Chaser 3 Finals
My hands were trembling as I began this document, my team made it to the finals of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition! How amazing is that? If you're curious about it, you can always go check it out, there's a link on my profile. I have linked a bunch of stuff there actually, including my team members and some other forums I am a part of. A special thanks to Arty, Tiggs and Sunne for beta'ing for me this round! This story would not be half as good without you gals!
Warning: Does not follow canon. Or maybe we just never got to see it this way? I like playing with the characters in a way that makes it seem like it could be true what I am writing, but how could we ever know?
This round was a tricky one, as you can see by my prompt, and we had to be creative. I hope this covers the creative part and that anyone reading this story is as passionate about this topic as myself.
You can only truly be amazing if you are true to yourself.
Xx
Cara
Prompts this round:
"Not my daughter, you bitch." - Molly Weasley.
Bonus prompts:
(Nursery Rhyme) - The Ugly Duckling
(Word) music
(Word) Charcoal
Daphne prayed her father, the God Peneus, would change her body so she could escape Apollo. - The myth of Apollo and Daphne
"There once was an ugly young girl, with features all ugly and sad. And the rest of the girls didn't want her around, they said, 'hey ugly, get out of town!'"
Daphne did not want to hear their scorn any longer. It wasn't news to her that she stood out. Her hair did not flow elegantly—maybe because her mother had charmed it long whenever Daphne cut it short. Her skin was not marbled perfection, but tanned from staying out in the sun. Though her dress was beautiful, it did not fit her the way it would her younger sister, Astoria. Daphne was the odd one out in the gaggle of pureblood girls. Nothing could change that, so she walked away to the glee of the flock.
As she walked away, she heard Pansy say to Astoria, "Are you even sure she is your sister?"
They told her to stay out of their way, to leave them be because she wasn't good enough to be in their inner circle. Part of her felt sad they felt that way, another welcomed the chance to be away from the girls that were so different from her. They were only a reminder of how much of a disappointment she was to her family.
"What a lovely dress you are wearing, Daphne," a woman said as she grasped her elbow to get a better look. Daphne tried to recall her name and furrowed her brows as she looked at the woman; Lestrange, perhaps?
"Thank you, Madame Lestrange."
"I've told you to call me Veronika." The woman chuckled and pinched Daphne's cheek. As her lip curled in disgust at the woman's treatment of her, she remembered who she was. It was her mother's nemesis. According to her mother, this woman was everything that was wrong with pureblood society today.
"Some days I wish we could turn away purebloods that are a disgrace to society. Just look at the way women like Veronika Lestrange act; tactless and shameless. No wonder wizards like Dumbledore are gaining traction."
"I'd prefer not to, Madame Lestrange."
"Try to be polite, Daphne," her mother interjected before Madame Lestrange could say something in return.
"Sorry, Mother."
"Excuse us, Veronika." Her mother could not hide the scorn from her voice. "I wanted to talk to Daphne about something."
When they had walked away, she asked, "What did you want to talk to me about?"
"Oh, nothing. I just hate that woman, and I don't want you talking to her."
Their walk over to one of the trays floating with champagne was interrupted by the Crabbe patriarch.
"You have a lovely daughter, Missus Greengrass," he said, indicating to Astoria who had decided to join the party and was now talking to a group of older men who all seemed ravished by her.
"Thank you, Lord Crabbe."
"Now who's this little girl?" He motioned to Daphne, waiting to be introduced by her mother, as was custom.
"My oldest daughter, Daphne."
"I'm not a girl," she muttered.
She instantly regretted those words, a feeling of lead settling in her stomach. Would they know the meaning behind those words? That she didn't feel like a girl at all, but rather a boy? Or would they laugh it off and see nothing more of it, because she was just a girl.
She hated being thought inferior to the male purebloods. Since she was young, her father had treated her more like a son than a daughter. Now that she had turned 17, she was forced by her mother to cast away the notion of being a boy.
Not only was her hair charmed long, all her trousers were thrown away to be replaced with skirts and dresses. She was told to sit down and be quiet, to read but not discuss, and to act like a proper pureblood lady.
