Chapter 3
Daphne suffered silence punctuated by the scraping of cutlery once again.
Astoria cleared her throat, “you were talking to Pansy yesterday, I didn’t think you got on?”
Daphne had half a mind to chicken out, she gave Astoria a strained smile, “well, we never really did at school, but she’s been in Paris for so long,” she trailed off, heart beating rapidly.
It’d only been a suggestion from Pansy really, she didn’t have the power to force Daphne into anything. Unfortunately for Daphne, the rebellious sliver of hope she’d felt after being told she could move out had snowballed. Rapidly. Now it felt as though her entire future rested on her father’s reaction to her suggestion.
“She’s planning on returning,” Draco added, giving her a pointed look.
Daphne was a complete idiot, “yes well she spoke to me about that,” then she looked sideways to brave her parents, “she asked to court me,” Daphne attempted not to blurt out, trying to immediately measure her parents’ reactions.
“To court you?” her father double checked.
Of course, the hierarchy of the magical aristocracy was the priority here.
Daphne tried not to fidget, “well I suppose I’d be courting her, but she suggested it, I apologise for misspeaking,”
The Parkinson’s were upper middle class at best. No titles to speak of.
Her mother scoffed immediately, “that’s utterly ridiculous, certainly against-“
“Henrietta,” her father halted her rant.
Hope.
Daphne stared at him, holding her breath.
“Parkinson?” her father clarified, when all the tables occupant’s nodded, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, “Daphne, no.”
No.
She felt violently sick, shoving her salad-riddled plate away from herself and stood, her chair scraping against the antique tile.
Of course, Parkinson was right.
“Sit down,” her father sneered, “causing a scene isn’t helping your case,”
Her case.
Gosh what a joke that was.
Daphne scoffed, “I don’t have a case, father,” she countered harshly, “I’ve never had a case, tell whatever man you have waiting for me that I’d rather slit my own throat,” she spoke lowly, alarmingly calm.
“Your theatrics never fail to amaze me,” he ridiculed, looking over to his wife for support.
Her mother cut into her salad, eating a forkful, and not looking up from her hands.
Daphne’s lip curled at the pathetic scene.
“Sit down, you’re being childish,” her father scolded.
Daphne scoffed and shoved her chair under the table, turning on her heel.
She wasn’t quite sure where she was going but she wouldn’t sit there eating un-flavoured garnish anymore, not whilst compliance led to nothing more than an existence as an attractive puppet.
At least she wasn’t physically harmed in her parents’ house, not truly.
But how was she supposed to trust her father’s judgement on a person willing to purchase her?
The dining room door slammed shut in front of her and Daphne stumbled to a halt.
If her father sent her away, he’d need another heir.
A childlike panic arose for her mother.
He’d need another wife.
She glared at the large double doors frantically, willing for a spark, a resistance from her puny magical core.
She wasn’t particularly powerful, nor much of a skilled witch. She’d passed her exams in subjects less reliant on wand work; herbology, potions, astronomy, and divination.
She wouldn’t be able to fight her way out.
Draco was supposedly supporting her, but he wouldn’t risk his relationship with Astoria.
Rather than panic, a terrifying sense of calm washed over Daphne.
Like an out of body experience.
She felt almost at peace.
Daphne regarded the double doors coolly before turning around to face her father, “I’ll court Parkinson, or you disown me,”
He looked at her like a petulant child.
Astoria and Draco seemed ready to spring into action at any moment.
Her father chuckled, “I’m not going to do either of those things,”
Daphne considered him with very little interest. He’d placed his wand back on the table and returned to eating his meal.
His adult meal.
The dismissal stung, distantly.
She glanced over the rest of the room and instead walked slowly around the table to the small door on the far wall, the one that led down the kitchens.
He might not immediately follow her as it had no other exits, previously being used by house elves.
“Daphne,” he scolded, but she didn’t hear movement following her.
She slammed the door behind her and warded it to the best of her abilities. Running down the stone steps and bursting into the kitchen.
Her mother often made her little wives’ potions down there.
Shops often sold remedies targeted towards society women; things to temper the hunger, keep them upright, keep them placid.
But purchasing in public created gossip.
Draught of peace was a less obvious alternative, her mother had been taking it for years, way before her marriage to their father.
