Greener Grass

The Greengrass family was comfortably well off, although certainly not wealthy by the standards of Old Pureblood Families, whom they could number themselves among and did, with great pride. They had never had a Death Eater themselves—that was far too much fuss and bother for a Greengrass—but that was all they had objected to about Lord Voldemort and his plans: the fuss and bother he caused. His methods might have been rather extreme, but his ideals were certainly laudable enough, the Greengrasses had always felt. With their pedigree, they obviously didn't have to worry about him; they might not have held as rich and prestigious a name as they once had, but their blood was still undoubtedly pure and that still bought respect, no matter how many or how few galleons one could claim at Gringotts.

Still, the Greengrasses did all right, and more than all right. Their annual income was enough that they could live in fine style, so long as they weren't overly extravagant about it. They could still afford all the luxuries necessary to holding one's place in society, certainly. They always managed an annual vacation somewhere appropriate, and held one or two modestly fashionable parties each year. They could even dress their eldest, Daphne, in the freshest, finest styles, so long as they were willing to skimp on their budget for the younger girl.

That worked out well enough, for Daphne was by far the better prospect. There was nothing objectionable about Astoria, per se; she was every bit as polite, as pretty, and as pureblooded as Daphne was, but while Daphne was elegant and haughty Astoria was, quite frankly, a bit odd. So if she had to wear last year's fashions made over, or have Daphne's old robes tailored to fit her instead, well, who was to really notice? Daphne was the one who would be making the really remarkable match, the Greengrasses were certain. Astoria would still marry well, of course she would; just not nearly as well as Daphne was sure to. But she was still a proper pureblooded young lady, after all, and those were always in demand, especially if they were even slightly pretty…no matter how odd a girl might be.

Both Greengrass girls had looks going for them in addition to manners and bloodline. Daphne was the taller, handsomer daughter, with full, light brown hair that she always wore tossed in the latest styles; an elegant, almost athletic physique that was curved and buxom in all the right places; and dark, arresting eyes. Astoria was shorter, daintier, and regrettably slimmer. She had pale, large brown eyes; a sweet, often distracted smile; and very dark, walnut-brown hair that she kept curled in soft, cascading ringlets. Astoria considered her hair to be her best feature by far and it was her one main vanity. Her sister hated that Astoria's hair held ringlet curls so prettily, so Astoria loved them all the more.

They were not of course as close as sisters might be hoped to be, the Greengrass girls. At two years older Daphne was imperious, commanding, and often downright bossy where Astoria was concerned. Daphne thought her sister's oddities were an embarrassment, and she considered it her duty as the eldest to rein her little sister in before she could shame the whole family.

It wasn't that Astoria behaved poorly; she just came up with unacceptable ideas and had a regrettable penchant for voicing her opinions. Why, in her very second year at school she had actually expressed the wish that the werewolf could still be teaching their Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, because she found their new professor frightening—more frightening than a werewolf! Daphne had had to be very harsh indeed, venomously lecturing little Astoria in front of half their common room to be sure that everyone there knew that such thoughts were not common ones for Greengrasses, and to make clear to her little sister that she had best not go on thinking them or, at the least, had to learn to keep them to herself!

Daphne wanted a little sister who would ape her every move and thought, the better to serve as a mirror to reflect Daphne's perfection back to the world.

Instead she got Astoria.

Of course, Astoria would have been rather happier with a different sort of sister, herself. Daphne was a proud, stuck-up, self-important pureblood princess who never hesitated to call others out on their own shortcomings whilst remaining arrogantly convinced that she had none of her own. Astoria could have made quite a list of those, if only her sister had asked, but she never did. As far as Daphne was concerned, Daphne herself was the epitome of a pureblooded lady while reserved, quiet, bookish little Astoria with her strange observations and deplorable lack of blood-pride was a strange, silly little girl who ought to be ignored by everyone who mattered.

Daphne had arranged for that last feat very well, and Astoria spent most of her time at Hogwarts largely overlooked. She did have friends, of course, or at least friendly, socially appropriate young ladies with whom she could pass time pleasantly. However, having found her opinions often unwelcome, she simply kept them to herself; never lying if asked a direct question, but never volunteering for conversation, either. She generally knew the answer in class, but generally kept her hand down, not wanting to draw too much notice; she'd learned that such regard tended to bring mockery and scorn with it, and Astoria hated being mocked, especially by her detestable sister. So she sat, pretty and demure and only vaguely alert to or observed by her surroundings and her fellows, off in a corner with her books, and she passed her time at school as a barely-noticed bauble bobbing along at the very edges of Slytherin House.

... ... ...

Certainly Draco Malfoy had never paid her much attention. Daphne Greengrass had been in his year and his classes, but Astoria had been nothing more than Daphne's younger sister, and he'd barely even known she was there, to be honest. The spectacle of Daphne scolding her over her preference for Professor Lupin had been highly entertaining, but after that, she'd pretty dramatically dropped off his radar.

Draco had always been far too self-absorbed to pay much note to things outside his direct circle of interest, and Astoria had definitely lived on the fringes of Slytherin society. He'd known Daphne better, of course, but they hadn't been close; Daphne was one of the girls who followed Pansy Parkinson around, but beyond that, she'd never been much use to Draco personally. Another avid listener for his preening, of course; and another shrill, mocking voice ready to poke fun at Gryffindors, Mudbloods, and blood-traitors; but Pansy was clearly the leader of the girlish gang, and Malfoy's only interest in followers lay in having them do as he said.

Thus it was that he didn't really notice when Daphne suddenly stopped associating with Pansy; if he had made note of the time—mid-way through their fourth year of school, when he'd taken Pansy to the Yule Ball, upon which event Pansy had decided that they were dating and Draco, flattered by the attention and all too willing to let Parkinson fawn and dote on him, had allowed it—perhaps he would have realized that Daphne was just as besotted with him as Pansy was, but he hadn't made note, or noticed Daphne's distress at all.

Daphne's jealousy of her closest friend had started the year previously, when Malfoy had been injured by that terrible creature. He'd milked that injury for all it was worth, and Pansy had been only too happy to help him do so, dramatically bemoaning the horrible maiming he had suffered. Daphne had joined in the lamentations as well, because she was just as willing as Pansy was to flatter and pout over Draco Malfoy, but Pansy Parkinson was particularly good at melodramatic lamentations and Daphne had been quite unable to get herself noticed over the other girl. She'd gone about all year with a sour expression on her face, trailing Pansy sulkily, but Draco had not bothered to notice.

He also didn't notice when they started talking again, Pansy and Daphne, during their sixth year, but to be fair, Draco Malfoy was rather legitimately distracted that year. His distraction had actually been the catalyst for the resumption of their friendly association; the whole previous year they had maintained an icy civility that was more biting than open, outright insults could have been. Pansy, of course, had noticed her friend's jealousy, and had been only too gleeful about rubbing her own good fortune in Daphne's face and Daphne had responded by shunning Pansy and everything about her, at least until Draco drifted away to more important things and it was Pansy's turn to sulk and pout over his disinterest. Daphne had quite enjoyed the superior way she had been able to offer Pansy sympathy, and the two girls had soon become friends again, or at least as close to friends as such self-interested, selfish young ladies could possibly be.

The point, at any rate, was that with Daphne so often on the periphery of, or absent from, his immediate social circle, the self-important, self-absorbed boy that was Draco Malfoy could hardly have been expected to pay any notice to her quiet little sister.

Until, of course, he did.