Chapter 1: I've Got Time

The pub was the kind of place where no one asked questions. Dim lighting, an old wooden bar, and a steady hum of conversation created a space where people could disappear into their drinks. That was exactly what Harry needed.

He sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey, absently tracing a finger along the rim of the glass. The ice had mostly melted, watering down the burn, but he barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere—on Ginny, on her words, on the hollow ache in his chest that he was trying and failing to drown.

You don't even try, Harry.

Maybe she was right.

He downed the rest of his drink and signaled for another. The bartender didn't say a word, just poured. The second glass went down easier. So did the third.

By the time the bar started filling up, the noise pressing in around him, Harry felt the buzz settling in—warm, dulling. He grabbed his drink and moved to a booth in the back, where the light was lower, the voices more of a distant hum.

For a while, he just sat there, watching condensation slide down the glass, his thoughts tangled in the past.

By the time he finished the whiskey, he was ready for another. With a sigh, he shifted to stand—

And then someone slid into the seat across from him, placing two drinks on the table.

"Figured you'd need another," the woman said, pushing one toward him.

Harry blinked. Blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, and a confident smirk.

"Daphne Greengrass?" he said before he could stop himself.

Her smirk deepened. "Oh, good. I was worried you'd forgotten me completely."

Harry frowned, caught off guard. He hadn't spoken to her at Hogwarts—not really. She'd been a name, a face in Slytherin, someone in the background of a life that felt a world away now.

"What are you doing here?" he asked warily.

She picked up her glass, swirling the liquid inside. "Drinking, trying to forget. Same as you."

Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Right."

Daphne leaned back, watching him. "You looked like you could use some company."

He eyed the drink she'd brought him, then her. "And you just assumed I'd take a drink from a Slytherin?"

She rolled her eyes. "If I wanted to poison you, Potter, I'd be more subtle about it."

That startled a short laugh out of him, and for the first time that night, he felt something other than numbness.

Daphne tilted her head, studying him. "So, are we drinking in silence, or are you going to tell me what has you drowning yourself in whiskey on a Friday night?"

Harry glanced down at his glass, then back at her. He didn't know why, but for some reason, he found himself saying, "Might be a long story."

Daphne shrugged, raising her glass. "I've got time."

The conversation drifted from their pasts, memories of the war and the lives they had lost. The weight of it hung in the air between them, unspoken yet heavy.

"It's strange," Daphne said, swirling the drink in her hand, eyes distant. "Everything's different now. Hogwarts feels like another lifetime."

Harry nodded, staring down at his glass. "I can't help but feel like I'm stuck in that lifetime."

Daphne's gaze softened as she looked at him. "You're not the only one."

He gave her a wry smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, well. It's been a year since I—since Ginny and I broke up."

She raised an eyebrow, leaning in. "A year? I thought you two were… well, solid."

He shook his head. "We were. Or at least, I thought we were." Harry's voice trailed off as the memory of her words came rushing back. "She said I don't try anymore. That I don't care about anything. She said she couldn't be with someone who didn't fight for what they wanted."

Daphne's lips curled in disgust. "That's harsh. What else did she say?"

Harry took a deep breath, leaning back in his seat as if trying to distance himself from the words. "She said I was so consumed with everything from the war that I couldn't be present in the relationship. That I didn't even notice her anymore. She was right… but it didn't make it easier to hear."

Daphne's expression shifted, her eyes darkening with anger. "That's… that's cruel. After everything you've been through, she… she says that?"

Harry chuckled bitterly. "Yeah. And then she said I'd never be able to love her the way she needed. That I was too damaged, too broken."

Daphne's voice was tight with fury. "That's ridiculous. I mean, who the hell does she think she is, to judge you like that?"

Harry looked at her, surprised by the intensity in her voice. "I don't know. I thought maybe I deserved it… maybe she was right."

"No," Daphne snapped, leaning forward. "She was wrong. Fuck what she thinks. You've been through hell, Harry. You're allowed to be messed up. You're allowed to be lost. But that doesn't mean you're incapable of love, or of being loved."

Her words hit him harder than he expected. He swallowed, trying to keep his composure. "Thanks."

Daphne just shook her head, her expression softening. "I'm serious. That kind of treatment is uncalled for. I have half a mind to hex her if I ever see her. That's just fucked up."

