Daphne Greengrass dropped her head into her knees and pulled her arms up above her head to curl up into the tightest little ball she could. Her spine, pressed uncomfortably against the cold, stone walls of the dungeon was strangely comforting to her. The discomfort allowed her to remain present in the moment, rather than getting swept up in the tangled mess of her thoughts and emotions.

Usually, she could keep herself under control. She was the Ice Queen of the Slytherin Dungeons, after all. Appearances had to be kept up.

Sometimes, though… sometimes…

She felt like a puppet, or perhaps an Inferi. A muggleborn may have said she felt like a robot. Moving through life, going through the motions of school and family obligations. Never feeling.

She felt wrong.

She hadn't always realised that she was different. Hadn't had that feeling of wrongness. Perhaps it was only possible to feel wrong when you were consciously aware of your difference.

She'd always sneered at girls like Pansy, and the Gryffindor… Brown? That was right, Lavender Brown. So emotional, flipping from emotional high to emotional low and back to an emotional high again. Always so extreme.

Daphne felt quite confident in her superiority over such girls. She could stay in control of her emotions. She was the mature one, capable of handling life's events without going on such a roller coaster. She didn't feel the need to obsess over famous Quidditch players, or Witch Weekly's most eligible bachelors, or the latest singer with the quote unquote "dreamy eyes" …

No. She, Daphne Greengrass, was far above such petty emotional investments. She was better than that. In fact, she didn't feel the need to obsess over any boy.

So when the first boy asked her out, way back in first year, she had no problem turning him down with a cool sneer and a simple "I'd rather not," in a tone that could have frozen fire.

But the requests didn't stop.

"I'd rather not," soon became "My father requires that I do not enter into a relationship until such time as my schooling has been completed."

The lie came easily to her. It got the boys off her back, as well. No one in their right mind wanted to face the wrath of Lord Greengrass.

The word must have spread around the school that she was off limits, because the requests slowed, and then finally stopped. She was pleased, at first. She didn't have time for a relationship, she told herself. That was why she didn't desire one. She was busy. Yes. Too young, too busy, too…

She gave herself excuse after excuse as to why she didn't desire a relationship with a boy even as she continued to develop her "Ice Queen" persona. But the doubts, tiny niggling doubts in the back of her mind at first, began to form.

The girls around her were becoming increasingly giggly. No longer were boys gross, they were something to be watched, discussed. Then came the codenames. Each boy was given a codename so that the girls could talk about them without fearing that the boy in question would realise he was being talked about.

"Ooohh, did you see 'Pineapple' sat near Millicent in Transfiguration yesterday? Milli liiiiikes him."

"Hey, Tracey, did 'Snuffbox' just look at you twice in the last minute? What does that mean?"

"Shhhh, 'Silver' is coming this way… and has he done his hair differently today?"

…In hindsight, they hadn't been the cleverest of codenames.

Daphne had prided herself on her ability to stay above such childishness, even as she felt a pang of loneliness in being left out of these conversations. She didn't notice these little details, and couldn't fathom why they were important. What was she missing? Why couldn't she be more involved?

… Why didn't she care? Why couldn't she behave so frivolously? Why didn't she understand? What was there to understand? Why couldn't she understand?

A rift began to form between her and her female classmates. As their conversations became increasingly focused on the boys, as they became bolder, dropped the codenames, as they began to date, and laugh and cry and giggle and scream and mock and tease and support and all the other things they were doing in relation to boys, Daphne began to feel left out.

She began to feel left behind. Why couldn't she be more like them? Suddenly, the other girl's behaviour didn't seem frivolous and childish anymore. She couldn't look down on it any longer with her old feelings of superiority… instead she began to look at it with a deep, aching longing that seemed to fill the entire cavity of her chest.

She wanted to feel those things the other girls did, to be able to join in on the conversations and the laughing and the crying. She wanted to be able to sit in one even One. Single. Conversation. without feeling lost and confused, not understanding some reference or joke.

She wanted to belong.

Why wasn't she normal?

Maybe it would come later.

Then, in her fourth year, Daphne saw something. The sixth year female Hufflepuff prefect, and the Gryffindor Chaser, Angelina Johnson. In a room. Together. Kissing.

What?

That added another layer of complexity to Daphne's problem. She knew, intellectually, that some people were gay. They were attracted to people of the same gender.

She also knew that it was extremely frowned upon, and that her parents- particularly Lord Greengrass, would not stand for a gay daughter. Especially not his eldest daughter. She would be disowned in a heartbeat if she was found to be gay.

Was that why she was different to everyone else?

Had she, on some instinctual level, recognised that she was gay and known that she would not survive the fallout if that was discovered, so repressed her own feelings even from herself?

Daphne herself didn't think she had a problem with homophobia… was she secretly homophobic? Were her own subconscious beliefs hiding the truth from even herself as a protective mechanism?

She felt sick. On the one hand, she hated not knowing, not understanding why she was different. Wouldn't it be better to know if she was gay?

On the other hand, life would be so complicated if she was gay. Plus, she didn't want to face the fact that she might subconsciously be so homophobic that she couldn't recognise or accept even herself.

