Chapter Text
It was unusually quiet in the library that evening, even for Hogwarts. Most of the students were still at dinner or lounging in their common rooms, leaving the towering shelves of books to rest in a rare hush. The smell of parchment and ink lingered thick in the air, and the flickering candlelight gave the corners of the room a warm, golden hue.
Harry Potter shifted uncomfortably as he scanned the Potions section. Snape had, once again, assigned an essay far beyond what a fourth-year ought to know—four feet on the properties of belladonna and its reaction with mandrake root in restorative draughts. He sighed. He'd already checked three books and found nothing useful.
He reached out toward the last copy of Advanced Ingredient Theory on the shelf—
But someone else’s hand was already on it.
Slender fingers, pale against the dark leather binding. His eyes followed the hand up to a green-trimmed sleeve, then to a curtain of cool blonde hair and a composed expression.
Daphne Greengrass.
Harry froze.
Of all the people he expected to find here—Daphne Greengrass was not one. Slytherin. Elegant, aloof, almost invisible in most crowds. Not cruel like Malfoy, but not exactly friendly either. They’d never spoken.
She didn’t seem to notice him at first. Her eyes were scanning the index. Then, as if sensing his presence, she glanced sideways and stilled.
“Oh,” she said. “Potter.”
“Greengrass,” he replied cautiously.
She studied him for a moment, then turned the book slightly so he could see the page. "You looking for information on belladonna interactions with mandrake root?"
Harry blinked. "Yeah. Snape's essay."
"Same. This is the last book with anything useful. You can share it with me, if you’d like."
He hesitated. "You want to share... with me?"
Daphne raised an eyebrow. "We're not dueling, Potter. It’s a library."
He stared at her for a second longer, then slid into the chair beside her.
They worked in silence at first. Daphne’s handwriting was neat and precise, her quill barely making a sound as it glided across the parchment. Harry tried to focus, but he kept sneaking glances at her—trying to understand why she was being… nice.
She caught him looking once and smirked. "You keep doing that, you’ll forget what you’re writing."
Harry flushed and looked down at his half-written paragraph. "Just surprised you’re helping me."
"Not everything has to be House rivalry. Besides, I hate incompetence. If you hand in a rubbish essay, Snape will just assign more work. I’m protecting my own future."
Harry gave a short laugh. "Fair enough."
They fell into a rhythm after that—reading, writing, quietly trading observations. Daphne was sharp. Not just intelligent, but methodical. She pointed out an error in his wording and offered a cleaner phrasing. He corrected her once on a brewing step she’d misremembered. She accepted it with a nod.
As they worked, a faint tune played in Harry’s head. Something he’d heard once—a Muggle song on the radio before his Hogwarts letters came. A line echoed faintly: We keep behind closed doors...
He shook his head. Where had that come from?
“You alright?” Daphne asked.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
They worked for another twenty minutes before Daphne closed the book and stretched.
“That should be enough. Thanks for not being useless, Potter.”
“Thanks for letting me share the book.”
She gave him a nod and walked away, her steps quiet against the stone floor.
Harry watched her go, a strange flutter in his chest.
He wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t be their last library encounter.
The next time it happened, it wasn’t an accident.
He spotted her seated alone at the same table a week later, flipping through a heavy tome on magical plant interactions. He told himself he needed another reference for his Potions essay. That was only partly true.
She looked up when he approached. "Potter."
"Greengrass," he replied with a nod, sliding into the seat opposite her. "Don’t worry, I brought my own book this time."
She quirked an eyebrow. "A miracle."
The silence that settled between them was oddly comfortable. It wasn’t like the silence he shared with Ron or Hermione when they were all focused on work. This one had edges to it—quiet awareness, tension, and something… else.
==<<>>==
"Do you trust me?" Harry asked, his voice low as he stood near the entrance to the library. Daphne was packing her books away, looking up at him with a quizzical expression.
"Of course," she replied, her tone steady, though there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "Why?"
"Come with me," Harry said, offering her a small smile. He didn’t wait for a response, just turned on his heel and walked toward the narrow corridor that led to the staircase. He glanced back to make sure she was following, and after a moment, Daphne slipped into step beside him.
They moved through the hallways quietly, weaving between the shadows cast by the dim torchlight. Harry's heart beat a little faster than usual. This was no ordinary invitation. He'd never brought anyone here—this hidden place was his own, a part of Hogwarts he'd kept secret for years. But somehow, with Daphne, it felt right to share it.
After a few winding corridors, they reached a section of the third floor, where the tapestries lined the walls like old sentinels guarding forgotten secrets. Harry glanced over at Daphne, his voice barely a whisper. "This is it."
He pulled back a thick tapestry, revealing a narrow alcove behind it. A small, unmarked door sat nestled against the stone, almost invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. He pushed it open and gestured for Daphne to enter first.
The room beyond was small but cozy, tucked away from the rest of the castle. The walls were lined with worn stone, and a single window provided a faint glimpse of the darkened grounds. It smelled of dust and old books, but there was something strangely comforting about it. Harry had spent countless hours here over the years, using the solitude to escape the chaos of his life.
Daphne stepped inside and looked around, her eyes widening with a mix of surprise and curiosity. "You’ve been hiding this place?"
Harry chuckled softly, closing the door behind them. "Yeah. It’s been my escape when I needed one. Nobody really knows about it." He paused, letting his words settle. "I thought you might like it. It’s quiet here. No one can find us."
She turned to him with an appraising look, then smiled. "I have to admit, it’s a little... secretive. I like it."
Harry sat down on the stone floor, leaning against the wall, and Daphne followed suit, sitting a few feet away from him. The quiet stretched between them for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt natural, like they’d been doing this for ages.
They hadn’t spoken much about personal things yet, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. Daphne, for once, wasn’t acting like the aloof Slytherin she often projected. Instead, she seemed... lighter, more open here in this hidden space, where no one could judge her.
"So," Harry began, breaking the silence, "how often do you get a chance to just... be yourself? Not the perfect Slytherin, not the smart, poised Greengrass. Just you."
Daphne raised an eyebrow at him, clearly surprised by the question. She leaned back against the wall, her arms crossed loosely over her chest as she considered the thought. "Not often, I suppose. Slytherins have to be a certain way. Perfect, calculated. If we aren’t, it reflects badly on the whole House. My sister, Astoria, is different. She doesn’t care what people think of her. But me... I’ve always felt the weight of it. People expect too much from you in Slytherin. It’s exhausting."
Harry nodded, his gaze softening. "I get it. Being the ‘Chosen One,’ the one everyone looks at, it’s not easy. It’s like they expect me to be this perfect hero, but I’m just... me. I don’t even know how to live up to that sometimes."
Daphne’s eyes softened as she looked at him, understanding in her gaze. "I can’t imagine what that must be like for you. The pressure, the eyes always on you."
Harry shrugged, feeling oddly vulnerable in front of her. "Yeah. I never asked for any of it. But that’s just the way things are, right?"
"Yeah," Daphne agreed softly, her voice quiet. "I know how that feels. We all have our burdens to carry, even if they’re different."
They sat there in silence for a moment, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Harry found himself noticing the way the soft flicker of candlelight danced across her face, the way her eyes seemed to soften whenever she looked at him. It was as if this secret place, this quiet moment, was allowing them to truly see each other—without the masks, without the expectations.
Daphne broke the silence again, her voice thoughtful. "So... what do you do here when you’re alone? Just sit and think?"
Harry smiled faintly. "Sometimes. Other times I just... breathe. It’s like the world stops for a moment. I can hear myself think again. It’s peaceful."
"I could use some peace," she murmured, glancing out the window at the moonlight filtering through the glass.
They sat in companionable silence, the quiet only interrupted by the distant sound of the castle settling. Harry leaned his head back against the stone wall, his eyes flicking to the ceiling. Stolen moments that we steal as the curtain draws the lyrics whispered softly in his head as he goanced over at Daphne.
He felt a sense of contentment here, in this hidden corner of Hogwarts with Daphne.
She shifted beside him, pulling her knees to her chest. "I’ve always been the kind of person who keeps things to herself. It’s easier that way, isn’t it? Less chance of getting hurt. But sometimes, I wonder if... maybe I’ve been keeping too much inside."
Harry turned his head to look at her. "It’s not easy, letting people in. But you don’t have to do it alone. I mean... I don’t think you’re alone anymore. Not with me, at least."
Daphne’s lips curled into a small, soft smile. "I’m not sure what to do with that. But... thank you."
Harry grinned back, the connection between them deepening with each passing moment. He didn’t know exactly where this was leading, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
And it was enough.
==<<>>==
The Great Hall was filled with the usual buzz of excitement, but today there was something different in the air. It wasn’t just the usual chatter of students from the four Houses eagerly waiting for the names to be called. No, today the air felt charged, electric, with the anticipation of who would be chosen as the Triwizard champions. Daphne sat with her fellow Slytherins, Tracey Davis beside her as usual, but her mind was somewhere else entirely.
She was trying to concentrate on the names being called, trying to mask the strange sense of unease gnawing at her gut, but it was difficult. She had always hated moments like these—the moments when the eyes of the entire school were on one thing, and one thing only. It felt like the entire castle held its breath, waiting for something big to happen. And as Dumbledore's voice rang out across the Hall, it only heightened her nerves.
"Harry Potter."
The words sliced through the air with such unexpected force that Daphne’s hand froze mid-air, the goblet she’d been holding forgotten as she turned sharply towards the sound. Her heart skipped a beat, and an involuntary wave of dread flooded through her chest. She’d been so distracted, so caught up in her thoughts about how the day might go, that she hadn’t considered the possibility of his name being chosen.
Harry Potter.
Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him rise from his seat at the Gryffindor table. For a split second, she wondered if he had made some kind of mistake—if he would turn back, sit down, and explain that there had been some kind of misunderstanding. But no, his name had been called. The other champions were already beginning to shuffle forward, but Harry remained rooted in place, his face pale, his green eyes wide in disbelief.
