Greengrass and Weeds: A New Beginning - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Daphne

Content Warnings: None.

Daphne Greengrass did not like uncertainty. She was a creature of habit, of routines and plans that rarely deviated from normal. Why then, she asked herself, had she made an agent of chaos the lynchpin of her most important plan?

She looked up at the man seated several tables across from her and scowled. Harry Potter was a glory-seeking, arrogant, infuriating individual who possessed an aura of invincibility that she both admired and coveted. The admiration was begrudging, the desire barely disguised. The things she could do if she had his ability to simply shrug off everything life threw at her. Even if only half the rumours about him were true, his public escapades didn’t hold a candle to what he’d actually accomplished in life.

Now, however, it seemed that his luck had finally run out. He was competing against older, more talented wizards in a competition that had brought him nothing but derision from everyone but his housemates. His gamble to accumulate more fame around his person had seriously backfired. Even his closest friend had seemingly abandoned him to the hounds at the door. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t like Ronald Weasley, but she couldn’t blame him. His actions appealed to her Slytherin sensibilities, but she had noted he wasn’t exactly acting like most Gryffindors did. Prioritising self before others was something Slytherins did. Perhaps the Hat had taken pity on him. A Weasley in Slytherin would have been torn to shreds in a week.

Daphne idly poked the tip of the quill in her hand repeatedly on the parchment she had been doodling on for the past hour. Lesser minds would have abandoned the plan and gone back to the drawing board. She was not such a mind. She was a Greengrass, and her family knew how to cope with adversity. They had survived the witch trials, Grindlewald, and the Dark Lord’s first ascent. The problem in front of her paled in comparison to what had come before. Fame (and infamy) were transient. The same crowds that jeered would cheer for him if he beat the other champions. Everybody liked a winner. The more she thought about it, the clearer the solution to the disruption in her plan became.

Harry Potter had to win.

Not one challenge, not two, he had to win the entire bloody Tournament. Easier said than done, but nothing less would do to maintain the aura Harry Potter had about him. Once he won, everyone would fall in line, and her plan would be back on track.

Daphne pressed the tip of the quill into the parchment and watched the black ink blot the yellow paper until the tip pierced the parchment and bent on contact with the table. The quiet snap freed her from her contemplative reverie. There was no time to sit back and analyse the situation from all angles. The champions had mere days to prepare for the First Task, and Harry Potter was sitting in the library, staring at a book with glazed eyes. One didn’t need a genius intellect to see that he was woefully unprepared.

Daphne pushed her chair away from the table and stood before her courage failed. Rationally, it was the best time to approach Harry. She did not like direct approaches, but some situations called for a scalpel, others required a giant hammer. She walked around the table, quickly scanning her surroundings to ensure no one was close enough to spy on them. It was bad enough that their first conversation had to be in a public place, but she had no desire for her housemates to think she was being chummy with Harry Potter.

“Hi,” she said, slipping into the chair opposite him. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the wary look she received in return. “Relax,” she said, forcing her lips into the friendliest smile she could muster. “You look like I’ve handed you a poisoned chalice when I haven’t even told you what I’m here for.”

“A poisoned what?”

Morgana, he was dumb. She found it strangely endearing. She wondered how he would react if she reached out and ruffled his hair.

“It’s a saying. Never mind. I haven’t done anything. Why do you look so worried?”

“Daphne, this is the most we’ve spoken in four years. You’re suddenly sitting and talking to me in an empty library. Slytherins have made my life a living hell for the past few weeks. Yeah, I’m worried that you’re here.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow. He was not as simple-minded as she had first assumed. His reasoning was not extraordinarily complex, but it was more than she had expected from a Gryffindor. Most Gryffindor men were terrified of her for entirely different reasons.

“I’m not going to hex you.” Her reassurance felt hollow and unnecessary. She was acting nothing like the somewhat undeserved Ice Queen persona she sometimes had to put on in public. Why did men always default to presuming she would hex them?

“Didn’t think you would.”

“Oh.”

Harry kept subverting expectations. She blinked slowly, trying to come to terms with the fact that the man in front of her was nothing like the image in her head. She leaned back in her chair and suppressed the familiar prickle of irritation.

“I thought you were here to poke fun at me.”

