The Grass Is Always Greener Ch. 6 (Patreon)

Content Warnings: Nothing.

Harry had no idea how one pulled together a dinner that was supposed to be part thanks and part apology, especially for someone who was physically unable to get out of bed. He had managed to corner Fred and George for a minute during the party they had thrown in his honor in the Gryffindor Common Room, but all their suggestions had been incredibly cheesy and overly romantic, which of course they had been. They had presumed, as was natural, that he was asking for help planning a hospital wing dinner date for the girl that had just saved his life.

They’d also offered to let them be the first couple to test the more… adult-oriented products they had designed for their future store. Harry had thanked Merlin that neither Daphne nor Tracey were within earshot when they’d made that particular offer, and had extricated himself from the situation, trying his best not to picture his blonde friend in the French maid costume they were holding up. He was sure if Daphne ever heard about their offer, she’d kill him before the tournament ever managed to.

In the face of so many conflicting ideas, he gave up and just made his way out of the noisy party and down to the kitchens, filling a small picnic basket with Dobby’s help. He had packed it with universally loved foods, hoping it had something she liked. For someone he was supposedly madly in love with, he knew very little about Daphne Greengrass’ personal life or tastes.

He found her in bed, idly leafing through a copy of Magical Beasts and Where To Find Them levitating in front of her. She had reading glasses perched on the top of her head, a fact he found to be strangely endearing. He shook his head when he realized he had been staring, blinking a couple of times before he walked over to her bed. The basket was set down near her bed before he grabbed a stool to sit on.

“What’s his deal?” he asked as he twisted to pull the curtains around her bed and give them some privacy, coming face to face with a curled-up and whimpering Roger Davies.

“Broom handle. Bum. Who knew the wood was so brittle?”

“It isn’t. There’s very little in the world that can cause a magical broomstick to snap,” Harry answered with a chuckle, resuming his place on the stool.

“Oh, then I have even less interest in knowing what he was doing with the bloody broom. Anyways, Madame Pomfrey says he’ll be fine by morning.”

“And you?”

“I’m her guest for a few more days. My hands and face are mostly alright, but I have severe burns on my legs that will take time to heal.”

“I’ve seen her regrow an entire arm’s worth of bones in one night.”

“Second year, right? Merlin, Lockhart was such an idiot.”

“Yep.” He chuckled. In retrospect, the entire incident had been hilarious, even if it hadn’t seemed that way at the time.

“Dragon burns are resistant to magical treatment. They’ll have to heal the old-fashioned way. Thankfully it’s not cursed fire, so my skin will go back to how it was, but I’m not going anywhere for a week.”

“Daphne, I’m-”

“Sorry?” She interrupted. “Save your apology Potter. I’ve already told you the only reason I helped you was because it was in my best interests to do so.” She turned to him and winked, and he smiled. The action cause her spectacles to drop down from her head, crookedly settling on her nose.

“I can’t raise my arm that high. Harry, do you mind?”

He nodded, reaching out to gently pluck the glasses from her face, the back of his hand rubbing her cheek as he pulled away. He set them on the nightstand next to her bed, the faint blush on his cheeks mirroring the one on hers.

She was a very attractive girl, and he was a hormonal idiot who hadn’t been with anyone in over six months. There was nothing more to it. There could be nothing more to it. They weren’t the kind of people who got together and had a happy ending.

“So, where’s Tracey?” Daphne asked after a minute of awkward silence. She seemed to be stronger than she was in the morning, and turned on her own to face him, although the action was still accompanied by a quiet grunt of pain.

“She hit it off with Fred and George. Last I checked, she was taste-testing some sort of Bertie Bott’s replacement for them,” Harry answered with a grin. “She wanted to come, but I could see she was enjoying herself, so I told her we could take turns bringing you dinner. I came today, and she’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Morgana’s tit.” Daphne snorted. “Just what we needed. Tracey Davis in cahoots with those two. We’ll be lucky if the school is standing come morning.”

Harry laughed. “They did seem to hit it off really well. I was worried about her attending a party in the Gryffindor Common Room, but nobody except Ron seemed to care.”

“I’m glad. She’s been having a difficult time in her own house of late.”

“The whole ‘runt’ business?” Harry asked, using air quotes to frame the word.

“Yep. Tracey is a Half-Blood. The only Half-Blood in all of Slytherin as a matter of fact. The harassment has just been getting worse as we get older. I try to shield her from it as much as I can, but I can’t be everywhere, and the idiotic ferret I have to share my house with likes to use her as an easy target to pick on. Half the house follows, and it’s a good old-fashioned bullying pile-on.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“She is more than welcome to hang out with us and spend time in our common room if the two of you ever need a break,” Harry offered. He bent to pick up the picnic basket, flipping open the wooden lid.

“You don’t see how that could be a problem, Potter?” Daphne asked with a raised eyebrow. She extended a bandaged hand to accept the offered sandwich, biting into it and chewing slowly. “How’d you know ham was my favorite?”

“I didn’t. I brought one of each,” Harry answered, picking up the other half of the sandwich. “Sure, there’ll be people who grumble. But nobody is going to actively bother her, not when the entire Gryffindor Quidditch Team is in her corner.”

