This is a Multiple Personalities Fiction.

Pairings: Harry/ Daphne, Harry/ Fleur and Harry/ Tonks. This is not a Harem.

Disclaimer: An intricate web of memories and feelings, splattered with a multitude of colors, are experiences. Every experience has a facet, a different perspective under a different lens and experiences are the basis of Personality. Then isn't it strange that we possess a unique, unitary personality or is it that we simply lack perspective?

I do not own Harry Potter.

At the darkest hour on a Friday night, a lone silhouette crossed the entrance to the Auror department in the Ministry.

His footsteps were light, the movement appearing as though he was gliding on air, and the meager wind that managed to flow through these labyrinthine corridors couldn't ruffle the hem of the long, black cloak that nipped at his heels. A woolen cap adorned his head, hiding all of his curly dark hair except the few strands that escaped through the gaps, and the scarf tied around his neck obscured his sharp, beardless chin. His recalcitrant stance ensured that his robes only revealed his bright, sapphire blue eyes to anyone who found themselves curious.

Though such a secretive attire was overkill at a time when only a dozen people could be found wandering around, it was a necessary effort.

His ten-minute walk from one end of the Auror department to the other end finally brought him to the long corridor which led to one of the most unattended places in the department: The Archives. If Fudge was making up for the lack of quality Aurors with blatant disorganization to confuse spies then it was certainly working.

The light from the hall dimmed in intensity as he continued his steady pace down the corridor until his gait was abruptly ended at a door, unlit and ominous. He knocked on the door without much fanfare, unfazed by the drama, and the head of a bedraggled woman poked out. Her hair was a mess, with about half of it twisting and poking out of her ponytail, and the dark circles under her eyes did nothing to improve her appearance.

She peered into the darkness to see who's at the door at this time of the hour but found no one to her consternation. She rubbed at her eyes and shook her head, berating herself for imagining odd sounds – just another problem out of the million she was facing that night. She closed the door behind her and took a step forward, only to stumble back in fright. Her back hit the door and her wand appeared between her fingers.

There was a stranger leaning against her desk, facing her with a single folder in their hands.

It would've been scariest moment of her life if the man hadn't started rambling all of sudden. "Ah, excuse me. I was hoping I could leave without interfering but I find it a little strange that this case file has just a single paper. The case was filed nearly three months ago, regarding the disappearance of a ministry employee and yet all the information our nosy ministry could gather on her was this? Improbable..."

She did not lower her wand but he didn't appear concerned.

"There should be little to no chances of tampering. This is not a high profile case, is it? The woman was well known among colleagues yet isn't well-regarded. They are ones best to gossip about so it isn't an issue of negligence or forgetfulness. Sirius Black isn't caught, there is nothing happening except Quidditch, and there are plenty of members to spare to take up the case. Then why is it that only after three months later do they assign someone to this case?"

Only after finishing his monologue did he meet her eyes, blue on brown. "Something doesn't fit. Don't you think so, Ms. Rivera?"

"Wh-what?" she almost dropped her wand as his attention shifted to her. "How do you know my name?"

"It's on the tag," he responded dryly, pointing a finger at her badge. The letters 'Julie Rivera' were engraved into the metal in a flowery scribble.

An embarassed flush crept up her throat but she didn't budge. "And who are you?"

"Har–Harold," he tipped his hat, bringing it down further as though to hide his forehead. If his name 'Harry' was short for something, he had no idea about it, and Hedwig was the best example that he couldn't come up with stylish, modern names to save his life. "Harold Grim."

The resultant frown on her face at his peculiar name didn't abate until he dug into his cloak to conjure a badge – a shiny, metallic, silver-tinted one with the words 'Consultant Auror' engraved under the name 'Harold Grim.'

"Consultant Auror?" She whispered under her breath in confusion, unaware of any such job existing in the Auror forces.

"To put it simply, Ms. Rivera, when our Aurors find themselves out of their depth, which happens a little too often than you might guess, they seek assistance from experts," he pocketed the hastily conjured badge before his audience could get suspicious. "I am the expert."

