Like Fire and Moonlight - Chapter 10: Secrets and Truths

Even though Harry and Daphne wanted to keep the party a surprise, the rumors spread faster than fire in a dry field. By the end of the week, the topic was already dominating the halls of Hogwarts. The sound of hurried footsteps and excited whispers filled the cold air of the castle, blending with the scent of pine trees and candles that was beginning to spread with the approach of Christmas. It was impossible to ignore—the party for the seventh-year students had already become the least secret secret in the entire school.

Harry and Daphne, on the other hand, were up to their necks in preparations. Between classes and meetings with the other prefects, they barely had time to breathe. Harry mentally thanked himself for having given his Quidditch team the holiday off in advance, knowing that trying to juggle all of this with the N.E.W.T.s would be a recipe for disaster.

At the end of a particularly exhausting afternoon, Harry threw himself heavily into one of the leather armchairs in the prefects' room, the soft leather letting out a slight sigh under his weight. He pulled out a small bottle of coffee from his bag, the glass still warm thanks to the house-elves he had met in the kitchen earlier. Their radiant smiles when they learned about the party had been rewarding, and, to his surprise, they had eagerly volunteered to take care of almost everything related to the food.

He let out a long sigh before bringing the bottle to his lips, the bitter, strong taste of the coffee revitalizing his senses.

"Are you okay, Potter?" Daphne’s firm voice pulled him from his thoughts. She settled into the armchair beside him, crossing her legs and watching him with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Harry lowered the bottle, his green eyes meeting hers. "Organizing a party in the Common Room is incredibly easier," he confessed, resting his head against the soft backrest. "There are fewer students, and everyone already knows what to do. No need for such elaborate choreography."

Daphne tilted her head, her blonde hair softly falling over her shoulders as she studied him. "I’m still surprised by these parties you Gryffindors organize. I always thought they were just rumors."

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth curling into a tired smile. "Well, it’s nothing special. I think it started with the Weasleys."

She raised an eyebrow. "So, this existed before you?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, sitting up a bit, the coffee bottle now balanced between his hands. "I believe it started with Ron’s older brother, Bill. By the time I got to Hogwarts, Fred and George had already turned it into a tradition. When they graduated, Ron and I kind of took over. Now, Ginny will probably lead the next ones before choosing someone to continue the legacy."

Daphne seemed to consider this, her eyes brightening with newfound understanding. "And how did you manage to convince Dumbledore or McGonagall to allow something like that?"

Harry let out a soft laugh, remembering the many conversations he had had with the old headmaster, their shared looks and the discreet winks that had so irritated McGonagall. "Actually, it wasn’t that hard," he said, running a hand through his messy hair. "I asked my dad the same question over the summer when I found an old letter from him. He mentioned that back in his day, they did something similar, but nothing like what we do now."

She leaned forward, her fingers now absentmindedly playing with the sleeve of her uniform. "Your dad was a rule-breaker too?"

Harry laughed, the sound echoing through the stone walls of the empty room. "I’m nothing compared to him and my godfather, Sirius," he replied, his eyes shining with the memory. "They still hold the record for 56 detentions in a single year."

Daphne’s eyes widened, a genuine expression of shock forming on her face. "How is that even possible?"

"Let’s just say my dad was the mastermind behind it all. Sirius was the architect of the craziest ideas. Remus, usually, was the one responsible for keeping things from completely spiraling out of control, and Peter... well, he was the expert at smuggling everything into the castle."

She watched him more closely now, as if trying to decipher the layers behind the famous Harry Potter. "Remus? Peter?"

"Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew," he explained, feeling a familiar pang in his chest at the mention of the last name.

Daphne tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing in recognition. "Remus Lupin... isn’t he the researcher who managed to improve the effects of the Wolfsbane Potion?"

Harry nodded, smiling. "That’s the one. He’s one of the best researchers I know. He’s always helped me with tips on spells and combat. He has a unique way of explaining things."

She crossed her arms, a curious glint in her eyes. "So that’s why you knew so much about the potion in our first Potions class together?"

"Exactly," Harry said, remembering how pleased he had been to surprise her that day. "I’ve seen him brew the potion countless times. It’s not easy to make."

