Chapter 5. Guests
Two Years Later
The manor was still dark when Harry returned from his morning run.
His t-shirt was more wet than dry, and he'd long since learned he preferred shorts to joggers for this very reason. Try walking when your joggers are thoroughly drenched. It was like walking with weights on. And he did not want weights on after a 10 km run. Plus, he liked the shorts for easy ventilation.
Still, even with the shorts, his body was too hot… and musty. The dried sweat and the fresh perspiration gave off a rank stench. His skin practically released palpable heat.
That was why he froze on the narrow staircase, coming face-to-face with her.
She was dressed in a light blue sleeveless dress, a book tucked under her right arm. Her loose blonde hair bounced with each step as she made her way down.
Lily and Rose usually did not wake up at this hour, so he'd gotten used to being the early bird bumbling around with no care, uncaring how he smelled or looked.
He should've known better. They've had guests since last evening. And one of them seemed to like waking up before the crack of dawn.
"Harry." Daphne nodded curtly, wrinkling her nose and retracing her steps so she stood on the top landing again, in the hall that separated his room from his sister's. "You reek of rotten mice."
That had to be an exaggeration. It wasn't that bad.
He nearly blabbered an excuse to defend himself before his secret crush. Fortunately, he'd learned to keep his mouth shut when his brain did backflips. Being awkwardly quiet was far better than being a stuttering mess.
"And you smell like a healthy corpse plant," he joked once the shock and the panic dissipated, rushing up the stairs, stepping past her and opening the door to his room. "Like rotting meat."
That was a blatant lie. She carried a rich, pleasant scent with her. Something sweet and sharp, like apples dusted with cinnamon. Not that he was going to confess that. Rose had made it clear Daphne despised compliments from boys. The best he could do was treat her normally and hope she didn't hate him.
"Which type of meat? Beef? Pork? Chicken?" She leant against the opposite door, the one that led to Rose's room, twirling a stray curl around her finger.
He turned around to face her, raising an eyebrow, trying to come up with something witty. "Fish?"
"Now that's just rude."
"Says the one who started this weird conversation."
She opened her mouth to argue before closing it with a click, her lips twitching. "Fair. Anyways, good morning. Rose and Hermione are still asleep, leaving me all bored and alone. I'd ask you to keep me company, but my nose might revolt."
"You know where the family library is?" he asked, glancing at the thick book in her hand, changing the embarrassing conversation, hoping she didn't notice his disappointment. If only his sweat smelled of flowers and petrichor, he could spend the morning with her all alone. Wouldn't that be romantic?
"I do. I wrestled the secret out of Rosie before she fell asleep." She pushed away from the door, standing upright, fixing the creases in her dress.
"Well then, happy reading."
"Thanks." She smiled. "You know where to find me after you've bathed."
"I'll keep that in mind. Who knows, maybe I do enjoy being humiliated."
She chuckled and went downstairs. "I won't be surprised. You look the type."
Now that was rude.
Harry closed the door and exhaled. That was probably the longest conversation he ever had with Daphne Greengrass. The ethereal, elf-like beauty with a potty mouth, as the twins liked to refer to her. Obviously, they'd shared greetings on Platform Nine and three-quarters often, but this was the first real conversation, even if it was nothing but generic back-and-forth.
A smile spread across his face for not botching it. He hadn't even stuttered, and that alone felt like a massive win.
He knew his crush on Daphne was ridiculous and hopeless. Everything he knew about her came from Rose's letters. He hadn't even truly interacted with her. He had never seen her infamous antics firsthand. He wasn't there when she outbullied a bully. He wasn't present when she saved Rose from a creepy older Slytherin. He was never there. He couldn't, not at Hogwarts.
It was like falling in love with a character.
But maybe he'd finally get the opportunity to witness her majesty firsthand, to see the character pop out of the page.
Daphne and Hermione were staying the weekend with them at Potter Manor. Why? Because Rose had invited them, and because their absentee godfather—Sirius Black—mailed them tickets for the game of the Quidditch World Cup. Since they had a few spares, her best friends hitched along for the ride.
Tomorrow, they all would attend the final match in the tournament, between Bulgaria and Ireland.
He still had two days to impress her, to see the real her.
But first, he had to complete his daily training.
Planting his palms on the floor, he started on his hundred push-ups.
~xXxXx~
Daphne loved Rose. Truly loved her.