Unfortunately, the prolonged exposure to hellebore led to infertility.
She barely managed to keep Daphne and Astoria during her pregnancies even whilst staying completely bedridden, and lost countless others.
Daphne would feel sorry for her if she wasn’t a such dreadful cunt.
She glanced at the knives briefly, managing to shake off that thought before she rummaged through the cupboards haphazardly, she tossed things aside searching desperately for a resolution to her plight.
Her father prohibited her mother from taking the potions after she’d left three-year-old Daphne in charge of her baby sister.
He’d returned from court to find both crying, baby Astoria had nearly suffocated on some food young Daphne had attempted to feed her.
But she was sure her mother still indulged.
Hidden in a package of dried beetle eyes, Daphne struck gold.
Syrup of Hellebore.
The unnerving blue liquid was a decade past expiry and almost certainly had fermented to heighten its potency, thus was the nature of the ingredient.
It may kill her.
At least that’d be a choice.
“Daphne, cease this childish tantrum, and back up here now, I am not done with this conversation,” her father banged against the door.
Times up.
She stared down at the bottle.
Daphne left it on the worktop, rooting through the draws again before she found a lucky jar of powered bezoar.
Smirking to herself as the door to the dining room slammed open, she wrinkled her nose and poured half the jar into her mouth, running quickly to the sink to fill a glass with water and choked the disgusting paste down. She dropped the glass into the sink, scrambled back to hide the bezoar jar and lifted the syrup bottle, examining the label.
Her father burst into the kitchen, Draco in tow.
Daphne barely looked at them, “it’s interesting when you consider my options, or lack thereof,” she spoke neutrally.
“Daphne,” Draco warned.
She sent him a dismissive glance, “rape or starvation,”
Her father scoffed, “you’re as dramatic as your mother,”
Daphne sneered, uncorking the bottle, “yes, you really tamed her, how unfortunate that your wife found you so unbearable that she poisoned herself for years,”
William Greengrass barely reacted.
But Draco stepped forward, his wand held tightly in his hand.
“You’re going to go speak to Mr Parkinson, it’s a reasonable situation, she’d make a fine wife, had you been able to give your wife a boy,” Daphne instructed, she kept her voice gentle.
Her father’s lip curled.
Daphne glanced at the bottle again, “I won’t allow you to ship me off far enough away to save you conscience, leaving me to endure with the aftermath,”
He scoffed, “put that down you insolent girl, I’ve already made arrangements following your sister’s wedding and you will do as your told,” he barked, clearly losing his patience.
“Who is it?” she asked calmly, glancing down at her fingernails.
Her father rolled his eyes, “not for you to know,”
“Hardly, who is it?” she repeated, “Tell me! Coward.”
“Andrew Marwood,”
The revelation didn’t even shock her.
Daphne didn’t give them a chance to stop her, to prevent her for making another choice.
She lifted the glass bottle and attempted to drink it down in one.
It was ripped out of her hand seconds later, smashing against the far wall.
But Daphne had managed to choke down at least half.
Draco scrambled towards her, his hands gripping her face, “what the fuck Daphne, what was that?”
She felt briefly apologetic for worrying Draco, but only him.
Her father walked slowly towards the smashed pieces of the bottle, levitating the nearly enact label.
He paled as he read it.
Draco had begun with investigative healers’ charms.
She stared down her father until her dared to look at her.
Lord William Greengrass swallowed harshly and met her stare, “do you want to die?”
Daphne tried to convey with just her eyes that she regarded him with less respect than the dirt on her shoe, “no.”
Draco turned to scramble through the cupboards, pushing aside the already ransacked contents.
He was looking in the wrong one if he wanted to save her.
“No?” Her father laughed hysterically, “well, I’ve got some bad news, you foolish child,”
“Good,” Daphne drawled, “you can bury me in white, I’d rather that than be at the mercy of a man who tried to rape me at thirteen,”
“Daphne, you misremember,”
Draco’s hands had stalled.
“Do I?” she laughed humourlessly, “well then, I also misremember him asking if I’d yet bled, I’ve always wondered whether that would’ve changed his plans, had I lied and said no,”
“Daphne,” he warned, glancing at Draco.
