Chapter 5
Daphne had spent very little of her time thinking about chemistry.
Attraction.
Or having it.
She’d frequently bemoaned her lack thereof towards the opposite gender.
But the concept of her truly experiencing it had barely even crossed her mind.
It was something she had previously mistaken for envy, or dislike, her true feelings murky beneath years of relentless sexist teachings.
And oh, had she tried to force it. Her platonic love for Blaise had been wrapped up in fairy-tale and convincingly acted out as chemistry and love. So much so that she had very nearly convinced herself.
It wasn’t something she’d every allowed herself to feel authentically.
Therefore, portraying it realistically seemed near impossible.
Unfortunately, because of this, in the two days between her visit to Nott Castle and Astoria’s rehearsal dinner, it played on her mind constantly.
Just to numb her anxiety over the whole ordeal she had actually resorted to consulting her mother’s depressingly large collection of romance books.
None of which she found herself relating to.
There were no similarities between the large commanding men on the pages and her own stifled desires.
The short timeline meant her exploration would need to be fleshed out within the fortnight, rather a lifetime.
She could be pragmatic when needed, and perhaps the challenge would be interesting.
Not that being attracted to Pansy Parkinson was a challenge.
For her perhaps, but not seemingly every woman in Paris.
A night on the town with Parkinson seemed to a top recommendation, alongside visiting the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe.
Good thing Daphne had approximately six events before the wedding itself to sell ‘chemistry’.
She’d rather the reporting of the courtship be a footnote of the wedding rather than a scandal in the aftermath.
Daphne zipped her blush pink cocktail dress and took a deep breath.
The dress was a little more daring than she’d usually go for. But wasn’t scandalous by any means.
Rather, it was V-necked and drew attention to her breasts instead of hiding them away.
No one else would likely take any notice.
Despite that, it was a big step for Daphne.
She took a deep breath examining herself in the mirror.
Daphne’s beauty had been smothered in recent years, the more she became a woman.
Her outfits were muted, and her makeup always soft.
Pretty.
Almost a part of the home furnishings.
On the back burner until she’d be released to be her husband’s beautiful wife.
Reclaiming it for herself was novel. A spark of resistance.
It’d have to suffice compared to her real task as she had barely a handful of days to claw a personality out of the remains of Daphne Greengrass.
Never mind the overhanging issue of ‘chemistry’.
The most productive way to do so seemed to be from the outside in, hence the less boring dress, a slightly livelier lipstick and bouncier hair.
It might at least give the more charismatic Parkinson something to work with.
The small transformation must have taken five years off her appearance.
And it felt amazing.
With an uncharacteristic pep in her step, Daphne took herself downstairs, ready to floo to Malfoy Manor where the dinner was being held.
It wasn’t until she reached the corridor leading past her father’s office that she realised something was amiss.
The closer she grew to the offending door, the more dread settled over her frame.
Lights.
And a crackling fire that she certainly hadn’t started.
Sick to her stomach, Daphne fought the urge to draw in on herself and instead defiantly squared her shoulders, she took a deep breath and stalked towards the damned thing, glancing at the closed door dismissively.
She made it to the end of the corridor before it clicked open.
“Daphne,” her father spoke lowly.
She halted obediently. Her body diverting past her brain, exceptionally trained. It was highly likely that she might bark on cue before thinking should he demand her to.
Giving herself a second to gather some composure, Daphne turned and gave her father a polite smile.
He appeared as put together as he always did. Dressed up in his favourite navy robes, not a hair out of place.
Regret hit her painfully, but she’d been ruthlessly groomed by the man himself not to react, and only gave him a nod.
He studied her briefly before nodding back, a rogue hint of pride shone in his expression, one that he’d reserved exclusively for Astoria when she secured the marriage to Draco.
It was so out of place that Daphne felt the urge to demand an explanation. It shouldn’t have taken her beating him into submission for him to recognise her ability to become a worthy successor.