For more than three years, she had spent most of her time with Rose and Hermione. This trio was what helped her determine the difference. If there wasn't a Hermione, she might've mistaken her affection for Rose as nothing but platonic. But no, the distinct types of love she had for each of them disallowed her from misunderstanding her own feelings.
She loved Rose with every fibre of her being. But Rose did not love her back, not in the way she wanted.
Rose was straight.
Daphne could never be the one for her.
And hell, she wasn't even Rose's real best friend. That accolade belonged to the moron of her twin.
Harry fucking Potter.
Hermione and she had established that they couldn't compete with Rose's squib twin. The way their friend lit up when she exchanged letters with him left no room for such delusion. Daphne would go as far as to say Rose lived for those letters. The joy on her face when owls carried a reply from him dwarfed even Quidditch victories.
If Rose had tiers for close people, it would go: boyfriend, Harry, and then them.
Hell, she wouldn't be surprised if Rose put Harry above a boyfriend. That was how close the twins were.
And Daphne was fiercely jealous of that. She had a sister as well, and she understood where they were coming from. She, too, would put Astoria above everyone else. But she wouldn't say Astoria was her best friend. No, her sister had her own separate category. Her best friends were Rose and Hermione. But it wasn't the same for Rose. Harry wasn't just her brother; he was the best friend. For Rose, the order was clear: Harry, then Daphne and Hermione. Which felt cruel.
Calling someone your best friend when they didn't feel the same was… excruciating.
So she was neither Rose's real best friend nor her girlfriend. She was just a pathetic moron.
"Hey, you coming?" Harry snapped his fingers, pulling her back.
She flinched slightly.
She was in the living room now, discussing their plans for the day. They already had tea and snacks, and it was barely 7:30, too early for a full breakfast. So Rose had the genius idea to start the day off with some duelling. And since they were already walking out, it meant the suggestion was accepted.
"Right. Lead the way." She pushed herself to her feet and smoothed her skirt before falling into step beside him, a few paces behind Rose and Hermione, who were busy chatting.
Potter Manor, while not small, felt compact compared to her own house. The hallways weren't vast and never-ending, the ceilings didn't soar three storeys high, and the walls and display cases were dotted with paintings and baubles. Unlike the Greengrass mansion, they weren't in the limelight; they didn't turn the house into a museum; instead, they filled the empty spaces, making it feel homelier.
"You alright? You've been awfully quiet," Harry inquired, surprising her with his concern.
She raised her eyebrow, keeping pace with him as they turned a corner. "What if this is my natural state? What if I like being quiet?"
She felt proud that her irritation didn't bleed through. Harry didn't deserve her open resentment. She wouldn't mistreat him, despite her complicated feelings. It was easy to hate someone from afar, but once you got close enough and talked, you had to make a choice: to either hate them more or drop your grudge entirely.
Harry was a nice boy, far better than the ones she had the displeasure of knowing. He didn't try to obnoxiously 'impress' her or win her over, nor did he overstay his welcome, knowing when to make himself scarce. For example, last night, the three friends had decided to play the game 'spin the bottle'. Rose, the moron she was, invited Harry without consulting either of them. But Harry was quick to detect her and Hermione's reluctance—aware he was a stranger to them—and had declined the offer, willing to be alone rather than ruin their fun.
That earned him a great deal of respect in their eyes. And both she and Hermione decided to try their best to get along with him. Honestly, he was easy to like. He knew his books inside out to compete with Hermione, and he could banter with her effortlessly.
Harry Potter was hard to dislike, which was a shame, because she would've loved hating him.
"From the way Rose talks about you in her letters, I'd have thought you'd have crushed the manor by now and claimed godhood." He smiled, glancing to the front, at his sister. The way his gaze softened told her all she needed to know. Rose's well of bottomless affection wasn't one-sided. "She really loves you. And Hermione. And I'm glad you two have her back. Makes me worry less."
See? How was she supposed to loathe him when he was so disgustingly sincere?
She bumped their shoulders, hiding a warm smile. "Stop being so mushy; I'll barf."
"Sorry, sorry." He chuckled, his face turning pink. "Most of my interactions are with Rose through the letters. It has gotten too easy to be 'mushy' without realising. Anyways, as I was saying, I know you're not the quiet type. That's why I asked."