Daphne’s heart lurched. She hadn’t expected it to feel like this. In all honesty, she hadn’t even thought much about it. Sure, Harry was in the running for the tournament like any other student, but she hadn’t really considered him being chosen. Now that it was happening, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. It was like watching something she couldn’t quite understand, but couldn’t ignore either.
As Harry stood up, she couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable he looked, how stiffly he moved, as though the weight of the entire school’s attention was pressing down on his shoulders. He was being thrust into the spotlight once again. Everyone knew him—the Boy Who Lived, the hero of the Wizarding World. But this... this was different. This wasn’t about him surviving Voldemort’s curse anymore. This was about competition.
What does he feel right now? she wondered.
Daphne’s breath hitched as she realized she was holding onto the edge of her seat, her knuckles going white. She had always been good at maintaining her composure, good at pretending to be unaffected by the drama around her, but right now, she was struggling. Something inside her twisted uncomfortably.
The whispers began almost immediately, soft at first, then growing louder as the news spread. They were coming from all sides, from the students seated around her, from all corners of the hall. “He didn’t put his name in. It was a mistake.” “He must’ve cheated. It’s the only explanation.” “He’s always getting attention, isn’t he?”
The words stung, and Daphne could feel the uncomfortable heat rise in her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She hated the whispers. Hated them.
Why didn’t I see this coming?
She knew what people thought of him. She knew what people thought of her, too. But Harry... Harry was different. She had never quite understood why she’d felt drawn to him. She’d always been guarded, careful, aloof in a way that allowed her to observe without becoming emotionally entangled. But Harry had a way of making everything more... complicated.
She watched as he was escorted to the front, his shoulders stiff as he walked, and a pang of something unfamiliar tightened in her chest. What if he’s innocent? The thought came to her unbidden, but it hung in the air, undeniable. It was possible, wasn’t it? It had to be.
She knew all too well how easy it was to be misunderstood. How many times had she felt the weight of the world’s expectations on her? How many times had she had to smile, to be the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect Slytherin? And now, there he was, caught up in something bigger than him, and everyone was turning on him, whispering rumors and accusations, when all he had done was be chosen by the Goblet.
Daphne bit her lip, her mind racing. He can’t be a cheat. He wouldn’t do that. Not Harry. She didn’t know why, but she had this feeling, a deep gut instinct that told her that Harry wouldn’t stoop to something so low. He wasn’t like the others—he wasn’t like the people who would do whatever it took to win, no matter the cost.
But as she looked at him, standing there in the center of the Hall, she saw the way the other students were looking at him—their eyes filled with judgment, suspicion, and scorn. They didn’t care what the truth was. They had already decided.
The whispered rumors cut through her thoughts. "He’s a cheater." "He’s just like the rest of them." "Potter always gets away with everything."
She closed her eyes briefly, trying to silence the growing panic in her chest. She knew Harry well enough to know he didn’t deserve this. Yet, as she watched him, the weight of his situation felt heavier than ever before. There was nothing he could do now to change their minds. The accusations would stick to him, no matter how unjust they were.
And there was nothing she could do, either.
The whispers swirled around her, and Daphne’s thoughts grew chaotic, her heart pounding in her chest. She had no place to stand. She was Slytherin, after all. She was supposed to stand with the rest of her House, sneering at the Gryffindors and relishing in their fall from grace. But why couldn’t she? Why couldn’t she stand beside him, even if it meant facing the ridicule of her own House?
Why can't I hold you in the street? the lyrics of the song she'd been hearing in her head for days echoed in her mind. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Why can't we be like that?
As Harry was ushered into place with the other champions, she saw the flash of frustration in his eyes, quickly masked by the stiff set of his jaw. He was trying to hold it together, but she could see the crack in his facade. He was just a boy, after all. He wasn’t the hero everyone expected him to be, and the weight of those expectations was starting to break him.
Tell the world about the love we’re making... Her heart twisted painfully. What love? How could she even think of something like that when everything around them was falling apart? She wasn’t sure she could even admit to herself what she felt for him, let alone share it with anyone else.
But the pull was there, undeniable, making her ache with something she wasn’t ready to face. Not now. Not when everything was spiraling out of control.
==<<>>==
The corridors of Hogwarts seemed quieter than usual, their stone walls stretching out endlessly in every direction as Harry made his way through the halls. His footsteps echoed off the cold, unmoving walls, but inside his mind, it felt like a storm was raging. He was angry—angry at Ron, at the entire situation. Everything felt like it was slipping out of his control.
He had stormed out of the common room after another heated argument with Ron. The words they’d exchanged still stung, especially the ones that Ron had thrown at him. "You're a liar, Harry. You must've put your name in there. You always get everything handed to you."
It wasn’t the first time Ron had doubted him. In fact, it seemed to happen more often than not, especially since the Triwizard Tournament had begun. But something about the way Ron had looked at him—something about the betrayal in his eyes—hurt worse than anything else. They’d been friends for years. And yet, in that moment, Harry had felt as though he was standing alone in the world.
His hand tightened around the strap of his bag as he walked briskly down the hall, his chest tight, his thoughts jumbled. He needed to get away. He needed space—space from the noise of it all, space from the rumors, from Ron’s accusations. And there was only one place he knew where he could get that. A place where he could breathe, where he could just be... himself for a moment.
Turning a corner, Harry’s eyes fell on the small, inconspicuous doorway at the end of the hall. The passageway that had become their sanctuary. The one Daphne had introduced him to not long ago—the one place they could escape to, away from the chaos of school life. He reached out for the door, his fingers brushing the old wood before it creaked open with a soft groan.
As soon as the door swung open, he froze, his eyes widening in surprise. There, sitting on the stone floor, her back against the wall, was Daphne. She looked up at him slowly, her expression calm, almost expectant. It was as though she’d been waiting for him all along.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Harry stood there, staring at her, a jumble of emotions crashing through him. He hadn’t expected to see her here. He hadn’t expected anything, really, except for a quiet space to lose himself in his frustration. But somehow, the fact that she was here, waiting, without a word of judgment, made something inside him loosen. Something he hadn’t even realized was tied up so tightly.
"Daphne?" he murmured, his voice low, almost hoarse.
She tilted her head slightly, a small, understanding smile playing at the corners of her lips. She didn’t say anything. Instead, she patted the spot next to her, silently inviting him to sit. Harry hesitated for only a moment before walking toward her, his legs feeling heavier with each step. He didn’t know why, but he felt a sense of calm washing over him the closer he got to her.
Without another word, he dropped to the floor beside her, his back leaning against the cold stone wall. For a moment, neither of them moved, both of them just breathing in the silence. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Daphne shifted slightly and rested her head against his shoulder. The simple gesture—so soft, so innocent—sent a rush of warmth through Harry’s chest. It felt... right. She felt like the calm in his storm.
"Harry," she said quietly, her voice steady but soft. "What happened? You look like you’ve been through a war."
He didn’t answer right away. His mind was still swirling, the frustration still boiling under the surface. He felt like he was on the edge, ready to explode, but somehow, just sitting here with her, it felt easier to breathe. Daphne’s presence had always been like that—comforting, calm, a silent support he couldn’t explain.
Finally, he sighed, slumping further against the wall, his eyes staring blankly at the floor. "It’s Ron," he said, the frustration evident in his voice. "He’s—he’s pissed at me. He thinks I put my name in the Goblet on purpose. That I’m lying to everyone. He called me a liar, said I always get everything handed to me, that I’m always in the spotlight. And I—I just couldn’t take it anymore. It’s like... every time I try to prove myself, every time I try to be honest with him, he just... doesn’t believe me."
He shook his head, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like I’m losing him. Losing everything."
The words were raw, and as soon as they left his mouth, Harry felt something heavy settle in his chest. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed to say it, to let it out. His whole life had been one long struggle to prove himself—first with Voldemort, then with everything else. And now, even his best friend couldn’t see past the boy who lived. It felt suffocating.
Daphne was quiet for a moment, her head still resting against his shoulder, her presence grounding him in the midst of his emotional chaos. And then, without warning, she gently took his hand, her fingers warm and steady against his skin. Harry looked down at their hands, surprised by the gesture. But somehow, it didn’t feel strange. It felt right.
"Harry," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I believe you."
The simple words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, he couldn’t say anything. It was like a weight had been lifted from his chest. He had been so consumed by the accusations, by the doubt, that hearing someone—Daphne—believe in him, even when everything else seemed to be falling apart, was like a lifeline.
"You do?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
"Of course I do," she replied, lifting her head slightly to meet his gaze. Her eyes were full of sincerity, her expression soft but unwavering. "I don’t know why anyone would think you would cheat. It’s... it’s ridiculous." She paused for a moment, her fingers tightening around his hand. "But you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, Harry. Not to me. Not to Ron. Not to anyone. I know who you are."
He swallowed hard, feeling his chest tighten as something unspoken passed between them. It was like a storm had passed, leaving calm in its wake. Harry could feel her warmth, her presence beside him, grounding him in a way no one else could. It was like she understood him in a way that no one else did. She didn’t ask him to explain, didn’t demand anything from him. She simply understood.
The quiet comfort of her words lingered in the silence, and Harry couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this. How much he needed her.
Daphne squeezed his hand again, and for the briefest of moments, Harry allowed himself to lean into her, his body sagging with exhaustion, with the weight of everything he had been carrying. For once, he didn’t have to pretend. He didn’t have to be the Boy Who Lived, the hero everyone wanted him to be. Here, in this small, quiet room, with Daphne beside him, he could just be Harry. And that was enough.
