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The familiar stone walls of Hogwarts glowed softly in the September afternoon light as Harry made his way through the corridors, feeling the weight of his eighth year settle around him. Coming back to Hogwarts after the war, after the chaos of Voldemort’s defeat, was both surreal and comforting. The castle had been repaired, its halls bustling once again with laughter and the sounds of classes resuming. Most people either gave him wide, respectful nods or muttered words of thanks, but for the most part, they were content to leave him alone. That suited Harry just fine. After a summer filled with public appearances and barely-contained grief, he was ready for a quiet year.
But that quietness was interrupted one afternoon as he wandered into the Great Hall, planning to grab a quick bite before heading to the library. Waiting at one of the tables was a familiar face—though not one he’d ever really spoken to much before. Daphne Greengrass, the serene, blonde Slytherin with the pale blue eyes, sat at the edge of the Gryffindor table with a modest basket in front of her waiting for him. She looked up as he entered, her face lighting up with an uncertain but genuine smile.
"Harry Potter" she greeted, her voice soft and almost hesitant.
Harry blinked, a little taken aback. They’d barely exchanged two words in the six years they’d been in the same classes. He remembered her only vaguely as one of the quieter Slytherins, not as outspoken as Parkinson in his firts years or arrogant like Malfoy had been. But she was undeniably beautiful, with her blonde hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and her blue eyes bright with… was that excitement?
"Er, hi, Greengrass” Harry replied, his tone friendly but cautious.
“Daphne” she corrected quickly, then laughed a little at herself. “Sorry, I suppose that’s odd to say after all these years”
"No, no, it's alright” Harry said, surprised at how her laugh seemed to ease the tension between them. "Uh, Daphne, then, and please call me Harry"
She looked down at the basket, clearly nervous, and then up at him with a glimmer of determination. “I made you something” she announced, lifting the basket a little as though to present it. “As a… well, as a thank you. You know, for… everything you did”
Before he could say anything, she opened the lid, revealing a carefully packed lunch. There were small sandwiches, a couple of tarts, and a neatly sliced apple, all arranged with surprising precision.
“Oh” Harry said, taken aback by the gesture. “You… made this? For me?”
Daphne nodded, her cheeks tinged pink. “Yes! I thought, you know, that maybe you’d like it? I read somewhere that food’s a good way to… well, to show gratitude”
Harry gave her a warm smile, touched by the gesture and charmed by her slightly awkward demeanor. “Thanks, Daphne. That’s really thoughtful of you”
She smiled, visibly relieved, and watched with eager eyes as he picked up one of the sandwiches. He studied it for a moment—neatly cut, with something that looked like cucumber and cream cheese between the slices. It seemed simple enough, and he hadn’t eaten much that day, so he took a big bite.
The taste hit him first—unexpectedly spicy and tangy. Then his stomach lurched. A wave of nausea washed over him, and a strange dizziness crept in. He opened his mouth to speak, but his vision began to blur. Darkness closed in around him as he heard Daphne’s worried voice calling his name from somewhere far away.
...
...
...
When Harry finally came to, he was lying in a stark, white bed, the familiar smells of the hospital wing filling his senses. A dull headache pulsed in his temples, and his stomach still felt a bit queasy. Blinking a few times, he tried to sit up, only to find his hand grasped tightly by someone next to him.
“Harry! You’re awake!” Daphne’s voice was filled with relief, but her face was a deep shade of red, eyes avoiding his as she held his hand.
“Daphne?” Harry croaked, his throat dry. “What… what happened?”
Daphne looked down at her lap, biting her lip before answering. “You… well… you were unconscious for about four hours” she admitted, clearly embarrassed.
“Madam Pomfrey said it was, um, food poisoning” She winced at the word. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I just… I really thought I could make something nice for you”
It took him a moment to fully process what she was saying, but then he remembered the sandwiches, the strange taste, and her hopeful face as she watched him take that ill-fated bite. He gave a weak chuckle, which quickly turned into a cough.
“I didn’t realize food could be… that powerful” he said, trying to make light of it, though his stomach still churned a bit.
Daphne’s eyes widened with mortification. “I know, it’s just—ugh! I read in Witch Weekly that food is supposed to be a good way to get close to… to someone’s heart. So I thought I’d try it, even though… I’ve never actually cooked before” She let out a defeated sigh. “I thought it would be easy. I mean, the house-elves at home always make it look simple enough”
This time, Harry couldn’t help but laugh, despite the slight pain it caused in his ribs. “It’s not as easy as it looks. It takes practice” Daphne laughed, though her voice was tinged with self-deprecation. She seemed to relax, her shoulders dropping a bit as her gaze softened.
