Daphne Greengrass, Heiress of the Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass, sat in a garden chair bathed in mid-morning sunlight, practicing her Occlumency.
The mental discipline helped her focus and provided a much-needed distraction.
The crushing feeling of helplessness had been growing stronger lately, like an iron fist slowly squeezing her heart.
“Daphne, we have a guest for you to meet.”
She looked up to see her mother walking—no, leading—no, simply walking alongside…
“I already know John Potter, Mother,” she said, disdain dripping from every word.
The boy continued forward until he stood directly in front of her.
“I assure you, Miss Greengrass—”
Miss?
“—although I may look like John Potter, I most certainly am not him.” He extended his hand.
With an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, Daphne reached out, and he brushed his lips gently across her knuckles in a proper greeting.
This was definitely not John Potter.
Her eyes traced the unmistakable lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.
So who was he?
“Harry is taking a break from business with your father,” her mother explained.
“Since you’re the same age and will be attending Hogwarts together, I thought you might show him around the gardens.”
Daphne studied the boy more closely.
Something about him felt… off.
“Harry who?” she asked.
The boy smiled.
“Just Harry for now, Miss Greengrass. My family name is a Greengrass family secret.”
Daphne’s head snapped toward her mother, who simply nodded in confirmation.
She turned back to the boy and narrowed her eyes.
If he was going to play mysterious, she saw no reason to be overly familiar.
“Very well, Mister Harry. Follow me.”
“Lead the way, Miss Greengrass.”
Daphne kept stealing glances at the boy beside her.
There was something distinctly different about him.
He moved with quiet confidence, but without the arrogant strut so common among other boys his age.
He didn’t speak much, yet the silence felt comfortable rather than awkward.
She had never seen him at any family gatherings, but his clothing spoke of considerable wealth.
“Mister Harry, what sort of ‘business’ do you have with my father?”
“We were discussing plans related to something he’s working on in the Wizengamot.”
She scoffed.
“There’s no chance Father would ask children like us for help with Wizengamot matters. You’re lying, Mister Harry. What were you really doing with him?”
They had reached the top of a gentle ridge overlooking the colorful flowerbeds.
She expected anger.
Any other boy would have lashed out after being caught in such a blatant lie—unless he was timid, which this one clearly wasn’t.
Instead, he simply smiled at her.
It was a rather nice smile.
“Miss Greengrass, in the wizarding world you must learn that things are not always what they seem.” He turned to admire the gardens.
“This really is a lovely place.”
“Wha—? Er, yes. Wait, what did you mean by that?” She planted her hands on her hips and tried to look indignant, the way she had seen her mother do when her father’s jokes fell flat.
It didn’t seem to be working.
“Care for a seat?”
Now she was thoroughly confused.
“There are no seats here.”
Her eyes widened as the boy produced a wand from somewhere.
Her jaw dropped when he silently conjured a large, comfortable garden chair right in front of her.
“W-w-w-what… H-how?”
Boys weren’t supposed to be able to do that.
She had never even seen an adult wizard perform such effortless magic.
“Like I said,” the boy replied, conjuring a second chair for himself and dropping into it with a satisfied whumpf, “things in the wizarding world are not always what they seem.” This chapter is updated first at novelping . com.
He looked at her expectantly.
Daphne sat down carefully, half expecting the chair to vanish beneath her.
“Your garden really is beautiful. Do you come out here often?”
Daphne felt completely off balance.
Somehow she had lost control of the conversation, and the boy still hadn’t answered her question or shown any anger.
“Y-yes, quite a lot. I… I like the outdoors.”
He gave her that annoyingly pleasant smile again.
“I like the outdoors too.” His expression softened.
“There’s nothing worse than being trapped inside.”
Silence settled between them once more, and once again the boy seemed perfectly comfortable with it.
He gazed out over the grounds, looking far more mature than any boy his age had a right to.
“Um, Mister Harry?”
“You can call me Harry, you know.”
“Okay… Harry,” she said, realizing too late that she had happily accepted his offer to use his first name—after she had deliberately tried to keep him at a distance with formalities.
“How do you have a wand? We’re not supposed to have one until Hogwarts.”
“That is one of my family secrets.”
She huffed.
“I wish I had a wand. We have plenty of old ones at home, but Father won’t let me touch them.”
“You are practicing wandless magic, though, aren’t you?”
“What? No. Only truly powerful wizards can do wandless magic.”
“That’s not entirely true. You were practicing Occlumency earlier, weren’t you?”
“I… that doesn’t count.”
“It really does. Mastering Occlumency is the first major step toward learning wandless spells.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. And there are many other branches of magic where strong Occlumency is essential—Transfiguration, becoming an Animagus…”