Like Fire and Moonlight - Chapter 9: Christmas Parties

The days that followed the Halloween party were, to Harry’s surprise, some of the most pleasant he could remember. He and Daphne seemed to have finally found a rhythm, and the rounds, which had once been tense and filled with teasing, had become almost enjoyable.

They still exchanged occasional jabs – Daphne insisted on referring to him as “Potter” and never “Harry,” something he was beginning to think was almost intentional – but the atmosphere between them had changed. Conversations flowed more naturally, silences were less uncomfortable, and the teasing became increasingly laden with subtext that Harry refused to analyze too deeply.

As promised, Daphne had returned his jacket the day after the party, casually tossing it to him before a meeting with the other prefects, as though the item meant absolutely nothing to her. But when Harry took the jacket and felt the soft fabric between his fingers, he noticed that the smell had changed.

The leather still carried the strong scent of cigarette smoke and the faint note of whiskey that he always associated with Sirius, but now there was something else – a sweet, fresh perfume that he instantly recognized as the same one Daphne wore.

Harry dwelled on this more than he’d like to admit, wondering what it would be like to smell that perfume up close, perhaps mixed with the warmth of a quiet conversation or the accidental touch of their arms as they moved through the castle’s dark corridors.

But, of course, he would never admit this out loud.

Before Harry knew it, December had arrived, and with it the anticipation for the brief Christmas break. He was looking forward to going home, seeing his parents and Sirius again, and maybe even playing a few games of Quidditch in the backyard, as they had in previous years.

When he entered the Great Hall that morning, a slight shiver ran down his spine as he felt the cold infiltrating the stone corridors of Hogwarts, the icy air moving like a whisper between the columns and high arches, making the torches flicker slightly as they tried to combat the darkness gathering in the corners.

A thin layer of snow was accumulating on the window sills and the corners of the stairs, white flakes falling slowly from the overcast sky that magically reflected in the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. The students, wrapped in thick scarves and heavy cloaks, clustered around the tables of the four Houses, their bodies instinctively drawing closer as they tried to shield themselves from the cold that seemed to seep through every crack in the castle.

Harry approached the Gryffindor table, his fingers still slightly numb from the cold as he grabbed a pumpkin juice cup that had magically appeared before him, his eyes quickly scanning the hall as he tried to find Ron and Hermione among the crowd.

But before he could sit, a familiar voice echoed behind him, the firm and slightly authoritative tones he had learned to recognize immediately.

“Good morning, Potter,” said Daphne, her voice cutting through the cold air like a sharp blade as she quickly moved to his side, her blue eyes moving rapidly over his face while her lips curved slightly into a smile that seemed more provocative than friendly.

Harry let out a tired sigh, his shoulders slightly slumping as he turned to face her, his eyes moving quickly to her face while he tried to ignore the slight discomfort that formed in his stomach whenever they got too close.

“Good morning, Greengrass,” he replied, his lips curving slightly as his fingers tightened around the cup he was holding. “Did you know that normal people say ‘good morning’ and then let others have their breakfast in peace?”

Daphne raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing slightly as her lips curved into a smile that seemed slightly amused, as if she had been expecting exactly that response.

“McGonagall wants to see us,” she said, her eyes still fixed on his as her slender fingers quickly moved to adjust the collar of her coat, the dark fabric standing out against the blonde hair that swayed slightly as she leaned in toward him.

Harry let out another sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he felt his stomach protest against the idea of leaving the Great Hall without at least having taken a sip of juice or eaten a piece of bread.

“Can’t I at least have my coffee?” he asked, his lips curving slightly as he tried to appear more irritated than he actually felt, his eyes still fixed on hers as they both shifted slightly to the side, trying not to block the path of the other students entering the hall.

“No,” replied Daphne, her eyes narrowing slightly as she reached out to nudge him lightly away from the table, her slender fingers moving quickly to grab his arm as she began to guide him toward the door. “The sooner we do this, the sooner you can get back to your breakfast and I can stop hearing your complaints.”

Harry let out a low laugh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he allowed himself to be dragged out of the hall, their steps echoing softly against the stone floor as they quickly moved through the corridors leading to the headmistress’s office.

