A Star is Born Chapter 25 (Patreon)

Chapter 25

Daphne's cottage was not what Harry had expected. He wasn't entirely sure what he had expected, admittedly. Something larger, perhaps. Lord Greengrass carried himself like a man who had never needed to ask what something cost, and after learning that his family owned a healthy portion of Puddlemere, Harry had imagined his eldest daughter living somewhere that reflected it.

Instead, Daphne's home was small. Not cramped, and certainly not cheap, but comfortably sized for one person. The front door opened directly into a warm sitting room, where dark wooden floors disappeared beneath a thick cream-colored rug and a low fire crackled lazily inside a stone hearth. Two deep chairs sat angled toward it with a small table between them, and several books had been stacked unevenly across the kitchen as though Daphne had been reading through them and couldn't be bothered to return them to the shelves lining one wall.

Harry found himself smiling at that. The rest of the room was almost annoyingly tidy. A few framed photographs rested along the mantelpiece. Astoria appeared in several, looking considerably younger in one where she had her arms wrapped around Daphne's waist. Another showed Daphne beside Tracey Davis and Blaise Zabini in Hogwarts robes, all three young enough that Harry guessed they couldn't have been beyond their second or third year. Tracey was laughing in the photograph, repeatedly attempting to pull a scowling Daphne toward the camera while Blaise looked thoroughly embarrassed to be associated with either of them.

Harry lingered on that one. After everything he'd heard over dinner, it was strange seeing Tracey Davis as a child.

There were signs of Puddlemere everywhere, though none approached Astoria's enthusiasm. An old blue-and-silver scarf hung over the back of one chair. Several match programmes were tucked beneath the books on the table, and on a shelf beside the fireplace sat a tiny enchanted model of Puddlemere Stadium, miniature players circling silently above the pitch. It made Harry grin.

"Careful."

He looked over. Daphne had removed her Puddlemere cloak and was hanging it beside the door, leaving her in the dress she'd worn beneath it. Her blonde hair had suffered slightly from their walk through the drizzle, a few damp strands clinging around her face.

"If you start looking too closely," she said, "you might learn things about me."

"I thought that was the point of dinner."

"Dinner was controlled disclosure."

Harry laughed. His eyes wandered once more around the cottage. There were expensive things here—he could recognize that much even if he couldn't have named them—but none seemed chosen because they were expensive. The place felt lived in. Books she actually read. Photographs of people she actually loved. A half-empty wineglass forgotten beside one of the chairs that suggested she'd been sitting there before leaving for the match.

It didn't feel like Lord Greengrass's daughter's home.

It felt like Daphne's.

"I like it," Harry said.

Daphne paused. "My house?"

"Your home."

Something about the distinction softened her expression. "Thank you."

For the first time since they'd stepped inside, the playful confidence she'd carried through dinner seemed to retreat slightly. They were alone now. No waitress hovering nearby. No supporters interrupting them. No Tracey Davis to debate, no Quidditch crowd roaring somewhere in the distance. Just Harry and Daphne.

She crossed the room slowly and stopped in front of him. "Still glad you came, Potter?"

Harry glanced once around the cottage before settling his eyes back on her. "Ask me in the morning."

Daphne's smile returned. "Getting smoother."

"I'm learning."

"Slowly."

She reached for the front of his robes and pulled him toward her.

Harry decided he'd learned enough for one night.

Their kiss wasn't suddenly magical. There were no fireworks behind his eyes, no overwhelming certainty that he'd found something he'd been missing his entire life. It was gentler than his past experiences had taught him to expect, almost hesitant at first, as though the confidence Daphne had carried through dinner had finally met something capable of making her uncertain.

One dainty hand rested against his chest. Harry could feel her fingers tighten against the fabric of his shirt, drawing him closer and holding him there. He had no intention of moving away. When they finally separated, Daphne remained close enough that Harry could feel the breath she released against his face. “That was some kiss, Harry.”

Harry rested his forehead against hers, smiling when he noticed some of the earlier color had returned to her cheeks. “Still think I'm not that smooth?”

Daphne laughed softly, and Harry felt the sound more than he heard it. “One decent kiss and you've become unbearable.”

“You warned me about losing myself in the fame. You said nothing about this.”

“This may be worse.”