The faint melody of a song seemed to echo in his mind, as it always did when he was with her. “It's obvious youre meant for me, Every piece of you it just fits perfectly” The words lingered, and Harry couldn’t help but feel the truth of them in his chest. “But I'll never show it on my face” he thought, the lyrics threading through his heart. He wanted more. But for now, in this moment, he had enough. He had her.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice low. "For being here."
Daphne didn’t say anything. Instead, she simply rested her head back on his shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly against his. She didn’t need to say anything more. Her presence was all the comfort he needed.
As they sat there, the world outside seemed to fade away, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Harry allowed himself to be vulnerable, to simply exist in the moment. The whispers, the accusations, the turmoil—it all felt distant now. Here, with Daphne, it was just them.
“Why can’t I hold you in the street? Why can’t we be like that?” Harry thought again, the lyrics echoing in his mind. But for now, this moment, just this moment with Daphne, was more than enough.
==<<>>==
Steam curled lazily above bubbling cauldrons as the scent of crushed valerian root and fluxweed filled the air. Harry hunched over his notes, trying to follow Snape’s monotone instructions while eyeing his potion for the Draught of Peace. He stirred clockwise—twice—then paused, squinting at the instructions.
From across the dungeon, a quiet voice said, "Counter-clockwise once. Then add the unicorn hair."
Harry looked up, startled. Across the aisle, Daphne Greengrass didn’t glance his way, her quill gliding across parchment with graceful precision. But she must have seen him floundering. This wasn’t the first time she'd helped him—subtly, carefully, without drawing attention.
His eyes lingered on her profile, the way her hair fell forward when she leaned down to write, the calm focus in her expression. There was something grounding about her presence, something that eased the storm constantly raging around him.
"Why can't I hold you in the street?" The lyrics echoed in his head, unbidden. "Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor?"
He tore his gaze away before Snape could notice and forced his eyes back to his cauldron. But the warmth lingered.
《《》》
Daphne’s fingers trailed over the spines of the books in the Restricted Section, her mind only half-focused on her search for information about the effects of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. She spotted the book she needed—Obscuring Charms and Tactical Shadows—but as she reached for it, another hand touched it at the same time.
She turned.
Harry.
Their eyes met. His were wide, a bit startled, like he hadn’t expected her to be there either. He gave her a tentative smile and gestured to the book. "You can take it."
She shook her head. "We can share. There's space."
They sat together at the far corner of the library, tucked behind a tall shelf. Their shoulders brushed once—accidentally—then again. She could feel the tension in the air between them. It wasn’t awkward. It was charged, electric in a way that made her feel more aware of everything.
His hand moved beside hers as he flipped the page. She caught the flicker of a glance, the way he kept stealing peeks when he thought she wouldn’t notice. But she did.
"We got a love that is hopeless..." she thought, the words drifting in her mind like smoke. She looked at him again, and he looked back. Their eyes held a beat too long.
And still, neither of them spoke of it.
《《》》
The little room hidden behind the third tapestry on the seventh floor had become theirs. No one else knew about it—or if they did, they never came by. It was small, barely large enough for the two of them to sit with their backs against opposite walls. But Harry loved it. He loved it because Daphne was always there.
Tonight, he found her already waiting, a book open on her lap, the dim light of his wand casting soft shadows across her features.
She looked up and smiled.
He smiled back and sat down beside her, stretching his legs out. For a while, they said nothing. Just the sound of parchment turning, the occasional rustle of fabric. It was quiet. Peaceful.
Eventually, he spoke. "I used to come here to be alone. When I needed to think. Or when everything got too loud."
Daphne looked over. "Do you want me to leave?"
He turned to her, shaking his head quickly. "No. You're the only one who makes the noise go away."
She blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone.
"I don't want to hide us away," he thought. "I wonder if it ever will change."
She didn’t say anything—just rested her head lightly on his shoulder. And for that hour, they didn't need words.
《《》》
Laughter echoed through the hall, bouncing off stone walls and golden plates. Daphne sat with Tracey Davis at the Slytherin table, picking at her salad while Tracey went on about the latest Hogsmeade trip.
But Daphne wasn’t listening. Her eyes kept drifting across the room.
To him.
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, absently chewing on a roll, not engaging with Ron or Hermione. His eyes flicked across the hall and—there. They met hers.
It was only for a second.
Then they both looked away.
But it was enough to make her heart clench.
"When you're with her, do you call my name like you do when you're with me?"
She couldn’t help it. Every time she saw him with someone else—even just sitting next to Hermione—her mind ran wild. Not out of jealousy. Out of longing.
They had something. She knew it. And yet, it was a secret locked behind stone walls and dusty corridors.
"I wish that we could be like that. Why can't we be like that?"
《《》》
He saw her as she turned the corner by the Charms classroom—books clutched to her chest, a strand of hair falling in front of her face. She didn't see him, too focused on balancing her stack of textbooks. He wanted to call out, to walk beside her, to offer to carry her things.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Instead, he leaned against the wall and watched her disappear down the corridor, the hem of her robe swaying behind her.
"I’m living for that day… when you open up your heart and let me in."
But that day wasn’t today.
Not yet.
《《》》
This time, she was the one who arrived first. A second copy of Hexes for the Advanced Duelist sat waiting on the table. She glanced toward the entrance just as Harry walked in.
Their eyes met. No words exchanged.
He sat across from her and opened his book.
They studied together in silence, knees brushing once, twice. Each time, the contact made her breath hitch.
"I don't wanna live love this way… I don't wanna hide us away."
She wondered if he felt the same fire burning in her chest every time they got too close. If the longing was mutual. If it hurt him, too, to keep their distance while pretending nothing had changed.
《《》》
She was curled up on the stone bench, a blanket over her knees, reading Hogwarts: A History of all things. Harry sat across from her, unable to look away.
"You always read that book?" he asked, smirking.
Daphne lowered it. "It has its uses."
He nodded, shifting. The room felt warmer when she was in it, despite the stone.
"You know, sometimes I wish we didn’t have to hide here," he said quietly.
Daphne looked up.
He continued, voice softer. "I mean… I wish I could just—walk down the corridor with you. Not have to pretend I’m not thinking about you every second of the day."
Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she might say something.
But instead, she whispered, "Me too."
They sat in silence. Not needing anything else.
“Why can’t we be like that?”
==<<>>==
The stands overlooking the makeshift dragon arena were packed, voices chattering with excitement and nerves. Daphne sat stiffly beside Tracey Davis in the Slytherin section, arms crossed tightly, her eyes fixed on the roped-off enclosure below where the Hungarian Horntail had just been led out. She barely heard Tracey’s commentary or the cheers around her.
Her heart was pounding.
"Next up," boomed Bagman’s voice, magically magnified to echo across the arena, "representing Hogwarts—Harry Potter!"
Daphne’s breath caught in her throat.
The world around her dimmed. All she could see was Harry stepping into the arena, wand in hand, the weight of a world he never asked to carry etched across his face.
He looked so small from this distance. So breakable.
"Why can't I hold you in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor?" The lyrics whispered through her thoughts like a curse.
She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She was a Slytherin. He was the Boy Who Lived, Gryffindor’s golden child. And yet, here she was, gripping the edge of her seat like her heart might stop if his did.
The Horntail reared back, fire licking from its mouth. Harry ran.
Her nails dug into her palms.
Spells shot from his wand. He was fast, agile, more focused than she'd ever seen him. But that dragon was ancient and angry, and no one—not even someone as foolishly brave as Harry Potter—should’ve been forced to face it alone.
Daphne flinched as flame scorched the stone, gasping as Harry ducked just in time. She found herself standing, hand over her mouth, while Tracey said something she didn’t hear.
"When you’re with her, do you call my name like you do when you’re with me?” The thought cut through her like the dragon’s tail slicing stone.
Then he was on the broom. Soaring.
Her breath caught again—not from fear this time, but from awe. He was flying like it was what he was born to do, weaving between fire and fang, his eyes sharp, movements fluid.
Then—
He had the egg.
The cheers were deafening. Students erupted in celebration. Daphne sank back into her seat, eyes glued to him as he landed, as he was mobbed by judges and officials.
But all she could see was that for one terrifying moment, he could have died.
And no one—not a single soul—would have known how much that would’ve destroyed her.
"I wish that it could be like that... why can't it be like that... 'cause I'm yours."
==<<>>==
The castle was buzzing that night with celebration. Gryffindors sang as they poured into the common room, and the halls echoed with retellings of the task.
But Daphne walked with purpose, cloak clutched tightly around her shoulders. She didn’t stop to greet anyone. Didn’t pause when Tracey called after her.
She was going to him.
She needed to see for herself that he was truly alright.
She reached the tapestry and slipped through the passage, the familiar shift of stone giving way to quiet darkness. Her heart was pounding again—but not from fear this time. From something far more raw, far more overwhelming.
He was there.
Sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, head leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed. But when he heard her footsteps, he opened them—and smiled.
"Hey," he said, voice soft, tired.
She dropped her bag to the floor, walked straight over, and punched him lightly in the chest.
"Ow—what—?"
"You absolute idiot," she breathed, voice trembling. "You could’ve been killed. Do you have any idea what it was like watching you out there? What it felt like?"
He blinked, startled.
She didn’t let him speak. Her hands fisted in the front of his uniform. "I was terrified, Harry. You shouldn’t have been out there in the first place. But you were, and you were brilliant and reckless and stupid and—"
She kissed him.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t gentle.
It was desperate, all the fear and longing and frustration spilling over into that moment, into the feel of his lips on hers. For a second, he froze—then his arms wrapped around her and pulled her closer.
They sank to the floor together, clinging to each other like the world outside no longer mattered. She buried her face in his neck, breathing him in.
He pressed his forehead to hers, fingers gently brushing her back.
And they didn’t speak.
There were no words that could match what they were feeling.
"Tell the world about the love we're making…"
But for now, the world could wait.
They had this moment.
They had each other.
