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Like Fire and Moonlight - Chapter 16: In Sickness and in Health
🕑 Added 2025-05-18 11:01:03 +0000 UTCThe weeks that followed their encounter in the Astronomy Tower were, without a doubt, some of the most confusing and, at the same time, the most exciting Harry had ever experienced. He felt like he was living in a kind of secret movie, where, in the daylight, he had to keep up his usual facade — teasing Daphne in the corridors, exchanging challenging glances with other Slytherins, and behaving like the responsible Head Boy everyone expected him to be.
But at night, everything changed.
They met in the prefects’ lounge, during nightly patrols, or sometimes in a dark corner of the castle’s corridors, where the torchlight cast shadows that seemed to protect their secrets. Being with Daphne was completely different from being with any other girl. He didn’t have to wear a mask, didn’t have to choose his words carefully. They talked about everything — school, the future, their families, their Houses — and, more and more, he felt like he truly understood her.
Harry loved hearing her stories about the Greengrass family, a deeply rooted magical family with traditions and expectations that sometimes made him feel like an outsider in his own world. He found himself fascinated by these tales, realizing that despite all the differences between them, Daphne also carried her own pressures and responsibilities.
That night, they were walking together down one of the third-floor corridors, their wands in hand as the shadows from the torches followed them closely. It was the night before the Quidditch match against Slytherin — the second game of the season and, without a doubt, the most important one so far.
“You seem distracted,” Daphne commented, breaking the silence as they turned a corner.
Harry let out a small sigh, running a hand through his already messy hair. “A bit,” he admitted, his thoughts still focused on the plays he needed to remember for the match. “If we win tomorrow, we’ll be in a good position to face Ravenclaw in the final game. That pretty much guarantees the Cup for Gryffindor.”
Daphne frowned, her lips curving into a small, amused smile. “Seven years at Hogwarts and I still don’t understand this obsession with Quidditch,” she confessed, her eyes glinting slightly. “I know it’s the wizarding sport, but honestly, it seems like a lot of effort for something so... chaotic.”
Harry laughed, shaking his head as they passed a set of suits of armor that clanged softly as they moved. “It’s more than just chaos,” he said, his eyes lighting up with an excitement she rarely saw in him. “Quidditch is... freedom. At least for me.”
Daphne tilted her head, her eyes curious as she watched him. “Freedom?”
Harry nodded, his face brightening slightly as he recalled his first flights on a broomstick. “Yeah. I mean, my dad played Quidditch when he was here, and my grandfather was passionate about the sport too, even though he never played. For them, flying was like... escaping, I guess. And for me, it’s always been like that too.”
Daphne gave a small smile, picturing Harry as a little boy, his hair even messier as he clumsily flew around his backyard. “So you learned to fly early, then?”
Harry laughed, his eyes shining with the memory. “I learned to fly before I could walk, practically. There’s a picture of me on my first birthday, when Sirius gave me a toy broomstick. I flew around the living room, hit the cat, and broke a vase. My mum was furious.”
Daphne laughed, her shoulders relaxing as they continued down the corridor. “Harry Potter, a troublemaker since the cradle,” she teased, giving him a playful shove on the shoulder.
Harry smiled, feeling his chest warm slightly at the lightness of the moment. They walked in silence for a few more seconds, their footsteps echoing softly on the cold stones of the corridor, as he tried to push away the anxiety the upcoming match brought.
Daphne glanced at him from the side, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied his thoughtful expression. “You’re going to win,” she said suddenly, her voice firm but with a hint of softness he hadn’t expected.
Harry turned to look at her, his eyes slightly surprised. “You think so?”
Daphne gave a small smile, her eyes glinting slightly in the torchlight. “You’re the best Seeker Hogwarts has ever seen, Harry. Even going up against my House, I know you’ll find a way.”
Harry felt his face heat up slightly, his chest swelling with the unexpected confidence she had in him. “Even if I’m about to crush Slytherin’s chances at the Cup?”
Daphne shrugged, her lips curving into a small smile that made his heart beat a little faster. “Well, I have to support you, right? And besides, my House has other things to worry about.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. “Oh? Like what?”
