Song of Choice for today's chapter
She Will Be Loved by Maroon 5
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Even after his sister and her new husband had disappeared from the room, the grief and tension remained. It weighed down on the atmosphere making the remaining wizards and witches feel strangely claustrophobic and restless. The Minister must have felt it too because, with the help of a sonorus, he announced the end of the day's ceremony and instructed those who hadn't found their spouses, to report to the next day's rite. He was less than enthusiastic about spending another day in the suffocating room.
Ron was almost to the door when he heard the Minister calling for him. He considered pretending not having heard the wizard and making a quick escape, but then he heard another voice and turned.
"— I assure you this is not necessary, Minister," insisted the small, feminine voice. Once she realized Ron's gaze was on her, Daphne Greengrass nearly dove behind Kingsley Shacklebolt.
"Ron," Kingsley said in that tone that only wartime friendships could foster, "could you please join Miss Greengrass and I?"
"Why do I feel like you asking me to do so is nothing but a courtesy?" He hated being yanked around by the Ministry like he was some kind of lapdog. You help save people from utter tragedy and how do they repay you? By forcing you into uncomfortable situations that make you want to reconsider having befriended your best mate way back when.
"Follow me, please," Kingsley didn't bother checking whether the two of them were trailing him, confident in his authority.
"Who died and made you king?" Ron snorted under his breath as he gestured for Daphne to walk ahead of him. She doubted for a second and then ran quickly after the Minister. Once they were in the safety of Kingsley's office, the Minister pulled out his wand and closed all windows and cast a few silencing charms around the room. It was unusual to say the least, and it brought a whole lot of wartime baggage to the surface.
"Ron, do you remember Miss Greengrass from your Hogwarts years?" the witch seemed like she was about to break into a sweat or sprint from the room.
"Miss Greengrass," he nodded slowly, "I don't believe we ever did formally meet, I am R—"
"Ronald Weasley, the war hero," her voice barely above a whisper, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Weasley." The formality in her tone irked him; maybe because it was so typical of the ever-dysfunctional group to which he rightfully belonged but that contradictorily rejected him despite his admissibility.
"Why am I here, Kingsley?" he said confused by the turn of events. If the witch across from him had had any other background he would have thought this would be a marriage ritual, but Harry had forced him to read every line of the damned manual on the bizarre Malfoy Marriage Act.
"I am going to need you to be attentive in regards to what will happen here today," the Minister explained, "consider all avenues and options carefully and then make your decision, okay?"
"Am I here as Ron, Ronald Weasley, Auror Weasley or War Hero Weasley?" he asked puzzled by the exchanged thus far.
"I believe all of the above," whispered Daphne. Ron didn't say anything to her, choosing to simply study the woman next to him. She was beautiful but there was something disturbed in the way she smiled, like she was constantly forcing her aristocratic face to relax.
"I do not know how familiar you are with Miss Greengrass' case through your job," the Minister phrased it as a sentence, but he knew it to be a question.
"Not very much, I must admit; I know of the existence of a case but that is about it," he said inching forward in his seat, "I am currently assigned as part of the hunting party for a couple of at-large death eaters."
"Would you mind, Daphne?" the Minister asked gently and, at the woman's negation, a file apparated on his lap.
Subject: Greengrass, Daphne Regina
Status: Pending Further Investigation
Head Auror: Michael Thatcher
Associate Aurors: Paulina Cottey, Mario Bellini and Ekaterina Burckhardt.
On Saturday, June 5th, at 10:37 p.m., a team of aurors was dispatched to Greengrass Manor to investigate an emergency signal sent to dispatch. The aurors met with the paterfamilias who had sent out the distress call.
Greengrass told head auror Thatcher his daughter, Daphne Greengrass, had awoken from a brutal assault in a street adjacent Diagon Alley five hours before. He explained Miss Greengrass had been out that afternoon in hopes of meeting up with friend Tracey Davis for tea. When the witch never made it to date, Miss Davis apparated to the manor in search of her friend. Concerned for the well-being of his eldest daughter, Mr. Greengrass went out in search of Daphne coming to find her hours later. Mr. Greengrass described his daughter's clothes as 'torn to shreds'. There were noticeable bruises in the neck, arms, and thighs of the witch when inspected by auror Paulina Cottey.
Miss Daphne Greengrass, who had been in a state of shock until that moment, proceeded to go into hysteria and was taken to St. Mungo's. Healer Margaret Roth gave the witch a calming potion and carried out the appropriate assault protocol under auror Cottey's supervision. Healer Roth determined Miss Greengrass had been sexually assault earlier that day after her head was forcibly bashed against the pavement. The healer proceeded to test for diseases and pregnancy. All tests resulted negative.
Head auror Thatcher interrogated Miss Tracey Davis, but no conclusive leads were determined. Auror Burckhardt questioned Miss Daphne Greengrass, but no leads were discovered. Auror Bellini inquired with several shop owners around Diagon Alley and the street in which Miss Greengrass woke up; no findings were made.
Ron read the file three times, but the rock that clogged his windpipe refused to dislodge. Usually he found the more he read a file the more immune he became to the horrors it contained, but today no such mercy was in sight.
"Are you asking me to get on this case, Kingsley?" he asked rolling the file in his hand into a cylinder. "I haven't worked with Thatcher before, but he is one of our best—"
"Not exactly, Ron," the Minister cut his rant short. "You are here because of what you said at The Burrow when I visited last." Panicked that Shacklebolt would repeat his awful words about damaged goods in front of the poor woman, he widened his eyes silently promising the Minister a world of pain. "Not that bit, Ronald."
"Which bit then?" he knew he was being difficult, but this situation was more than delicate so he needed everything spelt out for him.
