The Grass Is Always Greener Ch. 9 (Patreon)

Content Warnings: Nothing.

The week before the Yule Ball passed by in a blur for Harry. Despite Hermione’s continuous urging, he ignored the Golden Egg and the upcoming task in favor of concentrating on his dance lessons and enjoying his newfound freedom from an increasingly unpleasant Snape. His very presence now seemed to enrage the man, and he had decided to punish Daphne for her increasing closeness to him by awarding the antidote they brewed for their final test of the term a barely passing ‘Acceptable’.

Harry had profusely apologized for dragging down Daphne’s grade average as they traded the cold sliminess of the potions classroom for their favorite sunny spot in the castle grounds, but she had shrugged him off and told him it didn’t matter. The devious smile on her face when she’d said that gave him the distinct feeling that Snape would be regretting his vindictiveness sooner or later.

The task, for now, seemed far away, and he decided he’d deal with the egg and its horrible wailing after Christmas.

Harry awoke with a jolt on Christmas Day. Surprised at his sudden return to consciousness (and the lack of an ominous dream that usually preceded it), he opened his eyes, only to find two large, round bright green orbs staring back at him.

“Dobby!” Harry squeaked, nearly falling out of bed in shock. He let the tiny elf climb off his chest before pushing himself into a sitting position, blearily rubbing his eyes. “Never, never, do that again.”

“Dobby is so sorry, sir!” Dobby squealed, his eyes growing wider. “Dobby only came by to wish Harry Potter sir a Merry Christmas and bring him his presents, sir!”

“It’s okay!” Harry said hastily, alarmed at how close to tears the tiny creature seemed. “Just… shake me next time, alright? You don’t need to climb on top of me.” Harry turned to grab his glasses from his nightstand, ramming them on his nose before reluctantly climbing off the bed. He reached out for the curtains around his bed, only for one of them to be pulled back by Neville. His yell had apparently woken up everyone in the room.

He chuckled at the pillow Neville clutched, obviously ready to attack whoever was assaulting him.

“Just Dobby, mate,” Harry said, jerking his thumb toward the diminutive elf. “He’s a friend. Go back to sleep.”

“After presents,” Neville replied with an excited smile, dropping the pillow before walking over to the small pile of boxes laid out at the foot of his bed.

Harry returned his attention to Dobby, who still appeared rather concerned that he had offended Harry. He sat down on the floor, coming face to face with the teary elf. “You didn’t have to bring me two presents, Dobby,” he said kindly.

“Only one is from Dobby Harry Potter, sir! The other is from Miss Greengrass ma’am. She asked for a house elfs to deliver it to Harry Potter, and I said to everyone I would do it. Harry Potter sir knows me personally, he does.” Dobby puffed his chest out with pride, causing his tea cozy to flutter. Harry ignored the enraged grunt from the bed next to his.

“Thank you.” Harry accepted the parcels from the elf. He placed Daphne’s present on the bed, unwrapping Dobby’s first. The gift turned out to be a pair of mismatched socks, one red with broomsticks on them, the other green and patterned with snitches.

“I love them, thank you, Dobby,” Harry said with a grin. He kicked off his slippers, pulling the socks onto his feet.

Dobby looked like he might faint. “I-I made them myself Harry Potter sir. I’ve been teaching myself how to…” he whispered, looking at Harry’s feet in wonderment.

“I have a gift for you and…” Harry trailed off, before lowering his voice and adopting a conspiratorial tone. “An important mission.”

“I’m ready, Harry Potter sir!” Dobby replied, quivering with excitement.

Harry leaned over his trunk, digging around till he found the brand new pair of socks he had bought for Dobby and the neatly wrapped jewelry case that was his gift for Daphne. He handed the socks to the elf.

Dobby bounced around his bed in excitement before hopping on and pulling the socks on top of the two pairs he already wore. “They’ve made a mistake, Harry Potter sir!” he gasped. “They’ve given you two of the same kind!”

“Yeah, they do that sometimes,” Harry said. He frowned when he noticed Ron toss the Chudley Canons jersey he had gotten him to the bed without giving it a second glance. He decided to push the matter from his mind for now. He’d sit his friend down and ask him what his bloody problem was after the Ball.

He picked up the present for Daphne and handed it to Dobby. “This is a gift for Daphne… Miss Greengrass ma’am,” Harry said. “I probably won’t meet her till the opening of the Ball, but I want her to have it. Can you deliver it to her, Dobby?”

“Dobby will guard it with his life, sir!” Dobby clutched the present to his chest, hopping off the bed.

“You don’t-” His words were cut-off by a loud crack, and Dobby disappeared.

“Mental,” Seamus said, shaking his head.