Harry stared into his glass, swirling the last of the whiskey. He felt a strange warmth in his chest, something he hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the unexpected kindness in her words.

"I didn't know who else to talk to about it," he admitted quietly.

"I get it," she said. "Sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger than to people who've known you for years."

They fell into a comfortable silence, the noise of the bar continuing around them. Harry felt like a weight had been lifted, just a little. He didn't feel as heavy, not as alone.

Daphne shook her head, still fuming. "I can't believe her. After everything you've been through… she acts like you're supposed to just move on like none of it happened? Like you're supposed to be the same person you were before?"

Harry let out a long breath. "I don't know. Maybe she was right. Maybe I don't know how to move forward."

Daphne studied him for a moment, then looked down at her drink, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass. "You're not the only one who feels that way."

Harry glanced up, curiosity flickering through the haze of alcohol and exhaustion. "Yeah?"

She nodded slowly. "The war… that night at Hogwarts… it changed everything. I've never felt more powerless than I did that night." She hesitated, then let out a slow breath. "I fought in the battle, you know. I didn't have a choice."

Harry's brow furrowed. "I thought Slytherins left."

"Most of them did," she admitted. "My sister and I were about to, but then… I saw what was happening. The Carrows had spent the whole year teaching us to obey, to fall in line, and I hated them for it. I knew if I left, I'd be running for the rest of my life. I made sure my sister got to safety, that her and my parents fled the country. And I stayed… I fought."

She exhaled sharply, swirling the liquid in her glass before continuing. "I fought alongside people who probably assumed I was on the other side. But I didn't care. I wasn't going to let those bastards win."

Harry listened in silence, his mind painting the scene in vivid detail. He had never thought much about what the battle had been like for people outside his immediate circle.

Daphne's voice grew quieter. "When Hagrid carried you out of the forest… I thought it was over. I thought we'd lost." She met his gaze, her expression dark. "I was terrified, Harry. Not just for myself, but for everyone. I thought I was going to die. I would never bow to Voldemort. I'd rather have let him kill me than serve him."

Harry swallowed, watching her carefully. There was something raw in her words, a vulnerability he hadn't expected.

"I remember standing there, waiting for him to give the order," Daphne continued. "I was gripping my wand, trying to think of how to take as many of them down with me as I could. And then… then you came back ."

A ghost of a smile crossed Harry's lips. "Yeah… I honestly still don't really know how to explain the whole I died but I didn't die thing yet."

Daphne's eyebrows shot up. "I'm sorry, what?"

Harry hesitated. He had never really spoken about this outside of a few close friends, and even then, he had never found the right words. But something about Daphne's presence—her honesty, her anger at the same war that had nearly destroyed him—made him feel like he could share it.

"I let Voldemort kill me," he admitted. "Or, at least, I thought I did. I walked into the forest, knowing I wasn't coming back. But when he hit me with the Killing Curse, I woke up somewhere else. King's Cross Station—except it wasn't really King's Cross, it was a bright white."

Daphne stared at him, speechless.

"I saw Dumbledore there," Harry continued, his voice distant as he relived the memory. "He explained everything—the Horcrux in me, why I had to die to get rid of it. I even saw a piece of Voldemort's soul, this… shriveled, broken thing. It was trapped there, dying, but not quite gone."

Daphne's mouth parted slightly, but no words came.

"I had a choice," Harry said quietly. "I could have moved on, left everything behind. But I couldn't do it. Not when there were still people fighting for me, for each other."

Daphne let out a slow breath. "So… you chose to come back."

He nodded. "Yeah."

She shook her head in disbelief. "I always wondered how you survived that. The Killing Curse is… well, it's not something people survive."

"I got lucky," Harry said, though he wasn't sure if that was the right word for it.

Daphne let out a dry laugh. "That's one way to put it."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of their shared past hung between them, unspoken but understood. Then Daphne lifted her glass slightly.

"To surviving," she said.

Harry met her gaze, then lifted his own glass. "To moving forward."

Their glasses clinked softly, and for the first time in a long time, Harry felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn't as lost as he thought.

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he downed yet another drink. "You know, I thought life after the war would be simple. That I'd just… fit into this world, finally. But instead, I feel like I don't belong anywhere."