“I’m not Malfoy’s lackey.” Daphne’s smile faltered. Who did he think she was? Presumptuous, annoying - she took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She had walked over with a set of preconceptions as well.

I was just polite enough not to voice them.

“I’m not here to make fun of you,” Daphne said in the nicest tone she could muster. “I’m here to offer my help so you can make it through the First Task in one piece.”

Harry’s expression did not change. He set the book down on the table, his gaze never shifting away from her. He didn’t say anything, and his eyes remained fixed on her, almost as if he was trying to dig out her real motive for walking over.

It was a futile endeavour. The importance of a poker face during negotiations was the first thing Daphne had learnt at her father’s knee. She’d had years to practise it.

“I’m doing fine. Thank you for offering to help, though.”

Daphne’s smile didn’t falter as she placed her palms on the book he had been pretending to read and leaned closer to him. He had the prettiest green eyes. She’d never seen such a vivid shade of emerald on a person before. She wondered how Granger (or Weasley, opinions were divided) had managed to snag him.

“You’re reading a book about magical traps, Harry. Over the past week, I’ve watched Granger make you read about magical creatures, potions, duelling, and Morgana knows what else. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“And you know what to do?”

The slight combativeness creeping into his voice made her grin. The cocky bastard her housemates hated hadn’t died. He was still in there, underneath all the hippogriffshit.

“I don’t, but together we can figure it out.”

“What can you do that Hermione can’t?”

If she had slightly less self-control, she would have slapped him.

“Listen, just because your girlfriend is good at memorising-”

“She’s not-”

“Fine, she also has other talents.” She waved her hand and cut him off. “But she only knows how to approach a problem in one way. That’s probably why she’s in Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw. Books don’t always have the answer. Studying a problem isn’t always the best way to solve it. Stop reading random books, they’re not helping.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry mumbled.

Daphne sat back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her face. She slowly dragged the book towards her, turning it around once it was in front of her.

“Poltergeist-infested chests?” She chuckled. “Do you think they’re going to stuff Peeves in a chest for you to fight?”

“I don’t know what they’re going to do! Hermione thinks it's best to be prepared for everything.”

Daphne sighed. His loyalty to his partner was admirable. Admirable, but deluded. Had he absorbed nothing she’d just said?

“I told you, if you think you can only use a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. Listen, every problem doesn’t have the same solution. You can’t study your way out of this. For argument’s sake, let’s pretend you can read every book in this library. How much will you remember? How much will you have truly mastered to a passable level?”

“You-”

“Yes?” Daphne smiled sweetly. She peered up at him through her lashes, doing her best to appear non-threatening and deferential.

“Might be right. Do you always interrupt people while they’re talking?”

Only when they take a million years to understand something.

“Just trying to make the most of the time we’ve got. The library won’t be empty forever.”

“You can still sit with me if someone comes in.”

“You… don’t care about being seen together?” Daphne raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t the most social person in her house. Most people kept their distance. That did not seem to be the case with him.

Harry shrugged.

He was a strange one. The more she talked to him, the more she found herself liking him.

“Okay. If you want to burn your social capital, that’s your choice.” Daphne shut the book before her and pushed it towards him. “Put this away. It’s useless.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry shot her an amused grin. “Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

“A tea and a buttered scone would be nice. I’m peckish.” Daphne crossed her arms over her chest and dropped her act the moment he stood and turned away from her. She tried not to think about the disarming smile, instead choosing to focus on his other, more important attributes. Like his height. Or his messy hair. Or the fact that he had not tried to hit on her once during the eternity of their conversation.

She took an inexplicable affront to the last quality.

“I think I can manage that.”

“What?” Daphne coughed and tore her gaze away from him. She focused her attention on a very interesting yellow spot she found on the bench.

“I think I can manage tea and a buttered scone.”

“Do you have a hidden stash in that fancy tower of yours?”

“No, but we can just go to the kitchens.”

“You know the way to access the kitchens.”

“Yeah.” He turned and smirked. “Don’t you? You live right next to them.”

Daphne resisted the very violent and insistent urge to strangle him. She ducked her head to hide the blush tingeing her cheeks, taking refuge behind the voluminous golden curls that dropped to obscure her face from view.

“The basement and the dungeons are not adjacent,” she croaked.

“Close enough. Plus, there’ll be no risk of anyone catching us there. So we won’t have to burn social capital, whatever that means.”

