The Grass Is Always Greener Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Author's Note: This story is more of a Slow-Burn, unlike 'Together We're Harmony' and 'Yule Ball Redux' which establish relationships within the first few chapters. The 4th Chapter of Yule Ball Redux will be up tomorrow, and the Hermione/Daphne Story, 'Yes, Mistress.' will be up next Thursday! Oh, and this is an AU where they start Hogwarts at 15. It's also kinda Enemies-to-Lovers, cause I absolutely love that trope.

Content Warning: Nothing.

Chapter 1:

Harry Potter was an idiot.

No, Daphne thought, moodily stabbing her pancake with the silver knife in her hand, he’s an insufferable idiot who is going to get himself killed.

Who in their right mind would willingly let an eighteen-year-old boy fight a dragon? Why had none of them spoken up and given him a way out? She turned to look up at the teacher’s table, willing her rage-filled grey eyes to drill holes in their Headmaster’s serene, smug face. The safest place in the world, my ass.

Daphne Greengrass had decided at the age of twelve that she had no intention of sticking to the path her parents and society had laid out for her. Being the quiet pureblood trophy wife suited her sister far more than it did her. No, Daphne Greengrass had plans. Ambitious plans that she had had no idea how to bring to fruition until a fateful encounter with a black-haired, green-eyed boy on their very first train ride to Hogwarts. It had almost felt like fate, crashing into him on that symbolic ride to the very first taste of true freedom in her life.

Not like my plans will mean anything if he ends up being a dragon’s lunch. Does he even know?

She looked up to where the boy sat, their tables separated by as much distance as was physically possible, surrounded by his friends. He was laughing at something those annoying Weasley twins had said, nary a care in the world. It didn’t feel like he knew, which only filled the girl with an impending sense of doom.

“What’re you trying to do, make a pancake smoothie?” her best friend, Tracey whispered, grabbing her arm to stop her mid-stab.

She looked down at the plate and the shredded remains of her pancake, her appetite suddenly vanishing.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to the library. I have to finish that potions essay,” she muttered, grabbing her book bag. She got to her feet, and with one last glare toward the teacher's table, marched out of the Great Hall.

While she had beaten a hasty retreat to the library to avoid being grilled on her increasingly foul mood over the past month, there was some truth to what she had told her best friend. She did have to finish working on a potions essay, and while Professor Snape had let her skate by on missing one submission date, she doubted he would be as lenient if she missed the second one. Concentration, however, proved impossible with the object of her attention and his rather abrasive best friend’s entry into the library shortly after she had situated herself on her favorite table and opened her books. She tried her best not to snort with derision as the girl made Potter search for books on spells and dueling, unable to help herself when the two dumped their pickings on the table in front of her.

Impressive, she thought, staring at the huge stack of books the two had managed to collect. All of it will be useless.

It took teams of trained handlers years of training to learn how to subdue a dragon. Granger and Potter were talking about the merits of learning the Stupefy.

Right. Try to stun a dragon all on your own. See how that works out for you, she thought, moodily scratching a word on the parchment in front of her.

Self-preservation and personal ambition were the first things a true Slytherin looked out for. That’s what they’d all been taught, that’s what had been drilled into their heads from their very first night in the House. Right now, self-preservation demanded that she ignore her anxiety, walk up to Potter and smack some sense into him.

She slammed her book shut, ignoring the annoyed look the wizened librarian shot in her direction. She pushed her chair back, climbed to her feet, and marched over to their table with a determined expression on her face.

“It takes nine highly trained witches or wizards to stun a fully grown dragon,” she hissed, slipping into the chair next to him, “and delusions of grandeur suit Malfoy, not you. You’re not powerful enough to stun a dragon. Stop wasting your time with these books,” she finished, ignoring the annoyed grunt from the witch seated opposite them.

“Dra-dragon?” Harry stammered.

Merlin help her, he truly did not know.

“What’re you talking about?” Hermione huffed.