Daphne took a few more steps, her eyes drifting to the window that opened onto the castle courtyard, where the shadows of the towers stretched like silent sentinels. She turned to him, her eyes shining with that hint of mystery he admired so much.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her lips curving slightly as she took another step closer. “Slytherin has its own plans.”
Harry laughed, shaking his head as he leaned a little closer to her. “I don’t doubt that, Greengrass.”
Daphne raised an eyebrow, her eyes locked on his as the silence stretched between them for a second longer, as if the castle itself were holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
And as they continued down the corridor, their footsteps echoing softly against the cold, ancient stones, Harry realized that, despite the tension waiting for him on the pitch the next day, that brief moment by her side, wrapped in the soft glow of the torches and the distant murmurs of the castle, was something he wouldn’t trade for anything.
~HP~
As was his habit on game days, Harry woke up much earlier than necessary. The sky was still a deep blue, the stars slowly fading as the first rays of sunlight began to tint the horizon with shades of orange. He dressed quickly, pulling his red Quidditch jersey over his head and throwing his scarlet cloak over it, the light fabric swaying softly as he moved through the empty dormitory.
He didn’t want to have breakfast in the Great Hall. He knew he’d find Ron there, probably already nervously chewing on a piece of toast while Hermione tried to calm him down with encouraging words. He also knew he’d see the Slytherin players, with their confident smiles and taunting glances, trying to intimidate him before they even set foot on the pitch.
And then, of course, there was Daphne. They had seen each other the night before during patrols, and while her presence had been comforting, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up a light, relaxed conversation that morning, not with his nerves on edge. She supported him, he knew that, but at that moment, he needed a bit of silence, a few minutes to organize his thoughts before facing the most ruthless team at Hogwarts.
Harry made his way down the stairs toward the kitchens, his footsteps echoing softly on the cold stones as the castle still slept. When he finally reached the tapestry that hid the entrance, he reached out and tickled the painted pear, which squirmed slightly before transforming into a handle.
As soon as he entered, he was met with a wave of welcoming warmth, the smell of fresh bread and newly baked pies filling the air. The house-elves rushed toward him immediately, their small hands outstretched and wide smiles spreading across their faces.
“Mr. Potter!” exclaimed Pippy, a house-elf with long ears and slightly bulging eyes who always seemed on the verge of a nervous frenzy. “Would the young master like a special breakfast?”
Harry smiled, feeling his shoulders relax slightly at her enthusiasm. “Nothing too big, Pippy. Just something light... I don’t want to feel heavy during the match.”
Pippy nodded quickly, already snapping her fingers as other elves rushed to fetch fresh bread, fruit, and a steaming pot of hot tea. Harry sat down on one of the wooden benches near the stove, watching the commotion around him as the little beings moved with impressive speed.
He took a bite of bread, the fresh, slightly sweet flavor spreading through his mouth as he allowed himself to relax for a few minutes. It was in these moments that he remembered how welcoming Hogwarts could be, even on the most nerve-wracking mornings before a big game.
When he finished, he thanked the elves with a nod and left the kitchens, his steps now more confident as he made his way toward the Quidditch pitch. He crossed the courtyard leading to the gardens, feeling the cool morning air brush against his face as the sun began to rise over the horizon, casting long shadows over the castle’s worn stones.
Winter was already beginning to lose its grip, and the breeze that blew through the grounds was fresh, but not as biting as it had been in the previous weeks. The sky was clear, without a single cloud in sight — the perfect weather for a Quidditch match. He knew that worked in his team’s favor — the Beaters would have a clear view of the Bludgers, and he could focus better on finding the Snitch.
Harry felt his heart beat a little faster as he approached the locker rooms, the smell of freshly cut grass mixing with the scent of the polished wood of the stands. He knew his parents would be there, as they always promised, probably waving excitedly from the top of the stands, their voices lost in the roar of the crowd.
Sirius, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t be. He wasn’t sure where his godfather was at the moment — Sirius was known for his impulsive adventures and sudden trips across the continent, always looking for some excitement or trouble to get into. Remus, he knew, probably wouldn’t come either, not with Tonks pregnant and the family preparing for their first child.
