Chapter 5: Ça ira
September 1975
From what Daria had gathered over the years, purebloods had little regard for magical creatures. Her housemates rarely sat in the high-backed armchairs directly across from the floor-to-ceiling windows that peered out into the Black Lake. Rarer still was anyone who actually watched silver schools of fish fleeing from a horde of ravenous plimpies, or sneered at the grindylows pressing their horrible little mouths against the glass, or waited hours to spot a glimpse of the Giant Squid peering back at them.
This worked in Daria's favor, as she was one of very few Slytherins that extracted any pleasure from the odd sights out the Common Room's windows. She had always delighted in the strange, the subversive, and the macabre. When her mother would take a younger Daria to cathedrals for Mass, the girl was far more interested in the reliquaries and tombs than in stained glass or gold. Her mother despaired of it.
As Daria grew older, she realized that it was her mother's disapproval she enjoyed more than the grisly remains of saints. Daria loved her mother, but some part of her character naturally resisted doing what was expected.
On a lazy Sunday morning, Daria lounged in an emerald velvet armchair facing the window as eerie green light filtered onto the pages of her book on her lap.
Her cat Morgana pawed at her socked toes, mewling. Daria plucked her up and tucked her into the front of her casual robes. She curled up and fell asleep at once.
Daria had named her kitten after the great and powerful Morgan le Fay, but Morgana grew up to be neither great nor powerful. She was instead rather dopey and enjoyed running headlong into the windows of the Slytherin Common Room in pursuit of fish swimming by. Daria adored her. She was one of the few things she had from home at Hogwarts.
Daria flicked to the next page in Creatures Moste Ghastly, her eyes grazing over a drawing of an ugly vampire that bore a passing resemblance to Severus Snape. She smirked a bit.
The book was not assigned reading for Defense Against the Dark Arts—this year's professor was a negligent middle-aged fellow named Rochester who considered his job something of a nuisance—but Daria plucked it from the library earlier out of fearful curiosity.
The world outside of Hogwarts's walls was growing darker. The wizard calling himself Lord Voldemort became more powerful, more vindictive, and more destructive by the day, and he had no qualms about allying with all manner of dark creatures.
Daria's eyes drifted to the Daily Prophet draped over the arm of her chair. After multiple mass attacks by werewolves in the last year, the editors moved the moon chart to the front page—FULL MOON ON TUESDAY, shrieked a little cartoon moon, BEWARE OF WEREWOLVES!—but that was not the thing she was concerned about. Instead, her eyes fixed on the main headline and grim accompanying photos.
16 INFERI FOUND IN HARROGATE
Inferi, the Prophet said, as though anyone knew what those were. There was short primer attached for the uninitiated: corpses animated by dark magic.
Bile crept up her throat. The ones in Harrogate were muggles' corpses, specifically. Some of them had been missing for over five years.
Their families would never know what really happened to their loved ones. An idiotic ministry drone would show up at each doorstep wearing a polka-dotted suit or something equally ridiculous and somberly inform a grieving mother, father, husband, or wife…
They wouldn't even get to bury their bodies—the Aurors incinerated them in the fray.
Daria tossed the newspaper to her feet, disgusted.
"Filthy magic, inferi, aren't they? Whatever happened to good, clean spellwork?" Asma Greengrass's voice drifted across the room.
Daria stiffened. On her lap, Morgana jerked awake at the sudden movement.
A boy replied, "Here, here."
Daria relaxed infinitesimally. She wasn't talking to her. Silently, she stroked Morgana's ears to soothe her back into slumber. After casting a quick silencing charm on the wooden legs of the chair, she began to scoot her seat away from the window and towards the fireplace. When she peeked around the back of her chair, her stomach dropped.
A whole gang of her housemates, most in her year, was gathered on the gleaming leather couches before the fire, sipping tea and passing around copies of the Daily Prophet Daria had just tossed aside. She hadn't even noticed them there.
It wasn't possible to slip past them unnoticed. The passage to the dungeons was across the Common Room and the staircases down to the dormitories were across from the fireplace. Daria would have to wait until they left if she wanted to avoid them.
Avery, a thug with a semi-decent bloodline, exposed his crooked front teeth in a stupid grin when Asma spared him a pleased smile at his exclamation of support. She continued, "And allying with half-breeds like werewolves—honestly, can we really say the Dark Lord believes 'Magic is Might'?"
Again, Avery agreed—as did Gemma Rowle, Megaera Flint, and Horatio Mulciber. Evan Rosier, Severus Snape, Silvie Buckland, and Regulus Black stayed conspicuously silent.
