Like Fire and Moonlight - Chapter 11: Corridors and Movements

Harry let out an irritated sigh as the tenth shirt landed with a frustrated thump on the unmade bed. The Gryffindor dormitory, usually welcoming with its red bedspreads and warm yellow lights, felt stifling that night. The distant crackle of the fireplace sent shadows dancing across the stone walls, but even the fire’s warmth couldn't seem to thaw the anxiety thrumming beneath his skin.

He ran his hands through his hair, which, for the first time in months, lay completely tamed, the black strands obeying the patient strokes he'd repeated in front of the bathroom mirror. A feat, considering his long history of unruly hair. But now, even with his hair neatly in place and his face freshly shaved, something still felt off.

Slughorn’s Christmas party. Part of it was the responsibility of being Head Boy, with all the pressure and expectations that came with the title. Another part was the uncertainty of going alone, while so many of his peers seemed perfectly paired up. But what truly unsettled him was the rumor that Daphne Greengrass might be attending with Theodore Nott.

He huffed again, the sound muffled by the heavy curtains surrounding his bed, and tried to shake off the irritation that seemed to have settled permanently in his chest. He wasn't entirely sure why the idea bothered him so much, but just the thought of Nott beside Daphne twisted something inside him in an annoyingly inexplicable way.

"Do you want Hermione and me to wait for you?" Ron’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. His friend stood at the door, already dressed in his slightly old-fashioned brown suit, his face a bit pale but his eyes gleaming with that nervous anticipation that only big social events could spark. He wasn’t part of the Slug Club, but as Hermione’s date, he had the perfect excuse to attend.

Harry looked at him for a moment, his mind still scattered. He managed to force a smile. "No, it’s fine. I’ll see you there."

Ron nodded, his face brightening with the relief of not having to drag Harry out of the room. He disappeared through the doorway, his footsteps echoing down the stone corridor, blending into the distant murmur of the Common Room.

Harry turned his gaze back to the bed. The pile of shirts seemed to mock him, the fabrics soaked with choices that never seemed quite right. He’d already considered his formal robes, the dress attire he rarely wore, but none of them felt right for the night. Part of him craved something... bolder, perhaps. Something that spoke to who he was beyond the weight of the Potter name.

"Remember, be yourself," Sirius’s voice suddenly echoed in his mind, that half-faded memory that still managed to spark a flicker of courage in his chest. Harry lifted his head, his green eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. Something within him steadied.

With a sudden burst of determination, he knelt beside his trunk at the foot of his bed, pushing aside cloaks, robes, and scarves until he found what he was looking for. He pulled it out, the black fabric catching the warm glow of the room’s lights. A Muggle suit, something he never imagined wearing to a wizarding party. The cut was modern, the fit precise, and just the sight of that well-tailored fabric made his heart beat a little faster.

He slipped into the suit slowly, the silk tie sliding through his fingers with surprising ease. The fit was perfect — the shoulders firm, the waist sharply cut. When he finally looked at himself in the cracked mirror beside his bed, he barely recognized his reflection. The eyes staring back at him seemed more focused, his jaw more set, his posture more confident. For the first time, Harry saw himself as someone who could truly stand out, without needing comparisons or expectations.

He adjusted the tie one last time, took a deep breath, and, before his newfound courage could falter, left the dormitory. His footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor as he made his way toward the dungeons, where the party lights were already beginning to glow and the distant hum of laughter and murmured conversations drifted through the air.

~HP~

Every other year, Harry had always had someone by his side when heading to Slughorn's Party. Sometimes it was someone he was dating, other times someone he wished he was dating. There had never been a clear line between the two situations, but the fact remained that he had never gone alone. This time, however, his footsteps echoed alone through the cold, damp corridors of the dungeons. The silence was broken only by the distant murmur of muffled conversations and laughter leaking through the heavy door of Slughorn’s office, indicating that the party was already in full swing.

He paused for a moment in front of the door, adjusting the dark blazer he had chosen with a touch of casual flair. The soft fabric draped perfectly over his shoulders, and he allowed himself a slight smile, anticipating the curious glances he would surely draw for choosing Muggle attire for the occasion. He showed his invitation to the small house-elf manning the entrance, who greeted him with an exaggerated bow before opening the door with a deep nod.

