The Ice Queen of Slytherin
Chapter 2: The Ice Queen of Slytherin
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft golden hue across the Hogwarts grounds as evening settled in. The castle's towers loomed against the twilight sky, their silhouettes casting elongated shadows on the ground. Students shuffled through the corridors, their laughter and chatter echoing as they made their way to their respective dormitories, excitement still buzzing from the Tri-Wizard Tournament's opening feast.
Daphne Greengrass stood by the entrance to the Slytherin common room, her pale blue eyes scanning the dimly lit hallway. Her long, luxurious blonde hair cascaded down her back, framing her strikingly beautiful face. She was known as the Ice Queen of Slytherin—an apt title for someone who carried an air of aloofness and icy elegance. It was a façade she wore like armor, a barrier against the world outside, and one she had perfected over the years.
Her two best friends, Tracy Davis and Blaise Zabini, flanked her. Tracy, a bubbly half-blood with dark hair and a perpetual smile, had a way of lighting up even the darkest corners of the castle. “Daphne, come on! It’s time for bed!” Tracy urged, her excitement spilling over. “We have a big day tomorrow with all the Tri-Wizard stuff!”
Daphne arched an eyebrow, a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice. “Must we go to bed so early? The night is still young.”
Tracy rolled her eyes playfully. “If we don’t, you know we’ll be dead tired in the morning. Plus, I want to be awake for all the exciting announcements!”
Blaise, silent as always, leaned against the wall, observing the two with a small smirk playing on his lips. He was dark-skinned, with striking features that hinted at his Italian heritage. There was a depth to his eyes that hinted at secrets untold, and like Daphne, he preferred to keep his thoughts close to his chest. He was more than just a friend; he was the protector of their little trio, a role he took seriously.
“Let’s just head to bed,” Blaise finally said, his deep voice breaking through the playful banter. “We’ll need our rest if we’re to make the most of tomorrow. Besides, I doubt they’ll let us skip breakfast just to hear more gossip about the tournament.”
Tracy nodded, a mock pout on her lips. “Fine, but I want pancakes in the morning! Lots of them!”
As they entered the Slytherin common room, Daphne’s mind began to drift. The room was dimly lit, filled with rich green and silver decorations that reflected the proud history of their house. The heavy drapes hung like shadows, and the low, soft murmurs of other students filled the space with a sense of camaraderie and comfort. Despite the warmth of the room, she felt the familiar chill of isolation creeping back in.
While others laughed and chatted, she often felt like an outsider looking in, trapped behind a wall of her own making. It was a feeling she had grown accustomed to, one that accompanied her like a shadow.
“Daphne!” a voice interrupted her thoughts. It was Draco Malfoy, the resident bully of Slytherin and Hogwarts at large, striding toward her with an air of confidence. He was flanked by a few other Slytherin students—Crabbe and Goyle, his usual entourage of muscle—each casting furtive glances at Daphne, awaiting their leader's command.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Daphne replied, her voice cold and uninviting.
“Just thought I’d see if you’d like to join me for a little walk by the lake tomorrow. You know, it’s a beautiful night for a stroll,” he offered, a smirk plastered on his face, arrogance radiating off him like heat from a flame.
Daphne crossed her arms, her icy demeanor growing more pronounced. “I’d rather take a walk with a Blast-Ended Skrewt, thank you very much.”
Draco’s smile faltered, but he quickly recovered. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. You know I could show you a good time. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” He leaned in closer, an overconfident grin plastered across his face.
“Back off, Malfoy, or I swear I’ll freeze your bits off,” she warned, her voice dropping dangerously low, but laced with a hint of amusement at the ridiculousness of his persistence.
Draco stepped back, his bravado wavering. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else, don’t you? Just because you’re pretty and pureblood,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “But you know, it’s not like your family is particularly distinguished, is it? Just a pretty face and a sickly sister.”
Daphne felt a flush of anger rise within her, her hands clenching into fists. “Don’t you dare speak about Astoria,” she snapped, her voice now filled with venom. Astoria had been suffering from a blood malediction for years, a topic that hit far too close to home. Malfoy’s comment struck a nerve, and she felt the tension in the air thicken as she glared at him.