A shimmer of comprehension entered her eyes, like the times when you meet a famous person you don't really know but pretend to be a fan. "It must be a difficult job..."

Harry gave a cryptic smile in response. "It's exciting enough."

"So you're here for your case files, Mr. Grim?" she asked, walking forward a little more confidently now that she knew his identity.

"Harold, please. Mr. Grim is too grim for my taste," he commented, eliciting an involuntary chuckle out of her. The Archives manager was almost standing beside him now, peeking over the folder to catch a glimpse of the single sheet of information they called a case file.

"Now, this is weird," she furrowed her brows as she scanned the paper. "I knew Bertha. Last I heard, she was helping Mr. Crouch with a tournament or something. The whole thing was really hush hush even here in the ministry."

'Tournament? Is it the Quidditch world cup? But why is there the need to be secretive if its Quidditch?' Harry mused to himself. 'Crouch Sr.? Isn't he the head of magical relations, cooperation or something...then this must be something that involves different countries..."

"Harold?" Rivera spoke out hesitantly when Harry began to mumble to himself. That shook the Consultant Auror out of his reverie. "Um, I don't think I can be of much help here...I just take care of the records."

"Believe me, you're doing better work than half the Auror department," Harry replied without skipping a beat, making her shift her gaze bashfully. "But what I don't get is how such a high profile case just slipped under the radar."

"I can check who accessed the file before, maybe that might help you?"

Harry blinked, as though the notion of someone willing to pitch in a little effort was foreign to him. "Yes, that would be great."

Rivera twisted on her heels with an urgency that honestly unnerved the consultant, and rushed over to the shelves containing thousands of folders. She shuffled through the documents like a woman possessed until she stumbled upon a relatively recent file. "Here! What's the case number?"

"12794," Harry replied, watching her intently as she shuffled through the parchments. But when the seconds slowly trickled down into minutes, he began to cede another victory to ministry disorganization.

Harry: 0 Ministry: 96

"I found it!" The words never sounded so sweet when heard from another mouth. "Case number: 12794. There's only one entry here...says that this file was accessed almost a month ago by...An Auror trainee?"

The grin that formed on Harry's face could probably frighten a Death Eater. He ambled over to the shelves and glanced at the name written on a corner of the brown parchment.

Nymphadora Tonks.

Her first name was penned in a chicken scrawl, seeming barely legible whereas her second name was written in neat cursive. It wouldn't take a genius to deduce how she liked to be addressed. The grin playing on Harry's lips only got wider as he remembered the image of a pink-haired, bubbly girl and then the picture of the same girl but now in an Auror uniform, trying to seem threatening but which only served to earn more teasing from him.

Finally! A truly interesting case. No details. A villain who left no mark of his steps. Interference from a third party. A single clue connected to a character who was as clumsy as she was captivating.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the exhilaration of an impending chase pumping adrenaline through his body while his mind started going through all the possible scenarios and deductions.

It's a wonder he wasn't already shivering from excitement.

"Harold, y-you're shaking," the voice of the Archives manager broke through his euphoria.

Harry gazed down to find his hands trembling until he released the breath he didn't know he was holding. This little detour in the middle of the night turned out to be more productive than he expected. He withdrew the case file no. 12794 from the folder in his hands and slipped it into his pocket; Not that anyone would miss it.

"Thank you, Ms. Rivera," Harry inclined his head in gratitude. "It's always a pleasant surprise to find someone competent here."

She nodded shyly and fidgeted in her place before finding the courage to speak out. "You're welcome, Mr. Gr – I mean, Harold."

Harry gave another bow of his head and turned on his heels to walk out of the room. Just as he was about to close the door behind him, the Archive Manager rushed over to him and stopped by the door.

"Um, if you ever need any more assistance, I'll be happy to help," she blurted out and then flushed a bright red at her own boldness.

"It gets boring here..." she reasoned unconvincingly.

"You know what, Ms. Rivera?" the cryptic smile returned to his face. "I just might take you up on that offer."

Early in the morning at the break of dawn, the shadow of Harold Grim darkened the footsteps of the Tonks Residence. He had been waiting there for the past few minutes, contemplating all of his life's decisions that led him to that point in life.