Harry kissed her again before she could elaborate. This one carried less uncertainty. Daphne's arms slipped around him, and the teasing that had defined most of their evening disappeared for a while. Harry found himself strangely aware of the quiet around them. There were no supporters shouting his name beyond the walls, no reporters waiting for an answer, no teammates watching to see what he would do next. Even the distant lights of Puddlemere Stadium had vanished behind curtains and stone.

For once, nobody wanted anything from him. Daphne simply wanted Harry. The realization slowed him more than it encouraged him. He pulled away just enough to look at her, giving her every opportunity to change her mind. Daphne seemed to understand the question he hadn't asked. Her hand moved from his shoulder to his cheek, and the playful confidence returned to her eyes.

“Don't start thinking now, Potter.”

Harry laughed quietly. “Terrible habit of mine.”

“Not tonight.” She kissed him again before taking him by the hand and leading him out of the common area.

Somewhere between the sitting room and the hallway, Harry stopped paying attention to where they were going. Daphne laughed when he nearly backed into a table, caught him by the robes, and redirected him before anything could crash to the floor.

“Professional Seeker,” she teased.

“I'm better on a broom,” Harry defended.

“I should hope so.”

Harry laughed against her lips as she renewed the kiss, and whatever nervousness remained between them seemed to disappear with it.

There was something wonderfully ordinary about the moment. Daphne wasn't Puddlemere royalty, the daughter of one of the district's most prominent families. Harry wasn't the Boy Who Lived or the young Seeker whose name eighty thousand people had screamed earlier that afternoon. They were simply two nineteen-year-olds who had spent an evening discovering they liked one another considerably more than either had expected.

The bedroom door opened, and Daphne caught Harry by the front of his shirt, pulling him inside with her.

Whatever hesitation had followed them up the stairs seemed to disappear the moment they were alone. Their kiss deepened, the gentle uncertainty from downstairs giving way to something warmer as Daphne continued backward until the backs of her legs found the edge of the bed. Harry slipped a hand around the small of her back, steadying her as she sank onto the mattress and pulled him down with her.

Daphne laughed softly against his lips at the awkward landing, but the sound disappeared when Harry kissed her again. One of her legs curled against his side, keeping him close, while Harry propped himself beside her with one arm. His other hand moved slowly along her back, lingering there as though he were still waiting for some indication that they were moving too quickly.

None came.

Instead, Daphne drew him closer.

There was something different about kissing her now. Downstairs, Harry had been conscious of every little uncertainty between them, every pause that might have meant something. Now Daphne seemed increasingly determined to remove those questions herself. Her fingers found their way into his hair, and when Harry finally broke the kiss, both of them were breathing harder than before.

Daphne stared up at him for a moment, her blonde hair spread messily across the pillows.

Then her mouth curved into that familiar smile.

“Are you going to take my clothes off, or am I going to have to do all the work?”

Harry laughed.

There she was.

The composed witch from dinner had returned, although the color still lingering across her cheeks betrayed her more than she probably realized.

“I was trying to be a gentleman.”

“You walked me home, bought dinner, and pulled out my chair.” Daphne caught the hem of her dress. “I think you've fulfilled your obligations.”

Before Harry could answer, she pulled it over her head and tossed it somewhere beyond the bed, leaving herself in the black lace she'd worn beneath it. Harry's teasing response died before it reached his lips.

Daphne noticed. Of course she noticed. Her eyebrow lifted. “Something wrong, Potter?”

“Not remotely.”

“Good answer.”

Harry grinned and pulled his own shirt over his head, sending it after her dress. Daphne laughed when it landed somewhere near the doorway, and the rest of their clothes began joining the growing collection without either of them paying much attention to where they fell.

The playful confidence between them remained, but something softer existed beneath it now. Every time Harry slowed, Daphne closed the distance again. Every time uncertainty threatened to creep into the moment, one of them laughed, kissed the other, or whispered something that made the nervousness feel unnecessary. Eventually they were left facing one another with considerably fewer barriers between them than when they'd entered the room.

For once, Daphne Greengrass seemed to have nothing clever to say.

Harry smiled. “Not that smooth, huh?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You're going to regret remembering that.”

Lemon Begins (Can Skip)

Daphne pulled him back down before he could answer, and Harry decided he'd take his chances.

