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Harry Potter tugged at the collar of his woolen scarf, his breath visible in the frosty air as he stood outside the enchanted ice rink in Hogsmeade’s Square. The ice shimmered under floating lanterns, and soft strains of a violin melody drifted through the chill. His fingers tightened around the small, wrapped package in his pocket—a charm bracelet he’d spent weeks saving for.
He’d never been great at dates. First with Cho, then Ginny, but this… this felt different. Daphne Greengrass had been an enigma for years. Once a reserved Slytherin with a sharp tongue and sharper eyes, she’d softened in the post-war years, her loyalties shifting from her family’s shadow to quiet acts of kindness.Their late-night chess matches in the rebuilt Library had turned into conversations about her love for herbalism and his fascination with Muggle poetry. And then, last week, she’d sent him a note: “The ice rink opens tonight. Do you know how to skate, Potter?”
He didn’t. But here he was.
Daphne was already on the ice, her dark hair loose for once, tied with a silver ribbon. She wore a midnight-blue cloak, which fluttered as she turned gracefully, laughter ringing out—a sound Harry had never heard from her before. She spotted him and broke into a smile, skating over with deliberate ease.
“Late, Potter?” she teased, though her eyes sparkled with warmth.
“Nervous,” he admitted, his voice softer than he intended.
She stepped closer, the cold air between them crackling. “Then let’s get you on the ice before you waste the whole evening.”
Her hand was steady as she helped him onto the slippery surface. Harry’s first steps were wobbly, his boots slapping awkwardly. Daphne circled him once, then returned, offering her arm. “Here, hold my wrist. I’ll steady you.”
Harry hesitated. Their last encounter had been a heated debate about the ethics of house-elf rights, but this intimacy felt new, and he wasn’t sure if she wanted it. When she raised an eyebrow, he took the risk, lacing his fingers with hers.
“It’s like dancing,” she said, guiding him into a slow glide. “But you’re worse than a first-year.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, but smiled. The ice was smoother than he’d expected, and with her help, he began to find his balance. They lapped the rink in comfortable silence, Daphne pointing out constellations through the enchanted ceiling—a starry replica of the winter sky.
Then, a misstep. Harry’s foot slipped, and he lurched sideways. Daphne caught his arm, but the momentum spun them both. They hit the ice hard, Harry cushioning her fall with his body. For a heartbeat, they were still—her breath warm against his ear, her cloak tangled with his scarf.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, scrambling to apologise.
“Don’t be,” she whispered, suddenly serious. Her fingers brushed his cheek. “You’re not as clumsy as you think.”
The lanterns above bathed her face in gold, and Harry saw the vulnerability beneath her calm—the same he’d learned to recognize in late-night talks about her fear of her family’s legacy. He leaned closer, their foreheads touching.
“Do you believe in second chances?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the music.
“Always,” he said.
Her lips met his then, soft and careful, like a spell whispered correctly after years of failure. Around them, the world blurred—cheers from friends, the skitter of blades, the snowflakes beginning to fall. But here, in the circle of her arms, there was only the quiet thrill of connection.
When they pulled away, Daphne’s cheeks were flushed. “You still can’t skate.”
“Teach me,” Harry said. “Properly. Next Hogsmeade visit.”
She laughed, a sound like wind chimes, and helped him up. This time, they held onto each other with more confidence, gliding through the rink in a dance of tentative steps and shared smiles.
As the evening faded, Daphne pressed her forehead to his again, her breath forming a tiny cloud between them. “The bracelet,” she said, nodding at his pocket.
Harry grinned, pulling it out. The silver charms—a lion, a serpent, and a star—clinked softly. “For Slytherin’s finest,” he said.
She kissed him again, slower this time, and Harry thought he’d never been colder or warmer all at once.
By the time they left the rink, the snow had turned the village into a winter wonderland. Daphne tugged him into a quiet alley, where the lights didn’t reach.
“Next time,” she said, “I’m teaching you to dance properly.”
“Only if you stop teasing me,” he replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Only if you stop being adorable.”
And with that, she vanished into the snow, leaving Harry grinning in the cold, the stars above twinkling like enchanted whispers of what was to come.