“How do you know the way to access the kitchens but not what social capital means?” Daphne pushed the chair away from the table and turned as quickly as she could manage without tripping. She rushed back to her original seat and haphazardly dumped her belongings into her bag. “You’re a strange man.”

“Fred and George showed me the way to the kitchens. Nobody’s ever explained what social capital means,” Harry replied. He was right next to her, holding out the piece of parchment she had soiled before approaching him. “Do you need this?”

“Uh- no. No, thank you.”

“Cool. You draw well.”

Daphne could have sworn he put the parchment in his satchel. Daphne turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“There’s a dustbin two paces from you.”

“I was going to keep it. Like I said, they’re cool drawings.”

“They’re stupid doodles,” Daphne muttered. She pushed the last of her belongings into her satchel and forced the flap shut. “Just throw it, Potter. Didn’t think you were in the habit of stealing.”

She hefted her bag and rushed out of the library, unwilling to see if he had carried out her request. A part of her wanted him to keep it. The other, more rational part of her reminded her that her drawings were useless and had no intrinsic value. She had better things to offer.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Harry huffed, sprinting to catch up to her.

“No.”

“Maybe you can slow down, then? I know you’re hungry. Here,” he said, holding out a chocolate bar. “Maybe this’ll stop you from tearing a hole through to the kitchens.”

Daphne stopped mid-step. Maintaining a professional distance was impossible when he was being a charismatic and rational asshole. She was not immune to charm, and his unexpected intelligence was annoyingly attractive. Why couldn’t he just have been the arrogant meathead she had constructed in her head?

“Thanks. But I’m alright.”

Harry extended the chocolate closer. “It’s not poisoned,” he grinned. “Do you want me to take a bite first?”

“Didn’t think it was.” Daphne reluctantly accepted the bar. She tore open the wrapping and took a small, polite bite. “That’s something I would expect a Slytherin to do. I’d expect… a punch? I’d expect a nice punch in the face from you.”

“Do you have much experience getting punched or poisoned?”

Harry led them to a mostly empty Atrium. They attracted stares from a couple of Hufflepuffs entering the castle from the grounds, but the ‘Puffs were wise enough not to be vocal about their surprise. Harry seemed completely unbothered by the attention.

“Doesn’t the staring bother you?”

“What staring?”

Daphne discreetly pointed to the Hufflepuffs who had decided to hang back in the Atrium instead of following them into the basement. They were trying and failing to appear interested in the paintings hanging above the entrance to the Great Hall. Morgana, they were bad at subterfuge. The girls kept turning to look at them every couple of seconds, and she was somehow doing a better job of looking back at them surreptitiously than they were of spying on Harry and her. Daphne snorted. Sweet ‘Puffs. She hoped they never changed.

“Oh. Pretty sure they want to punch me in the face. I’m not the best-liked person in Hufflepuff.”

“You did take away their moment in the spotlight. Can’t say I blame them.”

“I didn’t put my name in the Goblet,” Harry said in a tired voice. “I don’t know who did. I’ve been too busy trying to survive to figure that out.”

There was the defeated man she’d been studying for weeks. She was good at detecting deceit. A mask was a second nature to her. With him, she could not tell what was true and what was not. Was he better at it than the best Slytherins? Curiouser and curiouser.

“Have you tried telling them that?”

“I’ve tried telling everyone who will listen,” Harry said sourly. “So far, only Hermione and Cedric believe me.”

“What about your housemates?”

“They don’t believe me,” Harry said with a frustrated sigh. “They’re just happy I’m in the Tournament.”

“I believe you.”

Harry halted in front of a painting depicting a bowl of fruits and turned to her, surprise evident on his face.

“You do?”

“Mostly. You have no reason to lie. If you had put your name in the Goblet, denying it after you escaped without any serious consequences only makes you sound like a whiny loser.”

“Thank you?”

“It’s simple logic. People would see it if they didn’t have their heads up their asses.”

Harry nodded and reached out to tickle the pear on the painting. The pear wriggled, and a brass handle erupted from the painting. He reached out and turned the handle. The painting swung outward, revealing an entrance leading to a bustling kitchen staffed by house elves.

“What does your gut tell you?”

“That it’s hungry,” Daphne replied. She waved away his hand and clambered through the entrance by herself. “My gut tells me nothing. I don’t take emotions into account when I make decisions.”