Daphne leaned back, her eyes fixed on some distant point, as if processing all this new information. For the first time, she saw Harry open up for real, talking about his past with a sincerity she hadn’t expected.

There was a long pause before she broke the silence, her voice softer than he was used to. "Do you think this party will work out?"

The question caught him off guard, and for the first time, he hesitated. Harry lowered his gaze to the bottle in his hands, his fingers gripping the cold glass. "I don’t know," he admitted, his voice quieter, almost to himself. "I mean, I want it to be something memorable. Something people will remember, you know?" He slowly rotated the bottle, his eyes focusing on the signet ring he wore on his ring finger, the same one his grandfather James had worn many years ago. "My parents left a legacy when they graduated. Even my grandfather left his."

He let out a deep sigh, his eyes wandering to the shadows dancing on the walls of the room. "I want to do something like that."

Daphne watched him in silence for a long moment before leaning forward, her face softening slightly. "Then let’s make it happen, Potter," she said, her voice firm but not without a touch of empathy. "Let’s make them remember."

He looked at her, surprised by the sudden firmness in her tone, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

~HP~

The cold morning air of December cut across Harry’s face as he flew dozens of meters above the ground, his Firebolt vibrating slightly under his hands, responding with precision to every movement he made. The wind roared in his ears, the cold gusts whipping his hair and numbing his fingers, but he didn’t mind. It was this feeling he always sought — the moment when the world below became just a distant blur, insignificant, and all that remained was the raw freedom of flying.

He climbed higher, the sound of the broom’s polished wood cutting through the air like the blade of a sword. Small snowflakes began to fall around him, dancing with the wind before being lost in the void below. He extended his hand, allowing the flakes to melt against his warm skin, tiny ice points that evaporated almost immediately upon contact.

As he ascended, the cold intensified, the air growing thinner, each breath turning into small clouds of vapor that floated behind him as he moved forward. The sky above was a pale blue, almost white, tinged with silver where the clouds gathered like fluffy, silent mountains.

Harry stopped near one of those clouds, hovering like a ghost above the towers of Hogwarts. The wind blew fiercely, cutting, hitting his body with almost physical force, making his bones tremble. He felt his shoulder muscles contract against the cold, but there was something comforting in that sensation. The frozen emptiness, the vastness of the sky around him... he felt small, yet at the same time powerful, as if nothing could touch him up there.

His thoughts began to empty, his worries dissipating like the steam escaping from his lips. This was why he flew — to escape the weight of being Harry Potter, the name he carried, the expectations that followed him like shadows. Here, above the world, he was just another young man on a broomstick, a tiny dot against the vast sky.

But even here, his mind couldn’t fully shut off. The past few weeks crept back into his thoughts, persistent like the cold that now seeped into his uniform. Being chosen as Head Boy, the initial shock of being forced to work with Daphne Greengrass, a girl he had always considered cold, distant... maybe even arrogant. He remembered how his stomach had contracted when he heard his name alongside hers during the opening ceremony of the school year.

But as he thought more about it, he realized that reality had turned out to be quite different. His initial hatred — or maybe it was just a deep irritation — seemed to have disappeared without him realizing. In fact, he couldn’t exactly remember why he had harbored that silent disdain for her. It was strange how the assumptions he had made over the years seemed to crumble when faced with reality.

Daphne, he realized, wasn’t at all what he had imagined. She wasn’t just a haughty, distant Slytherin. There was something more there, something deeper and unexpected. She was organized, practical, but also sharp and surprisingly funny when she wanted to be. He remembered the recent meetings, the quick exchanges of glances, and the sharp comments she made when she thought no one was paying attention.

He shook his head, trying to disperse those thoughts. It wasn’t the time for this. He should be focused on the present, on the biting cold that enveloped him, on the roar of the wind, and the intoxicating sensation of freedom. But even as he spun through the air, his hands firm on the Firebolt’s handle, he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that, without realizing it, he had started to see Daphne in a completely different way.

He pulled the broom into a spiraling descent, the wind whistling in his ears as the ground quickly approached. Maybe, he thought as he dove, it was time to stop trying to understand it. Maybe it was better to simply accept that people were more complex than he had imagined.

And as he neared the towers of Hogwarts once again, he felt a lightness he hadn’t expected. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as bad as he had thought.

