Chapter 19
A Promise Given
……
Chapter Nineteen
Hermione Granger had been called many things—bookworm, know-it-all, teacher’s pet, and a slew of other, far more colorful labels—since stepping into the wizarding world. But ever since befriending Harry Potter in her first year, there was one title she had never acquired: gossip. Yet, much to her dismay, it seemed that upon her return to Hogwarts for her sixth year, she’d become the unofficial source for all things Harry Potter.
These days, Hermione could scarcely make it from one end of the castle to the other without a witch stopping her to whisper questions about Harry, each one treating her as if she were a keeper of his heart’s deepest secrets. The library, usually her sanctuary, had turned into a social battlefield, where fellow students “casually” stopped by to ask if Harry had mentioned anyone he fancied, if he was still single, and, most mortifyingly of all, if there was any truth to that absurd tattoo rumor.
She nearly choked on her tea one morning when a Hufflepuff girl leaned over and asked, “Is it true about Harry’s lightning-bolt tattoo? And that it’s… somewhere private?” Hermione’s cheeks had flamed red as she mumbled something about N.E.W.T.s being more important than outlandish gossip and hurriedly excused herself from the table. The blush that lingered after that conversation had taken hours to fade.
More annoyingly, it wasn’t just the younger students pestering her. Some of her sixth-year peers—and even a few seventh years—had the nerve to suggest she and Harry were more than friends, insisting, “The way you look at each other sometimes can’t be just friendship, right?” As far as Hermione was concerned, Hogwarts seemed to be collectively losing its common sense.
Meanwhile, Harry appeared blissfully oblivious to the constant barrage of questions she faced daily. She doubted he even noticed the stares that followed him through the corridors anymore. Hermione sometimes wondered if she should add “oblivious” to the list of things she appreciated and, at times, found maddening about her best friend.
So, when she finally managed to escape to the courtyard for a rare moment of quiet, savoring the last warm days of summer, she was less than pleased when a shadow fell across her book, blocking the sunlight. Without even glancing up, she launched into her now-routine response.
“No, I won’t tell you about Har—” She stopped mid-sentence, her cheeks turning pink as she realized the person blocking her light was none other than the very source of everyone’s curiosity.
“Uh… you alright?” Harry asked, his brows raised in amusement.
“Oh! Sorry, Harry,” she said, flushing slightly and rubbing her temples. “It’s just… well, I love you and everything, but every single time I sit down, someone asks me for gossip about you.” She sighed, offering him a small smile to show she wasn’t genuinely annoyed.
“Ah… sorry about that. Maybe best not to shout that you love me, then?” he chuckled, his eyes bright with mischief.
Hermione rolled her eyes and gave him a light slap on the arm. She regretted it immediately as her hand stung from the impact. “Ouch! What are you, made of stone?” She noticed a slight blush rise to his cheeks, and her heart gave a familiar tug as she remembered how rare it was for him to receive compliments, especially growing up.
Harry cleared his throat, a bit bashful but still amused. “Actually, I… need some advice.”
“Ancient Runes? Potions? Oh! Maybe Charms?” she asked, her face lighting up as she eagerly ran through subjects she’d happily help him with.
“Not exactly… I need advice on what to wear to Hogsmeade tomorrow.”
Hermione blinked. “Pardon?”
“Not sure how to rephrase that, Hermione.”
“No, no—I mean, I heard you. But since when do you take fashion advice… much less from me? You looked pretty sharp at the summer ball, after all.”
Harry scratched the back of his neck, shifting slightly. “I just thought you might know what… you know, girls like. And, well, you’re a girl. Plus, Tonks helped me last time. And Sirius, kind of.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re as observational as Ron.”
Harry laughed, shrugging. “Well, I am a boy, after all,” he admitted, earning an eye roll from Hermione.
“And who’s the girl?” she asked, folding her arms and giving him a pointed look.
