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Harry's focus caught onto a girl across the Great Hall, and suddenly his mind wanted him to become a poet instead of an auror.

She had hair that traveled like rivers of gold, and it honestly looked richer than anything in his vaults.

Her face seemed sculpted. As a kid, he had heard about people like Michelangelo, Da Vinci, and so forth. They'd be frothing with jealousy at the minute perfection chiseled into her face.

Harry was star struck.

For the first time in what must've been months, he didn't focus on Voldemort. He didn't worry about what Malfoy could be up to. Certainly, he wasn't bothered by Hermione and Ron's bickering.

Where did this girl come from? He had never seen her before. He would've noticed her, there was no way a girl this well fit would be forgettable.

She had a careless sort of beauty to her. Her robes were atypical, and he was reminded of pictures of Chinese nobles in their robes, only anglicized. They were a deep, rich green, matching her eyes. Golden lines made ornate, intricate patterns across the cloth.

"Who is she…?" Harry whispered, beyond mystified.

"What did you say, Harry?" Hermione piped up from beside him, ignoring Ron across the table. Not that Ron was paying attention, too focused on Lavender.

"Her. That…" Harry trailed off, searching for an adequate word. Woman felt inadequate. Angel felt creepy. Goddess would be most apt, but he'd also be ribbed for saying that. "Girl. That girl over there, the blonde. She's beautiful."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, following Harry's gaze to the Slytherin table. There was a flicker of recognition in her irises, and Hermione frowned. "Daphne Greengrass? She's in our year, and she is a horrible sort of girl. The absolute worst!"

"Daphne Greengrass?" Harry asked, stuck in La-la land. So that was her name, Daphne. It fit her.

Daphne. It was pretty yet noble. Ancient, not antiquated.

He listened to Hermione with rose-tinted earmuffs. She took his words as a request to continue. "She's horrible. She skips class, acts so pompously, and turns her nose up at everyone! She even called me a m-m…that word in third year."

Pretty, rebellious princess, that was all Harry's brain heard. He could fix her.

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

"Oh, and that isn't even the worst of it!" Hermione ranted. "She has no respect for authority, absolutely none. It is abhorrent, her behavior. She is an abomination to this establishment! She skips class, refuses to go to detention, and yet her OWLs were…" Hermione stopped, embarrassed.

"Her OWLs?" Harry echoed.

Hermione glanced away, cheeks red in a mix of anger and embarrassment. "She took all the same OWLs as me, but she got all 'O's…including DADA," Hermione huffily said, clearly still upset about her one 'EE'.

Daphne was smart, then. Maybe smarter than Hermione.

"She's smart?" Harry asked for confirmation.

"No!" Hermione rejected it immediately. "She's a bigot. No one as prejudiced and rude as her could be smart, Harry. She is a terrible person. The absolute worst. There's a reason she has no friends."

Harry didn't think that he agreed with her.

He looked across the table to Ron. Of course, Ron was still enamored with Lavender, and Lavender was still enamored with Ron.

"Oi! Ron!" Harry called, earning Ron's attention.

"What?"

"Daphne Greengrass," Harry began. "Opinions?"

Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "Daphne Greengrass?" He shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest. Lavender?"

Lavender looked between Harry and Ron. She sighed dramatically. "She is the worst," Lavender said. "She's such a model pureblood. Oh! Look at her clothes—she's so stylish! She's gorgeous. It's sooo unfair. She's scary, too."

"You're prettier, Lav," Ron told her, earning a happy squeal from her. Ron looked back to Harry. "Got what you wanted, mate? Fancy this Greengrass girl?"

"Maybe?" Harry said. "I don't know."

She was certainly eye-catching, though. Surely she couldn't be so bad, right? How could someone pretty be a terrible person?

"Well, he shouldn't," Hermione cut in, harrumphing. "She's a bigot."

"Malfoy with knockers?" Ron shuddered. "Well, that's all you. I have Lav."

Lavender and Ron went back to being painfully lovey dovey, and Hermione stuck her nose up at the pair of them, looking over to Harry.

"Crass as Ronald is, Harry, he has a point," Hermione said. "She is like Malfoy, but worse. At least Malfoy wouldn't skip detention."

Harry looked Hermione in the eyes. He spoke the words that a thousand men before him had declared.

"I can fix her," he told her with all sincerity.

He was head over heels. How could a girl be that lovely? It was unbelievable.

Hermione groaned and placed her head in her hands. "Merlin, I'm surrounded by—by—" she stuttered, trying to find an adequate word, only to give up. She threw her hands up. "Ugh! Fine, Harry. Go ask out Greengrass. I'm telling you, it will go terribly."

It took Harry a few hours to track down Daphne and talk to her. After she had left the Great Hall, she had vanished, and he had lacked the time to follow her.

He folded the Marauder's Map into his backpocket, walking up to the classroom that she was apparently in. This part of the castle rarely had people.

He looked at the door.

Technically this was part of the school. Technically she had no claim to this classroom, so he could just enter without knocking.

Harry, being brilliant per usual, grabbed the knob and turned it. It didn't move. He should've expected it to be locked.

He tapped his wand to the door and now it opened. Lovely. He could smell flowers, but it wasn't nauseatingly strong. It was pleasant and sweet but not overbearing.

The classroom was certainly not a classroom any longer. There were no desks, and it looked very homey.