As Harry stepped inside, he was immediately engulfed by the warmth and energy of the room. The hall was illuminated by floating magical lights, flickering between shades of gold and amber, reflecting off the glasses clinking together in enthusiastic toasts. The music was lively, something with a playful, danceable rhythm he didn’t quite recognize — perhaps some new trend that hadn’t yet reached the Gryffindor common room. Waiters moved through the space like fish in a school, balancing silver trays loaded with sparkling glasses and enchanted hors d'oeuvres that never seemed to cool.

Some of the guests recognized him instantly, their eyes widening for a brief moment before they returned to their conversations, while others seemed simply indifferent to his presence, passing by without a second glance. The more traditional guests, easily identified by their impeccable robes and appraising stares, regarded him as if he were an unexpected curiosity. Harry ignored them with the same ease he had developed for brushing off taunts in the Hogwarts corridors.

Instinctively, his eyes searched for Daphne, but he couldn’t find her. Not even Theodore Nott was in sight, which only made him more uneasy. Perhaps she hadn’t come. Or perhaps she was somewhere in the hall he couldn’t see. He let out a quiet sigh, feeling the frustration settle into his chest.

“Harry, my dear boy!” Slughorn’s booming, cheerful voice burst out from somewhere to his right, startling him. The old professor seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, his face already slightly flushed and his eyes gleaming with the energy of a few too many glasses of wine. “I thought you weren’t coming!”

Harry forced a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And miss one of your parties, Professor? Never.”

Slughorn chuckled, a laugh that made his round cheeks wobble slightly. “Excellent, excellent! I wanted to introduce you to someone, but they seem to have disappeared somewhere in the middle of this chaos!” He laughed again, a slightly silly sound, clearly loosened by the alcohol.

“No problem, Professor,” Harry replied, taking a small step back, already prepared to slip away. “I’ll catch you later.”

With a skill honed over years of dodging journalists and eager fans, Harry stepped away from the professor, blending into the flow of guests moving around the hall. He liked Slughorn, but he wasn’t in the mood to be paraded around like a trophy or a talking point tonight. His mind was elsewhere, or rather, on someone else.

It was then that he caught sight of Ron’s unmistakable red hair and the familiar figure of Hermione beside him, both chatting near a tall table cluttered with empty glasses and a few stacked plates. Harry weaved through the crowd to reach them, letting out a small sigh of relief as he approached.

“Muggle clothes?” Hermione raised an eyebrow, her eyes quickly taking in the blazer, fitted shirt, and polished black leather shoes he had chosen. “You really outdid yourself this time.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair uncomfortably, feeling the slightly messy tips brush against his fingers. “Yeah, I thought it would be... different. Wanted to stand out a bit.”

Ron, already holding a glass, nodded subtly toward something on the other side of the hall. “Well, it seems you succeeded, even if the person you’re trying to impress hasn’t arrived yet.”

Harry frowned, not quite catching his meaning. “What are you talking about?”

Hermione gave a small, knowing smile — the kind she only wore when she was about to deliver a carefully planned tease. “Blonde, tall, blue eyes. Seems like you’ve been spending some time with her.”

Harry blinked, his mind struggling to catch up with the remark. “I didn’t dress like this for Greengrass.”

Hermione crossed her arms, clearly enjoying the confused look on her friend’s face. “Are you sure?”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but at that exact moment, the door at the back of the hall opened again. A gust of cool air swept through the room, making the floating lights flicker. Harry turned, his eyes instantly locking onto the figure that had just entered.

Daphne Greengrass.

She looked stunning, her blonde hair cascading softly over her shoulders, a dark dress perfectly outlining her slender figure, and her blue eyes catching the magical light in a way that made them seem to glow. Harry felt his throat go dry, the words he had planned to use to dismiss Hermione’s teasing dying before they could form sound. He didn’t know exactly what to say, but for the first time that night, he knew he had made the right choice by deciding to come.

For a moment, the sounds around him seemed to fade into a distant murmur, a low hum that couldn’t break through the enchanted barrier that seemed to have formed around Harry. His eyes were fixed on Daphne, tracking each confident step she took as she entered the hall. There was something ethereal about the way she moved, as if she were floating among the other guests, completely ignoring the stares that turned in her direction.

She paused briefly, handing her invitation to one of the house-elves at the entrance, and it was in that moment that their eyes met. She didn’t smile right away, but her lips curved slightly, a small, almost imperceptible gesture that still managed to make Harry’s stomach flip. He felt heat rise from his neck to his face — that uncomfortably familiar sensation of being read like an open book.

