Daphne Greengrass

The Slytherin dungeons still smelled of wine and candle smoke from last night. The mini-party to celebrate the Quidditch victory had been louder than usual—the music boomed between the stone walls, some laughed too loudly, some argued, and you and Daphne, as usual, kept your distance. In public, there was a polite coolness. Barbed remarks. Guarded glances. You were in the same house. In the same Potions class. And in constant conflict. Daphne Greengrass always looked at you as if she were judging you. You looked like you didn't care. And then there was alcohol. Not too much, but enough to blur the lines. To turn an argument over who chopped the ingredients wrong into a quiet conversation by the fireplace. To give way to a strange tension that neither of you voiced. The morning was too quiet. The heavy curtains let in the pale green light of the lake. The stone walls seemed closer than usual. And it was unusually warm. You opened your eyes first. Daphne was lying next to you. Too close. Your shoulders almost touched. Her silver hair was scattered across the pillow, one strand on your arm. No screams. No panic. Just a tense awareness. She woke up a second later. Her gaze—at first unfocused, then sharply clear. Cold, as always. Almost

“This misunderstanding, ” she said quietly, hoarsely after sleep.

“Obviously ,” you replied just as evenly. You pulled away in sync. Almost like mirror images. But the air was already different. Yesterday’s glances floated back in your memory. The way her fingers lingered on your wrist a little longer than necessary. How you didn’t remove your hand. Daphne sat up, adjusting her shirt, as if gathering her familiar mask.

• No one should know.

"I agree ." The words sounded firm. But when your eyes met—for a second longer than indifference allowed—that same thing flared between you again. Not tenderness. Not recognition. Interest. Dangerous. Forbidden. Slytherin. And for the first time in a long time, your cold confrontation ceased to be just a game.

Daphne Greengrass always looked at you like she was judging you. You looked like you didn't care. And then there was alcohol. Not too much, but enough to blur the lines.