“Does it matter?” he replied, trying for nonchalance but unable to hide his slight unease.
Hermione’s smirk only widened, and she leaned in with mock confidentiality. “Yes, it matters. I’m not about to help you create a fashion disaster for your big date.”
Harry ran a hand through his hair, glancing around as if to check for eavesdroppers. Finally, he leaned in, lowering his voice. “Alright… it’s Daphne Greengrass.”
Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “The Daphne Greengrass? As in, Ancient Runes, Daphne Greengrass?”
“Shh!” Harry hissed, his cheeks going pink. “Yes… we’re working on a project together, and I thought we could pick up supplies in Hogsmeade. But you know how people are—they’re already jumping to conclusions.”
“Uh-huh, if you say so. But if you’re going to avoid Witch Weekly scandal territory, you’ll need a bit more than jeans and a jumper.” she didn't believe Harry for second it was purely academical, but given the political climate she wouldn’t push the matter or say anything to anyone. She hadn’t missed how Daphne had been acting with her friend, most would’ve missed it if they hadn’t been watching. The blonde was always quite a quiet girl from what she’d seen but in Ancient Runes when paired with Harry she seemed a little more animated and talkative than usual, there was even a time she bumped shoulders with her best friend!
Harry nodded sheepishly. “So… where do we start?”
With a glint in her eyes, Hermione stood briskly. “Follow me. We need somewhere private, somewhere with good lighting so we can see your options properly.”
He nodded and followed her through the winding corridors. They dodged students heading to classes, taking advantage of their free period. Soon, they reached a familiar blank stretch of wall. Hermione gave him a knowing look, gesturing for him to pace alongside her.
“Think of somewhere perfect for a… fashion consultation,” she advised with a smirk.
Harry rolled his eyes but obliged, pacing back and forth with his mind in a comfortable, well-lit room where they could lay out and examine his clothes. When the door finally appeared, they stepped inside, and his eyes widened in surprise.
The Room of Requirement had transformed into a spacious, well-lit dressing room, complete with mirrors on every wall and a sturdy table in the center. A rack stood beside it, waiting, as if it had known Harry would bring something. Spotting his trunk already set on the floor, he dragged it toward the rack, flipping open the lid.
“Alright,” Hermione said, rolling up her sleeves and eyeing his clothes critically. “Let’s get to work.”
“Right then,” Harry muttered, stepping further into the room and shrugging off his robe. He was mid-way through pulling off his shirt when he noticed Hermione abruptly looking away.
“You haven’t even unpacked your clothes yet, Harry!” she said, hands clamped over her eyes. “Should I, er… step outside?”
“Oh! Right. Sorry,” he chuckled, hurriedly reaching into his bag for the clothes..
“Could you at least put a shirt back on while we sort things?” she mumbled, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as she fought a blush.
“Does it… make you uncomfortable?” he asked, half curious, half amused.
She hesitated. “No, not uncomfortable, per se… but it’s just… you’re half-naked, Harry!” Her cheeks tinged pink as she glanced at him, then quickly back to the clothes. She did not fancy him, but even she had to admit he’d filled out considerably over the summer. “It would be like me being bare from the waist up!”
“Well, not… exactly the same,” he muttered, shifting.
“Come again?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, you have… you know…” he trailed off, awkwardly gesturing in her direction and then back at his lightly swelled chest.
“Breasts, Harry?” she said, laughing despite herself, feeling her own blush deepen. “Yes, I suppose I do. Now, please, just unpack your clothes so we can start picking things out!”
Harry laughed, shaking his head as he reached into his trunk, his cheeks still slightly red. Hermione watched as he pulled out various outfits, already gearing up to transform his simple style into something that would make Daphne Greengrass take a second look, not that her best friend was taking said witch on a date of course.