He couldn’t help the slight smile that formed on his lips as he watched Daphne’s blonde hair sway lightly in front of him, the strands moving like a silk curtain as she walked with quick, decisive steps, her shoulders straight and her posture firm – the same traits he had started to associate with her stubborn and slightly authoritative personality.

And, for some reason he refused to analyze too deeply, he realized that he didn’t mind missing breakfast so much if it meant spending a few more minutes by her side.

~HP~

They arrived at McGonagall's office with quick steps, the echoes of their boots breaking the silence of the stone corridors. Harry, with years of experience escaping Filch and exploring Hogwarts’ secret passages, led Daphne through shortcuts she never imagined existed, descending narrow staircases hidden behind faded tapestries and crossing corridors lit only by the glow of enchanted torches. When they finally stopped in front of the heavy oak door of the headmistress’s office, Daphne looked around, adjusting her breathing rhythm.

Harry reached for the doorknob, already preparing to enter, but Daphne’s voice interrupted him.

"Did you know it’s rude not to knock?" She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as though challenging him to defend his impetuosity.

Harry let out a slight sigh, the shadow of a smile curving his lips. "Minnie’s known me since before Hogwarts," he replied with the confidence of someone who had survived everything the school could throw at him. "And if she was expecting us, what’s the point?"

Without waiting for her response, Harry turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, the creaking hinges echoing through the room.

McGonagall’s office was exactly as Harry remembered it: austere but with a certain severe elegance. Rows of old, thick books lined the shelves carved from dark wood, their spines engraved with golden letters reflecting the flickering light from the lit fireplace. The crackling flames cast dancing shadows over the portraits of past headmasters, who, as always, watched visitors with expressions of contained curiosity and, in some cases, a touch of disapproval.

In addition to McGonagall, Dumbledore was present, sitting in one of the leather armchairs near the fireplace, his blue eyes gleaming over his half-moon glasses. Beside him, Horace Slughorn sat comfortably, his thick fingers intertwined over his protruding belly, a complacent smile on his face. The presence of the two together was unusual, something that immediately put Harry on alert. It wasn’t common for professors to gather like this without a significant reason.

"Good morning," said Dumbledore, breaking the silence with his warm, deep voice as soon as Harry and Daphne closed the door behind them. "You arrived faster than I expected." He winked at Harry, who couldn’t help but notice the mischievous gleam in the headmaster’s eyes, clearly aware of the shortcuts they’d taken.

Daphne, ever more formal, stepped forward and sat in one of the chairs in front of the headmistress’s desk. "Has something happened?" she asked, keeping her tone polite and controlled, though her eyes revealed a spark of curiosity.

Slughorn let out a short, hearty laugh, his round face lighting up. "Oh, of course not, my dear," he replied, leaning forward, the heavy gold ring on his finger reflecting the light from the flames. "You two have been working well together, I must say. It’s not something I expected... but what a pleasant surprise." He gave a smile that seemed almost paternal.

Harry furrowed his brow. "Then what is this about?"

McGonagall straightened in her chair, her slender fingers interlaced on the desk in a gesture typical of her always-firm posture. "We discussed this at the last staff meeting," she began, her sharp gaze fixed on the two students. "As you well know, Horace keeps the tradition of his Christmas dinner for the Slug Club, something that repeats year after year. A more... selective celebration."

Harry and Daphne exchanged glances and nodded. They had received the golden invitations, as expected.

"But instead of limiting the festivities to a small group," McGonagall continued, "we thought we’d expand things a little this year."

Daphne blinked, visibly intrigued. "Expand how?"

Dumbledore leaned forward, his hands lightly resting on the arms of the armchair. "We all know about the... festivities that occasionally take over the Gryffindor Common Room after a Quidditch victory," he said, casting a playful glance at Harry. Harry’s face turned slightly red, and Daphne looked at him sideways, clearly surprised. She had no idea such parties took place.

"So," continued Slughorn, straightening in his chair, "this year, we’d like to propose something different. A celebration that includes all the seventh-year students. A truly memorable party to mark your last Christmas at Hogwarts."

Harry furrowed his brow, the idea beginning to take shape in his mind. "And what exactly does this have to do with us?"