She lay in bed each night for months, consciously trying to convince herself that it would be OK if she was gay.

Finally, she felt at peace with that. She convinced herself that once she got over her own fears, she would start to feel attracted to girls. It would be hard, she realised, but at least one day she would find a partner to share her life with.

That was the thought that kept her going. She would find someone. She wouldn't have to be alone, to be the Ice Queen once she was able to acknowledge her own preferences to herself.

So why wasn't that happening?

Why wasn't she starting to feel some attraction to girls?

She went cold.

Nothing.

She was empty.

The rumours must be true. She must actually be dead inside. Just an emotionless husk, incapable of feeling, experiencing, loving.

Broken.

Daphne switched off. She stopped trying to feel. She walked around, feeling more like the passenger than the driver in her own body. Just along for the ride, without control.

Who was she? Why was she like this? What was wrong with her? What cruel fate or deity would foist this horrible curse on her, preventing her from feeling attraction? Cursing her to live alone for her entire life?

For what person, man or woman, would choose to live with and love someone who was incapable of loving them back? What sort of person would do that to themselves?

No one, she realised. She would be forever alone, cursed to walk the path of her life without a guide, a comforting touch.

The loneliness hit hard. It was like ice, all encompassing, unrelenting. Her stomach twisted and knotted, never letting her feel comfortable. She drifted further away from her friends, feeling as though she would never be able to relate to them.

Then he came.

She was oblivious. He was just being friendly. He would show up whenever she was tutoring the first year Slytherins. He'd help set up the desks for her, and help her pack up at the end of a session.

He'd start conversations with her. Initially, they all revolved around the tutoring that she was doing. Then they would talk about the first years in general. Then school. Then everything else.

He was just being a friend, wasn't he?

She started to open up to him about her family life, and the struggles of being one of two daughters in a family that had desperately wanted a son.

He was understanding, and in turn told her some of his own struggles.

He was just being a friend, wasn't he?

She became sick over winter, and was confined to the common room for a few weeks.

He brought her her favourite snacks, ensured she always had enough blankets, made sure that the fire was always burning at just the right temperature so that she was comfortable…

He was just being a good friend, wasn't he?

The other girls started whispering about how he must like her.

Daphne dismissed them all. Surely he didn't like her that way. Who would? She remained oblivious.

He started touching her more, playfully punching her in the shoulder, brushing past her, touching her arm to gain her attention, letting his hands linger just a second longer than she thought was normal.

Were… were the other girls right?

A brief spark flared up inside of her. She was wanted. Desired. She squashed it down. Surely he didn't like her that way. Who would? She remained, for the most part, oblivious.

Until the day he asked her out.

That night, in bed, she felt the spark again. She smiled at it. She felt wanted, desirable. Someone actually wanted to date her. Her. The emotionless "Ice Queen" was wanted.

They went on a Hogsmeade weekend together. She still felt that little spark, but she also felt uncomfortable. What if he wanted to… kiss her? It seemed wrong, somehow.

She convinced herself that it was just too early. She'd grow into those feelings, eventually. She'd want that soon.

He tried to walk with his arm around her waist, but it was uncomfortable for her to walk. She took his hand off her waist and held it instead. She ignored the prickling in her skin, the hair raising on the back of her neck, the feeling of wrongness.

She was just feeling self conscious, she reasoned with herself. After all, they were in a very public place. People were probably watching.

At the end of the visit, he asked if he could kiss her.

"Not yet," she had replied, "I'm not ready for… that… just yet."

"That's OK," he had responded, "I don't want to push you."

She felt cold that night. But, she reasoned again, she just needed time to ease into the whole boyfriend thing. She'd get used to the idea and then she'd be comfortable. It was just time.

The excuses felt hollow, even to her.

They went on more dates.

Every time, he asked to kiss her.

Every time, she said not yet. "Give me time". "I'm not ready".

"But I will be," she added on, "Soon."

Every time, she felt worse. It wasn't happening.

Maybe, she decided, she just had to try it. Just once. Once she'd kissed him, everything would change. She'd start to feel. She wouldn't be so emotionless anymore. She wouldn't be so broken.

So the next time he asked, she let him kiss her.

She did it wrong, apparently. He told her so.

She felt embarrassed.

"I know," she'd said when he reminded her that she wasn't supposed to keep her lips so firmly closed, "but I'm still learning how to do this. I'll do it better next time".

She'd waited until after he'd left to wipe her mouth.

She spent a long time washing her face that night, trying to feel clean again.

It was just because she hadn't done it right, she reasoned with herself. She'd do it properly next time, and then it would feel right. Then she'd learn to experience all those emotions that the other girls felt.

They kissed the next time she was him as well. It was gross and slimy and she felt dirty and uncomfortable through the whole thing.

It was just because it was new, she reasoned. It would start to feel better once she got used to it.

The other girls wanted to know why she was showering so much more frequently. Why she was constantly washing her face.

