Work Text:
The Christmas Bet
"Brrr," said Harry, rubbing his hands together. "It's really freezing in the greenhouse this time of year."
"I did offer to cast a warming charm, but Monsieur prefers to suffer in silence," retorted Daphne, arms crossed, her breath forming faint clouds in the icy air.
They had just finished their Herbology class, and she was waiting for him near the entrance of the greenhouse.
"Yeah, well, I thought wrestling with Snargaluffs would be enough to keep me warm..." he muttered, looking ruefully at his numb hands.
Reaching Daphne, he glanced up at the sound of screams and spells coming from outside.
The grounds of Hogwarts were covered in a thick blanket of snow, making the landscape monotonous yet pristinely beautiful. Under the pale winter sunlight, and just outside the school's main entrance, a massive snowball fight was raging. Each house had barricaded itself behind defensive lines: the Hufflepuffs had built a sturdy ice fortress, the Ravenclaws had enchanted a majestic floating ship, while the Gryffindors... had settled for a long trench.
Beside him, Harry heard Daphne stifling a laugh. He cast her a wary glance.
"No Gryffindor jokes, please," he said, already well-acquainted with her train of thought.
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," she replied, a sly smile playing on her lips, her voice dripping with barely concealed irony. "Let's just say it's fitting."
"Should we join? Could be fun," suggested Harry, ignoring her comment, his eyes fixed on the chaos unfolding before them.
Daphne arched an eyebrow and gestured toward the snowy battlefield. "In case you hadn't noticed, Harry, there aren't any Slytherins in that chaos."
"Don't worry. By now, you're practically an honorary Gryffindor."
Daphne's reaction was immediate and theatrical. She placed a hand over her heart, as if Harry had just stabbed her, and took a dramatic step back.
"I never want to hear you say that again," she declared with mock horror.
Harry couldn't help but notice that her exaggerated shiver wasn't entirely feigned.
He rolled his eyes. "Merlin, you're always so dramatic."
"Seriously," Daphne continued, raising a finger to point at her face, "do I look like someone who'd enjoy a snowball fight?"
"Too Muggle for you, Greengrass?" he teased, his tone mocking.
"Trust me, Potter, there are some Muggle traditions I'd love for us to try," she replied, punctuating her words with an enigmatic wink.
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
Daphne shrugged, remaining as evasive as ever. "You'll see. And maybe sooner than you think."
Harry shook his head, half-amused, half-exasperated. She loved dropping cryptic hints without offering any answers.
The duo left the greenhouse and carefully skirted the battlefield. The faint sound of magical projectiles whooshing through the air mixed with the shouts of students engaged in the frenzied melee drowned nearly everything else. An enchanted snowball, apparently missing its original target, whizzed past and smashed into the ground mere inches from the pair.
"Maybe we should have taken another path," grumbled Harry as a second projectile seemed to veer mid-air, heading straight for them.
Daphne drew her wand and the snowball burst into a fine powder just before reaching them. She then tucked her wand back into her robes with deliberate nonchalance.
"Am I doing the Gryffindors' work now?" she quipped, clearly pleased with herself.
Harry rolled his eyes but didn't reply. Soon enough, they reached the doors of the Great Hall.
"So, see you in Transfiguration after lunch?" asked Daphne, adjusting the green-and-silver scarf around her neck. "Or are you sitting with Weasley again?"
"That depends," he replied, pondering the question. It seemed like Ron was planning to sit with Hermione for that class. "Can you behave yourself this time? Every time we sit together, McGonagall docks points from Gryffindor. I'm starting to think you do it on purpose."
"What? Are you questioning my good faith, Potter?"
"Only a little bit, Greengrass."
A triumphant smile spread across the Slytherin's lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."
She placed her hands on Harry's shoulders, clearly amused. Then, without warning, she leaned in and kissed him - a quick, fleeting touch, but enough to make Harry blush faintly.
"Miss Greengrass, Mr. Potter, a little decorum, please. There are people around," interjected a voice from behind them.
They turned to see Professor Sprout stopping nearby, her hat pulled low on her head and dusted with a layer of snow, as if she'd just emerged from the raging snowball fight outside. The fact that she didn't deduct any points and seemed more amused than annoyed spoke volumes about her real opinion of this particular school rule.
"But Professor, it wasn't my fault! She pounced on me!" protested Harry, raising his hands in a show of innocence.
Daphne's eyes widened dramatically, this time with genuine outrage.
