Chapter Title: Hogwarts Newsletter (PART ONE of FOUR)
Timeframe: Various
Characters Involved: Daphne Greengrass, Harry Potter, and Teddy Lupin. (Mentions of Theodore Nott, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley)
Point of View: Daphne Greengrass
Notes: Well, I got a bit of inspiration and not a whole lotta time. (Mason, this is for you, you panda threatening man. I expect glorious comments from you, I traded a few hours of my thesis writing for this shit).
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all it's affiliated trademarks are copyrighted by Warner Bros and JK Rowling, I own nothing here.
Spring of 2002
When Daphne Greengrass walked into Circe Hall in St. Mungo's that Tuesday morning, she knows her life is going to change forever. It wasn't an exaggeration, of precarious feelings and nervous discomfort, it's just that warm tingle settling into her. Something is going to happen today — and she knows it deep within her soul.
Maybe that's the reason why she chose to wear a solid green [Slytherin pride in bright neutral tones, mein gott. She loves muggle fashion, it's so wonderfully diverse] long sleeved shift dress she bought from some corner store in Oxford Street; it's decadently odd compared to the rest of the hoi polloi that fills wixen London — accenting her boyish figure with slight curves and highlighting her legs that seem go on forever. She's been called names not worth repeating and deemed a woman of poor character; the scandal she created was the pièce de résistance of all the old rumours and wives' tales that starred her as the calculating blonde waif with lips red as poisoned apples.
She sometimes like to think she's Snow White, but that's a lie. Everybody knows she's more of Sleeping Beauty — a hidden gem guarded by dragons and thorns; the pomegranate of wixen London's society débutantes — beauty fair, with sunshine in her hair.
Princesses are born: women like her? Born into the right family, at the right time, at the right place, it's inevitable for her to be anything else. [ the Honourable Daphne Charlotte Eleanor, the heiress of the Noble House of Greengrass ] But monsters? Them big scary things that lurk in the dark in wait; those that howl to the moon in penance, in warning, in grace; the ones who concoct the darkest of magics to burn their souls into something so dreadful it becomes spectacular and their name remains in the infamy of history?
They're made.
They're created from ashes of disgrace; from injuries of isolation; from drowning of regrets and pain. Monsters are just the alternative of heroes, they're the ones that had bad press and mistaken ideals. They're the ones that took the right turn, when they needed to go left — a person flawed enough to be beaten down that unwanted path.
Theo and her were almost perfect: childhood sweethearts turned lovers, surviving the war through staying in the continent and playing neutral, disowning those that chose a side — but war is war, and there is no escape, even if the gardens of Amsterdam held repose.
Pressure got to them; little whispers of deceit and fanged manipulations of the vanguard. Their flaws taking centre stage and burning the surrounding structures along with it. Theo never did well under pressure and Daphne was too proud; they razed their lives and salted the earth — leaving one of them a squib and another disowned.
It was a scandal of epic proportions.
[But they're friends now, sort of. Theo made her realise she was more than a bumbling society wife made to do his bidding and Daphne helped him blend in muggle London and concretise his dreams of being a culinary artisan.
They were friends first, lovers second. It was easy to return to their banter once they realised hurting each other was too tiring — they'll get even with each other later anyway. They're too much of a Slytherin to let that kind of thinking go.]
So, when she bumps into someone, a cup of scalding hot coffee burning her arm and staining her dress, she thinks that maybe, that something that she feels, it's not anything good.
Fuck.
"Merlin!" Daphne yelped, jumping a good few inches back and flicking her wand in vain to try and save her dress. "That was scalding, you blighter! How on earth could you be able to drink that?"
Her assailant (because that's what he is, an assailant: bumping into her as she was minding her own business, getting lost in her thoughts) snorted. His posture relaxing into a lazy slouch of casual disinterest than the panicked alertness he had a mere moment ago. Daphne's opinion of him dives a few bars lower, with the artfully mused hair that makes him look like he just got out of the right side of the wrong bed and ran out before breakfast was served and the knitted jumper she knows he got out of some bargain bin in one of those charity shops that contain clothes older than her mother and donate all proceeds to medical research.