Daphne, who had been sipping her drink, glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

Harry sighed, staring into his glass. "I guess I never really belonged anywhere to begin with."

Daphne frowned. "What about before Hogwarts?"

Harry let out a short, humorless laugh. "Before Hogwarts?" He ran a hand through his hair. "That was worse."

Daphne's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He hesitated, the alcohol lowering his guard enough for the words to slip out. "I lived with my relatives—the Dursleys. My aunt, uncle, and cousin."

Daphne tilted her head. "I've never heard of them."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, well, they weren't exactly proud of me. They hated magic. Hated me. Did everything they could to pretend I didn't exist."

Daphne's expression darkened slightly. "That's awful."

Harry shrugged, taking another sip of whiskey. "That's just how it was. I slept in a cupboard under the stairs until I turned eleven. They barely fed me, treated me like I was some… freak. Like I was a burden just for being alive."

Daphne's fingers tightened around her glass. "Harry…"

He chuckled again, though there was no humor in it. "They never hit me, if that's what you're wondering. Didn't have to. They let my cousin do all that for them." He swirled the whiskey in his glass. "And the worst part? I thought that was normal. I thought that's what I deserved."

Daphne inhaled sharply, something twisting painfully in her chest. Without thinking, she reached across the table and took his hand, squeezing it briefly before pulling away.

Harry blinked, looking up at her, but she didn't say anything right away. She just shook her head slightly, as if she didn't trust herself to speak.

"That's not normal," she finally murmured. "That's not okay."

Harry shrugged again, a little more sluggishly this time. "Didn't know any better. Then Hagrid showed up and told me I was a wizard, and suddenly… everything changed." He let out another breath, his words starting to slur together. "Only it didn't really, did it? Even after I left them, there was always someone telling me who I had to be, what I had to do. And now that it's over, I don't even know who I am."

Daphne's chest ached as she watched him. "Harry…"

He waved a hand dismissively, his coordination slipping. "It's 'fine. I'm fine."

The moment hang there as Harry downed the last of his whiskey. The liquid no longer burning as he swallowed. He looked up and saw the pained look in her eyes.

"Really" *hiccup* "I'm fine. S'fine…." Harry stammered as he felt the liquor seeming hit him all at once.

Daphne's lips pressed into a thin line. "No, you're not."

Harry huffed, his head tipping slightly to the side as he looked at her. "You know… you're… nice."

Daphne arched an amused brow, despite the sadness still lingering between them. "Is that so?"

"Mhm," Harry nodded, then frowned. "S'weird. Didn't think you'd be nice."

Daphne smirked, shaking her head. "Well, you're drunk, Potter."

Daphne rolled her eyes as she steadied Harry, his weight leaning slightly against her as they stood up from the booth.

"You're nice," Harry mumbled again, his words slurring together.

Daphne smirked. "You've mentioned that."

Harry squinted at her as if focusing took immense effort. Then, with a lopsided grin, he leaned in slightly. "Y'know, you're… really pretty."

Daphne arched a brow. "Oh?"

Harry nodded—or at least, he tried to. His head bobbed a little too much. "S'not fair, really."

Daphne chuckled. "What's not fair?"

Harry waved a hand vaguely in her direction. "That you… get to be all beautiful and mysterious. And I'm just… me."

Daphne bit her lip to stifle a laugh. "Harry, you're very drunk."

Harry blinked at her, then grinned. "D'you think I'm handsome?"

Daphne snorted. "You really are terrible at this."

Harry gasped, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. "I'll have you know, I'm very… uhh what's the word? Oh Charming. I'm very charming."

Daphne laughed outright at that. "Oh, absolutely."

Harry squinted at her again, like he was trying to determine whether or not she was mocking him. Then, in what he must have thought was a suave move, he pointed at her with a sloppy smirk.

"You should… gimme your number."

Daphne blinked. "My what?"

Harry frowned. "Wait. No. Wrong world." He swayed slightly, and Daphne caught his arm before he could tip over.

"Alright, Romeo," she said, amused. "Let's get you out of here before you embarrass yourself further."

Harry grinned at her. "Too late."

Daphne shook her head but couldn't stop herself from smiling. "Merlin help me."

With a steadying breath, she tightened her grip on him walking out the side exit out into an alley, and apparated them away.

Screams filled the air. Not the chaos of battle—this was something worse.