McGonagall gave a rare smile, her eyes gleaming shrewdly. "Well, you two are the Head Prefects," she said. "And since Mr. Potter seems to have a certain... experience with impromptu celebrations, we thought you’d be the most suited to lead the organization."

Harry felt a wave of excitement wash over him, while Daphne, at his side, flushed slightly, perhaps uncomfortable with the idea of managing something as chaotic as a party.

"And, of course," McGonagall added, "the school will cover everything. But," she fixed them with a stern gaze, "no alcohol or... excessively enthusiastic behavior. Are we clear?"

Harry couldn’t help but smile, clearly delighted with the prospect. "And how exactly do we start with this?"

"A good starting point would be to gather the other prefects," said Slughorn, settling back into his chair. "Make a plan, think about decorations, music, food... all the things that make a party memorable."

Before Daphne could open her mouth to respond, Harry jumped in. "We accept. It’ll be a pleasure."

Dumbledore smiled broadly. "Excellent."

"And we expect your list of ideas by tomorrow," McGonagall concluded, her eyes already assessing the two of them as if evaluating their potential for the task.

Harry and Daphne stood up, exchanged knowing glances, and left the room, the weight of responsibility already beginning to form in their thoughts.

~HP~

As soon as the door to McGonagall's office slammed shut with a firm thud, Daphne turned to Harry and, in an instinctive move, slapped the back of his head. It wasn’t hard, just enough to make his hair swing and catch his attention.

"Ouch!" He recoiled slightly, rubbing his head with a look of genuine surprise. "What the hell was that, Greengrass?"

She crossed her arms, her eyebrows arched in a mixture of indignation and disbelief. "Parties in the common room, Potter?"

He blinked, clearly not understanding the intensity of her look. "Well, I thought everyone knew about it," he said, as if explaining the most obvious thing in the world. "We even have special spells to dampen the sound. It was Dumbledore himself who put them in place so it wouldn’t disturb the rest of the castle."

Daphne opened her mouth to retort, but quickly shut it, unable to decide whether she was more surprised by Harry’s audacity or by the fact that Dumbledore, the revered headmaster, apparently encouraged these... mischiefs.

"Don’t be so upset, Greengrass," he continued, seeing the hesitation on her face and taking the opportunity to tease. "I promise next time you’ll be invited. Especially if we beat Slytherin."

She narrowed her eyes, her jaw tightening. "Don’t even think about it."

Harry laughed, his footsteps echoing through the stone corridors as they descended the stairs toward the Great Hall. The movement of students began to increase around them, groups of classmates talking about their Potions homework or Quidditch practices as they made their way to breakfast.

"You know I can see the gears turning in your head, right?" He teased, leaning slightly to the side to try to see her face. "What are you thinking?"

She shot him a sidelong glance, her lips curving into a calculated half-smile. "Now that you’ve decided it’s a good idea to get us into this party madness, we need to think of everything," she said, her voice firm and determined. "We don’t want this turning into chaos."

Harry shook his head, amused. "This will be easy. We can meet later today after classes to start planning. Call the prefects, divide responsibilities... maybe include Seamus."

Daphne stopped walking for a second, frowning at the mention of the name. "What does Finnigan have to do with this?"

Harry stopped next to her, his green eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. "Did you really think a bunch of 17-year-olds wouldn’t try to figure out a way to sneak alcohol in?"

She froze, clearly not expecting that answer. "But McGonagall was clear about that..."

Harry let out an exaggerated sigh, as if explaining something to a particularly stubborn child. "You need to learn to read between the lines, Greengrass. She said ‘no alcohol.’ But she didn’t mention anything about drinks that don’t look alcoholic." He raised his eyebrows, clearly proud of the logic he just laid out.

She looked at him in disbelief, a reluctant touch of admiration in her eyes. "You’re making this up."

He shrugged, resuming his walk. "Sometimes, we have to break the rules for the memories to be worth it. Trust me, Greengrass. This party is going to be epic."

When they reached the doors to the Great Hall, the noise of conversations and the smell of toast and coffee enveloped them. The long benches were nearly full, but the first students were already starting to leave for classes, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor as the dishes magically cleaned themselves over the tables.

Harry turned to her, his face lit up with anticipation. "We’ll meet in the prefects' room afterward. Try to warn the Slytherins, I’ll talk to the others."

