Arrangement

by Heptagon

Daphne's parents, may their bad judgement be forgiven, have arranged their daughter to be married. Daphne, not quite the obedient daughter her parents still believe her to be, makes her own arrangements. Sometimes, getting what you want is easier than figuring out what it is that you want. Sometimes it is not, and some things are better left undiscovered.

Arrangement

Daphne Greengrass had been taught to plan parties before she ever learned to walk, and when she did learn to walk, she had quickly been trained to walk properly, because good upbringing had to start as early as possible. Then she had been taught to talk properly, and taught when to talk at all, which was almost never. She was taught to smile, because a smile went a long way further than any polite comment ever could, without the alarm of causing any unnecessary din.

In short, Daphne Greengrass had been raised to be a gentle lady, always prim and proper, and always capable of throwing a party for five hundred at a three days' notice. And until she turned eleven, Daphne had been exactly that, mainly because she hadn't been aware she could be anything else. But after her eleventh birthday she had been sent to school, and suddenly a whole new world had opened up before her eyes. A world full of rules, and duties, and punishments, but also a world of breaking those rules, neglecting the duties, and nevertheless escaping the punishments. And it looked so good, so delicious, so enticing, that all the words of wisdom her parents had ever taught her were wiped right off her mind, to be replaced with new tricks and deceits.

This transformation, though wondrous and exciting, had not been wholly painless, and it had taken several summers of distress and disapprovals, drama and displeasures, raising of voices and banging of doors, before she found the right balance.

The solution was a relatively simple one. All she had to do to keep everybody happy was to act every bit as prim and proper as her parents wanted, whenever they were around, and every bit as sly and sassy as she wanted, whenever they were not. She could get anything she wanted, as long as she was able to make her parents believe that it had been their idea from the start. And every year she spent at school she learned so many new things, and each summer she returned to home it got easier to manipulate the unsuspecting people around her.

Sometimes, though not often, she questioned her choice of behaviour. At other times it was questioned for her, by the only person in the world she could be completely herself with. Astoria had not needed to wait till she was eleven to get in touch with all the wonderful wiles and be corrupted by them, since her big sister taught her everything she knew, until she was every bit as sly and sassy as Daphne, if not even more so. And though Astoria quite enjoyed this sneaking around, or at least claimed to enjoy, she sometimes said things that suggested she might be open to the idea of coming clean. Daphne, however, wasn't, and it was left at that.

Even at school, where she could exploit her freedom to the fullest, finding her place had not been easy. The drama and distress had been present there, too. Intoxicated by defiance, Daphne had sampled every gang there had been in the House of Slytherin, and the number of gangs there came pretty close to the number of students. Then, growing more and more rebellious, she had joined a few gangs outside her House, and even gone as far as playing nasty tricks on her own peers. But there she had to turn down the volume, because every single family with a kid in the Slytherin House communicated with every other family, if only for politeness sake, while secretly exchanging the most gruesome rumours about each other, and just because Daphne chose not to share her school adventures with her family, it did not mean that others did the same, and when she had got over the shock of her freedom lost, she had been impressed with the speed her parents had learned all about her misbehaviour.

Her complete naiveté at first, then the anguish of discovering her own true nature, and the following actions of defiance bordering on insanity had not brought her many friends at first, but once she had achieved peace with herself and the world around her, she learned to get along with people. That had been surprisingly easy. As soon as she learned about their thoughts, their matters of import, and their most deepest wishes, she had all the tools to make them like her. For example, to win over Pansy, all it took was to praise Draco a little and then mention at the beginning and the end of every conversation what a nice couple he and Pansy would make, and how very lucky he was to have her, and how very thin and pretty her latest dress made her look.

As she moved from one gang to another, Daphne had made bonds with all her house mates, which, after all, was the whole point of going to school, to be known by people who would rule the future. Those bonds were as strong as they could be within a circle of people who knew they were going to spend the rest of their lives in each other's company, whether they wanted it or not. Real friends, by its Gryffindor definition, she had very few. There was her sister, Astoria, and she needed no one else. But there had been a few, apart from Astoria, that she liked better than the others.

She had female friends and male friends, and the latter were more important, because one of them might just become her future husband, given he had a lot of money and he came from a good family. Daphne herself came from a good family and had a lot of money, she was beautiful and raised to be a proper lady, and when the time was right, her parents would supply the perfect match for her.

Daphne knew all this, had been taught all of it from her youth, but somehow it still came as a shock to her, when one day, five years after her graduation, her parents informed their beloved daughter that they had arranged for her to marry Marcus Flint.

It came as a shock not just because Marcus Flint was a brute and an idiot, and among the last people Daphne would have ever wished to marry, but also because she had been so sure she had the matter under control. At the age of seventeen, which her parents considered the most proper age of marriage, she had managed to deflect all their suggestions, using the post-war chaos as her excuse. And since it was a good excuse, all the suggestions and hints and topics had ended. After a couple of years, Daphne had expected the subject to be raised again, but it wasn't.

Even now there had been no hints, no preludes, no suggestions. Just an announcement. Everything had been already arranged. Flint was a proper age to suit her, he had heaps of money and a good pedigree. Her parents knew his parents, and they had all agreed that it would be a match beneficial for every party included. He was not the very best bachelor available, but her parents had discussed the matter and decided that Draco Malfoy would be more suitable for their younger daughter. This was perhaps one of the reasons they had to get Daphne married off quickly, to be able to negotiate the match between Draco and Astoria, since they followed a tradition which stated that the older sister had to be married before the younger.

Of course, though things had been very much decided beforehand, good manners still demanded a display of spontaneity. There would be a dinner party thrown for Daphne and her friends, one that Daphne herself would have to arrange as a final test of her being ready to begin her adult life, and there she would meet, almost accidentally, Marcus Flint, and they would exchange a few polite trifles, and then get down to serious business of becoming engaged and setting the suitable wedding day, which their parents had already informed them of.

It took her a few moments to regain from the shock, then she nodded in agreement, and went calmly to her room. To plan her engagement party.

"Marcus? Marcus Flint? But he's a brute and an idiot! You can't possibly mean to marry him."

Daphne frowned at the parchment in front of her, the list of people to invite. It wouldn't exactly be an engagement party. It would be a small, cosy affair, just a few of her most intimate friends. The polite number was somewhere between fifty and one hundred. Someone from the media had to be present as well, to record the unexpected moment of joy. This delightful evening would then be followed by several real engagement parties over a certain period of time, culminating with the wedding reception – a most magnificent affair, with a guest list up to two thousand, including every single member of polite society, from the families of her school mates to powerful Ministry officials and exotic ambassadors. The party itself would last for several days, be the topic of conversation for several months, and an event to remember for the rest of their lives. It was not a small consolation that its planning duty fell upon her parents.

In front of her desk, Astoria raved on.

"You cannot agree to this! You have to tell them that you do not want to marry Flint! You have to! What's the worst they could do?"

"Disown me," Daphne replied, without looking up, and noted down a few more names. This was an important list to make, not just with regard to the success of her party. She knew now that the time of making a decision was drawing close, and it was time to re-strengthen bonds with these people, to re-learn their thoughts, their matters of import, and their most deepest wishes. And there was another reason, another choice to be made.

"No, they wouldn't!" Astoria exclaimed, shocked. "Would they? No. I'm quite sure they wouldn't."

Daphne shrugged. "They shall not. Because I will do exactly what they want me to do. There will be a wedding. And I will marry the man they have chosen for me."

"You cannot!" Astoria protested after a moment of shocked silence, and it felt good, hearing her sister speak out all that Daphne herself was feeling. "You shan't! I won't let you!"

Now Daphne raised her eyes, "You won't let me marry the man of my choice?"

