The Time of Ice and Shadow: A Harry Potter Fanfiction
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own any crossover references used in the story: all rights belong to their original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.
Plot: When Harry arrives for the Midnight Duel, he finds more than just Malfoy's trap waiting for him. He also finds the keys to the kingdom: one he is supposed to rule.
Author's Note: So, what to say about this one?
Classic themes, new spin on certain ideas, a point of origin I've never really read and, oh yes, a fun, powerful Harry with a new lease on life.
Recommended Reads: Silver King, Hydrus Black and Apex by JustBored21, Thanks to a Snake by Irish216, Saviour of Magic by Colt01, The Rise of the Last Potter by HPfanfictioner66, A True Slytherin Rises by MightyGryffindor, Monochrome by The BlackStaff and NightMarE, Harry Potter and the Perversion of Purity and Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos by ACI100, Harry Potter, Dark Legacy by The Fallen One 2012, A Flaw in Fate by 521-DREAM, The House of Potter-Greengrass by WolfgangNH, Harry Potter: The Rise by Heatseeker07 and Harry Potter The Protector of Magic and The Protector and the Four Guardians by TigerSwarm9122
Key Pairing: Haphne
Other Pairings: To be determined
Chapter 1: That's Not Malfoy!
Hogwarts was a wonder to behold during the day.
By night, however, the real air of spookiness and wonder, as well as macabre mystique came out in force, or so Harry thought as he walked into the Trophy Room, easily slipping through the semi-open door, whilst trying to drown out Ron and Hermione's arguing voices.
Why the brunette was even there, he didn't know.
Why he'd let Ron talk Harry into this whole thing to begin with in the first place, Harry didn't know.
Why he couldn't have just stayed in bed?
Well, that he knew…
He couldn't explain it, but when Malfoy had come out and challenged him – and Ron, as Harry was reminded, accepted the fight even before Harry had a chance to think about it – something had stirred inside the emerald-eyed Gryffindor. A strange, warm, but also chilling sense of something that had told him that it wouldn't just be a mistake to refuse the challenge and let Malfoy think him a coward.
In his mind, in his heart and in his very soul, the idea of fleeing from his enemies was one that was almost taboo.
"Honestly, Ronald: why didn't you just keep your mouth shut? Do you even care about what'll happen to Harry if he gets caught?"
As much as Harry hated the fact that Granger had seemingly tagged along – before being forced to do so when the Fat Lady went off on a midnight jaunt through the portrait frames – he couldn't help but smile thinly at the note of genuine worry that laced the girl's words as she and her redheaded companion joined Harry in the Trophy Room.
However, Ron's answer was not what Harry wanted to hear, though the redhead didn't say it to him, nor did Harry say it back. "What do you know, Granger? Duh! In case you forgot, Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived! I mean, come on! Do you really think a great man like Professor Dumbledore will let him be expelled? We're as in here as Malfoy with Snape, so keep your eyes open and your mouth shut."
'I wish you'd both shut up, before Filch, a ghost or a Prefect catches us,' thought Harry, scowling at the continuing arguments behind him, while he looked up and around the Trophy Room.
With the many metallic skeletal-like frames of the trophies and awards, the atmosphere was thick with spookiness; and, add in the fact that Harry had thought about a Prefect or, worse, Filch being the one to catch them – as in the same Mr Filch who'd developed a nasty habit of popping up where you least expected him to be – and it wasn't made any-less tense in the room.
Harry could even feel a bead of sweat trickling down his neckline, while his fingers flexed, clenching and relaxing as he tried to psyche himself up for what was about to happen.
He just hoped he wasn't going to regret it later.
Couldn't these two actually manage to stop arguing for even as little as ten seconds?
Apparently, given how their argument continued, Harry guessed the answer was a resounding no…
"I won't have you costing me points for some ego-trip, Ronald! Think of our marks! Our grades! Our classwork!"
"Granger, shut up!"
"I will not! If you can't see sense, then you're clearly in the wrong House!"
"Says the walking library; why don't you go and sneak in there if you want something to do?"
"And get caught? I'm annoyed; not suicidal!"
"Then clam up!"
"Both of you clam up, before I open one of these cases and smack your heads together with the heaviest trophy I can find!" snarled Harry, hissing out what even he admitted was a funny, but also serious-sounding threat as he drew his wand, much to Ron's excitement and Hermione's disbelief.
"What are you honestly expecting to do, Harry?" asked Hermione, once again adopting that bossy, know-it-all tone that had made her something of an outcast in Gryffindor lately, especially with Harry himself, who could still hear her chastising him as he answered Malfoy's earlier challenge in their first flying lesson – when she called him an idiot, as though she believed he was incapable of thought. "You don't even know how to master a simple matchstick-to-needle charm!"
"I said shut up, Granger!" growled Harry, his eyes now flicking around the trophy room as the same weird instinct, the urge that had risen up when Malfoy had challenged him now flared up again.
