Like Fire and Moonlight - Chapter 21: What You Are To Me

The sleepless night didn’t weigh on Harry as he had expected. On the contrary, the cold fury that had consumed him after discovering Nott and Amelia’s plot had transformed into an unsettling clarity, an almost tangible determination that pushed him forward. He hadn’t slept, but he hadn’t felt tired either. He had spent hours in the Gryffindor Common Room, watching the last embers of the fireplace die out, while his mind drafted and redrafted plans. Sirius’s words still echoed, firm and true: “Fight for it… Be smart.” And being smart, Harry concluded, meant not acting on impulse, but choosing his allies carefully.

He knew Daphne wouldn’t believe him easily. Not after what she had seen. He would need more than his word; he would need someone who could reach Daphne in a way he currently couldn’t. And only one name came to his mind, insistently: Astoria Greengrass.

The next morning, Harry headed to the Great Hall with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in days. He spotted Astoria quickly at the Slytherin table, a bit removed from Malfoy’s noisy group, chatting with a classmate. She looked more relaxed than the last time he’d seen her, when her eyes had sparked with the fury of her hex. He waited patiently, watching her from a distance as he ate his breakfast, which, for the first time in days, actually had some taste.

The opportunity arose when Astoria got up, said goodbye to her friend, and headed out of the Great Hall, likely on her way to the first class. Harry stood up too, murmuring a “be right back” to Ron and Hermione, who looked at him curiously.

He caught up with her in the corridor leading to the staircases, a relatively less crowded spot at that hour.

“Astoria!” he called out, his voice firm but not aggressive.

She stopped and turned, her blonde eyebrows arching in surprise, which quickly turned into a cautious, defensive expression when she recognized him. “Potter,” she said, her tone cold, but without the explicit hostility of the day before. “What do you want? Another dose of boils? I think I can come up with something more creative this time.”

Harry took a deep breath, ignoring the provocation. He needed her to listen. “Astoria, I know you have no reason to trust me right now, and I understand your anger, truly. I deserved that hex, and probably worse.” He paused, seeing a flicker of surprise in her eyes at his admission. “But I need you to listen to me. This isn’t about me—it’s about Daphne. She’s being deceived, and I think you’re the only one who can help me show her the truth.”

Astoria crossed her arms, still defensive, but there was a new note of curiosity in her gaze. “Deceived? By who? You, I imagine.”

“Not by me, Astoria. At least, not entirely,” Harry said, choosing his words carefully. “By Nott. And by Baxter.”

Amelia’s name seemed to stir something in Astoria. Her defensive expression faltered for a moment, replaced by a shadow of suspicion. “Baxter? What does she have to do with this?”

Harry nodded, sensing he might have an opening. “More than you think. Nott and Amelia set me and Daphne up. I overheard them talking last night, Astoria. They planned that kiss in the corridor, knew Daphne would see it. Nott wanted to drive her away from me, and Amelia... well, I think she just wanted to cause trouble and get back at me for rejecting her.”

He paused, letting the information settle. He saw Astoria’s eyes narrow, her mind clearly working through the accusation.

“Nott told me you had grabbed Baxter, that you had started it all,” she said slowly, her voice now less aggressive, more inquisitive.

“That’s what he wanted you all to think,” Harry replied, keeping his voice calm but firm. “The truth, Astoria, is that Nott is manipulating Daphne. He’s taking advantage of her pain, pretending to be the understanding friend, when in fact he’s the mastermind behind all of this. And the worst part,” Harry hesitated, knowing this would be the hardest part for Astoria to believe, but it was crucial, “he and Amelia are having an affair. This whole plan was a way to get rid of me so Nott could have a clear path to your sister.”

Astoria stared at him, shock written across her face. “An affair? Nott and... Baxter?” She shook her head, as if trying to dispel the thought. “That’s... that’s unthinkable.”

“I know it sounds unbelievable,” Harry continued, feeling a glimmer of hope. “But I heard him, Astoria. I heard Nott bragging about how vulnerable Daphne was, how he’d have her where he wanted in no time. He even mocked you, said you were an ‘easily fooled child’ who bought into his sweet words about how ‘worried’ he was about Daphne.”

Being underestimated seemed to hit a nerve. Color rose in Astoria’s cheeks, and her eyes, once only shocked, now gleamed with a cold fury that strongly resembled Daphne’s.

“That arrogant worm,” she hissed, fists clenched at her sides. “He always thought he was superior.”

Harry knew he had her. Astoria’s loyalty to her sister, combined with Nott’s personal insult, was a powerful mix.