“Harry, are you going to talk to her, or are you just going to stand there staring like a frightened house-elf?” Hermione’s voice cut through the trance, making him blink quickly and tear his eyes away.

“I... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, forcing himself to appear nonchalant as he adjusted his shirt collar.

Ron let out a muffled laugh, giving Harry a light slap on the back. “Mate, you’ve dated half the girls at Hogwarts. You can’t be nervous over one, right?”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Daphne was already approaching, her footsteps making a soft echo against the polished stone floor. She seemed to glide, her eyes shimmering with a blend of curiosity and confidence that left him simultaneously nervous and fascinated.

“Potter,” she said, her voice low and steady, with a hint of amusement that suggested she already knew exactly the effect she was having on him. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He took a deep breath, trying to seem more confident than he felt. “And miss the chance to be judged for my fashion choices? Not a chance.”

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking over his outfit. “It’s an interesting choice... bold, even.”

“Oh, so you noticed,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light.

She tilted her head slightly, her hair falling over one shoulder. “Hard not to. You stand out.”

Before he could respond, someone passed quickly between them — a young Hufflepuff girl who nearly knocked over a glass as she turned to greet Daphne with a nervous smile. Harry seized the brief interruption to catch his breath, but his thoughts were still spinning, the sound of her smooth voice echoing in his mind.

“Well,” she said after a brief pause, “I’ll see you around, Potter.” She took a step back, her eyes lingering on his for just a moment longer before she turned away, disappearing into the crowd like a fleeting shadow.

Harry watched her go, feeling something stir in his chest that he couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was frustration. Or maybe it was something he wasn’t entirely ready to admit.

“Well?” Hermione leaned in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Well what?” he replied, still staring at the spot where Daphne had disappeared.

“Are you going to spend the whole night like this?” Ron asked, casually swirling his glass. “Because if you are, I suggest at least getting a drink. It’ll make things easier.”

Harry took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and slowly let the air out. Maybe Ron was right. Maybe this was exactly the kind of night to do something unexpected.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, taking a step toward the bar. He had no idea what he would do next, but for the first time that night, that felt exciting.

~HP~

Harry leaned against a tall table near the bar, spinning his glass of champagne between his fingers. The cool glass contrasted slightly with the warmth radiating from the hall, where students from different houses, prefects, and even a few professors chatted animatedly. He had already exchanged a few words with classmates, received greetings from people who had known his parents, and even heard a few exaggerated stories about the exploits of James and Lily Potter.

He felt the weight of the surname he carried, the constant attention that always seemed to follow him, but tonight, something felt different. The conversations around him, the curious glances, and the subtle smiles only reinforced the fact that he wasn’t just Harry Potter — the Head Boy or the talented Chaser — but also the son of two of the most respected figures in the wizarding world.

But even as he forced himself to smile and politely answer questions about his performance as Head Boy or his latest Quidditch matches as Gryffindor’s Captain, his eyes kept drifting, almost against his will, in search of Daphne. It was as if she were a magnet, drawing his thoughts to a specific point in the hall, no matter how much he tried to focus on something else. He caught sight of her talking to a Slytherin girl, perhaps a cousin or a close friend, her blonde hair swaying gently as she laughed at something the other girl said.

Harry let out a soft sigh, tilting his head back for a moment, feeling the light fizz of the champagne against his tongue. He had dated several girls before, laughed at bad jokes just to be polite, exchanged glances that promised more than they delivered, but something about Daphne unsettled him.

It wasn’t like the easy flirtations he was used to — the stolen glances in the common room or the subtly intertwined fingers in dark corridors. With Daphne, it felt different — more intense, more challenging. She wasn’t someone he could simply impress with a confident smile or a dramatic Quidditch story. She pushed him to be more than just the “Harry Potter” everyone thought they knew, and that threw him off balance more than he cared to admit.

He shook his head, trying to push those thoughts away before they dug too deep. This wasn’t the time for that. Not here, in the middle of a party where curious eyes and whispered conversations never truly ceased.

“Trouble, Potter?”

The cool, slightly teasing voice came from beside him, and he turned quickly, almost spilling his drink on the table. Daphne had approached without him noticing, the golden light of the floating candles highlighting the delicate features of her face.