“I love that elf,” Harry replied, grabbing Daphne’s present. He sat down next to the pile at the foot of his own bed, deciding to unwrap hers before he touched any of the others.

“An old book?” Seamus asked, leaning over to look at the unwrapped gift. “Birds are funny about gift-giving, aren’t they?”

“It’s a first edition copy of Quidditch Through The Ages,” Harry murmured, running his hand over the soft, worn leather of the cover. “They’re… they’re bloody rare. Almost impossible to find. I wonder where she got one.”

“Please tell me you’ve given her something equally good and not gone the Seamus route? He got his date to the Ball a box of bloody chocolate frogs,” Dean said, trying on a sweater.

“Chocolate frogs are delicious and nutritious. They make the perfect gifts,” Seamus shot back.

Harry chuckled. “I got her a gold bracelet studded with emeralds. Tracey pointed it out to me while we were shopping in Hogsmeade last week. Daphne has had her eye on it for a while, but was waiting for a special occasion to get it cause it was pretty pricey… Well, our first Christmas together seemed like enough of a special occasion.”

“You’re winning at the romance game, Mr. Potter,” Dean said, bowing in his direction.

“You’re not too shabby yourself. Going to the Ball with Lavender, aren’t you?” Harry glanced in Ron’s direction. The redhead was steadfastly ignoring the conversation, pretending to be busy digging through a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.

“I am, I am.”

“How did both of you manage to land two of the most gorgeous girls of our year?” Seamus asked, trying to juggle two dung bombs.

“Well, for starters, both of us stay far away from dung bombs when we’re about to meet our fair dates,” Dean ribbed. Harry shook his head, laughed, and returned his attention to his presents.

It was a fairly satisfactory haul in the end. The Dursleys had given him a penny and a piece of tissue, which he promptly used to blow his nose. Hermione had gotten him a broomstick care kit. Sirius had gotten him a dubiously legal penknife that could open any door, and Hagrid had gifted him a huge box of his favorite chocolates. Fred and George had decided to send a hamper of their newest inventions his way, and he pushed it under the bed, not wanting to turn into a canary the morning of Christmas. Mrs. Weasley, of course, had gone completely overboard, knitting him a very comfortable sweater along with her usual gift of homemade pies. He opened the small box Ginny, Neville, and Gabrielle had gotten him, raising his eyebrow at the small vial of bright green potion it housed.

“Really, Neville?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Ginny’s idea,” Neville replied with a grin. “After all, Professor McGonagall did say tonight was an opportunity for us to… let our hair down.” He winked.

Harry blushed. “We’re not… Not that it’s any of your business,” he muttered, climbing to his feet and walking towards the bathroom.

“They’re definitely having sex tonight,” Dean whispered to Seamus, making sure he was loud enough for Harry to hear.

Harry flipped them the bird before slamming shut the door of the bathroom.

Harry ignored Ron sulking on his bed when he exited the bathroom. The rest of the dormitory was empty, so he made his way down to the Common Room, meeting up with Hermione, Neville, and Ginny. Despite all three of them badgering her the entire way to the Great Hall, Hermione refused to divulge the name of her date.

In the end, Harry gave up. He slipped into his usual seat, his eyes roving over the table at the opposite end of the hall. His search for Daphne and Tracey proved to be futile, but he did see Gabrielle eating breakfast alone, and waved her over. They’d bonded over the past couple of weeks over their shared love of Quidditch and flying, and he had come to consider her a good friend.

“All alone today?” Harry asked as she sat opposite him. She usually came to the castle with her sister, but just like Daphne and Tracey, Fleur was nowhere to be seen.

“My sister has decided that she won’t eat anything today. English food is so heavy that if she eats any, she won’t fit into her dress.”

Hermione and Ginny snorted.

“Her words, not mine. I might not like a lot of your food, but I don’t hate everything British,” Gabrielle said, winking at Harry.

Harry didn’t quite know what to make of that statement, so he concentrated on his breakfast. He stuck around in the Great Hall hoping to run into Daphne or Ron, but when neither materialized, he gave up and trudged out of the hall, deciding to join the others in the Gryffindor Common Room.

“Anyone see Ron?” He asked, walking over to where Fred, George, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville were sitting.

“What did he do now?” Ginny asked, scooting over to make space for Harry. She leaned against Neville, giving Harry a quizzical look.

“Nothing. Just wanted to talk to him, that’s all.”

“Don’t bother. I already had a conversation with our idiot brother. He doesn’t seem in any mood to see reason,” George said casually. “So, Exploding Snap. Teams?”

“Me and Neville,” Ginny said promptly.

“Of course,” Harry teased, “Mione?”

“Sure.” Hermione shut her book, joining them on the floor.