“Your mother is already with Astoria, I have some documents for you to sign,” he informed her cooly.
Daphne gave him the benefit of doubt and followed quickly, stepping past him into the office whilst defiantly avoiding eye contact.
Laid out on the desk were numerous stacks of paper.
Daphne diligently read and signed them, as he had taught her.
Confirmation that she would be entering a courtship with Parkinson with the intention of marriage.
It was certainly real now.
Her father looked over the signed documents and sighed deeply, “we’re late,”
Daphne waited for a further statement.
One never came.
Rolling her eyes at the mind games, Daphne stood proudly and placed the quill gently on the desktop.
She could feel her father’s eyes on her.
Her stomach sunk, and it took the sheer force of all her willpower to lift her gaze to meet him.
“You may have ruined this family,” he stated plainly, “all seven hundred years of it,”
Daphne squeezed her hands into fists to prevent a larger reaction, “I may have not,” she replied petulantly.
He hummed, “it doesn’t matter anyway, it is your responsibility now,”
No matter the trials that had put her in that position, hearing her father defer to her, however reluctantly, still straightened her spine and gave her a buzz of confidence.
Still the mammoth task drowned her, “I’m not sure how to-“
“Thirty years and I am still unsure what goes on in your mother’s mind,” he stated wearily, “it is of little importance,”
Daphne opened her mouth, then closed it, squashing the urge to defend her mother and reconsidering her words carefully, “then, what is?”
He flicked his wand at the coal bucket and watched rolls of coal cover the cinders, “power Daphne, obviously,” he offered dismissively.
She stood stiffly, waiting for him to pass by her and open the office door.
When she didn’t speak, motioned his hand to the open doorway, “you’ve orchestrated all of these dramatics Daphne,”
She nodded, taking a deep breath to settle her nerves, “I did,”
He stopped, eyes cataloguing her. For the briefest of moments, it felt like he was really seeing her.
Just Daphne. Terrified, in over her head, Daphne Greengrass.
Her father rolled his eyes.
Whatever remained of hope within her vanished and she let out a harsh breath, shaking her head and moving past him.
They walked in complete silence to the floo, her father moving at a leisurely enough pace that she had swallow her irritation and take uncomfortably slow steps.
Just as she reached for the floo power, he father lifted his arm in front of her, blocking her path.
The serious expression that met hers set her right on edge.
“She needs you,” he explained.
Daphne blinked.
“She has been defying her station for a little too long, that little business is successful but not enough for her to continue in this life. Any smart women would’ve found herself a wealthy idiot to bankroll her hobby, but you seem to both be intended on going about things the hard way,”
“Or I’m the wealthy idiot,” Daphne muttered to herself.
“Don’t be stupid, there’s not a galleon to your name,” her father replied smartly, reaching past her for the floo powder.
She opened her mouth and then closed it again, unable to refute his statement but taken aback that he had actually said it out loud.
He, in what Daphne perceived to be an immature action, threw the floo power into the flames and stepped in, not giving her a chance to have the last word.
Daphne bit the inside of her cheek and glared at the flames, rolling her shoulders out from where they’d involuntarily hunched and stalked into the fireplace.
Parkinson was wearing black.
Cherry red lipstick.
Messy black bob.
And a low cut, black midi dress.
It was hardly cocktail, certainly one of her own designs.
Daphne wasn’t brave enough to face the music upon first entering, spying the black ensemble, she fled to the opposite end of the room, hoping to pass enough time before dinner.
But after consuming a few too many canapés (by her mother’s count), Daphne had run out of time avoiding Parkinson.
She’d been passing the time listening the society grandmothers juiced up on sherry nattering about their recently deceased peers with barely restrained glee.
Parkinson, on the other hand, was charming a group of their friends with whatever business talk that didn’t concern Daphne.
