Chapter Text
The train station was alive with noise, a cacophony of laughter, shouted goodbyes, and the shrill whistle of the scarlet steam engine. Eleven-year-old Daphne Greengrass stood poised near the edge of Platform 9¾, her back straight, her chin tilted slightly upward—an almost instinctual reflex drilled into her by years of decorum lessons. Yet beneath her carefully composed exterior, a knot of anxiety churned in her stomach.
Astoria’s soft sobs tugged at Daphne’s attention. Her little sister clung to her like a barnacle, her face buried in Daphne’s robe sleeve. "I don’t want you to go," Astoria mumbled, her voice muffled but no less plaintive.
Daphne crouched to her sister’s height, brushing a strand of blonde hair from Astoria’s damp face. “It’s only for a few months,” she said gently, though her own voice wavered slightly. “I’ll write you every week, and I’ll be home before you know it. At Christmas, we’ll spend hours in the garden, just like always. I promise.”
Astoria sniffled, her small hands tightening their grip. “You promise?”
“On my wand,” Daphne swore solemnly, a small smile flickering across her lips. It was the same oath they’d made countless times when Astoria sought reassurance, and it worked now as it always did. Slowly, Astoria nodded, though her watery eyes didn’t let go of Daphne just yet.
Their father cleared his throat, a polite but firm signal. “Astoria, darling, come here,” he said, his voice clipped yet softened around the edges in that way he reserved for his youngest daughter. “You’ll have her letters before you know it. And we mustn’t hold her up. Daphne has a train to catch.”
Astoria reluctantly let go and stepped back into their father’s embrace, though her lip quivered. Daphne straightened, brushing off imaginary lint from her neatly pressed robes—a nervous habit she couldn’t quite seem to shake. She glanced up at her father, catching the faintest glint of something unspoken in his usually stern gaze. Pride, perhaps. Or worry. Maybe both.
“I trust you remember what we discussed,” he said, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. His words carried the weight of the expectations she had been raised under. A Greengrass did not stumble. A Greengrass did not falter. Daphne nodded, trying not to let the pressure settle too heavily on her.
“Yes, Father,” she replied. “I’ll do my best to make you proud.”
His grip tightened briefly, a rare show of affection. “Your best has always been enough. Remember that.”
Daphne swallowed, a lump rising in her throat. He didn’t say it often, but when he did, it carried the same gravity as a vow. “I’ll write to you too,” she said quietly, and for a moment, a flicker of warmth crossed his otherwise composed face.
“Good girl,” he said simply, his voice dipping to a gentler tone. Then, with a slight nod toward the train, he released her shoulder. “Off you go.”
The realization struck her like a sudden gust of wind—this was it. The first step toward independence, and yet, in some ways, the first step into a world where her every move would be scrutinized. She wasn’t just Daphne; she was a Greengrass, and that meant something in Wizarding Britain. It always had.
As she climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express, her thoughts swirled in a chaotic dance of nerves and hope. She glanced out the window to see Astoria clutching their father’s hand, waving with the other. Daphne lifted a hand to wave back, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips.
The train lurched forward, and with it came a swell of emotions—excitement, apprehension, determination. She was leaving the safety of her home, her family, her sister’s unquestioning adoration. But she was also stepping into the future, a future she had the power to shape, even if the weight of her family’s legacy bore down on her every decision.
Daphne sat down in an empty compartment, smoothing her robes as she exhaled slowly. She would miss her father’s quiet confidence, Astoria’s innocent devotion. But this was her path now. Nervous as she was, she held onto a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, she could balance who she wanted to be with who she was expected to become.
As the countryside blurred past the window, Daphne allowed herself one moment of unguarded thought: the faintest wish that Hogwarts would be more than just duty and expectations. Maybe it could be a place for her, just Daphne, to finally breathe.
The countryside rolled by in a blur of green and gold, but Daphne barely noticed. She sat by the window, her back straight and hands folded neatly in her lap, the picture of composure. Inside, however, her mind churned with a thousand thoughts. The future loomed ahead of her, an intimidating mix of duty and opportunity. The expectations of her family sat heavy on her shoulders, but the uncertainty of what lay ahead at Hogwarts was equally daunting.
She glanced at the door of the compartment for what felt like the tenth time in as many minutes. Tracey should have been here by now. Daphne’s lips curved into a faint, wry smile. Knowing Tracey, she was likely caught up in some scheme, dragging Blaise along with her. Tracey had always had a knack for finding trouble, and Blaise was more than happy to provide commentary from the sidelines, his dry humor only making their antics more memorable.
Still, the absence of her best friend left Daphne feeling slightly adrift. She had imagined starting this journey together, as they always had—Tracey with her endless chatter and Blaise with his bemused smirks. Instead, she was alone, left to her thoughts and the soft hum of the train.