Through the last year, Daphne had come to realize that she didn't just loathe how she was treated because she was thought inferior; she hated it because she was a girl.
Putting on dresses made her skin crawl—looking in the mirror confirmed that which she dreaded. Nothing was the same anymore. She had been a 'he' since childhood. Her father understood that at some level, but her mother did not.
"No, of course you're not, darling." Her mother put a hand on her shoulder. It was meant to comfort and calm her, but it had the opposite effect. "You're a woman, now that you've turned seventeen."
She bit her tongue to stay quiet. Maybe she would argue with her mother when the guest had left, but she would not cause a scene. Greengrass' were better than that.
"Seventeen, eh? Just out of Hogwarts, I take it? Won't be long until you can settle down with a husband and kids."
For many years she had tried to convince her father that she didn't want to marry anyone. He had relented at last, but the only difference so far was that the marriage contract to Draco Malfoy had been passed on to her sister, Astoria. Her relationship with Astoria had gotten better after that, but it didn't mean she treated Daphne any better in public. Her mother still wanted to marry her off, so she took every opportunity she could to try and convince her boys weren't so bad after all.
"We haven't settled on anyone yet." She winked at Crabbe.
"Son, come over here and dance with Miss Greengrass."
"I'd rather not, Father."
Lord Crabbe smacked his son on the back of his head. "Do as I say, boy."
Vincent sighed and held out one of his hands to Daphne, who mirrored his look of disgust. Neither wanted to dance, but there was no getting out of it once their parents had decided they must.
It was hard to let him take the lead—she had never learned the 'girl' way of dancing. When she took her lessons, it had been with Astoria, who always wanted to do the 'girl part'. Daphne had never seen the fault in that because she didn't want the 'girl part'. Everything in her screamed to reject the girl part as she danced with Vincent. There was no talking. Instead, music filled the space between them. She felt separate from him, from everyone.
As the music continued, she realized she was sick of this. Sick of music and silence filling her life because she couldn't act like herself. As the music stopped, she did her duty and bowed to Vincent before leaving the party.
The next morning Daphne felt better than she had in years. Resolved to become the person she was meant to be—a boy—Daphne made her way to see her father. He would understand.
"Father, I need to talk to you."
Daphne stood at the threshold to the Greengrass study. This room had been passed down to the Patriarch of the Greengrass family for generations. Daphne had always wanted this room to be her own when her father died. She had voiced this desire once and been told that the study would only belong to the Patriarch—it would not open for anyone else.
After hearing that, she had tried to unlock it every time her parents were away. Maybe if the room accepted her as a boy, she would know that what she felt in her heart was true. Astoria would tease her for it, but Daphne never gave up. Anytime her father left her alone in the room it felt like a victory for her; it felt like acceptance and warmth.
"Come in, son." He put away the papers he had been looking over and indicated for the chair in front of him at the other side of the desk. For a moment, she hesitated. He had always called her son, while Astoria was 'darling', 'doll', 'sweetheart' and other terms of endearment.
She sat down and folded her hands demurely in her lap. Her father frowned at the gesture so she took to tugging at the dress instead.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."
Her father stayed silent while she tried to find the words, as though he sensed her hesitance. It seemed as if they were stuck in her throat.
I'm not a girl, I'm a boy.
Instead of those words, a short puff of breath came out.
"You wish that I talk to you like I do Astoria? To stop calling you son?" he asked.
"No! Not at all. I don't want you to stop."
"Then I do not understand what it is you want to speak to me about."
"I want to be Apollo," she blurted out. All her carefully planned words had seemed to vanish from her mind, leaving only a strange tangent. She had been thinking a lot about what she wanted to be called, and she didn't want to lose her unique name to something like 'Dean'. It sounded Muggle, like she was a lowlife Mudblood. She would always be a pureblood—one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—her gender would not take away her noble origins.
He raised an eyebrow, leaned back and folded his hands on his stomach. "You want to be a Greek God?"
"No, I—" She sighed. "I don't think I'm a girl."
