Like Fire and Moonlight - Chapter 12: Under the Mistletoe

The morning after Slughorn’s Christmas Party, the entire castle seemed to buzz with rumors. The corridors were full of whispers, quick glances, and stifled giggles, and Harry quickly realized that, somehow, he had become the center of all the conversations. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but this time, the reason was completely different.

As soon as he stepped through the large doors of the Great Hall for breakfast, he felt the eyes turn toward him. They weren’t looks of admiration or respect, but of curiosity and surprise, as if he had done something completely unexpected. It didn’t take him long to figure out why — his dance with Daphne Greengrass.

He forced his shoulders back, trying to appear unconcerned as he crossed the hall to the Gryffindor table. Every step seemed to echo louder than usual, and he felt the eyes following him as if he were about to make some sort of grand announcement.

When he finally sat down next to Ron and Hermione, the two of them were staring at him with expressions that hovered somewhere between amusement and curiosity. Hermione had her chin resting on her hand, her eyes sparkling with that sharp analytical look Harry knew all too well, while Ron already had a wide grin forming on his lips, clearly holding back a joke.

Before Harry could serve himself anything, Ron leaned in closer, his eyes flicking between him and the Slytherin table, where Daphne was sitting.

“So, you and Greengrass, huh?” Ron muttered, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Harry sighed, trying to keep his expression neutral as he poured himself some pumpkin juice. “What about Greengrass?”

Hermione let out a small sigh, her eyes still fixed on him. “Harry, we saw it. Everyone did.”

Ron chuckled, giving Harry a light punch on the arm. “And you can be sure that half the castle already knows. You dancing with her... it was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Harry opened his mouth to snap back, but at that moment, his eyes briefly met Romilda Vane’s further down the Gryffindor table. She was staring at him with an expression that was a mix of surprise and mild irritation, her dark eyes narrowing as her fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of a teacup.

He quickly looked away, but not before noticing Amelia, sitting among a group of Ravenclaw girls, also watching him with an expression somewhere between curiosity and discomfort. She whispered something to the girl beside her, her eyes never leaving Harry’s profile.

Harry noticed the brief glances that Amelia and Romilda shot in his direction, their narrowed eyes and tense expressions loaded with something he wasn’t quite ready to decipher at the moment. He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on the plate in front of him, trying to ignore the silent tension that seemed to be building in the air.

“Looks like you caught the attention of more people than just Greengrass,” Hermione murmured, clearly noticing where his eyes had drifted. She took a bite of toast, trying to appear casual, but Harry caught the hint of curiosity in her eyes.

Ron followed Harry’s gaze to Romilda, who was now pretending to be deeply interested in her bowl of porridge, and let out a short laugh. “Looks like you just walked into a whole mess, mate.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to hide the discomfort he felt as he realized just how many eyes were still on him. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong — dancing with someone at a party wasn’t exactly a commitment — but something about the intense stares from Romilda and Amelia left him unsettled.

“You’re overreacting,” he muttered, taking a bite of toast in an attempt to appear uninterested.

Hermione rolled her eyes, clearly not convinced. “Just be careful, Harry. You know how things can get... complicated with feelings.”

He didn’t respond, but her reminder only added to the slight anxiety that had begun to stir in his chest. He had no idea how he felt about Daphne, but one thing was certain — ignoring the situation was no longer an option.

As he tried to focus on his breakfast, Amelia’s eyes remained fixed on him with the same intensity that Daphne had watched him with the night before.

Harry tried to concentrate on the toast in his hands, but the taste seemed distant, almost nonexistent, as his mind kept drifting back to the previous night. He could still feel the warmth of the hall, the distant sound of music, the golden lights flickering around them as they danced. Daphne had seemed so confident, so untouchable, and yet so close that he could almost hear her breathing blending with the rhythm of the music.

And then, the kiss.