“Anyway, ladies,” the Avery matriarch broke through bubbly giggles, “I want to know when little Greengrass is getting married,”
Daphne’s stomach sunk at the jab, but she took another quick glance at Parkinson and smirked at the old bat, “soon, we’re hoping,” she spoke vaguely.
Avery following her gaze, looking confused at the room.
The other ladies scanned the room too with furrowed brows.
Taking their distraction as an opportunity to leave, Daphne sarcastically dipped her head and wandered off abruptly, determined to find someone else to waste her time with.
The next group of widows were even worse company. And the children’s table was downright depressing.
Resigned, Daphne spied out Parkinson, who hadn’t moved since the last time Daphne had checked, and the time before that. Chatting to Theo and Draco.
Excellent.
She walked carefully over, studying their body language to determine an appropriate time to interrupt.
Pansy was teasing Draco, that was for certain.
Even with her back to Daphne, the tell-tale tilt of her head was all too familiar.
That was good.
The closer she got; the pinker Draco’s ears became.
Theo spotted her first, an irritating smirk forming on his lips.
Daphne’s stomach clenched uncomfortably at the challenge.
He seemed to rise to it, smirk still present as he spoke haughtily to their friends.
Pansy looked over her shoulder, responding to what was certainly another unfunny comment from Nott.
Daphne took her open body language as an invitation, moving close. Under pressure, time seemed to slow, Daphne hovered her lips beside Pansy’s ear furthest away from the boys and extended her arm to rest on Pansy’s hip. Right in front of them.
It wasn’t particularly scandalous; she’d touched Blaise in a similar way. But if someone was looking closely, she was sure it’d look intimate.
Then words failed her.
Air stuck in her throat; Daphne whispered the first words that fell out of her mouth.
“You’re dressed like a harlot,”
What the fuck Daphne.
Parkinson leaned in closer, her breasts just brushed Daphne’s own, then she moved back. Just enough to bring them face to face. There was a dangerous challenge in her eye, one familiar enough that Daphne was set right at ease.
“Pansy was just telling us that Astoria wants a bedding ceremony,” Theo announced.
More than a little blind sighted, her eyes shot to him, then dropped back down to Parkinson.
Draco’s cheeks had flushed terribly.
Not wanting that kind of rumour to spread, Daphne smoothly removed herself from Parkinson’s personal space and gave Nott a disapproving scowl, “she wants escorting to the carriage,”
“It’s the same thing,” Theo argued, “we know what they’re-“
“That’s the same as everyone knowing that you’re going to come alarmingly fast on one of the bridesmaids like you did with Melanie Burke,” Parkinson chimed in.
His smirk evaporated.
“He was seventeen,” Daphne offered sympathetically, her hand settling precariously on Parkinson’s lower back.
“Three is a pattern,” Pansy retorted, leaning into her, “what he has is a perversion,” she stated firmly, pointing her finger at their friend.
His jaw dropped, “don’t chat bollocks,” he gasped, “what about your little French fancies? Eh, it must be compulsive at the rate you’re going,”
Daphne’s stomach pinched uncomfortably as she dropped her hand.
Pansy did not respond immediately. She looked over at Daphne carefully then back at Theo with a blank expression.
There were a few moments of silence where Daphne held her breath, and Theo began to fidget under the scrutiny.
Finally, Pansy spoke, “it keeps me in the headlines Nott, some of us aren’t privileged to be handed over the generations of blood money,” she sneered quietly, her hand reached to hover behind the middle of Daphne’s back. Fingertips grazed the fabric of her dress, gentle enough to draw out a shiver. Theo’s eyes dropped to Pansy’s arm, then up, just in time to see Daphne blush.
“It’s in the past,” Pansy dismissed, “and most of the time, the straight women were dropped off home with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek and a couple more industry connections,”
Theo sent her a look that said he didn’t believe her for a second, but the pinch in Daphne’s stomach erupted into dread.
She had no idea how to sell this to her closest friends and family. Never mind the press.
And she had to do so with a woman she’d truly misjudged.