…
Daphne stood with her younger sister, Astoria, in the bustling entrance courtyard, surrounded by clusters of students eagerly awaiting the carriages to take them to Hogsmeade for the day. The warmth of summer had faded, replaced by the crisp, invigorating air of late October, and the grounds were a tapestry of autumn’s colors. Shades of amber and burnt orange blanketed the trees along the path, their leaves drifting down like delicate confetti as a gentle breeze swept through, rustling robes and tugging at scarves. The sky was a bright, clear blue, with just a hint of morning mist hovering over the castle grounds, making everything seem washed in a soft, golden glow.
Sunlight filtered down in patches, glinting off the windows of Hogwarts and giving the stone an almost ethereal warmth. Students, wrapped in coats and scarves against the chill, chattered excitedly about the trip ahead, their laughter mingling with the occasional squawk from an owl swooping overhead. The sound of Thestrals’ hooves echoed softly as they shifted in their traces, the almost skeletal creatures awaiting their passengers with patient, dark eyes.
Daphne glanced down at Astoria, who was pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, the younger girl’s cheeks tinged pink from the brisk air. She gave her sister a gentle smile as they shared a look of mutual excitement; after all, Hogsmeade days held a certain magic and freedom that felt unlike anything else at Hogwarts. The anticipation was palpable as more students gathered, filling the courtyard with a warm, spirited buzz that felt like a final nod to summer before the depths of autumn settled in fully.
“So you’re going with Harry to pick out some fabrics, you say?” Astoria asked, her tone light, though the glint in her eye suggested more. Daphne, sensing her sister’s curiosity, cast a quick privacy charm around them.
“If you’ve something to say, Tori, then just say it,” Daphne replied, arching an eyebrow.
“Oh, nothing at all,” Astoria said, feigning innocence as she traced a finger idly along her cloak. “Just making conversation.”
Daphne resisted a smirk. Her sister was anything but innocent—she was as sharp as a pin and twice as mischievous. “And Harry Potter, of all things, is the topic of conversation today?”
Astoria shrugged, her expression all-too-knowing. “Not especially. But if Harry Potter just happens to be the ‘main event’ of your day, I thought I’d ask.”
Daphne sighed, though she couldn’t help but smile. “He is not the main event, Tori—”
“Alright, maybe not,” Astoria cut in, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “But you’ve never shown interest in boys before. So... is this the … well you know?”
For a fleeting moment, Astoria’s tone was genuinely curious, and Daphne understood the weight of her question. She took a moment, choosing her words carefully.
“Yes,” she admitted, watching as her sister’s face, once alight with mischief, softened with understanding. Astoria looked up, her expression serious now.
“And how do you feel about that?” she asked quietly, concern slipping into her voice.
Daphne hesitated, looking out across the courtyard where students waited for the carriages to Hogsmeade. The wind stirred, carrying with it the faintest scent of pine and wet leaves, and she let the sensory grounding calm her. Her feelings were more complicated than she cared to admit, even to herself. The curse—and perhaps something else entirely—had forced her toward Harry. Her magic, once erratic and unsettling in his presence, had gradually begun to stabilise around him. Each time they parted, though, it was as if a tether pulled at her, a sensation she couldn’t quite name.
But then, there was Harry himself—different from anyone she’d ever encountered. He neither ogled nor sought her attention like so many others. Rather, he met her gaze directly, listened to her ideas, and sought her perspective in ways that felt unforced, natural. There were moments, too, when he seemed to be flirting without realising it, an unintentional charm that she found both infuriating, endearing and thrilling.
“Not awful,” she admitted at last, her voice low, almost as if confiding more to herself than to her sister.
Astoria’s brow lifted. “What does that mean?”
Daphne smirked. “It means, dear sister, that I don’t mind the idea of the curse having chosen him... so far.”
It looked as though Astoria was about to respond until something behind Daphne had caught her attention.
