Kings and Queens
Daphne hurried through the corridors, her bag bouncing against her side. She awkwardly adjusted it on her shoulder to stop it from slipping off. Her current destination was the library, as that was wh-
No, it wasn't. She realised then that she hadn't specified a location for them to meet.
Did I really do that? Why didn't he say anything? Is he messing with me?
Coming to a stop, Daphne tried to think of where she could find him.
Mercifully, the corridors were sparsely populated, particularly for a Saturday afternoon.
She knew nothing about where he hung out or spent his free time. Maybe in his dorm? But then how could she contact him?
Harry was rarely seen outside of class.
Sighing, she continued on her route, hoping that he would think of the library. Daphne still felt bad about what had happened yesterday in class and hoped his detention hadn't been too long. Yet, it was beyond her why he'd put himself in such a position. They'd never even spoken before.
Having calmed down somewhat, Daphne tried to stop her racing thoughts.
During moments like these, she wished she could've brought a pet to Hogwarts. For that, though, she would need to have owned one in the first place. One to provide her with some level of companionship. Maybe she'd even be able to cuddle it.
Her family owl could hardly count. It seemed to have taken more to her sister, anyway, and if she tried to pet it, she would probably lose a finger.
The first few weeks seemed to only become more difficult as they got back into the swing of the school term. Yesterday's events only served to increase her nerves, and she didn't think she'd slept for more than four hours.
Maybe she'd be able to scare Nott off with her looks alone. Then again, she may just scare Harry off too. He might mistake her for a ghoul.
Who would even want to be seen with her? It would essentially amount to political suicide. Did he have an ulterior motive?
Her musings were interrupted by sudden movement, and she snapped her eyes to a curtain beside her. She could swear that a black blur had just dived beneath it.
Daphne carefully drew it aside, avoiding the puff of dust that rose at her disturbance, to find nothing but the bare stone floor.
She couldn't deny she was disappointed. It'd reminded her of that little black cat she'd finally been able to pet the other day, though she hadn't seen it since. Was the exhaustion finally catching up to her?
Maybe it was silly, but Daphne had grown fond of seeing the cat now and then. Usually, she'd seen it at least once every two weeks or so, springing across moving staircases or sitting atop a suit of armour, lazily flicking its tail. Now she was wondering if she should worry, not knowing if it had an owner.
Finally reaching the library, she ducked her head, seeing a group of Slytherins walk out. It was a relief to see them walk the other way.
Daphne slipped inside quietly. She walked down the nearest aisle, past thousands of books and tomes weighing down the tall shelves. Small, circular tables were located in the back corner — one of the multiple areas with seating.
She was dismayed to see it empty. Having told herself previously that he would find her eventually, she could only blame herself.
The library's ceiling was quite high, with small windows letting natural light in towards the top. It allowed for a surprisingly well-lit space with indirect light alone. Only towards the evening would the candles on each table be lit.
"Hello."
Nearly jumping out of her skin, she turned to face the voice. Harry was leaning against the bookshelf.
"Um… hello?" Daphne managed, fiddling with her book bag.
He wore a blank expression, though Daphne thought she detected a hint of amusement. One would think someone like him would be able to hide it entirely. Or maybe he just didn't care.
"Nice to see you, too," he remarked, gazing up at the taller levels of the bookshelf beside him.
His arms had remained crossed, and Daphne didn't read that to be a good sign.
"No one forced you to show up, you know," she replied.
Harry stared back at her intensely, giving her the urge to squirm.
"Sorry," he eventually said in a low tone, shuffling his feet and averting his eyes. "Not your problem. Shall we?"
She nodded, surprised by his apology. Hadn't she been the snappy one?
Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, taking a seat at the nearest table after dropping his book bag onto it. He kicked out a second chair for her.
Daphne initially hesitated but sat down in the proffered chair, conscious that her heart was beating noticeably quicker. Now that she was properly one-on-one with Harry, Daphne didn't know what to do. She didn't want to say something stupid out loud.