“Draco should be relieved you ensured such an ironclad betrothal agreement, at least I can die knowing my sister will be safe,”
Daphne slipped her wand out of its holster while he looked away, ashamed. She took a steadying breath and cast the wordless curse with a flourish of her wand before she could second guess herself.
It hit her father in his lower stomach, putrid black light spread across his lower body as he stumbled back, tripping on the glass and barely keeping himself upright.
Draco grabbed her from behind, shoving her behind him and squaring up defensively against her father.
He regained his footing and gasped for breath, “what was that?”
She watched dispassionately as he patted down his body, looking for signs of injury, growing increasingly panicked,
“Daphne,” Draco insisted.
She sighed deeply, brushing past Draco, and opened the cupboard she’d stashed the bezoar in.
They watched in silence as she took the jar to the sink and poured the powder it into a larger glass, filling the glass with water, before idly stirring in the powder until it dissolved, leaving a slightly greyed milky water.
Her father’s breathing was ragged.
She titled the cup to him before drinking it leisurely,
“Well, that’s a shame,” Daphne announced, placing the finished glass into the sink, “Astoria’s children are tied exclusively to the Malfoy line, Daphne’s defective, mummy was infertile long before she hit the menopause,” she dropped her voice, “and now daddy’s impotent,”
The horrid curse had been whispered at parties after too much wine and disclosed gravely by frail grandmothers.
A solution for the nastiest husbands, the most evil of men. Endure until you’ve given him an heir, a spare, then you take care of it.
A pathetic fate for proud Lord Greengrass.
Her father’s eyes bulged out of his head, and Draco’s jaw might’ve hit the floor if Daphne hadn’t closed it for him. She patted his chest fondly, “I’m really excited for you and Astoria, and I’m sorry that all of this is disrupting your wedding,”
He looked absolutely speechless.
“Perhaps you should contact Mr Parkinson now father,” Daphne encouraged, “I’m going to drop by the hospital, just in case,”
She smiled politely at the both, walking out of the kitchen leisurely, out into the dining room where she ignored both her mother and sister, before reaching the fireplace, she stepped in, called out the hospital’s address and prayed she hadn’t fucked everything up.
Daphne was fine.
In fact, she had a clean bill of health.
She’d fibbed just a little bit, telling the healer she’d mistaken the hellebore for a mild invigoration draught, then rambled for the entirety of the consultation about her sister’s wedding plans.
Eventually, she was given a slightly more specific antidote for hellebore, just in case and had to report back with any side effects, but was released.
The healer had actually hurried her out of the door, snapping that he was too busy to listen to the trivial little lives of spoilt woman. Though he was a little more succinct.
Unfortunately, for Daphne, the relief from her non-imminent death was stamped down immediately at the sight of what was certainly an exceptionally furious Blaise Zabini leaning against the reception desk, entirely in the way of her path to the floo. His black eyebrows were creased in worry as he conversed with the receptionist.
She spotted him too late.
He smiled sweetly and greeted her warmly, “come here, I cannot believe the scare you gave us,”
The receptionist gave him a fond glance.
Daphne’s panic stations alerted but she still walked into his arms, desperately trying not to burst into pathetic tears as she savoured probably the only comfort she’d received that year.
“Let me get you home,”
She nodded, gripping onto his black jumper.
He rushed her to the floo in his strong, warm arms, still smelling like comfort.
Daphne followed desperately, allowing him to hold her until he directed them, not back to the Abbey, but to Nott Castle.
“No,” she resisted feebly against his arms.
They landed in the entry way and she struggled against him before he released her, resulting in her stumbling out of the fireplace barely keeping her footing on the worn flags.
Someone steadied her.
Daphne looked up cautiously, meeting the frantic gaze of Theodore Nott.
“Explain,”
She glanced around the room, taking in the dishevelled occupants. All her friends were there, each of them in states of disarray.
Astoria was crying, being consoled by Draco and Parkinson.
Sebastian Lestrange stood talking quietly with Adrian Pucey, Castor Black and Cassius Warrington, all of whom were in a mixture of pyjamas covered hastily with jumpers and coats.
Marcus Flint held his sleeping eight month old, beside Millie Bulstrode and Felix Rosier.
Daphne backed up into Blaise.
“Daphne,” Theo prompted, “explain,”
She stared up at his tense expression, then looked away meekly, “father was going to marry me to a man who attempted to assault me as a teenager,” she explained vaguely.
