Chapter 22
A Promise Given
Chapter Twenty-Two
……
“So Michael and I are working on a structural rune,” Hermione explained as she adjusted her book bag, eyes bright with excitement. “It’s already been done, of course, but these runes are the foundation of wizarding architecture. We thought mastering them would be a good challenge for our project.”
Harry, positioned on the floor, was in the middle of a set of push-ups. The muscles in his arms flexed with each lift, and he grunted out a reply. “Sounds like a solid project.”
“It is,” Hermione said, glancing at him with a mix of admiration and mild exasperation. “But I’m surprised you’ve gone for something unproven. Aren’t you worried about failing?”
“If we don’t try new things,” Harry panted, nearing the end of his reps, “we don’t move forward. Besides, failure’s better than not trying at all.” He pushed up once more and dropped down, letting out a short exhale.
“True,” Hermione admitted, a smile tugging at her lips. “Harry, it’s really distracting trying to have a conversation with someone bobbing up and down like that.”
He chuckled, sitting back on his heels. “I’m the one who has to listen harder, you know.”
“Yes, because talking to a bouncing head is perfectly normal,” she teased. “Keep going, and you’ll smell for your classes. Can’t have that in Ancient Runes, can we?” She smirked, giving him a mock-serious look.
Harry grinned, rising to his feet in one smooth motion as Ron’s familiar footfalls echoed down the stairs. “That’s what refreshing charms are for.”
Ron reached the common room, taking in the scene with a shake of his head. “Seriously? Again?”
“Again?” Hermione echoed, raising an eyebrow at Harry.
“He doesn’t stop these days,” Ron said, dropping his book bag onto the sofa. “Caught him doing some weird thing with his bed last night—hanging off it like a bat or something.”
“It’s called a pull-up, Ron,” Harry corrected, rolling his eyes as he grabbed his bag.
Ron chuckled. “Weird, mate. You get enough exercise with Quidditch. Lately, you’re like a demon or something.”
“Blame Sirius and Moody,” Harry said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Would you want to slack around them?”
Ron thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Probably not.”
“Come on, I'm famished!” Harry urged, waving his two friends out of the common room.
“Alright alright, it's normally me that's the hungry hippogriff!” Ron replied as he pulled himself off the sofa.
Hermione rolled her eyes playfully at the banter as they stepped out of the common room, the heavy wooden door creaking shut behind them. The warm glow of the Gryffindor common room gave way to the cooler, early morning light that streamed through the castle's arched windows. The trio's footsteps echoed along the stone corridors as they made their way down the staircase, the scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling bacon wafting up to meet them from the Great Hall below.
The morning bustle of Hogwarts was already beginning to pick up. Students from other houses milled about, some looking bleary-eyed and half-dressed, while others chatted energetically with friends. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall flickered with hues of soft pink and gold, reflecting the dawn sky outside.
Harry felt a small rush of anticipation as they neared the entrance. This time of day, before lessons and the usual chaos, held a certain calmness that he appreciated. He glanced sideways at Ron, who was already craning his neck as if he could see through the walls to the spread of food awaiting them.
“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione said with a shake of her head, though a smile betrayed her amusement. “You’d think we never get fed here.”
“Not like this,” Ron shot back, eyes brightening as the chatter of students and clinking of silverware became clearer. “Nothing beats a Hogwarts breakfast.”
Harry laughed as he pushed open the heavy doors to the Great Hall. The trio stepped into the room, where long tables were already laden with steaming dishes and pitchers of pumpkin juice. He chose a seat towards the middle of the Gryffindor table, positioning himself to face the Slytherin table. His eyes scanned for a familiar head of blonde hair, but Daphne wasn’t there yet. He did, however, spot Malfoy at the corner nearest the entrance, looking as sullen as ever since the school year had started.
“Can’t believe his dad managed to escape the Ministry over the summer. Would’ve loved to see his face then,” Ron muttered, reaching for a slice of toast.
“He has been rather quiet this year. No comments or even snide looks,” Hermione said, spooning her mix of oats, yogurt, and blueberries as she cast a wary glance at Malfoy.
“Makes you wonder what he’s up to,” Harry replied, helping himself to an omelet and a glass of orange juice.
Hermione shrugged, “I’m not complaining about him being quiet. It’s been nice, actually.”
“Ignoring the fact that a Dark Lord is out there and our best friend has to kill him, you mean?” Ron quipped, earning an exasperated glare from Hermione.