He really didn't want to be there.

He rapped his knuckles on the door, wishing he could disapparate before it clicked open. The knock on the door couldn't have sounded any lighter even if done with a feather. At least now, he had the plausible excuse that the residents of the house were busy sleeping when he arrived.

He spent the next few seconds gazing around the vicinity to alleviate his boredom. Plants of every kind decorated the well-maintained garden, ranging from the common Hibiscus to the rare mandrake. The gardening tools placed haphazardly in a corner indicated that magic didn't have a hand in the maintenance. His Aunt Petunia would have a fit out of jealousy if her eyes ever alighted this place.

Flower beds lined the boundary, vines crept upon the walls, dirt marred the roots but hidden beneath these common garden plants were magical herbs, growing under the sanctuary of their non-magical siblings. The pungent scent of some of the herbs was masked by the fragrance of the flowers surrounding them like guardsmen – such an ingenious way of cultivating magical flora in a muggle neighborhood. Whoever designed this garden had a wit that was far above the common witch or wizard.

His scrutiny was cut short by the click of a lock and he shifted his stare to the stunning brunette who answered the door. Despite being in her forties, Andromeda Tonks possessed a natural beauty that wouldn't wane with time. Her kind demeanor did nothing to hide her aristocratic features and hidden underneath her calm gaze was a cunning seldom seen. She was adorned in her light-blue sleeping robes, with messed up hair and bleary eyes, looking for all intents like a grumpy housewife.

Though the wand clutched in her hand would dispel any notions of her being a normal homemaker.

"I am looking for a Nymphadora Tonks?" his social skills left a lot to be desired.

If she found his behavior strange, Mrs. Tonks didn't comment. From the slight hunch of her shoulders, this must've been a common occurrence. "What did my daughter do this time?"

"Other than accessing files far above her authority, nothing much," Harry replied in a dismissive tone, hoping she'd understand that he wasn't here to haul her daughter off to Azkaban.

Mrs. Tonks released a sigh that bespoke of years of suffering. "That troublesome girl. So, you're her superior..."

"No, I'm more of a coworker," he flashed her the 'Consultant Auror' badge for confirmation. For those who could notice, Mrs. Tonks loosened her grip on the wand at the world 'coworker' and her posture lightened imperceptibly. "I'm dealing with the case that your daughter took an interest in."

"Please come in," Mrs. Tonks moved to the side to let him enter the house. "I am Andromeda Tonks, Nymphadora's mother."

"Harold Grim," Harry responded with a tilt of his head as he stepped into the hall. "And yes, even I find my family name odd."

"I'm hardly one to talk," Andromeda smiled with good humor. "Is the attire a part of the job?"

"As you know, with your daughter being an Auror, one can never be too cautious in this field."

"You can feel at home here, Mr. Grim. I am not one to see and tell."

"Harold, please," To any person, her offbeat comment might seem innocuous but for those trained to notice these little details, it was evident that there's more to Mrs. Tonks than what it seemed.

He knew that his cloak and cap made him seem not just a little dangerous, what with him hiding his visage from sight at all times. She was clever enough to suggest him to take off his cloak without actually implying it.

He took a scarf out of his cloak pocket and wrapped it around his neck, hiding the lower part of his face again. Then he shrugged off his cloak and cap before hanging them on the stand by the door.

Unlike him, Mrs. Tonks couldn't hide the smile from playing on her lips at his tactic. But her expression turned into one of shock when she noticed how young he appeared. Masked by the cloak was the lean body of a teenager, dressed in a gray t-shirt and blue jeans. Unrestricted by the woolen cap, his messy black hair fell down to his neck and the sides of his face until only his sharp, blue eyes were in sight.

"I didn't know the Auror department was hiring teenagers," Andromeda remarked casually but the suspicion in her eyes was back in full force. She took a seat in the chair while gesturing at him to occupy the one opposite to hers.

"Consultant Auror, Mrs. Tonks," Harry replied without missing a beat. "I help Aurors with their cases, more like solve their cases for them."