He remembered the brief, almost hesitant touch, yet filled with an intensity he couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t like the other kisses he had given before. It wasn’t like the fleeting flings with Romilda, full of expectation and tension. It wasn’t like the easy, carefree flirting with Amelia, where he knew exactly what to expect. No — the kiss with Daphne had been different. More unsettling. More real.

He didn’t know what had driven him to do it. Maybe it was the way she had challenged him in the hall, her blue eyes flashing with an intensity he had never noticed before. Or maybe it was the way she had looked at him in the corridor, her breathing quick, her lips slightly parted, as if she were about to say something she had never allowed herself to even think.

And, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About the feel of her lips against his, the unexpected touch that had left him dazed and, in a way, wanting more.

He realized he was staring at the Slytherin table again, his eyes instinctively searching for the slender figure of Daphne. She was there, her head tilted slightly as she listened to something Tracy Davies was saying, but her eyes weren’t truly focused on her friend. Instead, she seemed lost in her own thoughts, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the glass in front of her.

For a brief moment, their eyes met. Harry felt his stomach tighten, his fingers tingling as if they could still feel her touch. Daphne blinked, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly looked away, her shoulders tensing as if she had been caught doing something forbidden.

He almost laughed at her reaction, but the discomfort returned quickly when he noticed that Nott was watching him too. Unlike Daphne, Nott made no attempt to hide his displeasure, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched as he glared at Harry.

Harry quickly looked away, focusing on the plate in front of him, but now he felt heat creeping up his face. He knew he shouldn’t care about Nott’s opinion, but the idea that he had crossed some invisible line — a line he hadn’t even known existed — left him uneasy.

“Harry, are you okay?” Hermione’s voice cut through his thoughts like a sharp blade.

He blinked, realizing that he was still holding the same piece of toast, now cold and slightly crushed in his hand. He let out a sigh, trying to hide the growing discomfort.

“I’m fine,” he replied quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just... tired from last night.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced, but seemed to decide not to press him.

Harry took another bite of the toast, trying to focus on the conversation around him, but the memory of the kiss still burned in his mind, like a mark he didn’t know how to erase.

~HP~

The day of the seventh-year Christmas party had finally arrived, and the castle was wrapped in a mix of biting cold and nervous excitement. Harry let out a relieved sigh as he finished getting dressed in his dormitory, the muffled sounds of his roommates getting ready echoing in the background. He pulled Sirius’s leather jacket from the back of his chair, feeling the comfortable weight of the worn fabric on his shoulders. There was something comforting about wearing it, as if he were carrying a piece of the freedom he had always admired in his godfather.

He turned to the crooked mirror beside his bed, adjusting the collar of the jacket and trying, without much success, to tame his eternally unruly hair. The reflection staring back at him seemed different that night. Maybe it was the dim light of the dormitory, or perhaps it was just the anticipation of what the night might bring. He smiled, running a hand through his hair one last time before giving up.

“Just go with it,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he grabbed his wand to cast a quick warming charm. The leather jacket was perfect for the look he wanted, but the weather outside wasn’t exactly friendly to light clothing.

He headed down the stairs before the others, his footsteps echoing off the ancient stones of the Gryffindor tower as he crossed the nearly empty common room. A few younger students looked at him curiously, their eyes following him with the same admiration as always, but Harry didn’t stop to chat. He had agreed to meet Daphne before the party to go over the final details.

As he walked through the corridors, his steps quick and confident, he felt a slight wave of satisfaction as he remembered how well the party planning had come together, despite the pessimistic predictions of many. It hadn’t been so bad working with the other prefects, especially Parkinson and Malfoy. They had been genuinely surprised to see how well Daphne managed to keep everyone focused and organized, even when clashing personalities threatened to turn the meetings into small verbal duels.

When he finally reached the Great Hall, Harry paused for a moment, his eyes widening slightly at what they had managed to create. The long wooden tables that usually dominated the hall had been replaced by round tables covered in red and white tablecloths, like the ones from the Yule Ball in fourth year. Small floating lights drifted overhead, casting a soft, golden glow that reflected off the silverware and crystal glasses, creating a charming effect.