As Daphne turned. Standing before her, instead of the emerald eyes she was hoping for, was none other than Theodore Nott. His sharp, almost hawkish features were twisted into a self-assured grin. With narrow, calculating eyes and a narrow face framed by lank, dark hair, Nott had always given Daphne the sense that he was studying her as one might inspect a prize at a fair—coldly, for what advantages he might gain. His stance, confident to the point of arrogance, only added to her distaste.
“Greengrass,” he began in a tone that suggested he was certain of her agreement. “I was hoping I’d find you here. Thought you might accompany me to Hogsmeade for the day?”
Daphne’s stomach twisted, her distaste sharp and immediate. She had dealt with his tiresome attention since second year, when the Notts had begun their unsubtle pursuit of a “beneficial match” with one of the Greengrass sisters. She despised the thought of being regarded as a stepping stone in their pursuit of power. Theodore’s persistence over the years had become a source of irritation, his offers to accompany her less invitations than presumptions—each one tinged with entitlement.
Forcing a polite smile, Daphne straightened, letting her cool demeanor serve as a shield against his smug gaze. “Thank you, Nott, but I already have plans.”
His expression flickered, briefly marred by surprise. “Plans?” he repeated, recovering quickly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “With whom?”
Daphne raised an eyebrow, maintaining an air of indifference. “With someone who understands the meaning of no,” she replied smoothly, the pointed look in her eyes daring him to push further.
Theodore’s face contorted with displeasure at Daphne’s rebuff, his smirk hardening into something more predatory as he stepped forward, clearly not willing to accept her rejection so easily. But before he could say anything, a warm, familiar voice called out.
“Hello, Daphne! Are you ready for our trip to get those Ancient Runes supplies?” Hermione’s cheerful tone rang out, cutting through the tension like a breeze.
Nott sneered, his gaze snapping to Hermione. “Move along, Mudblood,” he spat, his voice dripping with contempt.
Before Daphne or Hermione could respond, a figure stepped forward, placing himself squarely between Nott and Hermione. Harry’s presence seemed to fill the space, his gaze steely and unwavering, emerald eyes locked onto Nott’s with a silent, unyielding warning. Harry didn’t speak at first, merely stepped so close that the air grew tense, heavy with his calm and deliberate defiance.
“Whoa Potter, did I upset your little mud-”
“Care to repeat that, Theodore?” Harry’s voice was low and steady, and he was practically nose to nose with Nott, his quiet intensity unsettling Nott far more than any raised voice could have. Harry’s gaze didn’t waver, rooted with the kind of determination that made Nott’s sneer falter.
“This isn’t any of your business, Potter,” Nott said, though the arrogance in his voice wavered slightly.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Harry replied, his voice unwavering. “When you insult my friends, it becomes my business. So, if you don’t want to make this any worse for yourself, you’ll move along.”
“Or what, Potter?” Nott challenged, though the edge of doubt was clear in his tone.
Harry’s reply was low, cutting, with a dangerous glint in his eye. “Ask your father when you next visit him at Azkaban, do let me know how that limp is”
Nott’s face flushed in fury, and he fumbled to reach for his wand. But Harry’s was already out, pressed firmly into Nott’s ribs before he could manage a spell.
“Your father was a pathetic duelist, but I’d wager he is better than you Theo,” Harry hissed. “Give me a reason.”
A tense silence fell over the courtyard. Students who had been milling around turned to watch the unfolding standoff, their faces etched with intrigue and nervous anticipation. Daphne held her gaze firmly on Nott, a mixture of gratitude and amusement stirring within her. Each second that passed seemed to erode what confidence Nott had brought with him. His eyes darted between Harry and the ground, his expression souring further. Finally, he broke eye contact, muttering something barely audible before stepping back, casting a dark glance at Daphne as he stalked away stiffly, too proud to admit defeat but too unsettled to stay.
Harry turned to Hermione, his expression softening as he rubbed her upper arm gently. “Alright, Hermione?” His voice was calm once more, though a protective edge lingered.
