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Like Fire and Moonlight - Chapter 6: Peace Between Enemies
🕑 Added 2025-05-12 13:00:15 +0000 UTCGryffindor’s victory over Hufflepuff brought Harry a sense of relief he hadn’t felt in a long time. The deafening roar of the crowd still echoed in his ears as he landed hard on the pitch, his legs slightly unsteady after the intense flight. His teammates landed just behind him, red robes billowing like flags in the wind as they all gathered around him, their faces flushed with effort but lit with wide, triumphant smiles.
Ginny was the first to reach him, her face still glowing with the adrenaline of the game, red hair loose and tousled around her cheeks.
“You did it, Potter!” she exclaimed, slapping his shoulder hard before pulling him into a hug that nearly knocked him off balance. “I knew you’d catch that Snitch!”
Harry laughed, the sound blending with the chorus of cheers and applause still ringing from the stands, but he quickly regretted it as a sharp pain pulsed in his temple like a drumbeat.
He stepped back slightly, blinking as the ringing in his ear seemed to intensify again. He tried to ignore the pain, but the discomfort was clear even to the other players, who exchanged worried glances.
Before he could fully regain his composure, Harry felt two familiar arms wrap around him in a tight embrace, red hair brushing against his face, releasing the comforting scent of herbs and potions.
“You were amazing, Harry,” Lily murmured, holding her son tightly as if trying to shield him from all the dangers around him. “But you look hurt.”
Harry blinked rapidly, his eyes still adjusting to the sunlight filtering through the stands. He managed a strained smile, but he knew the concern in his mother’s voice wouldn’t disappear so easily.
“I’m fine, Mum,” he replied, trying to sound confident. “Just a Bludger. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Before Lily could respond, Madam Pomfrey appeared at their side, her sharp eyes scanning Harry as if she already knew exactly what had happened. She had that uncanny ability to appear next to any injured student, no matter where they were on the field.
“Let me see that, Potter,” she said, already drawing her wand from the pocket of her white apron. “You probably ruptured your eardrum with that hit.”
Harry forced himself to stay still as she examined the side of his head, her long, steady fingers lightly pressing the still-sensitive skin.
“Is it serious, Poppy?” Lily asked, still holding onto her son’s arm as though afraid he might collapse at any moment.
Madam Pomfrey gave a faint smile, her eyes softening as she murmured a spell that made Harry feel as if something was being pulled out of his brain, the pressure in his ear easing almost instantly.
“Nothing a good spell and some proper rest won’t fix,” the nurse replied, stepping back as she tucked her wand away again. “The pain will subside, but you need to rest, Potter. And I don’t mean just for a few hours.”
Harry nodded, blinking rapidly as the hearing in his right ear began to return to normal, the sounds around him growing sharper and clearer.
“Thank you, Poppy,” Lily said, relieved, finally releasing her hold on his arm as the nurse moved on to tend to other players who had also gotten injured.
Harry took a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand with the cool, fresh air of the pitch as he watched Madam Pomfrey’s figure disappear into the crowd of players, coaches, and supporters gathered around the field.
“As much as I love the sport and know how much you enjoy it,” Lily said, wrapping her arms around him once more, her green eyes still bright with worry, “I still worry about how badly you can get hurt.”
“He won, Lily,” Sirius interrupted, approaching with a wide grin and a face speckled with bits of mud—likely acquired while jumping in excitement in the stands. “And it was a spectacular catch, if I may say so.”
Harry laughed again, the sound still tinged with the dull throb in his temple, but he felt better seeing the proud smile on his godfather’s face.
“For a moment I thought they were going to get the Snitch,” Sirius confessed, giving Harry a light slap on the back that almost knocked him off balance again.
“So did I,” Harry admitted, running his fingers through his hair, still tousled by the wind of the match.
James, who had followed closely behind Sirius, frowned, his brown eyes narrowing as he examined his son. “What happened with that Bludger back there?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. “You looked distracted for a second.”
Harry hesitated, his gaze drifting toward the field where the Hufflepuff players were starting to regroup and head back to the changing rooms, their faces still marked by the effort of the match.