"I wish that it could be like that… why can't it be like that? 'Cause I'm yours."
==<<>>==
Harry barely heard Professor McGonagall’s voice over the dull thrum in his chest. She had called him aside after Transfiguration, her lips pressed into a firm line that usually meant detention or something equally unpleasant.
"Mr. Potter, as a Triwizard Champion, you are expected to open the Yule Ball. That means you’ll need a partner."
Harry stared at her, blinking. "A partner?"
She gave him a pointed look. "A date, Potter. The ball is a tradition, and traditions must be upheld. The Champions are required to open the first dance. You have until the end of the week."
She didn’t wait for a response before sweeping off, her robes billowing behind her.
Harry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. A partner. A dance. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to go, let alone perform in front of everyone.
But even as dread swirled in his gut, another thought crept in.
Daphne.
By the time he made it to their passageway that night, he had rehearsed a dozen ways of asking her. Casually. Jokingly. Honestly.
But she wasn’t there.
The next night, he waited longer. He brought the chocolate frogs she liked and a book she’d mentioned wanting to borrow. Still no sign of her.
On the third night, he sat on the cold stone, back against the wall, staring at the flickering torchlight, his fingers tapping the cover of the book in his lap.
“Why can’t I hold you in the street…”
He hadn’t realized how deeply she’d carved into his life until her absence echoed louder than her presence ever had.
His breath fogged in the cold air, and a quiet ache settled in his chest.
Two more days passed.
Then, walking past the Charms corridor, he slowed at the sound of laughter—sharp, familiar.
“…Zabini asked her, can you believe it?”
“Daphne Greengrass? Didn’t think she liked anyone, let alone him.”
“Apparently she said yes.”
Harry’s feet stopped moving.
His heart didn’t.
He stood there, motionless, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. A part of him wanted to storm back to their passage and wait for her again. Another part wanted to find Zabini and hex him into next year.
But instead—
He heard it in his mind, the bitter truth unspoken:
“When you’re with him, do you call his name like you do when you’re with me?”
The next day, he found Padma Patil in the library. She looked up in surprise when he asked, cheeks flushing pink.
She said yes.
He offered her a smile, and she returned it.
But it didn’t reach his eyes.
And he didn’t stop thinking about a girl with ice-blonde hair and grey eyes who used to sit beside him in silence and understand everything he never said.
==<<>>==
The dormitory was quiet.
Daphne lay on her bed, staring up at the canopy above her, the velvet green curtain drawn half-closed. Her fingers trembled slightly as she smoothed the hem of her sleeve.
She hadn’t been to the passage in days. She couldn’t.
Because if she did, she might not have been able to walk away again.
And she had to.
She had to keep him safe from the storm that followed her name. From the questions. From the judgments. From the consequences. From the marriage contract her father had been given.
Tracey’s voice cut through her thoughts.
"You alright?"
Daphne didn’t answer.
Tracey came around the bed, sitting gently on the edge of the mattress. "I didn’t want to say anything, but… I overheard something today. Harry’s going to the ball. With Padma Patil."
It was a clean strike to the chest.
Daphne didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
She just lay back slowly, pulling the curtain closed.
And then the tears came.
Quiet. Unrelenting.
Tracey’s hand rested gently on the outside of the curtain.
Daphne pressed her sleeve to her mouth, trying to muffle the sob that slipped free.
“We got a love that is hopeless…”
That night, in the privacy of her own bed, where no one could see her fall apart, Daphne let herself grieve what might have been.
Because no matter how deeply you loved someone—
Sometimes, love just wasn’t enough.
==<<>>==
The wind tugged at Harry’s dress robes as he stood just outside the Great Hall, trying not to fidget. The cold stone beneath his shoes and the hushed murmuring of students behind the grand wooden doors grounded him—barely. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, glancing sideways at Cedric, who stood tall and composed next to Cho.
Fleur looked bored, her eyes scanning the crowd with mild disinterest, while Viktor Krum stood slightly hunched, his date looking small beside him. Harry exhaled slowly, trying to settle the nerves coiling in his chest. Padma stood near him, fixing the edge of her blue robes. She looked elegant, her long dark hair swept into a tidy updo, and he felt a twinge of guilt for not saying much to her all evening.
It was supposed to be someone else.
His thoughts kept circling that single truth. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Daphne since he saw her arm-in-arm with Blaise Zabini. The image was burned into his mind. He still hadn’t made sense of why she hadn’t come to the passage. Why she’d said yes to someone else.
The Great Hall doors began to creak open as the music swelled inside.
Harry’s breath caught.
And there she was.
Daphne Greengrass, stepping through the open doors of the castle on Blaise Zabini’s arm.
She was radiant.
Her pale silver-green gown shimmered like frost under the moonlight, hugging her figure in ways that were elegant, not flashy. Her platinum-blonde hair had been curled and pinned with a soft cascade falling over one shoulder. But it wasn’t the dress or the hair or even the elegance with which she moved that arrested him.
It was her eyes.
Grey, cool, and searching.
They met his across the courtyard, the crowd and noise between them fading into white silence. For the span of a heartbeat, Harry forgot where he was. He forgot the Ball. The dance. The obligations. He forgot Padma standing just beside him, his arm linked with hers.
He only saw her.
She didn’t smile. Neither did he.
But something passed between them—familiar and aching. A thousand words they hadn’t said, trapped in the space of a single look.
And then Padma tightened her grip on his arm.
“Harry, they’re opening the doors,” she said brightly.
He blinked and turned slightly, just enough to see Padma’s carefully painted smile and her hand guiding him forward. As the champions stepped into the Great Hall, he glanced back once more.
Daphne had turned, her hand lightly on Blaise’s forearm.
But her head was tilted slightly toward Harry, her eyes downcast.
“Why can’t I hold you in the street?” echoed faintly in his mind.
And in hers:
“When you look at her, I hope you don’t forget how you looked at me.”
Daphne’s heels clicked gently against the polished floor as she moved with Blaise through the entrance of the Great Hall. The ceiling above them glittered with thousands of floating candles and enchanted snowflakes that drifted lazily through the air. Everything was beautiful.
But her breath hitched the moment she saw him.
Harry stood just beyond the main arch, his emerald-green robes unexpectedly neat. His hair was still that same untamable mess. And he looked...
Stunned.
Like he hadn’t expected to see her. Or like seeing her physically hurt.
Her heart squeezed, and for a second she almost forgot Blaise beside her, forgot where she was, forgot everything that had happened the last two weeks.
You could’ve gone to him, a voice whispered. You should have.
And then Padma Patil appeared at his side, her hand sliding into the crook of Harry’s arm with practiced ease. She leaned in close to say something, and Daphne saw the polite smile Harry gave her in return.
It was small. It was faint.
But it was enough.
Daphne turned away quickly, swallowing down the lump rising in her throat.
Tracey had helped her get ready. Said she looked like something out of a fairytale. But now, with Harry standing just a dozen feet away and not hers to touch, all Daphne could think was—
“We got a love that is hopeless.”
Blaise said something about the decorations.
She didn’t hear it.
All she could feel was the ghost of Harry’s gaze on her back, the phantom ache of what she hadn’t let herself hope for.
Her fingers curled tightly around the silk folds of her gown.
Soon, the music would start.
Soon, they’d have to dance.
But for now, she let herself feel the cra It was unusually quiet in the library that evening, even for Hogwarts. Most of the students were still at dinner or lounging in their common rooms, leaving the towering shelves of books to rest in a rare hush. The smell of parchment and ink lingered thick in the air, and the flickering candlelight gave the corners of the room a warm, golden hue.
Harry Potter shifted uncomfortably as he scanned the Potions section. Snape had, once again, assigned an essay far beyond what a fourth-year ought to know—four feet on the properties of belladonna and its reaction with mandrake root in restorative draughts. He sighed. He'd already checked three books and found nothing useful.
He reached out toward the last copy of Advanced Ingredient Theory on the shelf—
But someone else’s hand was already on it.
Slender fingers, pale against the dark leather binding. His eyes followed the hand up to a green-trimmed sleeve, then to a curtain of cool blonde hair and a composed expression.
Daphne Greengrass.
Harry froze.
Of all the people he expected to find here—Daphne Greengrass was not one. Slytherin. Elegant, aloof, almost invisible in most crowds. Not cruel like Malfoy, but not exactly friendly either. They’d never spoken.
She didn’t seem to notice him at first. Her eyes were scanning the index. Then, as if sensing his presence, she glanced sideways and stilled.
“Oh,” she said. “Potter.”
“Greengrass,” he replied cautiously.
She studied him for a moment, then turned the book slightly so he could see the page. "You looking for information on belladonna interactions with mandrake root?"
Harry blinked. "Yeah. Snape's essay."
"Same. This is the last book with anything useful. You can share it with me, if you’d like."
He hesitated. "You want to share... with me?"
Daphne raised an eyebrow. "We're not dueling, Potter. It’s a library."
He stared at her for a second longer, then slid into the chair beside her.
They worked in silence at first. Daphne’s handwriting was neat and precise, her quill barely making a sound as it glided across the parchment. Harry tried to focus, but he kept sneaking glances at her—trying to understand why she was being… nice.
She caught him looking once and smirked. "You keep doing that, you’ll forget what you’re writing."
Harry flushed and looked down at his half-written paragraph. "Just surprised you’re helping me."
"Not everything has to be House rivalry. Besides, I hate incompetence. If you hand in a rubbish essay, Snape will just assign more work. I’m protecting my own future."
Harry gave a short laugh. "Fair enough."
They fell into a rhythm after that—reading, writing, quietly trading observations. Daphne was sharp. Not just intelligent, but methodical. She pointed out an error in his wording and offered a cleaner phrasing. He corrected her once on a brewing step she’d misremembered. She accepted it with a nod.