Hermione nodded, offering Harry a small, grateful smile, though Daphne could see the slur had left its mark. “I’m fine,” she replied, but Harry’s worried glance made it clear he didn’t entirely believe her.
“Thank you for stepping in, though we would’ve managed,” Daphne said, her gaze warm, earning her Harry’s attention.
Harry smiled gently. “I have no doubt, but I’m not standing by when that slur is thrown around, especially given people are killed for their blood-status” he replied, stepping over to join them. He noticed the younger girl standing beside Daphne and raised a brow, smiling. “And who might this be?” he asked, nodding toward her with an easy grin.
Daphne’s mouth twitched with amusement. Harry was doing a fine job keeping up the act, and she took the cue easily. “Astoria Greengrass. A pleasure for you, I’m sure,” Astoria said, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she assessed Harry. As far as everyone else was aware the pair had never met.
“You’re correct,” Harry replied, a playful glint in his eye to match hers. “The pleasure is definitely mine.”
Astoria smirked, crossing her arms with mock seriousness. “I expect you to have my sister back by a respectable hour, Mr. Potter. She is a lady, after all.”
Harry’s brows shot up, his smile broadening. “Who’s to say it won’t be your sister keeping me out late? I am a respectable gentleman—she might take advantage of me like the snakes you are?.” He spoke with mock innocence, earning a deep laugh from Astoria and a scandalized look from Daphne, who, despite herself, couldn’t help but smile.
“Oh, I like him,” Astoria chuckled, nudging her sister.
Daphne rolled her eyes, though the warmth in her expression betrayed her. “You—” she pointed to Harry, “—get in the carriage now, before you cause any more trouble.” She huffed, stepping onto the carriage.
“Rather bossy, isn’t she?” she heard Harry mutter behind her, amusement in his tone. She resisted the urge to smile, letting his teasing echo in her mind as they settled in for the ride.
…
The cobbled streets of Hogsmeade bustled with students excitedly darting in and out of shops, but Harry and Daphne’s focus was fixed on their Ancient Runes project as they made their way up the main street. The autumn air was crisp, tinged with the scent of warm butterbeer drifting from The Three Broomsticks, and golden leaves swirled around them as Daphne read from a neatly penned list.
“First,” she said, holding up the parchment, “we’ll need iron needles enchanted for precision and durability. We can get those from Brindle’s Forge; they’re the best in Hogsmeade for enchanted tools.”
Harry nodded, taking it in as they strolled along. “Right—needles that won’t break if we’re trying to weave runes into fabric. And what about the fabric itself? Do we have to use something special, or will regular material work? I know we want this for everyday use?”
Daphne smiled approvingly. “Regular fabric would work and I know we want to try that eventually, but if we want the runes to have any lasting effect, we’ll need something with a natural magical weave—like dragon-silk or acromantula thread. I know it sounds fancy, but they hold runes much better than cotton or wool. If we can make it work first we can adapt it to cheaper materials”
“You know when I first heard about clothing made from Acromantula thread I thought it would be sticky” Harry raised a brow.
“Not if you get it from the right supplier,” Daphne laughed, lightly nudging him. “We’ll find it at this place up the street—Vesper & Vine’s Textile Emporium. They’re well-regarded for rare materials.” She glanced over at him as they walked. “Don’t worry, you won’t leave covered in spiderwebs.”
Harry chuckled, casting her a half-grateful, half-skeptical look. “That’s reassuring, having met those beasts face to face i don't envy the job. I suppose we’ll also need something to bind the runes themselves, won’t we?”
“Yes, exactly!” Daphne’s face lit up. “To activate the runes, we’ll need rune chalk infused with essence of moonstone. It enhances stability in the magic transfer—sort of like a bridge between the thread and the symbol itself. We can pick that up from Apothygem’s Alchemical Supplies; they carry just about every ingredient you can think of.”
Harry’s eyes lit up as he considered it. “Imagine this working and walking into Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Snape not even able to break through it.”