"And what is it that my daughter did?"

"I can't reveal any of the intricate details but I am working on a missing person case and the last person who handled the case file is your daughter," Harry crisscrossed his fingers as he leaned back in his chair. "I am hoping she might know something I don't."

"She's just an Auror Trainee, Harold. She might not even know much," Mrs. Tonks frowned. "You're telling me that this info will help you solve the case?"

Harry could hardly fault her for her skepticism. People never believe in the magic that details could produce unless witnessed first-hand. "People always try to escape their past, Mrs. Tonks, but what most never realize is that the past always catches up to you."

"Powerful magical wards around a simple home, probably cast by yourself. How did I know? There's a reason I knocked so softly, Mrs. Tonks. You knew I was standing outside the moment I stepped inside the gate," Andromeda had a niggling feeling in her brain saying that she wouldn't like what was about to occur. But her guest continued uninterrupted. "Muggle appliances in the garden and kitchen despite being proficient at charms. It shows that you're averse to using magic for simple things, I can even dare to say that you hate it.

"Why? Tonks is not a Pureblood family name. It's through marriage. You must be from a reputed Pureblood family, immensely prideful of their heritage and magic; They probably abhor all things muggle. Yet here you are, surrounded by muggle objects. My guess? You fell in love in school, tried to convince your parents despite knowing they'd never agree. Their reaction must've been worse than what you expected."

"So you must've eloped. Cut off contact with every aspect of your past life. You've grown so distant that you hate what you once were."

"The way you held the wand when you opened the door...it's a dueling stance – Allows quick movement while giving less area for the enemy to attack. The wards around the house and your stance indicate that you're very good at Defense Against Dark Arts and Charms. You could've been a wonderful Auror. Yet you chose to be a healer. Yes, I've noticed the magical herbs in the garden. Why?"

"One reason I'm sure is your daughter. A lot of accidents happen in my field of work, and it's even truer when you have such a fiery-spirited child. Being a healer would resolve half your worries. But before your daughter was born? There must be someone in your family, deep into the dark arts and Pureblood dogma. Someone you'd definitely have to face on the battlefield had you been an Auror. Someone very close to you."

"Am I right, Andromeda Black?" The silence that followed his rant was deafening. Harry met the eyes of Mrs. Tonks, and for a second, Andromeda felt like he was staring into her soul. "Every detail matters."

It was only her Pureblood grooming that helped Andromeda to suppress the shiver that traversed down her spine. With a sigh, she responded, "Nymphadora isn't home, hasn't been for two days. Last I've seen her, she said she's helping Auror Kingsley with a case. Something related to the Quidditch World Cup."

Harry's eyes lit up at the mention of the World Cup, and his grip on his fingers tightened; The excitement was too to bear. "Then it's urgent that you tell her to meet me before the day of the Finals."

"Why?" Andromeda's hesitation disappeared at the notion that her daughter might be at harm, replaced by the cold eyes of a Black scion.

Harry shot up to his feet before replying, "The game is on, Mrs. Tonks, and the players are far above the level of a common Auror."

"What aren't you telling me?" She demanded, rising up to her feet to stand eye to eye with him.

Harry simply smiled in response. "I'd have told you already if I knew anything else. All I'm aware is that someone already started moving their pieces from the background"

Andromeda grit her teeth at the evasive reply – it was like talking to a younger Dumbledore. But there wasn't much she could do – She could hardly threaten an Auror to reveal all their secrets. "So what should I tell Nymphadora when she comes home?"

"Tell her 'Grim' was here," His smile turned into a playful smirk. Just imagining her reaction was enough to make him giddy with amusement. "She'd understand."

With that, the consultant Auror disapparated, blindly powering through all the wards she'd placed around her home. Whether his show of power was to reassure her or threaten her, Andromeda didn't know.

All she understood was that…the noise of someone walking down the steps interrupted her musings.

Ted Tonks rubbed at his eyes to shake off his sleepiness but seeing his wife standing in the middle of the hall, with her wand in hand and her face pale as a sheet, was enough to make him lose the last vestiges of sleep. "Who was that?"

