Juniper.
It had always been a risk, abandoning her family name, working to make sure that her parents, her uncles, her aunts, anyone who had voluntarily sworn their allegiance to Voldemort paid for it. Daphne had done it willingly, speaking against anyone and everyone, to the point that even Harry Potter had thought she could extend some grace. But grace didn’t exist, not in this world, not in what she had been forced to hear, to witness. And now she was paying for it, that was the only thing to be sure of.
Blaise’s eyes were glazed over with shock, his hands pressed tightly against her stomach. The attack had been so fast, so targeted, as if she had volunteered herself for it. Was this revenge? For her parents? For her? She wasn’t the first casualty, not this time. Her mouth gaped open for words, trying to tell her friends she wasn’t in pain, that she felt warm, that the air smelled delightful. But nothing came except more blood. Daphne couldn’t stop the bleeding. It was covering her. Theo stood in front of her retching, Astoria was crying in anguish. But all Daphne could smell was Juniper.