Harry leaned forward, pressing his knees against the Firebolt’s handle as he began his spiraling descent. The wind cut his face, tearing tears from his eyes that froze almost instantly on the edges of his glasses. The ground was rapidly approaching, the trees of the Hogwarts grounds turning into green and white blurs as he gained speed.

When he was only a few meters from the ground, Harry pulled the broom’s handle upward with force, feeling the wood vibrate in his hands as the stabilization charms took effect. His feet skimmed the frozen grass, the tips of his boots kicking up small clouds of snow that floated around him like star dust.

He let out a rough laugh, his heart pounding in his chest, his lungs burning with the cold air. This was the feeling he loved — the razor’s edge between control and chaos, between risk and skill. For a moment, he felt invincible, untouchable, as if the world below couldn’t reach him.

If his mother had been there, she would probably have tugged on his ears, calling him reckless and stubborn. He could almost hear her voice in his mind, a mix of worry and exasperation, the same tone Mrs. Weasley used when she caught the Weasley twins trying to blow something up in the dining room.

But he liked it. He liked defying danger, feeling the adrenaline run through his veins, knowing he could trust his skills completely to get out of any situation. Maybe it was something inherited from James Potter, or maybe it was just part of who he was.

He slowed down, making a smooth turn toward the Quidditch pitch. The stands were empty, the metal goalposts shining in the pale winter sunlight, their shadows stretching over the snow-covered grass. He hovered for a moment, his eyes scanning the field where so many victories — and a few defeats — had unfolded.

Harry took a deep breath, smelling the fresh winter air mixed with the faint touch of aged wood from his Firebolt. He smiled to himself, closing his eyes for a moment.

Yes, he needed this. And, hopefully, the party they were organizing would be as memorable as these solitary moments in the sky.

He leaned the broom forward again, speeding toward the castle, the sound of the wind filling his ears, wiping away all thoughts for a brief, perfect moment.

~HP~

As promised, the students had one last visit to Hogsmeade before the start of the Christmas holidays. Harry, surprisingly, found himself looking forward to the opportunity to escape the cold walls of Hogwarts, even if just for a few hours. He and Daphne had agreed that, this time, they would only be responsible for the night patrols at the castle, leaving the day free to enjoy the village without the constant pressure of Head Boy responsibilities.

The carriages pulled by Thestrals swayed gently as they descended the path winding through the Hogwarts grounds toward the school’s iron gates. The wheels creaked against the stone path, the sound blending with the muffled laughter and lively conversations of the students around them.

Harry settled into one of the corners, his face turned toward the window, watching the snowflakes dance in the wind outside, covering the fields and trees with a bright white layer. Next to him were Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Hannah, all squeezed into the small space of the carriage, their breaths forming small clouds of vapor in the cold air.

Hermione, sitting directly across from Harry, tilted her head slightly, her brown eyes narrowing with curiosity. "It’s strange to see you with that smile," she commented, her tone carrying a hint of playful teasing.

Harry blinked, pushing away the vague thoughts that floated in his mind. "What do you mean?"

Hermione leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and narrowing her eyes even further. "You seem... more relaxed," she continued, as if analyzing a particularly intriguing puzzle. "I mean, you’ve been acting lighter."

Ron, sitting next to her, let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, everyone’s noticed, Mione," he said, his voice dripping with his usual sarcasm. "Harry’s been spending more time with Greengrass than with any of us."

Harry felt his face heat up slightly, surprise clear in his expression. "What do you mean by that?"

Hannah, sitting next to Neville, let out a light giggle, tossing her blonde hair back as she cast Harry an amused glance. "It’s not just during the Head Boy meetings," she added. "You’re always together. In the halls, the Great Hall, even the library."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the words seemed to get lost in his throat. He blinked, feeling the warmth spread across his cheeks, something he hadn’t experienced since his early years at Hogwarts.

"That’s not true," he said, with a firmness that sounded a little forced, even to himself.

Neville, who had been watching the snow fall outside the window, turned to look at him, his gaze steady and direct. "Harry," he said, his voice surprisingly serious, "when was the last time you were with anyone?"

Harry furrowed his brow, his mind struggling to keep up with the sudden change in subject. "What do you mean by that?"