“Well, Gred?”

“Looks like we’re together again, Forge.”

“So, what exactly did you talk to Ron about?” Harry asked George as Fred dealt the cards.

“He overheard me and Fred discussing our dates and threw a fit when I said I was taking Tracey.” Harry chuckled. He was right on the money. The two of them practically undressed each other with their eyes whenever they were in the same room.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Harry said hastily. “So, what’d he say?”

“He called you and me traitors and threatened to write to mum if I didn’t ask someone else to the Ball. I told him to go right ahead. It’s not his business who I date… and it definitely isn’t our mother’s business. He got a letter from her with his present and I’m pretty sure she told him the exact same thing, so probably he’s sulking.”

Harry shook his head. In a family with people like Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, and Ginny, how his friend had formed his stupid notions about dating, love, and sex escaped him. He turned to Fred, “who are you going with?”

“Angelina,” Fred said without hesitation, dealing him his cards.

“And I suppose it’s pointless to ask who you’re going with?” Harry pivoted to Hermione.

“You’ll see,” Hermione said evasively, and that was all she would say on the matter.

After his third straight loss, Harry decided to call the curtains on competing with the unbeatable duo that were the Twins and suggested they all go down to Lunch. Lunch, like breakfast, was an extravagant affair, even for Christmas. The teachers seemed determined to impress their foreign guests, and had gone the extra mile to make sure everything in the castle was perfect. Every suit of armor was glistening and every painting was (sometimes against the wishes of its inhabitants) scrubbed and cleaned. Filch was stalking the hallways with a broomstick, threatening to use it to whack any student that dared to soil his spotless floors with muddy footprints. Even Peeves was on his best behavior, which Harry considered to be a real Christmas miracle until he learned from Fred and George that Dumbledore had personally intervened to warn the poltergeist to steer clear of any of his usual holiday mischief.

“You’re not eating anything?” Neville asked, chewing through a mouthful of turkey. The wooden table was groaning under an overabundance of stuffed turkeys, rich stews, and all kinds of puddings.

“Maybe Fleur has a point. What if I don’t fit into my dress robes after eating all this?” Harry mumbled, tugging on his shirt. It was loose enough, but then again, it was Dudley’s. The dress robes had been tailored for him, and he always put on a little weight as the school year progressed. There was a very real possibility that they would not fit him.

“That’s the stupidest take I’ve ever heard and I have a brother who thinks sex is icky,” Ginny snorted, reaching out to ladle some gravy onto her plate.

“Gin!” Hermione hissed, poking the redhead’s arm. “Lay off him, will you? He’s nervous.”

“Why?” Ginny asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Have you looked at his date, dear sister?” George asked.

“I’ve seen Daphne Greengrass… oh I don’t know, about a million times?” Ginny answered sarcastically.

“I swear, mum dropped both you and Ron on the head as children,” George grunted, turning to Fred, “Gred, do you want to take over?”

“Certainly Forge.” Fred leaned forward, looking at his sister. “You see Gin, Harry here is nervous because his date is, to use the scientific term, a gorgeous goddess.”

“While our poor friend barely passes as a human on most days. I mean, look at the state of that hair. Utterly dreadful,” George added, laughing when Harry’s hand immediately flew up to his messy black hair.

“Cut it out you two,” Hermione hissed, glaring at the twins. She turned to Harry, reaching out and patting his arm reassuringly. “Listen to me, Harry. Daphne likes you for you. And eating a light lunch won’t magically cause you not to fit in your robes.”

Harry nodded, but continued to fiddle with his hair.

“Maybe she likes your hair,” Neville said, “I mean, wouldn’t she be a better person to ask than Fred and George?”

“Well, I can’t exactly march into the Slytherin Common Room and ask her, can I?” Harry muttered, trying to flatten a particularly stubborn fringe.

“You don’t have to. She just came up for lunch,” Neville replied, jerking his thumb towards the Slytherin table.

Harry clambered off the bench and practically tripped over his own feet in his haste to catch Daphne before she left.

“The two of you are utter assholes,” Hermione growled, pointing at Fred, then at George with the fork in her hand.

“Are we?”

“Yes, George. You are.”

“The way we see it, my academically inclined friend, we just made sure the two lovebirds have lunch together for the very first time. And on Christmas too, how magical,” Fred said.

“They never eat together,” Hermione conceded with a frown.

“Exactly. It must be too intimidating. Tracey and I get weird looks just because we’re a Gryffindor and a Slytherin in a relationship. I can only imagine how much interest people have in the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ and the ‘Ice Queen of Slytherin’. Given that they’re both so private… I doubt they’d have ever done this on their own. We just gave him a little push to make it happen,” George added.

“I take it back. The two of you are very good friends.”