The soft sound that escaped her told him he was doing something right. When Harry lifted his head, Daphne's blue eyes had widened, the carefully controlled amusement from earlier replaced by something warmer and considerably less guarded. Her fingers tightened in the back of his hair and pulled him into another kiss before he had much opportunity to appreciate the change.

Whatever gentleness had characterized their first kisses downstairs was quickly disappearing. Daphne met him with increasing urgency, matching every movement instead of merely accepting it, until Harry could no longer tell which of them was encouraging the other. The room seemed impossibly quiet around them, their laughter and uneven breathing filling the space that conversation had occupied only moments earlier.

Then Daphne pushed against him.

Harry stopped immediately.

For one brief second he wondered if he'd gone too far, but Daphne followed when he moved away, her hands remaining against his chest as she guided him backward instead. Understanding replaced concern as she turned his shoulders and pushed him onto his back.

There was that smile again.

“I let you have your fun, Potter.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Let me?”

“Don't ruin the moment.”

Before he could laugh, Daphne moved over him, blonde hair falling around her face as she leaned down and kissed him softly. Her lips drifted toward his ear, and when she spoke, her voice had fallen almost to a whisper: “In case you've forgotten, I do like being in control.”

A shiver ran through Harry that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the room. He could have challenged her. Part of him wanted to, if only to see that composed expression disappear again. Instead, Harry settled back and watched her confidence return piece by piece. This was the Daphne he'd spent the evening trying to understand. The witch who chose the restaurant without asking him where he wanted to go. Who ordered his dinner because she already knew what he'd like. Who could explain one of her closest friends without defending her, flirt without becoming flustered, and warn Harry about himself without ever telling him what he should become. Even here, apparently, Daphne Greengrass preferred setting the terms. Harry couldn't stop smiling.

“What?” she whispered.

“Nothing.”

“That wasn't nothing.”

Harry laughed quietly at hearing his own words from dinner thrown back at him. “I think I'm starting to understand you.”

Daphne's expression turned dangerously amused. “No, you're not.”

Harry grinned at her words and fought the desire to take control and never let up, but instead watched as she leaned back, her confidence fully restored. Lining herself up, Daphne sank down onto him, Harry’s hands immediately closing around her hips to steady her as she began rocking back and forth. Harry’s mind swam as he stared up at her. Daphne was fucking beautiful like this, her blonde hair falling down her back, her tits bouncing with every movement as she threw her head back and rocked her hips faster, moaning breathlessly above him.

The room was almost completely silent. Instead, all Harry could hear was the wet sound of their bodies moving together, and the urge to make her louder became harder and harder to contain. Daphne was rocking harder against him, and suddenly she leaned back down to capture his lips, while keeping him deep inside her.

Up and down she went, Harry using his own strength to assist. Their moans turned into louder cries of pleasure, drowning out the silence of the room. Harry’s hands were on her ass now, and he felt his body tense with pleasure as Daphne began trembling above him. Instead of letting up, Harry began thrusting upward to meet each drop of her hips, causing her to cry out with pleasure.

“Don’t stop, Harry,” Daphne said breathlessly.

Hearing her words, Harry fought every instinct to take control. He wouldn’t ruin the moment for her just because of his desire. Instead, he allowed her to continue setting the pace, and her trembling turned to full-body shakes as Harry followed her rhythm.

“Do it, Harry…just fuck me,” Daphne pleaded.

That was all Harry needed. He immediately turned them over, pulled Daphne onto her knees, and thrust back into her. Both moaned louder than before, and Harry thrust into her relentlessly as Daphne moaned and buried her face into the pillow.

His balls tightened, and Harry grunted, “I’m close.”

Daphne trembled as Harry gripped her ass with both hands, the first signs of his own orgasm building. Daphne seemed to sense it as well and suddenly slid off him. Harry almost instinctively followed, but Daphne turned around before he could move. His brain barely had time to process what she intended before she took him into her mouth. One hand stroked up and down his shaft while her mouth kept him slick with saliva. Harry's hand found the back of her head, and he resisted the urge to make her choke on him as his orgasm rapidly built. After one final warning, he pulled free of her mouth as she continued stroking him, allowing his seed to shoot onto her chest.