“So… do you forgive me, then?” she asked, her eyes hopeful.
“Of course I do” Harry said. “Everyone has to start somewhere, right?”
Her face broke into a smile, bright and beautiful. For a moment, Harry found himself distracted by the way her eyes sparkled, the way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled—a side of Daphne Greengrass he’d never expected to see.
“Then…” she said thoughtfully, a mischievous glint appearing in her eyes, “I suppose I’ll just have to keep practicing. And since you’re so forgiving, you’ll be my official taste tester until I get it right!”
Before he could protest, she squeezed his hand once and got to her feet, flashing him a triumphant smile. “No getting out of it now, Potter. You’re stuck with me. And I will learn how to cook”
She winked, and before he could respond, she had spun on her heel and was making her way out of the hospital wing. Harry watched her go, a bemused smile on his face, feeling both bewildered and amused. He lay back against the pillows, imagining the meals to come with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.
For the first time since the end of the war, he felt a flash of excitement, a strange sort of excitement that had nothing to do with magic or battles, but something simpler, sweeter: a new connection forming, like a tentative spark in the midst of his otherwise quiet life.
At least this year instead of a bald guy, his life being endangered by a very pretty blonde, it was an improvement certainly and if Daphne Greengrass was determined to worm her way into his heart, he found himself surprisingly eager to see how it would all play out.
The stone corridors of Hogwarts were quiet, bathed in the soft light of torches and the amber glow of the setting sun. Harry strolled along, his hair still damp from the shower he’d taken after Quidditch practice, his muscles pleasantly sore from a vigorous training session. Dressed in casual robes, he relished the moment of peace as he made his way back to the Gryffindor common room.
That peace, however, didn’t last long.
“Harry!”
He turned to see Daphne Greengrass emerging from an adjacent corridor, her blonde hair gleaming and her pale blue eyes alight with excitement. In her hands was a small, neatly wrapped bento box tied with a cheerful green ribbon. She looked uncharacteristically pleased with herself, her posture straight and confident as she approached him.
Harry fought the instinct to groan—not out of dread, but more out of a growing sense of cautious anticipation. His stomach gave a nervous flip. He had barely recovered from her last culinary adventure, though the thought of her determined smile made him soften.
“Daphne” he greeted, offering her a lopsided grin. “What’s this, then?”
“I’ve brought you something” she said with a flourish, holding the bento up as if it were a trophy. “A post-training meal. I remembered that athletes need proper nutrition after exercise, so I made you something extra special”
Harry raised an eyebrow, glancing at the box. It was smaller and more polished than her previous attempt, and her confidence this time made him slightly more optimistic. “You’re really sticking with this, aren’t you?”
“Of course” she said, as if the answer were obvious. “You’re my official taster, remember? And I’m not giving up until I’m the best cook in this castle. Come on” She grabbed his arm with surprising decisiveness and led him toward a nearby table near the base of the stairs leading to the Divination Tower.
The spot was secluded, quiet except for the faint hum of student chatter echoing from distant corridors. She set the bento down with a dramatic flair, unwrapping the ribbon and lifting the lid to reveal her latest creation.
Inside was a rice salad with roasted chicken, asparagus, and corn, all arranged in neat sections. A small container of dressing was tucked to the side. On the surface, it looked surprisingly presentable—except for one glaring detail.
The rice was black.
So was the chicken.
Harry stared at it for a moment, then at Daphne, whose smile radiated pure pride. “It’s… charred” he said cautiously, pointing to the burnt edges of the chicken and the rice grains that looked more like coal.
“It’s perfectly fine” Daphne said, waving off his concern. “I used the Incendio spell. Very efficient. Did you know that cooking chicken at 180 degrees for 12 minutes is completely unnecessary when you can just blast it at 360 degrees for six minutes? Twice as fast. Genius, isn’t it?”