“I’m not really sure,” he finally replied, turning his eyes back to his father, who was still watching him with a slightly suspicious expression. “What matters is we won.”
James studied him for a few more seconds before finally smiling, his teeth flashing in the sunlight as he patted his son’s shoulder lightly. “That’s true,” he agreed. “And you played like a true Potter.”
Harry smiled, his chest swelling with pride as he slowly walked away from his parents, his shoulders still sore but his heart light with the thrill of victory.
He cast one last glance toward the Slytherin stands, his eyes scanning the figures beginning to descend the stone steps, but he couldn’t find the blond blur that had distracted him during the match.
With a final sigh of relief, he turned to follow his friends back to the Gryffindor common room, the pain in his temple now nothing compared to the euphoria flooding his chest.
Gryffindor had won.
And for now, that was all that mattered.
~HP~
As always, Harry was the last one to head to the showers in the Gryffindor locker room. The other players had already changed and were on their way to the Great Hall, where the victory party in the common room awaited them. These celebrations had become a tradition—a legacy left by Fred and George Weasley that Harry had made sure to continue since becoming team captain.
The party always included music, food, and of course, alcoholic drinks they smuggled in from Hogsmeade with the help of a few trustworthy contacts like Aberforth Dumbledore and older students who knew all the castle's shortcuts.
Harry rolled his shoulders as the hot water from the shower ran down his body, his muscles finally relaxing after the tension of the match. The pain in his temple was still there, but now it felt more like a distant memory—a soft throbbing he could ignore as he let his mind wander.
He found himself mentally reviewing every moment of the game—the plays that worked, the mistakes that needed fixing. But no matter how much he tried to focus on the technical details, his mind always seemed to drift to the same place—two blue eyes staring at him from the stands.
He shook his head, turning off the shower with a quick movement before his thoughts could take a more confusing turn. He wrapped himself in a towel, his muscles still slightly tense as he walked to the locker where he kept his clothes.
He was running a hand through his still-wet hair, trying to dry it quickly, when the locker room door opened with a soft creak. Harry froze, his fingers still tangled in his messy hair as he turned to see who had come in.
For a brief second, his heart sped up at the thought of it being Amelia again, but to his surprise, it wasn’t her.
Daphne Greengrass stood at the entrance of the locker room, her hand still on the doorknob as she looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Her eyes moved quickly over Harry’s body, her face seemingly calm, but her cheeks were slightly flushed—perhaps from the brisk walk to the pitch or the sheer nerve it took to enter the boys’ locker room.
“Greengrass?” he said, his voice louder than he expected, the sound echoing off the damp stone walls. “What are you doing here?”
Daphne hesitated for a moment, her fingers still clutching the doorknob, but then she stepped inside, the door slowly closing behind her. Her eyes briefly swept across Harry’s chest, still glistening with the water droplets slowly rolling down the well-defined muscles he’d built over years of intense training.
She paused for a second when she noticed the small tattoo near his chest—an elegant, intricate symbol, a mix of Celtic runes he had gotten the previous summer, a birthday gift from Sirius on his seventeenth birthday. Few people knew about it, and Harry felt his face heat up slightly under Daphne’s steady gaze.
She seemed to realize she’d been staring too long and quickly looked away, her blond hair swaying slightly as she exhaled slowly, as if gathering courage to speak.
“I… I came to apologize,” she said finally, her arms crossing slightly over her chest, as if trying to create a barrier between them. Her cheeks flushed even more, her eyes darting back and forth, avoiding his. “For the past few days.”
Harry blinked in surprise, still holding the towel tightly around his waist as he tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on her face. He hadn’t expected this—not after all the arguments, cold stares, and sharp words they’d exchanged since the beginning of the year.
Daphne sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly as she took a few more steps into the locker room, her shoes echoing softly on the cold stone floor.
“I was talking to Astoria,” she continued, her eyes finally meeting his for a brief second before shifting again to the floor. “And I realized that… I probably should’ve given you the chance to explain. I overreacted.”
Harry stayed silent, his lips slightly parted as he tried to process her words.
“I got upset because… when I thought you were finally taking responsibility, it seemed like you were throwing it all away for someone like Amelia,” she said, her lips tightening slightly as her gaze fixed on a distant point on the wall behind him. “And I don’t know why that bothered me so much.”