“You know what I mean, Ron.”
They ate in comfortable silence after that, Hermione’s attention flitting between her notes and breakfast, occasionally scribbling a new line or crossing something out. Ron stared ahead, his thoughts drifting, savoring these rare moments of normalcy amid all the extra lessons with Dumbledore and Amelia.
Harry’s attention sharpened as he noticed a flash of blonde hair entering the hall. He remembered Daphne’s confession—how her voice had cracked when she told him her curse had chosen him, how he’d instinctively pulled her into a hug as she broke down. Guilt pricked at him; had his playful flirting confused her, made her emotions harder to bear?
Any other boy might have felt a rush of excitement knowing a girl he liked was magically bound to him. But Harry frowned at the thought.
That sounds weird when I think about it.
His conflict was always there, simmering just beneath the surface. How would he ever be certain if Daphne’s feelings were truly hers or just the result of the curse? A part of him hoped that what they shared could be real, that she wanted him, curse or not.
His musings were interrupted as he saw Daphne moving through the hall, heading not for the Slytherin table, but towards them.
“Would you mind if I sat here this morning?” Daphne asked, coming to a stop beside Hermione and opposite Harry. Glancing around, Harry noted, much to his surprise, that no one was paying them much attention—not even the Slytherin table or Draco reacted. Maybe their ruse was more effective than they thought.
“Of course,” Harry said, gesturing at the seat opposite. Hermione smiled and shifted a little to give the witch more space to sit down. Harry, however, waited with bated breath to see how Ron might react. Ron’s eyes flicked toward Daphne for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly before he returned to his toast. The silence lingered for a few moments as Daphne selected a breakfast similar to Hermione’s.
“The blueberries are always nice here,” Daphne observed, mixing her fruit, oats, and yogurt together before taking a dainty bite.
“I do say this to the boys, but the stunning lack of fruits and veg on that side of the table,” Hermione said, nodding toward Harry and Ron, “is evidence of my effectiveness.”
“Er, I’ll have you know my diet is much better now, thank you,” Harry grumbled as he took another bite of his omelet.
“Yeah, we know. Can’t remember the last time I saw you eat sugar,” Ron smirked, nudging him.
“I’m drinking orange juice—that’s loaded with natural sugars,” Harry replied.
“Mum and Dad made me drink that with a straw. Said it would ruin my teeth otherwise,” Hermione added.
“You’re a witch; you don’t need to worry about your teeth,” Ron countered, and soon the pair began their typical weekly tiff. Harry shook his head and smiled. His eyes flicked back to Daphne, who was studying him with a calm, almost analytical gaze. The butterflies that had been in his stomach since her arrival fluttered wildly, like a storm waiting to break.
“You’re brave, sitting in the lions’ den,” he said, ignoring the argument to his left.
“You’re my Ancient Runes partner. Why wouldn’t I, especially when we have a lesson after this? No one is batting an eye,” she replied with a casual shrug.
“Yeah, I noticed that too,” he muttered. “How are you feeling?”
“Better... Thank you for the other day. Actually, I wanted to speak to you about that before the lesson, if that’s alright? Perhaps it’s best in private?”
“Sure. Did you want to go after you’ve eaten?” he replied.
“Sounds good,” she said, though he caught a hint of nervousness in her voice.
Harry sat in silence, his mind drifting as the buzz of the Great Hall enveloped them. His fork toyed absentmindedly with a piece of omelet, the anticipation twisting in his gut. Next to him, Hermione and Ron’s playful bickering had dissolved into a conversation about Quidditch tactics though that conversation was rather one sided, their voices blending into the background.
Daphne, across the table, finished her breakfast with a deliberate calm. She glanced up at Harry, meeting his gaze for a moment, then looked away, the corners of her mouth tightening in an almost imperceptible way. The unspoken words hung between them, fragile and charged.
“Ready?” she asked softly, setting her spoon down.
Harry nodded, standing and gathering his things. He could feel Hermione’s curious eyes on him but avoided her questioning look. There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere as he and Daphne stepped away from the table, slipping out of the hall amid the din of morning chatter. They walked in silence through the stone corridors, the echo of their footsteps sharp against the walls.
The cool drafts of the castle brushed past them as they made their way toward the quieter, sunlit corner of an empty corridor. Daphne’s pace slowed, and she stopped by a window overlooking the rolling grounds, bathed in morning light.
