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Consort of Destined Death Chapter 5
🕑 Added 2025-08-30 19:27:29 +0000 UTCDespite appearances, Daphne Greengrass wasn’t immune to the pressures that came with her life. Even she had her limits, and it seemed that those very limits were being severely tested throughout the course of her fourth year of Hogwarts.
She was the heiress of House Greengrass, a position that required her to act befitting of her station at all times. It impacted every aspect of her life, from academics to who was allowed in her presence. And she had been trained her whole life to fill such a role, to eventually take over the Lordship of her Noble House and succeed.
While her fellow classmates were gossiping over boys and reading the newest edition of Witch Weekly, Daphne had been studying to ace exams while also auditing her family’s finances. Politics, economics, and new Ministry policies were all subjects she devoted her time and effort to every day, all in the name of eventually taking over her family’s business and making Greengrass imports more prosperous than ever before.
She had no time for boys, no time for girl gossip, and especially no time to listen to Pansy Parkinson’s fawning over Draco Malfoy. To her, these things were childish, and a simple waste of time for someone of her station. Compared to the rest of the girls in her year, Daphne Greengrass was simply better, superior, and could exist without such things.
And yet she couldn’t help but find herself feeling so… empty. Each day seemed to drag on endlessly, feeling longer and worse than the day before, while the struggle to get out of bed in the morning became ever increasingly harder.
She didn’t know what was happening, why the world seemed to devolve into boring colors, or why getting her family’s financial statements didn’t have the same exciting effect it usually did. It was like she was on an island alone and without air, slowly asphyxiating as her fourth year continued ever onwards.
And so she had finally snapped, fleeing the Slytherin girl’s dorm in the dead of night before locking herself in the 2nd floor girl’s bathroom for privacy. She didn’t dare cry, but came very close, instead opting to sit in an empty stall as she mentally reached her limit.
It was an embarrassment for the Greengrass heiress to act in such a way. And she knew that her father would disown her if he saw her in such a state, but Daphne couldn’t help it. The stress of her situation had finally gotten to her, and she had panicked.
It was as she sat in that bathroom stall all alone that something got her attention then. Outside, the noise of a metal grate opening met her ears, and she stiffened as she realized she wasn’t alone.
Who would come in here at this hour? It was the middle of the night, and in the second floor girls bathroom of all places. Unless someone followed me.
She grasped her wand, slowly opening the stall door and sliding out with an incantation on her lips. That was when she saw who the other person in the girl’s bathroom was, as green eyes meet her blue, and for a brief moment Daphne forgot how to breathe. Harry Potter of all people stood in front of her, his robes a mess as his green eyes stared her down.
Malfoy is even braver than I imagined. Was the first thought that entered her mind, much to her embarrassment. That, or he’s just an idiot to harass Potter like he does.
Harry Potter was downright terrifying up close. His skin was more tan than she expected, littered with scars and old bruises that made him look like some warrior. His body wasn’t overly thin, instead built to be lithe and fast as was fitting of a Quidditch seeker. And then there was his short hair, so dark that it nearly blended into the night, with glowing green eyes that seemed to look into her very soul.
So this is the Wizard who slayed Voldemort. Even if he was credited with doing such a thing when he was a baby, Daphne could definitely see the danger associated with Harry Potter.
And it just so happened that same wizard was alone in a girl’s bathroom of all places with her in the middle of the night.
He took a step towards her then, and Daphne had to fight back the urge to retreat backwards into the bathroom stall. She still held her wand in hand, and she knew enough curses to make seventh-years blanch, but something told her that simple spellwork wouldn’t do anything against Potter.
He kept moving in her direction, his presence soon towering over her as she struggled not to go into fight-or-flight mode, something that shouldn’t be possible. She was the Ice Queen of Slytherin, the most desired girl in Hogwarts with a mean-streak a mile wide, and yet she felt so powerless in that moment.
There was something about Harry Potter, and whether it was his aura, presence, or sheer magical power which made her freeze—she did not know. As soon he was barely a foot from her, his hand propped up against the wall as his gaze bored into her own.
“It’s… Greengrass, right?” He took a moment to recognize her, his voice was deep and gravelly, more so than she originally thought.
“It is.” She managed to get out, all the while feeling somewhat hurt that he didn’t immediately know her name. Daphne always prided herself on her reputation, and it stung that Potter of all people didn’t know her face immediately.