“A dragon. You know, those huge beasts we’ve read about that can breathe fire and have mouths big enough to swallow a boy foolish enough to annoy them with ineffectual stupefies in a single gulp?”

“I have to fight a dragon for the first task?”

Why in the name of Morgana’s left tit did he suddenly sound so calm?

“Yes,” Daphne huffed, trying her best to maintain her icy exterior. His utter lack of panic at the news was infuriating. “And all of these,” she pointed at the stack of books, “are utterly useless.”

She ignored Granger’s annoyed huff, keeping her attention trained on the boy.

“How do you know this? Why are you telling me?”

“Malfoy’s told half of Slytherin. Apparently, his father’s transportation company bagged the lucrative rights to import the captured dragons.”

“He sent you here to rattle Harry. Where’s your stupid pin?” Hermione snarled.

Daphne rolled her eyes again. How could someone so smart be so incredibly dense?

“Don’t have one. I’m not his trained monkey Granger. If he asked me to scare Potter, I’d tell him to go do it himself,” Daphne said icily. “If you have nothing useful to contribute, I’d suggest finding a dusty tome and sticking your nose in it.”

“Why tell me?” Harry asked again, sounding far calmer than he had any right to be.

“My reasons are my own. If you don’t want to believe me, that’s your choice.”

“How do they expect the contestants to fight a dragon? Even if it’s a single dragon and it’s four against one, it’s not possible,” Hermione whispered, frantically sifting through the pile of books as if one of them held the answer they needed.

“I don’t think that’s the task. Malfoy thinks it is, but Malfoy’s predictions are about as accurate as Professor Trelawney’s,” Daphne said, raising her eyebrows at the look the two exchanged at her words.

Harry ignored her inquisitive look, finally turning in his chair to face her, “What do you think it is?”

At least he isn’t acting like a suspicious twat, she thought, massaging her temples.

“If we don’t know what the task is, we can’t prepare for it,” Hermione cut in, shutting the book she had opened with a frustrated huff, drawing another glare from Madame Pince.

“A very astute observation Granger,” Daphne said drily, “You know who will know though?” She paused for dramatic effect. She had given the matter a great deal of thought. “Professor Hagrid. He’s the Groundskeeper AND the Professor for Care of Magical Creatures. It’s practically a given he knows where they’re being kept and what the actual task is.”

“Hagrid,” the other two exclaimed with wide grins, finally drawing Madame Pince to their table.

“Out! Mannerless! Loud! Out!” she screeched, prompting Daphne to throw her hands up in surrender.

“We’re going Madame Pince,” Hermione said, hurriedly starting to pack up her bags. Daphne copied her action, ducking under the librarian to go back to her table, and quickly packing up her bag. She ignored the librarian’s still ongoing berating, rushing out of the library to catch up with the other two.

“-you can tell me what Hagrid says after Arithmancy,” Hermione said, frowning as Daphne ran up to Harry’s other side. “Thank you for your help, Greengrass,” she said shortly, leaning forward to look at the blonde girl.

“Oh, I’m going with Potter to meet Professor Hagrid,” Daphne said, ignoring the not-so-subtle dismissal.

“Why?”

“Again, Granger, my reasons are my own.”

“You know, you can’t force me to take you,” Harry said with a bemused smile.

“Neither can you stop me from going to meet a professor in my free period,” Daphne pointed out with a smirk.

“She’s got a point,” Harry reached out to bump Hermione’s arm. “I’ll see you in Herbology.”

They walked in silence through the hallways, drawing a few glances as they stepped into the sparsely populated courtyard. Daphne tried her best not to shiver, it was a cold autumn morning, and before she’d been seized by this fit of madness, she had planned for a quiet morning in the warm library. In hindsight, forgoing both her cloak and her cardigan wasn’t the best of ideas.

Potter, seemingly noticing her discomfort, shifted his satchel to pull off his own cloak, holding it out for her.

She ignored his action and the offered garment until they were out on the grounds, far away enough from the courtyard for it to be impossible for any prying eyes to notice her pulling on his cloak.