"Your choice, any time. But not our parents' choice."

"And what if they happen to coincide?"

"They don't," Astoria snapped, "You cannot honestly expect me to believe that you like Marcus Flint."

"He's rich. And pure-bred," Daphne replied.

"So are you," Astoria countered. "And you're also beautiful and smart. You could do much better."

"The man should be rich and the woman should be pretty," Daphne said, sitting back in her chair, gracing her sister with a patronising look. "And rich and pure-bred, but that goes without saying."

"So what you're saying to me now is that you have decided to marry Marcus Flint," Astoria spoke darkly, glaring at her.

"Marry Marcus Flint?" Daphne said, raising a brow. "I have certainly not decided to do such a thing."

"But… you said…"

It was probably quite evil of her, confusing her little sister like this, especially after she had so fiercely spoken in her defence.

"I said I was going to marry the man of our parents' choice. I will definitely not marry Marcus Flint."

"But Marcus Flint is the choice of our parents, may their bad judgement be forgiven."

"At this very moment, yes. But I think they're going to change their minds."

Astoria scrutinized her expression, then breathed out in relief, "You mean you are going to change their minds."

"Someone definitely shall," Daphne remarked with a sly smile.

The time had come for her to use all her skills of deceit and manipulation, to get what she wanted and escape what she did not. During the short period of time between her parents announcing her foul fate and Astoria becoming aware of their misjudgement, Daphne had begun to construct her plan of escape. It was still in its early stages, much had to be thought of, many obstacles to overcome and problems to be solved. But it was a good scheme, very sly and sneaky.

Of course, getting rid of Marcus Flint was just phase one of her plan, probably the easier part. Now that the matter of her marriage had once again risen, she didn't believe it would be dropped with Flint. It was time for her to get married, whether she wanted it or not. She did not particularly want it, but the idea was not wholly unpleasant. She would be able to move out of her parents' house, and would no longer have to pretend to be their ever-proper well-behaving daughter; she realized that she would still have to pretend to be someone's ever-proper well-behaving wife, and her parents would come to visit. But she would be the mistress of her own house, and some things she could do her own way, and if her husband was good-natured and easy to manipulate, she might have more freedom than ever before.

"Who is he?" Astoria inquired with a merry mischievous smile. "The man that you love?"

Love. She hadn't yet considered love. Funny, she thought, there were people who first fell in love and then decided to get married. It might have been a good idea, or perhaps a very bad one, but she had neither care nor time for that kind of thing. She had one fiancé to eliminate and another to regain, and a very important party to plan. There and then she would cross out Flint, but renew other connections, re-form old bonds, and make her decision. She knew she would not have much time to waste, before her parents found someone new.

"Daphne?" her sister prompted.

"You'll know soon enough," she gave the reply, and though Astoria was infinitely annoyed with her for keeping the secret, it was probably better than telling her the whole truth. Astoria had somehow grown up to be quite a romantic, while her sister longed not for love, but for freedom and independence.

The next weeks were very busy and exhausting to Daphne. She had a party to plan, a scheme to perfect, and an annoying sister to deal with. Astoria didn't appreciate being left in the dark and therefore tried every trick she knew to learn the identity of Daphne's secret lover. Daphne would have happily given her the name, had she known it herself; she had almost told her a random name to stop the harassment, but thought better of it, and gone on suffering.

The clock ticked relentlessly, the days flied past, and the evening of her getting engaged party arrived only too soon. She had done a good job planning the party, and she hoped she had done as well with her scheme. She did not expect the sudden nervousness that overcome her, the fervent wish to call off the whole thing, or to merely run away and hide from it. But she repressed all such feelings, put on a polite smile, and went to welcome her guests.

According to the schedule, there was an hour left for drinks and conversation before dinner was served. She was expected to move from one group to another and say no more than a few polite comments, while her parents were at leisure to survey and criticize everything she had done. Instead of doing this, however, they were conversing with none other than Marcus Flint, and Daphne couldn't help but send one or two worried glances at their direction when travelling throughout the hall. She was staring at them yet again, when she heard a nearby voice speak,

"What an awfully tedious affair this is. Why did you have to drag me here? I would have had a much more pleasant evening shovelling manure."

"It's not so bad," a second voice spoke, tinted with amusement. "Though I admit, I had expected it to be a little livelier."

Daphne recognized both by their voices, but she nevertheless took a peek to make sure. She had been right, the two people so openly condemning her party were Theodore Nott and Millicent Bulstrode. She should have swallowed the insult and moved on. Or rather she should have marked it down in her memory and kept it there until came chance and time to make them pay for these words. She did neither. She stood rooted to the spot, listening on.

With Millicent Bulstrode she had never had a close connection. For all that she knew, the girl had been as much of a brute as Flint, though not an idiot. Theodore Nott, however, was an entirely different story.

"Can't they just get married and be done with it?" Theodore complained. "But no, they make us suffer this evening, and the engagement party, and the wedding itself, which is three times too much for any decent human being to bear."

"Get married? Who?" Millicent asked, confused.

"Daphne Greengrass and Marcus Flint, naturally. Don't you see? It's the typical "spontaneous engagement" party that has become so popular lately. Although this one, I must say, is an especially boring specimen."

"I do not believe you," Millicent announced. "Daphne and Flint? No way!"

There was a silence that might have been filled with a shrug. Then he said, "It's quite obvious, if you think about it."

"Hmm," Millicent said, considering the clues, "I suppose you refer to the presence of Mr and Mrs Greengrass, their recent lengthy conversing with Flint, and the overall formality that you despise so much."

"And the fact that our hostess can't keep her eyes off the three of them," Theodore added. "Her behaviour betrays everything."

"You sound… disdainful," Millicent remarked. "Isn't it nice to meet up with our old friends, and see how everyone is doing? The engagement can be considered a bonus."

"Those I call my friends, I have kept in touch with," he said. "As to the others, I really could not care any less. And I have no doubt that the proposal is planned out to every word and pause and gesture, and will prove to be the most tiresome part of the evening."

"I'm surprised you have not kept in touch with Daphne," Millicent stated. "You two were quite taken with each other at school."

Another shrug, possibly. "She was just a girl. Amusing at the time, I admit," Theodore said. "Good girl gone wild. Defied everything and everyone, mainly for the sake of defying. But that was just a phase, I guess. I don't think she has any personality of her own, or else it's too weak to be worth of anything. She's back to being a good girl now, isn't she? Your parties are never this boring."

"Ah, Theo, you cannot judge a girl by one party. Though I thank you for the compliment."

"You're welcome. And perhaps you're right. But after today, I'm glad if I don't have to ever step my foot into this house again."

"You can slip away if you wish, Theo, I don't think anyone would notice. I'll stay here in case anything interesting does happen. It's Marcus Flint who has to play the groom – he might end up asking the wrong girl."

"Don't tease me, I shall only be disappointed," Theodore said. "I'll stay if you wish me to. Just let us hope that we'll be seated far away from the head of the table at dinner, at a safe distance where we could ridicule everyone and everything. I don't think I'll be able to survive the evening if I'm required to talk polite nonsense all throughout it."

Only now did Daphne react to this – she walked from one group to another, making her way towards the door as inconspicuously as possible, and once she'd reached it, left the hall and hurried down the passage into the dining room. There were place cards, in the form of little blue fairies, hovering above the seats. She quickly located the ones she was looking for, and switched them with a flick of her wand. Then she gave the room one last look-over, before rushing back to her guests. She almost ran part of the way, and had to catch her breath a moment or two before entering. She was standing in the hallway, trying to calm herself, when out of the door stepped Theodore Nott, having gained his leave of absence, and threw a quick glance around to make sure his escape went unnoticed.