“Like a Vulcan.”

“A what?”

“Never mind. I- oof!” Harry grunted as a ball of green collided against his legs. “Hi, Dobby!”

“Master Harry!” the elf squealed. The diminutive creature looked up at Harry with adoring green eyes the size of tennis balls. “You came to visit! You came to see Dobby work!”

“I… sort of. We also came to get a snack, Dobby.”

“Oh!” Dobby pushed himself away from Harry’s legs and rushed towards the closest kitchen bench. Harry grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and lifted him off his feet, leaving him kicking futilely in the air.

“No punishing yourself,” Harry said sternly.

“But Dobby has failed Master Harry!”

“No, you haven’t. You didn’t know what I wanted. Now, I have told you. You can’t fail if you get us what we want.”

“I can’t?” Dobby hiccuped.

“No, you can’t. So, as long as you get us some snacks, you’re fine,” Harry said. He gently lowered Dobby to his feet once the house elf had calmed down. “Tea and buttered scones, right?”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks,” Daphne said distractedly. All the house elves in their vicinity were staring at them. There was no hostility, contrary to her expectations, just visible amusement at Harry’s way of interacting with the strange house elf.

“Chairs by the fireplace!” Dobby squeaked.

Two house elves jumped to attention. Between them, they levitated two wooden chairs and a low-set coffee table next to the nearest fireplace. One elf practically bounced over to them and took their hands, pulling them to the chairs.

“You have interesting friends, Potter,” Daphne murmured once the elves had retreated.

“Dobby belonged to the Malfoys. I freed him through… convoluted means,” Harry said. “He started working at Hogwarts this year and seems to have it in his head that he owes me something.”

“I’d say he’s right.” Daphne nodded politely at the elf who placed a tray with a kettle and porcelain cups on the table between them. She waved away his attempts to pour them tea. Daphne turned in her chair and picked up the kettle, carefully pouring hot water over the teabags in the two cups. “The Malfoys are not known for being gracious towards their help. How do you like your tea?”

“Milky. Two sugars, please. I didn’t do it… I don’t know what I was thinking when I freed him. I didn’t like how he was treated, but I also wanted to get back at Malfoy.”

“Barbarian. What’s the point of such tea?” Daphne teased. “The motivation for your action doesn’t negate the good that came from it, Potter.”

“I didn’t think you’d be so philosophical.”

“Surprised to see not all Slytherins are rabid blood-supremacists foaming at the mouth for a piece of your girlfriend?” Daphne asked. She handed him his cup before picking up her own and taking a sip.

“You keep calling Hermione my girlfriend. She’s not,” Harry said. “Also, this isn’t what I asked for.”

“It’s tea prepared the proper way. Be a good boy and enjoy it, Potter,” Daphne leaned back in her chair and enjoyed the warmth between her palms. The fact that he denied dating Granger was curious. Did that mean the other rumour was true? “You spend so much time with her that you’ve gotten half the castle fooled.”

“I guess only the other half is sensible, then,” Harry grumbled.

“The other half thinks you’re having a torrid affair with Ronald Weasley,” Daphne said casually.

“What?” Harry croaked. He was doubled over and coughing by the time she opened her eyes and turned to him. He coughed and gasped for air as she thumped his back, and a house elf cleaned up the spill from his dropped cup. “What?!”

“Didn’t you know?” Daphne rubbed his back sympathetically. “Terry from Ravenclaw has a pool on how long it takes for you to get back together after your lover’s spat.”

“How do I not know all this?”

“Probably because you don't speak to more than five people in the castle?” Daphne pulled her hand away well before he had recovered enough to realise what she had been doing. “You’re a strange man. Full of paradoxes.”

“Do I want to know what you mean?”

“Probably not. I think your self-esteem has taken enough beating today.” Daphne raised her cup and sipped primly. “We came here to talk about the First Task. Let’s do that.”

“And get you a buttered scone.”

“Speak of the devil.” Daphne accepted the silver plate offered to her. “Thank you, Dobby. Exactly what I needed.”

Dobby bowed lowly and scampered away, leaving them alone once more.

“What do you know?” Daphne asked.

“I told you. Nothing. They said it would be a test of our courage. We will be allowed wands, nothing else. Any further instructions will be given just before the task.”