“Why? It’s not like she’ll ever be a proper witch,” he retorted, attempting to maintain his bravado but visibly faltering under her icy glare. “Maybe she should just stay home, away from the embarrassment of being a Greengrass.”
With one last piercing look, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Go away, Malfoy. You’re boring me.”
“Boring?” he shot back, his voice rising. “I might be boring, but at least I’m not known for my lame little friendship circle. How’s it feel to be the queen of the losers?”
Daphne’s heart raced with indignation, and she could feel the eyes of the other Slytherins on her, waiting for her to react. “At least I’m not a pathetic little worm crawling for attention,” she spat back, her voice low and lethal.
Draco's face turned a shade of red, a mix of anger and embarrassment. “You’ll regret this, Greengrass. You think you’re so special, but you’re nothing.”
With that, Draco shot her a glare filled with frustration before retreating, Crabbe and Goyle following closely behind. “You’ll pay for this, Ice Queen!” he called back, his voice trailing off as they disappeared into the shadows of the common room.
The moment he left, a weight lifted from Daphne’s shoulders, but the sharp sting of his words remained. Tracy watched the exchange with wide eyes. “You really know how to get under his skin, don’t you?”
“Someone has to remind him that he’s not untouchable,” Daphne replied, her voice steely.
Blaise nodded in agreement, crossing his arms. “He thinks he’s better than everyone else. It’s about time someone put him in his place.”
“Don’t you think that was a bit harsh?” Tracy asked, her bubbly nature momentarily dimmed. “I mean, Astoria’s health isn’t something to joke about.”
“I don’t care,” Daphne snapped, the fire of anger still burning within her. “I’m tired of him thinking he can push me around just because he has a little bit of power in this house.”
The tension in the room simmered as Daphne tried to shake off the encounter. She could still hear Malfoy’s words echoing in her mind, and she felt a familiar heaviness settle in her chest. As the evening wore on, Daphne settled into her bed, the heavy curtains drawn tight around her. The common room’s noise faded, and the castle’s familiar sounds lulled her to sleep. Yet, her dreams were plagued by visions of Astoria, fragile and weak, a reminder of the burden she carried as the elder sister.
---
The days following the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were filled with an electric buzz of excitement throughout Hogwarts. Students crowded the corridors, their conversations animated and their laughter ringing off the stone walls. Posters announcing the Tri-Wizard Tournament fluttered in the drafts of the castle, each depicting the Goblet of Fire in all its magical glory.
The Great Hall was the epicenter of the tournament’s fervor, with banners representing each school draped from the enchanted ceiling, which reflected the weather outside. The students' anticipation grew as they exchanged stories about the champions from each school and speculated about who might emerge victorious. Harry Potter, despite his fame, found himself caught up in the same thrill that gripped everyone else.
“Look at that,” Ron said, pointing towards a group of seventh-year Durmstrang students who had just added their names to the Goblet of Fire. “They look like they’re ready to take on a dragon. I can’t believe they’re actually going to do it.”
Harry nodded, watching as one particularly confident Durmstrang student strutted away from the Goblet, a wide grin on his face. “Yeah, I suppose they must be feeling pretty proud of themselves.”
Ron’s expression turned wistful, his gaze lingering on the Goblet. “You know, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to compete in something like that. It must be amazing to stand in front of everyone, all those eyes on you. But I’ll have to wait a couple of years before I can even think about it.”
Harry turned to his friend, sensing the envy lurking beneath Ron’s words. “You will get your chance, Ron. You’ll be old enough for the next one, and you’ll be brilliant. Plus, you’ve got the Quidditch Cup to look forward to. You know how good you are.”
“Yeah, but that’s not quite the same, is it?” Ron said, a hint of frustration in his voice. “It’s not the same as being a champion, with everyone watching and cheering for you. I just—” He paused, searching for the right words. “I want to do something big. Something that people will remember.”
Just then, the sound of raucous laughter broke through their conversation. Harry turned to see Fred and George Weasley making their way towards the Goblet, their eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, this should be good,” he muttered under his breath, a grin spreading across his face.