He heard the gentle crackling of a fireplace, a loveseat laid before it. A soft carpet covered the floor, and rows of shelves lined the walls, each loaded with books.

He spread his gaze across the room. The windows built into the walls had been enchanted, and he could make out the beginnings of a beautiful arctic landscape, aurora borealis overhead while snow gently fell by.

He felt like he had walked into a Christmas cabin.

"Er, hello?" he called out, suddenly feeling very hesitant.

A head peeked up from the couch, and green eyes met green eyes for the first time. Daphne looked startled at first, but her face quickly smoothened.

"Hello," she magnanimously replied, slightly awkward. "How did you find…" she trailed off, deeming that topic pointless. "I wasn't expecting guests. Apologies." she tipped her head. "Please, come in."

Daphne sat up fully on the couch—she must've been laying on it before—and then she got off of it. She wore softer clothes now, a green…nightgown? He couldn't tell.

"Right," Harry agreed. "I'll, um, do that. Yeah."

He stepped in, locking the door behind him. Clearly she didn't want visitors, but she was fairly welcoming, actually. No—she was very welcoming. He didn't know anyone who would be so nice to someone barging in on them.

Daphne stepped away from the couch, a book in one hand and a mug in the other. She walked across the room towards a table that had a lone seat at it. A half wall divided the living room from the dining area.

"If you could give me a moment, I will conjure another chair," she quietly said, placing her mug and book down on the table. Then, she pulled out her wand, elegantly—casually—flicking it.

Harry took his spot across from her, and he was incredibly impressed. That conjuration was high class, and this seat was remarkably comfy. He could almost sink into it.

Yeah, Hermione was a liar. Daphne must be brilliant.

"Auriel," Daphne called out, and a well dressed elf appeared. Daphne looked at him curiously. "Tea, coffee, or hot chocolate?"

Harry blinked. She was offering him a drink? "Hot chocolate, I suppose?"

"Yes, Sir," Auriel said with a bow. The elf popped away, and soon there was a cup of hot chocolate in front of him. Huh. That was neat.

Harry tasted it tentatively. It was pretty good. "Um, thanks? I've never heard of any house elves with, well, real names."

Daphne nodded. "A servant represents their household," she said, delicately drinking her own mug. "A proper lady should, at the very least, give her elf a name befitting her status."

"I see," Harry muttered, still enjoying his hot chocolate.

Daphne didn't respond yet, resting her hands in her lap as she sat across from him. He took that as an opportunity to scan her face. Her face was softer than what you'd expect from a noble.

She almost looked cute, but she had very attractive, womanly facial features mixed into that.

"You're Harry Potter, I believe?" Daphne questioned, and there was an uncertainty to her words.

He stared at her. "You don't know me?"

"Of you, perhaps. You have great status," she praised, offering him a smile. "I can't claim to pay much attention to my peers." She blushed in embarrassment, ashamed. "It…is rather unbecoming of a lady."

"What about in the Great Hall? I saw you at breakfast and dinner," he pointed out. "Do you not talk to people there?"

She glanced away. "Only to my sister."

"Doesn't that get lonely?" It sounded lonely, at least. He would hate that, only talking to one person.

Daphne returned her focus forward, once more meeting his eyes. "I…shouldn't be lonely. A lady can't. It'd be unbecoming."

She once more glanced away, her gaze turning down this time. Her hands remained under the table, resting on her lap.

Daphne spoke again. "May I call you Harry?" she asked, tentative.

"Sure," he said, shrugging. "Can I call you Daphne?"

This all felt strange. She acted as if she had been pulled from the eighteenth century.

"You may," Daphne acquiesced. "Why—why did you seek me out, Harry?"

Harry flushed, suddenly very interested in his hot chocolate. It was a nice brown. It tasted wonderful, having the right mix of water, cocoa, milk, and whatever else was in a good cup of hot coco.

"Er…that, right," Harry awkwardly mumbled.

He placed his mug down, twiddling his thumbs, unsure what to say. The truth? A lie? He had no clue.

"I thought you were pretty," he blurted like an idiot, his mouth deciding for his brain.

He very much wanted to cast Silencio on himself. He could crawl in a hole and die from embarrassment. He had faced Voldemort, and this was somehow a scarier experience.

"P-pretty?" Daphne echoed. Her cheeks gained a warm, pink shading. "I…thank you, Harry. Did—did you come here to seek a betrothal?"

Betrothal. He wasn't aware that he was talking to Queen Victoria.

He shook his head swiftly. Marriage? At sixteen? No thank you. "I wanted to get to know you, honestly. I heard you are mean and bigoted, but you don't seem to be." He paused. "Did you really call Hermione a, um…"

He couldn't say that word.

"Mudblood?" Daphne finished for him, and he gaped at her. She shifted, face blank. "Hermione Granger, Gryffindor, I believe? Right. She was being very annoying and nattering about my attendance. I informed her she was being a mudblood."

Harry stared at her, and suddenly this conversation wasn't so appealing. Had Hermione been right? Was Ron right? She didn't seem like Malfoy with knockers, but she said that word so casually.

He hesitated. "So…you hate muggles and muggleborns?"

"No," Daphne swiftly rejected. "Why would I hate them? That'd be unbecoming of a lady, hating people. Why would you think that, Mister Sherlock?" She sounded almost playful.

Harry continued to stare at her. "Because…you said that word? And you obviously don't have a high view of muggles."