The compartment door slid open with a quiet clatter, startling her from her musings. Daphne looked up, expecting to see Tracey’s mischievous grin or Blaise’s raised brow. Instead, a boy stood in the doorway. He was slight, almost delicate, with messy raven-black hair that looked as though it had never met a comb. His clothes hung off his frame, oversized and worn, as if they had been made for someone twice his size. But it was his eyes that caught her attention—bright, strikingly green, and filled with an openness that immediately set him apart from anyone she’d ever met.
“Sorry,” the boy said, his voice soft but steady. “I didn’t mean to intrude..”
Daphne blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. Intrusions, in her experience, were rarely accompanied by such a calm and unassuming presence. She gestured toward the seat across from her, more out of reflex than conscious thought. “You can sit, if you’d like.”
“Thanks,” he said, stepping inside and settling into the seat. His movements were careful, almost tentative, as if he were unsure of his welcome. Daphne found herself studying him, trying to place him. There was something unusual about him, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“First year?” she asked, falling back on the familiar cadence of polite conversation.
He nodded. “Yeah. You too?”
“Yes,” she replied, tilting her head slightly. “You don’t seem nervous.”
He smiled faintly, a small but genuine expression that caught her off guard. “I’m nervous enough. Just... trying not to think about it too much.”
Daphne raised a brow. Most conversations she had were like games of chess, with every word carefully chosen and every reply measured. This boy, however, spoke plainly, without any apparent agenda. It was disconcerting, but not unpleasant.
“Do you know anyone at Hogwarts?” she asked, her tone more curious than formal now.
“No,” he admitted. “It’s just me.” His honesty was startling, as was the ease with which he said it. He didn’t seem embarrassed or defensive, merely stating a fact. “What about you?”
“I know a few people,” Daphne said carefully, her pureblood upbringing warning her against revealing too much to a stranger. “Family friends.”
“Must be nice,” he said, his tone light and unassuming. “Going in already knowing people.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond. There was no trace of envy or bitterness in his voice, only a genuine curiosity. “It has its advantages,” she said finally, feeling as though she were stating the obvious.
The boy leaned back slightly, his green eyes studying her with quiet interest. “What House do you want to be in?”
The question was so simple, so direct, that it threw her off balance. In her world, conversations were like duels, each participant trying to outmaneuver the other with wit or subtlety. This boy, however, seemed to lack any such pretensions. He asked questions because he wanted to know the answers, not because he was trying to trap her or gain the upper hand.
“I... haven’t decided,” she said, which was true enough. Her family expected her to end up in Slytherin, of course, but a part of her wondered what it would be like to forge her own path.
He nodded, as if her answer made perfect sense. “I think I’d like Gryffindor. It sounds... brave.”
Brave. Daphne almost laughed at the simplicity of it, but something in his tone stopped her. There was no arrogance in his words, no boasting or bravado, only a quiet determination that seemed at odds with his slight frame and unassuming demeanor.
“You don’t seem like the boasting type,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop herself.
He chuckled softly, a sound that was more self-deprecating than amused. “I’m not. But I’d like to be brave. Someday.”
Daphne didn’t know how to respond to that. It wasn’t the kind of thing people her age usually admitted, especially not to someone they’d just met. She found herself wondering who this boy was, what had shaped him into someone who could speak so openly about his hopes and fears.
The train jolted slightly as it rounded a bend, and he glanced out the window, his expression distant for a moment. Then he turned back to her, his green eyes meeting hers with a warmth that made her feel strangely at ease.
“Sorry for bothering you,” he said, standing up. “I’ll let you get back to... whatever you were doing.”
“You weren’t bothering me,” Daphne said quickly, surprised by the honesty in her own voice. She opened her mouth to say more, but before she could find the words, he smiled—a small, genuine smile that made her chest feel oddly light—and stepped out into the corridor. His messy black hair and oversized clothes disappeared down the hallway, leaving her staring at the empty doorway.
For a moment, she simply sat there, her mind replaying their conversation. She wasn’t used to interactions like that, devoid of pretense and artifice. It was unsettling, but also... refreshing.
The compartment door slid open again, and this time it was Tracey, her dark curls in slight disarray and a mischievous grin on her face. Blaise followed behind her, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else.
“You would not believe the chaos in the third car,” Tracey announced, flopping onto the seat beside Daphne. “Some first-year managed to set off a Dungbomb, and Blaise here was absolutely horrified.”
Blaise arched a brow, his expression dry. “Horrified is a bit strong. Mildly inconvenienced, perhaps.”
Tracey rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You looked ready to hex someone.”
Daphne smiled faintly at their banter, but her thoughts were elsewhere. As Tracey launched into a dramatic retelling of their adventure and Blaise offered his sardonic commentary, Daphne found her mind drifting back to the boy with the green eyes. There was something about him, something she couldn’t quite put into words. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met, and that alone was enough to keep him lingering in her thoughts.
“…and then Blaise practically dragged me out of there,” Tracey was saying, waving her hands for emphasis. “Honestly, Daphne, you missed all the fun.”