As they worked, a faint tune played in Harry’s head. Something he’d heard once—a Muggle song on the radio before his Hogwarts letters came. A line echoed faintly: We keep behind closed doors...
He shook his head. Where had that come from?
“You alright?” Daphne asked.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
They worked for another twenty minutes before Daphne closed the book and stretched.
“That should be enough. Thanks for not being useless, Potter.”
“Thanks for letting me share the book.”
She gave him a nod and walked away, her steps quiet against the stone floor.
Harry watched her go, a strange flutter in his chest.
He wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t be their last library encounter.
The next time it happened, it wasn’t an accident.
He spotted her seated alone at the same table a week later, flipping through a heavy tome on magical plant interactions. He told himself he needed another reference for his Potions essay. That was only partly true.
She looked up when he approached. "Potter."
"Greengrass," he replied with a nod, sliding into the seat opposite her. "Don’t worry, I brought my own book this time."
She quirked an eyebrow. "A miracle."
The silence that settled between them was oddly comfortable. It wasn’t like the silence he shared with Ron or Hermione when they were all focused on work. This one had edges to it—quiet awareness, tension, and something… else.
==<<>>==
"Do you trust me?" Harry asked, his voice low as he stood near the entrance to the library. Daphne was packing her books away, looking up at him with a quizzical expression.
"Of course," she replied, her tone steady, though there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "Why?"
"Come with me," Harry said, offering her a small smile. He didn’t wait for a response, just turned on his heel and walked toward the narrow corridor that led to the staircase. He glanced back to make sure she was following, and after a moment, Daphne slipped into step beside him.
They moved through the hallways quietly, weaving between the shadows cast by the dim torchlight. Harry's heart beat a little faster than usual. This was no ordinary invitation. He'd never brought anyone here—this hidden place was his own, a part of Hogwarts he'd kept secret for years. But somehow, with Daphne, it felt right to share it.
After a few winding corridors, they reached a section of the third floor, where the tapestries lined the walls like old sentinels guarding forgotten secrets. Harry glanced over at Daphne, his voice barely a whisper. "This is it."
He pulled back a thick tapestry, revealing a narrow alcove behind it. A small, unmarked door sat nestled against the stone, almost invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. He pushed it open and gestured for Daphne to enter first.
The room beyond was small but cozy, tucked away from the rest of the castle. The walls were lined with worn stone, and a single window provided a faint glimpse of the darkened grounds. It smelled of dust and old books, but there was something strangely comforting about it. Harry had spent countless hours here over the years, using the solitude to escape the chaos of his life.
Daphne stepped inside and looked around, her eyes widening with a mix of surprise and curiosity. "You’ve been hiding this place?"
Harry chuckled softly, closing the door behind them. "Yeah. It’s been my escape when I needed one. Nobody really knows about it." He paused, letting his words settle. "I thought you might like it. It’s quiet here. No one can find us."
She turned to him with an appraising look, then smiled. "I have to admit, it’s a little... secretive. I like it."
Harry sat down on the stone floor, leaning against the wall, and Daphne followed suit, sitting a few feet away from him. The quiet stretched between them for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt natural, like they’d been doing this for ages.
They hadn’t spoken much about personal things yet, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. Daphne, for once, wasn’t acting like the aloof Slytherin she often projected. Instead, she seemed... lighter, more open here in this hidden space, where no one could judge her.
"So," Harry began, breaking the silence, "how often do you get a chance to just... be yourself? Not the perfect Slytherin, not the smart, poised Greengrass. Just you."
Daphne raised an eyebrow at him, clearly surprised by the question. She leaned back against the wall, her arms crossed loosely over her chest as she considered the thought. "Not often, I suppose. Slytherins have to be a certain way. Perfect, calculated. If we aren’t, it reflects badly on the whole House. My sister, Astoria, is different. She doesn’t care what people think of her. But me... I’ve always felt the weight of it. People expect too much from you in Slytherin. It’s exhausting."
Harry nodded, his gaze softening. "I get it. Being the ‘Chosen One,’ the one everyone looks at, it’s not easy. It’s like they expect me to be this perfect hero, but I’m just... me. I don’t even know how to live up to that sometimes."
Daphne’s eyes softened as she looked at him, understanding in her gaze. "I can’t imagine what that must be like for you. The pressure, the eyes always on you."
Harry shrugged, feeling oddly vulnerable in front of her. "Yeah. I never asked for any of it. But that’s just the way things are, right?"
"Yeah," Daphne agreed softly, her voice quiet. "I know how that feels. We all have our burdens to carry, even if they’re different."
They sat there in silence for a moment, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Harry found himself noticing the way the soft flicker of candlelight danced across her face, the way her eyes seemed to soften whenever she looked at him. It was as if this secret place, this quiet moment, was allowing them to truly see each other—without the masks, without the expectations.
Daphne broke the silence again, her voice thoughtful. "So... what do you do here when you’re alone? Just sit and think?"
Harry smiled faintly. "Sometimes. Other times I just... breathe. It’s like the world stops for a moment. I can hear myself think again. It’s peaceful."
"I could use some peace," she murmured, glancing out the window at the moonlight filtering through the glass.
They sat in companionable silence, the quiet only interrupted by the distant sound of the castle settling. Harry leaned his head back against the stone wall, his eyes flicking to the ceiling. Stolen moments that we steal as the curtain draws the lyrics whispered softly in his head as he goanced over at Daphne.
He felt a sense of contentment here, in this hidden corner of Hogwarts with Daphne.
She shifted beside him, pulling her knees to her chest. "I’ve always been the kind of person who keeps things to herself. It’s easier that way, isn’t it? Less chance of getting hurt. But sometimes, I wonder if... maybe I’ve been keeping too much inside."
Harry turned his head to look at her. "It’s not easy, letting people in. But you don’t have to do it alone. I mean... I don’t think you’re alone anymore. Not with me, at least."
Daphne’s lips curled into a small, soft smile. "I’m not sure what to do with that. But... thank you."
Harry grinned back, the connection between them deepening with each passing moment. He didn’t know exactly where this was leading, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
And it was enough.
==<<>>==
The Great Hall was filled with the usual buzz of excitement, but today there was something different in the air. It wasn’t just the usual chatter of students from the four Houses eagerly waiting for the names to be called. No, today the air felt charged, electric, with the anticipation of who would be chosen as the Triwizard champions. Daphne sat with her fellow Slytherins, Tracey Davis beside her as usual, but her mind was somewhere else entirely.
She was trying to concentrate on the names being called, trying to mask the strange sense of unease gnawing at her gut, but it was difficult. She had always hated moments like these—the moments when the eyes of the entire school were on one thing, and one thing only. It felt like the entire castle held its breath, waiting for something big to happen. And as Dumbledore's voice rang out across the Hall, it only heightened her nerves.
"Harry Potter."
The words sliced through the air with such unexpected force that Daphne’s hand froze mid-air, the goblet she’d been holding forgotten as she turned sharply towards the sound. Her heart skipped a beat, and an involuntary wave of dread flooded through her chest. She’d been so distracted, so caught up in her thoughts about how the day might go, that she hadn’t considered the possibility of his name being chosen.
Harry Potter.
Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him rise from his seat at the Gryffindor table. For a split second, she wondered if he had made some kind of mistake—if he would turn back, sit down, and explain that there had been some kind of misunderstanding. But no, his name had been called. The other champions were already beginning to shuffle forward, but Harry remained rooted in place, his face pale, his green eyes wide in disbelief.
Daphne’s heart lurched. She hadn’t expected it to feel like this. In all honesty, she hadn’t even thought much about it. Sure, Harry was in the running for the tournament like any other student, but she hadn’t really considered him being chosen. Now that it was happening, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. It was like watching something she couldn’t quite understand, but couldn’t ignore either.
As Harry stood up, she couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable he looked, how stiffly he moved, as though the weight of the entire school’s attention was pressing down on his shoulders. He was being thrust into the spotlight once again. Everyone knew him—the Boy Who Lived, the hero of the Wizarding World. But this... this was different. This wasn’t about him surviving Voldemort’s curse anymore. This was about competition.
What does he feel right now? she wondered.
Daphne’s breath hitched as she realized she was holding onto the edge of her seat, her knuckles going white. She had always been good at maintaining her composure, good at pretending to be unaffected by the drama around her, but right now, she was struggling. Something inside her twisted uncomfortably.
The whispers began almost immediately, soft at first, then growing louder as the news spread. They were coming from all sides, from the students seated around her, from all corners of the hall. “He didn’t put his name in. It was a mistake.” “He must’ve cheated. It’s the only explanation.” “He’s always getting attention, isn’t he?”
The words stung, and Daphne could feel the uncomfortable heat rise in her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She hated the whispers. Hated them.
Why didn’t I see this coming?
She knew what people thought of him. She knew what people thought of her, too. But Harry... Harry was different. She had never quite understood why she’d felt drawn to him. She’d always been guarded, careful, aloof in a way that allowed her to observe without becoming emotionally entangled. But Harry had a way of making everything more... complicated.
She watched as he was escorted to the front, his shoulders stiff as he walked, and a pang of something unfamiliar tightened in her chest. What if he’s innocent? The thought came to her unbidden, but it hung in the air, undeniable. It was possible, wasn’t it? It had to be.
She knew all too well how easy it was to be misunderstood. How many times had she felt the weight of the world’s expectations on her? How many times had she had to smile, to be the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect Slytherin? And now, there he was, caught up in something bigger than him, and everyone was turning on him, whispering rumors and accusations, when all he had done was be chosen by the Goblet.
Daphne bit her lip, her mind racing. He can’t be a cheat. He wouldn’t do that. Not Harry. She didn’t know why, but she had this feeling, a deep gut instinct that told her that Harry wouldn’t stoop to something so low. He wasn’t like the others—he wasn’t like the people who would do whatever it took to win, no matter the cost.