She was too occupied with her own thoughts and feelings to see either him or the look of disappointment on his face. But he recovered quickly, put on a smile, and stepped up to her, saying,

"Miss Greengrass, allow me to congratulate you on this most delightful evening."

She looked up and started in surprise. He was tactful enough not to comment on her expression or say anything about her hiding in the hallways. He had not been this tactful a moment ago, conversing with Millicent.

Daphne opened her mouth to reply with a similar kind of lie, but stopped before she had uttered a word, thinking back to little hovering ice-blue fairies. There was time to do another switch, but…

"No, I don't," she suddenly snapped, surprising both of them. "I shall not allow you to compliment me on anything that you find so disagreeable."

"I beg your pardon, Miss Greengrass, I do not—"

"I did not know you took such avid interest in gardening. In any case, I'm sorry to have kept you away from your pleasant evening of spreading compost," she said with sharp emphasis, then walked past him towards the entrance of the hall, her head held high.

"Miss Greengrass, if I've said anything to—" he called after her, fell silent for a moment, and then, "Daphne!"

She stopped then and looked back, and whatever words of apology might have been on his mind, they were quickly forgotten by the expression on her face. It was not the one of rightful indignation he'd been expecting, but something else entirely. She stared at him for a long moment, then turned round and went to his side.

"Theo!" she said, in a tone of mixed command and plea. "It is only for a few hours. I know you can endure that much. Please. Do me this one favour."

And she left again and reached the hall before he was able to begin to realize what had just happened.

"What happened?" Millicent questioned at his return. "Have they sealed the gate to keep us all in?"

"I… changed my mind," Theodore replied. "I think you're right – this party may get better after all."

"You and your dramatics," Millicent laughed, certain that he had never meant to leave in the first place.

Theodore stayed out of pure curiosity. Something unorthodox had taken place, and even if everything else from now on went according to plan – which he doubted – it was still a good opportunity to observe. And he was also a little bit curious about Daphne herself, and her weak character, nevertheless retaining a spark of her former defiance. Perhaps her limit had been reached by this one plea, but even so, complying with her wish would give him certain power over her. What he would need this power for, he did not know, but it was never a bad thing to have influence over other people.

He stayed out of curiosity, and thought this was the favour expected of him. However, when dinner was announced, and little blue fairies appeared to guide everyone to their appointed seat, he was overcome with deep regret. He should have known, curiosity always got one in trouble, which in this case was the wrong end of the table, only a few seats away from Daphne and her family. Longingly he glanced towards Millicent, seated so far off that he barely noticed her sympathetic nod to him. Things did not improve when he realized that even Marcus Flint was sitting some way further, too far for the Greengrasses to politely converse with him, yet near enough to stay in their view. He wondered about the intention behind this – polite conversation was not Flint's forte. Then he thought about his own position and the possibility of having been chosen as Flint's substitute – the one to hold up the dialogue while eyes rested upon Flint – not that he was much to look at.

His spirit rebelled at the injustice, and he considered leaving now and making a scandal. But this was the paradox – if there was a scandal, he'd like to stay, yet if he stayed, there would be no scandal. Yet. And he'd be forced to talk to the Greengrasses. For an hour. Or two.

In his moment of doubt, he glanced at Daphne and found her looking at him. He let his irritation show, expecting a repeat of the plea, but instead he got a hard cold stare from her – "Leave. I dare you," she seemed to say.

He recalled his previous thought – if everything went according to plan. But whose plan would that be? Everyone knew it was the fiancée's task to plan her own getting engaged party. And she'd chosen him to play a part in her scheme. If he left now, he'd never know the nature of the game, and more importantly, if he left, he wouldn't win the game. Theodore Nott, however, only played to win.

Daphne did not believe the dinner hours were more of a torture to Nott than they were to her. At least, he handled it beautifully, lightly, as if it was no bother at all. She handled it perfectly, but it was an effort – not because she didn't excel in the art of the matter, but because she was in the middle of executing a plan her entire future happiness depended on, and the plan itself depended upon two people that she did not control. Any moment now, something could go wrong. She had still a long evening ahead of her. Also, she could not stop fretting about her last minute switch of seats and its being either a most serious mistake or a very good idea.

The dinner was heading towards its conclusion, when a fit of boisterous laughter reached her ears. She crossed her fingers and took a deep breath before looking at its source, which happened to be Marcus Flint, in a heated conversation and active gesturing with his neighbour. She dropped her head in what might have been embarrassment at his behalf, smiling at her plate. At least he had not let her down.

When dinner was over – finally – the guests returned to the hall, now redecorated. Another period of mingling was on the agenda, before the proposal. Doors to the veranda were open, and the amount of hovering candles and flowers in one of them marked the spot of the proposal. The others were adorned in similar yet lesser scale, and it was there that Theodore and Millicent reconnected.

She poured him over with words of sympathy, half serious half amused. He said he needed a break from speaking, and she let him stand in silence, while she chatted about everything she had heard at the far end of the table, whether it was of any interest or not. When she had exhausted the topic, she gave him a look of no good, and asked,

"When are you going to have such a party, Theo?"

He knew what she meant, but shook his head. "Never."

He thought she would press the subject, as she usually did, but this time she dropped it.

"Marcus Flint," she said, "Why Marcus Flint? He doesn't strike me as a suitable match for her."

He asked the question with his eyes, and she replied to it,

"He's a brute."

"You're a brute," he countered amiably.

"Then perhaps he'd be a good match for me. But not for Daphne."

"You seem to know what's good for Daphne," he spoke, and she recognized it being more than a statement.

"She's a delicate creature," she said, "I do not mean she's weak of character. But she's gentle, and prone to getting her heart broken."

"I'm sorry. And confused. Who are we talking about?"

Millicent rolled her eyes. "I knew her better than you. Girls talk. And even if they don't, they understand other girls better. Daphne's emotional, passionate, sensitive. Just because she has learned to hide her feelings doesn't mean she has none. She needs someone to take gentle, loving care of her without restraining her freedom or independence."

Theodore stared at her, in surprise, for a long moment. "You just made this up, didn't you?"

She replied with a sly smile. "Yes. But that doesn't mean it's not true."

Theodore shrugged. "If she feels any of those deep emotions you prattle about, it must be confusion. She was confused at school, and she hasn't figured anything out yet."

"That's a harsh thing to say," Millicent shook her head, then looked towards the appointed terrace. "Are they at it yet?"

"No. Do you actually want to see the proposal?"

"To see Marcus Flint proposing marriage to a woman? Hell yeah!"

He smirked mirthlessly. "You know he has the speech written for him."

Millicent raised a brow, "Do you really think he has bothered to learn it by heart? Or remember it after all the drinks he's had? Want to make a bet of it? I say he tries to ravish her and she has to force the question out of him."

"I think he will simply try to get over with it as fast as possible. I think she will hesitate a moment, five seconds at most, before accepting him and playing it all by the book."

"You're on," Millicent said, shaking hands with him. "The loser's got to congratulate the happy couple in an overdramatic fashion. Tears and hugs are mandatory."

Theodore rolled his eyes, but did not back out.

For a little while longer they argued about the scene of the proposal, then fell into companionable silence, waiting for the actual outcome. While they thus stood, looking and waiting, voices were heard from the balcony behind them. There was nothing unusual about it, other than the voices and their owners and the fact that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Hey, shouldn't we be over there?" Marcus Flint said, pointing.

"No."

He shrugged, indifferent. "Miss Greengrass, would you do me the honour of—"

"No," she said interrupting him.

"No?" he repeated, confused and angry.

"No, I will not marry you."

"You are supposed to say yes," he reminded her.

"I don't care. I'm saying no."

He let out a short ugly laughter. "You are just playing coy. Come here. Give your future husband a nice preview of your assets."