“Thank you for coming,” she began, her voice steady but low.
Harry leaned against the stone wall, crossing his arms as he studied her. The chill of the castle’s stone seeped through his robes, grounding him in the moment. “Of course. I’m just glad you’re alright, even if it was a bit of a shock.”
Daphne exhaled, the tension she carried evident in the way her shoulders dropped. She glanced out the window, where the early morning light cast long, golden streaks across the floor. A group of owls glided across the sky, their wings slicing the crisp air with effortless grace.
“The other day... I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what I said,” she admitted, turning back to face him. Her eyes, usually so guarded, reflected a mix of worry and hope. “I was afraid it would change things between us.”
Harry’s brow furrowed slightly, a hint of concern in his green eyes. “It’s alright, Daphne. Like I said, this isn’t your fault. Why did you hold onto it for so long?”
She hesitated, her gaze drifting to her hands as she traced the edge of her sleeve. A shadow of vulnerability crossed her face before she spoke. “Telling someone that you’re cursed, that your magic is reaching out to them, and that you’ll only be able to feel love if they return it... isn’t exactly the easiest conversation, Harry,” she finished with a slight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Yeah, I can see how that might be challenging,” he chuckled lightly, the sound soft and reassuring. “How do you actually feel about it?”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I realized I just blurted it all out and... well, lost composure, I’d say.” She lifted her chin slightly, determination hardening her expression. “But in answer to your question, Harry,” she said, her voice steadying as she met his eyes with a no-nonsense look, “while I can’t always tell what is my curse and what is me, I look forward to spending time with you. I love working with you, and I feel safe around you. And... I want you to want me.” A soft blush crept up her cheeks, but she held his gaze with an unwavering resolve.
He swallowed hard, his heart thudding in his chest. The knowledge that she looked forward to their time together, that she wanted his attention, resonated deeply within him. He very much felt the same. But she wasn’t finished.
“And I find you visually pleasing,” she added, her tone daring but light.
A grin tugged at his lips. “Visually... pleasing?”
Her eyes narrowed, a playful glare dancing within them. “Fine, you’re attractive, Harry, and I like it. Is that better?”
“So I’m a piece of meat to you?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.
Her brows furrowed for a moment before she caught the humor in his eyes. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Daphne, I think it’s fair to say I fancy you, alright? And on a serious note, I want to put your mind at rest. Even if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have let you face this alone.”
Her expression softened, and when he gently took her hand, she didn’t resist. Instead, her fingers closed around his, warm and steady.
“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had run for the hills,” she said quietly, a rare crack in her composure.
“I—I felt little love for most of my life, so the idea that I could inflict that on someone for their whole life is unthinkable,” he said, his voice low and earnest, ignoring her curious look at his words. “We’ll have to be careful. Lesson partners are one thing, but if someone sees us holding hands or... er—”
She arched an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth quirking up in amusement. “Were you about to suggest kissing me, Mr. Potter? Awfully forward, don’t you think? But then, what else can I expect from you?”
“You know what I meant,” he replied, the tips of his ears turning red. “And you’re still awfully presumptuous, aren’t you?”
“I know what you mean,” she said, her voice softening. She glanced at their entwined hands, the tension between them palpable. “Look, we have Ancient Runes, and as much as I would like to explore this more right now,” she said, pointing between them with a small smile, “it will have to wait until later.”
He nodded, a small, genuine smile breaking through.
They lingered for a moment longer, neither willing to let go first, before the noise of other students echoing down the corridor reminded them where they were. With a reluctant squeeze of her hand, Harry stepped back, letting reality seep in around them.
“Ancient Runes waits for no one,” he said, a touch of humor masking the lingering tension.
She rolled her eyes but matched his smile. “Come on, Potter, before we give people something to gossip about.”
The two fell into step, walking briskly down the hallway lined with tapestries depicting wizarding feats of old. Harry’s thoughts were still racing, but he forced himself to focus.
When they arrived at the Ancient Runes classroom, the familiar scent of parchment and the faint tang of ink greeted them. Students were already settled at their tables, the low murmur of conversations punctuated by the occasional shuffle of papers. On the professor’s desk sat bundles of fabric neatly arranged, ready for their next assignment.
Harry exchanged a quick glance with Daphne as they took their seats at the back of the classroom. The room seemed warmer than usual, or perhaps it was just him. Professor Babbling, dressed in her usual deep plum robes that seemed to shimmer slightly under the soft light, cleared her throat. The low murmur of student chatter faded instantly.