She kept trying, but she started to dread her time with him. She pretended to be sick, so he wouldn't kiss her. She brought out her "Ice Queen" persona more and more around him… not intentionally, but as a defence. She started treating him poorly, ignoring him, snubbing him. Cruel words began to spill from her mouth, without her consciously thinking about them.

He refused to be turned away by her hash words, her cruel treatment of him.

"You know," he said to her one night as they were sitting by the fire. He was siting comfortably. She was ever so slightly trying to inch away from him.

"You know, when I first saw you, when I first met you, I put you on this pedestal."

He paused, and stared into the fire. A nervous look flitted across his face.

"I thought you were perfect. You could do nothing wrong. But recently, I've learnt you're not perfect."

He stopped. Eyes still fixed to the fire, not looking at her.

"You can be arrogant, unfeeling, and cruel at times. Sometimes, the Ice Queen seems to come though and it's hard to remember that you can be anything but that. Then there are the times where you can be warm, funny and caring. You're not perfect. But you're perfect for me, and I've decided that I love you."

A weight dropped into her stomach. Ice flew through her veins. Daphne fought valiantly to prevent herself from losing her lunch. He what? This couldn't be happening.

"I-"

"Don't say anything," he interrupted her, "I can tell you don't love me yet, I know. I just wanted you to know how I feel. You deserve to know how I feel. You don't have to say anything just yet, I'll wait. I'm happy to wait."

"I- I don't…" but then he was gone.

Daphne didn't know what to do. She knew this whole thing was wrong. She couldn't stand the kissing, or the touching…

She didn't want to be near him.

Was it just him?

She didn't think so. She tried to imagine herself with another boy, with another girl… she tried to imagine herself with anyone. She couldn't. Why?

What was wrong with her?

He certainly didn't deserve to have her string him along like this, but she couldn't stomach the thought of breaking up with him. It would mean having to face her own problems. It would mean recognising, even just to herself, that she was wrong. She was broken.

She couldn't do it.

She started to ignore him. He would talk to her in the hallways, she would shy away. He would ask her out on dates, she would find an excuse to go.

He'd pass her notes and she would purposely not respond for days or even weeks, trying to pretend that she'd not gotten them, or that she'd forgotten about them.

Finally, he demanded an answer.

She just told him she was working some things out.

She went back to her dorm, and his owl was sitting on her pillow with a list of questions. The final one was 'Are you breaking up with me?'

She lay the parchment down on her bed and stared at it for hours. Not moving, just staring at the final question. Slowly, she began to cross out all the other questions on the parchment until only the final one remained.

'Are you breaking up with me?'

She paused, her quill hovering over the question. She tried to breathe, but it was becoming increasingly hard. Was she?

What should she do? She couldn't keep stringing him along, knowing how he felt about her and her own lack of emotion for him. Her own aversion of kissing, or doing any of the things that couples her age were doing. She was sure that feeling physically sick after every kiss, feeling scared to be left alone with him in case he wanted to kiss her was not the emotion of a happy girlfriend.

But breaking up with him felt like a confession. She could no longer hide behind the façade of normality she had built up by having a boyfriend. She could no longer point to him when she was trying to convince herself that everything was OK… that she was OK, normal, unbroken.

Was it selfish, wanting to feel like a normal girl?

Was it selfish, to yearn for companionship, to try to escape the loneliness that had been creeping up on her?

Was it selfish, to crave a sign that she was not broken?

It was, she realised. And so, with her heart thumping in her chest and her blood seeming to burn through her body, she dipped her quill in the inkpot again and quickly, before she could think twice, scribbled 'Yes.'

Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "It's me, not you. It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong".

He wouldn't believe that, she realised. But she couldn't, wouldn't, tell him the truth.

She wasn't strong enough to tell him the truth.

She was a failure. She was incapable of emotion. She was wrong. She was broken.

Broken.

She gave the letter to the owl, and then immediately hid herself under the covers of her bed and cried.

For him. For her. For the injustice that was the way she treated him. For the injustice that was her own lack of desire.

For the unfairness of it all.

She cried through the night and into the early hours of the morning until she collapsed, completely spent, into her pillow.

The next morning, the Ice Queen emerged from the Slytherin female's dorms.

The Ice Queen was her friend even as she spiralled into a deep depression.

Then, a stroke of luck, she heard the rumours about Harry Potter. He was aromantic, they said. He was asexual, they said.

Finally, after weeks of hearing the rumours, she dragged up enough of the curiosity that was left in her to find out what the words meant.

Wait.

Those words, their meanings… they felt… she wasn't sure, exactly.

She didn't know how to describe them at all except they seemed to give her a similar feeling to what she felt when she first got home after a year at school…

That was it. They felt like home.

They were comfortable. Familiar. The beckoned to her, like old friends, welcoming her back. They felt right.

They hurt, as well, as family often does.

They taunted her with their lack. Their finality.

But.

They proved something important.

She was not alone.

There were people like her. Other people who didn't experience desire, or attraction.

Other people who shared her aversion.

Other people who had experienced the confusion, the pain.

Most importantly, they showed her that she was not broken.

She was not broken.

She was Daphne Greengrass, Unbroken.