Neville shrugged but didn’t break eye contact. "You were with a different girl every week. I mean, after you broke up with Cho and up until the start of this year, it seemed like you were trying to break some kind of record. But now... the last person we saw you with was... who? Romilda Vane, after the first win of the season? That was almost two months ago."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but the words failed to come out. He blinked slowly, his brain struggling to reorganize his thoughts. He hadn’t done the math, but now that Neville mentioned it, it made sense. His life lately had been reduced to Quidditch, Head Boy meetings, and... Daphne.

He tried to deny it, but the memories began to line up in his mind, small scenes he hadn’t noticed as significant before. The meetings in the hallways, the quick exchanges of words between classes, the looks that he now realized lasted longer than they should have. He had even caught himself completely ignoring Amelia.

He cleared his throat, trying to mask the growing discomfort spreading through his body. "It’s the N.E.W.T.s," he deflected, turning his face toward the window to avoid the inquisitive looks from his friends. "I mean, I didn’t think being Head Boy would be this much work."

Hermione didn’t seem convinced. She narrowed her eyes, her thin lips pressing into a skeptical line. "Hmm," she murmured, her gaze still fixed on Harry as if trying to decipher an ancient code. "It’s not that we didn’t like you before, Harry. But this new version of you is... different."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the conversation quickly shifted to the new menu the house-elves were preparing for the Christmas feast, and he found himself strangely relieved by the change of focus.

But as the wheels of the carriage continued to creak against the stone floor and the laughter of his friends echoed around him, he couldn’t shake the thoughts now buzzing in his mind.

What was happening to him? Since when had Daphne Greengrass become such a central part of his life?

He breathed deeply, his eyes losing themselves in the white landscape outside, where the trees passed quickly, like fleeting memories he could no longer ignore.

~HP~

Unlike the gloomy and mysterious atmosphere of Halloween, Hogsmeade was now dressed in all the colors and sparkles of Christmas. Enchanted lights twinkled in the shop windows, pine wreaths adorned every door, and snowflakes danced gently around the heads of witches and wizards hurrying along the cobbled streets. The air was sharp, each of Harry's breaths turning into small clouds of vapor as he walked, his feet sinking into the snow that creaked under his boots.

He adjusted the black leather coat Sirius had given him. The fabric, heavy and already beginning to mold to the shape of his shoulders, offered some warmth, but not enough to completely block the cold that cut through to his bones. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers starting to tingle, while his eyes searched for the familiar facade of the Three Broomsticks.

This time, he was alone. Ron and Hermione had gone off on a patrol, probably taking the opportunity to escape their Head Boy responsibilities for a while. Neville and Hannah had disappeared as soon as they got off the carriage, whispering something about visiting Honeydukes. For the first time since he could remember, Harry found himself alone in Hogsmeade, with no one to share a table with or comment on the latest Quidditch matches.

He ignored the waves from a few classmates as he made his way to the pub, the conversation from the carriage still spinning in his mind. Hermione’s and Neville’s words echoed repeatedly, a little voice insisting in his head that he couldn’t silence.

When he finally pushed open the heavy wooden door of the Three Broomsticks, a wave of warmth enveloped him, the familiar scent of burnt wood, butterbeer, and spices instantly warming his face. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment as the door slammed shut behind him with a thud, blocking out the cutting wind.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the soft lighting of the place, the crackling fireplaces on the stone walls, the flames dancing and casting cozy shadows. He glanced around, as he always did, instinctively looking for any sign of danger — an old habit that had never left him. Finding only groups of students laughing and exchanging brightly wrapped presents, he moved toward the bar.

"One butterbeer, Rosmerta," he said, resting his arms on the polished counter. "Make it special."

The blonde witch with a warm smile gave him a knowing look, her blue eyes sparkling behind her long lashes. "Of course, dear," she replied, stepping away to fetch the drink.

Harry relaxed his shoulders, his fingers still half-numb, tapping lightly on the wooden counter as he waited. One of the perks of finally being seventeen was being able to order alcoholic drinks without resorting to the clandestine methods Fred and George so often encouraged.

When Rosmerta returned, placing the frothy mug in front of him, he wrapped both hands around it, feeling the radiant heat spread through his cold fingers. He took a long sip, the drink sliding warmly down his throat, spreading a comforting heat in his chest.