Harry bit back a laugh, both amused and horrified by her logic. “Daphne” he began, picking up his fork and prodding at the chicken experimentally, “cooking doesn’t really work like that. It’s more like making a potion—there’s a process. You can’t rush it, or it doesn’t come out right”
She blinked at him, her confident expression faltering just a little. “Like a potion?” she repeated, her cheeks beginning to flush. “I suppose that makes sense, but… well, the house-elves never seem to have trouble with time. I thought I’d just, you know, speed things up”
Harry speared a piece of chicken, noting how blackened it was on the outside and how suspiciously pink it remained in the center. He steeled himself and took a small bite. The charred flavor was overpowering, but there was an unmistakable improvement—if you ignored the burnt bits, it was edible.
“Well” he said, swallowing quickly and reaching for the rice salad. “It’s… definitely better than last time”
“Really?” Daphne’s face lit up. “You’re not just saying that?”
“No, I mean it” Harry said, giving her a reassuring smile. “But I think you might want to stick to more traditional methods for cooking. It’s not about speed; it’s about precision. Like I said, it’s like a potion. The right temperatures and timing are just as important as the ingredients”
Daphne sat back, folding her arms and looking thoughtful. “I suppose you’re right” she admitted, her cheeks still pink. “I just wanted to impress you, that’s all”
“You don’t have to set your food on fire to impress me” Harry said with a laugh. “Honestly, I’m already impressed by how determined you are. Most people would’ve given up after the first trip to the hospital wing”
That earned him a shy smile. “I don’t give up easily” she said softly. “And don’t worry—I’ll get it right next time. I promise you’ll be amazed”
Harry chuckled, taking a cautious bite of the rice. The dressing wasn’t bad, though the burnt rice added an unfortunate crunch. Still, he appreciated her effort—and the fact that he wouldn’t be spending the night in the hospital wing this time.
As Daphne packed up the remains of the bento, she glanced at him with renewed determination. “I’ll surprise you next time” she said firmly. “And it’ll be perfect”
Harry smiled, watching her walk away with the empty box tucked under her arm, her blonde hair swaying behind her. Despite the questionable meal, he found himself looking forward to her next attempt, curious to see just how far she’d go to master the art of cooking.
Maybe, he thought with a grin, this whole “official taster” business wasn’t such a bad gig after all.
The warm afternoon sun bathed the Hogwarts gardens, illuminating the neatly trimmed hedges and the fluttering leaves of ancient trees. Harry sat on a bench near the edge of the grounds, his thoughts wandering as he waited for Hermione to finish her Magical History class. It was a rare moment of calm amidst the constant buzz of castle life, and Harry found himself enjoying the solitude.
That solitude didn’t last long.
“Harry!”
He looked up to see Daphne Greengrass approaching from the path leading to the castle, her blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight. Behind her, he spotted two familiar figures—Tracey Davis and Pansy Parkinson. Pansy gave him a wink and a grin, while Tracey waved at him with exaggerated enthusiasm, calling out, “Good luck, Potter!” before the pair disappeared down a side path, their laughter echoing softly.
Harry raised an eyebrow as Daphne stopped in front of him, holding a small box wrapped in a lavender cloth. Her expression was as composed as ever, but there was a hint of nervousness in her pale blue eyes.
“Daphne” Harry greeted, smiling. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that”
“I don’t give up easily” she replied, a note of pride in her voice. Then she glanced down at the box and held it out to him. “I brought something. It’s simpler this time. No spells, no shortcuts—just proper cooking”
Harry hesitated for only a moment before taking the box. He unwrapped it carefully, revealing a dozen small sausages wrapped in crispy, golden bacon. The smell was mouthwatering, and his stomach gave an appreciative growl.
“Pigs in blankets” Daphne said, her tone calm but her posture a little too stiff. “I figured it was hard to mess up. But… well, you’re the taster, so I suppose you’ll tell me if I’m wrong”
Harry picked one up, inspecting it for any signs of danger. It looked perfect—crispy, golden, and appetizing. He took a bite, and his taste buds were greeted with savory richness… followed almost immediately by an overwhelming wave of citrus. His face twitched involuntarily, the acidic punch of lemon overpowering the otherwise delicious bite.
“It’s… tangy” Harry said diplomatically, coughing a little as he swallowed.
Daphne’s face fell, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Too much lemon?” she guessed, her tone laced with disappointment.
“Just a bit” Harry admitted, though he reached for another. “But honestly, it’s still good. I think this might be your best effort yet”
“You don’t have to lie, Potter” she said with a huff, crossing her arms as she sat down on the bench beside him. “I know it’s not perfect. Tracey told me I was going overboard with the lemon, but I didn’t listen”
Harry chuckled, finishing the second sausage despite the tartness. “I mean it, Daphne. You’re getting better. And honestly, you don’t need to do all this to impress me”
Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his with a sharp intensity. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice careful, as though bracing herself for something.