Harry paused, thinking over her words again. Mister Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, the muggle book character. How would she know about that?

"Wait. You read muggle books?" he asked, startled.

Daphne froze. "I—no. I don't…do such things," she denied, cheeks reddening. Her eyes glanced to a shelf to his left. Harry followed her gaze.

Moby Dick, The Count of Monte Cristo, Dracula, Frankenstein, The Hound of the Baskervilles, Heart of Darkness, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, and many other books, muggle books, lined the shelf.

He looked down at the book on the table that she had been reading. Lord of the Rings. He met her eyes.

"Fine. Maybe," Daphne mumbled, embarrassed. "Muggle culture is deeply admirable in many ways," she admitted. She shuffled awkwardly. "As a lady of good breeding, however, I need to act properly."

"Is muggle literature proper?" he curiously asked. She seemed embarrassed to say that she read it before, after all.

She hesitated. "Ye…es." She frowned. "The only improper literature for a lady to read would be of the deviant kind."

"How is using that word to Hermione proper?" he continued to press.

Daphne looked confused. It was a fairly simple question, and Daphne looked confused. He didn't know what there was to be confused by. Her face scrunched up in a painfully cute way, though.

He wanted to be mad at her for Hermione, but Merlin was it hard.

"Is mudblood considered to be insulting?" Daphne weakly asked, abashed. "I didn't mean it as an insult. I believe that I said something along the lines of, 'you are being a mudblood right now.'"

"That is pretty insulting," Harry pointed out. "The name itself is mean. Mud and blood. How could that be nice?"

Daphne couldn't meet his eyes. "I didn't mean it to be nice, either," she mumbled. "I learned, growing up, that a mudblood is a mage who is disgracing the magic in their blood. Typically, this is a muggleborn, but a half-blood or a pureblood could be a mudblood."

"That still sounds rude."

She pursed her lips. "…probably," she admitted. She met his gaze. "Why should I stop using a word if others dislike it?" she asked, curious.

Was she asking him to convince her to not say that word? What in the world had his day become?

Well, he had said it before. He could fix her.

"It'll be easy to misinterpret the meaning if they dislike it," Harry pointed out. "Your definition of that word is not what anyone means when they say it. Why not just be more creative with your words?"

"More creative?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. You're clever, so be clever with your words. Shouldn't a lady talk around others and be sly or whatever?"

Daphne seemed to be considering him, eyebrows furrowed. She breathed softly. "That makes sense," she relented. "If you come here again, I'll stop using that word."

Harry felt fireworks go off in his stomach. "You want me to come here again?"

"Only—only if you want to. D-don't feel forced to do so. It would be improper for me to do such a thing," she staunchly said, cheeks red. Her head lowered, voice dropping to a whisper. "I'd like it, though."

She was lonely, Harry realized. Hermione had said that Daphne had no friends. Maybe that had been literal. The thing was, Daphne didn't seem terrible.

Sure, she was a bit, well, bigoted, but it was weird. Daphne was weird. He really, really liked her, though, and he felt bad about it.

Daphne had insulted Hermione in the past. Liking her was…wrong…but…hadn't his dad been a bully, once? His dad could change. Did Daphne even need fixing?

Was she just socially incompetent?

"Everyday, then," he agreed, still thinking.

She didn't hate anyone, according to her. She was more classist and haughty than anything else.

"E-everyday?" she echoed. Her eyes lit up, and she smiled. "If that is what you wish, I greatly appreciate it. Your company is amiable—and I'll avoid saying that word, if that pleases you."

They continued chattering away for a few more hours until, eventually, he left to go to sleep.

"She isn't so bad," Harry said the next day, walking down into the common room. Hermione was already there, Ron still freshening up.

Hermione, sitting on the couch, looked up from her book and pursed her lips. "Is she now?"

"Yeah. A tad socially awkward, but she isn't literally evil or anything," Harry defended Daphne.

"I never said that she was evil," Hermione corrected. "I said that she is the worst. She is a mean, nasty woman. Honestly, Harry, you would be better off not speaking to her."

Yeah, that wasn't happening. Not talking to Daphne? She had invited him to come back daily. What bloke would turn down private time with a pretty girl?

"You're just jealous of her," Harry said. "She is not the worst. She is fairly nice, actually. Remarkably polite."

Not getting the 'O' in DADA had been a mark on Hermione's pride, and to see Daphne get it—a girl who regularly skipped class—must've stung her.

"Jealous!" Hermione snapped, harrumphing. "I am not jealous of that woman. She is a rude bigot, certainly not polite."

Harry scratched his neck. She had been polite to him. "I don't know. Is being a bigot that bad of a thing?"

Probably, but then again, Daphne. She was so…her.

"Yes," Hermione dryly snapped back. "It is that bad. Would you enjoy being insulted for something that you can't control?"

Harry considered her question. Usually, he would agree with her. Two days ago, he would fully be on her side. However…

"If the bigot is hot enough…" Harry shrugged. Daphne could insult him any day of the week. It wasn't as if she were doing something illegal.

Hermione groaned. "Ugh! You're such a boy, Harry. Honestly, do you even hear what you're saying?"

"She said she'd stop saying the word. You know, that one," Harry awkwardly said. "She didn't realize it was offensive."

"Mud and blood," Hermione flatly said. "How could that be anything but offensive?"

