II. Love

Daphne didn't want to have to listen to this, didn't want to be forced to hear her sister (her beautiful, young, not-even-twenty year old sister) proclaim that she was getting married to Draco Malfoy within the month. It was an absolute nightmare.

"Astoria, you're too young," Daphne sighed as she poured herself another glass of wine. The wine was sour, a wonderful contrast to the sickly sweet rubbish her sister had been spouting for the past half an hour.

"No I'm not," Astoria replied. "If I don't marry him now then someone else will."

"He's a convicted Death Eater, my dear. Somehow I doubt he'll be high in most eligible purebloods' marriage lists."

"I love him, Daphne. Surely you can understand that?" Astoria cried.

"Love?" Daphne scoffed. "What do I know about love?"

"Blaise," Astoria replied quietly. "I know you loved him. Don't even bother denying it."

Daphne dropped the glass. It shattered on the floor.

"Get out," she said quietly. "Now."