“I’m sure I did,” Daphne said absently, her gaze flicking toward the window. The train rumbled on, carrying them closer to Hogwarts and whatever awaited them there.
As Tracey and Blaise continued to chatter, Daphne found herself glancing toward the door, half-expecting to see a flash of raven hair or a pair of striking green eyes. It was absurd, she told herself. He was just a boy, just another first-year like her. But something about him had unsettled her carefully ordered thoughts, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite push him from her mind.
The Sorting Hat sang its song, weaving tales of bravery, cunning, intelligence, and loyalty, and the Great Hall erupted into applause as the last note rang out. Daphne sat at the long Slytherin table, her back straight and her expression calm, though her heart had yet to steady from the rush of her own Sorting.
Slytherin. It had been expected, of course, but the moment the Sorting Hat had whispered the word, she had felt a tangle of pride and turmoil. Pride, because it was the House of her family, of ambition, of legacy. Turmoil, because being in Slytherin meant stepping deeper into the world of expectations that had always loomed over her. There would be no room for missteps, no forgiveness for failure.
Still, she had kept her composure, as a Greengrass should. As the next names were called, she watched the new students approach the stool, their faces a mixture of fear and excitement. Some she recognized by their surnames, others were strangers. Tracey had given her a triumphant grin when she joined Slytherin, and Blaise had barely looked surprised when the Hat declared his House almost instantly. They now sat on either side of her, chatting idly as the Sorting continued.
“…and what about him?” Tracey’s voice cut through Daphne’s thoughts, drawing her attention to the next student stepping forward.
The boy’s slight frame and messy raven hair made her heart skip a beat. It was him—the boy from the train. Daphne leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharpening as he climbed the steps to the Sorting Hat.
“Wait,” Blaise murmured, his tone laced with curiosity. “Is that…?”
“Yes,” Tracey breathed, her eyes wide. “That’s Harry Potter.”
Daphne blinked, her composure momentarily slipping. Harry Potter. She had spoken to Harry Potter on the train, and he hadn’t even mentioned his name. Chagrin flared in her chest. Who didn’t lead with that? Most people would have announced it the moment they stepped onto the platform, yet he had simply spoken to her as if he were any other boy, no airs, no titles. Just... himself.
The Hall fell silent as the Hat was placed on his head. Daphne held her breath, though she wasn’t sure why. Surely he would end up in Gryffindor—where else would the Boy Who Lived belong? Still, as the seconds stretched on, she found herself hoping, inexplicably, that the Hat might choose differently. Perhaps, like her, he wasn’t as simple to sort as everyone assumed.
Finally, the Hat bellowed, “Gryffindor!” and the Gryffindor table erupted into cheers.
A flicker of disappointment surprised her, unbidden and unwelcomed. Of course he’d go to Gryffindor. Why had she thought otherwise? It was silly to feel let down over something so trivial. She forced herself to focus on her plate, smoothing her expression into a practiced mask of cool indifference.
As Harry removed the Hat and handed it back, he turned, his gaze scanning the tables. When his eyes landed on her, Daphne froze. He smiled—just a small, unassuming smile—and raised a hand in a wave, his emerald eyes sparkling with the same warmth and ease that had unsettled her on the train.
“Daphne,” Tracey whispered sharply, her voice tinged with shock.
Blaise made a faint noise of disbelief, his gaze darting between Daphne and Harry. Around her, she felt the weight of other eyes—Slytherins watching her with interest, curiosity, perhaps even suspicion.
But Daphne refused to let any of it show. Schooling her features, she tilted her chin ever so slightly in acknowledgment, as if nothing about the moment was out of the ordinary. Inside, however, a faint grin tugged at her thoughts. Harry Potter had just waved at her, and he didn’t seem to care one bit about the historic rivalry between their Houses.
As he walked toward the Gryffindor table, the tension around her ebbed, but her mind lingered on him. The ease with which he had looked at her, smiled at her, as if the badge on her robes meant nothing—it was disarming, baffling even. Yet, in a way, it was also... refreshing. For once, she hadn’t felt like she was being sized up, judged, or maneuvered into some invisible game.
“Daphne,” Tracey said again, this time with an amused smirk. “What exactly did you say to him on the train?”
“Nothing of importance,” Daphne replied smoothly, lifting her goblet to her lips and taking a measured sip of pumpkin juice.
Tracey and Blaise exchanged glances, their expressions skeptical but amused. Around her, the chatter at the Slytherin table resumed, the moment passing as if it had never happened. But Daphne knew better. For the rest of the meal, she kept her eyes forward, focusing on the Sorting, on the food, on anything but the Gryffindor table.
Still, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something had shifted, that Harry Potter had brought a strange, unexpected energy into her world. And for all her training, for all the composure drilled into her since childhood, she found herself wondering what it meant—and whether she wanted to find out.