? she wondered. Would she approve of Daphne's ambitions, or would she sneer at the constraints society placed on her?

Her thoughts darkened as they turned to her parents. Failures. Weak. Hypocrites. They had once been powerful wizards, she supposed, but that power had long since been squandered. Supporting the Death Eaters, not because they believed in the cause, but because they were too afraid to stand apart. Cowards. It made her sick. They had taught her nothing but what not to do.

And then there was Harry. She frowned, her steps slowing as she walked past a row of enchanted suits of armor. What part does he play? There was something about him, something she couldn't explain. The aura that clung to him wasn't just powerful; it was… magnetic. She hadn't been able to find anything about it in the countless books she'd scoured, and that frustrated her to no end. Daphne hated not having answers, and Harry Potter seemed to be wrapped in mysteries she couldn't unravel.

Yet, despite the frustration, she couldn't deny the strange pull he had over her. There was strength in him, but not the kind born of wealth or status—it was deeper, rawer, and unpolished. She wondered if he even realized it.

The faint sound of water lapping against the shore broke through her thoughts, and Daphne realized her wandering had brought her to the edge of the Black Lake. The air was crisp and cool, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and pine. She walked to the shore and sat down, her arms resting on her knees as she gazed out at the still surface of the lake.

She let her mind wander, her icy exterior softening in the solitude. For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to feel something other than frustration—wonder, curiosity, even a hint of contentment. What am I doing? What am I doing out here?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a flash of movement in the distance. She squinted, her sharp eyes catching the familiar sight of a figure on a broomstick. Harry. Of course. She watched as he soared above the water, his messy hair catching the moonlight as he dipped and turned with a natural grace that seemed almost effortless.

A small, mischievous smile tugged at her lips. Rising to her feet, Daphne took a deep breath, her body tingling with the familiar sensation of transformation. In an instant, she was no longer standing on the shore but flying toward him in her sleek raven form, her black feathers blending into the night sky.

Harry didn't notice her at first, too absorbed in the freedom of the flight. But when she landed gracefully on the handle of his broom, he startled, nearly dropping his grip. "What the—?" he exclaimed, steadying himself. His eyes widened as the raven tilted its head at him, an unmistakable glint of amusement in its sharp gaze.

"Daphne?" he asked, almost incredulously.

The raven cawed softly, its wings fluttering as if in confirmation.

Harry shook his head, half-laughing. "Of course, it's you."

Daphne stayed perched on his broom for a moment longer, enjoying the way he seemed both amused and exasperated by her antics. Then, with a sharp flap of her wings, she launched herself back toward the shore, transforming mid-flight and landing gracefully on her feet.

Harry followed her, descending with ease and landing his broom nearby. He dismounted and walked over, curiosity etched across his face. "You really do enjoy surprising people, don't you?"

Daphne smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "Only when it's worth the effort."

She gestured to the spot beside her on the grass. "Sit with me, Potter. It's too nice a sunset to waste flying around aimlessly."

For a moment, Harry hesitated, as though debating whether or not to trust her invitation. But something in her tone—calm, almost inviting—made him nod and take the spot beside her.

"Alright," he said, sitting down. "What's on your mind, Greengrass?"

Daphne turned her gaze back to the lake, her expression thoughtful. "More than you could imagine, Potter. But maybe… maybe you'll find out one day."

Harry shifted awkwardly on the grass, the cool air brushing against his face as he looked out at the lake. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but it was thick with unspoken thoughts. For once, Harry wasn't sure what to say. It was Daphne who finally broke the quiet.

"I need to tell you something," she said softly, her voice lacking its usual sharp edge.

Harry glanced at her, startled by the vulnerability in her tone. "Alright," he said cautiously. "What is it?"

Daphne kept her gaze fixed on the lake, her hands resting on her knees. "My parents…" She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. She hated how difficult this was, hated that she cared what he thought of her. But she pushed through it. "My parents were supporters of Voldemort."

Harry stiffened, his hand unconsciously gripping a patch of grass beneath him. She didn't look at him, but she could feel the tension radiating from him. She took a steadying breath and continued.

"They weren't Death Eaters," she clarified quickly, "but they funded them. Sent gold to his cause, to his followers. They believed it was the safest option—keeping their heads down and their pockets open. As long as they weren't directly involved, they thought they'd be safe." Her voice turned bitter, her hands clenching into fists. "Cowards. That's what they are. They didn't care about the cause, didn't believe in blood purity or any of that nonsense. They just didn't want to be on the losing side."

Harry didn't respond immediately, his mind racing. His first instinct was anger. How many families like the Greengrasses had contributed to the war from the shadows, avoiding Azkaban while others suffered? But as he glanced at Daphne, he saw something he hadn't expected—shame, and more than that, loathing. Not for him, but for her parents.

"And you?" he asked finally, his voice quiet but steady. "What do you believe?"

Daphne turned to look at him then, her icy mask cracking just enough to reveal the storm of emotions underneath. "I believe they're pathetic," she said bluntly. "Weak. Afraid. They bow to power because they're too spineless to stand on their own. I despise them for it. I have no interest in following in their footsteps or anyone else's for that matter. I'll carve my own path."

Harry stared at her, caught off guard by the raw honesty in her words. It was strange, seeing someone so polished and composed lay themselves bare like this. He didn't know what he had expected her to say, but it wasn't this.

"I… I wasn't sure if I should tell you," she admitted, her voice softer now. "I know you have every reason to hate people like them—like me. But I thought you should know."

Harry frowned, his thoughts conflicted. He should be angry. He wanted to be. But Daphne's disdain for her parents was so genuine, so palpable, that he couldn't bring himself to lump her in with them. If anything, she seemed to resent them as much as he did.