Harry groaned in pleasure and Daphne laughed. “It seems we both have some power over each other.”

Harry drew several deep breaths, shook his head, and grinned at her. When he dropped back onto the bed beside her, he pulled the witch flush against him, their naked bodies pressing together.

“I cede the game to you, Daph—that was—”

“Don’t use words now. You’ll just ruin it,” Daphne interrupted, making Harry laugh again.

“Fine,” Harry conceded.

The two lay back for a long moment, the silence of the room returning. Daphne sighed and shifted until they were eye level. “I had a great time tonight, Harry.”

Something in her eyes told Harry there was more she wanted to say. He waited to see if she would reach it on her own, but Daphne only shook her head and kissed him again. After that, the room felt larger than life.

There was no Puddlemere United. No Daily Prophet. No Boy Who Lived or Greengrass family. Harry stopped wondering what tomorrow would make of tonight, and Daphne finally stopped looking as though she had already considered every possible outcome.

They were occasionally clumsy. They laughed more than Harry expected. At one point Daphne buried her face against his shoulder because something had gone sufficiently wrong that neither could pretend otherwise, and Harry found himself laughing with her until she retaliated with another kiss.

That was what Harry would remember later.

Not perfection.

Not some impossible moment where experience suddenly made either of them know exactly what the other wanted. It was Daphne's hair falling across his face. Her attempts to remain composed no matter how completely they kept failing. The quiet questions neither needed to finish because the other understood them anyway. The feeling that whenever one hesitated, the other waited.

And somewhere along the way, Harry realized he had stopped thinking entirely.

For someone who had spent most of his life unable to silence his own mind, there was something intoxicating about that.

Eventually, even their laughter disappeared.

The rest belonged only to them.

.o. Lemon Over

Morning arrived slowly.

Harry became aware of warmth first, followed by unfamiliar sheets and the faint floral scent that seemed to belong everywhere in Daphne's cottage. For several seconds he remained exactly where he was, eyes closed, enjoying the rare sensation of waking without an alarm, an owl, or the knowledge that someone expected him somewhere.

Then the memories of the previous night returned.

Dinner. Blackberry mead. A quiet walk through Puddlemere. Daphne's hand finding his beneath the streetlamps.

Everything that followed.

Harry smiled into the pillow.

“Good morning, Potter.”

He opened one eye.

Daphne was already awake beside him, propped against the pillows with the sheet gathered around herself. Whatever careful order she'd maintained the previous evening had been thoroughly defeated, her blonde hair spilling untidily around her shoulders as she watched him with unmistakable amusement.

“Morning.”

“You snore.”

Harry's smile disappeared. “I do not.”

“People are complicated, Harry.”

He stared at her.

Daphne maintained the expression for perhaps three seconds before laughing.

“You're lying.”

“Of course I'm lying.”

Harry groaned and dropped his face back into the pillow. “Brilliant start to the morning.”

“I thought so.”

When he looked again, Daphne was still smiling. There was no awkwardness in it. No regret. Nothing in her expression suggested that she wished the previous night had ended differently, and Harry felt a tension he hadn't realized he was carrying disappear.

“Last night was nice,” Daphne said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

“Would you prefer spectacular?”

“I wouldn't object.”

“Then you'll have to earn spectacular next time.”

Harry laughed. “So there's a next time?”

Daphne's smile remained, but something about it changed. “Maybe.”

Harry caught it immediately. “Maybe?”

She exhaled softly and looked toward the window, where morning light had begun slipping between the curtains. “Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look worried. I'm not about to tell you last night was a terrible mistake.”

“I wasn't worried.”

Daphne gave him a look.

“Fine. Slightly worried.”

“That I believe.”

Harry shifted onto his side, watching her as the humor slowly faded from her expression. She didn't move away from him. If anything, Daphne settled closer beneath the covers before speaking. “I meant what I said last night. I had a wonderful time.”

“So did I.”

“I like you.”

Harry smiled. “Careful. You're going to give a bloke ideas.”

Daphne rolled her eyes at having her own line returned to her. “And that's precisely the problem.”

Harry's smile faltered.

Daphne laughed softly. “Not you, idiot.”

“Excellent clarification.”

“Your life.”