“So, you tried to kill yourself?” Theo clarified, voice low and grave. She’d never seen him so serious.
“No.”
Draco scoffed, “you drank half a bottle of expired hellebore, what did you think was going to happen?”
Astoria’s cries worsened.
“Stop it,” she tried to step towards Astoria but Theo held out his hand.
“I won’t repeat myself Greengrass, explain what the fuck happened,” Theo insisted, leaning into his ‘Lord of the Manor’ persona that rarely saw the light of day.
Daphne shrunk away from him, back towards Blaise, wrapping her arms around herself, “I took bezoar first,” she muttered, flushing in embarrassment.
“You took bezoar first?” Theo repeated louder.
She nodded hesitantly.
He scrubbed a hand over his face harshly and turned to look at their friends, “let’s go sit down,”
Daphne dragged her feet all the way to the living room, then sat down on the edge of the sofa nearest the door, ready to bolt.
Draco rubbed his eyes and accepted a glass of whiskey from Theo, “your father made quite the scene after you left,”
Astoria laughed through her tears.
“To put it mildly,” he added, putting an arm around Astoria, and rubbing her back, “threatened to call off the wedding, disown you, etcetera,”
“He can’t disown me,” she mumbled, breaking eye contact with Draco and looking at an inconspicuous spot on the floor.
“Why?” Adrian asked.
He’d trained as a lawyer right out of school and made a very comfortable living on it.
For obvious reasons, Daphne avoided his eyes.
“Daphne,” Adrian scolded, “perhaps I should say that we’re all glad you’re okay, and we’re just worried about you, Draco hasn’t said much except you took poison and then an antidote,”
Daphne’s eyes shot to Draco, then across to Adrian.
She picked at her cuticles, “he has two adult children, he hardly has the need for anymore,” she mumbled, shrugging.
Adrian stared at her for a long moment then glanced at Draco for confirmation, “you sterilised your father?”
Daphne wasn’t stupid enough to confess, “he’s old, things like that happen,”
Pansy Parkinson shrieked out a laugh, she caught herself, slapping a hand over her mouth and giggling out an apology before she started laughing more forcefully.
Daphne flushed red, coming to terms with the reality of her actions.
Theo let out a shocked laugh, “you’re serious?”
She averted her eyes.
Marcus snorted, “ouch,”
Daphne avoided their eyes until she caught Astoria’s worried expression.
Astoria glanced at Pansy, “I thought he’d say yes,”
Daphne shrugged half-heartedly, “I damaged relations with the family when I went home without telling anyone, the kids were fine and both parents were there,” she explained vaguely.
Theo’s brows were furrowed in confusion, “what?”
Daphne glanced at Astoria, “the man my father is marrying me to, I helped take care of his children over summer before third year. But he was creepy, and the mum was wine drunk by the pool the whole time,”
Adrian sighed harshly, “that’s against so many child labour laws,”
Felix elbowed him harshly, “it’s understandable that you went straight home if he attempted to assault you, you shouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of that, I’m quite happy to put pressure on your father but the problem is if he’s signed something,”
Daphne looked between him and Adrian, “I don’t know,”
“Never mind that, is he speaking to my father?” Pansy interrupted.
Daphne had to try not to glare at her, “I don’t know that either, I did suggest that he did,”
Draco snorted, “suggesting after you cursed him and attempted suicide,”
Her eyes shot to him, “I do apologise for scaring you, that wasn’t my intention, but I didn’t attempt suicide, if I wanted to do that I’d have done something significantly more dramatic,” Daphne attempted to joke. Clearly falling short at the reactions.
She wasn’t lying though, if she’d been truly more desperate, Daphne would have at least attempted to martyr herself for the betterment of other women in her position.
Pansy chuckled, “sounds about right,”
Daphne fidgeted awkwardly, “I was trying to prove a point,”
“A point,” Draco repeated, as if he didn’t believe what she was saying.
She glared up at him harshly.
It’d been a long enough day that she wouldn’t tolerate being questioned in a room full of mostly men about her reaction to being married to a predator.
Draco raised an eyebrow, “you’ve developed a backbone,”
Daphne flushed with embarrassment and glared at him harder, “interesting coming from you, though I will admit to panicking when faced with my reality,”
He averted his eyes.