Harry stood frozen, his wand useless in his hand. Shadows twisted around him, forming scenes he knew too well.

A woman's voice—desperate, pleading.

"Not Harry, please! Not my son!"

Green light flashed. Lily Potter collapsed, lifeless.

Harry tried to move, to reach for her, but the shadows shifted.

A graveyard. Cedric Diggory, wide-eyed, confused.

"Wands out, d'you reckon?"

Another flash of green.

"No!" Harry shouted, but the scene was already fading.

A veil. A man falling backward, his expression unreadable.

"SIRIUS!"

Then—Remus, his hand outstretched, as if reaching for something. His body crumpled before it could.

Beside him, Tonks fell.

Fred's laughter echoed—then cut off.

Dumbledore plummeted from the Astronomy Tower, robes billowing.

Hedwig's wings flared mid-flight, then she was falling, limp and lifeless.

Everywhere Harry turned, someone else he loved was dying. And he couldn't stop it. He never could.

A voice slithered through the darkness, taunting.

"It is your fault, Harry Potter."

Harry's chest tightened, his breathing shallow. He clutched his head.

"No…"

The voice laughed cruelly.

"You let them die."

"No!"

A hand touched his shoulder.

"Harry."

The nightmare flickered.

Another voice—softer, steadier.

"I'm here."

The shadows cracked.

"You're safe."

Harry woke with a sharp gasp, his pulse hammering in his ears. His fingers instinctively closed around his wand, his body tensed for a fight.

Where—?

His vision darted wildly, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The couch beneath him. The soft light filtering through the curtains. A table with two cups of coffee.

Not Grimmauld Place. Not the Burrow. Not—

A voice.

"Harry."

He flinched, turning sharply—only to see Daphne sitting nearby, watching him with careful eyes.

"Hey," she said gently. "You're okay."

His breathing was still uneven, his mind catching up with reality. The nightmare clung to him like a second skin.

Daphne didn't move too quickly, didn't crowd him. She simply sat there, waiting, steady and calm.

After a moment, Harry let out a slow breath, unclenching his grip on his wand. His hands were shaking.

"…Sorry," he muttered hoarsely, rubbing his face. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Daphne arched a brow. "You didn't."

Harry frowned.

"It's mid-morning," she clarified. "I've been up for a while."

That threw him. He'd expected it to still be dark.

Daphne stood briefly, grabbing one of the coffee cups before handing it to him. "Here. It helps."

Harry took it, the warmth grounding him slightly. He stared down into the dark liquid, his thoughts still tangled.

After a moment, Daphne spoke again. "Do you always have nightmares like that?"

Harry hesitated, but there was no judgment in her tone. Just quiet curiosity.

"…Yeah."

Daphne studied him, then nodded.

Harry exhaled and, after a beat, glanced up at her. "Do you?"

She looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, finally, she murmured, "Yeah."

Daphne let the silence settle between them for a moment before asking, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry's fingers tightened slightly around his coffee cup. He didn't look at her. "No," he said simply.

She didn't push.

Instead, she took a sip of her own coffee and leaned back in her chair. "Alright."

Another beat of quiet, but this time it didn't feel tense. Just… easy.

Harry, wanting to steer the conversation somewhere else, glanced at her. "So… do you always take in strays from the pub?"

Daphne smirked. "Only the particularly tragic ones. Also helped that this one had messy hair and striking green eyes."

Harry let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Brilliant."

She shrugged. "You looked like you needed a drink and some company. And, well, I was right."

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was no bite behind it. "I'm sure you love being right."

"You have no idea."

He huffed, taking another sip of coffee before deciding to turn the tables. "Alright, since I apparently spilled my entire tragic life story last night—tell me something about you."

Daphne tilted her head, considering. "What do you want to know?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Did you have a favorite thing at Hogwarts?"

That caught her off guard. Then, to his surprise, a small smile tugged at her lips. "Flying," she admitted. "I love it."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

She nodded. "There's nothing like it. Just you and the sky, no weight pulling you down. It's… freeing."

Harry found himself watching her, noticing the way her expression softened when she talked about it. He hadn't expected that.

"You ever play Quidditch?" he asked.

Daphne shook her head. "Not seriously. I flew for fun, not for competition. Slytherin already had Montague and Vaisey for Chasers, and I had no interest in fighting them for a spot."