He barely had time to savor the sensation when the door to the pub opened again, allowing a gust of cold wind to invade the room, making the candelabras sway slightly. He instinctively turned, his shoulder muscles still tense from the habit of always being on alert.

Daphne Greengrass walked in, her blonde hair shaking lightly with the wind, her cheeks rosy from the cold. Beside her, Theo Nott, his pale face and eyes shadowed by a hint of frustration. Harry immediately noticed something was wrong.

Daphne moved with quick, determined steps toward the bar, but Theo grabbed her arm, his pale hand contrasting sharply with the dark fabric of her coat.

"I already told you no, Theo," she snapped, her voice tinged with irritation, her blue eyes flashing with something close to disdain. "I want to be alone."

Harry didn’t want to hear, but it was impossible not to catch every word. He took another sip of his drink, trying to look distracted, but his eyes were fixed on the scene across the room.

"You’re lying to yourself," Theo insisted, his face twisting in a mixture of frustration and something darker. "Your friends are at Zonko’s. You’re just avoiding me."

She pulled away with a sharp jerk, her blonde hair falling messily over her shoulders. "And what if I am?" she challenged, her eyes now as hard as ice.

Theo didn’t back off. He took a step closer, his fingers closing again around her arm. "Listen here—"

Harry didn’t think. He stood up from his seat with a movement so fast he almost knocked over his mug. In two long strides, he crossed the pub, the sound of his boots echoing on the wooden floor. Before Theo could say another word, Harry placed a firm hand on his shoulder, pressing harder than he intended, his fingers nearly digging into the thick fabric of his coat.

"Hey," Harry said, his eyes locked with Theo’s, his face a mask of tense calm. "Daph, I thought you weren’t going to make it," he said, gently pushing Theo aside.

Daphne blinked, clearly surprised, her eyes wide as she tried to understand what was happening.

Harry blinked at her, trying to convey a silent message. "We agreed to meet here about twenty minutes ago," he continued, forcing a smile. "I’ve been waiting for you."

Daphne hesitated for a second before understanding. She straightened her shoulders and pulled her arm away from Theo. "Oh, right," she said quickly, adjusting her tone to sound casual. "Sorry, Theo dragged me into a conversation, and I was explaining that I couldn’t."

Harry didn’t break eye contact with Theo. "Missed something, Nott?" he asked, his tone cold and controlled. "This is private."

Theo’s face turned red, his eyes darkening for a moment before he let go of Daphne and stepped away, his shoulders tense and hands now clenched into fists. "No," he grumbled, his teeth clenched. "I didn’t miss anything." He turned and left, shoving a few students out of his way, the door slamming hard behind him.

Harry let out a quiet sigh and turned back to Daphne, who was still watching him with slightly widened eyes.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, stepping closer, her eyes still fixed on his.

Harry lifted the mug, taking a long sip before responding. "Honestly?" he said, his voice lower. "I have no idea."

She stared at him for a moment before pulling up a chair next to him and sitting down, her eyes still gleaming with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"Don’t you want to invite me for a drink?" she asked, a slight smile curving her lips.

Harry blinked, clearly caught off guard. "And would you accept?"

She leaned forward, her blue eyes meeting his. "Why not, Harry?" She said his name with a softness he had never heard before. "It can’t be worse than Nott."

Harry smiled, feeling the heat rise in his face. I bet it won’t be even a little bit.

~HP~

The hours passed quickly. The hustle and bustle in the Three Broomsticks began to fade as the night went on, and now only a few small groups remained, laughing and chatting to the crackling sound of the fires. Harry and Daphne were still at the counter, their mugs half-empty and their faces warmed by the heat of the fire. Harry realized that, despite the time they had spent together, the conversation was surprisingly flowing well.

"So," said Daphne, leaning forward, her eyes shining with curiosity, "what's the story with that jacket, anyway? It's not the kind of thing you usually wear."

Harry smiled, pulling the collar of his leather jacket up, feeling the comfortable weight of the worn material on his shoulders. "Ah, this jacket was a gift from my godfather, Sirius, at the beginning of the year."

Daphne raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Sirius Black? He seems more like the type of person who would wear a dramatic black cloak, not a leather jacket."