This time, though, it was like a warning.
A whisper of precognition, which told him one simple thing.
"We're not alone."
The other two looked around in shock, though as he flicked his gaze around the dark, dimly-lit room, Harry's eyes narrowed while it took every ounce of restraint for him not to scoff or scowl when he saw, unlike him, neither Ron nor Hermione made any efforts to draw their wands.
In fact, Hermione seemed to be muttering to herself, as though she was actually rehearsing what she'd say to whoever caught them.
Ron, meanwhile, kept looking back to Harry, while he also edged his way towards the door, earning a silent scoff from Harry, 'Heart of a lion, this one! And yet he was so brave and boisterous earlier when Malfoy was coming after me, not him; it's his fault we're even here to begin with, because he can't be bothered to keep his mouth shut and his nose out of my business!'
A clatter from somewhere to the left made Harry jump, holding his wand up before he edged forwards, licking his lips as he prepared to fire off the first shot before Malfoy – or whoever – got the drop on him.
Edging around a case that held what Harry read in the low-burning light was the House Cup, which on the year in question, had Gryffindor's crest stamped on its side, the young boy stopped as the strange instinct reared its head again.
The unseen assailant.
They were standing right behind him…
"And here I thought you'd never show," muttered Harry, before he held his wand tightly as he prepared to spin around.
Before he got the chance, however, Harry's eyes widened as his legs snapped together, while his body hit the floor as he made to turn and face his attacker, who let out a soft scoff before, in the low light of the Trophy Room, the attacker's outline let out a low, hushing whisper before, to Harry's shock, they tapped him with their wand.
Almost-immediately, Harry's body seemed to ripple and shimmer, while a warm, liquid-like sensation ran down the length of his less-than-ordinary-looking body, almost like he was standing under a lukewarm shower. A few seconds later, Harry was surprised to see the figure hunch down before they, whoever they were, placed a small, sweet-smelling handkerchief over his mouth, not to smother him, but silence him.
Curiously, as soon as he smelled the sweet scent, which made him think of fresh flowers in springtime, Harry knew one thing about his attacker.
Whoever they were…Draco Malfoy, they were not!
"Anyone here, my sweet?"
Suddenly, Harry's blood ran colder than cold as he heard a low, sour-edged voice address some unseen figure, though given the nature of the voice and the way they spoke to the other, Harry knew the owner of the voice for who it was.
He'd found them in the Trophy Room.
'Malfoy set me up,' thought Harry darkly, clenching his hands into fists, while the strange instinct from earlier now rose up once more, but, this time, it came with silent oaths of justice, whispers of vengeance and even a demand for satisfaction, be it fiscal or physical. At the same time, Harry also felt a low, murmuring sensation rippling through his magic, making him shiver, albeit silently, as his mind came alive with magical sparks and jolts that left him feeling really weird, both inside and out.
As this feeling washed over him, Harry felt a meek gasp escape him when he saw Filch step into view, holding a lantern and looking around with that same loathsome, child-hating expression. Seconds later, Mrs Norris prowled onto the scene, mewing softly as she nosed the air and the ground, but, despite the two of them, and Filch's light, and even Mrs Norris' feline instincts, Harry was surprised to note how neither of them seemed even a little aware of his presence.
Much less the figure pinning him down, holding the sweet-smelling kerchief to his face.
After a few minutes, Filch growled as he muttered, "Come on, then; it seems we've been the victims of some snot-nosed punk's prank. Let's see how funny he finds it when I report him to his Head of House. Come along, Mrs Norris; let's be going…"
For several minutes longer, Harry heard nothing, but the sound of his own heartbeat, as well as Filch and Mrs Norris leaving; it was only when he heard the door lock again that Harry found himself able to breathe freely. His assailant also quickly removed their gag from his mouth, before they touched him with their wand, once again causing him to feel that same watery sensation wash over him.
Once he was able to feel everything again, Harry picked himself up, before he swallowed hard as he saw the shadow of his attacker standing a few feet from him, their back, he guessed, to him, while Harry gulped, clearing his throat softly as he whispered, "I…I don't know what to say…thanks?"
"You shouldn't have had to thank me," argued the attacker, earning a look of surprise from Harry as he heard a cold tone of voice, not to mention a girl's voice, addressing him, as the girl then added, "Anyone with even half of Vincent and Gregory's brain capacity could have told you that Malfoy was lying, Potter! Ye gods and Merlin's beard and all that jazz: whatever happened to that Warrior Instinct of the Potter Family?"
"What Warrior Instinct?" asked Harry, earning a scoff from the girl.
"What Warrior Instinct?" asked the girl in a mocking voice, before she chuckled dryly, "You know something; that's really cute, Potter, but we all know the stories of how you were raised, so cut it out!"