In the center of the hall, the space had been carefully cleared for a dance floor, the polished stone gleaming as if freshly waxed, the edges decorated with holly garlands and silver ribbons that swayed slightly in the cool breeze drifting in from the grand doors. There was also a stage set up at the far end, instruments already arranged for the band that would play later, the cables and microphones perfectly organized as if waiting eagerly to be used.

Near the stage, Harry noticed a small table already stocked with glasses, drinks, and a few appetizer plates — an idea they had come up with to keep guests from going hungry while waiting for the main dinner. He hadn’t seen the final touches of the decorations until that moment, but he had to admit he was impressed with the work that Abbott, Patil, and Daphne had done.

He finally spotted Daphne near the stage, talking to a few house-elves who were rushing to complete the final adjustments. She was wearing an emerald green dress that highlighted her fair skin and blue eyes, the fabric flowing gently as she moved, her blonde hair braided in a simple yet elegant style. Black boots completed the look, giving her an air that was both graceful and firm, like someone who wasn’t easily intimidated.

Harry approached, feeling his heart beat a little faster at the sight of the smile she gave the house-elves — the kind of smile he rarely saw on her face. There was something in that moment that felt lighter, as if the constant tension between them had dissolved, even if only for a few seconds.

“I have to admit,” he said, stopping beside her and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket to hide the slight nervousness. “What you guys did here is impressive.”

Daphne turned to face him, her eyes shining with a quiet satisfaction he had never seen in her before. “And I thought we wouldn’t be able to pull it off,” she replied, still smiling. “But that’s mostly because of what you did.”

Harry frowned, confused. “Me?”

She shook her head, her lips curving into a small, almost amused smile. “You had most of the ideas, Potter,” she said, tilting her head slightly to the side. “Obviously, I helped, but everything turned out the way we planned.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but she had already turned back to give instructions to the house-elves, her braided hair swaying slightly as she moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she wanted.

He stood there for a moment, watching her move around the hall, her steps firm and sure, her voice low and controlled as she organized the final details.

He didn’t know exactly what he felt seeing her like that, but one thing was certain — that night would be different.

Harry stood there for a moment, watching Daphne move around the hall, her steps confident as she checked the final details. He found himself smiling, not entirely sure why, but before he could get lost in his own thoughts, Daphne turned again, her blue eyes finding his with an intensity that made him straighten his shoulders.

“Are you just going to stand there staring at me, or are you actually going to help?” she asked, her voice carrying that slightly teasing tone he was beginning to recognize.

Harry let out a light laugh, crossing his arms over his leather jacket. “I thought you were the perfectionist in the group. Didn’t want to get in your way.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a small smile that seemed almost challenging. “You’re always in the way, Potter. I thought you’d be used to it by now.”

He took a few steps toward her, stopping beside the table where the house-elves were finishing lining up the glasses. Up close, he noticed how her eyes seemed even clearer under the golden light of the hall, the strands of her braided hair reflecting the soft flames of the floating candles.

“Well, I can be a bit of a problem sometimes,” he admitted, resting his hands on the table and leaning in slightly closer. “But you don’t seem too bothered.”

She laughed, the sound low and almost unexpected, her eyes briefly flicking to the house-elves before returning to his. “You’re more tolerable than I expected,” she replied, her lips still curled into a smile that seemed to carry a mix of teasing and curiosity.

Harry felt his heart pick up a little, and for a second, he wondered if she also remembered the night before — the way they had danced, the kiss he couldn’t get out of his head, the slap that still made his cheek tingle when he let himself think about it too much.

He leaned in a bit more, his eyes still locked on hers. “Do you think it’s going to be a good night?”

Daphne looked at him for a moment, as if trying to figure out what he really meant by that question. Then, finally, she shrugged, her eyes glinting with a hint of amusement.

“It’ll be an interesting night, at the very least,” she replied, lifting her chin slightly as if daring him to disagree.

Harry broke into a grin, his eyes still locked on hers. “I can live with that.”