That caught him. Daphne looked toward him again, searching for the right words. “I knew what your life was before yesterday. Everyone does. Harry Potter, professional Quidditch player, eighty thousand people screaming your name.” She shrugged slightly. “Knowing it and standing beside it are apparently very different things.”

Harry thought back over the evening. The family at dinner. The shopkeepers. The children. The waitress. Even walking from the stadium had taken twice as long because someone seemed to recognize him every few yards.

“I didn't think it bothered you.”

“It didn't.”

Harry frowned.

Daphne smiled at his confusion. “That's what makes this difficult. Nobody was rude to me. Nobody ruined our evening. The little boy was adorable. Watching you with him was probably one of my favorite parts of the night.”

“Then what is it?”

“I noticed you.”

Harry waited.

“You enjoyed it.”

There was no accusation in her voice. Harry remembered the same conversation over dinner and gave up trying to deny it. “I did.”

“I know.” Daphne reached over and lightly traced her fingers along his arm. “And I don't think there's anything wrong with that. After everything you've done, perhaps you deserve people cheering for you for something as simple as catching a Snitch.”

Harry snorted. “Don't tell Oliver catching a Snitch is simple.”

“I'll amend my statement.”

Her smile faded again.

“But I watched you last night, Harry. Every time someone called your name, you stood a little taller. Every autograph, every person congratulating you, every person wearing your number… you liked it.”

Harry stared toward the ceiling. He couldn't argue.

“And I realized something,” Daphne continued. “I don't feel the same.”

Harry looked back at her. “About Quidditch?”

“About the attention.”

That made considerably more sense.

“I love Puddlemere. I love going to matches. I even enjoyed watching eighty thousand people scream your name.” A small smile touched her lips. “More than I expected, actually. But I don't want eighty thousand people knowing who I'm sleeping beside afterward.”

Harry laughed before he could stop himself. Daphne joined him. “Perhaps that wasn't the most elegant way to phrase it.”

“No, I liked that one.”

“I thought you might.”

The laughter made what followed easier.

“I don't want photographers wondering where we're having dinner. I don't want strangers watching me to see whether I'm cheering loudly enough. I certainly don't want Tracey asking whether you're any good in bed.”

Harry stared at her.

Daphne's mouth twitched.

“She wouldn't.”

“She absolutely would.”

“That friendship makes less sense every time you explain it.”

“People are complicated.”

Harry laughed again, but eventually the room quieted. “So what are you saying?”

Daphne considered him. “I'm saying I like you.”

She leaned forward and kissed him softly. “And I enjoyed last night.”

Another kiss, this one against his cheek. “And if you asked me to dinner again, there's a reasonably good chance I'd say yes.”

Harry smiled. “I'm hearing very little bad news.”

“The bad news is that I don't think I could ever make your life mine.”

There it was. Not rejection. Not exactly. Harry understood anyway.

“You've known me for about three days.”

“Which is why I'm not planning our marriage, Potter.”

“Good. I haven't bought a ring.”

“You couldn't afford me.”

Harry laughed, and Daphne looked immensely pleased with herself for bringing the joke full circle. Then she reached for his hand. “Don't change it because of me. That's important.”

Harry's amusement faded.

“Your life, I mean. I watched you yesterday. You're happy here.”

He thought about that. Puddlemere had already hurt him. Montrose had hurt him. The press had nearly driven him mad, and there were mornings when he still wondered what possessed him to make professional Quidditch his life. But yesterday? Flying over the stadium while eighty thousand people roared his name?

Winning? Walking through town afterward? Daphne was right. He had been happy. “I think I am.”

“Good.” She squeezed his hand. “Then don't lose yourself in it.”

Harry recognized the words from dinner. Daphne smiled. “And don't change yourself trying to make someone else comfortable with it either.”

For a few moments, Harry simply looked at her. He had expected this morning to be considerably simpler. Maybe breakfast. A kiss goodbye. Perhaps the uncomfortable question of when they would see each other again. Instead, Daphne Greengrass had somehow managed to tell him she liked him, wanted to see him again, had enjoyed sleeping with him, and probably wasn't remotely suited to becoming his girlfriend.

“People really are complicated,” Harry muttered.

Daphne grinned. “Now you're learning.”

Harry leaned forward and kissed her. Whatever happened between them next, he decided he could live with complicated.