He pushed open the heavy locker room door, the familiar smell of leather and wood enveloping him immediately. The rest of the team hadn’t arrived yet, and Harry allowed himself a few seconds to sit on one of the benches, closing his eyes as he tried to calm his breathing and prepare his mind for what was to come.
He took out the Snitch he always carried with him before matches, turning it lightly between his fingers as he watched its golden wings flutter softly. It was a silent ritual he’d had since his first year, something that helped him focus, reminding him why he loved the sport so much.
One by one, the Gryffindor players began to arrive in the locker room, the heavy doors creaking open and shut as his teammates’ voices filled the space with nervous chatter and forced laughter. Harry exchanged fist bumps with a few of them, trying to look more confident than he actually felt.
He stopped beside Ron, who was struggling to adjust the head protection he’d be wearing, his face already slightly flushed with anxiety.
“Why is facing Slytherin always such a pain?” Ron grumbled, tugging at the leather strap to tighten it around his chin. “I don’t mind wearing this thing, but it’s almost guaranteed they’ll try to smash a Bludger into my head just for fun.”
Harry laughed, giving his friend a light slap on the shoulder. “At least this time you’re prepared.”
Ginny, who was sitting on one of the nearby benches adjusting her leather gloves, let out a short laugh. “And, to be honest, you really do need that headgear, Harry.”
Ron shot her an irritated look. “And why do you say that, little sister?”
Ginny raised her eyebrows, her eyes glinting with the kind of mischief only a younger sister could muster. “Nott is one of Slytherin’s Beaters, and judging by the glares he’s been giving Harry lately, he’s going to do everything he can to break a few of his bones today.”
Harry felt his stomach tighten slightly, his hand unconsciously moving to the watch he wore — the one Daphne had given him. He had completely forgotten that Nott and Daphne had some sort of history — ex-boyfriends, maybe, or something he didn’t fully understand. They had never talked about it, but now the idea felt disturbingly real.
Ron seemed to notice the sudden change in Harry’s expression and gave him a light slap on the shoulder, his voice more resolute now. “Don’t listen to her, mate,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t seem as confident as he probably intended. “You’ll be fine. Like always.”
Harry managed a small smile, but the weight in his stomach didn’t go away. He knew he was good, maybe the best Seeker Hogwarts had ever seen, but there was something different about this match. Something that made him feel like that eleven-year-old boy stepping onto the pitch for the first time — nervous and uncertain, like he was about to face something far bigger than he could imagine.
Ginny seemed to pick up on the tension in his face and stepped closer, giving his arm a light shove. “Hey, Potter,” she said, her brown eyes shining with a hint of challenge. “You’re the guy who caught the Snitch in his first match, remember? Just do what you do best.”
Harry let out a small laugh, feeling his chest warm slightly at her confidence. “You’re right, Gin.”
She flashed a wide smile, her eyes still bright as she stepped back to adjust her shoulder pads. “I always am.”
Harry took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second as he tried to push away the image of Nott glaring at him from across the pitch. He didn’t know exactly what to expect from this match, but for some reason, he felt like it would be different from all the others.
~HP~
Harry watched his teammates leave the locker room, their laughter and teasing slowly fading as they passed through the door leading to the pitch. The sound of their voices mixed with the distant echoes of the first cheers from the crowd, which was already beginning to fill the stands, their colorful banners waving in the cold January wind.
He sat down on one of the wooden benches, feeling the weight of the silence that followed. The smell of leather and polished wood still hung in the air, mixed with the fresh scent of recently cut grass wafting in from outside. Harry closed his eyes for a second, trying to organize his thoughts, push away his worries, and focus on the one thing he did best — flying.
He was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t hear the faint creak of the locker room door opening again. He looked up, and to his surprise, saw Daphne standing in the entrance, the soft light from outside framing her silhouette in an almost ethereal way, making her blonde hair seem to glow slightly. For a second, he completely forgot about his nerves, the weight of responsibility, and the rising roar of the crowd.
He gave a small smile, his eyes locking onto hers as she took a few steps inside, closing the door behind her.