Harry exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he finally found his voice.
“Sorry if my reputation follows me around,” he said, his voice softer than he expected. “But I really didn’t do anything. Amelia is… complicated. She sometimes acts like I’m her boyfriend or something, but I never gave her that kind of opening.”
Daphne looked back at him again, her expression softening slightly as she watched him more carefully.
“I should’ve listened to you,” she said, her lips curling into a small smile that looked almost out of place on her usually serious face. “I know you’re not as irresponsible as you try to seem sometimes.”
Harry stepped a little closer, his eyes still locked on hers as his fingers tightened slightly around the towel. “So… we’re good?”
She blinked quickly, her eyes drifting again to the tattoo that stood out against Harry’s wet skin before meeting his gaze once more.
“We’re good,” she replied, her face curving again in a slight smile before she turned toward the door. “But please, don’t give me another reason to punch you in the middle of a patrol.”
Harry laughed, the tension in his shoulders finally melting away as he watched Daphne open the door again, her blond hair swaying slightly as she quickly disappeared down the corridor.
He exhaled the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, a faint smile on his lips as he returned to his locker, his fingers quickly reaching for the clean clothes he had left there.
She had distracted him during the match. Had wrongly accused him. But for some reason, Harry felt the night was about to get better.
He just didn’t know exactly why.
~HP~
Dinner in the Great Hall went smoothly, but Harry felt the familiar anxiety growing in his chest as the meal dragged on. He could barely concentrate on the conversations around him, his eyes flitting between the plates magically filling with food and the classmates whispering excitedly about the Gryffindor Common Room party that was to follow.
Post-victory parties were an old Gryffindor tradition, something that started long before Fred and George Weasley, but which the twins had taken to a new level of chaos and fun. When they graduated, they passed the torch to Harry and Ron, who had proudly continued the tradition. Music, food, and of course, alcohol smuggled in from Hogsmeade — a risk, but always worth it. To his relief, McGonagall had given the Gryffindor prefects the night off from patrols, likely aware that her students needed a celebration to mark the victory.
When dinner finally ended, Harry, Ron, and Hermione quickly stood up, walking briskly through the Great Hall as the other students began to disperse toward their respective towers. They hurried up the stairs, their steps echoing off the stone as the portraits watched them with curious expressions. Hermione, as usual, looked slightly uncomfortable with the idea of yet another party that would likely break half of Hogwarts’ rules, but even she couldn't hide a small, satisfied smile — perhaps still riding the high of the victory she had watched earlier.
As soon as they passed through the portrait of the Fat Lady, the sound of the party hit them like a wave. The Gryffindor Common Room was packed, the flickering light of the fireplace reflecting off dozens of cups passed from hand to hand, while students laughed, shouted, and sang together, their faces glowing in the warm light and their eyes shining with the energy of triumph.
“Looks like the party started without us,” Ron remarked with a laugh, letting himself be pushed along by a group of fifth-years awkwardly dancing to music coming from somewhere near the fireplace.
Harry barely had time to take it all in before Seamus appeared beside him, hand already outstretched to pull him up onto a nearby chair.
“Harry, speech!” he shouted, pushing his friend up until Harry found himself standing on the chair, dozens of faces turned toward him, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Harry scratched his head, slightly embarrassed, his fingers still damp from the shower he'd taken minutes earlier. He took a deep breath, his eyes sweeping over the familiar faces around him — classmates, friends, teammates — all waiting for him to speak.
“Well,” he began, raising his voice above the music and chatter, “that was just the first game of the season.”
He paused, his eyes flicking between the faces of Ginny, Teddy, Lexie, and the other players gathered near the fireplace, some of them still with sweat-slicked hair clinging to their faces.
“We might’ve had a few bumps along the way,” he continued, feeling his confidence grow with each word, “but, as always, the lions won.”
Cheers and applause exploded around him, students stomping their feet and banging cups against tables as the sound echoed through the common room walls.
“And we’re going to give this school a championship like they’ve never seen before,” he finished, raising his fist in a defiant gesture that sent the crowd into an even louder frenzy, the shouting so intense Harry could barely hear himself think.