“Don’t worry. I’m just repaying your kindness,” Harry said, watching her wrap the cloak around herself.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Potter,” Daphne muttered, “The reason I waited is that nobody in that castle can handle a Gryffindor being kind to a Slytherin. Their collective heads would explode. Besides, I have a reputation to maintain. As for the dragon, they considered shutting down the school the last time a student nearly died. What do you think they’ll do if you’re ripped into two by a vicious dragon? I’m helping you because I value a good education and Drumstrang is far too cold for me.”

“There’s always Beauxbatons. And I didn’t mean the dragon. You’re the only one in Slytherin that didn’t wear one of those stupid badges.”

“Between Beauxbaton and Durmstrang, my father will always pick Durmstrang,” Daphne said darkly, drawing the cloak tighter around her body. “And I wasn’t the only one. Tracey didn’t wear one either. Several of the older Slytherins didn’t. We aren’t one big evil monolith Potter,” she added, the chill in her voice surpassing the one in the air.

“I didn’t mean-”

“That’s exactly what you implied. Bigotry runs both ways, you know?” she muttered, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “The sorting hat doesn’t put people in Slytherin based on their feelings towards muggle-borns.”

“I know. It considered putting me in Slytherin.”

“That officially confirms it. Even the hat has gone senile in the company of the Headmaster,” Daphne muttered, running up the steps to Hagrid’s hut and banging on the door.

“Miss Greengrass!” the man exclaimed, his bushy beard quivering as he smiled. “Harry! Come in, come in. I jus put a kettle of tea on.”

“Professor Hagrid,” Daphne smiled politely, pulling off her borrowed cloak and leaving it on the hat stand as she walked inside, making herself at home on her usual armchair.

“You know Hagrid?” Harry asked, appearing utterly confused by the ease with which she had greeted the man.

“I like magical creatures, Professor Hagrid teaches Care of Magical Creatures,” Daphne shrugged, petting the black dog who had scampered to rest his head on her knees.

“She is good at it too. You should see her with the unicorns Harry,” Hagrid interjected, placing two mugs of tea on the table with enough force to make it shake. “Are you two here to see the skrewts?”

“Not today, Professor Hagrid.” While she was secretly fond of her overenthusiastic professor, she had ZERO desire to partake in the care of his more dangerous creations. “We’re here about the dragons,” she said, flashing a look at Harry that made it clear that she wanted to do the talking. The boy seemed to get the hint, hastily busying himself with his cup of tea.

“What dragons?” Hagrid asked nervously, combing his beard with his fingers.

“You know, the ones they’ve brought for the first task of the Triwizard Tournament? The ones that will rip poor Po-Harry to shreds if he isn’t prepared?” she said, satisfied to see both men choke on their tea.

“I mean, I’m not entirely helpless. I’ve been in dangerous situations before.”

“As dangerous as facing a rampaging dragon?”

“Yup,” Harry said shortly, returning his attention to his tea.

Intriguing. Were the rumors true?

“We aren’t supposed to help the champions Miss Greengrass,” Hagrid said, his face red.

“If you think Professors Sprout, Maxime and Karakoff aren’t helping their champions…” Daphne said coldly, trying to control her temper. “Professor,” she tried in a more conciliatory tone, “Harry is the only one playing by the rules, and it’s going to get him killed. Cheating is part of the tradition of the Triwizard Tournament. Everyone cheats. We just want to make sure that Harry has a fighting chance.”

“He wasn’t even supposed to be in it…” Hagrid mumbled, brows furrowed.

“Exactly!”

“Alright. You two meet me here at midnight. Harry, bring yer invisibility cloak.”

“Will do,” Harry said, quickly getting to his feet as the oven pinged.

Daphne mirrored his action, having spied the rock cakes in the oven and having no desire to squeeze in a visit to Madame Pomfrey before Herbology.

“See you at midnight Potter,” she said, waving at him as they exited the hut, deciding to get some reading done by the unicorn enclosure. They always calmed her down, and she needed calm in her life after deliberately upending her own life and carefully laid out plans.