But as she looked at him, standing there in the center of the Hall, she saw the way the other students were looking at him—their eyes filled with judgment, suspicion, and scorn. They didn’t care what the truth was. They had already decided.
The whispered rumors cut through her thoughts. "He’s a cheater." "He’s just like the rest of them." "Potter always gets away with everything."
She closed her eyes briefly, trying to silence the growing panic in her chest. She knew Harry well enough to know he didn’t deserve this. Yet, as she watched him, the weight of his situation felt heavier than ever before. There was nothing he could do now to change their minds. The accusations would stick to him, no matter how unjust they were.
And there was nothing she could do, either.
The whispers swirled around her, and Daphne’s thoughts grew chaotic, her heart pounding in her chest. She had no place to stand. She was Slytherin, after all. She was supposed to stand with the rest of her House, sneering at the Gryffindors and relishing in their fall from grace. But why couldn’t she? Why couldn’t she stand beside him, even if it meant facing the ridicule of her own House?
Why can't I hold you in the street? the lyrics of the song she'd been hearing in her head for days echoed in her mind. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Why can't we be like that?
As Harry was ushered into place with the other champions, she saw the flash of frustration in his eyes, quickly masked by the stiff set of his jaw. He was trying to hold it together, but she could see the crack in his facade. He was just a boy, after all. He wasn’t the hero everyone expected him to be, and the weight of those expectations was starting to break him.
Tell the world about the love we’re making... Her heart twisted painfully. What love? How could she even think of something like that when everything around them was falling apart? She wasn’t sure she could even admit to herself what she felt for him, let alone share it with anyone else.
But the pull was there, undeniable, making her ache with something she wasn’t ready to face. Not now. Not when everything was spiraling out of control.
==<<>>==
The corridors of Hogwarts seemed quieter than usual, their stone walls stretching out endlessly in every direction as Harry made his way through the halls. His footsteps echoed off the cold, unmoving walls, but inside his mind, it felt like a storm was raging. He was angry—angry at Ron, at the entire situation. Everything felt like it was slipping out of his control.
He had stormed out of the common room after another heated argument with Ron. The words they’d exchanged still stung, especially the ones that Ron had thrown at him. "You're a liar, Harry. You must've put your name in there. You always get everything handed to you."
It wasn’t the first time Ron had doubted him. In fact, it seemed to happen more often than not, especially since the Triwizard Tournament had begun. But something about the way Ron had looked at him—something about the betrayal in his eyes—hurt worse than anything else. They’d been friends for years. And yet, in that moment, Harry had felt as though he was standing alone in the world.
His hand tightened around the strap of his bag as he walked briskly down the hall, his chest tight, his thoughts jumbled. He needed to get away. He needed space—space from the noise of it all, space from the rumors, from Ron’s accusations. And there was only one place he knew where he could get that. A place where he could breathe, where he could just be... himself for a moment.
Turning a corner, Harry’s eyes fell on the small, inconspicuous doorway at the end of the hall. The passageway that had become their sanctuary. The one Daphne had introduced him to not long ago—the one place they could escape to, away from the chaos of school life. He reached out for the door, his fingers brushing the old wood before it creaked open with a soft groan.
As soon as the door swung open, he froze, his eyes widening in surprise. There, sitting on the stone floor, her back against the wall, was Daphne. She looked up at him slowly, her expression calm, almost expectant. It was as though she’d been waiting for him all along.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Harry stood there, staring at her, a jumble of emotions crashing through him. He hadn’t expected to see her here. He hadn’t expected anything, really, except for a quiet space to lose himself in his frustration. But somehow, the fact that she was here, waiting, without a word of judgment, made something inside him loosen. Something he hadn’t even realized was tied up so tightly.
"Daphne?" he murmured, his voice low, almost hoarse.
She tilted her head slightly, a small, understanding smile playing at the corners of her lips. She didn’t say anything. Instead, she patted the spot next to her, silently inviting him to sit. Harry hesitated for only a moment before walking toward her, his legs feeling heavier with each step. He didn’t know why, but he felt a sense of calm washing over him the closer he got to her.
Without another word, he dropped to the floor beside her, his back leaning against the cold stone wall. For a moment, neither of them moved, both of them just breathing in the silence. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Daphne shifted slightly and rested her head against his shoulder. The simple gesture—so soft, so innocent—sent a rush of warmth through Harry’s chest. It felt... right. She felt like the calm in his storm.
"Harry," she said quietly, her voice steady but soft. "What happened? You look like you’ve been through a war."
He didn’t answer right away. His mind was still swirling, the frustration still boiling under the surface. He felt like he was on the edge, ready to explode, but somehow, just sitting here with her, it felt easier to breathe. Daphne’s presence had always been like that—comforting, calm, a silent support he couldn’t explain.
Finally, he sighed, slumping further against the wall, his eyes staring blankly at the floor. "It’s Ron," he said, the frustration evident in his voice. "He’s—he’s pissed at me. He thinks I put my name in the Goblet on purpose. That I’m lying to everyone. He called me a liar, said I always get everything handed to me, that I’m always in the spotlight. And I—I just couldn’t take it anymore. It’s like... every time I try to prove myself, every time I try to be honest with him, he just... doesn’t believe me."
He shook his head, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like I’m losing him. Losing everything."
The words were raw, and as soon as they left his mouth, Harry felt something heavy settle in his chest. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed to say it, to let it out. His whole life had been one long struggle to prove himself—first with Voldemort, then with everything else. And now, even his best friend couldn’t see past the boy who lived. It felt suffocating.
Daphne was quiet for a moment, her head still resting against his shoulder, her presence grounding him in the midst of his emotional chaos. And then, without warning, she gently took his hand, her fingers warm and steady against his skin. Harry looked down at their hands, surprised by the gesture. But somehow, it didn’t feel strange. It felt right.
"Harry," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I believe you."
The simple words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, he couldn’t say anything. It was like a weight had been lifted from his chest. He had been so consumed by the accusations, by the doubt, that hearing someone—Daphne—believe in him, even when everything else seemed to be falling apart, was like a lifeline.
"You do?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
"Of course I do," she replied, lifting her head slightly to meet his gaze. Her eyes were full of sincerity, her expression soft but unwavering. "I don’t know why anyone would think you would cheat. It’s... it’s ridiculous." She paused for a moment, her fingers tightening around his hand. "But you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, Harry. Not to me. Not to Ron. Not to anyone. I know who you are."
He swallowed hard, feeling his chest tighten as something unspoken passed between them. It was like a storm had passed, leaving calm in its wake. Harry could feel her warmth, her presence beside him, grounding him in a way no one else could. It was like she understood him in a way that no one else did. She didn’t ask him to explain, didn’t demand anything from him. She simply understood.
The quiet comfort of her words lingered in the silence, and Harry couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this. How much he needed her.
Daphne squeezed his hand again, and for the briefest of moments, Harry allowed himself to lean into her, his body sagging with exhaustion, with the weight of everything he had been carrying. For once, he didn’t have to pretend. He didn’t have to be the Boy Who Lived, the hero everyone wanted him to be. Here, in this small, quiet room, with Daphne beside him, he could just be Harry. And that was enough.
The faint melody of a song seemed to echo in his mind, as it always did when he was with her. “It's obvious youre meant for me, Every piece of you it just fits perfectly” The words lingered, and Harry couldn’t help but feel the truth of them in his chest. “But I'll never show it on my face” he thought, the lyrics threading through his heart. He wanted more. But for now, in this moment, he had enough. He had her.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice low. "For being here."
Daphne didn’t say anything. Instead, she simply rested her head back on his shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly against his. She didn’t need to say anything more. Her presence was all the comfort he needed.
As they sat there, the world outside seemed to fade away, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Harry allowed himself to be vulnerable, to simply exist in the moment. The whispers, the accusations, the turmoil—it all felt distant now. Here, with Daphne, it was just them.
“Why can’t I hold you in the street? Why can’t we be like that?” Harry thought again, the lyrics echoing in his mind. But for now, this moment, just this moment with Daphne, was more than enough.
==<<>>==
Steam curled lazily above bubbling cauldrons as the scent of crushed valerian root and fluxweed filled the air. Harry hunched over his notes, trying to follow Snape’s monotone instructions while eyeing his potion for the Draught of Peace. He stirred clockwise—twice—then paused, squinting at the instructions.
From across the dungeon, a quiet voice said, "Counter-clockwise once. Then add the unicorn hair."
Harry looked up, startled. Across the aisle, Daphne Greengrass didn’t glance his way, her quill gliding across parchment with graceful precision. But she must have seen him floundering. This wasn’t the first time she'd helped him—subtly, carefully, without drawing attention.
His eyes lingered on her profile, the way her hair fell forward when she leaned down to write, the calm focus in her expression. There was something grounding about her presence, something that eased the storm constantly raging around him.
"Why can't I hold you in the street?" The lyrics echoed in his head, unbidden. "Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor?"
He tore his gaze away before Snape could notice and forced his eyes back to his cauldron. But the warmth lingered.
《《》》
Daphne’s fingers trailed over the spines of the books in the Restricted Section, her mind only half-focused on her search for information about the effects of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. She spotted the book she needed—Obscuring Charms and Tactical Shadows—but as she reached for it, another hand touched it at the same time.
She turned.
Harry.
Their eyes met. His were wide, a bit startled, like he hadn’t expected her to be there either. He gave her a tentative smile and gestured to the book. "You can take it."
She shook her head. "We can share. There's space."
They sat together at the far corner of the library, tucked behind a tall shelf. Their shoulders brushed once—accidentally—then again. She could feel the tension in the air between them. It wasn’t awkward. It was charged, electric in a way that made her feel more aware of everything.
His hand moved beside hers as he flipped the page. She caught the flicker of a glance, the way he kept stealing peeks when he thought she wouldn’t notice. But she did.