Harry grimaced. "Yeah, that's what I said. She's not very good with people," he admitted. He wanted to defend Daphne for some unknown reason, but this wasn't really defensible. "She didn't think it was a nice word, but she defined it differently."

Hermione shook her head, opening her book back up. She gave him one last glance before curling around the book and reading.

"Just don't get hurt, Harry. Alright?" she said, and he nodded, leaving. Daphne wasn't going to hurt him.

"Checkmate!" Harry cheerfully said, his rook slamming into her king. It was a classic Ladder Mate. Daphne stared down at the board for a moment, mostly in disbelief.

After a moment, Daphne sighed, rubbing her face. "I should've known better after last week…or the week before…" she mumbled, shaking her head.

"Yet it's another victory for me," he teased back, grinning.

Daphne frowned. "So it is," she agreed. Daphne gave him an intense look. "I will beat you one of these days, I'll have you know."

"Not today, though." Harry continued to grin, leaning back in his seat.

After losing to Ron for so long, having an opponent that he could consistently beat was nice. Losing over and over again wasn't very fun, and Daphne was figuring that out.

"Yes…" Daphne pouted. "Probably not tomorrow, either. I am going to beat you, however."

Harry shrugged. "Someday, perhaps. You aren't very good right now."

She groaned, her pout managing to deepen. "I am better than you at most things," she pointed out.

"Is chess one of those things?" he quickly shot back. He met her eyes with a smirk. Daphne looked deeply frustrated, but her irises danced with a warm light.

She hung her head. "No…"

"Exactly." He held his head high, knowing he was the better chess player.

Yes, perhaps she knew more spells and magic. Maybe she was smarter than him. He still thumped her in chess, however, and that was what really mattered.

"I will win," she repeated.

Harry nodded sympathetically. "Sure you will."

Her pout only deepened.

Harry walked into Daphne's…lair? Lair, yes, Daphne's lair. She was curled on the couch, reading a book. She read a lot. He moved around the couch. He sat down.

"This isn't proper," Daphne pointed out as he rested next to her on the loveseat, casually reclining back. She didn't seem to be complaining, though.

Harry hummed. "How so?"

Daphne paused in consideration, glancing up from her book. "Aren't you awfully close?" Her cheeks reddened. "A lady shouldn't—shouldn't be this close to a man she is not beholden to."

"Says who?" he asked curiously. "Did you have an Introduction to Being a Lady class? I doubt you showed up. Probably for the best, really. I bet Snape would teach it."

Daphne giggled. "Professor Snape? Why would he be in charge of a class like that?"

Harry shrugged. "Why not? Maybe Professor Dumbledore would find it funny." He tapped his chin. "I think that's why he doesn't remove Binns."

Harry was convinced Dumbledore selected professors for the laughs. How could Lockhart have been a good pick? He could ask about it in their meetings, but they had more important things to do (he still couldn't get Slughorn to give him the memory).

"It would be funny," Daphne admitted, "but…I suppose you are right. There isn't anything necessarily improper about this."

Daphne readjusted her position on the couch, shifting so her back was against his side as she curled around her book. She snuggled against him.

Harry's throat went dry.

Daphne smiled up at him, and butterflies flapped in his stomach. "You are right," Daphne continued to say. "It seems quite proper…yes, proper for a lady such as I to be here."

Harry swallowed deeply, and he stared at Daphne. She was so painfully beautiful. Her golden hair was sprawled around her, and she looked like the only girl in the world. He couldn't see anything else.

Her eyes gleamed with a green, playful light. He was enthralled.

"Proper, yeah," he stuttered. "Proper. Yup. That," he continued to agree.

Daphne nodded, her face slightly warm. She wore a long, green tee that went to just above her knees. Her book rested on her lap. Reporting World War II, it said on the cover.

Harry swallowed again, trying to calm himself. "So, you like muggle history too?"

Daphne blinked, glancing down at the book and then back to him. She offered him a tiny nod, continuing to shift against him as she found optimal comfort.

"All of history is interesting. I don't see the need to distinguish muggle history from magical history." Daphne finally stopped moving. "They influence each other. Regardless, muggles write interesting literature about historical events. Slaughterhouse-Five, for example, if we were to continue discussing the Second World War."

"Uh-huh," Harry mindlessly agreed, more keen to listen to her than to talk.

Daphne liked talking very much, so he continued to listen. "History is simply a fascinating topic. Many mages are quite foolish, studying topics such as runes while ignoring the contemporary muggle cultures that influenced runic scripts. It is silly."

"Mhm," he agreed.

"That does not mean muggle cultures are superior to magic cultures, but they certainly have their value," she admitted easily. "Empiricism alone would be greatly useful for our world. It would be improper to reject intelligent methodology simply because it comes from people of inferior ability."

Harry hummed, nodding along. Something she had said had caught his attention.

"I don't understand how you view muggles. Are they inferior or equal to you?" he curiously asked.

Daphne blinked, pausing in her spiel. It didn't take her long to formulate a response. "They are inferior in ability and status. Some, however, are equal or superior to myself in intellect."

"Yet you consider yourself to be above them?"

Daphne nodded. "Of course," she said bluntly. "I am a lady of pure breeding. My blood runs ancient, and I am of status. I could not care that they simply lack magic. They are not noble, and so they are my lessers."