“Do we get a reward for being such good friends?” Fred asked.

“What do you want?” Hermione raised an eyebrow warily.

“The name of your date?”

“No.”

                                                                 ---

“Quick question. Do you think I should trim my hair, or do I just shave it off entirely for the ball?”

Daphne turned to Harry. He had slipped into the small space she had left at the very end of the bench, clutching the table to make sure he maintained his precarious balance. She shifted to let him sit more comfortably, before turning to face him. “One, Merry Christmas, Harry,” she said with a small smile.

“Merry Christmas,” Harry responded breathlessly. “So? Cut? Shave? Maybe I could wear a beanie to the ball.”

The last sentence was too much for Tracey to bear and she burst out laughing, falling from the bench to the floor as tears of mirth streaked down her cheeks.

“Tracey,” Daphne said warningly.

“Yes?”

“I think George is waving you over. I bet he wants to have breakfast with you.”

“I don’t think-”

“I just saw him wave again,” Daphne repeated firmly, shooting her best friend a discreet glare.

“Right. Yeah,” Tracey huffed, getting to her feet and walking away.

“See, Tracey certainly-”

“Harry.” Daphne cut him off again.

“Yes?”

“You don’t need to do anything to your hair.”

“But it’s unruly and so messy!” Harry despaired.

“I like it unruly and messy,” Daphne admitted, her cheeks a faint pink. “Are you nervous?”

“Well, I wasn’t. Not till Fred and George pointed it out.”

Daphne sighed. “Harry, they’re idiots. So is Tracey for that matter. I skipped breakfast because I somehow let her convince me the rumor that the food is charmed to ensure anyone who eats it doesn’t fit into their robes is real.”

“That’s just something Fleur said.”

“I know that now. What did Fred and George point out?”

“Just that you’re… well, you. And I’m me.” He gestured at himself. “That there’s no reasonable reason for you to want to go to the Ball with me.”

“And why would I have a problem with going to the Ball with a handsome man like-” She gestured in his direction, “yourself?”

“I’m not handsome.”

“Not handsome men don’t have six girls asking them to the Ball despite knowing he’s in a relationship, Harry,” Daphne pointed out with a tight smile. She wasn’t jealous. There was no reason for her to be jealous.

I just dug around to find out the names of all six girls for… reasons.

“That’s just because I’m the school champion and I got past a dragon,” Harry murmured.

“Is that why I overheard Patricia Adams calling me a ‘massive bitch’ in the bathroom just now?”

“I… I fail to see the connection.”

“She said, and I quote, ‘There goes my chance to ride Harry’s handsome face. I can’t believe that massive bitch-’” Daphne pointed to herself, “‘got to him first. Can you believe the rumors? They say she asked him out.’”

“Oh.” Harry blushed, his cheeks burning.

“So, you have nothing to worry about. You’re hot-” She reached out to do something she had been dying to do for a while. She threaded her fingers through his hair, gently pushing it back from his forehead. “And I like your hair the way it is. You don’t need to do anything about it,” she said softly. She leaned closer, suddenly consumed by the desire to find out what his lips tasted like.

“Potter,” Malfoy drawled, his voice an unwelcome intrusion that shattered the romantic atmosphere. “What are you doing at my table? Go away, we don’t want your kind of filth here.”

Daphne took a deep breath, resisting the urge to pull out her wand, freeze the arse’s ass off and hand it to him on a platter. She could see Professor Snape watching their interaction from the teacher’s table, however, and she was sure he would love nothing more than to give her detention and make sure Harry had to go to the Yule Ball alone.

Or worse. With Patricia ‘I want to ride his face’ Adams.

The thought of that happening filled her with irrational rage.

“It’s not your table Malfoy. There are no rules against people sitting anywhere they want to. In fact, I think I see Professor Moody coming over,” Daphne said, pointing to the crowd in the Atrium outside the Great Hall with an evil smile. “I bet he’s taken up my offer for lunch so we can continue our discussion of cursed objects.”

Malfoy looked around wildly for a minute before scampering away to the other end of the table, a terrified expression on his face.

“You better go before he realizes Professor Moody isn’t around and comes back with those idiot friends of his. He’ll provoke a fight and I bet you my entire trust fund Professor Snape will give me detention. Which would be a shame because… I really want to go to the Ball with you,” she said softly.

“I’ll meet you in the Atrium?” Harry asked, getting up.

“Six o’clock. The Atrium.” Daphne nodded. She didn’t watch him walk away, ducking her head and busying herself with carving up a turkey to hide the blush on her face.

Notes:

George is running a pool. Anyone wanna bet on Harry and Daphne getting frisky during the Yule Ball? Next Chapter will be up Next Friday!