Daphne’s lips quirked up in a smile. “That would certainly catch everyone’s attention.” She paused, an amused glint in her eyes. “Though, Professor Snape would probably take it as a personal challenge. He rather seems to have a strong dislike for you. Although he seemed less antagonistic in this year in our defence lessons towards you”
“I noticed that as well” he smiled back, warming her heart.
The crisp autumn air and the gentle hum of activity on the cobbled Hogsmeade street all but faded into the background as Daphne’s thoughts raced, the list of runic supplies forgotten in her hand. She was acutely aware of Harry beside her, his occasional glances sending a flutter through her chest that made focusing feel like a near-impossible task.
Why did he keep looking at her like that? Surely he understood the implications, could he have taken a fancy? She’d told him about her curse, the uncontrollable pull her magic had toward its chosen match so surely understood that there was a high chance she would not return his attention. Yet, here he was, catching her eye, offering small, easy smiles. It felt more than friendly, but the mere thought of that possibility sent her heart racing, and her mind reeled at the implications. Was it truly possible that he was interested, even knowing the magic that bound her?
Then again, it was Harry. Practical, grounded, often clueless Harry. He might simply be this friendly and unassuming, his gestures nothing more than his natural warmth. But what if it wasn't?
Merlin is this what romance is like? Not knowing what the other person feels like all the time!!
What if this was him testing the waters, showing interest, even subtly—her mind spun through the scenarios. Just the idea of mentioning her feelings felt daunting. If she was wrong, if he wasn’t interested… the thought of his reaction was enough to make her pause.
Lost in her tangled thoughts, she nearly missed the slight brush of his fingers against her arm, just above her elbow. The touch was warm and steady, and a wave of unexpected heat pulsed through her, sending tiny goosebumps prickling across her skin. Her breath caught, and her magic hummed, sparking to life within her, as if responding to his touch.
“Daphne?” Harry’s voice, warm and gently curious, broke her from her spiraling reverie. She turned, looking up to meet his gaze, only to find his eyes soft and full of unspoken questions.
“You looked… a little distracted,” he said, his hand lingering a moment longer before he let it drop. “You alright?”
Daphne’s cheeks flushed as she hurriedly gathered her composure, trying to summon a response that wasn’t a babbling mess of her own thoughts. “Oh, yes, I’m fine,” she said quickly, the words coming out a touch higher than she intended. “Just… thinking about what the best quality rune chalk would be.”
Harry’s expression relaxed, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Funny, I thought I was the one trying to keep up with you, but maybe it’s the other way around?” He tilted his head, and the teasing gleam in his eyes sent a thrill down her spine.
Daphne managed a small, knowing smile, rallying herself. “I’m sure you can handle keeping up with me, Potter. I wouldn’t expect anything less from the Boy Who Lived.”
He rolled his eyes, grinning. “You know, that title has done wonders for my reputation. Almost as much as being seen around here with you,” he added with a teasing tone that made her stomach flutter all over again. “The infamous, studious Daphne Greengrass. Maybe people will finally start giving me credit for my general knowledge after this project.”
Daphne raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her voice steady despite the butterflies his words stirred up. “Only if you can survive the requirements, Potter. I expect the best from my study partners.”
Harry’s expression softened, and his gaze flicked to her list. “Have you had many of them? Study partners?” he winked. Well, lucky for me, I’ve got the best one I could ask for.” The warmth in his words left little room for doubt—there was something more there, a hint of the bond between them that went beyond schoolwork.
The words came so effortlessly, and the sincerity in his gaze made her heart skip. For a moment, she felt her magic thrum in agreement, a pulse that seemed to echo in the air between them. And suddenly, the bustling streets of Hogsmeade felt quieter, the world narrowing to just the two of them.
"That's the second time you've said that to me."
"Said what?"
"Complimenting me on your partnership with me,” she said softly, almost questioning the sentiment herself.