"We got a love that is hopeless..." she thought, the words drifting in her mind like smoke. She looked at him again, and he looked back. Their eyes held a beat too long.
And still, neither of them spoke of it.
《《》》
The little room hidden behind the third tapestry on the seventh floor had become theirs. No one else knew about it—or if they did, they never came by. It was small, barely large enough for the two of them to sit with their backs against opposite walls. But Harry loved it. He loved it because Daphne was always there.
Tonight, he found her already waiting, a book open on her lap, the dim light of his wand casting soft shadows across her features.
She looked up and smiled.
He smiled back and sat down beside her, stretching his legs out. For a while, they said nothing. Just the sound of parchment turning, the occasional rustle of fabric. It was quiet. Peaceful.
Eventually, he spoke. "I used to come here to be alone. When I needed to think. Or when everything got too loud."
Daphne looked over. "Do you want me to leave?"
He turned to her, shaking his head quickly. "No. You're the only one who makes the noise go away."
She blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone.
"I don't want to hide us away," he thought. "I wonder if it ever will change."
She didn’t say anything—just rested her head lightly on his shoulder. And for that hour, they didn't need words.
《《》》
Laughter echoed through the hall, bouncing off stone walls and golden plates. Daphne sat with Tracey Davis at the Slytherin table, picking at her salad while Tracey went on about the latest Hogsmeade trip.
But Daphne wasn’t listening. Her eyes kept drifting across the room.
To him.
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, absently chewing on a roll, not engaging with Ron or Hermione. His eyes flicked across the hall and—there. They met hers.
It was only for a second.
Then they both looked away.
But it was enough to make her heart clench.
"When you're with her, do you call my name like you do when you're with me?"
She couldn’t help it. Every time she saw him with someone else—even just sitting next to Hermione—her mind ran wild. Not out of jealousy. Out of longing.
They had something. She knew it. And yet, it was a secret locked behind stone walls and dusty corridors.
"I wish that we could be like that. Why can't we be like that?"
《《》》
He saw her as she turned the corner by the Charms classroom—books clutched to her chest, a strand of hair falling in front of her face. She didn't see him, too focused on balancing her stack of textbooks. He wanted to call out, to walk beside her, to offer to carry her things.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Instead, he leaned against the wall and watched her disappear down the corridor, the hem of her robe swaying behind her.
"I’m living for that day… when you open up your heart and let me in."
But that day wasn’t today.
Not yet.
《《》》
This time, she was the one who arrived first. A second copy of Hexes for the Advanced Duelist sat waiting on the table. She glanced toward the entrance just as Harry walked in.
Their eyes met. No words exchanged.
He sat across from her and opened his book.
They studied together in silence, knees brushing once, twice. Each time, the contact made her breath hitch.
"I don't wanna live love this way… I don't wanna hide us away."
She wondered if he felt the same fire burning in her chest every time they got too close. If the longing was mutual. If it hurt him, too, to keep their distance while pretending nothing had changed.
《《》》
She was curled up on the stone bench, a blanket over her knees, reading Hogwarts: A History of all things. Harry sat across from her, unable to look away.
"You always read that book?" he asked, smirking.
Daphne lowered it. "It has its uses."
He nodded, shifting. The room felt warmer when she was in it, despite the stone.
"You know, sometimes I wish we didn’t have to hide here," he said quietly.
Daphne looked up.
He continued, voice softer. "I mean… I wish I could just—walk down the corridor with you. Not have to pretend I’m not thinking about you every second of the day."
Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she might say something.
But instead, she whispered, "Me too."
They sat in silence. Not needing anything else.
“Why can’t we be like that?”
==<<>>==
The stands overlooking the makeshift dragon arena were packed, voices chattering with excitement and nerves. Daphne sat stiffly beside Tracey Davis in the Slytherin section, arms crossed tightly, her eyes fixed on the roped-off enclosure below where the Hungarian Horntail had just been led out. She barely heard Tracey’s commentary or the cheers around her.
Her heart was pounding.
"Next up," boomed Bagman’s voice, magically magnified to echo across the arena, "representing Hogwarts—Harry Potter!"
Daphne’s breath caught in her throat.
The world around her dimmed. All she could see was Harry stepping into the arena, wand in hand, the weight of a world he never asked to carry etched across his face.
He looked so small from this distance. So breakable.
"Why can't I hold you in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor?" The lyrics whispered through her thoughts like a curse.
She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She was a Slytherin. He was the Boy Who Lived, Gryffindor’s golden child. And yet, here she was, gripping the edge of her seat like her heart might stop if his did.
The Horntail reared back, fire licking from its mouth. Harry ran.
Her nails dug into her palms.
Spells shot from his wand. He was fast, agile, more focused than she'd ever seen him. But that dragon was ancient and angry, and no one—not even someone as foolishly brave as Harry Potter—should’ve been forced to face it alone.
Daphne flinched as flame scorched the stone, gasping as Harry ducked just in time. She found herself standing, hand over her mouth, while Tracey said something she didn’t hear.
"When you’re with her, do you call my name like you do when you’re with me?” The thought cut through her like the dragon’s tail slicing stone.
Then he was on the broom. Soaring.
Her breath caught again—not from fear this time, but from awe. He was flying like it was what he was born to do, weaving between fire and fang, his eyes sharp, movements fluid.
Then—
He had the egg.
The cheers were deafening. Students erupted in celebration. Daphne sank back into her seat, eyes glued to him as he landed, as he was mobbed by judges and officials.
But all she could see was that for one terrifying moment, he could have died.
And no one—not a single soul—would have known how much that would’ve destroyed her.
"I wish that it could be like that... why can't it be like that... 'cause I'm yours."
==<<>>==
The castle was buzzing that night with celebration. Gryffindors sang as they poured into the common room, and the halls echoed with retellings of the task.
But Daphne walked with purpose, cloak clutched tightly around her shoulders. She didn’t stop to greet anyone. Didn’t pause when Tracey called after her.
She was going to him.
She needed to see for herself that he was truly alright.
She reached the tapestry and slipped through the passage, the familiar shift of stone giving way to quiet darkness. Her heart was pounding again—but not from fear this time. From something far more raw, far more overwhelming.
He was there.
Sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, head leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed. But when he heard her footsteps, he opened them—and smiled.
"Hey," he said, voice soft, tired.
She dropped her bag to the floor, walked straight over, and punched him lightly in the chest.
"Ow—what—?"
"You absolute idiot," she breathed, voice trembling. "You could’ve been killed. Do you have any idea what it was like watching you out there? What it felt like?"
He blinked, startled.
She didn’t let him speak. Her hands fisted in the front of his uniform. "I was terrified, Harry. You shouldn’t have been out there in the first place. But you were, and you were brilliant and reckless and stupid and—"
She kissed him.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t gentle.
It was desperate, all the fear and longing and frustration spilling over into that moment, into the feel of his lips on hers. For a second, he froze—then his arms wrapped around her and pulled her closer.
They sank to the floor together, clinging to each other like the world outside no longer mattered. She buried her face in his neck, breathing him in.
He pressed his forehead to hers, fingers gently brushing her back.
And they didn’t speak.
There were no words that could match what they were feeling.
"Tell the world about the love we're making…"
But for now, the world could wait.
They had this moment.
They had each other.
"I wish that it could be like that… why can't it be like that? 'Cause I'm yours."
==<<>>==
Harry barely heard Professor McGonagall’s voice over the dull thrum in his chest. She had called him aside after Transfiguration, her lips pressed into a firm line that usually meant detention or something equally unpleasant.
"Mr. Potter, as a Triwizard Champion, you are expected to open the Yule Ball. That means you’ll need a partner."
Harry stared at her, blinking. "A partner?"
She gave him a pointed look. "A date, Potter. The ball is a tradition, and traditions must be upheld. The Champions are required to open the first dance. You have until the end of the week."
She didn’t wait for a response before sweeping off, her robes billowing behind her.
Harry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. A partner. A dance. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to go, let alone perform in front of everyone.
But even as dread swirled in his gut, another thought crept in.
Daphne.
By the time he made it to their passageway that night, he had rehearsed a dozen ways of asking her. Casually. Jokingly. Honestly.
But she wasn’t there.
The next night, he waited longer. He brought the chocolate frogs she liked and a book she’d mentioned wanting to borrow. Still no sign of her.
On the third night, he sat on the cold stone, back against the wall, staring at the flickering torchlight, his fingers tapping the cover of the book in his lap.
“Why can’t I hold you in the street…”
He hadn’t realized how deeply she’d carved into his life until her absence echoed louder than her presence ever had.
His breath fogged in the cold air, and a quiet ache settled in his chest.
Two more days passed.
Then, walking past the Charms corridor, he slowed at the sound of laughter—sharp, familiar.
“…Zabini asked her, can you believe it?”
“Daphne Greengrass? Didn’t think she liked anyone, let alone him.”
“Apparently she said yes.”
Harry’s feet stopped moving.
His heart didn’t.
He stood there, motionless, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. A part of him wanted to storm back to their passage and wait for her again. Another part wanted to find Zabini and hex him into next year.
But instead—
He heard it in his mind, the bitter truth unspoken:
“When you’re with him, do you call his name like you do when you’re with me?”
The next day, he found Padma Patil in the library. She looked up in surprise when he asked, cheeks flushing pink.
She said yes.
He offered her a smile, and she returned it.
But it didn’t reach his eyes.
And he didn’t stop thinking about a girl with ice-blonde hair and grey eyes who used to sit beside him in silence and understand everything he never said.
==<<>>==
The dormitory was quiet.
Daphne lay on her bed, staring up at the canopy above her, the velvet green curtain drawn half-closed. Her fingers trembled slightly as she smoothed the hem of her sleeve.
She hadn’t been to the passage in days. She couldn’t.
Because if she did, she might not have been able to walk away again.
And she had to.