Harry laughed, recalling the moment when Sirius had surprised him with the gift on Platform 9¾ at the beginning of the year. "Yeah, he showed up on the platform holding it, threw the jacket at me, and said I needed 'a touch of style' for my last year."

Daphne let out a light laugh, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Seriously? He thought a jacket would make you look more dangerous?"

Harry shrugged, still smiling. "Sirius never needed much of an excuse to encourage me to break rules. I think he just wanted me to live up to the family name."

Daphne rested her chin on her hand, clearly enjoying the story. "So, it was his idea to turn you into a 'bad boy'?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but his smile didn't fade. "Something like that. He said I needed an 'intimidating look' to make sure no one underestimated me."

Daphne shook her head, laughing. "I can imagine. Someone told me he and your dad were... troublesome, to say the least."

Harry let out a genuine laugh. "Troublesome is a generous term. They were a real force of chaos. There was one time Sirius enchanted all the armchairs in the Gryffindor common room to bite anyone who sat in them without saying 'I am the king of Gryffindor' first. My dad spent a week complaining that he couldn't even tie his shoelaces without being bitten."

Daphne laughed loudly, throwing her head back, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. "That sounds like something my dad would have hated. He always talks about his days at Hogwarts as if they were the pinnacle of discipline."

Harry shrugged, his eyes still sparkling with memories of his father and godfather. "Ah, they were chaotic, but they were also brilliant. They always found a way to get out of detentions. McGonagall still gets annoyed when she remembers them."

Daphne kept smiling, her eyes shining in the soft light of the pub. "So, you inherited that from them?"

Harry blinked, surprised by the question. "I guess so," he said slowly, as if realizing it for the first time. "Maybe it's part of the 'Potter tradition.'"

She shook her head, still laughing lightly. "I think I'm starting to understand where you get your crazy ideas for the parties."

Harry let out a small laugh, feeling a lightness he hadn’t experienced in a while. He stood up, throwing the jacket over his shoulders. "Shall we? I think it's time we head back."

She nodded, pulling her own coat on and adjusting her hair. When they left the Three Broomsticks, the cold evening breeze enveloped them again, the muffled sound of their footsteps mixing with the rustling of the snow.

As they walked slowly through the streets of Hogsmeade, lit by the golden lights of the shop windows, Daphne suddenly stopped in front of a small jewelry shop. Harry, who had been a few steps ahead, turned around when he noticed she had stopped.

Daphne's eyes were fixed on a necklace in the window. It was made of silver, with a delicate snowflake-shaped pendant that glowed softly in the magical light of the shop. The tiny stones that made up the snowflake sparkled like ice crystals, reflecting the light from the enchanted lamps.

Harry watched her for a moment, her eyes fixed on the necklace, her lips slightly parted in an almost dreamy expression.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his eyes following hers to the necklace.

She blinked, as if waking from a trance, and quickly looked away, pushing her hair back. "It's beautiful," she said, her voice softer, almost shy, a tone Harry hadn’t heard before.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the way she turned, her steps picking up the pace again on the snowy street, made him hesitate. Instead, he just shoved his hands in his coat pockets and followed her, the sound of their footsteps blending with the soft wind blowing between the houses.

When they reached the carriage pick-up point, a line was already starting to form. They waited in silence for a few moments before an empty carriage finally stopped in front of them.

Harry reached out to help her get in, and to his surprise, she accepted, her fingers cold against his. They settled into the cushioned seat, the creaking of the wheels sounding loud as the carriage began to move toward the castle.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it carried something different, something Harry couldn’t name. He looked at Daphne, the moonlight illuminating her profile as she stared out the window at the passing trees.

"Thanks," she said suddenly, not looking away from the window.

Harry blinked, surprised. "For what?"

She shrugged, her eyes still fixed on the white landscape outside. "For today. It was... better than I expected."

He gave a small smile, warmth spreading through his chest. "I should be the one to thank you. You're not as unbearable as I thought."

She turned to look at him, her blue eyes sparkling with a mix of surprise and amusement. "I'll pretend that was a compliment, Potter."

They stared at each other for a second, before both of them let out a low laugh, the sound getting lost in the cold night as the carriage continued its journey to the castle.