"No!" Daphne repeated, slapping off his hand as he tried to grab her. He was getting angrier by the moment, and by her behaviour.

"You frigid bitch," he growled. "I should have known. Not that it will do you any good. It is all arranged. You will marry me, and you will not deny me then, whether you want it or not."

She gave him a short contemptuous look, "The engagement is off."

"Bitch," he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer; she struggled, he drew back his hand, and hit her in the face with such force that she staggered backwards several steps.

Millicent gasped and Flint lurched forward, coming to stop with a wand touching his forehead.

"Get. Out." Daphne said with murderous softness, her hand steady, her gaze dark and promising him pain. For a moment he hesitated, perhaps thinking of wrestling it off her. Then, however, he stepped away, threw another "bitch" at her, and left the balcony.

When he was gone, Daphne grabbed hold on the wall to keep her steady. The blow had been strong and unexpected; insults she had anticipated. But at least the engagement was, truly, over now. With that thought of relief and delight, she straightened up, touching to her cheek first her hand, then her wand, casting a simple healing spell. Once the pain had subsided, she conjured a mirror and checked her appearance in it, nodding in satisfaction.

She put it away, and stood staring into the night for a few more moments.

"And to think that this was the easy part," she muttered to herself, then walked into the hall.

Millicent and Theodore remained silent for a long time. She was the first to speak,

"Wow."

He smiled humourlessly and put away his wand – he must have drawn it automatically at the sign of violence.

"Poor Daphne," Millicent mused compassionately. "She took it quite well, though. Maybe she's not so delicate after all."

"I wonder what she meant by it, that this was the easy part. It looked anything but easy."

"And how will she handle the rest of the party and the reporter, they are all expecting a proposal."

"I don't think anyone will force her into the marriage now, after this. If her parents care about her at all. Perhaps explaining things to them was the hard part she meant."

"I just hope she will be fine. I didn't think Flint was this disgusting."

It dawned on Millicent that she was the only one talking. She glanced at Theodore, stared at him a moment, then poked him gently,

"Hey, Theo. Are you alright?"

"Yes," he said slowly after another period of silence. "Let's go inside."

Millicent followed him into the hall, searching the culprits with her eyes. Flint was nowhere in sight. Daphne, however, was walking from one group of people to another, playing the good hostess as if nothing had happened. She went to converse with her parents, in the most nonchalant manner, but soon after that they took their leave, and Millicent deduced that they'd been told the truth, or at least some portion of it.

Soon thereafter the decorated balcony transformed from the spot of the spontaneous proposal to the stage for the famous singer Fata Morgana, whose performance must have been a pre-planned surprise for the guests. The reporter took pictures of her and of everyone else, and asked a few purposeless questions. After all, it was not unheard of that media was present at such dinners where a spontaneous proposal was not part of the schedule. Some guests might have expected one, and might wonder about its absence, and might discuss their suspicions with other people, but since spontaneous proposals were planned to be as spontaneous as possible, nothing beforehand, in the invitation or in the design of the evening had hinted to one, and therefore, there was no proof that one had been meant to happen at all.

Gossip and ill will needed no proof, so rumours about the cancelled proposal could not be stopped, but the media could be bribed not to encourage such stories; and in any case, if people did wonder at the cause of the outcome, Marcus Flint's raucous behaviour at the dinner table might strike as the most probable reason. The Greengrasses had seen this, changed their mind about his worthiness, and called off the engagement.

That's what Millicent thought before she remembered that it had been Theodore who had informed her of the nature of this evening, and it was quite possible that he was one of very few who had figured it out at all. The rest of the guests had been enjoying or suffering the soiree, clueless to its deeper purpose. She liked to think that this was it, because if so, the cancelling of the engagement would cause Daphne minimal harm and little threat of a public scandal. Even Marcus Flint was probably smart enough not to start one.

With the addition of live music and the withdrawal of the older Greengrasses, the evening started to improve. The level of formality reduced, the lights grew softer and friendlier, and before long the floor had been cleared for dancing couples. Millicent dragged Theodore towards it despite his mild protests, but she realized soon enough that he did not find enjoyment in the changed circumstances, if he even noticed them, so occupied he seemed to be, though with what, she didn't know.

Annoyed with him, she went and conversed and danced with other people till it was time to leave. But when she looked around in search of him, Theodore was nowhere in sight. Concluding that he must have made his exit already, she seethed a little at his deserting her, but the rest of the evening had improved her spirits, and she spoke her goodbyes and thank-yous to Daphne, then left in company of old friends reconnected.

Daphne stood staring at the empty hall for a long time. She felt too exhausted to move a step, and she did not want to leave this room to face the consequences of her actions. Here, she somehow felt safe from them, dwelling upon the events of the evening. She cast off regret before it touched her heart, she cast off all feeling and tried to think with a clear, logical mind. She thought back to her dash into the dining-room and the switch in the seating arrangement, and wondered what exactly had compelled her to do it. It had all worked out perfectly, better than she had expected. He had not failed her.

Persuading her parents had been simple enough, after the racket Flint had caused at the dining table. With the help of a half-truthful story of his behaviour on the balcony, they'd been forced to agree that he was not perhaps the best choice of a son-in-law after all. They'd left to inform Flint's family of their decision, and she had hurried on the performance of Fata Morgana, which she had planned for this very situation, to give her guests the something they'd been waiting for, even if it was slightly different from their expectations. The reporter was an acquaintance of hers, asked to cover the evening as an ordinary social get-together, nothing else. She'd got a short interview with Fata Morgana, which would be the highlight of her article, the party merely a back-story.

Everything had gone well, so far. But she knew that this was not the end. It was the beginning. The hard part was yet to come.

She had to leave the hall eventually. She wondered if Astoria was setting up an ambush, ready to pounce upon her and demand an explanation. The dreaded attack did indeed take place before she'd managed to get to her room, but the assailant was not her beloved sister.

"We need to talk," Theodore said, stepping out of the shadows.

Of course, she thought to herself. Here is my consequence.

"Can't it wait?" she asked, rather sure that it couldn't.

"No," he shook his head.

She stood still a moment, thinking. "All right. But not here. Follow me."

She entered a secret passageway that lead to the safest place in the house – her room. It was decorated as a proper room for a proper lady and this annoyed her greatly, but she had enforced her privacy by a few spells, and there were things hidden in it, and it was a space she could call her own.

She inwardly laughed at the mental image of her parents finding out that she had brought a strange man into her room, though there would be nothing very amusing about it. Yet it was her room, her fortress, and the familiarity and comfort of it made her feel better, gave her a boost of confidence, that even his presence did not spoil.

He wasn't here as her friend, and he had never been to this room before, but he had been to her room at school, and maybe that's why his being here did not bother her, even though she knew what was to come next. Yet, he didn't hurry with the interrogation; he looked around, first with curiosity, then with contempt.

"What a lovely room this is," he commented with half-polite sarcasm, "is it yours?"

Despite the comfort and confidence, she suddenly felt very-very tired, and wished nothing more but to get him out of here, to fall down to the bed and sleep.

"I am sure you did not come here to talk about my sense of interior design," she said, and couldn't help to add in her defence, "although this is not an example of it."

"I remember your room at school. It was very different from this."

"Of course," she agreed. "It was a dungeon. The styles and elements of decor used in confined, dark places are naturally different from the ones to be used in light and roomy areas."

She did not know why she had said it, but since his only comment was an odd look in her direction, she continued the subject.

"I won't deny the fact that this room could benefit from a thorough redecoration, from brighter colours and furniture with attitude, but frankly, I do not see the point. After all, I'm not remaining in this house for much longer."

"Are you not?" he questioned. "I thought the whole purpose of this evening was to make sure that you did."