For a brief moment, the world around them seemed to contract, the sounds of the house-elves arranging plates and glasses fading into a distant, almost insignificant hum. Harry felt his fingers tingle slightly, as if he wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder, but he held back, keeping his hands firmly planted on the table.

They continued to stare at each other for a few more seconds, their gazes exchanging silent sparks as the empty hall wrapped around them like a well-kept secret.

But then, the sound of distant voices echoed from the entry corridor, breaking the tension that had been building between them. Daphne straightened her shoulders quickly, her eyes darting to the grand doors as they began to swing open, the first guests appearing in lively groups.

She took a deep breath, her fingers unconsciously smoothing the skirt of her dress before turning back to Harry. “Well, you’d better go greet your friends, Potter,” she said, her voice slipping back into the cool, controlled tone he knew so well.

Harry hesitated for a second, then let out a small sigh, stepping back a few paces as he gave her one last look. “See you later?”

Daphne didn’t respond immediately, but her lips curved slightly before she turned away to help the house-elves with the final touches.

Harry watched her for another second before turning to face the growing crowd that was beginning to fill the hall.

~HP~

Harry had never seen so many people from different houses having fun together since the Yule Ball. The Great Hall seemed to pulse with energy, the floating lights reflecting off crystal glasses and tables decorated with silver ribbons and holly. The lively music echoed off the stone walls, and he could hear the laughter and loud conversations competing with the fast-paced rhythm of the band playing on stage.

He walked slowly through the hall, his eyes sweeping over the groups of students dancing in the center, the tables full of people chatting excitedly, and the professors gathered in small, more reserved circles at the edges. McGonagall had already greeted him three times that night, and Slughorn had praised him so enthusiastically that Harry almost regretted being so organized with the party planning.

He finally reached the drinks table, grabbed a crystal glass, and poured himself some red punch. He waited until no one was looking, and with a quick, discreet movement, pulled the small metal flask he had hidden in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He poured a generous splash of Firewhisky into the glass, the strong scent mixing with the sweet aroma of the punch.

“You really are a troublemaker,” he muttered to himself, raising the glass to his lips for a quick sip.

But before he could enjoy the familiar warmth sliding down his throat, a familiar voice cut through his thoughts.

“What’s going on between you and Greengrass?”

Harry nearly choked, the liquid burning slightly in his throat. He turned around and found himself face to face with Amelia, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity he hadn’t expected. She was wearing a light blue dress that contrasted sharply with her dark hair, her arms crossed, her expression clearly suspicious.

“Good evening to you too, Amelia,” he replied, trying to sound casual as he took another sip. “And there’s nothing going on between us.”

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to figure out whether he was lying. “That’s not what people are saying,” she said, leaning in a bit closer, her voice low so that no one else could hear. “You two were dancing like a couple.”

Harry felt his jaw clench, but forced himself to keep his expression relaxed. “And since when is that any of your business?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Amelia seemed to shrink slightly at the harsher tone than he had intended to use. For a second, her eyes flickered, and Harry saw the slight change in her expression, the way her shoulders dropped a bit, like someone who had just been hit with a disheartening spell.

“I thought we were friends,” she said, her voice now lower, almost a whisper. “That we were... something more.”

Harry felt a pang of discomfort tighten in his chest, but he forced himself to push the thought away. This wasn’t a new situation for him, and he knew it wouldn’t help to try and explain what even he couldn’t quite define.

He took a deep breath, deciding it was time to be honest, even if it meant watching her expression shatter into a thousand pieces.

“Amelia,” he began, trying to keep his tone calm. “We’re friends. Just that.” He looked her directly in the eyes, refusing to break the stare. “I know we’ve had some good moments, but... that’s all they were. Moments.”

He saw her eyes fill with tears, her hands clenching slightly against the hem of her dress, and felt a sharp sting of regret. But before he could think of something to soften the blow, she was already walking away, the blue dress swaying slightly as she moved toward a group of Ravenclaw friends, her shoulders stiff as if she were trying to hold herself together.

Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, tilting his head back for a brief moment as he tried to collect himself. He knew he had done the right thing, but that didn’t make the situation any less uncomfortable.

“Breaking hearts?”

The cool, but slightly amused voice made him turn quickly. Daphne was beside him, her blue eyes shining with something he couldn’t quite identify — maybe amusement, maybe curiosity.

He stared at her for a second, his lips curving into a slight smile. “Too soon?” he shot back, trying to sound nonchalant.

Daphne let out a low laugh, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took his glass without asking and downed the drink in one go, her lips curving into a small, mischievous smile as she tasted the strong alcohol.

“I knew you had something hidden,” she murmured, handing the glass back to him as she discreetly ran her tongue over her lips to get rid of the sharp taste.

Harry raised an eyebrow, amused. “And since when do you drink, Greengrass?”

She shrugged, her eyes drifting briefly to the dance floor, where a group of sixth years was already starting to let loose, their laughter echoing through the hall. "I think I just need something to distract me," she replied, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

Harry couldn’t help but smile. “Distractions, huh?” He grabbed another glass and poured a bit more punch for both of them. “What made you change your mind?”

Daphne looked at him for a second, her eyes scanning his face as if deciding how much she wanted to share. Finally, she let out a small sigh. “It was something my sister said,” she admitted, her eyes briefly getting lost in the lights dancing around the hall. “She reminded me that this is my last year here... and that I haven’t really enjoyed any of it.”

Harry raised his glass, a small smile on his lips. “So your sister’s smarter than I thought.”

She rolled her eyes but ended up laughing, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “She is,” she admitted, before clinking her glass lightly against his.

They stood in comfortable silence for a few seconds, watching the other students around them. Harry felt a strange sense of warmth spread through his chest, and for a brief moment, the noise around them seemed to fade into a distant backdrop.

“Daphne, look...”
“Harry, look...”

They spoke at the same time, their words overlapping, and then they stopped, both breaking into a light laugh that shattered the tension.

“You first,” Daphne said, her eyes sparkling.

Harry stared at her for a second, feeling the heat rise up his neck. “No, you go ahead.”

She sighed, her eyes dropping to the glass she still held. “About that night at Slughorn’s Party...”

Harry held his breath, his heart beating faster.

“Sorry about the slap,” she murmured, her eyes finally meeting his again. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Harry chuckled, feeling the tension dissolve a little. “You’d make a great Beater,” he joked, giving her arm a light tap. “But seriously. It’s fine.”

Daphne let out a relieved sigh, but her smile still seemed a bit hesitant. Harry noticed that she was looking at the empty glass in her hand, as if trying to find the right words there.

“It was a reflex,” she said finally, her eyes moving between the glass and his face. “I wasn’t expecting you to... do that.”

Harry felt his face heat up, but he forced a casual smile. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t exactly plan to do it either.”

Daphne let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “So you’re just an unpredictable, impulsive type?”

He shrugged, trying to seem relaxed, though his heart was still racing. “Sometimes. Especially when someone challenges me.”

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing in a way he knew well — a mix of suspicion and a hint of amusement. “I didn’t challenge you to kiss me.”

Harry flashed a mischievous grin. “You’ve been challenging me since you started teasing me on that dance floor. And you know it.”

Daphne didn’t respond immediately, but Harry noticed that she didn’t deny it either. Instead, she turned her head to watch the students who were starting to fill the dance floor, their laughter echoing through the hall.

"I don’t know what got into me," she said after a while. "I don’t usually... react like that."

Harry stayed quiet for a moment, watching her profile illuminated by the soft candlelight. He knew Daphne was always controlled, always handling situations with calm and strategy. Seeing that moment when she lost control still intrigued him.

“Look,” he began, trying to keep his tone light. “If you’re going to hit me again, just give me a heads-up next time. That way, I can, I don’t know, dodge.”

Daphne let out a genuine laugh, one he rarely heard from her. She shook her head, clearly surprised by her own reaction. “You’re an idiot, Potter,” she said, but there was no hostility in her voice.