It made sense why Rose was so diligent with her letters, why they were so damn long. Harry wasn't in any school, she gathered by his words. He probably barely left the manor. So for him, Rose was the only source of friendship, his sole connection to other people, to the outside world.
Her love for Rose quadrupled. Why did she have to be so perfect?
Though it also made her sympathise with Harry. To be a squib was a curse worse than death. Unless you left the wizarding world to live as a muggle, you were stuck in a cage, where everyone outside was happy, had magic, while you wasted away, envious and haunted by what-ifs.
It was a miracle Harry was still kind, that he could still be friends with Rose. She doubted she could do the same in his place. The image of Filch came to her mind unbidden, of a bitter man obsessed with ruining everyone's fun.
She shuddered and focused on the boy beside her.
"Maybe I should write you letters as well, so you know how normal people talk." She shot him a grin. "Hmm?"
"I would welcome that." He chirped, his eyes shining.
Again with that damn earnestness. He was like an untainted puppy. She so wanted to adopt him and keep him away from other boys. It would be a sad day when he became just as annoying and crass as them.
"You better." She linked their elbows for the rest of the way, amused by his attempt to remain unfazed.
Cute.
The duelling room was… efficient. That was the word that popped into her head as she looked around. There was nothing in the chamber, no chairs or tables. It was just an empty room. The only way it differed from the rest of the house was by the lack of painted walls and the flooring. Rather than wood panels, the floor was grey stone. And the walls weren't painted burgundy; they were plastered white with squiggly runes in black covering every inch. The chamber was also longer than wide.
It was perfect. This room was made for duelling rather than repurposed for it.
Rose and Hermione came to a halt a couple of steps in. The redhead turned around and gestured to them to hurry.
Daphne tugged Harry's arm, and they walked faster, reaching them in a few strides.
Rose clapped her hands, only briefly glancing at their linked arms. "Who's going first?"
"Us, obviously." Harry broke away from her to approach his sister. "Just because you have friends around doesn't mean we have to skip our training."
Training?
Daphne was confused. Why would Harry and Rose duel? Actually, how would they even do that? Harry was a squib. He couldn't really fight a witch. The most he could do was scramble around and try to flee. It would've been funny to watch him scurry like a rat if she still hated him.
"No," Rose stated, crossing her arms at her chest, almost pouting. "We're not duelling today."
"Why?" Harry cocked his eyebrow.
Rose caught his collar, her lips brushing his ear as she delivered a furious whisper meant for him alone.
Whatever she said, Harry remained unimpressed. The moment Rose stepped back, considering the argument over, he hooked an arm around her waist and hefted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"Harry!" Rose shrieked, struggling in his grasp. "Not in front of my friends. I don't want them to see me lose."
"Then beat me." Harry argued, amused, carrying her towards the centre of the chamber. "That's a good motivator, isn't it? You might finally defeat me."
Rose let out a grumble but bit back any further protest, steadfastly avoiding Daphne and Hermione's questioning eyes.
"You think Harry can really duel?" Hermione looked equally intrigued and confused, propping her back against the wall, watching Harry set Rose down once they reached the centre, dodging her annoyed swipe.
Daphne was baffled as well, as the twins took thirty steps from each other, preparing to fight. Only one of them had a wand. "If my ears weren't malfunctioning, it seems he can not only duel but also win."
"But how? Isn't he a squib?"
Daphne shrugged. "We'll see soon enough."
~xXxXx~
Rose had never won a single duel against Harry, which was both a source of pride and shame for her. He was just… sublime. The way he moved, the way he fought—perfect; it was perfect. But she was not some loser, dammit. She'd bet no one in her year could defeat her, not even Daphne, who was famous for her combat skills. Yet, every day of summer holidays her dignity was trampled, suffering embarrassing losses from a 'squib'.
She had hoped, in vain, that her brother would show mercy and not make a fool of her today in front of her friends. But it seemed his obsession with routines couldn't be overcome. Just like he never skipped his training, he wouldn't let her skip her daily dose of arse-kicking either.
To her left, leaning against the wall, were her friends, staring at them with curiosity and scepticism, unaware of what was to come.
'My formidable reputation. My unbreakable credibility.' She lamented, taking a firm stance and pointing her wand forward. 'Farewell. It was good knowing you.'
Harry stood some sixty steps away from her. It was a fairly long distance.
It wouldn't help.
His arms were empty—no wand. And he tilted a little forward, his weight resting on the balls of his feet.