This time, it was Harry who scoffed before he drawled, "All right, then: let me put it another way. Hypothetically, let's say all the stories that people like Snape and Malfoy and everyone who thinks they know who I am is nothing, but a bunch of self-serving, overcompensating fantasy that isn't even worth the paper it's written on: would you mind reminding me?"
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, Harry's eyes narrowed as the girl whispered, "Lumos."
A white light flared at the end of her wand, revealing a pale, proud facial structure, as well as blue eyes that made Harry think of the coldest of winters, which looked at him from under a head of shoulder-length, wintry-blondish-white-coloured hair. To Harry's disbelief, the girl was also dressed in a Slytherin uniform, while her eyes were filled with a look of surprise and curiosity as she leaned in close, peering right into Harry's emerald-green eyes before, blinking once, she spoke again.
"You…you're not kidding around, are you, Potter? You…you really don't know a thing about…about your House? Your Family? Your Power? Your Family's Power?"
"House points to Slytherin," drawled Harry, earning a small smirk from the blonde before she sighed softly.
"Merlin's beard and the razor that shaved it bloody…my Father will never believe this…let alone accept it; all right, I apologise, Potter…perhaps we might start over?"
"Sure," said Harry calmly, before he indicated the girl as he added, "How about we start with your name? It's clear you're not Malfoy; and, obviously, you even seem to give a damn about my safety, for whatever reason. So…who are you and, again, if it's not too much trouble…how can I thank you for at least saving me from Filch?"
Still holding her lit wand, the girl walked up to Harry, before she offered him her hand.
"My name is Daphne Alyssa Greengrass, Harry James Potter; Heiress of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass, Firstborn Daughter of Elsa and Cyrus Greengrass and, yes, as you said in your sarcy way, I am a Slytherin, just like you're…a…Gryffindor…"
She trailed off when Harry took her hand, but, instead of kissing it in a gentlemanly way as she'd been expecting, he shook it, at least showing he was willing to do that much since she'd helped him.
As she pulled her hand back, Daphne laughed weakly before she mused, "Well…that's a new one…"
"It's the least I could do," admitted Harry, before he gulped softly as he asked, "Now, no offence, Greengrass, but why did you help me?"
"Oh, that's an easy one," replied Daphne, folding her arms as she smirked at Harry, her wand's light now bathing the two of them in its glow as Daphne smiled at the confused, if not bewildered youth opposite her.
"I did it because you're my betrothed, Heir Potter…and as your betrothed, as much as it pains me to admit it, it seems I've got to get used to the idea of pulling your naïve, Gryffindor-led-astray backside out of the fire! And, speaking of…shall we?"
"How? The…the door's locked," said Harry, a note of surprise and disbelief in his voice as he saw Daphne chuckle slyly before she tapped her nose amusingly, her blue eyes almost sparkling with knowing, if not mischief, as she took his hand.
"Rule one of your real life, Harry James Potter…always have an escape plan, especially if some lowbrow idiot locks the door, and the so-called best witch of our year and her love-hate partner for life leave you high and dry!"
It was only then that Harry realised Ron and Hermione were, indeed, oddly-conspicuous by their absence.
As confused as he was by Daphne's words, and her revelation of being betrothed to him, he couldn't help but hope they'd be okay.
If only because he wanted the right to knock seven acres of shit out of Ronald Bilius Weasley for causing Harry to fall into the bloody-obvious trap in the first place…
"Filch is coming! What do we do?"
"Oh, move over! Alohomora!"
The door clicked open on command, earning a scoff from Ron as he followed Hermione in through the door, "Alohomora?"
"Standard Book of Spells, Chapter Seven, as you should know, Ron…Ron…R…Ronald…"
"What the bloody hell are you stuttering for?" asked Ron, spinning around to chastise Hermione further.
Only to find him, as well as her, eye-to-eye-to-eye-to-eye with something that definitely should not be in a school…
But then again, they shouldn't have been on the third-floor, after leaving their friend high-and-dry in the Trophy Room, so, you know what they say?
Karma's a bitch…
Unlike the three-headed male dog that snarled and barked loudly at the two pettishly-arguing Gryffindors as they turned tail and fled, choosing to face the ire of Argus Filch over a damn Cerberus any day.
For the first time ever, it could be said Ronald Weasley actually made a smart decision that night.
But then again, even a broken clock was right twice a day.
Wow, talk about a flip of the script: someone, for once, pulls Harry's ass out of the fire, but how did Daphne Greengrass manage it?
Also, why did she assume Harry knew of his Family's Power, whatever the heck that means, and what'll she do now Harry knows only a tiny piece of the truth about who he is and what he'll become?
Keep Reading to Find Out
Next Chapter: Harry is still wrestling with what he learned from Daphne Greengrass, while he also has to contend with new, odd feelings surrounding the other half of the instigators of the Duel-That-Never-Happened;
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Daphne Greengrass: Dove Cameron