Roderick Greengrass, devoted husband and father

had changed his last name out of respect of his then-wife's feminist ideals. He'd done everything for her, from changing his name to not asking about the people that occasionally made phone calls asking about "the Hogwarts job". All she told him about that was that it'd been a job she'd applied for years ago. Roderick found that peculiar, even for her. But he'd said nothing to his gorgeous, charismatic wife.

Why? Why was Daphne so similar to her mother? And now this? He couldn't stand having Daphne Jr leave him like this.

But it would, in all fairness, probably make her happy. So he resolved to break the one promise his wife had asked—no, demanded of him.

He got out a pen and a showy peacock quill (yet another thing he'd picked up from his wife) and drafted a letter to D. Greengrass Sr, care of Hogwarts school of witchcraft.

Daphne Greengrass Sr, master of heartbreak

knew that Sybil was a nasty, temperamental, no good b-

Daphne stopped herself. She'd fallen so far from the strict feminist principles of her early twenties.

She was doing that a lot lately. She'd barely made it through her first class this morning when she'd snapped at a student. What would that version of herself think, Daphne wondered, at the way she'd been behaving lately?

This time, though, Trelawney didn't deserve it. She'd only been repeating what McGonagall had told her, although she could have paraphrased it a bit. McGonagall's dislike of Trelawney had only worsened since they'd become the oldest two teachers still at Hogwarts, and neither was exactly civil to to other, though they kept it in check around the students.

The reason, it turned out, was that there was a letter for her. Having maintained no connection whatsoever with the muggle world after leaving it years ago, she was surprised, to say the least, when she noticed the muggle postage stamp on the front.

She opened the letter. It was written in a familiar hand, and her heart have a small pang despite itself. The letter read:

Dear Daphne,

I realise that I promised, long ago, never to write, and I am nothing if not a man of my word. But dire circumstances call for dire measures, and I feel that it is in both of our best interests to be in closer contact for the time being.

You see, my—our—daughter just received a letter invited her to attend Hogwarts. I know enough to deduce that that's where you've gone, and I'm asking, no, begging you to help me with a rather large favor.

I need you to convince her to turn down the invitation.

Let me anticipate your response. "But if it makes her happy..." you'd say. "It's not my position..." In this regard, while not in many others, you'd be completely wrong. Think of what Hogwarts did to you, to me. Think of what it did our family, for crying out loud.

If you decide to help me, as I truly hope you will, we haven't moved since you left. I trust your owl will be able to find us.

Below this was the word love, crossed out with a single shaky line. Daphne's heart broke a little at this.