Daria could not believe they were having this conversation in the middle of the Common Room. She wasn't dim enough to believe they never spoke about the Dark Lord's ascension amongst themselves. It was bold, even among Slytherins, to publically discuss a murderous lunatic with anything less than disgust.
Even bolder was Asma questioning the Dark Lord's motives while surrounded by future Death Eaters. But Asma was pureblood bold. It had taken Daria a few years to understand there were unspoken rules in the pureblood hierarchy that governed who could speak against whom in social settings. Because there were few houses that claimed equal footing with the Greengrasses, Asma was rarely challenged.
The Rosiers, however, were one such house, which was why Rosier could lean forward and ask fervently, "But how long have purebloods been sitting around talking about 'Magic is Might', Asma?"
He met each of his friends' eyes. Few of them had the constitution to hold his burning gaze for long.
"How many have failed because they refused to make common cause with their inferiors? The Dark Lord is accomplishing what we've only been dreaming of for centuries. Besides, bending all inferior creatures to your will—is that not the true might of magic?"
Asma wrinkled her nose in clear displeasure, but had no ready answer.
Her disloyal hound Gemma slid closer to Rosier. "Oh, Evan, you're so clever."
Daria tried not to gag at the sight of Gemma stroking Rosier's arm. Gemma recently decided she could do worse than Rosier for a husband. She did think it was a bit of a shame that he was her cousin.
Snape scoffed at Asma.
"The Dark Lord is not limited by the outmoded opinion that dark magic is unclean. That is a weakness of the old way."
Asma regarded him like he was a steaming pile of dung. She sneered, "Of course the half-blood believes that."
Snape jumped to his feet, his pallid cheeks gaining color as his friends snickered at him.
"You're an insipid fool," he hissed. The laughter died. "Magical 'cleanliness' is a pseudoscientific concept that should be consigned to historical oblivion. Power is power, irrespective of purity. It is precisely your kind of narrow-minded thinking that necessitates the Dark Lord's ascension now."
"Severus," warned Rosier. His tone was light, but the look on his face was not. "You are speaking to your better."
Snape scowled at no one, but sat back down and hid his face behind a battered copy of Advanced Potion-Making.
Mulciber chuckled. "Good boy, Sev."
The rest burst into snickers again as Snape's ears turned red behind his book. Daria didn't understand how he could take derision from these oafs. Or how Silvie, the other half-blood, could laugh at him like she had never been cruelly mocked herself.
Still chuckling, Rosier turned to Regulus Black and asked, "What about you, Reg?"
Ah, the Little King.
Regulus blinked as though waking from a dream. "About what?"
"The Dark Lord using inferi," said Rosier in a leading sort of way, as though he wanted him to settle the argument once and for all.
Rosier was not related to the younger Black by blood, but they shared cousins in Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa. Perhaps he was bound by some other inscrutable pureblood duty to guide Regulus to his rightful place as their leader. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was, after all, the oldest, purest, most powerful family in Britain—and now that his older brother Sirius was disowned, Regulus was heir to that legacy.
But even a Slytherin could admit that Sirius would have been far better suited to inherit that vaunted mantle. Regulus was a pale shade of his brother—rather less handsome, less clever, and less there than the bright, burning Sirius. Even here, surrounded by his inferiors, Regulus seemed to fade away.
He frowned.
"That's complicated magic, isn't it?" he said slowly. "It shows how powerful he really is. It's… really impressive."
A vapid answer from a vapid boy. Daria relished the annoyance on Snape's face that briefly resurfaced from his textbook. He resented that this dull child enjoyed the respect he thought he deserved. For being a whinging, red-faced creep, Daria supposed, but Snape was undeniably cleverer than the rest of these bellowing apes put together.
"That is true," sighed Rosier. Regulus wasn't so stupid to miss the disappointment radiating from Rosier.
Hastily, he added, "I-I mean, if the Dark Lord uses inferi to win the war, it's worth it, isn't it? So long as the world is purified."
There was a moment of silence.
Very quietly, Rosier said at last, "Here, here."
Daria squeezed her eyes shut.
How could they talk about the genocide so casually over morning tea?
By this point, she was so tense that Morgana, anxious that her companion was anxious, stood up in a huff, swiped her tail in her face, and hopped down off of the chair in search of a calmer bed.
The sudden movement caught Avery's eye.
Shit.