And before she could respond, he disappeared into the crowd, his black cloak blending with the flow of students filling the corridor.

Daphne stood still for a moment, watching the crowd, her mind already calculating the next steps. She felt a slight sense of anxiety but also a strange sense of anticipation, as if, despite everything, she was starting to like the idea.

~HP~

It was surprisingly easy to find all the prefects using the Marauder's Map. The tiny footprints moved across the old parchment, names floating above them like little flags. Harry deliberately avoided the names of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, knowing that Daphne would have an easier time dealing with the Slytherin students. He preferred to avoid any unnecessary confrontation, especially when trying to organize a party. Instead, he focused on the other prefects, setting up quick meetings with each of them but not mentioning the real reason. He wanted to keep the surprise intact.

When Harry finally arrived at the prefects' room, it was the first time in years that he found himself arriving before anyone else. The place was quiet, the distant echo of footsteps and laughter from the corridors filling the space as he settled into one of the long oak tables.

He spread out the parchment he had scribbled on during the day’s lessons, hurried lines of ideas that insisted on crossing his thoughts while Professor Vector explained complicated arithmancy theorems. His fingers lightly tapped on the polished wood as he reviewed his notes, trying to convince himself that it wouldn’t be a total disaster.

He was so absorbed that he didn’t notice the door opening until a slender, blonde figure slipped into the room. Daphne closed the door behind her with a soft click, her footsteps echoing as she approached the table.

"You’re scaring me by already being here," she commented, pulling a chair next to him and gliding into the seat with a grace that seemed natural for someone from Slytherin.

Harry looked up, blinking once to focus his eyes. "We’ve got a lot of work to do," he replied, pushing the papers aside to make room for her. "I thought of a few ideas. I’d like your opinion on them."

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over the table. "Does my opinion really matter that much?"

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and slightly turning to face her. "They asked us to do this together," he emphasized the word, his green eyes fixed on hers. "Probably because they trust my ability to let everything get out of hand, and you’re, well... a control freak."

She opened her mouth to respond, the tip of her tongue almost sharp with a sarcastic reply, but she held herself back, closing her mouth with a soft snap. Instead, she simply reached for the parchment he had pushed toward her.

"Here are some ideas for food," he said, pointing to the scribbled list. "Nothing extravagant, something quicker and more laid-back. Definitely nothing like those unbearably formal dinners Slughorn loves." He shuddered as he remembered the last time he almost drowned in compliments and sugary drinks in the Potions Hall.

Daphne lowered her eyes to the list, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulders as she examined Harry’s notes. "Burgers and fries?" she asked, her voice tinged with almost disdainful surprise.

Harry shrugged, smiling sideways. "It’s a party, not a high-society reception. And trust me, it’s more popular than you think. I went to a party this summer that served this, and honestly, it was a hit."

She hesitated, her blue eyes slowly rising to meet his. "Do you think the house-elves could handle something like this?"

"Greengrass," he said, leaning in closer, his elbows resting on the table. "Those house-elves managed to serve the entire Great Hall during the Yule Ball and still had time to clean up afterward. They’d do anything to help us."

She took a deep breath, as if considering his words for a moment, before nodding slowly. "Alright," she said, letting her eyes return to the list. "But we’ll need something more than just burgers. Maybe something a little... refined, for those who don’t want to gorge on grease."

Harry laughed, sliding another piece of parchment toward her. "I’ve thought of that. Maybe some vegetarian options, salads... and if we’re bold enough, something that can be eaten with your hands without looking completely wild."

She smiled, despite herself, and continued to examine the list, occasionally pointing out small adjustments or suggesting more sophisticated alternatives. The two leaned over the table, the parchment piling up as their ideas intertwined, the line between Gryffindor and Slytherin slowly disappearing amidst hasty scribbles and pointed comments.

When the other prefects began to arrive, they found the two hunched over the papers, their heads nearly touching as they discussed the best ways to turn the party into something truly memorable.

~HP~

When the prefects' room finally filled up, the sound of chairs scraping against the stone floor echoed through the space, blending with the murmurs of curious students. Harry straightened up, throwing his shoulders back to appear more confident than he actually felt. All eyes were on him, some curious, others clearly distrustful—especially Draco Malfoy's, who lazily reclined in his chair, arms crossed with disdain.