“I need you to help me, Astoria,” he said, his voice now heavy with urgency. “Daphne won’t listen to me. Not now. But she trusts you. If you can at least plant the seed of doubt about Nott, maybe she’ll start to see the truth.”

Astoria stared at him for a long moment, her lips pressed into a thin line as she processed the torrent of information. The initial shock had turned into cold rage, but now a cautious uncertainty seemed to settle in her blue eyes.

“And why would Nott do all this, Potter?” she asked, her voice still laced with a distrust that wouldn’t vanish easily. “He and Daphne had a thing, sure, but to orchestrate something so... elaborate? And with Baxter?” She shook her head, as if the idea was too absurd to entertain.

“Because he wants Daphne, Astoria,” Harry said, his frustration evident. “And he saw me as an obstacle. He said so himself. He thinks he can win her back if I’m out of the picture. And Amelia... well, she had her own reasons for wanting to see me miserable.” He paused, watching Astoria’s expression twist with a mix of disgust and doubt.

“Look,” Harry continued, stepping closer, his voice now softer, more pleading. “I’m not asking you to believe me blindly. I know I probably sound like a complete idiot right now, and maybe I am. But I’m asking you to at least consider it. Watch Nott. Watch how he behaves around Daphne, the things he says. Think about whether his behavior in the past few days makes sense—if he doesn’t seem... a little too pleased with how things turned out.”

Astoria looked away, fingers drumming against her crossed arm. She bit her lower lip, clearly conflicted. On one hand, there was her unquestionable loyalty to her sister, who was suffering because of Potter. On the other, the seed of doubt he had just planted, the suggestion that Nott—someone she’d known for years—might be capable of such duplicity. And the way Nott had underestimated her... that enraged her deeply.

"I don't know, Potter," she said at last, her eyes meeting his again, uncertainty still present. "Daphne is devastated. She really liked you." The last sentence came out almost like a veiled accusation, a reminder of his part in all that mess.

"I know," Harry replied, the guilt hitting him hard once more. "And I messed everything up. But if Nott is really behind this, if he's taking advantage of her pain... she needs to know. She deserves to know the truth, even if that truth includes me as the idiot who fell into the trap."

Silence fell between them again, heavy and loaded. Harry could hear the distant sounds of students heading to class, laughter and conversations echoing through the halls—a stark contrast to the tension surrounding them.

Finally, Astoria let out a long sigh, uncrossing her arms. "Alright, Potter," she said, her voice resigned, but with a new glint of determination in her eyes. "I'll watch. I'll pay attention to Nott. But don't get any ideas," she added, fixing him with a cold, piercing stare. "If I find out you're lying, that you made all this up just to dodge the blame and try to win Daphne back, I will make your life a living hell far worse than a few boils."

Harry felt a mix of relief and apprehension. He had gained an ally, even if a reluctant one. "I'm not lying, Astoria."

"You'd better not be," she retorted. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have Transfiguration. And I suggest you get to your class too, before someone else decides to hex you." Without waiting for a response, Astoria turned and walked away down the corridor, her steps firm and resolute, leaving Harry with a sense of cautious hope. The first part of the plan was in motion.

~HP~

The small victory with Astoria gave Harry a surge of energy he hadn’t felt in days. He still felt guilty, the pain from the apparent loss of Daphne was still an open wound, but now there was a sliver of hope—a path, however uncertain, to try and fix things. He headed to his own class, his mind already calculating the next steps. He needed Astoria’s help, but he knew she alone might not be enough to convince Daphne, especially with Nott whispering poison in her ear.

Later that week, during a break between classes, while Harry was in the library pretending to research for a Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment (but actually just watching Daphne’s location on the Marauder’s Map, which showed her in the Slytherin Common Room), he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

He turned quickly, heart leaping—but it was Astoria. She had a serious expression, her blue eyes focused.

“Potter,” she began in a low voice, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. And I think you might be right about Nott. He’s been acting... strange around Daphne. A little too possessive, even for him.”

Harry felt a wave of relief. “So you’ll help me?”

Astoria nodded, determination hardening her features. “Yes. But like you said, Daphne won’t believe just me, especially if it’s against something Nott told her. And she definitely won’t believe you right now.” She paused. “We’ll need more people. Her best friends. Tracey and Blaise.”

Harry frowned. “Do you think they’ll believe us? Or that they’ll want to help... me?”

“They’re loyal to Daphne above all,” Astoria said firmly. “If they realize she’s being deceived—especially by Nott—they’ll want to help. And you,” she looked him up and down, “will have to swallow your Gryffindor pride and trust a few Slytherins.”