Harry smirked. "Probably for the best. You lot were ruthless."

Daphne scoffed. "You Gryffindors weren't much better."

Harry chuckled, but then another question crossed his mind. "What do you do now?"

Daphne took another sip of coffee. "I'm a healer. I work at St. Mungo's."

Harry blinked. "You're a healer?"

She gave him an amused look. "You sound surprised."

"I just… didn't expect that," he admitted. But now that he thought about it, it made sense. She'd always been clever in school, quiet but sharp.

"Well, someone has to patch up all the idiots who get themselves hexed," she said dryly.

Harry snorted. "Sounds like an exhausting job."

Daphne smirked. "You have no idea."

He studied her for a moment. "Do you like it?"

She nodded. "Yeah. It's challenging, but I like helping people. And it keeps me busy."

Harry leaned back into the couch, sipping on his coffee as Daphne continued talking about her job. They sat and chatted for awhile, Daphne leading the conversation happy to talk about what she has been up to.

Gods, how does she look even more gorgeous in her pajamas. Harry thought taking a sip of coffee.

After finishing their coffee, Daphne leaned back in her chair, eyeing Harry with mild scrutiny. "Alright, Potter. You need actual food. Come on."

Harry arched a brow. "Ordering me around already?"

She smirked. "If I leave you to your own devices, you'll probably just go back to brooding in another bar."

Harry let out a short laugh but didn't argue. "Fair point."

They ended up at a small, cozy Muggle restaurant not far from Daphne's flat. It had a rustic charm—warm lighting, scuffed wooden floors, and the faint scent of fresh bread in the air. It was the kind of place that felt familiar, the kind of place you'd return to without thinking twice.

Once they ordered, Harry leaned forward slightly. "I remember you had a younger sister—Astoria, right?"

Daphne blinked, surprised he remembered. "Yeah. She's two years younger than me."

"What's she up to these days?"

"She stayed in France," Daphne said, idly tracing the rim of her glass. "She liked it there more than I did. She's studying magical art restoration."

Harry tilted his head. "That's a thing?"

Daphne smirked. "Of course. Magical paintings, enchanted sculptures, old spellwork in historical buildings—it all needs upkeep. Some of it requires careful reversal, especially if older charms start breaking down."

Harry thought about the moving paintings at Hogwarts, how some had that odd flickering quality when they aged. "That actually makes a lot of sense."

"She's good at it," Daphne said with a small smile. "Always had an eye for detail."

Harry watched her for a moment before shifting the conversation. "And France? What was that like?"

Daphne exhaled, glancing toward the window as if seeing something far away. "Beautiful. Different. It was a good escape at the time. I needed to get away from… everything." She paused, then added, "But I never felt like I truly belonged there. I always knew I'd come back."

Harry nodded slowly. "I've never traveled."

Daphne turned back to him sharply. "What?"

Harry shrugged, as if it was nothing. "Never had the chance."

Daphne looked scandalized. "You've never been anywhere?"

"Nope."

She shook her head in disbelief. "That's unacceptable."

Harry smirked. "Didn't realize it was a crime."

"It should be," she said, almost indignantly. "The world is massive, Potter. You should see some of it."

Harry chuckled. "Alright, where would you go first?"

Daphne rested her chin on her hand, thinking. "Greece, maybe. I'd love to see the ancient magical ruins. Or Japan—there's a village in the mountains where they still practice magic the way it was done centuries ago."

"That sounds incredible."

"It is," she said, her eyes lighting up. "There's so much out there. And you?"

Harry hesitated, caught off guard. "I… don't know."

Daphne frowned slightly. "You've really never thought about it?"

Harry shook his head. "Traveling seemed like something other people did. The Dursleys never took me anywhere. Then it was Hogwarts, then the war… never really had the time. I honestly was just trying to survive."

Daphne studied him for a moment before saying, "Well, you should think about it."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "You always this pushy?"

"Yes."

Their food arrived, and the conversation shifted to something lighter.

"What's your favorite color?" Harry asked, spearing a piece of his food with his fork.

Daphne took a sip of her drink. "Green."

Harry grinned. "Of course it is."

She rolled her eyes. "And yours?"

"Red."

Daphne smirked. "Typical Gryffindor."