"You are mistaken," she told him, trying not to gloat.

He looked at her, but didn't reply. Instead he took a few steps closer, and moved in a half-circle around her, keeping his hard stare upon her all the time, observing, inspecting, reading her mind and soul.

"You are tired, I expect," he said at last. "You've had a long exciting day, and it's most impolite of me to keep you up this late."

She hesitated; his words had a much deeper, more sinister meaning than the superficial one. She recalled that someone at school had once compared talking to Nott to a game of chess. Each of his sentences, every word he spoke, was a strategic move, with just one purpose to them – to utterly demolish his adversary. At the time she had snorted at this metaphor, because she'd never been subjected to such verbal battle with him, at least not to a cruel one. But now she hesitated, and wondered again if her own move had been the best one or not. For a moment, she hesitated, her confidence wavering. Then the moment passed, and she smiled.

"It has been a day full of excitement, but I wouldn't dream of sending you away. After all, I do owe you for suffering through the dinner. I cannot thank you enough for your effort, and not the least for the effort of making it all seem graceful and unforced."

"You do—" he began, and she was certain he had meant to confess his surprise at her turn of strategy, but he quickly adjusted his own, "—make me wonder about a thing or two."

"I am glad of it," she said, replying to his unspoken sentiments. "But you must remember one thing, Theo. I may be just a girl, amusing or otherwise, but I am a girl that knows you. It takes two to play chess, and I am not an easy opponent, I assure you."

For the first time during that evening, or perhaps for the first time ever, he looked taken aback. And that made her feel invincible.

"It is your choice, Theo. I do not want to be your enemy, but I can be one and I can be a damn good one."

She felt good saying this. She continued feeling good after saying it, up to the point where he let out a short laughter of derision and ridicule.

"Such big words for such a little girl, and a very prim and proper girl. Let us go back to discussing interior decoration, that suited you so much better."

She drew in an angry breath, overwhelmed with feelings. She wanted to draw her wand and hex him, she wanted to launch at him and beat him with her fists until he pleaded for mercy and forgiveness. But such feelings confused her, because there was no need for them; she had already got from him what she wanted and all this verbal battle and threats and promises, it was all unnecessary. She could simply throw him out of her house and be done with it.

Because she had got everything she wanted, had she not? Flint was out of the picture, her parents had agreed with her decision and the party had been saved. Nott had played his part by emphasizing the difference between a gentleman and Marcus Flint, and had this not been all that she had wanted from him? But there was another phase to her scheme, wasn't there? Her goal of the evening hadn't been just to expose Flint's unworthiness, but to find someone better to take his place. She had to leave this room, and this house, and with Flint out of the way, someone else had to fill in.

Had she thought of this when she'd made that last minute switch? Or had she been so worried about the outcome of the dinner that she had completely forgotten phase two of her own scheme? Or had she simply been so hurt and angry at Nott's words that she had done this just to punish him?

She was bewildered and confused and much aware that this was not the best time for being bewildered and confused. She made an effort to consider her next move; the confusion could wait, she had little hope of it going away any time soon.

"Sure, we can talk of wallpaper and carpets and furniture," she said, "but I think that you had a reason to stalk and ambush me, and you have not yet asked for my reason."

"You are tired and I should let you have your rest," he said, and she thought there might have been a tiny note of apology in it, as if he was sorry for his harsh words to her. But she couldn't be sure, and it was better not to assume any kindness.

"You're curious," she stated, looking him in the eye.

"I am, yes," he said, "and since you do owe me, you could at least give me an explanation."

"You're curious, Theo," she repeated. "That is the explanation. That is the reason I picked you. That is why I knew you would stay, and do my bidding, and suffer through the dinner, and be at your best behaviour. Because you would be curious to know why I asked this of you."

He stared at her for such a long time with such intensity that she almost regretted her half-lie. True, she had hoped he'd be curious enough as to her motive to stay, but it had not been her reason for asking him. Yet she couldn't have told him the truth, on account of not knowing it herself. She could have told that, though, and perhaps she should have.

When he spoke at last there was no contempt or ridicule in it, and it should have made her feel better.

"You played me."

It was perhaps too late to change tactics, and it was too late in the night, and she was tired. So she told him another semi-lie, and did not regret it for several days, because it made him leave her room and her house and let her have her rest.

"I always play to win," she said, as proud and haughty as she was able to manage.

"So do I," he promised, turning to go.

o.o.o

After such a disastrous yet discreet end to her engagement, Daphne calculated that she'd have at least a week before her parents started planning another. So she had a little time, and she was not going to waste it; she spent the entire week deep in thought. She stayed in her room, thinking, she walked around, thinking, she talked to people around her, still thinking. This thinking, it was not scheming. She was not trying to figure out how to get that which she wanted; she was trying to understand whether she truly wanted what she'd thought that she wanted, and if not, what was really her deepest desire.

She thought about it until her head started to ache, and until she started to doubt everything that she knew. She had set out to reconnect with her old acquaintances, now complete strangers, but she had not expected to be one such to herself. She had thought she knew who she was and what she yearned for, but she couldn't be sure any longer. She had heard things, and felt things, and done things, and said things, that for the world she could not explain. She had made a plan, perfected it, and then changed it for reasons she could not explain. She couldn't understand her own motives, and worst of it, she feared there was too much truth in his words, "She was confused at school, and she hasn't figured anything out yet."

Astoria still kept pestering her, until one day she attacked her back. It was towards the end of the week, and she had got an idea – ludicrous, ridiculous, but far from impossible.

"Astoria," she spoke to her. "What is love?"

Her sister looked at her, smirking, "Shouldn't you know that yourself?"

"Humour me," Daphne shrugged. "Have you ever been in love?"

"Yes, I have," Astoria replied, growing serious. "Once, back at school. Several years ago."

Daphne did not want to pry into a subject that wiped the smile off the face of her beloved sister; but she needed to know.

"What was it like?" she asked.

"It was," Astoria said, paused and shrugged. "Nice. I was happy. Seeing him, talking to him, even thinking of him made me happy. And I kept thinking of him all the time. When I had a thought, or when I heard of something funny, I instantly wanted to share it with him. When we were together, it felt as if we were invincible. As if everything that was bad in the world somehow drew away and couldn't touch us. And when he was happy, I couldn't remain sad, and when he was upset, it hurt. And when we… in the end…"

She stopped, swallowed and looked away, making Daphne berate herself for having ever asked the question.

"Well, let's just say that "heartbreak" is a very suitable word, because I did feel at the time as if…"

"I'm sorry," Daphne said.

Her sister managed a small smile, "It got better over time. It's fine now. But why are you asking this? Are you having doubts about your mysterious lover?"

"Yes," Daphne confessed truthfully. She was having doubts about pretty much everything.

Astoria gave her a long penetrating gaze. "Tell me," she commanded.

"I am not sure if it's love," she elaborated.

"You're not sure that he truly loves you?"

"No," Daphne said, "I mean, I don't know about his feelings. But I'm trying to figure out if I love him."

"Knowing your own heart should be easier, should it not?" Astoria mused.

"That's what I thought, too," Daphne said.

"All right," Astoria said, smiling with encouragement, "Don't worry, we shall figure it out. Tell me about him."

Daphne sighed. "There's not much to tell. We were friends at school; he was probably the closest friend I had there. I didn't have many friends, not real ones. And neither did he, I think. There were some people that described him as a nasty, mean person, but he was always nice to me. We were always sitting and laughing together, and often making fun of others. But not in a cruel sort of way. At least, not towards those who didn't deserve it."

She paused, and frowned, eliciting a comment from her sister.

"There's nothing wrong with being mean to people who deserve it," she spoke earnestly. "Go on. Tell me more."