“Where are they?” Harry asked, already getting up.

“Zabini’s usually in the Transfiguration courtyard after lunch, and Tracey’s probably with him. Let’s go.”

Astoria led him through the corridors with a confidence Harry envied. They found Tracey and Blaise exactly where Astoria had predicted, sitting on a stone bench under the arches of the courtyard, apparently discussing some homework.

Tracey raised an eyebrow upon seeing Harry approach with Astoria, a playful smile tugging at her lips. Blaise simply observed, his expression unreadable.

“Potter?” Tracey said, voice full of surprise. “What brings you to our humble corner of the castle? And with little Greengrass?”

“We need to talk to you,” Astoria said before Harry could open his mouth. “It’s about Daphne. And about Nott.”

The mention of Daphne’s name wiped the amused expression off Tracey’s face, and Blaise sat up straighter, suddenly more alert.

“What about Daphne?” Blaise asked, his voice calm but with an undertone of concern.

Harry took a deep breath. Now was the moment. With Astoria occasionally cutting in to confirm a point or add a detail she had observed about Nott’s behavior, he told them the entire story. He spoke of the trap set by Amelia and Nott, the conversation he overheard, the affair between them, and how Nott planned to manipulate Daphne. He was honest about his own role—about the kiss with Amelia and how Daphne had seen it—admitting his guilt in the initial misunderstanding.

When he finished, a heavy silence settled over the small group. Tracey’s lips were pressed tight, her dark eyes sparking with anger. Blaise’s face was grim, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his knee.

“That snake, Amelia!” Tracey finally burst out, her voice low but seething with fury. “I never trusted her. And Nott... I always knew he was a second-rate manipulator, but this...” She shook her head, looking disgusted.

Blaise looked at Harry, his dark eyes sharp and probing. “You’re sure about all this, Potter? Every detail?”

Harry stared back without hesitation. “Absolutely. I heard it with my own ears.”

Blaise nodded slowly, still serious. “Nott was always obsessed with Daphne. And he didn’t take it well when she dumped him in fifth year.” He exchanged a look with Tracey, who nodded in agreement. “If this is true, Potter,” Blaise said, his voice now firm, “you have our help. Nobody messes with Daphne and gets away with it.”

Tracey nodded. “She’s hurting, you can see it. And if Nott is exploiting that... he’s going to regret it bitterly.”

Harry felt a huge wave of gratitude. Despite all the rivalry between houses, their loyalty to Daphne was stronger. “Thank you,” he said, sincerely. “I just want her to know the truth.”

“So,” Astoria cut in, looking at the newly-formed group, “how are we going to do this?”

Blaise leaned back on the stone bench, his dark eyes thoughtful as he observed Harry and the two Greengrass sisters. “We have to be careful,” he said finally, his voice calm and calculating. “Daphne is proud. If she feels like we’re ganging up on her, or trying to force her to believe something, she’ll shut down even more.”

Tracey nodded, nibbling the end of a quill she had pulled from her bag. “And she’s hurt by Potter. Even if Nott is a bastard, the pain she feels from that hallway incident”—she shot Harry a significant look—“is real. She’s not just going to take your word for it, Potter, no matter how sincere you sound.”

Harry nodded, the weight of her words hitting him. “I know. That’s why I asked for your help.”

“We need a moment when she’s willing to listen,” Astoria pondered, arms crossed. “A place where she feels safe, not cornered.”

“And we need more than just your story, Potter,” Blaise added, his eyes fixed on Harry. “Some kind of evidence, as hard as it may be to get. Nott is slippery. He’ll deny everything.”

Harry thought about the conversation he had overheard. Nott and Amelia had been explicit, but he had no way to prove it. Unless...

“I know where they meet,” Harry said suddenly, his eyes sharpening. “I saw them. Together. In one of the abandoned classrooms on the seventh floor, near Barnabas’s tapestry. They were... intimate. And that’s where I heard the whole conversation, their plan.” He looked at the Slytherin trio. “I can’t prove the conversation itself, but maybe... maybe we can get Daphne to see for herself that Nott and Amelia are secretly meeting. If she sees them together, somewhere they clearly shouldn’t be, maybe she’ll start to question everything else.”

“That’s risky,” Tracey admitted slowly. “But if she catches them in the act... yeah, that would plant serious doubt. Seeing the scene, the complicity between them, might be enough to shake her trust in Nott.”

“But we still need her to be willing to go there, to spy on them,” Blaise pointed out. “And she needs to be willing to hear you out, Potter, before or after, to connect the dots.”