"That, my dear, is the craziest man I've ever met."

Icy-blue eyes were the last thing Harry remembered of the dream. As was usual these days, his sleep last night was plagued by images of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl. While they were much better than nightmares filled with red-eyes and sickly, green light, he desired to know how a good night's sleep felt like.

The clamor of the Burrow worked as an excellent alarm, Harry mused to himself as he stretched in his bed; Although, that particular advantage was offset by Ron's snoring. His chin length bangs shielded his bright-green irises from the morning rays but they did nothing to protect him from the displeasure of an irate Hermione, who was standing at the foot of his bed with her hands on his waist.

"Can I just say you look absolutely fine in the morning?" Harry grinned roguishly, eliciting a blush and an eye-roll from his best friend. If a compliment was what it took to evade her annoyed complaints, then he was all for it.

"Sirius is a terrible influence on you," Hermione managed to reply after she regained her composure.

"I have you to balance it out, don't I?" Harry gave her a one-armed hug from his position on the bed.

Hermione shook her head with a smile, making her bushy hair bounce around her head. She glanced sideways to check up on Ron, only to find the redhead drooling on the pillow. Harry didn't need to see her scrunch up her nose to be aware of her distaste. "Wake up Ron before Mrs. Weasley comes up."

Harry responded with a nod, leaving Hermione to walk out the door but not before she glanced back at him with a frown on her lips. Harry smiled back and hoped that it was enough to alleviate her doubts for now. Once she was out of sight, Harry's smile disappeared out of trace and he fell back onto the bed with a sigh.

It was a tiring charade to hide his exhaustion behind cheerful grins. It had been a month since he had last slept peacefully, and even dreamless sleep potions weren't much help. If not for glamour charms, people would start assuming he was living a double life by night.

And that's the last thing he needed. After three chaotic years of schooling, Harry hoped that at least this year would be a normal one – if thrice is a pattern, he didn't want to know what they said about the fourth.

His early morning existential crisis was averted by the sound of Ron rising to wakefulness. Plastering the fake smile back onto his face, he turned to greet his other friend, with thoughts revolving around double-lives and a particular Slytherin.

His landing after traveling through a shoe/portkey to the location where the Quidditch World Cup Finals were occurring was less than graceful. It helped that the others didn't fare any better. He shook off the cobwebs to find the red hair of Ginny Weasley greeting his sight.

The youngest Weasley was still recovering from the precarious travel, and falling into his lap of all things didn't help matters. Suppressing a smile and a groan, he helped her to her feet before she could turn into a puddle of goo at his feet.

But to his surprise, she hardly seemed fazed when she slipped a hand around her shoulders to steady her on her feet. "Thanks, Harry."

"It's fine," Harry gave a half-smile that turned into a grin at his next statement. "Sirius told me to always help a pretty girl in need."

Ginny averted her eyes, and her blush spread down to the roots of her. While a part of him was despairing on the inside, a tiny, selfish part of him was feeling relieved that in these times of change, at least some things remained the same. He crushed that part with extreme prejudice.

Hermione elbowed him in the waist once Ginny was out of earshot. "Don't lead her on."

"I'm not," Harry mumbled with a wince. "I'm just following Sirius's advice."

"Sirius is a serial womanizer," Hermione deadpanned at his reasoning. "And his advice doesn't help when the girl has a Hogwarts sized crush on you."

"Hmm," Harry nodded as he smoothed his imaginary beard, imitating Dumbledore. "I can see your logic."

"Don't make me hit you again."

"I don't understand why we have to fetch water when we can use a simple 'Aguamenti'," Hermione complained as she walked beside him. "It's not like we're going to drink any of it."

"Why are you complaining when I'm the one carrying the buckets?" Harry asked dryly, dodging some of the enthusiastic Quidditch fans who jumped in his way.

"I'm not complaining, Harry," Hermione tilted her chin up as though such behavior was beneath her but the flushed tips of her ears betrayed her. "It's just an academic curiosity."