Right. So, she was classist. He knew she was haughty, though. Oddly enough, he preferred this to her hating muggles or muggleborns.

"What about me, then?" he wondered. "Are you my superior?"

"Of course not!" Daphne swiftly rejected, shaking her head. "You are a Potter."

"Equals, then?" he asked her.

She snuggled against him again. "Equals in status," she murmured. She peaked up at him. "Do you…dislike my beliefs?"

Harry…hesitated.

Really, he didn't know. Her beliefs were strange. She didn't hate anyone. She didn't consider muggles or those lower than her to be stupid or incapable. She just sincerely, honestly believed that her ancestry and class made her superior to others.

"Do you think you are more valuable than people because of your lineage?" he decided to ask instead.

"Not more valuable, no," Daphne easily said. "We are simply more important. Two Galleons have the same value, but the one at hand is more important, right?"

He considered it for a moment.

He saw what she meant. A doctor was more important than a bum, after all, even if they were still equal.

Harry frowned. "Yeah, but—well, I don't know. It seems a bit harsh."

"I don't think so," Daphne quietly disagreed, her hand touching his own for a moment. "We both have magic, so we can do more than a muggle, meaning we are more important. We both have ancient lineages that bring us inheritances and social clout, granting us greater ability to act than the riffraff, meaning we are more important."

He…didn't disagree, and he didn't like that. A wizard could simply do more than a muggle. A person with wealth and influence could do more than the lower class.

It made sense.

"Still seems harsh," he pointed out.

Her fingers ran over his knuckles. He shuddered, but she continued to peek up at him. "When is life anything but harsh?"

Harry continued to frown. She made sense, she did. He just really, really didn't like that fact.

"Just think about it, okay?" Daphne quietly said, picking her book back up. She hesitated for a moment. "I—I apologize for proselytizing. It is unbecoming of me."

Harry didn't respond.

Instead, his hand unconsciously found her hair. His fingers grew a mind of their own, gently running through her hair. It was impossibly soft.

"Do you ever go outside?" Harry wondered as Daphne sprawled across his lap, reading Out of My Life by some bloke named Paul von Hindenburg.

Daphne raised her head, pouting. "I'm not completely insular," she protested weakly. "Sometimes…once in a while…I go outside."

Right. Not insular, sure. Harry was the only person she spoke to besides her sister, for reference. Hm. More of an isthmus than an island, then.

"Well, the snow has cleared up, and it's been warm for a while now," he pointed out. "If I'm not too unsightly to be around, we could walk around the Great Lake."

He didn't say it, but he really wanted her to say yes. He wanted to see the sun mesh with her hair while her eyes gleamed under the blue sky.

The thought of holding her hand as they walked left butterflies in his stomach.

Daphne crinkled her nose.

"Unsightly? You?" She sounded skeptical. "If you want, there are potions that can help improve your physique, but you're already rather…" she trailed off, face pinkening. "A-attractive. Rather attractive.'

It was unfair how easily she could make him smile like a fool.

"Not as attractive as you, though," Harry shot back, grinning like a total idiot.

Daphne ran a hand through her hair. "Of course not. I'm a proper lady. I must be beautiful, but that does not mean you aren't—aren't h-handsome," she stuttered, blushing.

"Of course, your highness," Harry agreed with playful sarcasm. "We all pale in your majestic splendor."

She snorted, only to look appalled that she snorted. She turned, burying her face into him as her book found its way onto the floor, groaning.

It didn't take much more prodding to get her to go outside.

"I was watching you," Daphne told him, standing beside his bed in the hospital wing. "You're very good at Quidditch." Her face tightened. "It is such a vicious sport…my heart stopped when McLaggen hit you."

"Sorry about that," Harry apologized with a grin. "I'll try to make your heart race next time."

Daphne coughed, cheeks pink. "Is that any way to talk to a lady?"

"Only if she doesn't want me to," he quipped back.

Daphne swallowed. "And if she does want you to?"

"Then—"

Harry was cut off by a groan from the bed next to his, Ron very awake and very annoyed. "Get a room, you two," he complained.

Both Harry and Daphne were startled, and he was certain that he would've jumped if he were standing. Daphne did take a step back, unaware Ron was awake.

"Piss off, Ron, you prat," Harry shot back, turning over to glare. "You suck Lavender's face in the hall, the common room, the dorm—anywhere, really."

Ron, realizing he was being a massive hypocrite, raised his hands in surrender. "Right, right, sorry. Have at it, Harry." Ron paused, looking at Daphne. "Just letting you know, Harry's head over heels. Can't stop yammering about you."

Harry groaned as Daphne perked up. "He does?"

Harry shot Ron a glare, but Ron just nodded, and Harry really wanted to get up to choke or punch him…or choke and punch him.

"Merlin, he raves about you!" Ron laughed, and he made a high pitched voice. "Oh, Daphne is so pretty, and she must be an angel, or she is just perf—"

"Shut up, Ron," Harry snapped, flustered. "I do not sound like that."

"Do too," Ron shot back with a grin. "Right, mate, I'll go back to bed now. Have at it."

Ron turned over, pulling a pillow over his head so that he could ignore the two of them. Harry wanted to crawl into a hole and never leave it. Unfortunately, he turned back to Daphne and saw that she was as red as he was.

"Er…" he awkwardly began.

Daphne looked like a star. A happy, red star. She was furiously pink, embarrassed and flustered. "Do you really—really say those things about me?"