"How was your detention?"
Judging by the scowl that appeared on Harry's face, that was the wrong thing to open with. He schooled his expression back to indifference remarkably fast.
"Fine. Could've been a bit more entertaining, but we don't always get what we want, do we?" Harry replied, letting out a sigh.
That was something she could certainly empathise with.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get in trouble," Daphne murmured, staring down at the desk.
Harry waved her off in the same manner he had the previous day.
"Don't be silly. It wasn't your fault."
An awkward silence fell before he began to rummage around in his book bag. She watched him for a moment. Having extracted a strange book from it, he leant back and gave her a questioning look.
Oh.
Daphne hurriedly pulled out a few pieces of parchment from her own book bag, spreading them out on the table. She couldn't stop herself from throwing numerous glances at the book sitting on the table in front of Harry. It did not have a traditional bound spine, but rather something that spiralled through multiple holes in the stark-white material within.
"It's a notebook," he said, having taken notice of her curiosity. "A muggle one."
"What does it do?" Daphne asked, fascinated by its design.
"Um… you write in it."
"With a quill?"
"If you want," he replied, looking as if he was holding back a smile.
Harry opened it with his left hand, and she saw that his neat writing was broken up by barely-perceptible lines running horizontally across the page.
"It's called lined paper. These here," he continued, pointing to the blank space near the holes and the top of the page, "are the margins. Muggles can be quite clever, as ignorant as they may be of us."
Fishing out a long, black cylinder from his bag, he held it out to her.
"This is a pen. The ink is already in it, so you don't need to dip it or anything. Just press down on the top and you can write."
It made a satisfying sound when she pressed down on the top, and she couldn't stop herself from clicking it as quickly as possible. A sudden thought caused her to stop and look at Harry strangely.
"How did you find me?" Daphne asked, twirling the writing implement around in her hand to stop herself from clicking it more.
"I have my ways."
His response, though perhaps cliche, only furthered her curiosity.
"I didn't even give you a place or a time. How?" she repeated.
"You should know, Miss Greengrass, just how much those in our house treasure their secrets," Harry answered, leaning back in his chair.
"Sometimes I wish I didn't," Daphne murmured. "It's Daphne, by the way."
She looked up and saw him nod his head slightly, staring up at one of the high windows.
"I know what you mean… Daphne"
"The hat said I'd make a good Gryffindor," she blurted.
Immediately, she'd thought that she'd made a mistake. Having completely disregarded what they'd just discussed, Daphne had gone and given him one of her biggest school secrets. Maybe it was because the conversation felt like her first genuine one in months. Or perhaps even years. Asides from Tracey last year, she couldn't remember having anyone else to talk to outside of a class or formal setting in recent memory. There was always a reason to walk on eggshells.
"Curious. It said something similar to me."
Daphne could only stare at him dumbly. She'd never expected him to confess to something like that. Especially to her.
"O-oh."
Harry raised his eyebrows at her.
"What?"
"Nothing," she replied, ducking her head and busying herself with a book in her bag.
The pen now sat on the desk in between them, forgotten.
Daphne studied him through her eyelashes. He seemed as composed as ever, but not entirely carefree. Occasionally, she'd thought something to be off about him. Especially this year. Not that she'd ever admit to watching him. His elusiveness made him a rare sight.
Her eyes shot to his hand.
He ran it through his messy hair and let it drop back down to his side, out of view. In the brief moment she'd looked, his sleeve had ridden up his wrist a little bit, and Daphne had caught sight of something red.
"What's that on your hand?" She asked.
"Hmm? Oh, nothing," he replied.
In any other situation, Daphne may have brushed it off. Yet, she'd just used the same easy excuse to dodge his question. She did owe him, after all.
"Harry, I know I saw something," Daphne replied, crossing her arms.
"It's nothing much. I'm fine."
"If you've cut yourself, I can heal it," she offered.