Harry's reply to that particular excuse was cut off by the appearance of a familiar blue-eyed Slytherin. After seeing her so many times in his dreams, it was almost surreal to witness her in real life again. But that didn't stop him from immediately ducking behind one of the tents, dragging his best friend along with him.

"What are you -"

"Shh," Harry stopped her exposing their location to the enemy by taking the mature route of placing his palm over her mouth. "It's Greengrass!"

Hermione reacted like the adult she pretended to be by biting his hand. "Your crush, you mean."

Hermione sounded so smug at knowing a secret of his that others didn't that Harry wondered if he was one of her supposed academic curiosities.

"It's not a crush, Hermione!" Harry uttered the word as though it's a notion eviler than Voldemort. "Who knows what love potions she mixed into my drinks when I wasn't looking? I'm sure the snarky git supplies the Slytherins with every potion they need."

"She didn't give you any love potions, Harry," It was evident from Hermione's tone that this was not the first time they had this discussion.

"You think it's some dark magic?" he asked in a horrified whisper.

"Yes, it's dark magic," Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose at her friend's obliviousness. "A dark magic called puberty. It's just when boys start noticing girls."

"Of course it's not puberty," Harry dismissed her answer without a moment of thought. "You went through puberty too, didn't you? It's not like I suddenly started noticing you as a girl because..."

Here he shifted his gaze from her face to her chest, as though to prove a point, and suddenly, he forgot just what he was trying to prove – such was his surprise. His friend had grown in the time he hadn't seen her. Noticing it now, he couldn't figure out how on earth it had gone unnoticed by him the past few days.

He was broken out of his stupor by Hermione pushing him away from her, while she shielded her chest with her hands and glared daggers at him. But the glare was nullified by the atomic blush on her face.

Fortunately or unfortunately, her pushing him away made him land on his ass and fall right into the path of the very girl he was trying to avoid.

"What a pleasant day, isn't it, Miss Greengrass?" Harry asked nonchalantly from his position on the ground and tried to rise up to his feet with as much grace as he could – which wasn't much, if he was being honest.

Daphne Greengrass quirked an eyebrow as she stared at the scene in front of her, the simple action seeming more graceful that what he could accomplish in his entire life – though that might be his infatuation influencing him.

"Boy problems, Granger?" Daphne made it sound even more demeaning that it appeared. He hadn't thought that was possible.

"It's not what you're thinking," Harry tried to defend himself but the skeptical glance she directed his way quelled any arguments he might've had. "Okay, it's exactly what you're thinking."

Hermione smacked him on the head before he could defile her dignity any further and attempted to divert the topic. "Where are you going, Daphne?"

"Just taking a walk," Daphne replied casually, ignoring the betrayed look Harry sent towards Hermione.

He had no idea they were friends. Looking back, he must've questioned why Hermione was so accepting of this Gryffindor-Slytherin romance – It was entirely against her MO to agree to anything without making a binder of research about it.

"Mind if we join?" Hermione, the little sadist, asked nonchalantly. "We're going the same way."

'We're not going the same way,' Harry screamed inside his head as he tried to murder his best friend with his looks. Hermione disregarded the looks with acquired patience.

Daphne gave a shrug in response and started walking again, followed by a triumphant-looking Hermione and a reluctant Harry.

Harry stayed silent most of the way, remaining tongue-tied in front of his crush while Hermione enjoyed the little victory as she conversed with her close friend Daphne. He'd expected a betrayal of this magnitude from Ron but Hermione turned out to be the hidden Dark Lady of their little group.

Harry gathered his courage, thinking back upon his battle with the Basilisk and standing against a hundred dementors, as he tried to scrounge up a few words of interest – Not for the first time, he cursed the Durselys for his irrational fear of emotional aspects of life.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, he was cut off by the confused shouts of a group of muggles at the corner of the Quidditch grounds. The cause of their confusion stood a few meters away, surrounded by two other friends and a wand in their hand.

Three Pureblood scions were subtly charming the clothes and accessories of the muggles, making the objects fly around like annoyed birds, occasionally dragging a muggle into the air with them. What must've started as a simple act of fum must've gone out of hand, as was usually the case when bigoted Purebloods were involved.