“Come on, Ron! We can’t let a little age line stop us from being champions!” Fred declared dramatically, puffing out his chest as he approached the Goblet.
“Yeah, we’ve got a plan! Trust us!” George chimed in, exchanging a conspiratorial glance with his twin.
The twins pulled out a pair of long, ornate cloaks that they had clearly altered to appear like older students’ robes. They donned them quickly, trying to mask their youthfulness.
As they approached the Goblet, students gathered around, intrigued by the twins’ antics. “You lot better not get yourselves in trouble!” Ginny warned from the sidelines, shaking her head disapprovingly, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her amusement.
“Trouble? Us? Never!” Fred replied, feigning innocence as he stepped up to the Goblet.
The Goblet flickered, flames dancing within its depths. A hush fell over the crowd as the twins hesitated for a moment, glancing at each other nervously. “What’s the worst that could happen?” George whispered, though the slight tremor in his voice suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced.
“Easy for you to say!” Ron shot back, his eyes wide with a mix of concern and anticipation.
With a dramatic flourish, Fred dropped a piece of parchment into the Goblet. The flames roared, flickering wildly, but nothing happened. The crowd erupted into cheers, egging them on.
“See? Piece of cake!” Fred boasted, grinning widely.
Just then, a burst of sparks erupted from the Goblet, illuminating the hall, and the twins exchanged panicked glances. “Quick! We need to get our names in before—”
Suddenly, the Goblet emitted a loud, thunderous roar. The magical barrier that prevented underage students from entering surged with energy, knocking the twins back several feet and leaving them sprawled on the ground, looking dazed. Laughter rippled through the crowd as they tried to regain their composure.
“Guess that didn’t work, did it?” George said, a sheepish smile spreading across his face as he looked at Fred.
“Maybe next time,” Fred replied, rubbing the back of his head, clearly undeterred. “We can work on a different plan. Can you imagine the look on Dumbledore’s face if we managed to get past that line?”
“You two are incorrigible,” Ginny said, shaking her head as she joined the crowd that surrounded them.
Ron couldn’t help but chuckle, though he still felt the sting of disappointment at being unable to participate himself. “At least you’ll give the older years something to talk about,” he said, nudging Harry. “I wonder if Malfoy will try something next.”
“Knowing him, probably,” Harry replied, his thoughts drifting back to the Ice Queen of Slytherin and the fiery encounter he had witnessed between Daphne Greengrass and Draco. The tournament had heightened tensions, bringing out rivalries and friendships alike, and Harry could sense that something was shifting within the walls of Hogwarts.
“Look!” Tracy Davis exclaimed, her voice breaking through Harry’s thoughts as she pointed to the Goblet. “More champions are adding their names!”
Students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang stood in front of the Goblet, faces set with determination. The elegance of the Beauxbatons students contrasted sharply with the ruggedness of the Durmstrang representatives. Harry watched as the first of the champions, a tall, striking blonde from Beauxbatons, gracefully approached the Goblet. The flames flared and swirled, and her name was swallowed in the blaze. The crowd erupted into applause, and Ron’s expression shifted from envy to admiration.
“See? They look incredible! I can’t wait to see them in action!” he said, a smile breaking across his face.
“Yeah, but they’re older than us, Ron,” Harry reminded him, trying to ground him. “We still have time. There will be more opportunities.”
“Just not for this tournament,” Ron sighed, his earlier enthusiasm tempered. “I just wish I could be part of it.”
“Focus on what you can do now,” Harry encouraged, clapping a hand on Ron’s shoulder. “Like the Quidditch Cup. You’re going to be brilliant.”
The anticipation in the hall mounted as more names were added to the Goblet. It was a sight to behold—the fiery display of magic, the sense of history and tradition that enveloped the tournament.
As the last Durmstrang student stepped up, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant was about to unfold. He glanced towards the staff table, where Dumbledore sat, observing the spectacle with a knowing smile. The headmaster’s presence lent a sense of gravitas to the occasion, a reminder of the stakes involved.