"That's about it," Daphne said. "When school was over, we did not stay in touch. I don't even know why. Times were as they were."

"But you saw him again, didn't you? Recently," Astoria prompted.

"Yes. I saw him."

"And?" Astoria said, caught up in curiosity.

"And now I can't stop thinking about him," Daphne finished.

"That is a sign of love," Astoria remarked. "What else?"

"His opinion matters to me. More than it should. And I told him something that was not true, and now it bothers me, but it shouldn't, because he well deserved it. Or so it seemed to me at the time."

"And now?"

"Now I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

"That's another sure sign of love," Astoria said wisely. "The world falls apart when he's not with you. Everything seems confusing, nothing makes sense."

"This is love?" Daphne wondered, "It doesn't sound very nice."

"Who said love is nice?" Astoria asked, laughing, "Well, I did, didn't I? And it is nice, sometimes. It can be the best that has ever happened to you, and it can be the worst that has ever happened to you. If it fills you with indescribable happiness, that's love. If it hurts like hell, that's love. Pain is another sure sign of it. If he hurts you and you get angry, then it may or may not be love. But if he hurts you and it feels as if you're breaking to pieces from the pain, well, that is certainly love."

"That does not sound nice at all."

"No, I suppose not. But it's worth all the pain it may cause you. Trust me."

"Is it?" Daphne asked, sending her sister a look full of concern. Astoria nodded and smiled.

Daphne felt slightly better after her conversation with her sister. She was also worried about Astoria's previous romance that had affected her so deeply, and somewhat angry with herself for never knowing about it before. But Astoria knew how to keep a secret, and all she could do now was to be more attentive and make sure no one hurt her sister like that ever again. She'd have to keep a close eye on Draco Malfoy.

Love, as she had discovered, was not at all a good thing. Perhaps it was for the best that she had never been in love. Perhaps it was for the best to stop thinking about it now, stop trying to figure it out and leave things as they currently were. With such resolution Daphne went to bed that night, relieved and with a lighter heart, although there were certain thoughts and certain dreams that did not leave her alone just yet.

The next day, however, the blow came from a different direction, when she realized that she had seriously underestimated her parents. Once all the bonds with the Flints had been severed, they had wasted no time in making new ones.

She was boiling with silent fury as they informed her of this, feeling that she might explode any second now. It hadn't been a week since the party, not even seven days, and already they had subjected her to another sentence, without consulting with her in the slightest bit. Enough was enough, and this felt like the last straw, and she thought that any moment now she would snap, and speak her mind, and tell them exactly what she thought of everything. Perhaps that would be for the best, after all. Perhaps they would leave her alone then.

"I am certain this connection will be very pleasing for all of us," her mother was saying, and Daphne already opened her mouth to argue, "Especially to you, dear. You seemed quite partial to this gentleman at the soiree."

She winked at her, and Daphne stopped short, partly because of the words, but mostly because she had never seen her mother wink before.

"We shall reach an agreement before the end of the month. There are the customary points to agree upon. We can give you a large dowry now that your sister seems so well accommodated. The Malfoys hardly need any more fortune than they already have. But we have to get you married as soon as possible, to start negotiating about your sister. We have an understanding with the Malfoys, but understandings can be broken, as this latest experience has taught us all."

Daphne pressed her lips tightly shut, lest an angry word escape. She had to be married off quickly, so that Astoria could join their bloodline with Malfoy's. Of course she wanted her sister to be happy, especially after the story she had heard the day before, but didn't she deserve a little happiness for herself? Then her brain caught up with her indignation, and said, They had not asked Astoria if she wanted to marry Malfoy. Astoria had seemed fine with it, but it suddenly occurred to Daphne that perhaps it was as far from the truth as her own wish to marry Marcus Flint, or whomever her parents had sold her off to now.

She was so concerned with this new horrifying thought, that she almost missed her mother saying, "We have agreed upon you meeting with Mr Nott tomorrow. Do try to see if you could perhaps speed up the proceedings a little, there is no shame in using your beauty and charm to your advantage."

"I beg your pardon?" Daphne exclaimed, the horrible future of her little sister wiped from her mind.

"I said," her mother told her sharply, "that you are going to meet Mr Theodore Nott tomorrow. And you are going to use every charm you know upon him, because he seemed a little reluctant to meet with our terms of agreement, and we shall not increase your dowry any more than is absolutely necessary. We must provide for your sister."

"Theodore? Theodore Nott?" Daphne was too shocked to be properly ashamed or irritated by her mother's reproach.

"We had a good chance to get to know him at the soiree. And he is a very pleasant young man. His family is rather well connected, although not as ancient or wealthy as some others. But since Astoria is going become a Malfoy, your father and I have decided that we can make the sacrifice of letting you marry the man of your choice, even though you could have chosen better. Come now, dear, kiss me and tell me how happy we have made you."

Daphne was not at all sure how she had made it to her room. One moment she had been kissing and hugging her mother, then she was suddenly sitting on her bed, staring at the horrible pastel walls of her room, tightly gripping her wand. Noticing this, she raised the wand and silenced the room, then threw back her head and screamed with all her might.

o.o.o

She saw Theo again at her house the next day. Her parents had left them alone after the appropriate exchange of polite trifles, to an intimate setting where she could subject him to her charm. She had managed to refrain from screaming so far, and it was not a small victory.

He raised his glass of champagne, and gave her a look of triumph,

"What are we drinking for?"

Her mind was full of possible answers, none of them proper or polite, so she simply kept her mouth shut, and avoided his gaze.

He clicked his glass against hers, "How about finding a way out of this situation? I didn't want to decline your parents' offer forthright, but I am allowed to change my mind after meeting with my possible bride. I'd rather you didn't subject me to such humiliation as you inflicted upon Flint, so let us talk it over and come up with a solution acceptable for both of us."

"Humiliation," Daphne repeated in a barely audible whisper.

"And I would certainly not wish to embarrass you," he continued, "by giving ungraceful reasons for declining the offer. After all, you are rich and beautiful, and what else should a man desire from his bride?"

She tightened her grip on the glass to the point where it smashed to pieces, and the pain was a most welcome distraction. She opened her palm and shook off the fragments of glass, unmindful of the blood. She still did not look at him as she hissed, furious,

"Do you think I want this, any of this? Do you think anyone asked me of anything? Do you think anyone cares what I think, or what I feel, or whether I shall be happy or miserable? Do you think they asked me if I wanted to marry Flint? Do you think they had listened if I had tried to refuse him? Do you think they would listen to me at all? To them, happiness equals a connection with an old, respected, wealthy family. And they have to get me married off quickly, because then they can negotiate Astoria's marriage with Malfoy, and that shall be the highlight of their life, joining our bloodline with the Malfoy one. That's all they care for. They'd rather have me dead than standing in the way."

The silence that followed her words seemed to go on for a very long time.

"I am sure that is not all true," he spoke rather coldly. "It has little to do with our current situation, but I can see you have a lot to think about. Perhaps we can discuss our problem another time? When you are feeling better?"

Daphne, no longer in control of her own actions, spun toward him and fixed him with a look of reproof.

"Theodore Nott, how can you say that?" she demanded. "I am so much more than a little spoilt rich girl and you of all people should know it. How could you tell Millicent at the party that I was nothing more to you than just an amusement when we both know that it isn't true? I know what we were and you know what we were, and I know that it is partly my fault that we didn't keep in touch, but that doesn't mean I didn't miss you, I just had to see you again to realize that, and realize other things about you, and how can you know me like you do and say that I am weak of character and have no personality? How can you say that, Theo?"

He stared at her long and hard, with a gaze that seemed to penetrate her, that made her shiver in its intensity.