“That’s where we come in,” Astoria said, a determined glint in her eyes. “Tracey, Blaise, you’re her best friends. She trusts you. You can talk to her first, prepare the ground. Say you’re worried about Nott, that you’ve heard things…”

“We can say we’ve heard rumors about him and Baxter,” Tracey picked up the idea. “That might make her curious, maybe even a bit defensive about Nott. If she starts to doubt him, even just a little, she might be more open to hearing what Potter has to say.”

“And the place,” Blaise continued, “needs to be neutral for the talk with Potter. The Astronomy Tower still seems like a good option—after she’s seen something, or if she agrees to listen before that, based on our insistence.”

“Right,” Astoria said, straightening. “So here’s the plan: I’ll try to find out if Nott and Amelia have a pattern, a specific time or day when they usually meet in that room. Tracey and I will talk to Daphne in the next few days, try to plant the seed of doubt about Nott, mention the rumors about him and Baxter. Potter,” she turned to Harry, “you lay low for now, like Blaise said. Let us prep the ground. If we manage to get Daphne to see something, or if she’s willing to listen, we’ll arrange a way to bring her to the Astronomy Tower. And then, the conversation is yours.”

Harry felt a knot of anxiety and hope form in his stomach. It was a risky plan, dependent on many “ifs” and the cunning of Slytherins. But it was a plan. And, for the first time in days, he felt he wasn’t completely alone in this fight.

~HP~

In the days that followed, Harry tried to keep a discreet distance, as Blaise had advised. It was torture to see her in the hallways or the Great Hall—her proud posture, her blue eyes avoiding his—and not be able to approach, not be able to try to explain. He focused on his classes, on Quidditch practices that felt more exhausting than ever without the prospect of a stolen smile or a teasing remark from Daphne to ease the tension.

Meanwhile, the Slytherin trio put the plan into motion. Astoria, with her knack for seeming harmless and curious, began monitoring Nott and Amelia with a dedication that impressed Harry. She passed him small notes between classes, detailing suspicious meetings, exchanged glances, hushed conversations she couldn’t fully hear—but all of it reinforced the certainty that something truly was going on between the two.

Tracey and Blaise, on their part, began subtly planting seeds of doubt in Daphne’s mind. Harry didn’t know exactly what they were saying, but he noticed Daphne seemed more pensive, less rigidly defensive. Sometimes, he’d catch her looking in his direction in the Great Hall—not with the icy coldness from before, but with an expression of confusion, almost questioning.

Finally, on a cold Friday afternoon, nearly two weeks after the disastrous night of the kiss, Astoria found him outside his Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

“Tonight,” she said, her voice low and hurried. “After dinner. Astronomy Tower. Tracey and Blaise will bring her. Be there.”

Harry’s heart leapt. “She... she agreed to go?”

Astoria gave a small smile, a glint of triumph in her eyes. “Let’s just say she’s... curious enough to listen. Don’t mess it up, Potter.”

Dinner felt like the longest of Harry’s life. He could barely swallow his food, anxiety and hope knotting in his stomach. When he finally rose from the Gryffindor table, his legs felt like lead.

He climbed the stairs to the Astronomy Tower, every step tightening the coil of tension. When he reached the wind-swept platform, it was empty. The stars had just begun to dot the dark sky, and the cold air stung his face. He waited, his hands sweating inside the pockets of his robes.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps on the stairs. Tracey and Blaise appeared first, casting him an encouraging look before retreating to a corner of the tower, giving them privacy. And then, Daphne arrived.

She stopped at the edge of the platform, her blonde hair tied in a loose braid, her face lit by the pale starlight. Her blue eyes met his, and Harry saw a complex mix of emotions—there was still pain, but the sharp hostility was gone, replaced by deep sorrow and a new clarity.

“Potter,” she said, her voice calm, but with a nearly imperceptible tremor.

“Daphne,” he replied, heart pounding in his chest. “Thank you for coming.” He noticed her arms weren’t crossed defensively like before.

“Astoria showed me,” she said directly, without preamble, eyes locked on his. “Nott and Baxter. I... I saw them. Heard what they were saying.” There was a raw pain in her voice—the pain of betrayal from someone she might once have considered a friend.

Harry nodded slowly, relief that she knew the truth mingling with anger at the pain they had caused her. “I’m so sorry, Daphne. I’m sorry you had to see that, that they used you like that.”

Daphne took a few steps toward the parapet, gazing at the distant lights of Hogsmeade. “I was such a fool,” she murmured, her voice thick. “I believed him. I believed his concern, his comfort... and the whole time, he was...” She shook her head, unable to finish.

