The sun was slipping behind the Forbidden Forest, staining the Black Lake a bruised purple. Harry sat at the water's edge, picking half-heartedly at the grass and trying to decide whether the universe actually hated him or was simply messing with him recreationally.
Fourth year, new record, he thought dryly. Disaster arrived before Halloween this time. Brilliant.
Last night, the Goblet of Fire had spat out his name like it was clearing its throat. Today, his life had become a circus starring:
— one falsely accused fourteen-year-old,
— two best friends on strike,
— one Ministry panic attack,
and
— a school full of people who suddenly thought he was auditioning for attention in the world's deadliest talent show.
Ron had blown up at him. Hermione had scolded him. Snape had deducted points with the kind of joy usually reserved for birthdays. Even Neville had looked at him like Harry had sprouted antlers.
So now he was doing what any sensible, emotionally exhausted teenage wizard would do: hiding by a lake and pretending he wasn't one badly phrased comment away from screaming into the sunset.
Footsteps crunched the grass behind him.
Great. Someone else here to doubt his life choices.
"Evening, Potter," came a calm, slightly chilly voice—the elegant kind of chilly, not the 'I hate you' kind.
Harry turned. Daphne Greengrass stood there, arms folded, expression smooth enough to be used as a mirror. Somehow she managed to look both bored and interested at the same time.
"Greengrass," he greeted, half relieved and half baffled. They had this strange… whatever it was. Not quite friendship. Not quite ignoring each other, either. Every few months fate shoved them into a corner together, and they'd end up talking about life, near-death experiences, and the absurdity of being students in a castle where staircases moved more often than some professors.
Daphne took a seat next to him—close enough to count as company, far enough to suggest she might hex him if he tried small talk. They watched the lake ripple for a full minute before she broke the quiet.
"Well? I'm waiting."
Harry blinked at her. "Waiting for what?"
"For you to tell me you didn't put your name in the Goblet," she said casually, like she was asking if he wanted her quill when she was done with it.
"But—I didn't!" Harry exploded, louder than planned.
Daphne lifted one eyebrow. "Relax. I believe you."
He stared at her. "You do?"
"You're reckless, Potter, not suicidal. If you thought tossing your name in there would save one of your friends? Sure. That's very 'you.' But doing it for fame? Even Slytherins don't buy that."
A laugh slipped out of him—short, surprised, kind of grateful. The tension in his shoulders eased for the first time in two days.
"So," Daphne continued, brushing dirt off her knee, "I assume you can't just refuse to compete?"
"Nope. Apparently contracts don't care about innocence."
"Typical," she murmured. "Magic: constantly impressive, occasionally an idiot."
Harry snorted. "Pretty much."
They watched a giant squid tentacle flop lazily in the distance. Daphne was the one to speak again.
"I heard the argument at lunch," she said. "Your friends didn't look particularly… supportive."
"Yeah, well," Harry muttered, "Hermione's disappointed, Ron's furious, and I'm… tired."
Daphne hummed thoughtfully. "Granger will come around. She has too many brain cells not to. As for Weasley…" She made a vague hand gesture that could've meant 'he'll be fine eventually' or 'drop him in the lake.' Hard to tell.
Harry huffed a laugh. "Hermione I believe. Ron… that's more of a coin toss."
"Mm. Weighted coin."
Silence settled again, but this time it didn't feel suffocating. Harry glanced at her, studying the girl who was somehow both mysterious and blunt. Beautiful, sure. Brilliant, definitely. And built like someone who had been trained since birth to keep her emotions neatly tucked behind steel-reinforced walls.
"You're surprisingly easy to talk to," he admitted.
"Don't let that get out," she said. "I have a carefully curated reputation for being unapproachable."
"Well, I won't ruin it."
"Good."
A breeze rippled through the grass. The light deepened, turning the lake into a dark mirror.
"So how are you going to prepare?" Daphne asked.
Harry exhaled. "Read every Defense and Charms book I can get my hands on and pray I don't die?"
"That's your plan?"
"Do you have a better one?"
"Several," she said dryly, "but let's start small."
Harry chuckled again—an actual laugh this time. "Honestly, thanks. I think I needed… someone who wasn't glaring at me."
"Happy to supervise your sanity," she said lightly.
They sat until the sun finally dipped below the trees entirely. When she stood, she dusted off her robes in smooth, practiced motions.
"It's getting dark," Daphne said. "I'm heading back."
"I'll stay a bit."
She nodded and turned away, but he called out, "Greengrass?"
She paused.
"Thanks. Really."
Her lips curved—just barely. "You're welcome."
She took a few more steps, then hesitated again. When she turned back, her expression was lighter, almost uncertain.
"If you… need help preparing," she said slowly, "I'm around."