“You know I’m not,” he replied quickly, forcing a casual tone. “Just thinking about the party.” He took a quick sip of his drink, using the movement to break eye contact. It was the kind of excuse that usually worked — a safe response that kept the conversation on the surface.

She watched him for a moment, her blue eyes narrowing slightly, as if she were evaluating every inch of his expression. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

Harry let out a small laugh, forcing himself to appear nonchalant. “Been paying attention to me, Daphne?” He had gotten used to calling her that, even if she still insisted on the formality of calling him ‘Potter.’ “Falling for my charms?”

She gave a slight smile, something between amusement and irritation, her cheeks coloring faintly, though she seemed to try and hide it. “You know that’s impossible,” she replied, glancing briefly at the hall where the music had shifted to a slower, more intimate rhythm. “I still have the same opinion of you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. “Handsome? Smart?” he teased, his eyes gleaming with a touch of mischief. “Or maybe just a reckless Quidditch fanatic?”

Daphne let out a short, almost surprised laugh, then pressed her lips together as if trying to regain her composure. “You’re impossible,” she murmured, neither confirming nor denying his playful guess.

For a moment, they stood in silence, the noise around them fading into a distant background, a soft melody that seemed to exist solely to fill the space between them.

“I thought you’d be here with someone,” she said finally, her eyes quickly scanning the hall around them, as if looking for someone in particular.

Harry’s grip on his glass tightened slightly. “And I thought you’d be here with Nott.” He tossed the comment with a slight tilt of his head, trying not to seem as interested as he actually was.

Daphne laughed, her head tilting back slightly, her hair dancing around her shoulders. “After that fiasco at the Three Broomsticks where you ‘rescued’ me?” She raised an eyebrow, her blue eyes flashing with a hint of challenge. “What made you think that?”

“Heard Lavender talking about it,” Harry replied, trying to sound casual, though he felt the weight of her response approaching like a wave.

She let out a small huff, crossing her arms so that the soft fabric of her dress clung elegantly to her frame. “You know Brown is almost as bad as Rita Skeeter, right?” Her voice carried a sharp note, something between irritation and disbelief. “She’s a first-rate gossip.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. In that moment, it didn’t seem so obvious to him. Maybe it was the way her eyes sparkled, or the fact that he had never really stopped to think about what Lavender’s words meant, but somehow, the idea of Daphne with someone else bothered him more than he was ready to admit.

He blinked, trying to hide the brief flicker of discomfort. He usually didn’t care about gossip, but something about the way Daphne casually dismissed the idea of being with someone else intrigued him. He set his glass down on the table behind him, trying to seem more at ease than he actually felt.

“So, does that mean you’re... available?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, his eyes locked on hers.

Daphne laughed, a light, almost unexpected sound, like the gentle chime of an old bell. “Maybe,” she replied, her blue eyes sparkling with a playful glint. “But not for lack of invitations, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Harry felt his lips curve into a smile. There was something intoxicating about the way she played with words, constantly keeping him guessing about what she really meant.

“So, you’re here alone by choice?” he asked, crossing his arms and leaning in a bit closer. “Or maybe waiting for someone in particular to have the courage to ask you to dance?”

She tilted her head, her eyes sliding over him in a slow, appraising manner. "And do you think anyone would have that kind of courage?"

Harry held his breath for a moment, his fingers unconsciously tightening around the edge of the table behind him. He couldn’t quite pinpoint when their conversations had started taking on this challenging tone, almost like a game of provocation, but now that it had begun, he found himself unable to stop.

“Well, you know I have a bit of a reputation for getting into trouble,” he said, leaning in a little closer, his eyes locked on hers, now just a few inches apart. “Provoking Slytherin prefects, challenging demanding professors, breaking a few rules here and there... dancing with you seems like a challenge worthy of my time.”

Daphne bit her lower lip for a brief second, as if considering his proposition, then slowly uncrossed her arms, her delicate fingers brushing lightly against the dark fabric of her dress.

“You’re braver than you look, Potter,” she replied, her face so close that he could catch the faint, fresh scent of her perfume — something that reminded him of fresh rain and green leaves.

“I have my moments,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to her lips for a fraction of a second before rising back to meet hers.

Daphne took a step back, her eyes still locked on his, her smile tilted slightly in a gesture that was both an invitation and a challenge.

“Let’s see if you can keep that courage on the dance floor, Potter,” she said, raising an eyebrow with that trademark hint of provocation, her lips curling into a half-smile he knew all too well.

