From the other side of the wall came a muffled sob, a tiny, plaintive sound that disturbed the silence.

Whispers, doors opened and closed with care so as not to make too much noise, and now crying… there had been so much going behind the apparent safety of the night that Daphne wondered, turning in her sheets, if she would ever manage to fall asleep again.

This time it was Rose. Her older sister's sobs continued in the adjacent room and Daphne squeezed her eyes shut, irritated and exhausted. She thought of dinner that evening – her mother's pointed stares, her father's smug satisfaction. Daphne had the impression that he had recentlty managed to get rid of yet another tie that bound him with the wrong kind of people -the ones who were rotting in Azkaban as Daphne was lying in bed. People the wizarding world, thirsty for redemption, hungry for culprits, ashamed and angry, would never let see the light of day again.

Rose was still crying and this time Daphne buried her head under the pillow. There had been a terrible scene and their voices had resounded all around the empty house - Rose dramatically sinking to the ground, protesting with tears, their father unmoving, unyielding.

Daphne remembered how proud her father had looked just a few months before, how much taller her mother had held herself, when they'd announced Rose was engaged to a very wealthy Pureblood young man, from a very wealthy Pureblood family. And Rose, a precious shard of light glittering on her finger, smiling haughtily for the good luck she thought she deserved, had convinced herself she loved him, prodded on by her parents and enticed by her fiancé's impeccable social status.

What was his name again? Someone from the Flint family… Claudius, was it? Rose had met him less than a year before, and Daphne had only seen him twice. She wasn't even sure she knew what he looked like… and yet that very evening her sister had sworn she would throw herself into a lake and drown out of despair if the engagement was called off.

But the engagement was going to be called off, and Rose would never throw herself in a lake. She probably imagined, Daphne assumed, that it would be a romantic death – with long strands of hair flowing in the water, stately reeds bending towards the water in sorrow, and dead skin as pale as porcelain…

No blood, gushing out from torn flesh, no broken bones, no wide, unblinking eyes staring at the living…

Daphne shook away the images in her head and curled up on her mattress. The whole business was ridiculous and pathetic, and it made Daphne feel sick to think of it. The smugness on her father's face…

"We can't very well hide the fact that the girls were in Slytherin," she remembered him saying, sitting on his chair and stroking his beard, deep in thought. "But I daresay – if we take certain precautions – we can prove to the Ministry that we had no hand whatsoever in this… that our name is clean…"

He had even chuckled to himself then, looking for all the world rather jolly. "Why, I believe we even have some Half-bloods somewhere in our family tree… Rather far down the line, but that should do nicely."

In the Greengrass family, there had always been a strict set of rules to follow, and nothing had changed since June except their content.

Any mention of what had happened at Hogwarts – forbidden. Any mention of Pureblood families – forbidden. And any contact with other Slytherin students – forbidden.

It was the last rule that had set Daphne's blood boiling, but quietly, as always, under cover of dark, lowered eyes, a pale face and a shy expression. It wasn't as if she felt the irrepressible urge to contact her friends, girls who dressed better and more smartly than she ever had, knew how to fix their hair, and had always considered her with a sort of pitying smile that reminded her of Rose. It was simply the feeling of being a toy in her parents' hands, an obscene reminder of their hypocrisy. For years they had showered her with recommendations, dressed her up in the best they could afford, steered her towards what they called "their kind", even though they weren't half as rich, or half as refined, or half as able to show off prestigious ancestors.

Rose, crafty and conciliatory, had known how to make the best of what they had – their manners and their blood. But Daphne had struggled to keep up with the pack, always trailing behind, awkward and meek, unable to smirk and simper and smile when the situation demanded it, terrified of being left out. Ultimately, her parents had resented her for it, and no amount of good grades could make up for her failings.

And now… now…

Daphne turned onto her back and opened her eyes. The moon was drawing pale squares of light on her wall. Her sister was done crying – she had probably fallen asleep.

Daphne couldn't help but feel sorry for her, for her and her simple, stupid heart, for her unflinching belief in the family's worth. Now it was as if Rose alone had lost the war, as if her mother and father were putting all the weight of defeat on her shoulders, she who had once been the cherished daughter, the favourite daughter, the daughter carrying the hopes of a respectable Pureblood marriage.

Her father was acting as if he had something to forgive. "It's no use fretting over this," Daphne had heard him tell Rose that very evening in a grave voice. "We'll overlook this folly – this engagement… find another one soon, one much more favourable for us all."

Her father, with that horrible, satisfied smile of his, and the affectionate pat he laid on Daphne's head. "I've arranged an internship at the Ministry for you, my dear. There's no profession more honourable than that of law, and with your excellent grades, it was no trouble at all to convince them…"

Favourable. Honourable.

A tear was rolling down Daphne's cheek. Tomorrow was the first of September, and she would start her internship. She would clear the family name in busy halls of the Ministry, in the drab cubicle of a clerk's office.

She would clear the family name because that was the only hope any of them had left.