Harry hesitated for only a moment before plunging ahead. “I mean, you’ve been working so hard at this, and it’s amazing, really. But you don’t have to cook for me to get my attention. I already see how much effort you’re putting in. It’s… well, it’s incredible” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt his cheeks heat up.
“If you want, we could go to Hogsmeade this weekend. You know, just the two of us”
The words hung in the air between them, and Harry suddenly felt very aware of how close they were sitting. Daphne’s eyes widened slightly, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw her cheeks flush. But then she straightened her shoulders, her expression shifting into something softer yet resolute.
“That’s… kind of you” she began, her voice quiet but firm. “Really, it is. But I can’t accept”
Harry blinked, surprised. “Why not?”
Daphne looked away for a moment, her gaze fixed on the distant treetops as if searching for the right words. Then she turned back to him, her eyes steady. “Because I don’t want you to go out with me out of pity or charity. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this just because you think it’ll make me happy”
“Daphne, that’s not—”
She held up a hand, cutting him off with a small, graceful shake of her head. “Let me finish. This whole cooking thing started because I wanted to do something nice for you. But somewhere along the way, it became more than that. It’s… personal now. Stubborn, maybe, but I’ve decided that I’m going to get it right. I’m going to make something for you that’s not just edible, but something that makes you want to lick your fingers clean” Her lips curved into a small, confident smile. “And when I do, there won’t be any doubt. Not for you, and not for me”
Harry stared at her, momentarily speechless. Her words carried a weight he hadn’t expected—a mix of vulnerability and determination that left him feeling both flustered and deeply impressed. His cheeks burned, and he found himself unable to meet her gaze for a moment.
Daphne stood, smoothing out her robes and looking down at him with a poise that felt both intimidating and endearing. “Thank you for the offer, Harry” she said, her tone softening. “Really. But when we go to Hogsmeade, it’ll be because you want to, not because you feel like you should”
Before he could respond, she turned on her heel, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she walked away. Harry watched her go, his heart pounding and his mind racing.
When Hermione arrived a few minutes later, her bag slung over her shoulder, she gave him a curious look. “Harry, are you okey?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re all red”
Harry shook his head, a small, almost dazed smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing” he said, still staring at the spot where Daphne had disappeared.
But it wasn’t nothing. Not by a long shot. Daphne Greengrass was a force to be reckoned with, and Harry found himself more and more captivated by her with every passing day.
As he sat there, the faint taste of lemon still lingering on his tongue, he found himself smiling despite everything. He didn’t mind waiting, not when Daphne made it so clear that she wasn’t giving up—not on him, and not on herself.
And as the autumn breeze rustled the leaves around him, Harry realized he wouldn’t have it any other way.
The quiet hum of conversation filled the study area near the Charms corridor, the late afternoon sun casting long, golden beams through the high windows. Harry sat at a corner table, flipping idly through his notes on defensive spells but not really absorbing any of it. His mind wasn’t on academics today—he was waiting for Daphne Greengrass. They’d agreed to meet here after classes, and Harry was already half-expecting some kind of culinary adventure to unfold.
Sure enough, Daphne soon appeared, her familiar blonde hair gleaming and her robes impeccably neat as usual. She carried a plate in her hands, the contents hidden beneath a small silver cover. Her expression was calm, but there was a spark of determination in her blue eyes.
“Harry” she greeted as she reached the table, setting the plate down between them. “I’ve brought something new. Something simple this time”
Harry smiled up at her. “You’re really not giving up on this, are you?”
She raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “What part of ‘I don’t give up easily’ do you not understand?”
Harry chuckled, leaning back in his chair as she removed the cover to reveal a modest bowl of oatmeal. To his surprise, it looked completely normal. A perfect, creamy consistency, with a little sprinkle of cinnamon and a drizzle of honey on top for garnish. No burnt edges, no ominous signs of overzealous seasoning. It was, perhaps, the most promising dish she’d presented yet.
“This looks…” Harry paused, choosing his words carefully. “Safe”
Daphne shot him a mock glare. “I’ll take that as a compliment”
She slid the bowl toward him, her expression betraying the faintest hint of nervousness. “Well? Try it”
Harry picked up the spoon, scooping up a small portion. It felt warm and comforting, and the cinnamon smelled inviting. He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. The texture was good, smooth and creamy—but then he paused, frowning slightly.