“So I’ve heard,” he agreed, winking at her.

They stood in silence for a few more seconds, side by side, watching the party pick up pace. The music had grown more upbeat now, and a few students were finally starting to relax enough to try some less conventional dance moves.

“I don’t regret it,” she said suddenly, almost in a whisper.

Harry turned to look at her, surprised. “The slap?”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “The kiss, you idiot.”

Harry broke into a genuine smile, the kind that only formed before he even realized it. “Neither do I.”

She bit her lower lip, clearly weighing what to say next. “I just... I’m not used to this sort of thing,” she admitted, with a tone of honesty he rarely heard from her. “I always thought you were annoying. The kind of guy who never takes anything seriously.”

“And I always thought you were annoying too,” he shot back, his eyes sparkling with light teasing. “Too uptight, a bit snobby.”

Daphne gave him a playful slap on the arm, but she was smiling. “Then you’re a terrible judge of character.”

Harry laughed, taking the empty glass from her hand and setting it on the table. “Or maybe we just never really got to know each other.”

She seemed to consider that, her smile softening as her eyes met his again. “Maybe.”

A new song started playing, something more cheerful and inviting, and Harry felt the music vibrating through the floor. He looked at Daphne, feeling that impulsive courage return.

“Want to dance?” he asked, extending his hand to her — a simple gesture, but one that seemed to carry more meaning than he intended.

She hesitated for a moment, but then a challenging smile appeared on her face. “If you promise not to step on my feet.”

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender. “I promise to be as careful as possible.”

Daphne took his hand, and he pulled her onto the dance floor, where a few couples were already moving to the upbeat rhythm. They found a spot in the middle, and Harry held her hand a bit more firmly, feeling the cool touch of her fingers before she relaxed slightly.

At first, their steps were a bit awkward, and Daphne let out a theatrical sigh. “You dance like a lame hippogriff. Where’s that dancer from the other night?”

“And yet, here you are with me anyway,” he teased, giving her hand a slight squeeze as he adjusted his steps to sync better with hers.

She tried to hide a smile but failed. “Maybe I just feel sorry for you.”

Harry laughed, spinning her lightly, just to see her gasp a bit before regaining her balance. “Or maybe you’re just curious to see what else I can do.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes, clearly irritated by how comfortable he seemed, but at the same time, she looked like she was having fun. “You’re lucky I don’t have my wand right now.”

“Oh, right, because then I’d be on the floor with another slap,” he teased, leaning his head a bit closer to hers.

She finally gave in to the provocation, laughing softly as the music picked up speed. For a brief moment, her expression softened, and Harry realized that she, too, was letting go of the strict control she always maintained.

“Potter,” she said, her voice low, almost a whisper. “You really drive me crazy.”

Harry tilted his head, his eyes fixed on hers. “And you confuse me,” he admitted, feeling a smile slip through.

They stood like that for a moment, frozen in place while the other couples swirled around them. The music pulsed in the background, and the lights continued to spin, but none of it seemed to matter as much as the intense look they exchanged.

Daphne seemed to realize where this was heading and stepped back a little, straightening her posture. “Let’s just pretend we’re here to have fun, then,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.

Harry nodded, but he couldn’t shake the thought that, tonight, having fun might mean staying by her side longer than he had expected.

~HP~

The cheerful music filled the hall, and Harry and Daphne got lost in the dance. Every now and then, he stumbled slightly — probably the Firewhisky’s fault — but Daphne just shook her head, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

After a few songs, they stepped off the dance floor, laughing as they tried to catch their breath. Harry pulled out a chair from one of the nearby tables and collapsed into it, while Daphne leaned against the edge, still smiling, her cheeks slightly flushed from the exertion.

“I take back what I said,” she remarked, adjusting her braid that had started to come undone. “You dance almost well.”

Harry feigned an outraged expression. “Almost well? I’m a complete disaster and you know it.”