"The part about you not minding," Kingsley said with an exhausted sigh as Daphne shifted in her seat, clearly wishing she could escape her own skin.
It happened suddenly, one moment he was utterly confused by the whole scene displayed before him and the next understanding dawned on him. He felt like one of those ridiculous, unmoving characters Hermione liked to read in the non-magical newspaper, as an imaginary bulb turned on above his head.
"But we are from the same background," he stated confused, "wouldn't that go against everything the Ministry is trying to do?"
"Let me worry about that, Ron," said the Minister, "I can handle—"
"Won't this send the other sacred ones into a killing spree? After all, why should the Greengrass be allowed to remain 'untainted'?"
"That's where you are wrong," said Daphne's broken voice, "I am more than tainted; I am filth."
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"I assure you everyone knows what happened despite my father's attempts at keeping the disgrace under wraps," she said in what she hoped came off as an untroubled tone. The blue-eyed wizard seemed revolted by her statement.
"You are not filth, Greengrass," her might be husband's voice sounded murderous, "Please refrain from using such adjectives to refer to yourself or anyone else. One of my very dear friends suffered quite a lot because of similar senseless notions."
She looked down at her fidgeting hands as she recalled her mother's many reprimands about nervous behaviors being unbecoming of someone of her stature. She wanted to laugh and cry at where that prominence had landed her: on the dirty floor of a desolated pathway with her pure blood running down her thighs and nightmares that would remain with her until her last breath.
"It's not the same," she whispered.
"Is it not?" he sounded annoyed, "because I fail to see the difference."
How could she explain to him that Granger's struggles with blood purity were nowhere near her own dilemma? The worth of a woman from a family such as hers came not from her brains or magical competency, but from her purity and her ability to create perfect little aristocrats. Those monsters had taken everything she could offer to any suitor and, until the decree, had sentenced her to die alone. Granger, as 'unfit' as she had been for the Notts and Malfoys of their world, could have still found happiness with another, but not her.
"Take my word for it," she said cowering from his glare.
"Would you consider it at least, Ron?" asked the Minister in the same acquainted tone he had been using with the man all day. "I think Daphne would benefit greatly from your outlook on her situation, and from the protection an auror husband could afford her. Of course, you will be allowed to partake in the investigation of her case if you so wish."
"No charm?" Weasley asked crossed, "I guess I should be grateful for having a rest from the theatrics."
"Pardon?" she asked not quite following him.
"You don't actually think Hermione could truly and honestly match both Nott and Malfoy do you?" he snorted repugnantly "And that whole, two parts of one soul? Please, spare me. If at all, Hermione's soul is parted three ways with Harry and me."
"I assure you, Ron, that the spell was completely real and its results accurate." The Minister sounded equally irritated and she felt her joint hands start to sweat as she fought the panic that promised to bring her to tears. Weasley looked over at her for some reason and must have realized she was distressed because he apologized profusely for his reaction.
"I am sorry, Miss Greengrass," Minister Shacklebolt mirrored his regret, "I assure you, you are perfectly safe with us. No harm will come to you."
"I know that," she said dismayed at yet another one of her ridiculous outburst of emotional turmoil. They happened quite frequently and at the most embarrassing moments possible; she never knew when a passing comment would send her into panic and so she dreaded every second of her existence these days, "Thank you both for your concern."
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The witch seemed to brace as she forced herself to face the redhead sitting in the chair closest to her own. What she was about to say would clearly take quite the toll on her, but the Minister admired her for her courage.
"I understand you might want to take a few days to consider the different aspects and consequences of a union between us two," it was obvious her calm took great effort to portray, "it is only natural for you to be cautious."
For a long time the wizard didn't say anything, he just studied the woman in front of him. Whatever conclusions he reached during those two endless minutes were probably beneficial, because he then turned to meet his own brown eyes and said, "If we do this, we do it now."
"I will get the others," he said coming to a stand ready to fetch Wimple and Roberts, but Ron gestured for him to sit back down.
"None of that," he spat annoyed, "I rather skip the string number, thank you very much. Good old ignorance of our affinity will work just fine."
"Miss Greengrass?" he had the good sense to ask, "do you share Mr. Weasley's stance?" The woman nodded, fear clear in her eyes. He sighed knowing fully well how women from the twenty-eight reacted toward angry husbands, even those who had never even been looked at wrong by their significant other. His own mother had never disagreed with his father, and that woman had been Gryffindor to the core.
"Very well, please join hands," once the two stranger held on to each other —Ron awkwardly and Daphne about to pass out from the physical contact— he quickly ran through the vows he had performed a hundred times that day. "Congratulations, Ronald and Daphne Weasley."
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Dear Readers,
I am sorry I was gone all day and that you had to wait for this chapter, but I simply needed a break from the exhaustive writing I did the day before. Which is why I find myself writing this message at 4 a.m. Maintaining so many different lines of thought, making sure there are no pitfalls in plot and the likes take a toll on my mind.
I feel compelled to want to clarify the following point:
Don't think that I miscalculated with Luna or Blaise and forgot their blood status and had to scramble to fix a mistake. In reality, if you go to the Harry Potter Wikia, you will see that both characters are marked as either purebloods or half-bloods: "Okay, Kikistone, we will give you Luna, since anything can happen when it comes to the Lovegoods… but Blaise? He was notoriously obsessed with blood purity!" And wouldn't it be ironic that his obsession and disdain for the 'lesser' was faced with the fact that, "Oh honey, you are less than the 'filthy blood traitor' you call wife."
SPOILER ALERT: the man's whole life and belief system is about to be wrung through the meat grinder, my peeps! Bring your popcorn.
All the love,
Kikistone