Pansy groaned loudly, “so do I go back to Paris or not?”
Daphne regretted every decision she’d ever made.
“Pansy,” Astoria warned quietly, glancing at her sideways then at the room’s other occupants.
Theo made a fuss of looking between Astoria and Pansy, “you can explain too,”
Daphne wasn’t ready to talk about that, “I was worried about mother,” she blurted quickly, “if I left then he’d need to marry again to produce another heir,”
Astoria sniffed, “he wouldn’t,”
Daphne levelled her with a look.
“What instigated this?” Adrian prompted, “he’d surely wait until after the wedding to send you anywhere,”
Daphne nodded in agreement, glancing at Astoria. She made sure not to look in the vicinity of Parkinson.
“Daphne and Pansy are getting married,” Draco drawled, smirking at her betrayed look.
The silence dragged out for an embarrassingly long time until Theo cleared his throat.
He stared at Draco until gathering some sign he’d been telling the truth then gave Daphne a strained smile, avoiding Pansy’s narrowed eyes, “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he spoke gravely, wincing in anticipation of backlash.
Surprisingly, it was Astoria that reacted the most harshly, “I’d be hesitant to offer suggestions on what’s a good idea, Nott, considering I’ve had to edit my invite list five times because you can’t control your cock,” she sneered.
Theo blushed faintly but ignored her, dipping his head to look at Daphne, “I recall quite clearly you once remarking that you’d had to restrain yourself from suffocating her with a pillow,”
Daphne waved him off, “I was hormonal and confused,”
Minus one feminist point.
“And the Yule Ball,” Blaise piped up from the opposite side of the room.
Daphne sent him a silencing glare.
She didn’t need reminding of that.
Perky fourth year Daphne Greengrass had been drowning in the romance of it all.
Blaise had asked her immediately, and she’d spent weeks daydreaming about the evening.
She’d felt delirious at the decorations, the music and his attention, nauseous anticipating whether he’d kiss her or secret them away to some hidden alcove.
That hadn’t happened.
At an appropriate time, she’d left with some of the other girls, wanting to maintain her virtuous reputation.
An hour or so later Pansy Parkinson entered the common room, bearing news of the boys canoodling with other students; girls who’s reputations weren’t required to be untarnished.
When she’d reflected later, Daphne had never been upset about Blaise possibly kissing another girl, or Theo, or Draco.
That moment had highlighted the double-standard like a bucket of ice-cold water.
She’d grieved for herself.
And taken it out on Pansy as the bearer of bad news.
They’d had a vicious shouting match in the common room.
One that might have turned physical if it weren’t for the appearance of some drunken seventh years.
Daphne vividly recalled crying hysterically, still in her dress, hidden in the safety of her charmed bed curtains.
She again glared fiercely at Blaise for the reminder.
Pansy scoffed, “communication is an important part of marriage,”
Daphne gave her an astonished look, “you said I looked like your father’s whore in my dress,” she accused, trying not to fall into hysterics.
“You started it, if I recall correctly, I was just defending myself,” Pansy replied.
“How on Earth am I not right?” Theo questioned, glancing around for support.
Adrian cleared his throat, “tomorrow I’ll draw up a contract between only yourselves,” he offered, “it’ll be binding without a magical signature, and would supplant any contracts written up by your fathers,”
Daphne glanced at Pansy before nodding.
“Your funeral,” Theo muttered.
She flushed with anger, “it might be, Nott,” Daphne scoffed angrily, “my father seems to have begged every man in Europe to take me, I’d rather not face the reality of the dregs,”
He glanced at Felix before nodding briefly, “okay,” he relented, “but have you considered separate houses?”
Daphne blinked, “we’re not marrying?”
Pansy nodded in agreement, “we’re courting, a long courtship,”
Theo exchanged a glance with Draco that she didn’t like.
“What?”
Draco sighed, “what do you intend to do after the courtship?”
Daphne searched her mind frantically, “I don’t know, I don’t have the luxury of long-term planning Malfoy,”
He stared at her for a while, “you should think about that before you legally bind yourself to her,”
Pansy scoffed, “why am I the bad guy?”
No one answered.
Daphne wasn’t going to be the one to tell her she was an arsehole, mostly because she was her one choice.
But still a choice.