"First off, the name's Harry." he drawled out, tilting his head in bemusement. "Merlin's a bit too arrogant, 'specially at this time of day, but if you insist, why not?"
She let out an indignant squeak, because what in the name of the nine circles of hell?
"Second, ever had a bloody hangover? Burning your tongue with a good dose of caffeine keeps you from puking your guts out. Or maybe that's just me. I don't know, it was discount beer night and I'm never one to turn down a few cheap pints of Guinness."
"You know," she started, ice coating her words and steel forming in her spine. "There is a potion for that, you might've heard of it. It's part of basic medical evals, if you did that sort of thing."
"Now, now, snow queen." he raised his hands in surrender and vanishing the remains of the cup to merlin-knows-where. "No need for the claws. It's too damn early for that."
"Of course," a brow raised, glimmer fighting to show in her eyes. "Too much of a remedy might make your system compromised. Resistance is such a hard thing to develop, Healer-Candidate Potter."
"Isn't that supposed to be 'resistance is futile' or something of that sort?"
A hum, "I don't know; maybe in your case it is." she quipped, adding a soft flick towards the fringe that covers the legendary scar on his forehead. "Example A."
He stares at her and she half thinks that with eyes like that, those kind of looks should be illegal [it's downright chilling, the way the colour eyes resemble that of the avada] and half oh shit, did I go too far, but then he laughs.
She, Daphne Greengrass, made him, Harry Potter laugh: loud and reverberating the halls and making all heads turn to their direction in slight wonderment because c'mon, the Gryffindor golden boy (because that title is more important right now than being the man-who-conquered) is laughing with a former Slytherin.
( and that, my dear, was the start of a beautiful friendship.
though Harry got her name much, much later because he is a doofus who didn't ask and was too afraid to ask when they suddenly had morning coffees together in the candidates lounge. )
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Summer of 2003
"So, what did you write?" Harry asked as he shifted his mini-me in his arms. It has never failed to surprise Daphne, even though that she's been privy to their interactions for the past year, that whenever they're together Teddy morphs into a younger version of Harry — the same messy black hair and bright green eyes, a sharp jawline that verges on cutting and clear pale skin. If she didn't know better, she'd think they're father and son.
(In a way, they are. Or they will be. Andromeda's sick, and if the diagnostics are right, she'll be dying.)
"Write?" she replies, fluttering her eyes as to create the illusion of a fanciful girl lost in thought. ( A technique that everyone bar Harry buys, 'tis a shame. ) "What are you talking about?" she smiled, sliding towards his side and tucking herself under his arm.
"Miss Daphy!" Teddy quietly shrieks, excited in a way five year old boys fresh from football (which is a more concise and boring form of muggle quidditch) practice are.
(Teddy's eyes change from forest green to ocean blue to heterochromatic galaxies to forest green in a span of ten seconds — breathtaking, but also terrifying.)
Harry adjusts his hold on his ward, as Teddy clings tighter to his godfather's shoulders. Daphne wraps an arm around Harry's waist and another clutching the strap of Teddy's bright purple gym tote.
(She assumes they look like a family: a couple who picked up their son from a day of sport and traversing through Islington. Fuck that.)
She grins, bright and cheery and for a moment she could swear the little beast change his features to fit into hers a little bit better. "Little Kavik! What's your papa talking about? Did I miss an important occasion?"
"No!" he squawked, his legs kicking into Harry's torso leading to the pointed glares sent towards her person. "Miss Daphy 'members ev'rything."
The hero-worship is lovely, and the symbiotic attachment they developed with each other is frightening. (Which is why she enforced being called Miss Daphy, because Auntie Daphne, or merlin-forbid, Mummy, will be the end of her. She knows. It will the her ruin.) But she wasn't the only one, Harry is a sucker for his godchild: the only being in the entire planet that he hasn't built a resistance to. (Well, along with snitch catching bookworms, but that's another thing entirely.)
"See, Hazza." she said, as she delivered a laughter filled peck to Teddy's cheek and ignoring his offended snarl of stop calling me that, Daphne! (which will never happen, because c'mon, those tabloids are onto something. ) "Even Teddy doesn't know what your're talking about."
"The newsletter, blondie." a quiet huff and laughter from a bouncing child. "What'd you send in?"