He was ready to dash.
Typically, it wouldn't work. The distance between them was enough for a witch to throw in dozens of spells and obliterate the enemy. If the opponent had no way to shield themselves, to return fire, they would lose. You couldn't win a magical duel by dodging and running. That was just not how the world worked.
Harry wasn't typical.
She grimaced at his placid smile. That smile had none of his usual warmth; it was his resting face while he cycled his mana. He was already cycling, amplifying his physical stats. He could now do this process subconsciously. No longer did he have to sit cross-legged on the floor and meditate. And this only turned him more monstrous, as if his normal speed and reflexes weren't terrifying enough, as if his finely honed body wasn't destructive enough.
She fortified her mind with a breathing technique, her fear vanishing for the moment, her focus sharpening. Yes, Harry had shared his wisdom with her. And while she couldn't really copy his path with how busy she was being a witch-in-training, she had learned a few things. Who knew just breathing in a slightly different way would put her in a flow state?
Now, she too had that placid smile—the empty one.
At her barely perceptible nod, he exploded towards her.
~xXxXx~
Hermione couldn't believe her eyes. She pushed off the wall and stood straight, staring in awe.
Harry's speed and Rose's non-verbal spells were incredible.
She had never known the human body could move so… precisely while accelerating.
And when did Rose even learn non-verbal spells? They had just passed their third year, and non-verbal wouldn't be taught until they began their sixth year. How advanced was her friend?
She remained entranced by the display, gaping at Rose's ridiculous rate of fire. That was three Stunners in a single second! Yet, Harry was quicker, missing them by mere inches, never slowing down.
Hermione had a strange relationship with her best friends. She loved them like sisters, she really did. But there was a burning envy that couldn't be doused. Rose was the topper, flawless in both theory and practicals, and Daphne intuitively learned spells way faster than anyone else. Hermione had forgotten what it was like to tower over her classmates as the academic giant she once was, ever since she learned she was a witch. Before Hogwarts, she was used to being the genius, the one above everyone. Then she met them, and her sense of superiority was challenged.
Now, not only could Rose do everything she did better, but Daphne also gave her a run for her money for the second position. The second! In the rankings of top students, Hermione had never reached first place, which gnawed at her at the most inopportune times, souring otherwise wholesome moments.
It was deeply humiliating, this knowledge that she wasn't the best in her field. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't be who she had been in her childhood. She was the frog that was plucked from the well and thrown into the vast sea. And for so long she had tried to claim the sea, to regain her sense of pride.
But as she watched the spectacular duel, Hermione sank a little more.
"No fucking way," Daphne mumbled, her blue eyes wide with wonder.
The moment the duel began, Rose had kept moving backwards while showering Harry with silent stunners, trying to increase the already large gap between them.
Yet, Harry flowed like a gale, unstoppable. Within a minute, he was halfway to Rose, twisting his body minutely to dodge and duck, never jumping around and backtracking.
She flinched when she saw the expressions on their faces. Both Rose and Harry were… blank. No excitement, no distress, just a slight cold smile.
Finally, Hermione came to a realisation. It wasn't that she wasn't a genius; it's them. The Potter twins were unprecedented monsters. The sea had its krakens, and she was just a frog.
~xXxXx~
Rose kept up her onslaught, undeterred by her failure to hit Harry with a single spell. It wasn't something new, really. For years, she'd tried, and instead of it becoming easier, it had only become more onerous.
Still, her friends were watching. She wouldn't lose in front of them!
As her back hit the wall, the duel having been dragged all this way to here, she stopped the rapid spellfire and prepared for a surprise attack. Even just a lull of a few seconds was deadly; Harry was almost onto her.
Twisting her wand, changing her grip so now she held it like a knife, she plunged it into the stony floor and screamed, "PALUDARIS!"
The floor rumbled and then bubbled. A flash of light blinded the room, and then there was a shallow swamp between her and Harry, barely fifteen feet in length and only a few inches in depth. It was muddy, waterlogged, and most importantly a bane of running.
It was her win.
Dropping her breathing technique, now wearing a full grin, she jabbed her wand in his direction, resuming her rapid bombarding of stunners.
Harry's slight smile remained placid. He didn't stop. Just a step away from the swamp, he kicked the floor and leapt.
Surely he couldn't jump fifteen feet?
He did.