"What are you, then?"
"A boy. I've always been a boy." She looked down at her lap, afraid of what she would find in her father's eyes. "It's just my body that doesn't know it yet."
Silence descended, only broken by the slight draft of the windows and the ticking of the ancient clock on the left wall. Each tick rung loud and seemed to travel through her body. She shuddered while her mind wandered to the horrible things she had imagined would happen after she told him. She could be cast aside, wandless as though she were a Squib. Or forced to marry some man that would beat the notion out of her. Maybe her father would say that she wasn't a Greengrass any longer, and refuse to talk to her ever again.
"You want my help to change that?" he said at last.
"I guess I just want you to see me as a son."
"I already do," he said.
In her shock, she forgot to be afraid of what he could or would do, and looked at his face. He was smiling, and she felt her worries trickle away to return the smile.
"Really?"
"You've alway been my son, my first-born heir."
She felt tears come to her eyes. "Thank you, Father."
She walked around the desk and hugged him close.
"None of that, now. No son of mine cries. You've been spending too much time with your mother."
"Oh no, Mother! She will never accept me as a son," Daphne exclaimed.
"In time, everything will work out. She still has Astoria as a daughter." Her father released her from the hug and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.
"In the meantime, I will find the appropriate spells and potions to make this change permanent."
"We can do that?"
"There is nothing magic can't do, at least for us purebloods."
The change from female to male was painful and long. It took all winter before he was ready to come out of his hidey-hole and appear in society.
His mother hated what happened—that her oldest daughter was now a son was too much to bear. It hurt, but the support of his father and, surprisingly, his sister, meant the world to him. When the transition from ugly duckling to beautiful swan was done, he felt himself.
His mother, on the other hand, felt ashamed and didn't want to look at his face. Apollo didn't want to hurt her any more than he had to, so he took to the calming charcoal-coloured study of his father. The neutral tones made the transition easier somehow. Maybe because in his father's study he had always just been himself. Not Daphne or Apollo, but the son his father saw him as.
When he looked into the mirror after the transition, he couldn't help but gasp and say to his reflection, "You're a very fine man, indeed."
The mirror was no longer an enemy, but a close confidant and friend who showed him what he had always been on the inside. It was about time the world saw that too.
He had dreaded coming to the first party of the season. Of course, many were shocked at the revelation of the oldest Greengrass suddenly being a boy instead of a girl. The shock faded much faster than what Apollo had expected; it took a room full of purebloods less time to come to terms with the idea than they would have if it was revealed he was a marrying a half-blood.
It turned out that Veronika Lestrange was the only one who couldn't move past the idea. "Well if it isn't the oldest Greengrass daughter. What are you wearing? No upstanding pureblood lady would show herself in trousers at a party."
"Not my daughter, you bitch." Apollo didn't know his mother was nearby and was shocked at her words—she never swore. She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "My son, Apollo."
He was touched by her words and her action. She hadn't touched him since his father had told her what was to happen. It seemed like her hatred for Veronika was all it took for her to accept her son as a son.
Veronika Lestrange sneered at his mother. "You are a disgrace to the wizarding community."
His mother scoffed. "And you are ignorant. Did you not know that it is custom for the eldest to transition into being a boy if the family line is in danger and there is no other way of producing a male heir?"
Apollo had not known that fact, but part of him suspected it was a clever lie to put Veronika off balance. It did warm his heart because it meant that, even through all of their issues, his mother still regarded him as her family.
Veronika Lestrange was baffled by this revelation and gaped.
"Shut your mouth; no one wants to see that," his mother said.
Veronika scowled at her before she turned on her heel and stormed away. Even though Veronika had left, the reassuring hand on his shoulder stayed.
"Thank you, Mother," Apollo said and smiled at her.
"Nobody insults my son and gets away with it." Her chin was raised and she looked down the nose at the retreating figure of her nemesis, but Apollo could see the smile tugging at his mother's lips, mirroring his own.
When Apollo met the eyes of Pansy across the room, he couldn't help but think, 'Say who's an ugly young girl? Not I!'