When he finally stepped down from the chair, his palms tingling from the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, Harry let himself be pushed toward a nearby table, where Seamus was already handing him a glass of firewhisky, the amber liquid glowing softly under the torchlight.
“Abe gave us his best batch this time,” Harry commented, raising the glass before bringing it to his lips, the familiar heat of the drink sliding down his throat and warming his chest.
“Cost me a few good galleons,” Seamus replied, leaning in to clink his glass against Harry’s. “But it was worth it. Always is.”
Harry nodded, his eyes scanning the common room as he took another sip, the sound of music and laughter filling his ears and, for a moment at least, pushing away the worries that had plagued him in recent weeks.
He spotted Ron and Hermione near the fireplace, the two of them sitting side by side as they watched their classmates dancing and laughing around them. Harry approached, the glass still firm in his hand as he forced a carefree smile.
“So?” he asked, his eyes flicking between the couple as he dropped into a nearby armchair. “What do you think?”
“That we’re lucky McGonagall doesn’t care about these parties anymore,” Hermione said, her brown eyes narrowing slightly as she watched a group of third-years attempting — not very successfully — to dance in time with the music echoing through the room. “Or we’d be in trouble.”
“At most, we’d just lose a few house points,” Harry joked, raising his glass in a carefree gesture. “Or maybe a few detentions for the organizers. Nothing that would ruin your perfect record.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.
“Should you be drinking?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she examined Harry’s face.
“Well,” he replied with a shrug, “Poppy only said I needed to rest. She didn’t say I couldn’t drink. And besides, it’s the first party. We’ve got to enjoy it.”
“He knows what he’s doing, Mione,” Ron said, raising his own glass before taking a generous sip.
Harry leaned back slightly, his eyes slowly scanning the common room as he felt the firewhisky’s warmth spread through his body. He noticed Romilda Vane on the other side of the room, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders as she chatted with a group of friends, her dark eyes moving quickly—until they met his.
She blushed instantly, her lips curving into a small smile that she quickly tried to hide behind the cup in her hand.
Harry leaned forward, his heartbeat quickening slightly as he slowly rose from the armchair, his eyes still locked on hers.
“I’ll catch you two later, yeah?” he said to Ron and Hermione, his gaze never leaving Romilda’s as he made his way across the room toward her.
She stepped away from her friends quickly, her eyes gleaming with anticipation as he approached, their faces now only inches apart.
“How about a little walk through the corridors?” he whispered, leaning in closer. “I think I saw something you might be interested in.”
Romilda nodded quickly, her cheeks still flushed as he took her hand and led her toward the portrait of the Fat Lady.
And as he walked away, Harry tried to ignore the persistent thought that continued to follow him.
~HP~
It was well past curfew when Harry stumbled through the dark corridors of Hogwarts, his footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls as he leaned lightly against each one he passed. His head was spinning slightly, the sweet taste of alcohol still lingering in his mouth as he spun the bottle he carried, his fingers now sticky from the liquid he had spilled without noticing.
He and Romilda had spent a good while together, hiding in a small, abandoned classroom on the third floor. Nothing too obscene—hurried kisses, stifled laughter, and touches that left her cheeks flushed and his heart beating fast enough to, at least for a time, chase away the thoughts that had been haunting him over the past few weeks.
He brought the bottle to his lips again, the liquid going down with less burn than the first few sips, now smoother, as if his body was already getting used to the warmth of the alcohol. He tripped over his own feet trying to avoid a suit of armor looming threateningly around a corner and nearly crashed into it, his fingers slipping slightly on the cold stone as he steadied himself.
“Merlin,” he muttered to himself, a goofy smile curving his lips as he ran a hand through his messy hair. “Wouldn’t want to wake the whole castle now.”
He turned another corner, his steps still heavy and clumsy, but to his misfortune, he came face to face with the last person he expected to see at that hour—Daphne Greengrass.
She was alone, her wand casting a soft light in front of her, blonde hair falling over her shoulders as she walked with firm, purposeful steps. She stopped abruptly when she saw him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she analyzed Harry’s swaying figure approaching.