“It’s a muggle tradition,” Daphne blurted quickly. Drawing their attention from each other, and more importantly, back to preventing any salacious rumours of her little sister.
She flushed further, “when couples leave churches, their guests usually stand outside and throw rice over the couple,” she explained, “it’s traditional, for fertility and prosperity,”
“Rice,” Theo drawled, then looked sideways at Draco who took a sip of his whiskey and shrugged.
Daphne nodded, “some guests will be seeing them off to the carriage, that’s all, no rice,”
“Well, thank you for clearing that up,” Theo drawled, rolling his eyes, “it would’ve kept me awake at night,”
Daphne took the hit without any further reply, happy to be the proverbial party-pooper.
Draco’s shoulders had returned to a more relaxed state, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence.
He sighed then, “we need it to go smoothly,” Draco spoke quietly.
Theo lifted an eyebrow, then glanced over at him, “there’s always gossip, remember Pucey’s, I thought he was going to hit that cousin,”
Draco grimaced, “that was unfortunate,”
Adrian’s cousin had seemed to take a fondness for his new mother-in-law. And was drunk enough that it took the half a dozen groomsmen to usher him outside and shove a Pepper Up down his throat.
“All press is good press,” Pansy spoke up, “plus, someone will find a way to criticise, it’s better something distracts them,”
Draco snorted, “are you volunteering?”
Pansy stood up straighter then, her expression bordered on affronted, “what do you mean?”
Both Theo and Draco blinked at her, exchanging looks out of the corner of their eyes.
“Well,” Draco started, glancing between the two of them, seeming to struggle for words.
“I suppose you could wear red,” Theo interrupted, smirking at Pansy.
She flinched, looking away from Draco.
Daphne was quickly reminded of Pansy saying she had “forfeited” her first time. An orchestrated endeavour to ensure it couldn’t have been taken. Theodore Nott had a truly dreadful childhood, his prickly attitude a side effect, but Daphne was growing increasingly tired of his ignorance.
“I’m sure Astoria wouldn’t mind,” Daphne spoke neutrally, then she looked over at Pansy, “you do look beautiful in red,”
Pansy’s eyes snapped to hers, the faint pink on the apples of her cheeks gave Daphne a rush of victory, especially following her earlier blunder. Pansy licked her lips, then looked back at Theo, head tilted to the side, “we’ve already picked out our dresses unfortunately. You could be careful with the flash photography though, styling your hair forward isn’t fooling anyone,”
Draco laughed loudly.
Theo scoffed harshly, fidgeting with one of his lovely curls, “Nott’s are born and die with a full head of hair,”
“Not this one,” Pansy muttered into her glass.
Daphne chuckled at her baseless teasing, she looked over, briefly meeting Pansy’s eyes.
Maybe they could do it.
Theo seemed to admit defeat, sighing deeply, and looking across the room, “what time’s the meal, I’m starving?”
Draco glanced down at his watch, “twenty minutes,” he answered.
“Shouldn’t you be with your bride?” Pansy asked sternly.
Draco blinked at her, then looked over to where Astoria laughed brightly, a vision in her white silk cocktail dress, then back at Pansy, “I think she’s fine,”
Daphne’s eyes lingered on her sister surrounded by her friends.
They’d lived different lives.
Pansy’s hand pressed more firmly to the centre of her back, drawing Daphne’s attention back to her. There was a furrow in Pansy’s brow as she considered Daphne carefully. Then slowly, almost as if it was unfamiliar, the corners of her red lips twitched upwards, just so. But enough for Daphne to catch.
It was enough.
Daphne considered her carefully, then she glanced over at the gentlemen, “we’re going to get another drink,” she nodded towards the dregs of Pansy’s vodka cranberry.
Both said nothing, watching as Pansy looked over to Daphne, then followed beside her through the small crowd. They didn’t touch again, but it was the first event in a very long time where Daphne hadn’t felt completely alone.