Surprisingly, the question she was about to ask didn’t come from her own mouth, but his. “What are you doing here?”
“T-This is the girl’s bath, Potter. I should ask what you’re doing here?” She cursed herself as she stuttered out first word, and yet she managed to end it on a high note with a glare in his direction.
He simply let out an amused snort, and she could’ve swore his gaze drifted towards the sink for but a moment. “What I do is no business of yours, Greengrass.”
Normally she wouldn’t have pushed for more information, especially from a Gryffindor, but something told her not to let this go. Harry Potter had been missing for the past week, ever since his name came out of the Goblet, and Daphne wanted to know what he was up to.
Most had thought he fled the castle, and there were even rumblings of the Ministry starting a DMLE investigation into his disappearance. Yet now he had reappeared, right inside Hogwarts in the middle of the night, and Daphne Greengrass was the first person to find him. She wanted answers.
She folded her arms, being sure to push up her sizable bust to try and entice him. Much to her satisfaction, his gaze drifted down, but only for an unsatisfying moment before he looked away. “No one’s seen you for the past week, Potter. The Professors are in an uproar and the Ministry might even get involved.”
There was a part of her mind that said interrogating Potter alone in the middle of the night was a bad idea, yet she couldn’t help herself. The desire to figure out how he escaped the notice of every Professor—including Albus Dumbledore—was simply too good to pass up.
“You’re more interested in me than I expected, Daphne.” The way he said her name made her stiffen, and that was before his hand moved. He grabbed a stray strand of her blonde hair, pinching it delicately between his fingers before letting fall carelessly. His beautiful green eyes studied her, and for some reason her knees felt weak. “Do you know what they say about those who look for trouble?”
Why is he acting so different? While she had never interacted with Potter before, Daphne had long ago figured out his personality. He was the perfect Gryffindor, as readable as a book with more courage in his veins than sense, while at the same time being shy and awkward. Yet now he was like a new person, someone who made Daphne feel as if she was in the presence of some beast about to ravage her.
“What would that be, Potter?” She asked, her heart racing with each word.
“They usually find it.” His answer made her freeze, before he suddenly turned and left the bathroom faster than she could form a response.
It was only after he left that Daphne remembered to breathe, as she suddenly inhaled a horrendous smell. “Fuck… what the hell is that stench?”
/////
He didn’t even bother with subtlety as he walked back to the Gryffindor dorms that night. Everyone would soon learn of his return when he was up and walking around the castle anyways, and it didn’t matter if he ran into a Professor or was seen by any portraits before then.
In fact, Harry decided to rip the bandage off quickly by deciding to attend breakfast that morning with the rest of the school.
So in the meantime he got the best sleep he had experienced in a while, with his mattress feeling a thousand times better than sleeping on the ground as he was used to. Next came a shower, as washing off the grime and dirt from the Caelid wilds felt like a miracle cure.
After that came a new set of robes, as Harry made the executive decision to magically destroy his old pair rather than try and salvage them. He had trudged through the swamp of Aeonia after all, and didn’t want to risk spreading any scarlet rot that might’ve gotten on his robes.
It took Harry quite some time to accomplish all of this, and when he reentered his dorm room from the bathroom, he found that all of his roommates were already gone. That meant two things, either that they noticed his return and decided not to wait for him out of spite, or somehow didn’t notice he returned in the first place. Sadly, Harry was leaning towards the first option.
His entrance to the Gryffindor common room gathered quite a lot of attention, as whispered conversations and scrutinizing looks were sent his way by his housemates. Harry barely paid attention to any of it, ignoring them all and exiting through the Fat Lady portrait before heading to the Great Hall.
If the looks sent his way in the common room were any indication, then the reaction of students from other Houses was worse than the Gryffindors. Glares, harsh whispers, and taunts greeted him as he navigated the halls, and that was before he finally entered the Great Hall.
The four tables seemed to go silent as he entered, as the Professors at the head table all stared at him. It was almost like he was experiencing his second year all over again, akin to some pariah that the student body was against.
He did his best to ignore it all, setting course for the Gryffindor table before realizing that his roommates were present, yet not sitting in their normal seats. Ron, Seamus, and Dean had obviously noticed his return earlier in the dorms, and were seated in such a way so he couldn’t possibly sit with them. They were squeezed in with the older years, the group of which looking unhappy with him, leaving Harry to sit alone further down the table.