“You will be starting work on your projects today, so I will leave you to get on with them. If you have any questions, please ask, but I will be moving around the room,” she said, her tone efficient and encouraging. With that, the classroom came alive with movement and voices, the quiet rustle of parchment and the faint scrape of chairs echoing in the high-ceilinged room.
Harry reached into his satchel and pulled out the supplies he’d been carefully guarding: the inscribing chalk, charmed iron needles, and a handful of rune translation scripts. The soft clink of the needles hitting the desk caught Daphne’s attention, and she nodded approvingly before producing a leather folder from her bag. She flipped it open, revealing swatches of fabric in a spectrum of colors and textures.
“I say we work up,” she suggested, spreading the swatches out on the desk with deliberate care. Her eyes, a shade of icy blue, glanced up at him. “Start with a simple protection rune, test it, and with each success, extend the rune chain and repeat?”
Harry studied her expression for a moment. A small, determined smile played on her lips, though her hands were poised on her lap, fingers interlaced tightly. He could sense the mix of anticipation and caution that mirrored his own.
“Sounds good,” he said, leaning forward and selecting one of the more basic fabrics—a square of plain polyester. “Do we start with the cheaper fabrics first? We could test different runic languages too; one might be more compatible with certain materials.”
Daphne’s smile widened slightly, softening the usual sharpness of her features. “Agreed. Will you be doing the testing?” she asked, withdrawing her wand from her sleeve and resting it against the edge of the desk.
“I don’t mind,” Harry said, giving a small shrug. “Can we both try?”
“We can, but your spells will undoubtedly be stronger than mine,” she replied, a trace of amusement lighting her eyes.
Harry started to protest, but Daphne raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk forming. “I won’t get offended,” she added. “I saw you slaughter a dementor with a single Patronus and make the others scatter. I think it’s safe to say we know where the scales tip.”
A grin tugged at Harry’s lips, though he felt the back of his neck grow warm. “Alright, noted,” he said, shifting his attention to the square of fabric. “But it wouldn’t hurt to test the tolerance with both our levels of magic. It might take yours and not mine.”
“A valid point,” Daphne agreed, her expression thoughtful as she pulled out a slim silver pin from the folder. “Right, let’s pin this down and start inscribing.”
The air between them crackled with concentration as they pinned the square to a small wooden frame on their desk. Harry watched as Daphne’s deft fingers moved, the silver pin glinting in the light as she secured the fabric. The corners of her mouth pressed into a tight line as she worked, the briefest flicker of her tongue appearing as she focused.
“Alright,” Harry said, picking up the inscribing chalk, silently thanking Remus for the improved handwritten. It felt cool and solid in his hand, with a faint magical vibration running through it. He glanced at Daphne, who nodded once.
Bending over the fabric, Harry started to sketch out the runic symbol. The tip of the chalk glided smoothly, leaving behind a trail of gleaming white lines that shimmered with latent energy. Each stroke had to be precise, each curve just so—any mistake could render the spell ineffective or even dangerous. He could feel Daphne’s steady gaze as she watched his hand move.
“Careful with the binding loop,” she murmured, leaning closer. Her breath fanned lightly against his cheek, and he caught a hint of something floral—lavender, maybe.
“I’ve got it,” he said, his voice hushed. He completed the final loop, and the rune flared for a moment, a quick pulse of blue light that made both of them inhale sharply.
Daphne’s eyes sparkled, a smile breaking free. “Perfect,” she whispered.
Harry lifted the polyester square cautiously, only to watch the rune's glow fade as soon as the fabric flexed.
“So polyester is out,” he said, his tone deadpan.
“Or at least with Celtic runes,” Daphne added, her brows knitted in thought as she tapped the edge of the leather folder. The light from the nearby window cast shadows across her serious expression.
“Maybe we need to consider the flexibility aspect?” Harry suggested, glancing at the spidery runes on the parchment. “Protection implies strength, so maybe it’s better suited for something more pliable?”
Before Daphne could respond, a familiar voice interrupted. “An astute observation, Mr. Potter,” Professor Babbling said, making both of them jump. She stood with her arms crossed, eyes twinkling with interest. “I was intrigued when I read your project proposal. Now, it seems you’ve stumbled upon your first challenge.”
“Nothing we can’t overcome, Professor,” Harry replied with a determined smile. Daphne’s lips quirked in amusement, while Babbling’s smirk grew wider.