“Always sneaking into locker rooms, Miss Greengrass?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound deep and authoritative, though he couldn’t hide the amusement that sparkled in his eyes. “I’m going to have to give you a detention for this.”
Daphne rolled her eyes, but a smile broke through as she knelt in front of him, her delicate fingers moving to touch his arm, as if wanting to remind them both that this moment was real.
“As long as it’s you giving me that detention,” she replied, her eyes glinting slightly as she looked at him up close. “I’ll take it.”
Harry chuckled, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. “If you keep this up, Daphne, I’m going to think you like breaking the rules.”
She gave his arm a playful slap but didn’t move the hand that still rested on the fabric of his uniform. “Don’t push me, Potter.”
They fell into a comfortable silence for a few seconds, their eyes locked as the distant sound of the crowd grew louder, the beat of drums beginning to echo across the pitch.
“Are you okay?” Daphne finally asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him with a concern he rarely saw in her. “I didn’t see you at breakfast today.”
Harry let out a small sigh, running a hand through his messy hair as he looked away for a second, feeling the weight of the match starting to settle on his chest again. “Same problems as yesterday,” he murmured, trying not to sound as nervous as he actually felt.
Daphne tightened her grip on his arm slightly, her cold fingers contrasting with the warmth he felt in his face. “Harry, you’re going to do great,” she said, her voice firm but with a hint of softness he had come to admire so much. “I believe in you.”
Before he could respond, she leaned in and kissed him, her lips brushing his with a lightness that made his heart race. He froze for a second, surprised, but then closed his eyes, his fingers instinctively moving to her waist as he lost himself in the moment, the world around them becoming just a series of distant sounds and indistinct shadows.
When she pulled back, her blue eyes still locked on his, Harry felt his breath leave his lungs in a soft gasp, his thoughts dissolving into a hazy mist.
“What was that?” he managed to ask, his lips still tingling slightly.
Daphne gave a small smile, her fingers still resting on his arm as she slowly stood up, her blonde hair falling gently over her shoulders as she stepped back.
“A good luck charm,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with a mix of confidence and affection that made Harry’s chest feel warm. “Now go out there and show them what you’re capable of.”
Harry watched her turn and leave through the door, the soft rustle of her cloak the last thing he heard before the silence settled over the locker room again. He closed his eyes for another second, feeling his heart still racing, but now not just from nerves.
He took a deep breath, his fingers tightening slightly around the handle of his broom as he stood up from the bench, the sound of the crowd now feeling less intimidating and more like a soundtrack to what he was about to do.
He was ready.
~HP~
This was, without a doubt, one of the toughest matches Harry had ever faced. From the moment the whistle blew and the brooms shot into the sky, he knew the game against Slytherin would be a true battle. The sky was clear, the wind sharp, and the cheers of the crowd echoed like thunder around the pitch.
He had already dodged three Bludgers that seemed to come at him with more force than usual, all of them skillfully directed by Nott, who seemed determined to turn him into a moving target. The Slytherin Beater was following him closely, his eyes narrowed and filled with a determination that Harry knew wasn’t just about the game.
He felt the anger boiling in his chest every time he swerved, every time he heard the sharp whistle of a Bludger cutting through the air near his ear. He tried to focus solely on the Snitch, blocking out the taunts and insults the Slytherin players hurled in his direction. He knew he couldn’t let himself get distracted, not if he wanted to leave that pitch with more than just a few bruises.
Harry dove and climbed rapidly, his body leaning forward as he scanned the pitch for the golden glint that meant victory. He saw Malfoy approaching out of the corner of his eye, his nearly white hair standing out starkly against the blue sky.
“Losing your breath, Potter?” Malfoy shouted, his voice as cutting as ever. “Looks like you’re not as good as they say.”
Harry didn’t bother to respond, focusing only on the hunt for the Snitch. He shot upward quickly, his eyes squinting against the bright sunlight, and that’s when he saw it — a faint golden glimmer, near the top of the Slytherin goalposts, flickering like a challenge in the midst of the chaos.
He didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, his fingers tightening around the handle of his Firebolt as he dove toward the small golden point dancing on the currents of air. The world around him became nothing more than a blur of shouts, wind, and adrenaline, the roar of the crowd merging into a deafening wave that seemed to push him even faster.
He felt the icy air slicing against his face, his eyes watering as he closed in on the Snitch, which now spun wildly, its wings beating frantically as if it knew it was about to be caught.
And that’s when he felt the pain.
A sudden impact, like a giant hand slamming into his chest. His breath left his lungs in a sharp, agonizing gasp, his eyes widening as his vision briefly blurred. He didn’t need to look to know it had been a Bludger, probably sent with all the strength Nott could muster.
The pain spread quickly, radiating through his chest and down his arms, but Harry didn’t stop. He stretched out his hand, his fingers trembling as the Snitch glimmered just a few inches away. He felt the cold metal brush against his fingertips, and with one final push, he closed his hand around the small object, feeling its wings flutter frantically against his skin.
He had no time to celebrate. His vision swam, the edges of the pitch dissolving into indistinct smears as the pain in his chest grew sharper, each heartbeat sending fresh waves of agony through his body. He lost control of his broom, the Firebolt plummeting rapidly toward the ground as he struggled desperately to catch his breath.
Harry crashed heavily onto the grass, the impact knocking what little air remained in his lungs out in a painful rush. He felt his body crumple, his knees striking the earth as he leaned forward, his fingers still clenched tightly around the Snitch. He blinked, trying to focus on something, anything, but everything around him seemed to spin in a whirlwind of shadows and distant sounds.
He tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, his lungs burning as he desperately tried to draw in air, but it felt as if his chest was trapped in an invisible vice, each breath more painful than the last.
He heard a muffled sound — the roar of the crowd, mixed with the sound of footsteps running toward him. He tried to lift his hand, still clutching the Snitch, but his fingers felt like they were made of lead, his muscles refusing to obey.
Finally, with one last effort, he managed to raise his hand, the Snitch still gleaming between his trembling fingers, its wings beating frantically as he held the small golden sphere up to the sky.
He thought he heard someone shout his name, but the darkness was already closing in around him, the Quidditch pitch becoming nothing more than a blurry haze as his eyes slowly drifted shut.
And then, everything went black.
~HP~
Harry woke up with the worst pain he had ever felt in his life. It was as if a Hippogriff had trampled his chest repeatedly before throwing him off a cliff. Every small breath sent waves of agony through his ribs, and he could feel his heart beating irregularly, as if it were trying to break free from a painful prison.
He blinked a few times, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light of the hospital wing. The sky outside was dark, the shadows of the trees swaying gently in the wind, casting strange patterns on the stone walls around him. Only a few candelabras were lit, casting a flickering light that created long, twisting shadows across the floor.
Harry turned his head carefully, feeling a sharp pain cut through his right side, and reached for the table beside him, desperately searching for his glasses. His fingers brushed against the cool metal, but the movement sent a sharp spike of pain up his chest, forcing a low groan from his lips.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The familiar voice made him freeze, his fingers still stretched toward his glasses. He forced himself to focus, his eyes still a bit blurry, until he finally recognized the figure sitting beside his bed.
Daphne.
She was there, sitting in one of the uncomfortable infirmary chairs, still wearing her Slytherin uniform, her socks slightly stained with grass and her blonde hair hastily tied back, as if she hadn’t bothered to fix it since the match. Her face was a little flushed, and Harry noticed a faint shadow under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept.
She held an open book in her lap, but her other hand was gripping his tightly, their fingers intertwined in a way that felt both familiar and desperate.
“Good morning,” Harry murmured, trying to smile, but the pain in his chest made him wince slightly. “What... what happened?”
Daphne snapped the book shut with a soft thud, her blue eyes locking onto his with a mixture of relief and concern. She tightened her grip on his hand, as if trying to make sure he was really awake.
“Nott hit you with a Bludger, straight to the chest,” she said, her voice steady but with a hint of tension he rarely heard from her. “You fell from high up, broke a rib, and punctured a lung.”