As more students drifted in, they also seemed to catch on to his presence, as soon everyone in the Great Hall was whispering and pointing his way. For his part, Harry began piling food onto his plate like never before, grateful he didn’t have to forage for food in Limgrave anymore.
But eventually someone approached him, as a curly brunette witch practically stormed over before sitting right in front of him. Luckily, it happened right after he devoured enough eggs and pancakes to make Dudley jealous.
“Where have you been?” Hermione hissed.
“Hermione, how have you been?” He tried not to grimace at her tone.
“Things have been terrible, Harry.” She glowered. “Ron and the rest of the school believe that you snuck your name in the Goblet. And then on top of all that you just had to go off and disappear for a week!”
“I didn’t put my name in the Goblet, Hermione.” He didn’t answer her unasked question. “I never wanted to be part of this tournament in the first place.”
“Yes, well, the others don’t seem to care much about that.” She looked stressed. “They only see the fame of being a Champion, along with the prize money that comes with it. You haven’t exactly helped yourself by running off like you did.”
She was only confirming what he already knew, but it still hurt to know his friends had abandoned him. “So you’ve sided with Ron and the others then?”
“I don’t have much of a choice, Harry.” She said forcefully. “Practically the whole school is against you. Just me talking with you right now is sure to get me in trouble.”
He looked down the table towards the others, and saw several people looking their way. Ron caught his eye then, and the redhead sent Harry a frown accompanied by a nasty look before turning away. It made his stomach sour as he suddenly lost his appetite.
“Then don’t talk to me, Hermione.” The words came out more bitter than he would have liked. “Go sit with Ron and listen as he rags on me for something I never wanted.”
“Harry, that’s not what I-”
He ignored her and stood, appetite forgotten, as he briskly walked out of the Great Hall. He had better uses of his time than gorging himself on food and dealing with Ron’s pettiness.
Before he could fully exit, however, McGonagall headed his way and stopped him at the entrance. The Hogwarts Headmistress had a weary but stern expression on her features, as if she was truly done with dealing with his antics.
“You’ve made quite the spectacle by your disappearance, Potter.” McGonagall said to him, before her expression softened. “Please don’t disappear like that again.”
He blinked. “You’re not mad, Professor?”
“I can understand needing some time to yourself after your name came out of the Goblet.” She spoke earnestly, until a heavy frown appeared. “That, and Champions are allowed to skip all classes and coursework in their preparation for the Tournament.”
“Oh, um… Thanks, Professor.” He rubbed his neck awkwardly, realizing he had done something she didn’t like but could do nothing about.
“That said, I do need to inform you of an upcoming event that is associated with the Tournament.” She said. “The Champions Weighing of the Wands will take place this afternoon, and it would be best your wand is ready to be inspected by whichever wandmaker the judges decide upon.”
//////
The weighing of the wands was held in one of Hogwarts many abandoned classrooms. Harry entered it to find he was one of the last to arrive, with the tournament judges, the various Headmasters, and other Champions already present. The press was even there, and immediately a blonde woman approached him upon entering.
“Potter! Just the boy I was looking for!” The reporter gave him an ugly smirk that made him queasy. “I’m Rita Skeeter with the Daily Prophet. How about we go somewhere more private for an interview?”
Her fingers wrapped around his arm, as she attempted to forcefully guide him out of the room and to somewhere quite. Harry didn’t budge however, and for the reporter it must have been like trying to move a mountain in that moment. He had become much stronger in his time spent in the Lands Between.
“…Or I guess we can do the interview right here.” The blonde eventually decided, realizing he wasn’t going to budge. “Tell me, Harry, where have you been since your name came out the Goblet?”
“Preparing for the tournament.” He shrugged, guessing that was as good an answer as any.
“And why did you enter the tournament, Harry?” Her gaze sharpened into a nasty edge.
“I didn’t enter.” He frowned in irritation. “I have no idea how my name came out of the Goblet.”
“And how do you feel about the tasks ahead? Excited? Nervous?”
“I haven’t really thought much about it…” He trailed off, wondering for the first time just what the tasks would be like. “Can’t be any harder than anything else I’ve done.”
“Such bravado! And what do you think your parents would say if they could see you now?” Skeeter smirked cruelly. “Do you think they would be upset their son cheated his way into the Triwizard Tournament?”