"Er…" he repeated, lost for words. He wanted to murder Ron. "Yes…?"

Daphne managed to light up even more, her smile infectious. She grabbed his hand. "I—I like you," she mumbled, awkward but genuine. She coughed. "I mean—mean that I find you to be desirable."

Harry choked. He opened his mouth, only to choke again. She liked him. Romantically, presumably. It was still hard to process. Daphne liked him. The most beautiful girl in the world liked him.

His heart was fluttering like a bird.

"I like you too," he managed to say, emotions running wild as he wanted to do a victory lap. Maybe he wouldn't kill Ron. Only a hex or two, then.

"Then would you want to—to court me?" Daphne stumbled over her words, practically blubbering.

Harry blinked. "Court…like date?" Daphne just nodded. "Right—right, yes. Yeah. I'd like that."

Daphne smiled brightly, and it was as if the world went still. She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Harry was floating.

The sun was shining brightly, the weather fairly warm for the Scottish Highlands. The lack of clouds was atypical, too, but he wasn't complaining. It gave him the chance to walk hand-in-hand with Daphne around the Black Lake.

Sure, they earned a few strange glances. No one expected to see Harry Potter with a Slytherin, let alone one that most people didn't recognize. Those who did recognize her found it even stranger given Daphne's…colorful reputation.

Harry didn't particularly care, though, and Daphne considered their opinions to be unimportant. He was used to being looked at oddly. Daphne simply viewed herself as above them.

"The weather's lovely," Harry commented randomly. He grinned at her. "Almost as lovely as you."

Daphne smiled, and she did a better job at lighting up his world than the sun. "You flatter me, Harry."

"I try," he quipped back. "Pretty hard not to flatter you. Truthful statements would just be compliments with how great you are."

He struggled to find flaws in her, after all. She was perfect, genuinely an otherworldly beauty.

Her smile brightened further, and a faint pink coloring tinted her neck. "What a gentleman. Any lady would be lucky to have you."

"Yet you have me," he pointed out cheekily. "Are you lucky?"

Daphne laughed. "Of course I am." Her eyes danced with mirth, and his heart flipped. "There is much that I am lucky for. My magic, my lineage, my beauty…and, most of all, you."

Harry's mouth went dry. She really knew how to make him feel happy, huh?

"Laying it on pretty thick," Harry said, slightly embarrassed. "I'm pretty lucky to have you. I'd probably be terribly bored if I didn't—no, actually, I'd probably be pulling my hair out hearing Ron and Hermione bicker."

Their arguing was going to drive him bonkers. Even he could tell that Hermione liked Ron and vice versa, but they were blind as bats!

There was no way that Ron and Lavender would last long.

Daphne snorted, and she turned her head away in embarrassment. Snorting was too undignified for a lady, after all.

"Are they truly so cantankerous?' Daphne finally managed to mumble, hiding her face away.

Cantankerous.

"What." He stared at her. "I have no idea what that means. Probably yes, assuming you are asking if they argue a lot."

"Accurate enough," Daphne assented, finally managing to hold her head forward again. She bowed her head, sorry. "I apologize if I use words that are too exotic. For most of my life, I have read more than I have spoken, so I am unsure what words are part of common vernacular."

The…made sense, even if it was mildly depressing. Her hand was warm in his own, and he gazed out at the Black Lake as they continued to talk. She truly had been lonely, hadn't she?

"I don't mind it," he said, waving his hand. "I'll tell you if I don't know a word. Don't, ah, censor yourself because of my stupidity."

"You are not stupid," she swiftly rejected. "I'm just unusually well-read."

She continued to make him feel warm and fuzzy. Honestly, the amount of sunshine in his heart could feed a tree for years.

Harry laughed, tiny happy bubbles bursting inside of him. "Snape would disagree with you. Pretty sure I'm just a dunderhead to him."

"Then Professor Snape is a fool," Daphne retorted. "His knowledge of potions and magic might be exceptional, but that does not mean he is worthy of judging your character. There is no point in entertaining the insults of your lessers, Harry."

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Snape is my lesser?"

Snape, after all, was one of the most talented wizards in all of Britain. Harry didn't know how he could be superior to Snape.

Sure, he might hate Snape, but he wasn't going to pretend that Snape was an idiot.

"Of course he is. You are a Potter and a Black," she said, unwavering in her beliefs. "You are a talented fighter. You possess real power. While Professor Snape has remarkable individual power, that does not matter. Even the Dark Lord utilized his Slytherin lineage to garner a support base."

Harry's forehead scrunched as he considered her words. "Are you saying that, what, political power matters more than how strong you are?"

"Certainly not," Daphne swiftly rejected. "I am saying that you need both to be truly strong. Headmaster Dumbledore has significant political clout alongside his impressive might. The same is true of the Dark Lord and wizards such as Grindelwald decades ago. Notice how the Dark Lord gathered a following before waging his war? No man is an island."

That…made sense.

Harry slowly nodded. "Right. So, personal power can bring you political power, but you can't just have political power or personal power to be strong. I'm not sure I have either."

He didn't feel strong, after all. He always struggled to fight. He wasn't politically strong—last year he had been ostracized!

Daphne snorted again. She didn't even stop in embarrassment. No, she laughed. "You—you truly believe that? Harry, you are the most magically talented wizard of our generation. Perhaps you are not the most magically educated wizard, but you have me for that."