She laughed again, and Harry couldn’t help but smile too. There was something about her that made him feel different — like he didn’t have to keep up his usual act. There was no pressure to be perfect or to live up to someone’s expectations. He could just be... himself.

Before he could let his thoughts wander too deeply, one of the house-elves appeared with a tray full of Christmas sweets and cups of punch. Daphne grabbed a piece of pumpkin pie and offered another to Harry, which he gladly accepted.

They stood there, watching the other students having fun. In one corner, Neville was trying to convince Abbott to dance, while Seamus already looked a bit more excited than usual, spinning Parvati around with exaggerated flair.

“Have you ever noticed how parties here always end in chaos?” Harry commented, taking a bite of his pie.

Daphne let out a small sigh, her eyes wandering around the hall. “Well, chaos is kind of your trademark, isn’t it?”

He raised his eyebrows, pretending to be offended. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She just shrugged, a playful smile on her lips. “Not always.”

After a while, the music shifted to something slower. Harry watched as couples moved closer together to dance, and for a brief moment, he thought about asking her again. But before he could overthink it, Daphne stood up and grabbed his hand.

“Come on,” she said, not giving him time to react.

“Where to?”

“Just come,” she replied, the mischievous smile returning to her face.

They walked across the hall, weaving through the round tables and small groups that had started to form for quieter conversations. On the way, Harry noticed Amelia casting a quick glance in their direction, but he didn’t bother trying to figure out what it meant.

Daphne stopped near one of the hall’s large stone columns, where a few garlands hung in neatly draped arcs. Here, the sound of the music felt a bit more muted, and there were fewer people around. She slowly released his hand, as if only just realizing they had still been holding hands.

“You seem like you have more fun when you’re not overthinking things,” she commented, leaning back against the cold stone of the column.

Harry chuckled, crossing his arms. “I think that’s because you’re not being so serious either.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m serious?”

“Most of the time. Like you’re always planning something,” he teased.

Daphne didn’t respond right away, but her smile didn’t fade. “I guess I’m trying to enjoy things now. I wasn’t always this... rigid. It just... became easier to keep everything under control.”

Harry nodded, understanding more than he cared to admit. Keeping control, avoiding letting people see the vulnerable parts. He knew exactly what that was like.

They shared a look that seemed to carry something deeper than any words they had exchanged so far. Daphne’s smile softened, and she lowered her head for a moment, as if rearranging her thoughts.

It was only then that Harry noticed some students nearby laughing and pointing at them. He frowned, confused, until a pair of Hufflepuffs passed by, chuckling and whispering:

“Mistletoe!”

Harry looked up and felt his stomach do a small flip. Hanging from the edge of the column above them was a sprig of mistletoe, tied with a silver ribbon.

Daphne noticed it too, and for a second, she seemed frozen. But then her eyes met his again, and she raised an eyebrow, clearly challenging him.

“Well, look at that,” she said, trying to sound indifferent. “Looks like we’re in a traditional situation.”

Harry bit his lip, trying to hide a smile. “Oh, yeah... tradition, right?”

She didn’t move, but she didn’t step back either. Harry felt his heartbeat pick up, but in a different way than it had in that corridor. There was no tension or impulsiveness. Just... curiosity.

Slowly, he leaned in, keeping his eyes on hers, watching for any sign that she might pull away. But Daphne stayed where she was, her lips slightly parted and her eyes shining with that same blend of challenge and anticipation.

He finally brushed his lips against hers, a light touch that lasted only a few seconds. When he pulled back, he saw that her eyes remained closed for a moment, as if she were processing what had just happened.

When she opened them again, there was a different sparkle in them, and a small, genuine smile formed on her lips.

“You’re taking advantage of the tradition,” she murmured, but she didn’t sound truly annoyed.

Harry shrugged, trying to appear casual, but the grin that broke through was impossible to hide. “I’m just following the rules, Greengrass.”

Daphne let out a short laugh and gave him a playful shove in the chest. “You idiot,” she said, but the affectionate tone betrayed the words.

That night, they didn’t need anything else — just each other’s company.