Harry stepped closer, stopping beside her. “You weren’t a fool, Daphne. You were hurt, and he took advantage of that. They both did.”

She turned to face him, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “And you, Potter? The kiss with Amelia... what was that?” The question held no accusation like before, but a genuine need to understand.

Harry swallowed hard, facing the moment he had dreaded—but now saw as crucial. “That... that was a stupid mistake on my part, Daphne. I froze. Amelia took advantage of my confusion, of my own pain at having hurt you. But it meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. The only person I was thinking about, even in that awful moment, was you.” He searched her eyes. “I know I hurt you terribly by allowing that to happen, by not pushing her away the second she got close. And for that, I’m sorry—more than I can say.”

Daphne watched him in silence, her expression gradually softening. The tears she had been holding back began to fall, and she made no effort to wipe them away.

“I said awful things to you,” she whispered. “In the dungeons... I was so angry, so hurt...”

“And you had every right to be,” Harry said, stepping closer, the urge to comfort her, to erase that pain, nearly overwhelming. “I was an idiot too. I should’ve seen through her game earlier, should’ve been more honest with you about how I felt—so there wouldn’t have been any room for that kind of manipulation.”

He reached out hesitantly and touched her arm. Daphne didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned slightly into his touch, as if seeking support.

“Daphne,” Harry said, his voice now firm, his eyes fixed on hers. “I know I messed up badly. And I know ‘I’m sorry’ might not be enough right now. But what I feel for you... what we started to build... it’s real. At least for me.” He paused, heart racing. “What you are to me... it’s important. More important than I ever admitted to myself before I almost lost you.”

She looked at him, and a small, tentative smile began to form on her trembling lips, mirroring his.

“Maybe we can be idiots together then, Potter,” she said, and in that simple phrase was a promise—a promise of a new beginning, under the starry cloak of Hogwarts.

Her “maybe” this time didn’t feel full of hesitation, but of real possibility. The pain was still there, the trust would need rebuilding—but the truth had been spoken, the masks had fallen.

Harry took another step, closing the last bit of space between them. The wind tousled the loose strands of Daphne’s braid, and he felt an almost irresistible urge to brush them from her face.

“Daphne,” he began, his voice softer now, almost a plea. “I know it won’t be easy. And I’m not asking you to forget what happened. But... can we try? Really try this time? No games, no traps—just... us?”

She watched him, her blue eyes searching his—perhaps for sincerity, perhaps for the assurance that he wouldn’t hurt her again. He tried to show everything he felt in that gaze—the regret, the hope, and the growing feeling he was finally beginning to understand, to name.

“I... I don’t know if I can trust you again so easily, Harry,” she confessed, her voice still low but with a brutal honesty that he appreciated, despite the pain it caused. The use of his first name was a balm.

“I know,” he said, the guilt weighing on his words. “And I’ll spend the rest of the time we have left here trying to prove to you that I regret it every single day. That you can trust me.”

Daphne looked away for a moment, watching the distant lights of Hogsmeade shining in the darkness. When she looked back at him, there was a new resolve on her face.

“No more Amelia Baxter?” she asked, one eyebrow raised, a hint of the old defiant Daphne resurfacing—but now with a slightly playful tone.

Harry felt a small smile form on his lips. “No more Amelia Baxter. Or anyone else.” He paused. “Unless you plan to keep calling me Potter. In that case, I might need a bit of comfort,” he joked, trying to ease the remaining tension.

To his surprise, Daphne laughed—a clear, genuine sound that seemed to warm the cold air of the tower. “Don’t push your luck, Harry.”

The use of his first name again, spoken so naturally, made Harry’s heart leap. It was a small step, but it meant everything.

“So,” he said, extending his hand, palm open in a silent invitation. “Can we... start over?”

Daphne looked at his hand, then back at his face. A small smile played at her lips. She hesitated for a moment, and then, slowly, placed her hand in his. The touch was hesitant at first, but then their fingers intertwined—a fragile link, but a real one.

“Start over,” she agreed, her voice a bit steadier. “But with honesty this time, Potter.” The final “Potter” sounded more like a fond tease than a wall between them.

Harry squeezed her hand, feeling warmth spread through his chest, a wave of relief so intense it nearly made him dizzy. It wasn’t a fairytale ending—not yet. But it was a beginning. A new beginning, built on painful truths and the promise to try again—with more care, with more honesty.

And as they looked up at the stars above, they knew the road ahead would be challenging. But for the first time in a long while, Harry felt that maybe—just maybe—they had a real chance. Together.