Her initial education involved learning everything about being a housewife, including how to mend scratches, bruises, and other day-to-day injuries a child might have. Of course, that'd rapidly ceased just before her sister's first year at Hogwarts.
She still remembered enough to treat whatever Harry had — that much she was certain of.
"I don't think you can. Leave it, please."
If he were anyone else, she would've respected their decision. But something just felt too strange about the whole situation. He'd closed off incredibly fast.
"Show me," Daphne demanded, narrowing her eyebrows. "You have no reason to hide it."
Some voice in the back of her mind reminded her that this was why she had almost no friends. Well, that and the whole heiress drama. Somewhere along the road, she'd forgotten how to make them. Her housemates weren't exactly the friendly type.
"Why shouldn't I? Can't you mind your own business?" he asked, sounding more tired than annoyed. "You belong in Gryffindor."
Daphne wasn't sure if she should be offended or take it as a compliment. Now he was beginning to irritate her.
"And you have no friends, so why does it matter?"
As soon as she'd said it, Daphne regretted the words.
"There's that brutal honesty," he said, sighing. "Definitely Gryffindor."
She made to apologise, but he waved her off again.
"No matter, we're both friendless."
To her complete surprise, he grimaced, placing his hand palm-down in the middle of the table. She'd half expected him to just get up and leave without a word.
I wonder why-
Daphne couldn't stifle a gasp. Her mind blanked, eyes transfixed by the crimson lines she saw running across the back of his hand
They were red and jagged, just above the wrist. Craning her neck, she tried to read what they said.
"What's that?" she whispered. "What does it say?"
He withdrew it, giving her a bored look for some reason.
"'I must not tell lies,'" Harry spoke in a mocking tone, rolling his eyes.
The implications slowly set in as she mentally connected the dots.
"That's been done by a blood quill!" Daphne hissed. "Was it from your detention?"
Her stomach sank when he nodded. She felt twice as bad now, but for some reason, Harry didn't seem to care.
"When is your next one?" she asked, mind racing.
"Tonight."
"There is no way that you are going, Harry!" Daphne whispered furiously.
"Oh?" he asked, removing his hand from the table to run it through his dark hair once more. "And why not?"
"I won't let you."
She was absolutely determined to not allow it. Not many things in life had gone her way, but that didn't deter her in the slightest. At that very moment, she vowed that he would never have another detention with that vile woman ever again. Daphne had never really stood up for herself, let alone others, and controlling was the last thing that she would be described as. Yet, here, she couldn't be a bystander. Having been half the reason behind his detention in her mind, Daphne would feel complicit if she did nothing.
"What gives you the right to say that?"
The truth was that she had no right. But that wouldn't stop her. It was madness for him to simply endure two weeks of torture, no matter what his reason was.
"Someone obviously needs to look out for you. What you are doing is stupidly stubborn and entirely unnecessary. Not to mention that a professor is breaking the law — she could be sent to Azkaban over this!"
"I wouldn't be in this situation if you had someone to look out for yourself, Greengrass," he replied neutrally.
The barb would've infuriated her further, but all of her irritation melted away when Harry shot her a small smile with it. Mostly because his nonchalance made her question if he was completely mad, or so she told herself as she thought.
Now Daphne was partially tempted to dig deeper.
Maybe it's how he copes. Why is Harry the way he is?
No, she mused. A time and a place for that. I think.
"Yes, alright, but doesn't that mean it's up to me to help you?"
Once more, Daphne didn't know why she was so eager to help him. In hindsight, it would probably be a massively stupid move, but she just didn't care anymore. One friend would be better than half a friend. She missed Tracey.
"That's a fair point you make," he said, rubbing his chin. "What's your master plan, then?"
"First we need to get your hand sorted out," Daphne replied, "that'll scar worse the longer you leave it."
Harry made a hesitant noise of agreement, so she scooted her chair around to his side of the desk.