Once more, fuzzies ran in his heart. She made him feel unbearably warm.

"How am I politically powerful?" he curiously asked. "I don't feel politically powerful."

After all, he had practically been public enemy number one under Fudge. He knew very little about politics, but he didn't think that was indicative of him having political power.

Daphne looked at him for a moment, rolled her eyes, and then pecked his cheek. "Harry. You are a figurehead in the fight against the Dark Lord. You have immense assets from the Black and Potter vaults—your lineage is beyond ancient."

She paused, glancing away, briefly shy.

"Besides, you have me with you," she slyly said. "If you marry me one day, that will add the Greengrass's political power to your repertoire."

Harry choked.

"Finally back, mate?" Ron called, moping in his bed.

Harry surveyed their room. Only Ron was there. "Is everyone else already at breakfast?"

"Yup," Ron said, laying on his bed like a corpse. "Didn't see you most of yesterday. Everything alright? Busy with Greengrass?"

Harry grimaced—not because of Daphne, never because of Daphne. Yesterday had been busy. He had spent a little time with Daphne, but not much. Instead, he had been with Slughorn.

He had finally gotten the memory, and Dumbledore and he had watched it. He had gone to Daphne's lair, she had been sleeping on the couch, and so he had laid next to her. Six hours later, he was here.

"Nah, everything is alright." Harry walked over to his bed and collapsed onto it. "You?"

"Lavender broke up with me," Ron said wearily, sighing. "Not sure if I want to get out of bed today."

Harry groaned into his pillow. He felt that on a spiritual level. "Same. Daphne will miss me, though."

Ron snorted. "Rub it in, mate."

"S'not my fault my girlfriend is great," Harry defended with little heat. "You'll be alright though, mate. I think you'll find another girl soon."

"…think so?" Ron asked.

Harry wanted to groan and laugh and groan again. Hermione and Ron could not be more in love. Everyone could see it but them.

Honestly, he couldn't feel that bad for Ron. Now that Ron and Lavender weren't together, he'd finally stop hearing Ron and Hermione bicker…oh, who was he kidding? They would never stop arguing.

Harry exhaled into his pillow. "Sure."

He closed his eyes for a moment. Yesterday had been a very, very long day. He would've gone to bed sooner, but he wanted to see Daphne before he slept.

There had been one issue, though—Felix Felicis.

He had avoided her until the potion wore off. He didn't want to know what luck would mean with her. He didn't want magic to guide their relationship. Getting lucky like that seemed wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.

Besides, Daphne was waiting for marriage to do anything like that. She was, after all, a proper lady.

He snorted.

Her sophistication was cute to him. He liked her haughtiness. Her perfectionism was endearing.

He had thought more about what she had said about importance and value, too, over the past few weeks. He struggled to not agree with her. It simply made sense.

Humans possessed equal value. Some people were simply more important than others.

Was it fair? No, but Daphne hadn't said that it was fair. It simply was.

He didn't agree with Hermione anymore—Daphne was not a bigot. She didn't discriminate against people. She didn't go out of her way to harm people. She simply spoke in a very objective, honest way, and it made her seem rude.

He didn't see any need to fix her. She was perfect as is.

Harry ran into Daphne's lair, out of breath. The door slammed open and he swiftly closed it behind him, causing Daphne to peek her head up from on the couch.

"Harry?" she tentatively asked, worry reflecting in her eyes at his clearly frantic state.

Harry took a deep breath and spoke swiftly. "I'm going on a mission with Dumbledore. I'll be out for the evening, and it could be incredibly dangerous…" He hesitated for a moment. "We are hunting down one of Voldemort's Horcruxes."

"Horcrux?" Daphne echoed, furrowing her eyebrows, trying to recall the term. "Horcrux…I believe it was mentioned in Magick Moste Evile as being too wicked to name. I think it is discussed more in Secrets of the Darkest Art, but I have no clue where that text is." She paused. "What is a Horcrux?"

Harry wasn't even going to bother questioning why she had been researching dark magic. Daphne read anything that caught her fancy. She literally would read anything and everything.

"A terrible piece of magic that splits the soul, making you immortal," Harry said. "Voldemort split his soul six times."

Daphne blanched. "Splitting your soul? That is horrific. I knew that the Dark Lord was deranged, but…" she trailed off, getting off of the couch and walking closer to him. "Please—please be safe."

"I will be," he swore to her, hardening his heart. He would come back for her.

Before he could turn away to go back to Dumbledore, Daphne caught his arm. She stepped forward, arms wrapping around him as she pulled him into a gentle, chaste kiss. It wasn't frantic or lustful. It was sweet, calm, and delicate.

Daphne stepped back. Harry felt dazed, touching his mouth. She had never kissed him before, not on the lips. His world stood still for a moment, but he turned away, leaving.

He would come back for her.

He had come back for her.

Many, many hours later, Harry slank down to their room, opening the door slowly. His robes smelt like mildew, and his hair was damp.

Harry shut the door, wobbling in exhaustion. He kicked off his shoes. Waterlogged socks met the floor, and he stumbled for a moment. It had been terrible, slipping out of the hospital wing.

In a daze, he walked over to the couch. Daphne was soundly asleep on it, and it was a struggle not to laugh. Of course she hadn't been woken up by…everything. He took out his wand and conjured a blanket.