"Ah, that." she says, before smiling conspiratorially and letting all the glitter fade into her eyes. "You'll just have to wait and see, Hazza."
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Hogwarts Class of 1998
Fifth Anniversary Report
HARRY JAMES POTTER. Address London, England. Occupation Healer, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries; Reserve Auror [Medical Grade] - Department of Magical Law Enforcement [Auror Office]. Accomplishments Order of Merlin, First Class - Ministry of Magic; Mastery in Warding - Gringotts; Mastery in Charms - Stonehenge Guilds; Mastery in Healing - St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Ward Edward Remus, b. 21 April, 1998.
Harry Potter is alive and well, thanks to the numerous efforts of my friends and no thanks to the multi-day shifts, 3AM call times, 9PM bedtime bye byes, and the drunken fumblings that double as efforts into stealing my virtue by a certain blue eyed beauty that shall remain nameless because of various reasons and none of which shall be named.
(And no, it's not because I'm scared of her, Ron. Piss off.)
(Also, you're more scared of her than I am. )
Furthermore, he is not looking for a wife, a girlfriend, or even a date. He is also not looking for advisors, new job offers, or being a private defence instructor even if you will pay him a hundred thousand galleons. He's happy with his day job as a healer (and reserve auror, may he never be called into the field ever again, amen), even if the pay does not equal the work and stress it brings.
Harry Potter wishes everyone a happy fifth anniversary for their supposed graduation date, even if half the names on the list (including his own) did not finish his studies (but was given an honourary diploma, which you know, thanks super) from the fine institution that is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
DAPHNE CHARLOTTE ELEANOR GREENGRASS. Address London, England. Occupation Healer, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Accomplishments Mastery in Potions - Stonehenge Guilds; Mastery in Herbology - Keukenhof Guilds; Mastery in Healing - St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Come writers and critics, who prophesize with your pen; keep your eyes wide open, the chance won't come again.
Don't speak too soon, for the wheels still in spin. There's no telling who that it's naming, for the loser now will be later to win.
For the times, they're changing.
Come senators and congressmen, please heed the call. Don't stand in the door way, don't block the hall.
For he who gets hurt, will be the who has stalled, there's a battle outside, and it's raging.
It'll soon shake your windows and rattle your walls - for the times, they're changing.
Come mothers and fathers throughout the land, do not criticise what you don't understand for your sons and daughters are already beyond your command.
(I don't have anything to say, so let me sing to you Bob Dylan's hit. Have a happy fifth graduation anniversary everyone.)
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Fall of 2003
"So," Harry says as he leaned in to whisper in Daphne's ear, "The Prophet asked me if the blue eyed beauty is a certain Miss Weasley, what do you say about that?"
"You're getting better," She tells him with a laugh, batting him out of her space. They were in the middle of a shift, anyone could come in - and she doesn't fancy explaining why she's canoodling with a mused up Harry Potter - she's got enough problems to deal with, without adding that. "I could make a Slytherin out of you yet."
"Dream on, Greengrass." He quips back, he's too reckless to be a Slytherin - unthinking his actions, even his comebacks need work.
"You back talk like a first year 'puff," She comments as she clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth, "We'll need to fix that."
"Please," He replies, smirking at her, "You wish you were a first year 'puff - they've got all the food."
"Hmm, food. I like food- speaking of which," She says as she crosses her arms, "I want dinner, Potter. Buy me lunch." An order, though spoken like a request — she's good at getting what she wants — even if it were simple things.
"Chinese?"
"Hmm, no. I was thinking curry."
Harry groaned. "But I want spring rolls."
"Then buy both," idiot.
ADDITIONAL NOTES:
Okay, I know. It's been two years, but hey, life happens. I've changed boyfriends and changed dorm rooms; I miss old room mate but singles are so much better. And well, RAFan2124, after bugging me through facebook for how many months. Here it is. Anyway, to everyone, please do comment. I appreciate the favourites and the alerts, but I'd prefer reviews. You know, so I could know how my writing (or at least, the story) affects you all.
If you don't wanna do that, well, just send me an ask (anon or otherwise) over at my tumblr (margoshkas) and I'll answer it ASAP. I'm always online there anyway.
Love lots to all of you,
Ava