"Show me."
He stopped rubbing the back of his head and held it out to her.
Daphne took the hand gently and placed it in her lap, but Harry immediately tensed and tried to draw back.
"Hey, mister," she scolded, clutching on.
Having not expected him to listen, her thoughts raced once more as she contemplated how she should heal the marred skin. They could almost be described as gashes rather than cuts.
Daphne carefully lifted her wand, delicately gripping his hand to hold it in place. The skin was remarkably soft; a significant contrast to the harsh calluses she felt just below his fingers.
Ignoring the heat she felt rushing to her cheeks at their proximity to each other, Daphne began to trace her wand along the wounds carefully. They were stubborn — incredibly so. The skin refused to knit together as it should, and Daphne found herself concentrating harder than she could ever remember to make any progress, her mumbled spells growing quieter and quieter.
She was out of breath by the halfway mark, slumping over with a gasp.
"Are you okay?"
Taken aback by the concern in his voice, Daphne met his eyes. She found she much preferred this expression to the previous one. There almost seemed to be a hint of tenderness. Perhaps even sincerity.
Maybe I'm just imagining it, she thought. Now is not the time for childish fantasies.
"I'm okay," Daphne confirmed, ignoring her sudden fatigue. "Now hold still."
Before he had a chance to react, she resumed her prior activities, quickly tracing her wand over the rest of the crimson lettering.
Daphne thought she'd done a fine job. There was, inevitably, a scar left behind, though much of it was faint — the colouring was more pink than white. She really wondered why he'd accepted such a punishment, let alone how he'd been able to endure it for as long as he had already.
However, the fatigue caught up to her quickly. Daphne was vaguely conscious of pitching forward, a strong arm around her waist stopping her from hitting her head on the table. The last thing she felt was her cheek coming into contact with what had to be someone's shoulder.
Harry?
She was too tired to care. It was warm and comfortable, so she nuzzled her head in deeper.
Daphne was entirely happy to let the weariness win. Being unable to even remember her last hug, let alone whatever this was, the physical contact felt like a drug.
He smells good.
The girl shifted again on his shoulder, burrowing just beneath his chin, whilst he sat there frozen.
His arm was awkwardly wound around her waist, and he felt way too far out of his depth. She'd somehow just healed his hand, which even he had failed to do that morning, and passed out on his shoulder.
Harry was almost panicking at this point. The only other person he'd ever been this close to was Sirius, and Harry was not prepared to jump straight to that stage with someone he hardly knew. At least, not in human form. He'd grown more tolerant to it as a cat.
Yet, it didn't appear he had much choice.
Calming himself, Harry thought through his options. He could just pry Daphne off him and leave her here, but he knew he wouldn't be able to bring himself to do that. Who knew what her housemates might do to her if they found her?
Then there was the fact that she'd done this fixing his hand, for some reason unknown to him.
No, he couldn't do that. Absolutely not. Especially when she'd seemed even more down today than she had previously.
Fuck.
What could he do?
The answer came to Harry after a few seconds of thought, and as much as he wanted to discard it, he couldn't think of any alternatives. He'd just need to hope he wasn't making the wrong choice.
With a deep breath, he untensed, and set his mind to the task at hand.
Their things were still scattered about the table, so Harry carefully fished out his wand and packed everything up. Though, Madam Pince would kill him if she saw him using magic in the library, so he had to be quick and quiet.
Shrinking both of their bags and placing them inside his robes, Harry looked around, ensuring that no one had noticed his usage of magic.
Still on edge, and supremely conscious of Daphne's head still on his shoulder, he drew his invisibility cloak out of his shirt pocket.
It was a handy little thing, and Harry had repeatedly found himself thanking Sirius for drilling it into him to carry it everywhere. The cloak was able to fold up to an impossibly small size, and when worn seemed to be completely undetectable.
He'd tested it enough to know that for sure.