He let out an irritated breath, realizing he never should have spoke to the reporter in the first place. “No further questions.”
Before she could say anything else, he slipped away and headed over to where the other Champions were standing on the other side of the room. He saw that Krum was staring out the window, his expression bored as if he would rather be anywhere but there. Diggory was next to him, trying to unsuccessfully strike up a conversation about Quidditch.
“Zat woman is awful, non?” A voice suddenly asked, and he turned to see Fleur Delacour of all people standing next to him. Her arms were crossed with a contemptible frown on her features, as she glared at Rita Skeeter from across the room.
“She is.” Harry eventually spoke, having not expected the Beauxbatons Champion to talk to him. “I’m guessing she interviewed you before me?”
“Oui.” The French witch replied. “Ze woman seemed more interested in my heritage as a Veela than anything else. Perhaps she should have asked about my accomplishments, or all of ze academic records I’ve broken as a student. But in ze end it does not matter, I will win zis tournament regardless and prove myself.”
Arrogant, much. He couldn’t help but slightly smile. “You seem confident.”
“Of course I am.” Fleur sniffed. “At ze end of ze tournament, I will look down on all of you from ze top of my pedestal.”
Across the room, Skeeter seemed to have caught on to their conversation, and was gesturing for her photographer to take pictures of him and Fleur. And while that was happening, it seemed the judges were finally ready for the ceremony to begin.
“Good luck then.” Harry told Fleur, realizing that whatever semblance of conversation they had was over.
“Hello everyone.” Dumbledore greeted every as he stepped forward. “Champions, Judges, Ms. Skeeter, it is now time for us to begin the wand weighing ceremony. Mr. Ollivander, if you could?”
Mr. Ollivander stood, and Harry realized this was the same man he had bought his wand from years ago. “Mademoiselle Delacour, if you would, please?”
Fleur handed over her wand, and Ollivander took it gently. He turned it over in his hands, his fingers smoothing the wood as he examined it.
“A wand of rosewood… nine and a half inches… inflexible.” He murmured gently, before he frowned oddly. “The core of which is… Veela hair?”
“Oui.” Fleur’s arms were crossed as she frowned heavily. “Ze hair comes from my grandmozzer.”
“Beautiful craftsmanship.” Ollivander remarked, raising the wand and giving it a small swish, causing a stream of silver sparks to erupt from it. He then handed it back to her, and Fleur took it back without saying a word.
“And now, Mr. Krum.” Ollivander said, as the Drumstrang Champion came forth.
Krum stepped up and handed over his wand, a short and stubby piece of wood. Ollivander examined it with the same meticulous care.
“Hornbeam, ten and a quarter inches, and quite solid.” Ollivander spoke easily. “And a dragon heartstring core. Excellent for combat magic, as I’m sure you’ve discovered.”
Viktor grunted his acknowledgment, and Ollivander gave the wand a wave. A small flock of birds erupted from the tip, fluttering briefly before vanishing into smoke. Seemingly satisfied, Ollivander returned the wand with a curt nod.
“Mr. Diggory.” Ollivander called next.
Cedric stepped forward, his wand held with practiced ease. It was long and sleek, polished to perfection.
“Ash wood, twelve and a quarter inches… pleasantly springy.” Ollivander said. “With a unicorn hair core. A fine choice, and well-suited to a wizard with a strong moral compass. You polish your wand often, I assume?”
“Yes, sir.” Cedric said with a polite smile.
Ollivander tested the wand with a flick, conjuring a string of bubbles that floated upwards. “Impeccable.”
Finally, Ollivander turned to Harry. “And now, Mr. Potter, let’s take a look at your wand.”
Harry approached, feeling all eyes on him. He handed over his wand, its familiar weight leaving his hand reluctantly.
“Holly, eleven inches… supple.” Ollivander murmured softly, his expression turning thoughtful. “And with a phoenix feather core—an exceptional core, I might add. The twin of this wand produced remarkable magic, if memory serves. Although this isn’t the cleanest wand I’ve ever held. It’s scarred, heavy with use from unfamiliar magicks.”
Instantly, Harry stiffened, while Skeeter’s eyes widened with delight. “Dark magic?”
“No, not dark.” The wandmaker replied, before his voice became a whisper as he stared at Harry. “Strange magic.”
A/N: All Characters are over the Age of 18
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