He tried another bite. And then another. His brow furrowed as he swallowed and stared down at the oatmeal, his head tilting in mild confusion.
“Well?” Daphne asked, her voice betraying both curiosity and tension. “What do you think?”
Harry blinked up at her, setting the spoon down as he struggled to find the right words. “It’s… unique” he began diplomatically. “It’s like… I don’t know, like eating air”
Daphne frowned, tilting her head in confusion. “Air?”
“Yes” Harry said, looking at the bowl with a mixture of awe and bewilderment. “I mean, the texture’s great. The oatmeal itself is cooked perfectly, but the taste—there isn’t one. It’s like you’ve somehow managed to create the flavor of nothingness itself”
Daphne raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. She picked up the spoon and took a bite herself. Her expression shifted quickly from curiosity to blank confusion as she swallowed, then took another spoonful as if to double-check. “It really does taste like… nothing” she murmured, her brow furrowing.
“See?” Harry said, gesturing at the bowl. “You’ve created something truly unique. A culinary masterpiece of emptiness”
Daphne gave him a flat look. “You’re mocking me”
“I’m not!” Harry said, holding up his hands defensively. “I’m serious! Who else can say they’ve invented the flavor of nothing? It’s practically philosophical. This oatmeal could be used in classes on existentialism”
“Merlin’s beard” Daphne muttered, rubbing her temples. “How did this even happen? I followed the recipe exactly—no spells, no shortcuts. Just oats, milk, cinnamon, honey… how does something with honey in it taste like nothing?”
Harry tried to suppress a laugh, but failed. “I don’t know, but it’s impressive. You’ve achieved something no one else has ever done”
Daphne glared at him, though her cheeks were pink with what Harry suspected was a mix of frustration and embarrassment. “This isn’t funny. I was so sure this time. I thought it would be perfect”
Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and giving her a warm smile. “It’s not perfect, sure, but it’s progress. The oatmeal’s cooked right, the texture’s good—it’s just missing a little… taste. And honestly, I think it’s kind of amazing that you managed to pull this off. I mean, how many people can say they’ve created the culinary equivalent of the void?”
Daphne gave a reluctant chuckle, though she shook her head in exasperation. “This isn’t over, Potter. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Next time, I’m going to make something so good you’ll be begging for seconds. Mark my words”
“I’m counting on it” Harry said with a grin. “But seriously, Daphne, don’t stress too much about it. I’m just glad you’re so determined—it’s… impressive”
Daphne’s blush deepened slightly, and she quickly stood, gathering the plate and spoon. “You won’t be so smug when I get it right” she said, though her tone was lighter now, almost playful. “Next time, Potter. You’ll see”
As she turned and walked away, her stride graceful and her head held high, Harry found himself smiling at her retreating figure. There was something utterly captivating about her—the way she carried herself with such confidence even when she wasn’t entirely sure of herself, the way her determination never wavered even in the face of repeated mishaps.
He leaned back in his chair, the faint taste of nothingness still lingering on his tongue. Somehow, that void didn’t feel empty at all. Instead, it was filled with the promise of more meetings, more laughter, and the growing realization that Daphne Greengrass was quickly becoming one of the most fascinating parts of his life.
And he couldn’t wait to see what she’d bring to their next meeting.
The Great Hall was quiet as the evening study hour settled over the castle, and Harry sat at a small table near one of the side walls. His attention was half on a book of defensive spells Hermione had lent him and half on the noise of students passing through the hallways. But his thoughts kept drifting, waiting for someone.
And then, she appeared.
Daphne Greengrass was walking toward him, carrying a small tray covered with a cloth. Behind her, Tracey Davis, Astoria Greengrass, and Pansy Parkinson waved at him with knowing grins before disappearing into a nearby corridor. Daphne’s stride was purposeful, her pale blue eyes gleaming with determination as she stopped in front of him.