Harry just smiled, without a second’s hesitation. He wasn’t the type to be easily intimidated, especially when it came to a challenge. If there was one thing he knew how to do well — besides playing Quidditch — it was turning a provocation into an opportunity.

“Oh, you’d be surprised at what I can do, Greengrass,” he replied, his voice dripping with confidence as he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He didn’t care about the eyes around them or the whispers that would inevitably follow — Daphne Greengrass and Harry Potter, side by side on the dance floor, was the last thing anyone expected at this party.

She raised her eyebrows, clearly intrigued by his boldness, but didn’t retreat. Instead, she turned gracefully on her heels and moved toward the center of the hall, her blonde hair swaying like a silver comet as she cut through the crowd.

Harry followed her, his steps deliberate and firm, his heart pounding not from nerves, but from the adrenaline of stepping into unknown territory, where the rules were unclear and the boundaries hadn’t been set.

She stopped in the center of the hall, where the floating lights cast soft shadows against the stone walls, and turned to face him. There was a spark in her blue eyes, a gleam that mixed challenge and curiosity. Harry stopped just a few steps away from her, never breaking eye contact, his lips still curled into a relaxed, confident smile.

“Are you just going to stand there staring, or are you going to show me what you’ve got, Potter?” she teased, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

Harry let out a low chuckle, extending his hand to her without a moment’s hesitation. “I was just waiting for you to stop running away,” he replied, his gaze steady on hers as their fingers intertwined.

She gripped his hand a bit more tightly than he expected, her eyes narrowing in a gesture he recognized as pure stubbornness. Daphne was too proud to let him have the upper hand.

Harry gently pulled her a bit closer, his other hand resting firmly on the curve of her waist, feeling the soft fabric of her dress beneath his fingers. Daphne didn’t pull back, but her muscles tensed for a brief moment, as if she were fighting the instinct to step away.

“If you step on my toes, I’ll never let you forget it,” she murmured, her voice carrying that sharp edge he had come to recognize.

He tilted his head, his lips still curled in a challenging smile. “Trust me, Greengrass, I’m not the type to stumble.”

She allowed a slight smile to escape, something that seemed to slip out without her permission, and then they began to move together to the rhythm of the music, Harry’s steps firm and sure, guiding her around the hall with a confidence he hadn’t known he possessed until that moment.

Daphne seemed hesitant at first, her movements tense, but she soon adjusted to his rhythm, her eyes never leaving his, as if they were both testing the limits of what could be said without words.

“You know everyone is watching us, right?” she whispered, her voice low but laced with a tension he hadn’t expected to find in someone like her.

Harry just laughed, his eyes still fixed on hers as they spun slowly through the center of the hall. “Let them watch,” he replied, his voice calm and confident. “I never cared about that.”

She bit her lip, her eyes sparking with something he couldn’t quite decipher. “You really are a confident idiot, Potter.”

He leaned his face a little closer, her perfume filling his senses — something soft yet intriguing, like the crisp winter breeze beginning to settle over the castle.

“And you love hating me, Greengrass,” he murmured, his fingers tightening slightly around her waist as he spun her in a smooth, fluid motion.

She laughed, a low, unexpected sound that made his heart beat a little faster. “Maybe I just like irritating you,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his.

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the music around them swelled, the notes rising to a crescendo that made the other couples on the dance floor draw even closer. He felt her breath quicken slightly, her lips parting for a brief moment, as if she were about to say something she had never allowed herself to even think.

But before he could react, Daphne pulled back slightly, her eyes still locked on his, but now with an almost challenging sparkle, her lips curled into a smile that made him feel like he was being dared all over again.

“Don’t get used to it,” she whispered, releasing his hand and stepping away, her hair swaying gently to the rhythm of the music as she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Harry standing alone in the middle of the hall, his fingers still tingling from her touch.

He stood there for a moment, his thoughts spinning in his mind like sparks from a freshly lit fire. He didn’t know exactly what had just happened, but he knew, with a startling certainty, that he wanted it to happen again.

~HP~

Harry stepped out of Slughorn’s office, the muffled sounds of music and laughter quickly fading into distant echoes as he descended the steps toward the dungeons. The air grew colder and more humid, a sharp contrast to the warmth and chaos of thoughts still spinning in his mind. He didn’t exactly know why he had followed her, but something about the way Daphne had walked away, with that unexpected stiffness, bothered him.