Harry chuckled. "Alright, favorite season?"

"Autumn," she answered without hesitation. "There's something about the crisp air, the colors changing… it feels like a fresh start."

Harry considered that. "I like winter."

Daphne tilted her head. "Really? I didn't expect that."

He shrugged. "I like the snow. And how quiet everything gets when it falls. It's… peaceful."

Daphne studied him for a second before smiling slightly. "I get that. There's something about the way the world slows down under fresh snow."

Harry nodded, pleased that she understood.

She smirked. "Also, you always did look handsome with snow in your hair."

Harry blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Daphne took a bite of her food, looking entirely too satisfied with herself. "You heard me."

Harry shook his head, but he could feel his ears turning red.

She let him flounder for a moment before smoothly changing the subject. "Dogs or cats?"

Harry hesitated. "I guess I don't have a strong preference."

Daphne arched her brow. "How can you be neutral on something like that?"

Harry shifted in his seat. "Had a bad experience with my aunt Marge's dog when I was a kid. Ripper. Nasty little thing." He scoffed. "She used to set him on me for fun."

Daphne's easy demeanor faltered, her expression darkening. "She did what?"

Harry waved a hand. "It's nothing."

"No, it's not." Daphne's voice was calm, but there was a sharpness to it. "That's not normal, Harry."

He blinked, a little thrown by how serious she looked. "I mean… yeah, but it's not like it matters anymore."

Daphne exhaled, shaking her head slightly. "People in your life should protect you, not—" She huffed, frustrated. "That's awful."

Harry shrugged, looking down at his plate. "It was what it was."

Daphne was quiet for a moment before she said, more softly, "That's a terrible way to grow up."

Harry, caught off guard by her sincerity, felt a sudden heat rise to his face. He wasn't used to people reacting like this.

Daphne seemed to realize she was making him uncomfortable, so she let it go—at least for now. Instead, she smirked. "Well, for the record, I'm definitely a dog person. I've always wanted a German Shepherd."

Harry cleared his throat, grateful for the change in topic. "Good choice."

She grinned. "See? I knew you had good taste."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. The conversation moved on, but the warmth of Daphne's concern—and her unexpected flirtation—lingered in the back of his mind, refusing to fade.

For the first time in a long time, he felt like someone actually saw him.

As they stepped out of the restaurant, the crisp evening air met them, carrying the distant hum of city life. Neither seemed eager to part, but Daphne glanced at her watch and sighed.

"I should probably head back," she said, stretching slightly. "Early shift tomorrow."

Harry nodded, shifting on his feet. He wasn't sure why, but the idea of just walking away didn't sit right with him. He hesitated before finally asking, "Would it be alright if I wrote to you?"

Daphne stopped mid-step, turning to him with an amused smirk. "Potter, do you often send magical owls to unsuspecting people in the middle of Muggle London?"

Harry rolled his eyes, exhaling a small laugh. "Could you not call me 'Potter'?"

Daphne arched her brow. "Why? It suits you."

Harry huffed. "It makes me feel like I'm back at Hogwarts, about to get hexed."

She grinned. "Fair enough. Harry, then."

"Thank you," he said with mock exasperation.

Daphne tilted her head, pretending to consider something. "Tell you what, instead of writing, let's do something even more shocking."

Harry raised a brow. "Oh?"

"You could just see me again next Friday night."

Harry blinked, caught off guard. His brain short-circuited for a moment before he blurted, "Like… a date?"

Daphne's smirk widened as she stepped a little closer, just enough to make his pulse tick up a notch. "Of course," she said, her voice light with mischief. "A pure-blood witch like me must be properly courted, Harry. Surely you know that."

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it, feeling heat creep up his neck. "I—uh—"

Daphne chuckled, clearly enjoying his flustered reaction. "Relax, I'm just messing with you." She leaned in slightly, her voice softer but still teasing. "Or am I?"

Harry let out a breath, shaking his head with a grin. "You are impossible."

"And yet, you're agreeing to see me next Friday."

He met her gaze, a genuine smile pulling at his lips. "Yeah. I am."

Daphne looked pleased with herself as she took a step back. "Good. I'd hate to think I wasted my time drinking with you."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

She winked. "See you, Harry."

With that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Harry standing there with a bemused smile.

Maybe, just maybe, things were starting to change.