"What?!" she exclaimed, her voice indignant, drawing the attention of several passing students. "As if that bothered you, Potter! Everyone knows you can't keep your hands to yourself whenever we're alone."
Professor Sprout walked away, chuckling quietly into her gloved hand, clearly uninterested in escalating the matter further.
Harry straightened his posture, lifting his chin in an exaggeratedly dignified manner, doing his best to mimic the haughty air his girlfriend sometimes wore.
"I'm a model student, Greengrass," he replied pompously. "I know exactly how to behave in public. It's you who keeps trying to corrupt me at every opportunity."
"Corrupt you? Really? Not a day goes by without you finding some excuse to try something with me!"
"Are you sure you're not projecting your own desires, my dear?"
A flush of red crept into Daphne's cheeks, but she held his gaze, her head raised as if her dignity depended on it.
"My own desires? Oh, that's interesting. Are you suggesting I'm the one struggling to control myself?"
Harry leaned in closer, his grin widening. "I'm not suggesting anything, Greengrass. I'm saying it outright."
A spark of challenge lit Daphne's eyes, and Harry realized he'd struck a nerve. She stepped closer, shrinking the space between them, and her voice took on a silky tone that made the air feel warmer despite the biting cold.
"You know what, Potter?" Daphne said, extending her hand toward him, palm open. "Let's make a bet."
Harry burst out laughing at how familiar this situation felt. Yet, despite his amusement, a small alarm bell rang in the back of his mind. Narrowing his eyes slightly, suspicion crept in.
"A bet, huh?" he repeated warily. "Let's hear the terms."
Daphne tossed a curtain of blonde hair over her shoulder with a practised motion before locking her blue eyes onto his.
"Simple," she began. "If you kiss me before the end of the day, you lose. And you'll owe me a favour."
Harry raised an eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue.
"If you manage to hold out, I'll be the one owing you a favour. Considering how confident you seem, this shouldn't be a problem, right?"
Harry fell silent for a moment, studying Daphne's face for any clue to her real intentions. She looked confident - far too confident.
"Where's the catch, Greengrass?" he asked, his suspicion growing. "There must be one. There's always one with you."
"Oh, Harry, Harry..." Daphne sighed, placing a hand on his arm as if to soothe his worries. "Why do you always think I'm plotting against you? Maybe I just want to have a little fun."
"Yeah, sure. Like I'm going to believe that."
Harry turned his head, briefly weighing his options. It was already lunchtime. With classes, studying, and dinner still ahead, he couldn't see how he could lose this bet. But that was the problem - it seemed almost too easy.
His inner voice was screaming to run away.
Remember what she forced us to do the last time we lost! Don't do it, Harry. Don't do it!
But, as always, his curiosity and pride got the better of him. Finally, he clasped Daphne's hand.
"Alright. Deal."
It seemed that was exactly what she'd been waiting for, as a spark of triumph lit up in Daphne's eyes.
"You've just sealed your fate, Potter."
"In your dreams, Greengrass," Harry shot back, playing along. "I don't know what you're up to, but honestly, I can't see how you could win this one."
"Oh, really? Then tell me, hypothetically speaking," she said, mimicking air quotes with her fingers, "what would you make me do if you were to win?"
"When I win, my dear." He punctuated his words with a playful hip bump, which Daphne gracefully returned. "I think I'd make you dress up as Mrs. Claus."
Daphne gave him a sceptical look. "Mrs. Claus?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, like a muggle. Red dress, matching hat, maybe even a pair of boots. I bet you'd look amazing. And, of course, we'd have to take a picture of you!"
A peal of laughter escaped Daphne's lips. She covered her mouth for a moment, as if trying to stifle it. "I have to admit, you've got imagination."
She glanced at the clock in the Great Hall. "Alright, I need to find Tracey for lunch. See you later, Harry."
With a small wave of her hand, she turned and walked off, disappearing down the corridor leading to the dungeons.
As Harry turned toward the Great Hall, a thought crossed his mind, snapping him back to reality. From this moment on, he was on a mission.
-oo0oo-
"Harry, why is Daphne looking at you like that?" Hermione asked, glancing up from her bowl of soup.
Ron, curious, paused his assault on a chicken leg and turned toward the Slytherin table.
"Looking how? She seems perfectly normal to me."
Harry shifted slightly in his seat to sneak a glance at his girlfriend. Just as he suspected, Daphne was staring at him with a smug smile, as if already savouring a victory. Next to her, Tracey Davis was laughing, clearly in on something Harry hadn't yet figured out.