It would've been funny if his was a shriveled heart, with the sense of humor of a rabid animal.

There was a spike of anger that bashed against his mind at their actions, and it slowly morphed into a steady thrum as one of the muggle women started bawling her eyes out as her skirt tried to imitate a parachute.

"Aren't you going to do anything, Golden boy?" Daphne commented, a teasing smirk on her face but her eyes conveyed her actual emotions. They were cold as a glacier. "I thought this was right up your alley."

It would be a cold day in hell when a Slytherin was required to goad a Gryffindor to rush head first into trouble. He'd do it anyway.

"We should call the Aurors -" Hermione tried to be the voice of reason but Harry was already moving.

There was a rage knocking at the door in his mind, waiting to be let out - Like a prisoner who's found a chance to escape. He could feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins, singing at the sweet relief of release, and the door in his mind started to buckle.

The lead member of the Pureblood trio looked back at the sound of their approach, his eyes glancing over Harry and Hermione but resting upon the blank visage of Daphne. He was a brunette with eyes of the same color, adorned in elegant blue robes but the elegance was upset by a muggle leather belt he was wearing around the neck – It wasn't hard to deduce where it came from.

"Miss Greengrass, it's a pleasant surprise to find you here," the boy, who appeared to be a few older than Harry, remarked with what he must've thought to be a charming smile. "Care to join in the fun?"

"I'd pass, Adrian," Daphne's smile was a terrifying thing.

"Friends of yours, I take it?" Harry's voice could dry out a lake.

"Another one of the long list of Purebloods trying to court me," Daphne made it sound like it was a proud fact but there was no chance of mistaking her disdain for anything else.

Harry didn't understand why he was feeling so angry. It might be at the thought of all the things that rich Purebloods got away with. It might be at the reality of finding that the wizarding world he dreamed of wasn't all he hoped it would be. Or it might be that thought of nameless idiots bothering the girl he liked. But these reasons could hardly induce what he was feeling. It's natural, he appeased himself with a thought – After all, rage was meant to be irrational.

The door in his mind shattered open.

"You know that's not how you wear a belt, right?" Harry commented out of the blue. "Belts go around the waist and leashes go around the neck."

Adrian blinked in confusion and glanced back at his friends to see if they knew the green-eyed stranger. They were just as clueless. "What?"

"Belts are for people, and leashes are for dogs, Adrian," Harry explained patiently as one would to a kid. "It's fine if you can't tell what you are. Looking at you, even I can't tell the difference."

Daphne snickered out of her own accord and attempted to mask it with a cough. But the damage was done. Even if they couldn't tell what he was going on about, the insult was plain as a day, especially in the presence of another reputable Pureblood.

And his opponent acted just as he had expected.

Adrian pointed his wand at Harry, a curse on his lips, but the next moment, his wand flew out of his hand and landed in between Harry's waiting fingers.

Twirling the wand between his fingers, Harry pointed the wand at the ground and released the burst of air. The gust of wind kicked up the loose dust into the air, creating a obstructive screen between the two groups, and the next moment, two more wands came flying out of the dust and disappeared into the thick shrubbery around them.

It all happened in a blink.

The dust settled down after a second to display the dumbfounded visages of his three opponents. Bereft of their wands, the arrogance on their faces had shifted to something more natural – doubt.

"How does it feel to be to be powerless?" Harry's words pierced through the shock of his audience.

Daphne's eyes widened behind her curtain of blonde hair at the spectacle but she recovered faster than her bushy-haired friend, partly in thanks to her Occlumency practice. Obscured by her unperturbed expression, her thoughts were running a mile per second.

She knew that despite Malfoy's constant attempts to prove otherwise, Harry Potter was arguably the best at defense in their year, and probably had the best reflexes out of anyone she knew. But never had the gap seemed so insurmountable.

She hadn't even seen him take out his wand.

Adrian, who appeared to have gathered his wits, took a threatening step forward. "Do you know who I -"

"Probably from Pureblood family I don't care about," Harry interrupted impatiently with a roll of his eyes. Everyone's so predictable, a part of his mind whined, it's no fun at all. "But your wand tells me what you are."