Harry exchanged a quick glance with Daphne, who, unlike him, seemed completely serene, her slender fingers resting gently on the table. She gave a slight nod, as if signaling him to start.

"This morning," Harry began, projecting his voice to be heard by everyone, "we had an emergency meeting with Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Slughorn." He paused to let the words settle, the eyes now more attentive. "They made us an offer, and we accepted. Of course, we’ll need everyone’s help to make this work."

Malfoy leaned forward, his pale face contorting into an expression of contained irritation. "What the hell are you talking about, Potter?"

Harry had already expected the interruption and responded without losing his rhythm, a carefree smile appearing on his lips. "Take it easy, ferret. We’ll get there." The words slipped out before he could hold them back, and a wave of muffled laughter spread through the room, Malfoy’s face quickly turning red, his gray eyes narrowing like those of a cornered predator.

Daphne shot Harry a warning glance before leaning forward and taking the floor. "What Potter means," she said, her voice sharp but controlled, "is that we’re going to organize a Christmas party before we go home."

The effect was instant. A wave of murmurs swept through the room, the prefects leaning forward in their chairs, eyes sparkling with expectation.

"What kind of party?" asked Hannah, her blue eyes wide with surprise.

"Will there be dancing?" Padma sat up straighter in her chair, already imagining the dresses spinning under enchanted lights.

"Is it like the Yule Ball?" asked Parkinson, a note of hope in her voice, her hands already playing with the dark strands of her hair.

"One at a time," Harry said, raising his hands to calm the growing wave of questions. "And to answer all of you: yes, it’s a party. Something like what happens at Slughorn’s Club."

This sparked a new round of excited whispers. Slughorn’s Club was exclusive, and many there had never set foot in one of his lavish parties. Harry realized he had their attention—half the battle was already won.

"But what does this have to do with us?" Malfoy interrupted, his tone dry and full of disdain, his arms still tightly crossed over his chest.

Harry exchanged a quick glance with Daphne, who gave a slight nod, her blue eyes fixed on the group ahead. "We’re in charge of the party," Harry explained, the words coming with more confidence now that he saw genuine interest on the faces around him. "And for it to work, we’ll need all your help."

He pushed the parchments to the center of the table, the rolls of paper unrolling with a soft whisper over the polished surface. The notes were now organized into neat lists, with topics carefully divided—a level of organization he clearly owed to Daphne’s precise hand.

"Potter and I wrote down some ideas," Daphne said, her voice calm but firm, her eyes scanning each face around the table. "We’d like your opinion on them. What do you think?"

There was a moment of silence, the prefects leaning forward to grab the papers, their hands quickly sliding over the lists of ideas for food, music, and possible themes. Harry noticed Malfoy’s eyes narrowing, but to his surprise, the Slytherin didn’t make any sarcastic comments. At least, not yet.

As the others began to discuss in low voices, Harry leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He exchanged a quick look with Daphne, who, for the first time since they had started planning the party, seemed slightly pleased.

When the meeting finally began to disperse and the prefects left in small groups, chatting excitedly about the ideas, Daphne leaned in closer to Harry, the soft scent of peppermint from her hair lotion reaching him.

"Do you think they’ll actually cooperate, or are they just excited about the novelty?" she murmured, her eyes still following the last of the prefects leaving the room.

Harry shrugged, a slight smile appearing on his face. "I don’t know. But if things start to go wrong, I’m sure you’ll know how to control them."

She let out a short, almost inaudible laugh and shook her head. "You give me too much credit, Potter."

He stared at her for a moment, realizing that despite all the teasing and differences, there was a strange, yet undeniable chemistry forming between them. A partnership that, somehow, made sense.

"So, are we really doing this?" he asked, his green eyes meeting hers.

Daphne stared at him for a moment, her lips curving into a half-smile that he still couldn’t fully decipher. "Looks like it," she said, standing up and adjusting her uniform. "I hope you don’t disappoint me, Potter."

He watched her leave, her cloak fluttering slightly as she disappeared down the corridor. He let out a long sigh, the echo of her footsteps still ringing in his ears.

This was definitely going to be interesting.