He turned back to Ron and Hermione, adopting a very serious tone.
"Tell me, both of you, can you remind me of the schedule for this afternoon?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "You don't know your timetable? In December?"
"Let's just pretend I've forgotten."
Hermione exchanged a sceptical glance with Ron before turning back to Harry. "Seriously, Harry, what's going on?"
"Nothing, nothing. Just remind me of the schedule."
Hermione rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed, but answered anyway. "Alright, fine. We all have two hours of Transfiguration together right after lunch, followed by an hour of Defence. Then, I finish with Arithmancy, but that doesn't involve you two."
Harry rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward slightly. "Arithmancy with Daphne, right?"
"Yes, with Daphne, but..." she began, frowning. "Harry, are you going to tell us what's going on between you two?"
Harry hesitated but eventually explained, in brief, the bet he'd made with Daphne, keeping the details vague.
"Wait, you've made another bet with that bloody Slytherin?" Ron said, choking on his pumpkin juice.
"Shhh!" Harry hissed, throwing a panicked glance around. A few students at nearby tables were now looking at them, intrigued. "I don't need everyone knowing, Ron."
"Why not? The whole school's going to know when you lose anyway."
"Except I don't plan on losing this time."
"Impossible, mate. You probably lost the moment you agreed to it. Slytherins are always one step ahead - it's the same story every time. Especially with your girlfriend, Harry."
Put that way, Harry didn't feel very confident. Still, he genuinely couldn't see how he could lose this time.
"And what exactly did you bet on?" Hermione asked him.
"Uh..."
Harry wasn't too keen on revealing the exact terms of the bet. But under Hermione's insistent stare and Ron's curious expression, he finally relented.
Hermione raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, but the slight shaking of her shoulders betrayed her amusement. Ron, on the other hand, put down his glass with sudden seriousness.
"Listen, Harry," he said, fixing him with a grave look. "You have to win this bet. Because if you don't, no one in this school is ever going to take you seriously again. Myself included."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ron," Harry replied with a sigh. "But don't worry, I got this in the bag. She's got nothing on me this time."
Ron didn't look convinced.
"For your sake, I hope so. Because honestly, winning this kind of bet is hard when your girlfriend is Daphne Greengrass."
Hermione instantly stopped laughing and turned a frosty glare on Ron, crossing her arms. "More difficult than if her name were Eloise Midgen - Is that what you're saying, Ronald?"
"Those are your words, Hermione, not mine. But... in essence, yes," he replied, still deadly serious.
Hermione stared at him with a mixture of disgust and exasperation. "You're absolutely horrible, you know that?"
Ron shrugged nonchalantly. "Ask any guy at this table, they'll all say the same thing."
"Well, you're all horrible, what do you want me to say?"
Sensing the tension rising, Harry raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, I didn't say anything, alright? I'm innocent."
Hermione turned her glare on him as well. "But you must be thinking the same."
"Well," Harry began, "it's just that I'm dating Daphne, so, you know..."
Ron snorted, barely stifling a laugh. Hermione, however, did not falter.
"And?" she asked sternly. "You're not dating her just because she's pretty, are you?"
Ron leaned forward with a mocking grin.
"Come on, Hermione, be serious for a second. She's got a terrible temper, worse than Harry's, and that's saying something. Sure, she's rich, but so is Harry. And let's not forget, she's a Slytherin, with all the flaws that come with that. Honestly, it's a good thing she could probably model for Witch Weekly - at least she's got that going for her."
Hermione's eyes widened comically, her mouth falling slightly open in disbelief at Ron's audacity. She turned to Harry, clearly expecting some sort of reaction.
Harry merely shrugged.
"He's not entirely wrong," he admitted with a nod.
Hermione stood abruptly, snatching up her bag in one swift motion.
"I'm leaving," she announced curtly, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Oh come on Hermione, we're just joking!" Ron called out as she passed him by on her way out. She didn't even look at him.
Harry chuckled and shared a bemused look with Ron.
At least with Hermione, things were easy.
-oo0oo-
Harry entered the Transfiguration classroom with Ron. As usual, Professor McGonagall was already standing by her desk, watching the students filing in and settling into their seats with her sharp gaze.
Harry nodded at Ron, who moved off to join Hermione. The two took a table at the front of the class, leaving Harry to scan the room for his girlfriend. He quickly spotted Daphne at their usual table in the back, deep in conversation with Tracey Davis.