“Giving a Gryffindor a test of courage. Maybe there’s some truth to the rumour that Dumbledore is biased towards you.” Daphne bit into her scone. “Morgana, I love Dobby. Do you think you can formally introduce us?”

Harry shot her a dirty look that was met with a serene smile.

“I don’t feel particularly brave right now,” Harry muttered.

“Courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s taking action despite it.”

“Who said that?”

“Someone wise, I’m sure. The point is, it’s natural to be afraid of the unknown. You can either sit here and stare at the fireplace like the hero of a melodramatic novella-” Daphne stuffed the rest of the scone in her mouth. “Or you can do something about it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to not talk when your mouth is full?”

“What are you, my mother?”

Harry ignored her retort. “What should I do about the fear? Chant ‘I’m a Gryffindor’ a thousand times a day?” he asked sarcastically.

“Not the fear, dummy. The unknown. That’s what we change.”

“You’re very patronising.”

“I’ve been told men like that.”

Daphne had been told nothing of the sort. She had been taught to be demure and quiet her entire life, extending influence from the shadows like her mother or striking in the dark like a viper, just like some women she knew preferred to do. She hated her lessons, but she was not above using them when needed.

“I don’t.”

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

Daphne lost her train of thought when he looked up at her. His eyes were too mesmerising. They needed to outlaw them. They expressed a range of emotions, from fear to anger to a hint of hurt. Morgana save her; she wanted to hug him and tell him that she didn’t mean it.

“Yes, Daphne?”

“Behind,” Daphne coughed and cleared her throat. “Behind every adequate man is a woman pushing his buttons.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes.”

“Maybe they need to change the saying.” Daphne reached out and patted his knee. It was mechanical and awkward, more a conciliatory gesture than anything that would have brought him comfort. “Look, I’m the biggest bitch in this castle. But I’m not a liar to my friends. I said I’d help you, and I will do that.”

“Are we friends?”

“Have you brought anyone but your friends here?”

“… no.”

Daphne raised her cup in a mock toast. She leaned back in her chair and sipped her tea, waiting for him to take the lead for a change.

“What do we do about the unknown?”

“What do you know about the Triwizard Tournament?”

“A fair bit. There are a lot of books about it in the library. It was a really big deal until the 18th century.”

“Right. Pomp and circumstance to distract everyone from problems at home and foster ties between emerging leaders. That was its purpose. There’s no reason to think Fudge isn’t thinking along the same lines this year, especially now that he needs to distract everyone from the debacle at the World Cup.”

“People really care that much about this?”

“Why do you think our normally sweet friends from Hufflepuff want to murder you? Everyone here and on the continent is going to follow the Tournament. People are going to bet massive sums on outcomes. Journalists will chronicle the fates of the champions in minute detail. This thing is going to make or break the fortunes of some very important people.”

“How does that help us? I don’t care about making my fortune, but I definitely don’t want to break it.”

“You only want to survive?”

“I… yes?”

Harry turned back towards the fire roaring in the fireplace. He stayed silent for a few minutes. Daphne poured herself another cup of tea, more than comfortable with the natural lull in conversation. The only sounds around them were the house elves bustling around as they prepared for dinner, allowing her to slip into a hypnotic reverie as she studied him.

“Winning would feel good, I guess,” Harry admitted softly. “I’d love to show whoever put my name in that goblet that I’m not that easy to kill.”

Daphne leaned closer and set the cup back on the table. A feral smile graced her face. She reached out and patted his shoulder, pulling his attention back to her.

“Good. Something this big isn’t going to be a secret. The organisers need to prepare for the task, and someone will know what they’re doing.”

“I asked the Twins. They said they hadn’t heard anything, and they know everything that goes on in the castle.”

“Do they have any reason to lie to you?”

“They’re my friends!”

“I ask again, do they have any reason to lie to you?”

“I’m pretty sure they’ve bet a bunch of money on me winning the Tournament.”

“Alright. If they haven’t heard anything, it means whatever they’re doing isn’t happening in the castle. See how stupid it was reading about poltergeist-infested chests now? We’d know if they were planning something that trivial.”

“You're patronising me again.”

“Ask me to stop and I’ll behave.”

Harry responded with his first genuine smile that evening.

“Maybe we do need a woman to push our buttons,” he said. He picked up a sugar cube and popped it in his mouth.