"I shall come back another day when you are feeling better," he then spoke curtly, turned away from her and left the room.

o.o.o

Astoria healed her sister's hand to her best ability, then bandaged it up, and sat at her side, caressing her hair. Many minutes ticked by in silence, before she dared to touch the subject.

"What happened, darling?" she asked, careful and hesitative. "Do you wish to tell me about it?"

Daphne replied with a long significant look.

"That bad? I thought the two of you… liked each other."

"So did I," Daphne admitted. "We were really close at school. At least, he was dear to me. Perhaps I was nothing to him. Nothing but an amusement."

"I seriously doubt it," Astoria said with conviction. "What happened? How did it end?"

Daphne shivered. "I don't think it's over yet. I fear that the worst is to come."

"No. I meant you friendship at school. How did that end?"

"I didn't think it had," Daphne said. "But we graduated, and went our separate ways."

"Did he break your heart? Or did you break his?"

"Neither, I think. We just… drifted apart."

"Does it hurt very much?" Astoria asked after a moment.

"My hand? No, it's fine. Thank you."

"I did not mean your hand."

Daphne didn't reply. But after a while she turned her head to lock her gaze with her sister's, and said, "Astoria, tell me the truth. Are you fine with our parents' scheme to marry you off to Draco Malfoy? You do know about it, don't you?"

"I know how very adamant they are about it," Astoria replied. "And I know how much they wish it, and how happy it makes them. And that's why I'm going to do my very best to like him. I've heard he's not so haughty now as he once was, although I think arrogance rather suited him."

"Don't make a joke of it," Daphne admonished, serious. "What if you cannot like him, what then?"

"I told you I shall do everything in my power to like him. But if it doesn't happen, if I can't stand him or remain indifferent… the match would make our parents very happy. Nevertheless, I would not sacrifice my happiness for theirs. And neither should you, Daph."

"My situation, as you know, is a little more complicated than that."

"I'm just saying, you do not have to marry anyone you do not want to marry. In fact, you don't have to marry anyone at all."

Daphne frowned. "I cannot do that. If I don't get settled down first, they cannot negotiate your engagement."

"Of course they can," Astoria said. "It's an old stupid law that no one else follows any more. They do try to keep it up, but they would rather give up this than a connection with the Malfoys."

"How can you be so sure about it?"

"Because I've been eavesdropping on them," Astoria said without a shred of shame. "I've heard them talking about it. They are anxious to start negotiating, and they'll do it regardless of your getting married or not."

"You think they won't disown me if I refused to comply with their wish?"

"And risk the scandal of it? Never!"

"In fact," Astoria said, winking, "I think they will let you move out of the house and start living on your own. Especially if you should go abroad. But don't you dare do that! I would miss you terribly!"

"And I you," Daphne said smiling.

"You know," Astoria remarked, with a mischievous grin. "You could come and live with me and Draco. I'm sure I can convince him to agree to it. In fact, I might name it as one of my terms in the contract. You buy one Greengrass, you get another free. Two beautiful women at the price of one. He couldn't refuse an offer as that."

"Too bad that polygamy is out of fashion," Daphne said, joking, "I wouldn't mind forming a harem with you. This way, we shall always be together."

"And drive Draco out of his mind," Astoria pointed out. "One wife is bad enough, but two…"

"And when he has gone insane," Daphne continued the story, "we will take all his money and go on a vacation."

"Yes," Astoria agreed. "We do deserve a vacation."

"Let's remember that as our plan C," Daphne said, sobering up a little. "I don't think I'm quite done with my plan A just yet. He may think that I am, and no wonder really, after the abominable way I behaved today, but I shall prove him wrong."

"How will you do that?"

"By using his own weapon against him!" Daphne exclaimed, triumphant. "I'm going to… talk to him."

o.o.o

Once again, talking to her sister had given Daphne a boost of relief and confidence. She wasn't perhaps quite as victorious and self-assertive as she had half-jokingly represented herself, but she did feel better now than right after the meeting. She wasn't yet sure of her future actions, but this time it was easier. Now she knew what she wanted, the week of exhausting thinking had paid off. She only had to figure out how to get it, and that should have been so much easier.

Hah, easier! Except that now she knew that her feelings for Theo might be love, and his feelings for her might be loathing. And she had told him that they could be enemies if he wished it, and apparently he had wished it. And then she had told him some other things, smashed a glass in her fist, and he had promised to come back another day. Well, she was not going to wait for him to come, she would go to him and abuse him worse than he had abused her to Millicent. How and if such course of action could end with him confessing everlasting love to her, she did not know. But she wanted to strike back, if only for the sake of striking. She didn't want to let him get away with it, or perhaps she simply didn't want him to get away from her. Perhaps her ultimate goal was to prove to him that she was not weak minded and did have lots of substance and character. She even considered slapping him at some point during the conversation, and then perhaps kissing it better the next.

Perhaps she should not have read those silly over-dramatic romance books, and taken notes, when she had tried to define love.

But she still wanted to talk it over with him. She wanted to explain her lies, and see if there was any chance that his cruel words had been similarly untrue. She was not going to act like one of those heroines from one of those books; not again, that is. She was feeling better now.

She waited, planned, and practiced as long as she dared, and her previous experience had taught her that she shouldn't wait too long; the very next day after their meeting, she went to pay Theo a visit. She had tried to dress to kill, but the effect of it had felt all too comical to her, despite Astoria's repeated assurances that she looked gorgeous. So she had gone another way, and donned an old school uniform that had seen better days, in more than one sense. Astoria had made a face and refrained from comments, but by wearing old clothes Daphne seemed to regain some of her old confidences. Which was absolutely ridiculous when she thought about, so she tried not to think about it. An unwelcome idea still entered her mind – while Astoria didn't appreciate the irony of it, there was someone else who would. Someone else who had, at least. Or someone who had fooled her into thinking that he did.

Her parents probably would have not minded her going alone into the house of her fiancé in the current circumstances, but she had not given them the chance to approve or not, and asked Astoria to cover for her. She was shivering with the pleasure of doing a forbidden thing – it did feel good being bad. She stood at his doorstep for several moments, revelling in the mischief and dreading its outcome. The thrill of defiance was pleasant indeed, but once again, her entire future happiness seemed to depend on this one evening.

She rang the bell. She rang it again. After the third try the door was finally opened and she was admitted into the house, only to be informed that Mr Nott was not at home. Where had he gone? To her own house, perhaps? But no, Mr Nott had an appointment in the city. Would he be back to dinner? No, he would dine out. And where exactly would he be doing that? This was a matter most urgent.

Once having obtained all the necessary directions, Daphne had no trouble in finding the restaurant. It was an expensive, posh place, and she had dined there once with her family. She gave the receptionist a haughty nod, and if he did think her attire a little weird, he did not comment upon it.

"Miss," he addressed her most politely.

"Miss Greengrass," she said. "Can you show me to the table of Mr Theodore Nott?"

"Is he expecting you, Miss Greengrass?"

"Hopefully not, but I do have a matter of utmost importance to discuss with him."

The receptionist nodded in silent agreement; she was rich, well-bred, beautiful, and could act her part if she wanted.

"Right this way, Miss Greengrass."

She followed him throughout the hall, paying only minimal attention to her surroundings. Now, this close to the confrontation, she had lost a good portion of her certainty; but it was too late to turn back. Her head held up high, a proud expression on her face, she walked across the floor, then down a slightly narrower passage that took to tables separated from the rest in a more intimate atmosphere. She had too little time to notice or wonder about this; the receptionist had stopped and the table was in her full view.