He gently placed it on top of her.

Exhaustion came over him in a wave, aches and pains echoing across his body. A shudder ran up his spine. His clothes were suffocating, and he couldn't bear to be in his robes any longer.

Tiredly, he removed his robes and took off his socks, collapsing next to her, pulling the blanket over himself. The loveseat wasn't particularly large.

Daphne's breath stilled for a moment, and her eyes flickered open. Green met green. She stared into his puffy eyes, looking at him with a sleepy gaze. Her arms draped him in a hug as she pulled him in close.

It was warm.

Her nose touched his briefly. Almost lazily, she kissed him. It was chaste, hardly lasting a moment, but it stole his breath. Daphne, unaware of her theft, shut her eyes as her breathing slowed.

She cuddled against his chest.

Of all of the magic that he had learned at Hogwarts, she was by far the most enchanting. There was so much he wanted to do right now. He wanted to sob, he wanted to wail, he wanted to hunt Snape down, but most of all…this. He wanted this.

He wanted to be here, cuddling with her as if nothing in the world mattered besides this very moment. With so many other worries, so many other things on his mind, he went to sleep.

Her hold on him, her arms around his body, briefly made him forget the pains of today.

Daphne gently ran her hands through Harry's hair, nails trailing along his scalp. He was soundly asleep, and she kept his head in her lap. He had looked exhausted.

The Headmaster's funeral had been earlier that day, and it clearly weighed heavily on Harry. He deeply cared for Dumbledore, after all, even if their relationship was complicated.

It weighed heavily on her, too.

Dumbledore had been a wonderful stopgap for her own problems. By existing, he kept her family intact. The Dark Lord, after all, would make no moves if Dumbledore were alive. Dumbledore had simply been that powerful of a wizard.

Now, it was inevitable that the Dark Lord would begin making bolder moves. He had no rival. Who was to stand in his way? Harry? She wished not, but he was the only one who could.

Harry was no rival, no true threat to the Dark Lord. Harry knew that himself. It was a burden on him.

No, the Dark Lord was going to act with little checks on his power. He would mobilize aggressively. It bit at her.

Mother and Father were Death Eaters, after all.

If she had never met Harry, that would not be a problem. Sure, she did not agree with their dogma, but she had little will to interfere with this war. If the mud—muggleborns were going to be purged, so what?

It was none of her business. Or, well…that had been the case a year ago.

Daphne gently kneaded Harry's scalp, watching his strained face with pursed lips.

He had entered into her life. For so long, she had avoided people. Truthfully, people terrified her. She never knew what to say. She always worried that she would mess up.

Back in first year, she had tried to make friends. Allegedly, she was mean. That was what they had told her. Cruel, rude, heartless, stuck up, mean—she could go on and on.

She had never meant to be any of those things. She just never liked to lie. She never had.

When Pansy had asked how her robes looked, of course she had gone with the truth. Bulstrode had wanted to know if she looked pretty, and Daphne had no interest in lying.

It had alienated her.

She always said the worst things at the worst times.

She had slowly started to skip classes. No one there liked her, anyways. Not one person in the school cared for her—well, besides Astoria, but Astoria had not been here then.

The professors spoke to her about it. She had tried to listen, she did. She had gone to the detentions. She had tried to go back to class…but she had seen her peers, and she could not handle it.

They disliked her or barely acknowledged her existence. She had wanted to talk to them. She never had been good at it, however.

It had never mattered. She was, after all, superior to them. Smarter, prettier, of purer breeding.

Why go to classes when everyone there could not care for her? Instead, she could hide away. She could study on her own. Learn on her own. Besides, she had thought back then, it would keep her away from filthy mud—muggleborns.

Daphne felt deep shame in her gut. She had lied to Harry. When she had called Granger that word, it had been an insult.

Daphne despised lying because she was good at it.

Her current beliefs had only emerged during fourth year after she had begun to read muggle literature. John Stuart Mill's Utilitarianism was a favorite of hers, and it had deeply influenced her views along with Immanuel Kant's The Metaphysics of Morals.

When she had met Harry and he had asked her about that word…she had lied. She had seen a person interested in talking to her and the lies spilled freely.

He would never have understood back then.

She had seen his face start to close off, and it had been terrible. She felt disgusted with herself.

Daphne was such a coward.

She swallowed deeply, brushing Harry's cheek.

She was hardly a good person. Her peers had always been right. She was mean. She was cruel. She was heartless. But…her heart couldn't stop beating rapidly whenever he was near.

He was the only person to ever seek her out. No one had ever done that, not even Astoria or her parents.

Now, he was her enemy. No…no…

He could never be her enemy. He was her parent's enemy. A lady is given to her partner, after all. She leaves the family.

She was his, fully.

Could she turn against her parents?

She didn't know. She loved them. She dearly, dearly loved them. Could she fight them for his sake? Could she…could she kill them for his sake?

She didn't know.

She did know.

If she had to, she would. He would be her husband, that she was certain of. A lady held her husband above all else, as a husband did for her.

Voldemort could not win. He would kill Harry, and that was unacceptable. If she had to commit parricide so that she would have the resources to help Harry, so be it.

So be it.

Harry was hers alone. Death could not have him. Thanatos would not place its lips on her beloved. Only she had that right.

Daphne gently placed a kiss on his lips. "I love you, Harry," she murmured, watching over him. "You're mine."

Hers.