The two Slytherins gave him a quick nod of acknowledgment as he approached, but nothing in their demeanour struck him as suspicious.
Harry dropped his bag onto the table and took his seat beside Daphne, quietly unpacking his things while casting a cautious glance in her direction.
Tracey, smiling, seemed ready to continue the conversation, but their moment was cut short.
"Miss Davis, the lesson is about to begin," McGonagall interrupted firmly, putting an immediate end to any further chatter. "Please return to your seat."
Tracey complied, throwing one last glance at Daphne before heading off to sit with another Slytherin student. The class settled into relative silence as McGonagall launched into a new lecture on conjuration spells, a topic they'd been tackling for several weeks now.
Harry, however, was having trouble concentrating. While the professor explained the importance of being able to cast spells non-verbally, he couldn't help but sneak glances to his right. Daphne, as usual, was taking meticulous notes, her cursive handwriting steadily filling her parchment.
Nothing out of the ordinary, except for the sly smirk that crept across her lips every time she caught him looking.
"Is there something on my face, Harry?" Daphne asked, not lifting her head from her notes.
"No, I'm just keeping an eye on you, Greengrass, that's all. One can never be too careful," Harry frowned.
Daphne let out a soft chuckle, low enough that McGonagall wouldn't hear.
"Keep watching, then. I might just catch you off guard when you least expect it."
The two-hour class passed surprisingly quickly for Harry. In their sixth year, the workload had increased significantly, and even the most gifted students couldn't afford to procrastinate without risking falling behind. Transfiguration was no exception: conjuration spells were among the most technical and demanding topics they had faced.
Harry and Daphne remained relatively quiet throughout the lesson, though they exchanged a few light jabs whenever the opportunity arose. These brief moments between them made the class far more bearable.
As the end of the lesson neared, Professor McGonagall clapped her hands.
"Well then. To conclude today's class, each of you will perform a demonstration of a conjuration spell on a subject of your choice. I will walk around and observe your progress. Prepare yourselves."
A murmur swept through the classroom as students got into position, wands at the ready.
"So, Daphne," Harry began, propping his elbows on the table they shared, "do you know where you're going to get your Mrs. Claus outfit? If you like, I can order one for you."
Daphne, still focused on finishing her notes, didn't even glance up as she answered.
"You're way too confident, Potter. It's going to be your downfall."
Harry chuckled lightly. "Oh, I know you have a plan. You always do. But this time, it's not going to work."
Daphne arched an eyebrow when she looked at him.
"If you say so. But I suggest you focus on your spell. McGonagall is heading this way. I hope you've got something."
As if to confirm her words, Professor McGonagall stopped at their table, her gaze shifting between Harry and Daphne.
"Mr. Potter, Miss Greengrass, it's your turn."
Harry felt the pressure rise slightly as several students turned their attention toward them. He quickly ran through his options, searching for something simple yet impressive.
When inspiration struck, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself.
Straightening up, he gripped his wand firmly and spoke the incantation clearly. A ribbon of red and gold silk appeared at the tip of his wand, floating gracefully in the air. With a deft flick, he directed the ribbon toward Daphne, who watched it with curiosity, her arms crossed.
The long blonde locks of the Slytherin seemed to stir with life, effortlessly gathering into an elegant bun, held perfectly in place by the ribbon. The vibrant Gryffindor colours contrasted beautifully with her hair, giving her an even more refined appearance.
Daphne, initially surprised, let out a sigh that was equal parts amused and exasperated. She raised a hand to touch her newly styled hair, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"Really, Potter?"
The other students burst into laughter, applauding the flawlessly executed prank. Even McGonagall seemed to suppress a smile, though her tone remained professional as she addressed them.
"Well done, Mr. Potter," she said with a slight nod of approval.
Then, turning to Daphne, she added with a hint of irony in her voice, "And red suits you wonderfully, Miss Greengrass. You should wear it more often."
"I must admit, I have a preference for green, Professor," Daphne replied, casting a knowing glance at Harry, who blushed slightly at the implication.
"A shame, really. Now it's your turn. What do you have to show us?"
Daphne rose gracefully, her wand already in hand.
"Just one question first, Professor," she began, her tone playful. "Do you enjoy the Christmas spirit?"
McGonagall seemed caught off guard by the unexpected question.
"Do I enjoy the Christmas spirit?" she repeated, her eyebrows raised. "I defend the Christmas spirit, Miss Greengrass. Anyone daring to disparage it in this classroom would find themselves in detention until the end of the year."