He caught a glimpse of her turning left at the end of the corridor, her blonde hair briefly catching the flickering yellow light of the torches. Without thinking too much, he quickened his pace, his shoes echoing against the stone floor, each step sending a small wave of adrenaline through him that he couldn’t quite explain.

As he rounded the corner, he found Daphne standing near a stone wall, one hand pressed against the cold surface as she tried to steady her breathing. Her dark dress, which had seemed so elegant and composed in the hall, now moved slightly with each of her breaths, as if absorbing the tension of the moment.

She turned as she heard him approaching, her blue eyes sparking with a mix of surprise and irritation.

“Why did you follow me, Potter?”

Harry stopped a few steps away from her, his heart still racing, but not exactly from the hurried steps. He tried to come up with something clever to say, but the words seemed to tangle in his mind. He didn’t want to sound worried, but he also didn’t want to come off as if he were hunting her down like some sort of prey.

“You left so quickly that I thought maybe... I don’t know, someone had stepped on your toes or something,” he replied with a half-smile, trying to keep the tone light.

She scoffed, uncrossing her arms and placing her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to decide whether he was being serious or just teasing her. “Really? You followed me all the way to the dungeons just to check on my feet?”

Harry chuckled, the sound echoing softly through the narrow corridor. “Well, I didn’t want you accusing me of being a clumsy dance partner,” he shot back, his eyes never leaving hers.

Daphne looked like she was about to snap back, but then he noticed something different in her expression. There was a tension there, something he couldn’t quite name, but it made him uneasy. He took a step closer, closing the distance between them, and saw her eyes widen slightly, as if she hadn’t expected him to be so direct.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone now more serious, the teasing gone. “Really.”

She hesitated, her lips parting briefly before pressing together again. For a second, Daphne looked like she was about to retreat, but then she lifted her chin in a familiar gesture of pride, her gaze sharpening.

“I don’t need your concern, Potter,” she replied, but her voice came out quieter than he expected, almost a whisper.

Harry found himself smiling again, his eyes still fixed on hers, as if trying to solve some complex potions puzzle. Without really thinking about it, he reached out and lightly touched her arm, his fingers brushing against the cool fabric of her dress and the warmth of the skin beneath.

She froze for a moment, her blue eyes widening slightly, but she didn’t pull away. He could feel the tension radiating from her body, as if she were ready to bolt, but something held her in place, keeping her rooted to the spot.

And then, without really thinking about what he was doing, Harry leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t a planned move, not something he had pictured while chasing her down the corridor. It was simple, direct, almost innocent. His lips touched hers in a gesture that felt both intimate and unfamiliar, like a melody he had never heard before.

For a brief second, Daphne didn’t move, and Harry felt warmth spread through his chest, the sense that something essential had just shifted. He was used to quick kisses, stolen moments, but this felt different. There was no rush, no expectation, just the strange certainty that he had never felt anything quite like this.

And then, without warning, the sharp crack of a slap echoed down the corridor.

Harry stepped back, blinking in surprise, his cheek throbbing from the force of the slap. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. Daphne looked just as shocked as he felt, her eyes wide and her hand still raised, her fingers trembling slightly.

“I... I don’t know why I did that,” she murmured, her voice low and unsettled, her eyes avoiding his as she took a step back, as if the touch of his lips was still burning her skin.

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, the adrenaline still pulsing through his veins. He didn’t know what to expect from her, but it definitely wasn’t this.

“I... I’m sorry,” he said finally, still trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Daphne stared at him for another second, her eyes confused, as if she were struggling with a thought that refused to fall into place. Finally, she took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she lowered her hand.

“You really are an idiot, Potter,” she said, but her voice lacked the sharpness it usually held.

Harry couldn’t stop the small smile that formed on his lips. “Probably,” he replied, running a hand awkwardly through his hair.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, the corridor filled only with the distant sound of music still drifting from the hall.

“Shall we... go back to the party?” Daphne finally suggested, her voice softer, as if she were still trying to steady herself.

Harry nodded, still feeling the warmth of his cheek and the faint taste of her lipstick on his lips. He watched as she turned and walked away, her hair swaying gently as she disappeared around the corner.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and ran a hand over the back of his neck, feeling his heartbeat gradually slow. Maybe Daphne Greengrass was a mystery he would never quite solve.

But for the first time in a long while, he didn’t mind that at all.