She had to keep him safe from the storm that followed her name. From the questions. From the judgments. From the consequences. From the marriage contract her father had been given.
Tracey’s voice cut through her thoughts.
"You alright?"
Daphne didn’t answer.
Tracey came around the bed, sitting gently on the edge of the mattress. "I didn’t want to say anything, but… I overheard something today. Harry’s going to the ball. With Padma Patil."
It was a clean strike to the chest.
Daphne didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
She just lay back slowly, pulling the curtain closed.
And then the tears came.
Quiet. Unrelenting.
Tracey’s hand rested gently on the outside of the curtain.
Daphne pressed her sleeve to her mouth, trying to muffle the sob that slipped free.
“We got a love that is hopeless…”
That night, in the privacy of her own bed, where no one could see her fall apart, Daphne let herself grieve what might have been.
Because no matter how deeply you loved someone—
Sometimes, love just wasn’t enough.
==<<>>==
The wind tugged at Harry’s dress robes as he stood just outside the Great Hall, trying not to fidget. The cold stone beneath his shoes and the hushed murmuring of students behind the grand wooden doors grounded him—barely. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, glancing sideways at Cedric, who stood tall and composed next to Cho.
Fleur looked bored, her eyes scanning the crowd with mild disinterest, while Viktor Krum stood slightly hunched, his date looking small beside him. Harry exhaled slowly, trying to settle the nerves coiling in his chest. Padma stood near him, fixing the edge of her blue robes. She looked elegant, her long dark hair swept into a tidy updo, and he felt a twinge of guilt for not saying much to her all evening.
It was supposed to be someone else.
His thoughts kept circling that single truth. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Daphne since he saw her arm-in-arm with Blaise Zabini. The image was burned into his mind. He still hadn’t made sense of why she hadn’t come to the passage. Why she’d said yes to someone else.
The Great Hall doors began to creak open as the music swelled inside.
Harry’s breath caught.
And there she was.
Daphne Greengrass, stepping through the open doors of the castle on Blaise Zabini’s arm.
She was radiant.
Her pale silver-green gown shimmered like frost under the moonlight, hugging her figure in ways that were elegant, not flashy. Her platinum-blonde hair had been curled and pinned with a soft cascade falling over one shoulder. But it wasn’t the dress or the hair or even the elegance with which she moved that arrested him.
It was her eyes.
Grey, cool, and searching.
They met his across the courtyard, the crowd and noise between them fading into white silence. For the span of a heartbeat, Harry forgot where he was. He forgot the Ball. The dance. The obligations. He forgot Padma standing just beside him, his arm linked with hers.
He only saw her.
She didn’t smile. Neither did he.
But something passed between them—familiar and aching. A thousand words they hadn’t said, trapped in the space of a single look.
And then Padma tightened her grip on his arm.
“Harry, they’re opening the doors,” she said brightly.
He blinked and turned slightly, just enough to see Padma’s carefully painted smile and her hand guiding him forward. As the champions stepped into the Great Hall, he glanced back once more.
Daphne had turned, her hand lightly on Blaise’s forearm.
But her head was tilted slightly toward Harry, her eyes downcast.
“Why can’t I hold you in the street?” echoed faintly in his mind.
And in hers:
“When you look at her, I hope you don’t forget how you looked at me.”
Daphne’s heels clicked gently against the polished floor as she moved with Blaise through the entrance of the Great Hall. The ceiling above them glittered with thousands of floating candles and enchanted snowflakes that drifted lazily through the air. Everything was beautiful.
But her breath hitched the moment she saw him.
Harry stood just beyond the main arch, his emerald-green robes unexpectedly neat. His hair was still that same untamable mess. And he looked...
Stunned.
Like he hadn’t expected to see her. Or like seeing her physically hurt.
Her heart squeezed, and for a second she almost forgot Blaise beside her, forgot where she was, forgot everything that had happened the last two weeks.
You could’ve gone to him, a voice whispered. You should have.
And then Padma Patil appeared at his side, her hand sliding into the crook of Harry’s arm with practiced ease. She leaned in close to say something, and Daphne saw the polite smile Harry gave her in return.
It was small. It was faint.
But it was enough.
Daphne turned away quickly, swallowing down the lump rising in her throat.
Tracey had helped her get ready. Said she looked like something out of a fairytale. But now, with Harry standing just a dozen feet away and not hers to touch, all Daphne could think was—
“We got a love that is hopeless.”
Blaise said something about the decorations.
She didn’t hear it.
All she could feel was the ghost of Harry’s gaze on her back, the phantom ache of what she hadn’t let herself hope for.
Her fingers curled tightly around the silk folds of her gown.
Soon, the music would start.
Soon, they’d have to dance.
But for now, she let herself feel the crack spreading wide across her carefully guarded heart.
And she wondered if Harry felt it too.
==<<>>==
The Great Hall was a dream of candlelight and music, glittering gowns and swaying bodies. Harry danced stiffly with Padma, who clearly wasn’t enjoying herself either. Her eyes kept drifting across the floor in search of her sister, but Harry… Harry only had eyes for one person.
Daphne.
She moved like poetry beside Blaise Zabini—elegant, poised, and heartbreakingly ck spreading wide across her carefully guarded heart.
And she wondered if Harry felt it too.
==<<>>==
The Great Hall was a dream of candlelight and music, glittering gowns and swaying bodies. Harry danced stiffly with Padma, who clearly wasn’t enjoying herself either. Her eyes kept drifting across the floor in search of her sister, but Harry… Harry only had eyes for one person.
Daphne.
She moved like poetry beside Blaise Zabini—elegant, poised, and heartbreakingly untouchable. Her deep green gown shimmered as she turned, her laughter quiet and fleeting. But her eyes… her eyes searched the crowd until they found his. Their gazes locked, just for a second, and it was all Harry could do to breathe. The world around them faded, and in his mind, the music twisted into something else—something painful, something honest.
"I'm in love with someone's baby."
Daphne’s heart pounded. Blaise’s voice was a dull murmur at the edge of her mind. She hadn’t heard a word of whatever joke he’d just made. Her world centered on the boy across the room, the one with messy black hair and too much pain in his eyes. He smiled—hesitantly, painfully—and it nearly broke her.
"I don't want to hide us away."
The song—the one that had underscored every moment they’d stolen together—rose to the forefront of her mind, beating louder than the music that echoed from the enchanted instruments.
"Tell the world about the love we're making…"
"I'm living for that day…"
The opening dance was over. The crowd was shifting, becoming looser and less formal. Harry, emboldened by the aching weight in his chest and the memory of her hand in his, stepped away from Padma with a soft, mumbled excuse and crossed the floor before he could talk himself out of it.
Daphne saw him approach. Her breath caught.
He held out a hand.
“Dance with me?”
She hesitated—but her hand was already in his, and they were moving.
Around them, students whispered. Heads turned. But neither cared. For Harry and Daphne, it was just them, the music, and the unspoken truth in their eyes.
"Why can't I hold you in the street…"
"I wish that we could be like that…"
They moved together like they were born to it, perfectly in sync, lost in the pull of each other’s presence. The closeness of it—the warmth of her hand in his, the way she looked up at him like he was the only person in the world—made Harry ache.
He wanted to lean in. To press his forehead against hers. To kiss her and make the world disappear.
But something held her back.
She was trembling.
“Daphne?” he whispered.
And just like that, her eyes filled with tears.
She pulled away from him, slowly but firmly.
“Wait,” he said, already reaching after her.
But she turned and walked quickly toward the large oak doors that led to the outer corridor.
Harry hesitated for a heartbeat—and then followed.
He found her standing on the snow-dusted balcony. The moonlight bathed her in silver, and her arms were wrapped tightly around herself.
“Daphne,” he said again, softly.
She turned to him. Her cheeks were streaked with tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never should have danced with you.”
Harry stepped forward. “Don’t say that.”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t help it. I just… I needed to feel it. One last time.”
“One last time?”
She looked away, blinking rapidly. “There’s a marriage contract.”
He froze.
“My parents arranged it years ago,” she said, her voice cracking. “With Blaise. It’s meant to strengthen ties between our families. It becomes binding the moment I turn seventeen.”
“Break it,” Harry said, stepping closer. “Fight it.”
“I tried. I begged them. I told them it wasn’t fair. That it wasn’t right. But they didn’t care. They said love doesn’t matter.”
Harry stared at her. The pain in his chest spread like wildfire.
“I love you,” he said. “That has to count for something.”
“It counts for everything,” she said, stepping closer. “But it doesn’t change anything.”
They stood in silence, snowflakes beginning to fall around them. The only sound was the distant hum of music and the quiet thud of Harry’s heartbeat in his ears.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
“Because I didn’t want it to end,” she whispered. “I wanted to pretend for a little longer. I wanted to believe we had a chance.”
He reached for her, fingers brushing against her sleeve.
She looked up at him, eyes wide and broken.
“Why can’t I say I’m in love?” she said softly. “I want to shout it from the rooftops.”
“Then do it,” he pleaded. “Run away with me. We’ll leave all of this behind.”
She laughed—a short, sad sound. “You’d really do that? Walk away from Hogwarts, from your destiny, from everything?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “For you, I would.”
She looked at him for a long time, as if memorizing every line of his face.
“I wish we could be like that,” she whispered. “But we can’t be like that. I’m no longer yours.”
He opened his mouth, desperate to say something—anything—but she leaned forward first, her hand on his cheek.
Her lips brushed his in a kiss so gentle it nearly undid him. It lingered for only a moment before she pulled away.
“I love you,” she said. “But I have to go.”
“No,” he whispered, but his voice was swallowed by the wind.
She turned.
And walked away.
He didn’t follow. He couldn’t.
He just stood there in the cold, snow falling around him like ashes from a dying fire, the echo of the lyrics repeating endlessly in his head.
Why can’t we be like that?