Daphne nodded, as though the response confirmed a hypothesis she'd been mulling over.
"Exactly what I thought. Then you should enjoy this."
She raised her wand, tracing a wide arc through the air before pointing it successively at several spots around the classroom.
What followed happened almost instantly.
Gold and silver tinsels appeared, gracefully winding along the walls and linking the suspended chandeliers. At the back of the classroom, near the fireplace, a magnificent Christmas tree materialized, its branches adorned with glittering ornaments and luminous stars. At the tree's base, a pile of colourful presents appeared, their wrapping representing the colours of the four houses, though those in green outnumbered the rest.
A phonograph appeared on Professor McGonagall's desk, playing a cheerful Christmas carol. But it didn't stop there: snow began to fall in delicate flakes across the classroom, neither cold nor wet, vanishing the moment it touched any surface.
Finally, with a measured and precise flick of her wand, Daphne pointed above her head, conjuring a long sprig of mistletoe in a rustle of leaves. Adorned with small red ribbons identical to the one Harry had conjured for her hair, the sprig floated gently down from the ceiling, swaying slightly until it came to rest directly above Harry and Daphne.
The classroom was silent for a brief moment as everyone processed what had just happened. Then, applause erupted once more, punctuated by laughter as several students pointed at the mistletoe. Even McGonagall, judging by her expression, seemed to have appreciated the display.
Daphne turned her face toward the professor, wearing the most innocent look she could muster.
"Very nice display, Miss Greengrass," declared McGonagall. "Twenty points to Slytherin."
She raised an eyebrow as she examined the mistletoe hanging above the two students.
"And I suppose I can let it slide this time... as it does fall within the spirit of Christmas."
Harry blinked and glanced up to inspect the sprig dangling above him. Realization dawned on him, and a memory from that morning came back to hit him like a Bludger.
"Trust me, Potter, there are some Muggle traditions I'd love for us to try."
He swallowed hard and shifted his gaze back to Daphne. She was wearing a triumphant smile, the kind that very clearly said: I told you so.
McGonagall, ever composed, resumed speaking to the class.
"You may all pack up your things. Today's lesson is over. For next time, I expect two rolls of parchment on the applications of conjuration spells."
The usual hum of chatter filled the room as students rose, gathering their belongings and exchanging excited whispers about the scene that had just unfolded.
Daphne had returned to her trademark smirk, crossing her arms as she appraised Harry.
"Well, Harry," she said, her tone carrying a subtle challenge, "McGonagall gave her blessing. What are you waiting for?"
Harry shot her an exasperated look. "Not a chance."
Daphne placed a delicate hand on her chest, feigning a dramatic and deeply offended expression.
"What?" she exclaimed. "Would you really sully the spirit of Christmas, the one your dear Head of House defends so passionately? Do you truly want detention until the end of the year?"
"I'm not sullying anything, Greengrass. We're going to stand right here, under this mistletoe, until you walk away first. Then you'll be the one disrespecting the Christmas spirit."
He gave her a challenging look, confident that his logic was airtight. But to his surprise, Daphne didn't lose her smile, in fact, she seemed even more amused, as if she'd anticipated his move.
"No problem," she replied, shrugging lightly before lifting a hand to inspect her nails with deliberate nonchalance. "I'm not in any hurry."
She let a brief silence hang in the air before adding, "But I do wonder... what will Professor Snape think when we're late to his class? Or worse... if we don't show up at all?"
Harry felt his heart skip a beat. Defence Against the Dark Arts. He'd completely forgotten about it. And given his history with Snape, he knew exactly how the man would react to even the slightest tardiness.
Daphne, meanwhile, had stepped closer to him, her eyes glinting with evident satisfaction. She lowered her voice just enough that only the two of them could hear.
"I wonder which of us he'd enjoy punishing more..."
...
That damn snake...
Harry let out a defeated sigh.
"One day, I'll get you, Daphne," he murmured, a part of him secretly impressed and even a little admiring of his girlfriend's cleverness. "One day, I'll make you swallow that Slytherin pride of yours."
Daphne giggled, placing her hands on his hips.
"Maybe. But today is not that day."
She stepped even closer, slipping her arms around Harry's neck.
"Now shut up and kiss me, Potter..."
The Burrow
Christmas Morning
Harry woke early that Christmas morning, well before Ron, whose snores reverberated through the small bedroom they shared. He sat up quietly, slipped on the pair of slippers resting at the foot of his bed, and stood.