"Harry Potter” she greeted, setting the tray down on a nearby table. "I’ve done it. The dish I’ve made today has been taste-tested by Tracey, Astoria, and Pansy, and I’ll have you know that none of them ended up in the infirmary. They even said it was tasty”
Harry’s eyebrows rose, impressed by her newfound confidence. “Really? That’s a first” he teased, earning a mock glare from her. “Alright, Daphne, let’s see what culinary magic you’ve whipped up this time”
With a flourish, she pulled back the cloth to reveal a shepherd’s pie, its golden mashed potato topping slightly browned and dotted with melted cheese. It was a dish he’d had plenty of times growing up with the Dursleys—though theirs had been uninspired, tasteless fare. This one looked far better.
Daphne gestured to it with a small smile. “Behold. Shepherd’s pie. Made from scratch. No spells, no shortcuts. Just good, honest cooking”
Harry grinned, picking up a fork from the tray. “This looks promising” he admitted, cutting into the pie and taking a small bite. He chewed slowly, savoring the flavors—the minced lamb was tender and well-seasoned, the mashed potatoes creamy with just the right amount of butter, and the cheese added a pleasant, savory finish.
“This is…” He paused, taking another bite for good measure. “Actually is really good, Daphne. Like, really good”
Daphne’s face lit up, her previously calm demeanor giving way to a radiant smile. “You mean it?” she asked, leaning forward slightly, her voice tinged with both excitement and relief.
“Absolutely” Harry said, scooping up another bite. “This isn’t just edible—it’s delicious. You’ve officially graduated from the School of Burnt and Poisonous Cuisine”
Daphne let out a laugh, her cheeks tinged pink. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment”
“It definitely is” Harry said, taking another generous forkful. “Seriously, I’m impressed. This is better than anything I ever had growing up”
Her smile softened as she handed him a glass of water. “Well, I did say I was determined. Looks like it finally paid off”
Harry finished the last bite of the pie, setting the fork down and giving her a sincere smile. “You’ve done it, Daphne. I think you’re ready for the big leagues”
Daphne arched a delicate eyebrow, her lips quirking into a playful smirk. “Oh? And what exactly are ‘the big leagues,’ Potter?”
Harry hesitated for a moment, then decided to just go for it. “The big leagues would be… letting me take you out on a proper date. You know, somewhere you don’t have to cook. Somewhere in Hogsmeade, maybe?”
For a moment, Daphne seemed caught off guard, her eyes widening slightly. Then her expression shifted to something playful, her smirk returning as she tilted her head. “You’re serious?” she asked, though there was a glimmer of mischief in her voice.
“Completely” Harry replied, his tone earnest. “You’ve earned it. I think you deserve a date where you can just relax and let someone else do the work”
Daphne’s smile grew, but she crossed her arms and gave him a mock-appraising look. “Hmm. I don’t know, Potter. Are you sure this isn’t just a pity offer?”
Harry shook his head, grinning. “Not a chance. I’ve been looking forward to this for a while now. And I think you have too”
Daphne’s cheeks flushed a deeper pink, but she maintained her playful demeanor. “Well, since you put it that way…” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Alright. A date in Hogsmeade sounds… perfect”
Harry felt a wave of relief and excitement wash over him. “Great. It’s a date, then”
Daphne leaned slightly closer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Don’t think this means I’m done cooking for you. I’m still going to make something so good it’ll ruin you for every other meal”
Harry laughed, leaning back with an easy grin. “I’m looking forward to it. But no rush—you’ve already impressed me”
Daphne’s smile softened, her eyes meeting his with a warmth that made his heart race. “Good” she said simply.
For a moment, they sat there in comfortable silence, the playful tension between them giving way to something deeper. Harry couldn’t help but feel a growing admiration for her—not just for her determination and humor, but for the way she carried herself with such quiet confidence. He was starting to see her not just as the enigmatic Slytherin girl he’d barely spoken to before this year, but as someone who fascinated him more and more with each encounter.
“So” Daphne said finally, breaking the silence with a playful glint in her eye, “do you want me to tell you what’s on the menu for next time, or should I keep it a surprise?”
Harry chuckled, standing and offering her his hand to help her up. “Surprise me. Just no more incendiary spells, alright?”
Daphne laughed as she took his hand, her grip firm and warm. “Deal”
As they walked out of the study area together, Harry couldn’t help but feel that this was the start of something extraordinary—something that had been simmering quietly for weeks but was now finally ready to come to life. And for once, he was perfectly content to take it slow, savoring every moment.
The Gryffindor common room was quiet and serene, the soft glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows across the walls. Most of the students had retired for the night, leaving Harry and Daphne curled up together on one of the oversized couches near the hearth. The crackling fire bathed them in a warm light, and Daphne rested her head on Harry’s shoulder, her blonde hair falling in soft waves against his robes. Harry held her close with one arm, feeling more at peace than he had in years.