“That’s what I like to hear,” she said, moving on to inspect another pair’s work.
Daphne let out a quiet sigh and picked up a swatch of coarse cotton. “Alright, let’s try this with Old Norse runes. They’re known for their resilience, and it’ll be interesting to see how the fabric holds up.”
"Norse runes it is then," Harry suggested, dipping the charmed iron needle into the inscribing chalk.
“Agreed,” Daphne replied, her eyes intent as she leaned forward. They worked in synchrony, Harry tracing the protection rune with precise strokes while Daphne kept the fabric taut. As soon as Harry finished the final mark, the rune gave a brief glimmer before sizzling out with a soft pop.
“Well, that was anticlimactic," Harry said, his lips twitching.
Daphne smirked, setting the fabric aside. "Norse is a no. Let’s try Egyptian next.”
They repeated the process, carefully drawing the angular lines of the Egyptian runes. This time, the fabric glowed with a warm, golden light for a moment before turning a dull, smoky brown.
“Did it just... burn out?" Daphne asked, tilting her head.
"Looks like it. At least it didn’t catch fire," Harry said, giving a half-hearted shrug.
“Progress," Daphne deadpanned, earning a laugh from Harry.
Moving on, they tried the Greek runes, their strokes more fluid. When Harry lifted his needle, the rune lit up with a bright flash that left a faint singe mark on the table.
“Okay, that’s a bit more volatile than I expected,” Harry muttered, waving a hand to clear the faint smoke.
“Maybe we should try an incantation with gloves next time,” Daphne suggested dryly, holding up her fingers, now speckled with chalk.
“Noted,” Harry chuckled. “Alright, Celtic runes again?”
They traced the symbols onto the fabric, and it flickered with a pale light before fading almost instantly. Harry sighed, dropping his head onto his hand. "Celtic is definitely out for polyester."
Daphne leaned back, chuckling softly. "I think we need to move on to a fabric that doesn’t act like it’s allergic to magic."
“Let me just try something,” Harry said, running his finger down the rune chart before tapping one with a thoughtful expression. “I wonder if I link this water rune with the protection one,” he muttered as he began inscribing the combination. He leaned back, eyeing his handiwork. “That looks—”
A sudden pulse of white light shot out, and a jet stream of water erupted from the fabric, soaking Harry from head to waist. For a moment, silence fell over them, broken only by the soft dripping of water. Harry sat motionless, staring at the offending fabric, his hair and robes plastered to him.
Daphne’s wide eyes met his, and she burst into peals of laughter, doubling over as she avoided any of the splash damage. Harry, maintaining his composure for a moment longer, spat out a small trickle of water from his mouth and shot her a mock glare.
“Would you like a drying charm?” she managed between giggles, wiping a tear from her eye.
“Not a word, Greengrass,” he muttered, though a reluctant grin threatened to betray him.
Her laughter softened, eyes meeting his with a playful glint. “I’d never say a word,” she replied, her voice dipping slightly, as if this exchange was just theirs.
Harry’s expression shifted, the teasing gleam fading into something more genuine. For a moment, the bustling classroom faded away. He noticed the slight rise of color on her cheeks and the way she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, almost nervously.
Harry stood up, the soaked fabric forgotten as he flicked water off his fingers with exaggerated disdain, making Daphne laugh harder. Despite himself, a smile tugged at his lips as he watched her, her eyes crinkled with genuine amusement, a sound so rare from her that it almost felt like a secret shared between them.
Daphne's laughter softened, her gaze meeting his with an unspoken warmth. She reached out as if to smooth an errant strand of hair that had fallen over his damp forehead, but paused, fingers hovering just close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from them. Her hand retreated smoothly, resting back on the desk as if nothing had happened, and the faintest hint of color rose to her cheeks.
“Let’s try not to flood the classroom next time,” she said, her voice a touch quieter, more private.
Harry’s grin softened into something more sincere. “Deal.”
A soft shuffle from a nearby desk reminded them of their surroundings. They both straightened, glancing around as if nothing unusual had occurred, save a dripping wet Harry. Yet, as they bent back over their shared workspace as a swift drying charm, Harry caught the smallest smile curving Daphne’s lips, and felt a familiar warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the spell they were testing and everything to do with Daphne’s hand resting on his under the desk as they review their notes.
……
Hope you enjoyed this Haphne scene and their project isn’t just filler I promise.