There he sat, a champagne glass in his hand and a smile on his face, and she was suddenly robbed of all conscious thought, as her feet took her forward, with a mind of their own. She could vaguely remember her plan of striking back, but of course, she would not go through with it now. He was there, in her reach, and she would go, and take him, and that would be the end of it. How, why, what – no doubt or question could penetrate the haze in her mind. She acted exactly like a heroine from those books, at the moment when the world stops and there is no one else but her and him.

It felt like a dream and she was half-convinced that it was indeed so, and true to a dream, the few steps to his table did take unnaturally long time. But she got there eventually, and stopped, and softly spoke his name,

"Theo."

He turned his head, only now noticing her presence, and she saw the smile drop right off his face. His eyes were cold, very cold, and the dream shattered much in the same way that her glass had the previous day.

What are you doing, Daphne? her inner voice was screaming at her. What are you doing?

He said nothing, but continued to stare at her, in such a chilly piercing manner that she thought his gaze would eventually shatter her. She suppressed a shiver, and spoke while still able,

"I'm here to tell you that… I… I need to talk to you."

He narrowed his eyes, "I'm afraid it'll have to wait. As you may see, I am right now otherwise occupied."

She had never intended to break their gaze, but instinctive politeness made her do it and turn to acknowledge his present occupation. So caught up she had been with the sight of him, that she had not beforehand noticed his companion at the table. It was a woman, dark and very beautiful, staring back at her with indignation for being thus interrupted and ignored; and suddenly noticing all the significant little details about the table and the private room, it became very clear to her very quickly that the meeting was all pleasure no business. The nature of it was unmistakeable.

And the sight of it was unbearable.

Her first instinct was too powerful to resist – she turned and fled the room, perhaps uttering a few words of apology, perhaps not. She wasn't altogether sure how she managed to walk back all the way in her current state of such intense emotion that she could barely remain conscious, but the next thing she knew she had exited the building and was leaning against the side of it, gasping for breath.

It felt worse than a physical blow. She felt dizzy and nauseous, and she couldn't get enough air into her lungs, so she thought she might pass out from the lack of it. And it hurt. It hurt badly.

She tried to keep her thoughts at bay while she recovered from the shock, but they still came out and assisted in the torment. Oh, had she but never come here tonight! Had she not asked Astoria about it! Had she not spend the week thinking about it! Could she but go back to the blissful ignorance!

Because the realization had been of several things. What she had suspected before, she was certain of now. And what she had feared before, she now knew for sure to be true.

She shook her head, then grasped it, "You are losing your mind, Daphne. Get a grip of yourself."

After an indefinite period of time, she was able to obey the command, to some extent at least. Her breathing had steadied, and the world around her had grown less hazy, and she thought she might venture to leave in another minute or two. She raised her gaze and stared into the void before her, speaking in a voice that almost did not waver,

"It is time for plan B."

And then, as if this had been too much an effort for her, she very nearly wailed, "But I don't like plan B."

"What's plan B?"

Daphne froze. She didn't turn while she debated her answer, and kept her place when she decided to tell him the truth – the whole truth. It probably didn't signify one way or the other. But nothing good had come out of her lying to him. This way, at least, her own conscience wouldn't bother her.

"Plan B," she said, "is telling my parents that I have no intention whatsoever of getting married right now, and they may do as they please, giving up either their following this old-fashioned rule of property, or the possible connection with the Malfoys. I don't believe it will be a very difficult decision for them to make."

"That doesn't sound very bad."

"It's not. Astoria thinks I might go as far as to move out of the house. They cannot disown me without a scandal, and they cannot afford a scandal right now."

"No," she continued after a moment's pause. "It doesn't sound bad at all. And a week ago, it would have been the best plan ever, the very thing that I had desired and contrived to get.

"But I ruined my own happiness. I thought too much about something I should have left untouched. I tried to figure it out, and I did figure it out, and now it hurts."

"Because the thing is," she said, finally turning to look at him, tears falling from her eyes, "that I love you, Theo. And you don't give a damn about me, and you never did. I didn't know my own heart, and I was much happier that way, because now it hurts like hell. Tori was right about this, at least, though I don't think she was right about love being a nice thing. It's not nice, it's terrible."

She laughed a little then, mostly at her own ridiculousness.

"That's all, Theo," she then continued. "You may go back to your date. It's impolite to keep her waiting. I'd tell you not to worry about me, but I know you won't anyway. Good-bye, Theo."

She thought she could let him go, but when he turned as if to leave her, without a word spoken, her resolve gave way, and she cried out, "Wait! Wait!"

She hadn't thought any further than that, so for several moments she had nothing more to stay, and had to bear his still cold gaze, silently sobbing. It was his stare that shattered her in the end, like she had feared, and she almost pleaded with him,

"Theo, Theo! How can you look at me like that? How can you be so cold? Did you really mean it when you said to Millicent the other day that I was nothing to you, nothing but an amusement? Did our friendship mean nothing to you? Was it all really pretence, everything you did and everything you said?

"Theo," she whispered, brushing away her tears, "don't you care for me at all?"

Her sobs were audible in the stillness between them, that lasted for a long time, and was over only too soon.

"No," he said, not a trace of doubt in his tone. "I don't."

He paused then, and his next words were spoken so softly that she almost didn't catch them.

"At least, that's what I thought."

"What… what do you mean by that?" she could only ask, radiating confusion.

He sighed, and shook his head, and looked away; and when he turned back the change was so remarkable that it made her gasp. It was as if he was another man – all trace of coldness, indifference, and cruelty was suddenly gone from his expression. It was the Theo of her schooldays that was staring at her now, though he looked older, and wiser, and tired.

When he took a step towards her, she instinctively shifted away, and saw him hesitate. But he continued towards her, and pretty soon her back was against the wall of the building, and there was no escape for her now. So she made a resolution to bravely face the doom, at least until her bravery gave way, so she didn't avert her gaze even when he was right in front of her.

She flinched at his touch when he reached to dry her tears, and shivered at the softness of his caress.

"You are not the only one who does not know their own heart," he spoke sadly. "I meant every word I said to Millicent about you. But I was a fool then, and a vengeful fool later on, and I didn't understand the source of my vengeance. And when I did become aware of it, I continued being cold and cruel, and quite frankly, I have behaved in a most inexcusable manner.

"Daphne," he said, and she shivered again, "I am not a very good person. I am rude and cold to those I don't care for, I am swift and merciless in my anger, I am unjust and difficult to please. But once, years ago, I made a promise to protect you, and I will renew this promise now, if you want it. And I should promise never to be this cruel or vindictive to you ever again, but I'm afraid I would break it sooner or later. And not because I don't care, but because I do care, and it really is a terrible thing."

Daphne was silent for a long time. "Yes," she said at last, "it is terrible."

o.o.o

She stood by the hearth, leafing through a pile of parchments, occasionally throwing some of it into the fire – she was organising her papers, prior to their being taken from this place to another. She pulled out a sheet, frowned at it, and tossed it away, making a mental note never to read such books ever again. Several others then followed it, while some were saved, until she come upon one that got her full attention. She put away the others and concentrated on this one, which contained the seating arrangements for her "getting engaged party".

She looked it over, then focused on one name in particular. It wasn't long before the chart was snatched from her hand, and looked upon by another.

"Hmm," was the only comment at first, then, "That's not very smart, having him there, is it? I don't think he would have bothered to sit two hours making polite conversation, even if he had the ability to do so. Most probably, he would have done a worse job than Flint himself, making the bastard look good in comparison, and totally ruined all your clever schemes and plots."

"Well, it's not the final plan, is it?" Daphne said. "I did make a switch to it."

"At the last possible moment, yes. What were you thinking, Daph, putting him there?"

"Why, Theo, if I didn't know any better, I would say you are jealous," she laughed.

"Jealous? At him?! Never!"

But he did crumple up the parchment and toss it into the fire, a sudden fierceness in his expression.