They had fallen into a comfortable rhythm over the past few weeks. Between classes, Quidditch practice, and meals, Harry and Daphne had grown inseparable. They spent time with each other’s friends—Hermione and Luna had taken a surprising liking to Daphne, while Tracey, Astoria, and even Pansy teased her endlessly about her "Gryffindor boyfriend” It had been an effortless blending of their lives, as though they had always been meant to find each other.
Tonight, though, felt special. There was a quiet intimacy in the way they sat together, the fire crackling softly as the world outside the tower seemed to fade away. Harry absentmindedly traced small circles on Daphne’s arm with his fingers, content to simply exist in this moment with her.
“Harry” Daphne said softly, breaking the silence. She tilted her head slightly to look up at him, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “I have a special dessert for you”
Harry turned to her, his green eyes bright with amusement. “Oh, so that’s why you wouldn’t let me have dessert at dinner? You’ve been scheming again, haven’t you?”
Daphne gave a dramatic nod, her smirk widening. “Guilty as charged. But this is no ordinary dessert, Potter. This is… my masterpiece”
Intrigued, Harry watched as she reached for her wand. With a quick flick, she summoned a small dish from the kitchen refrigerator, the plate floating gracefully into her waiting hands. She set it on the low table in front of them with a flourish.
It was a simple flan, topped with a layer of perfectly melted caramel that gleamed in the firelight. The soft custard jiggled slightly as she placed it down, and the golden caramel seemed to promise a richness that Harry could already smell.
“This” Daphne declared proudly, “is my greatest creation to date”
Harry chuckled, leaning forward to inspect the flan with an exaggerated look of skepticism. “You really think so, huh? I guess I’ll be the judge of that”
Daphne smirked, handing him a small spoon. “Careful, Potter. It might just ruin you for all other desserts”
With a grin, Harry scooped up a small bite of the flan and brought it to his lips. The moment it hit his tongue, his eyes widened. The custard was impossibly smooth and creamy, the caramel adding the perfect balance of sweetness with just a hint of bitterness to round it out. It was light yet decadent, the kind of dessert that demanded absolute silence so one could savor every bite.
Harry froze, spoon still in hand, as the realization hit him. This was, without question, the best flan he had ever tasted. No, it was the best dessert he had ever tasted. Maybe even the best thing he had ever eaten, period.
“Harry?” Daphne’s voice was laced with amusement and a touch of concern. “You alright?”
He blinked, realizing that his vision had gone blurry. Reaching up, he touched his cheek and discovered a tear rolling down his face. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying.
Daphne’s laughter rang out, warm and full of affection. “Are you crying over flan, Potter?”
Harry looked at her, stunned, then down at the flan, then back at her again. “I… Daphne, this is—it’s—” He struggled to find the words, utterly lost in the perfection of the dish. “It’s amazing. I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s… it’s like I’ve reached enlightenment or something”
Daphne’s smile turned radiant, her cheeks glowing with pride as she watched him take another bite, then another, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “So” she said playfully, “is it safe to say I’ve outdone myself?”
Harry set the spoon down, turning to her with a look of pure adoration. “Daphne, this isn’t just outdoing yourself. This is a revelation. This flan is a work of art. And you…” He paused, his voice softening as his eyes locked with hers. “You’re incredible”
Daphne’s teasing expression softened, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other, the fire casting warm shadows on their faces. Then Harry smiled, his voice dropping to a quiet, heartfelt tone.
“I love you”
Daphne’s eyes widened slightly, her lips parting in surprise. But almost immediately, a warm smile spread across her face. “Well” she said softly, her voice trembling just enough to betray her emotions, “it’s about time, Potter”
She leaned up, cupping his face with her hands, and kissed him. The world seemed to melt away as their lips met—soft, warm, and filled with all the affection and laughter they had shared over the past few weeks. The kiss was unhurried, as though they had all the time in the world, and when they finally pulled apart, Daphne rested her forehead against his, her blue eyes shining.
“I love you too” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire.
Harry smiled, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. For the rest of the night, they stayed curled up on the couch, talking and laughing softly as they shared the last of the flan. It was a quiet, perfect moment, and for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.
And if he had to cry over dessert again to relive this moment, he decided, it would be worth it.