Grimacing, he unfurled it, his fingers gliding across the soft fabric. The familiar liquid-like texture of it brought him some comfort.
Harry paused, both bracing himself and thinking of the best way to manoeuvre Daphne into a better position. He couldn't think of an alternative, so he just decided to get it over with.
The cloak covered the both of them easily, but not the chairs they were sitting on, which probably made for a bizarre sight if anyone were to stumble across them.
He stood slowly, keeping Daphne at his side. The contact made him shiver, and he couldn't place why.
Nerves, I guess.
In a moment of weakness, he'd already let her pet him as a cat. What did it matter anymore?
Resigning himself to whatever the consequences of this would be, he hooked his other arm beneath her knees and lifted. Immediately, Harry noticed how light she was. Did all girls his age weigh this little?
Harry was also fortunate that Daphne fit underneath the cloak with him without sticking out. Having cleared the desk of their things, he began to walk out of the library.
Tall shelves seemed to loom over Harry on either side as he walked, almost like they were watching him closely. The evening sun cast golden shafts of light across the high ceiling, accentuating the masonry.
Already on edge, he jumped when the library's candles suddenly flickered to life, a faint woosh echoing through the otherwise silent aisles.
On two occasions, he had to dodge a group of students, using all of the agility he had to weave his way through them with Daphne still knocked out in his arms. It would not do to bury the both of them beneath a pile of books.
She shifted, now dozing with her head against his chest, causing Harry to stumble and nearly fall over his feet. It wasn't her weight that unbalanced him, but rather the unfamiliar sensation.
Though, as he walked through the corridors, he found her warmth to be almost calming.
Harry forced himself to stay focused as a large group of students rounded the corner, most likely headed to an early dinner. The time had passed quicker than he'd thought possible.
It was a struggle to ignore the familiar scent that filled the space under the cloak. No amount of clearing his mind would banish it entirely, and Harry fought to concentrate on the staircase he was currently ascending. If he tripped over his own feet here, it would probably all be over. For both him and Daphne. His keen nose didn't help, either.
After what felt like a titanic effort, he finally made it to the seventh-floor corridor with the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy. The struggle was more mental than physical, however.
Pacing in front of the stretch of wall three times, he thought to himself.
I need a place to stay. I need a place to stay. I need a place to stay.
The large door to the Room of Requirement materialised immediately, and Harry wasted no time in rushing in and shutting it behind him. As he had no way of checking the map with Daphne in his arms, he'd just have to hope that no one had followed him.
Carefully depositing Daphne on one of the plush couches, he sunk into an equally cushioned armchair, the crackling fire setting him somewhat at ease.
Would he regret bringing her here? She was sure to wake up eventually, and Harry didn't fancy his chances of carrying her into the Slytherin girls' dorm in human form.
Since finding the room in his third year, he'd managed to keep its existence a secret from everyone but Sirius, who'd insisted on visiting. He'd heavily congratulated Harry on finding what he'd missed during his own Hogwarts years.
Now he just wished he'd see his godfather's face pop up in the fire as it had before. The thought immediately led him down the darker paths of his mind whilst his eyes tracked the long shadows cast by the fire to their source, where the flames licked at the grate sedately.
Looking back to Daphne, Harry couldn't help but sigh.
Her blonde hair appeared nearly platinum due to the fire, cascading over the couch pillows. He noticed that she appeared somehow troubled in her sleep. Perhaps it was the way she curled in on herself, or how her hand seemed to grasp at nothing.
Remembering her smile, he somehow found himself wishing he could bring it back. Harry didn't think people were usually that tense when they slept.
Or he was just getting soft.
Either way, she could at least rest easy tonight. There was no chance that he would make his detention with Umbridge now.
He was still unable to determine why she cared so much, though.
Maybe he'd earn a few extra detentions as a consequence, but knowing Daphne, she wouldn't let him go to them.
She's certainly the type to use force, he thought, smirking to himself. Gryffindors.
Perhaps we're not so different.