The excitement buzzed in the air, and Harry found himself drawn into the electric atmosphere, feeling a renewed sense of hope for the future and a determination to make his mark—not as the Boy Who Lived, but as Harry Potter, someone who would forge his own path.
---
The Great Hall was buzzing with excitement, every student on edge as they awaited the long-anticipated announcement of the Tri-Wizard Champions. Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, watching the glowing Goblet of Fire at the center of the room. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the enchanted ceiling above, mirroring the nervous energy that filled the air.
At the staff table, Harry’s eyes briefly flicked toward his parents. His mother, Lily, wore her typical simple professor’s robes, her auburn hair tied back neatly, her expression one of calm attentiveness. Beside her, James and Sirius sat, their Auror uniforms crisp and formal, though both had an air of watchfulness about them. Sirius caught Harry’s eye and winked, though there was no hiding the tension in his posture.
Harry turned back to the Goblet, his stomach churning with a strange combination of excitement and envy. He knew he wasn’t old enough to compete, but part of him couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to have his name called. To be one of the champions.
Ron’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Can you imagine what it’s like to stand up there? Competing for eternal glory?”
“You’re not seventeen, Ron,” Hermione said pointedly, but even she sounded a little wistful.
Before anyone could respond, Dumbledore rose to his feet, his tall frame commanding the attention of the entire hall. The hum of chatter died down as all eyes turned to the headmaster.
“It is now time,” Dumbledore began, his voice resonating through the Great Hall, “to reveal the champions who will represent their schools in this year’s Tri-Wizard Tournament.”
The Goblet flared suddenly, the bright blue flames intensifying as it prepared to cast forth the names. A hush fell over the hall, anticipation hanging thick in the air.
Dumbledore stepped forward, raising his hand as the first piece of parchment shot into the air from the Goblet. He caught it effortlessly and unfolded it with a slight flourish.
“Our first champion... Mister Victor Krum, of Durmstrang!”
The hall erupted into cheers as Krum stood from the Durmstrang table, his famous face set in its usual stoic expression. He walked up to the front, greeted by applause from his fellow students, and stood by Dumbledore, his eyes scanning the crowd with practiced composure.
Once the applause died down, the Goblet flared again, spitting out the next piece of parchment. Dumbledore caught it mid-air, his eyes twinkling.
“Our second champion... Miss Fleur Delacour!”
A wave of applause followed the announcement, and Fleur, radiant and poised, rose from her seat among the Beauxbatons students. She walked with a graceful, almost ethereal air, her silvery-blonde hair catching the light as she took her place next to Krum.
“And now,” Dumbledore said, his voice ringing with the same sense of importance, “our third and final champion... Cedric Diggory!”
The cheers that erupted from the Hogwarts students were the loudest yet. Cedric, tall and handsome, stood from his seat, a wide grin on his face as he approached the front of the hall. Harry clapped along with the rest of the Gryffindors, feeling a strange mix of pride and disappointment. He liked Cedric, but still—he wished he could be up there.
Dumbledore smiled warmly at the three champions, gesturing for them to stand side by side. “Please join me in congratulating our Tri-Wizard champions!”
The hall broke into thunderous applause. Harry watched as Krum, Fleur, and Cedric stood together, their faces lit by the flickering glow of the Goblet. The excitement in the hall was palpable, students standing and clapping, the noise almost deafening.
But then—without warning—the Goblet of Fire flared again.
The cheers died down instantly as every head turned toward the source of the unexpected flame. The Goblet, which should have gone dormant, suddenly erupted with fire once more, brighter and hotter than before.
Whispers swept through the hall. It was supposed to be over. Three champions had been chosen—how could this be?
Another piece of parchment shot into the air, swirling in the flames for a moment before drifting down toward Dumbledore’s outstretched hand. The headmaster’s eyes narrowed slightly as he caught it, and the room seemed to hold its breath.
For a long moment, Dumbledore said nothing. He stared at the parchment in his hand, his expression grave, his lips tightening ever so slightly. A palpable sense of tension spread through the hall, confusion and apprehension thick in the air.
Finally, Dumbledore looked up, his voice lower, more serious than before.
“Aster Black.”