Careful to avoid stumbling over the piles of clothes scattered across the floor, he eased his way out of the room. The door creaked slightly as he opened it, but the sound didn't disturb his friend's deep sleep.
The house was utterly silent. Not a noise stirred the stillness of the morning at the Burrow, save for the faint creaking of the wooden floorboards under Harry's steps. He made his way down the narrow, spiralling staircase, savouring the gentle warmth that seemed to radiate from the walls.
In the living room, he found the grand Christmas tree standing proudly in one corner of the room. Each branch was adorned with tinsel, colourful baubles, and homemade ornaments. Harry smiled as he remembered the moment when the entire Weasley family had gathered to decorate it.
Beneath the tree, neatly stacked in small, distinct piles, were dozens of wrapped presents. Each pile had a tag bearing the name of its recipient, and Harry's eyes were quickly drawn to the one with his name.
He approached quietly and knelt beside the gifts. This moment - opening presents on Christmas morning - had become one of his favourites since he first came to Hogwarts and met the Weasleys. Knowing that someone had thought of him warmed his heart in a way few things could.
He took the first package and tore off the paper to reveal a new hand-knitted jumper from Mrs. Weasley. It was red, adorned with an "H" in golden thread. Harry couldn't help but smile as he held the garment up. It had become a cherished tradition - the homemade jumpers from Mrs. Weasley, always a little too large but wonderfully warm.
He continued unwrapping his gifts, discovering sweets from Fred and George - which he was already planning to pass along to Seamus - a broomstick servicing kit from Ginny and Ron, and a new quill from Hermione.
With each package he opened, Harry's smile grew wider.
His attention was drawn to a small green package tied with a silver ribbon. Attached to it was a neatly folded piece of parchment. Curious, Harry removed the parchment to read the message inside.
Merry Christmas, love!
I hope you're having a wonderful time with your Gryffindors. I can just picture it, the noise, the hugs, the warm meals... what a nightmare!
Finding a gift for you wasn't easy, but then I remembered a little comment you made. And since I'm such a generous person, I thought I'd make something of it. I hope it will make you think about me.
I, for one, have been thinking about you. These few days without being able to annoy you have been absolute torture. And I'm sure, deep down, you feel the same. Don't you?
Now, let's talk business. If my memory serves me right (and it always does), you still owe me a favour from our little adventure before the holidays. I've given it some thought, and I've decided what I want.
Here's your challenge: you're going to convince the Weasleys to let you come to the Greengrass Manor for our New Year's Eve party. Yes, Potter, you are officially invited to our little gathering. And if I were you, I wouldn't miss this opportunity.
If you're hesitating, go ahead and open the package. If you behave, it might be a little foretaste of what awaits you on the 31st.
See you soon,
D. Greengrass
Harry shook his head. A party at Greengrass Manor... Daphne had been asking him to visit for weeks, and he figured maybe it was time to make her happy.
He picked up the small package and tore off the wrapping with curiosity. Inside, a flat, rectangular object lay wrapped in soft fabric. He carefully peeled it back to reveal an animated portrait, much like all wizarding photographs. But this was no ordinary portrait.
Before his eyes, Daphne Greengrass appeared in an outfit he hadn't quite expected. She was wearing a red-and-white dress that stopped just above her knees, paired with a festive hat and fur-lined boots. She stood in front of an elegant snow-covered fountain, which Harry guessed must be in the gardens of Greengrass Manor.
The Daphne in the photo looked slightly flustered - a rare expression for her. The faint smile she wore was tinged with awkwardness, almost shy, and a blush coloured her cheeks, which Harry suspected had little to do with the cold.
He couldn't help but laugh as he watched her tug lightly at the hem of her dress, as if worried it might reveal too much. The outfit was perfectly decent, of course, though flattering enough to leave plenty to the imagination.
After a moment, Daphne lifted her head and gave him a playful wink. She then brought a hand to her lips and blew him a kiss. The kiss transformed into a light mist that floated for a few seconds before condensing into glittering words:
Thank you for kissing me!
Harry let out a burst of laughter. This gift, as unexpected as it was, left him with two very clear conclusions.
First, Daphne Greengrass was willing to step out of her comfort zone to make him happy. That gesture, even though not unexpected, stirred a sincere wave of affection for his girlfriend.
Second - and perhaps most importantly - there wasn't a single person in the world who could stop him from attending that party on December 31st.