He flew in an arc.
The time slowed down. The moment stretched to eternity. And in this fraction of a second, she came up with another attack.
He wouldn't be able to change direction while mid-air.
She aimed at his body and shot the silent stunner.
The jet of light streaked towards him, an inescapable thread of fate.
He curled his body inwards, dodging it, and landed right in front of her, on this side of the swamp. His hand struck out like a cobra, too fast to counterattack.
Her wand dropped behind him into the swamp with a light plop.
His blank face finally cracked as he pinned her wand arm against the wall. When she tried to use her clumsy left hand to punch him, he laughed and ducked under it, pressing himself against her body, practically sandwiching her, now pinning both her arms above her.
He wasn't sweaty. Even his breathing was even. And his exhale was hot on her face. His body was all lean muscles, hard and defined and beautiful. She could feel his firm chest squashed against hers. She could feel his strong legs flush against hers.
Her heart thundered. Her face warmed up. Surely from the exertion rather than the full body press.
"Yield?" He murmured, his lips almost brushing her cheek.
She could hear his smile.
"Yes," she mumbled, the sound of her beating heart louder than her words.
He kissed her cheek, as if consoling her for the loss, and stepped back, picking up her wand and handing it back to her. "That was a nice trick. Imitating Mum now, are we?"
"Why not?" She shrugged, her pounding heart finally calming now that they weren't pressed in such a scandalous position. She vanished the swamp and cleaned them up. "I almost got you."
"If you say so." He ducked her annoyed swipe with a laugh.
xXxXx~
"It almost looked like they kissed." Daphne flared her nose, her hand inching towards her wand. Yes, she was amazed by the spectacle. Yes, her view of 'squib' Harry changed. But awe was pushed aside by another prominent feeling. Envy.
She was so jealous. What she wouldn't give to change places with Harry and pin Rose like that. Even the mere thought made her stomach tingle in anticipation.
Hermione slapped her arm. "Get your mind out of the gutter. They're twins."
"Don't tell me you didn't think that trick was weird." She glared at them as they seemed to be talking about something. Bah! Why was his arm around her waist now? Why did he always have to touch her? Rose was hers.
"It was… a little weird," Hermione confessed, nodding slowly. "BUT it was an effective method. Unlike Rose, Harry can only rely on his body. So while pinning Rose's arms overhead might look improper to us from here, it was nothing more than a way to win for him. I doubt he'd have done that if Rose had accepted her defeat gracefully."
Daphne wasn't entirely convinced. Well, she had always been paranoid and had done her best chasing away any boy who showed interest in Rose. And while Harry might be the last person she should worry about, she had seen how close they were. She had been brought up with numerous 'secret' tales about pureblood families. She knew incest wasn't that rare in the wizarding world. It might not be practised openly, but it was still there. So unlike Hermione, she didn't have the full confidence in something like societal norms keeping them apart.
As the twins returned to them, Hermione shot her a warning look, and she nodded. It wasn't like she was going to accuse them outright.
"See? That's why I didn't want to duel him." Rose grumbled, elbowing him, appearing to not mind his arm around her waist. "He may not have magic, but he still kicks my arse."
'Let's hope it's just kicking.' Daphne thought.
"Daph!" Rose stepped close and flicked her on the forehead. "You just made that weird face when you think of something disgusting."
"I did not," she lied.
"Shall we duel now?" Hermione came to her rescue, shooting her an unimpressed look.
"Yes." She linked their elbows and walked away, sticking her tongue out at Rose.
~xXxXx~
At Malfoy Manor, a letter arrived from Phineas Nott—an invitation to the following day's 'festivity': a coordinated attack on the Quidditch World Cup to restore the honour of the once-infamous Death Eaters.
It appeared that Phineas Nott wished to restart the war and claim leadership of the crumbling, inactive brotherhood.
Lucius scoffed at the foolish old man and ignored it.
Draco, however, felt a spark of purpose at the sight of the letter. He read it, then read it again.
While his family slept, he slipped away to Nott Manor to hear the plan.
~xXxXx~
At ICW headquarters, Victor (Pride) and Velora (Wrath) Tricketts were summoned and assigned to guard the prestigious event: the Quidditch World Cup finals.
Victor merely shrugged and accepted the task, while Velora seethed inwardly, craving violence rather than this 'baby-sitting' duty.
She would be pleasantly surprised the next day.