Harry shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I’m not lying. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” He held her gaze a bit longer, his eyes warm but just a bit hesitant.
“No, you didn’t! I just—” She cleared her throat, gathering her thoughts. “I’m not used to compliments from boys…” Her words trailed off at the sight of his raised eyebrow, catching her slip. “Fine,” she corrected with a laugh, “I’m not used to compliments about my brains or work, alright? It’s... nice.” She folded her arms but let a small, genuine smile slip through.
Harry’s expression softened at that, his smile warming. “Ah well, I can see why they’d stick to the other kinds of compliments. I mean, you are…” He paused, catching himself, his usual confidence flickering as he hesitated.
“Well…?” she coaxed, one eyebrow lifting in an amused challenge.
“Well , er, ah …You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes playfully at her smirk.
“Maybe a little,” she admitted, shrugging. The main street was still busy, students and townsfolk alike moving around them, but for once, she felt unbothered, wrapped in the quiet, shared humor between them.
Harry chuckled, his grin widening as he took a few steps closer to her. Though he kept a respectful distance, she noticed the faint scent of broom polish and something warm, like spiced apples, filling the air between them. “Alright, if that’s how it is, two can play at that game.” His eyes held a spark of mischief as he spoke, his voice low but confident, “I think all the beauty of autumn pales in comparison to the lady before me. And all the artists in the world could spend a year trying, and they still wouldn’t manage to do you justice.”
His voice was warm, steady, but the self-assured grin kept it from sounding rehearsed or contrived. Daphne’s cheeks flushed, and her heart thudded at the unexpected but genuine charm of his words regardless if it was teasing. Somehow, he managed to strike a balance—just enough confidence to make her stomach flip, without tipping into arrogance.
She glanced away briefly, collecting herself as she could feel the traitorous blush crept up her face, a rare flustered smile creeping onto her face. “Well, if you keep saying things like that, Potter, I might start thinking you’re trying to win me over,” she said quietly, trying to regain her composure.
He leaned back slightly, his expression unruffled. “Maybe I am,” he replied, his smile both playful and sincere. “Or maybe I just thought you deserved to hear it.”
Their eyes met again, and for a moment, she felt as though he could see right through the careful walls she’d built around herself. Oh come on, he is clearly flirting now! Her heart fluttered unhelpfully, and she looked down, gripping the parchment list a little tighter, using it to ground herself.
“Right, well, come on, then,” she said, her voice calmer than she felt. “The sooner we get our supplies, the sooner we can… actually, I don’t know what we’ll do after we get them.”
“Ah, well, that’s simple, Daphne,” he said as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.
“Pray tell?”
He put on an exaggerated, villainous voice and struck a ridiculous pose, hands gesturing wildly. “Well, we’ll try and take over the world!” His tone dripped with dramatic bravado.
She narrowed her eyes, giving him a dry look as he held the pose a second longer before retreating to a neutral stance. “Too much?” he asked, trying to hide a grin.
“Just a bit,” she chuckled. “I think the fresh air might be getting to you, Potter.”
“Could be.” He laughed, falling into step beside her, his arm brushing hers lightly as they walked. She allowed herself to enjoy the casual closeness, the quiet, shared rhythm of their steps, and the warmth of his presence beside her.
After a few moments, he spoke again, feigning an exaggerated look of affront. “You know, I paid you that lovely compliment, and you never gave me one back. Bit one-sided, don’t you think?”
She rolled her eyes with a smile. “You’ll have to earn it.”
“But I think I did!” he called after her, an amused spark in his eyes as he matched her pace once more.
“Then try harder,” she replied over her shoulder, her voice light with laughter as she held his gaze, her heart pounding in a way that felt intoxicating. And as they continued down the winding, bustling street, she found herself hoping he wouldn’t stop trying anytime soon.
……
The NOT date, continues in the next chapter.