"They're not you," he said after a moment, his voice quiet. "You're not them."

Daphne blinked, her head tilting slightly as she studied him. "You really think that?"

Harry nodded. "I do. I mean, you don't sound anything like them. You're… different."

For the first time, she allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible smile. "I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

Harry chuckled softly, surprising even himself. "Well, don't get used to it."

The tension between them eased, and for a moment, they sat in silence again. But then Harry spoke, his tone more serious now. "You're not the only one with terrible parents."

Daphne turned to him, her expression curious but cautious. Harry didn't look at her as he spoke. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the lake, his voice steady but tinged with bitterness. "My aunt and uncle— the Dursleys—they're awful. They hate me. Always have. They kept me in a cupboard under the stairs until I was eleven. Made me do all the chores, treated me like I wasn't even human."

Daphne's eyes widened, and for once, she didn't know what to say. Harry glanced at her briefly before looking away again. "They never told me about magic, about my parents. They lied to me about how they died—said it was a car crash. They didn't want me to know who I was, what I was. Just… kept me small, kept me hidden."

Daphne's heart twisted at his words. She had always known Harry's upbringing must have been difficult—how could it not be, losing his parents so young?—but she hadn't imagined this.

"They're disgusting," she said finally, her voice cold and firm. "Worse than my parents."

Harry gave a small shrug, his expression unreadable. "Maybe. I don't know. They're just… people. Awful, petty people who'll never change."

Daphne hesitated, then reached out and placed a hand on his arm. It was a small gesture, but it felt significant. "You're better than them," she said quietly. "You're better than all of them."

Harry looked at her, startled by the sincerity in her voice. For a moment, he didn't know what to say. But then he nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks."

They sat in silence after that, the weight of their shared confessions settling around them. For the first time, Daphne felt like someone understood her—not just her ambitions, but the weight of the past she carried. And Harry, for the first time, felt like he wasn't entirely alone in his struggles.

Eventually, Daphne broke the silence, her tone lighter now. "So, Potter, do you always fly around aimlessly at night, or was tonight a special occasion?"

Harry laughed, the sound breaking through the heaviness of the moment. "Just trying to clear my head, I guess. Not all of us have secret animal forms to blow off steam."

Daphne smirked, her usual confidence returning. "Jealous?"

"Maybe a little," Harry admitted with a grin.

They stayed by the lake a while longer, talking about nothing and everything, the tension between them replaced by something quieter, something warmer. For the first time, Daphne thought that maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to do everything alone. And for Harry, the night felt a little less heavy, the shadows of his past a little less daunting.

Daphne glanced at Harry, her sharp eyes studying his profile as he leaned back on his hands, looking up at the stars. She still couldn't quite wrap her head around it—his unwavering willingness to treat her like an equal, like someone he could rely on. After a moment of silence, she couldn't hold back the question any longer.

"Why?" she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet night.

Harry turned his head, raising an eyebrow. "Why what?"

"Why did you want to be my friend?" she clarified, her tone as guarded as ever. "You barely know me. We talked once before this, and somehow, you just… decided I was worth trusting?" There was no hostility in her words, but there was a trace of incredulity, as though the concept itself baffled her.

Harry blinked, caught off guard by the question. He sat up straighter, running a hand through his hair as he considered how to respond. "I don't know if it's trust," he said honestly. "Not yet, anyway. But when we talked in that classroom… you didn't treat me like everyone else does. You weren't looking at me like 'The Boy Who Lived.' You didn't pity me, or try to use me for something." He shrugged. "You were honest. And that's rare."

Daphne snorted softly, shaking her head. "Honest? I think I was downright rude."

Harry smirked. "Maybe. But at least you didn't fake anything. You were just… you. And I respect that."

She studied him in silence, her expression unreadable. Part of her wanted to dismiss his answer as naïve, but another part—the part that had softened toward him over these past days—felt something unfamiliar. Something warm.

"You're too trusting, Potter," she said finally, her voice quieter now. "Most people would take advantage of that."

"Maybe, but call me Harry. " he admitted, meeting her gaze. "But I don't think you would."

Daphne's breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn't respond. The earnestness in his tone, the complete lack of hesitation—it was disarming.

"Harry…" she began, her voice softer than she'd intended. "I need you to understand something." She leaned forward slightly, her usually icy demeanor melting away to reveal the fierce determination beneath. "I would never betray you. Not for anything. Not for anyone."

Harry tilted his head, surprised by the intensity in her voice. "I believe you."

"You shouldn't," she said sharply, her tone regaining some of its edge. "Not until I prove it to you. Words don't mean anything unless they're backed up by action." Her eyes locked onto his, her expression unwavering. "But know this—I would sooner die than break your trust."

Harry was taken aback, his lips parting slightly as he processed her words. He could see it in her eyes, the sheer conviction that drove her. She wasn't just saying it to reassure him—she meant every word.

"I don't think anyone's ever said that to me before," he said quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "You need better friends, then."

He chuckled softly, but his gaze remained steady. "Maybe I do. But I think I'm off to a pretty good start."

Her lips curved into a small, wry smile. "You don't give up, do you?"

"Not usually," he admitted. "It's kind of my thing."

She shook her head, leaning back and letting out a quiet sigh. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're impossible," he countered with a grin.

For a moment, they simply sat there, the tension between them replaced by something warmer, something unspoken but undeniable. Daphne still wasn't sure if she deserved Harry's trust, but one thing was clear—she was determined to earn it. And Harry, for his part, couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, trusting her wasn't such a risk after all.