"Birchwood, 7 and a half inches, short and stout," Harry remarked as he examined the wand. "Good for attacking and dueling. Your spells have more power than average. But that's balanced by your rigid personality, hard to change and adapt. Dragon heartstring core. You're loyal to no one but yourself. Some might even call you selfish. Nothing remarkable."

"You have the potential to be good, Adrian," Harry shifted his probing stare from the wand to its owner. "But you'll never be great."

Finished with his analysis, Harry twirled the wand one last time on his palm to bait his opponent and hurled it into a family of tents in the distance. "Go fetch."

Harry twisted on his heels, turning his back to his opponent without any concern, and started to walk away. But the devil in his mind couldn't help but take one last parting shot at the Pureblood.

"If you ever have thoughts of revenge, the name's Harry Potter," he said as he swept his bangs to the side. As was customary, Adrian's gaze moved to his forehead, settling on the lightning-bolt shaped scar. "Fourth-year student at Hogwarts and according to some people, a part-time vigilante."

Daphne had the tact to avert her eyes. Harry gave a tilt of his head in farewell as he started walking again, unaware of the pair of blue eyes staring at his retreating back with undisguised curiosity.

Deciding upon her next course of action, Daphne started following him, with an insensate Hermione close on her heels. If Daphne's gait contained a little more enthusiasm than before, nobody had commented upon it.

"That was stupid of you to give your identity away," Daphne criticized once they were a safe distance away from prying ears. She'd rather be sorted again into Hufflepuff than be seen praising the Gryffindor golden boy.

"There aren't a lot of green-eyed, messy-haired, fourteen-year-old boys I know. Experience tells me that I am easy to recognize," Harry chuckled ruefully but his humor died out quickly when he noticed that his two companions didn't find it as funny. "Suppose if I didn't tell them my name, who would they direct their ire towards?"

Me, Daphne mumbled to herself. Harry let her come to her own conclusions regarding his actions and remained silent.

"You're not what I imagined, Potter," Daphne said after a period of silence.

"And what did you imagine?" Harry asked out of interest.

"A dimwit who rushes into everything without thinking," she replied, seeming utterly unapologetic.

'She certainly doesn't mince words,' Harry thought with a wince.

Daphne halted in her tracks in front of a huge, luxurious tent, and Harry caught sight of a blonde-haired, angelic woman through the opening of the flap of the tent.

"But it looks like there's more to you than what it seems," Daphne's stare was too scrutinizing for his comfort. Her usual dull, icy-blue eyes glowed with a new light at the living mystery standing in front of her.

She stepped forward, invading his personal space without mercy, and Harry felt a shiver go down his spine at the sight of the mischievous smirk playing on her lips – every dream of his these days was haunted by that very smirk. "Long hair suits you."

Harry sputtered in embarrassment, his earlier confidence disappearing in the face of a teenage girl. He swept his hand through his hair and immediately pulled it away once he became self-conscious of his actions. "Thanks?"

Daphne's smirk blossomed into a laugh as she stared his mortified form with a twinkle in her eye. "See you, Potter. Granger."

She gave a curtsy, and disappeared into the tent, leaving Harry to slowly recover his composure.

"Still think it's dark magic?" Hermione whispered from his side. She was in her own world til then, no doubt wondering about his brief one-sided duel – She'd make the Spanish Inquisition seem kind in comparison to her interrogation later, Harry was sure.

Harry sighed, shaking his head to dislodge the image of that damning smirk from his mind. It was a futile effort. "Definitely."

Daphne still wore the smile on her face once she was inside the tent. Her exhilaration was boundless when she stumbled upon new mysteries to solve, and this one promised to be fascinating.

Her mother, aware of her unusual quirks, simply sighed in resignation. "Who's that boy, Daphne?"

To her mother's surprise, her smile only got wider and more maniacal at the question.

"That, mum, is the weirdest boy I've ever met."

For the first time, Evelyn Greengrass was more worried for the person behind her daughter's obsession.