“Hey, Daph,” he said, lifting a hand in a clumsy gesture, his eyes slightly unfocused as he tried to keep his balance. “Didn’t think you’d wander so far from your den.”
Daphne frowned, the wandlight casting soft illumination across Harry’s face as she slowly stepped closer, her eyes narrowing further when she noticed the bottle in his hand.
“Potter?” she asked, her voice coming out in a sharp whisper. “What happened to you?”
Harry let out a short laugh, his head tilting slightly as he tried to focus on her eyes.
“Well, you know,” he began, letting out a hiccup that echoed softly through the corridor, “things started here, ended there, and now I’m here. Life stuff.”
He chuckled to himself, the sound echoing off the cold stones as Daphne crossed her arms, her eyes now clearly irritated as she watched him sway slightly side to side.
“You’re drunk?” she asked, her lips pressing into a thin line as she took another step forward, the light from her wand now reflecting in Harry’s green eyes, which seemed even brighter under the influence of the alcohol.
“A little,” he replied, making a vague gesture with the hand still holding the bottle. “Just enough to forget a few things.”
Daphne sighed, her eyes rolling toward the ceiling as she exhaled slowly, as if trying to summon patience to deal with him.
“You do know this is against the rules, right?” she said, her tone heavy with disapproval.
Harry laughed again, his shoulders shaking slightly as he leaned in closer, his breath warm with firewhisky and mint mingling in the cold corridor air.
“Don’t come at me with rules, Daphne,” he retorted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at her with an expression bordering on defiance. “We make the rules now.”
Daphne let out a light sigh, her fingers moving slowly as she tucked her wand into the inner pocket of her robe, her eyes still fixed on his face as the light disappeared, plunging them into soft shadow.
“Come on,” she said, reaching out to grab Harry’s arm, pulling him closer as she draped it over her shoulders. “I’m taking you back to your common room before you break something—or yourself.”
Harry blinked rapidly, his eyes drifting to her face as he felt the warmth of Daphne’s body press close to his, her blonde hair brushing lightly against his chin as she adjusted her position to steady him better.
“You already trying to take me to bed?” he murmured, his voice lower now but still laced with teasing. “What’s this, Greengrass? Decided you’re in love with me? Not even dinner first?”
Daphne let out a soft laugh, the sound low and restrained as the two began walking slowly down the corridor—her steps steady, while his dragged slightly along the cold floor.
“Not even in your dreams, Potter,” she replied, her lips curving into a slight smile as she pulled him closer, their shoulders now almost touching as she guided him toward the staircase that led to the lower floor. “I just don’t want you breaking your neck while trying to play the drunken hero.”
Harry laughed again, his eyes flicking quickly to her face as he felt Daphne’s warm breath against his neck.
“She cares about me,” he murmured, a goofy smile playing on his lips as he watched her closely. “That’s so cute. Do you care that much?”
Daphne rolled her eyes, her pace quickening slightly as they neared the corridor that led to Gryffindor Tower.
“Don’t start, Potter,” she said, her tone heavy with exasperation.
“Why not call me Harry?” he asked, his voice still low, still provocative.
Daphne hesitated for a second, her eyes meeting his as they stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, who, to both their surprise, looked nearly as drunk as Harry—her eyes half-closed as she regarded them with a confused expression.
“Because I’m not that familiar with you,” Daphne replied, her lips curling into a faintly sarcastic smile as she stepped away from him, her gaze still locked with his as she slowly let go of his arm.
Harry leaned in a little closer, his breath still warm and tinged with whisky as he looked at her with an intensity he couldn’t quite explain.
“We could change that, you know…” he murmured, his voice low and rough as Daphne’s eyes widened slightly. “Nothing you haven’t imagined before…”
Daphne smiled, her lips curving into an expression he couldn’t quite decipher, before she took a step back, her eyes still fixed on his.
“Actually, Harry,” she said, the name sounding unfamiliar in her mouth, like she was trying something new, “you’re the one imagining things.”
And without another word, she turned away, her blonde hair swaying lightly as she disappeared into the shadows of the corridor that led to the dungeons.
Harry blinked, his head still spinning slightly as he stared after her fading figure.
What the hell had just happened?