“The entire team?” She pawed at the picnic basket, “Tilt it, I want to see what you’ve brought.”

Harry turned the basket towards her, letting her examine its contents. “She’s a bloody riot. Fred and George loved her, and they introduced her to Angelina and Alicia, and she obviously knows Katie. I obviously have no problem with her. So yeah, I’d say nearly the entire Quidditch Team is in her corner.”

“Good.” Daphne pulled out a pudding cup, struggling to peel off its lid. “A little help?”

“Straight to dessert?” Harry teased, taking the cup from her hands. He pulled away the lid, handing it back to her with a wooden spoon.

“What are you, my mother?” Daphne snarked back, grinning. “I nearly died for you, Potter. The least you can do is make sure I have my fill of chocolate pudding.”

“I only brought one cup this time. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t make the same mistake next time you’re on dinner duty.”

“Yes ma’am,” Harry answered with a mock salute.

“So,” she asked in between spoonfuls of pudding. “Did they tell you anything about the second task?”

“It’s going to be on the twenty-second of Febuary.”

“Good. That gives us ample time to prepare.”

“Us?”

“Well, as your girlfriend, I can’t just abandon you, can I? Unless you’re planning on breaking up with me on the very day I saved your life?” she asked, looking up at him with big eyes and pretending to sniffle.

Fuck, she was a good actress. To anyone who had not been listening in on their conversation, she truly would have appeared to be on the verge of tears.

“You’re a shit actress Greengrass.”

“You’re a horrible flyer Potter, but you don’t see me pointing out your many deficiencies, do you? It’s considered improper in polite society.”

He chuckled at the faux snobbish expression she had adopted. It, combined with the tension of the day finally caused him to crack, and he fell to the floor laughing, tears streaming down his face as he laughed. She joined him, her musical laughter mixing with his to fill the otherwise silent hospital wing.

She gently smacked his shoulder with her unhurt hand after a minute of laughing, “Stop. You’re making my stomach hurt. And I can’t even wipe my face,” she murmured. His laughter petered out after her request, and he wiped his cheeks with his hands, before turning to look up at her tear-streaked cheeks.

“Sorry.”

“Potter?”

“Yes?” he asked, slowly getting to his feet. He had thankfully put the basket down on the floor before his fit of laughter, saving its contents from being spilled all over the floor. He bent, plucking out a napkin from it.

“Do me a favor.”

“Anything,” he murmured, gently dabbing her cheeks with the napkin.

“Stop apologizing for everything. It isn’t on you to save the world. My actions are my own,” Daphne said, grabbing his wrist when he started to pull his hand away. “I know you feel guilty about today.”

“You nearly died. You can’t walk for a week.”

“It was my choice. And if I had to do it all over again, I’d make the same choices.”

“For self-preservation?”

“For a friend,” she answered, finally letting his wrist go.

He sat back down on the stool, the blush returning to his cheeks. He rummaged through the basket to hide his pink cheeks, retrieving an unexpected pudding cup with a triumphant ‘aha!’. He peeled off the lid, holding it out for Daphne.

“What about you? You aren’t eating anything,” she asked, accepting the cup from him with a grin. She pushed a spoonful of pudding into her mouth, groaning in contentment. “This almost makes the pain and being stuck here worth it.”

“I’ll make sure to only fill the basket with chocolate pudding the next time I come over,” Harry said, smiling at her reaction.

“You do that. For now, tell me what else they told you about the second task.”

“Nothing else. The date, and that the golden egg is a clue.”

“The egg they had you steal from the dragon’s nest?”

“The very same.”

“Well?” she asked, scowling in frustration at the confused expression on his face. “What’s the clue? What was in the egg?”

“Nothing. I mean, I don’t know. All it does is shriek when you open it.”

“Shriek?”

“Yep. A loud, hair-splitting, eardrum rupturing wail. That’s it.”

“Huh.” He could see the gears turning in her head. She had the same look on her face that Hermione did when tasked with a problem. And if the past month had been any indication, between the two of them, they’d inevitably come up with the solution.

He looked up at the sound of a door being shut.

“That’ll be Madame Pomfrey. She’s probably grabbing the medications for me and ButtMcgee over there,” Daphne said, nodding to the bed next to hers. “You better leave before she catches you and bans you from visiting. You’re not supposed to be in the hospital wing after nine, remember?”

“Yep.” He shut the lid of the wicker basket, grabbing its handle and quickly getting to his feet. “I’ll be here with breakfast at eight.”

“Coffee, black, no sugar. Pancakes with whipped cream, not syrup,” Daphne said, waving her hand to magically shut the book and push it under her blanket. She blew out the candle on her nightstand and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep.

“Yes princess,” Harry said, shaking his head with a smile. He slipped out of the hospital wing before Madame Pomfrey arrived, deciding to rejoin the party. He had plenty of time to figure out what the second task was. For now, he planned to relax, enjoy a hard-won victory, and take care of his injured friend.

Notes:

Nothing to see here people, they're just 'friends'.