Chapter 3: Auras and Agreements

The Gryffindor common room had finally gone quiet. Harry, sitting near the fire with Ron and Hermione, had spent the last hour discussing Fluffy, the trapdoor, and Nicholas Flamel. They were close—so close—to figuring out what was hidden beneath the castle. But Harry's mind wasn't entirely in the conversation.

When Harry finally reached the door to the abandoned classroom, he hesitated. The room was dimly lit, and through the crack in the door, he could see a faint, flickering glow. With a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, the cloak still covering him.

The room was empty, save for a single lantern hovering in midair, casting soft light across the space. But as Harry stepped closer, he froze.

Daphne Greengrass was already there, standing in the center of the room. Her long black hair fell in intricate braids down her back, and her icy blue eyes seemed to pierce the shadows. Harry froze, his stomach twisting in confusion.

"You can drop the cloak, Potter," she said calmly, her voice cutting through the silence. "I know you're there."

Harry's grip on his wand tightened as he remained still. How could she possibly see him? Slowly, he pulled the cloak off, revealing himself.

"How did you know?" he asked sharply, his eyes narrowing.

Daphne's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "It's not the cloak I'm seeing. It's you."

"Me?"

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I don't know how to explain it, but I can see… something around you. Like a shimmer, almost. I saw it in the library the other night, too."

Harry frowned. "Why me?"

"I don't know," Daphne admitted, her smirk fading into a more serious expression. "It's never happened with anyone else. And before you ask, no—I didn't learn this from some book. It's just… there."

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. He wasn't sure whether to feel uneasy or intrigued. "Does it—does it mean something?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," she replied, crossing her arms. "And I haven't told anyone about it, either. So let's keep this between us, shall we?"

Harry nodded slowly, though his mind raced with questions.

"Now," Daphne said, gesturing to a desk where a familiar black book rested. "Let's get to why we're here. I have a few questions."

As they settled into the conversation, Harry felt himself growing more curious—and more cautious. Daphne was nothing like Malfoy or the other Slytherins he'd met. She was calm, composed, and sharp.

"You're really not going to explain how you opened that book?" he asked, nodding toward the black tome on the desk.

Daphne's lips twitched in amusement. "Not tonight. You'll have to earn that answer."

Harry scowled. "Fine. Then I'll ask something else. Why do you sit alone at your table? I never see you with anyone."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "I could ask the same about you," she said coolly. "You may sit with your Gryffindor friends, but you always look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Harry didn't respond to that. Instead, he asked, "Do you have any siblings?"

Daphne nodded. "A younger sister, Astoria. She's nine. Kind, sweet, and far too good for the family we come from."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked.

Daphne hesitated, then shrugged. "My family values strength, ambition, and control. Kindness isn't exactly encouraged. I've had to… adapt."

Harry frowned, unsure how to respond to that. Instead, he asked, "What's your favorite color?"

Daphne blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "Emerald green," she said after a moment. "And you?"

"Red," Harry said without hesitation.

"Of course," Daphne said, rolling her eyes but smiling faintly.

When it was her turn, Daphne's questions grew sharper, more personal.

Daphne tilted her head. "Why do you look like you've never worn clothes that fit?"

Harry's face burned. "I already answered that."

"You're wearing a jumper that looks like it belonged to a giant and trousers that are two sizes too big," she said bluntly. "You're the Boy Who Lived. You come from a respectable wizarding family. Shouldn't you—"

Harry's hands clenched. "I grew up with my aunt and uncle. They hate magic. They—" He stopped, realizing he was saying too much.

Daphne's eyes narrowed. "Go on."

"No," Harry said quickly. "It's nothing."

But Daphne wasn't letting it go. "What do you mean by what you said that night? That you won't be a victim again?"

Harry froze. He looked down at his hands, his throat tightening. He hadn't meant to let that slip.

"They locked me in a cupboard under the stairs," he said quietly, his voice shaking slightly. "For ten years. They told me I was a freak. I never got enough food. My cousin used me as a punching bag. He made sure no one ever talked to me at school. They hated me and I never did anything to them, I wish I would have though…"

Harry's voice trailed off, and he realized what he had just admitted. His face went rigid, and he refused to look at Daphne.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, to Harry's shock, Daphne stood, crossed the room, and hugged him.

It wasn't a tentative hug. It was fierce and warm, and it left Harry completely speechless.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper.

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't move, didn't breathe, until Daphne finally stepped back and looked at him. Her icy blue eyes weren't cold—they were full of something he couldn't quite name.

"Your turn," she said, her voice steady again.

Harry swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. "What's your favorite hobby?"

"Reading," Daphne said, as if nothing had happened. "Ancient runes, mostly."

"Why do you sit alone?"

"I already told you," she said. "I prefer it that way."

"That's not true," Harry said, surprising even himself.

Daphne's eyes narrowed, but she didn't respond.

"What's that book?" he asked, pointing to the black tome.

"It's personal," she said curtly.

Harry sighed. "Fine. Then tell me something else. Why did you want to meet me?"

Daphne hesitated. "Because you're not what I expected," she admitted.

"Expected how?"

"For someone who's supposed to be famous, you don't act like it. You don't even seem to care about it."

"I don't," Harry said firmly.

Harry's voice grew quieter with a fire in his eyes. "I want to stop the bad people who hurt others for no reason."

Daphne studied him carefully, something deep down in her felt a pull to him wanting to cross that space again.

The conversation eventually turned to magic itself.

"Will you teach me how to become an Animagus?" Harry asked.

Daphne raised an eyebrow and clicked her tongue. "Do you have any idea how difficult that is?"

"I don't care," Harry said. "I'll do whatever it takes."

Daphne considered him for a moment. "Fine. I'll teach you. But you have to teach me something in return."

"Like what?"

"Dueling," Daphne said. "And any spells you learn that I don't know yet."

Harry nodded. "Deal."

As they stood to leave, Harry hesitated. "Daphne?"

"Yes?"

"Can we… be friends?"

Daphne's eyes narrowed, and her expression seemed uneasy.

"I don't mean anything by it," Harry said quickly. "I just—I've never really had friends before Hogwarts. And from what I've learned today I want to be friends you.

Daphne stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. "Fine," she said. "But only as equals. I'm not some princess that needs you to rescue her."

Harry smiled. "Agreed."

"Meet me back here Saturday night at the same time. And Harry you have homework you need to find your purpose. Good night my comrade Harry." Daphne gave Harry a smile as she left the room.

"Goodnight, comrade Daphne," Harry replied.

As he left the classroom, Harry couldn't help but feel that something significant had just shifted in his life