“What are you, a horse?”

“What are you, my mother?”

Daphne grinned and smacked his shoulder.

“Evil, Potter. Can’t even retaliate without it being in poor taste. There’s still hope for you. If the Twins don’t know, and Cedric as Head Boy doesn’t know… who would?”

“How do you know Cedric doesn’t know?”

“Because he’d tell his girlfriend, who’d tell her friends, and soon enough, half the castle would have known.”

“You sound sure.”

“I know Diggory’s girlfriend and her friends. Trust me, if he knew anything, we’d know it through the Twins too.”

“Who does that leave? The organisers?”

“Ludo Bagman is three bags of incompetence in a trench coat. He’s going to need help. Who has complete access to and knowledge of the castle and all its surroundings? Who has the authority and the skill to help with something like this? It can’t be students. It’s not Ministry officials, or Father would have heard about it and told me. It’s-”

“The teachers,” Harry muttered.

“Right. Of course. Fuck, this was right in front of me!” Daphne leapt to her feet. The chair tottered precariously for a moment before crashing into the floor. The closest house elf glared at her with disapproval. “Sorry. Sorry! It’s right in front of us. Combined, the teachers of Hogwarts have every single skill you could possibly need. Arithmancy, Potions, Charms-”

“You’re just listing subjects now.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. His grin was equal parts infuriating and titillating. She wondered if he knew the effect it had on women.

Charm needs to be cultivated, my ass.

Harry Potter was a charming fucker, and he did it effortlessly. Leader of men… and her saviour.

“We need to ask one of them for help. McGonagall?”

“She’ll never help me.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow. “She’s Head of your House and she loves you.”

“No-” Harry paused. “She might love me, but she’d never break the rules by openly helping me. Snape’s out of the question, too. So is Professor Moody. That man loves his self-reliance and eternal vigilance.”

“I doubt Professor Sprout will feel particularly inclined to help either. What about Flitwick?”

“I was thinking about asking Hagrid.”

“Professor Hagrid? Why?”

“Look, whatever they’re doing is not in the castle. It’s not on the grounds, or I’d know. I have my ways. If you’re correct and they’re preparing something close by, it has to be in the forest, the lake, or in Hogsmeade. No one knows them better than Hagrid. They’ve probably asked him for help.”

“Will he help us?”

“He will if I ask him to,” Harry brought his fingers to his lips and nervously chewed on his nails. “I don’t want to put him in that position. Is there no other way?”

“You could go in completely blind.”

“What are my chances if I do that? Hermione keeps telling me it’ll be fine, but I swear she says it more to reassure herself than me.”

“Do you want me to patronise you or reassure you?”

“Brutal honesty would be good.”

“That’s not the Slytherin way,” Daphne sighed. “Look, it’s not in my nature to deal in absolutes. But the other champions have significant advantages that no amount of reading is going to negate. My father always taught me that if you’re forced to fight someone bigger than you, you throw sand in their eyes and kick them in the balls. You know what happens if you’re honourable in a duel? You die.”

Harry looked up at her with raised eyebrows.

“He didn’t use those exact words, but the feeling was the same. Look, I’ll support whatever decision you make.”

“Even if it’s a dumb one?”

“Even if it’s a monumentally stupid one,” Daphne sighed. “You’ve been nice to me. You accepted my friendship. My support is the least I can offer. So, if you want to go back to the library and read more books, we can do that.”

“I’ll talk to Hagrid. Will you come with me?”

“Me? Don’t you want to go with Granger or Weasley? The three of you go to visit him often, it’s not like it’ll be suspicious.”

“How do you know-”

“People talk,” Daphne answered before he’d even finished the sentence. “I’m a sponge for rumours. If you want me to come with you, I can. When do you want to go?”

“Tomorrow, before classes?” Harry suggested

“I’ll meet you in the Atrium at eight.”

Notes:

Hello. Hi. Uhm, I don't know how many of you will see this post, but I've missed you all. Won't say a lot here because I am making a different post. For fans of The Grass is Always Greener, this is a reimagining of that story. Better writing, more alternations from canon (the tasks are going to be nothing like what you expect!), and overall a more polished story than my old works. I am going to do a reimagining of most of my works, that way your favourite stories are not abandoned, but I still get to write them in a better way from the ground up.