Harry blinked, his mind still sluggish as he tried to process the information. “I thought school Bludgers weren’t supposed to be that heavy,” he murmured, his lips curving into a painful smile.
“They’re not,” Daphne replied quickly, her eyes narrowing slightly. “The professors are trying to figure out what happened. Something was wrong with that Bludger.”
Harry tried to move, but the pain forced him to sink back into the pillows. He let out a low groan, his teeth clenching tightly as his chest burned like it was on fire.
“And how long have I been here?” he managed to ask, his throat dry and his voice hoarse.
“Since the match,” Daphne replied, her fingers still intertwined with his. “You passed out on the pitch and have been unconscious the whole day. Your parents were here. Your mum was worried.”
Harry blinked again, trying to focus on her eyes, which now watched him with an intensity he rarely saw. “You... you met them?”
Daphne let out a small laugh, but Harry noticed that it didn’t hold much humor. “Sort of,” she murmured, her eyes flicking away for a second before meeting his again. “I tried to dodge a few questions, but your dad seemed to buy it. Your mum, on the other hand... didn’t seem so convinced.”
Harry chuckled softly, but the movement sent another wave of pain through his chest, making him close his eyes for a second as he tried to catch his breath. “The day you manage to convince Lily Potter of anything, you deserve a medal,” he murmured, trying to sound carefree, but feeling cold sweat break out on his forehead.
Daphne squeezed his hand again, her expression softening slightly, but her eyes still carried that glint of worry he was starting to get used to seeing in her.
“I was worried, Harry,” she confessed, her voice lower now, almost a whisper. “I feel guilty.”
Harry frowned, his eyes locked on hers as he tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his chest. “Guilty? About what?”
Daphne looked away for a second, her fingers still gripping his hand as the faint light from the candelabras cast soft shadows around their faces. “Because Nott only did this... because of me,” she murmured, her eyes finding his again, her cheeks slightly flushed. “He thinks we’re together.”
Harry watched her for a moment, feeling his heart beat faster, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of her confession or the pain in his chest. He gave a small smile, ignoring the sharp sting it caused.
“Then, for the first time, Nott is right,” he murmured, his eyes still locked on hers.
Daphne stared at him, her lips parting slightly as she processed his words. For a second, the silence between them became so dense that Harry could almost feel the weight of her breath against his skin.
“What happened between you two?” he finally asked, his voice coming out lower than he intended.
Daphne took a deep breath, her fingers tightening slightly around his before she answered, her eyes briefly drifting to the book in her lap before returning to his.
“We were together during fifth year,” she admitted, her eyes darker now, her voice carrying a mix of regret and relief. “He was... nice. Treated me well. But he was raised in a traditional pure-blood family. He thought that... that we’d get married as soon as we left school, that my ‘duty’ would be to take care of the house and children, and that I wouldn’t have ambitions beyond that.”
Harry felt his stomach tighten slightly, his eyes still fixed on her. “And you didn’t want that?”
Daphne let out a small, bitter laugh, but there was no real humor in it. “I never wanted to be... that. A quiet, obedient wife, without a voice, without choices. I pushed him away, became the ‘Ice Queen’ everyone thinks I am again. And he resented me for it.”
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the pain in his chest forced him to stop, his eyes blinking as he tried to refocus on her face.
“Then he doesn’t really know you,” he murmured, his fingers squeezing hers with the little strength he could muster. “Because I do.”
Daphne watched him for a moment, her blue eyes glinting slightly in the flickering candlelight. She let out a soft sigh, her fingers still intertwined with his as the silence stretched between them, heavy but in a strangely comfortable way. Finally, she leaned in a little closer, her voice coming out low, almost a whisper.
“So, if you really know me, Potter,” she murmured, her lips curving into a small, tired but genuine smile, “you’d better get better soon. Because I’m not going to let you get away that easily.”
Harry smiled, even with the pain in his chest, feeling the warmth of her words spread through his body, pushing back the darkness that seemed to have settled in since he’d woken up. And, as the candlelight wrapped them in soft shadows, he realized that, despite everything, he didn’t mind facing any Bludger, as long as he could keep holding her hand.