"Durant," he called over. In unison, the Slytherins turned their heads towards her frozen form. "What are your lot saying about all this?"
Shiiiit.
She exhaled slowly through her nose to steady her breath. In this flickering firelight, their eyes were glassy like snakes' following a fat mouse.
"Do I look like I'm listening?" she said, flicking to the next page with trembling fingers.
Avery rolled his eyes and perched on the edge of his seat as though he might leap across the room at her. "Come on, what d'you French fuckers think about our Dark Lord?"
A brush-off wouldn't work this time. She turned her face from them to mouth a foul curse. Desperately, she tried to recall details from the well-worn Pure-Blood Directory stuffed under her mattress downstairs.
While widely known for its list of twenty-eight 'true' pureblooded families extant in Britain in 1939, the Pure-Blood Directory was far more comprehensive than that. The anonymous author—most certainly Cantankerous Nott, who was incidentally both grandfather to Rosier and great-grandfather to Gemma—included partial lineages of great European houses, including many of France's.
By the 1930s, however, there were very few respectable purebloods left in France. Most families fled the country during the Reign of Terror. Inspired by their muggle relatives, French muggleborns and half-bloods overthrew much of the pureblooded bourgeoisie at the end of the eighteenth century, ripping out ancient pureblooded family trees root and trunk.
Indeed, only Daria's 'family' the Durants survived in France throughout the tumultuous Revolution, the age of Napoleon, and the First, Second, and Wizarding World Wars. Durant meant 'enduring,' they liked to boast, for they endured.
The other truly pureblooded families in France today only began to trickle back when the violence subsided. Still others never returned, having risen to prominence in their new homelands through shrewd marriages. Radolphus Lestrange, the British Minister for Magic in the mid-nineteenth century, was the son of a French pureblood refugee and his Greengrass bride. Evan Rosier himself was heir to the House of Rosier, a lesser pureblood family in eighteenth century France—now considered one of the purest in Britain.
And what would they even return to? Their peers that remained in France were either eradicated or assimilated. The monstrous Volants were only the most infamous family to meet their violent ends at the end of a revolutionary's wand. Countless others were massacred far less spectacularly.
Others still gave up their status for survival. The Delacours had once boasted a pure bloodline dating back to antiquity. Now their half-blood heir flirted with Veela half-breeds at the Quidditch World Cup.
Daria could only guess what 'her lot' were saying about Lord Voldemort. She didn't know a single realDurant. Everything she knew about French purebloods she learned through the Pure-Blood Directory, then unlearned when she realized that Cantankerous Nott was a biased old crank, then learned again from impenetrable French wizarding history books she got on special owl-order.
If purebloods in France did share their British counterparts' prejudices, they certainly kept their mouths shut about it. Even now, two hundred years after the great pureblood migration, commenters in the French wizarding newspaper Le Lune felt no compunction recalling the Terror when castigating the actions of modern-day purebloods. Every quiet intermarriage between pureblood families, every pureblood who achieved ministerial office higher than local krup-catcher, and certainly every prejudiced word that made its way to France from across the Channel—well, purebloods would do well to remember the Volants.
Daria could imagine what any French wizard, pureblood or not, would think about this conversation. Even discussing blood status was considered rather gauche in mixed company. They'd either storm out or draw their wands, most likely.
Daria decided it was time to do the first.
She snapped her book shut.
"We don't talk about such things," she said stiffly, rising to her feet and casting her gaze towards the door out of the common room.
If I can just get over there…
Avery slid back on the couch, rolling his eyes a second time. Silvie sneered, "Typical French cowards."
Some insults had universal appeal, mused Daria as the others snickered. Muggle children used to tease her in primary school with the same joke.
They all fell silent when Rosier lifted a hand.
"I'm sure they await liberation no matter the cost," he said evenly.
When he met her eyes across the room, Daria had to force herself to hold his penetrating gaze. She tilted her head in his direction. It was a gesture meant to hide her trembling. She hoped Rosier interpreted it as measured nod.
She did not wait to see if he did.
As soon as the Common Room door sealed shut behind her, Daria ran.
She didn't slow to a walk until she emerged from the dungeons into the entrance hall.
Above ground, Hogwarts was bright and breezy this mid-September morning. The grand doors outside swung wide open to the cloudy grey sky. Every now and then, orangey brown leaves fluttered in on a bracing autumn gust. The fresh air filled her heaving lungs.
They don't know, she reminded herself as she collapsed onto a stone bench in the courtyard, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Her quick staccato heartbeat finally began to slow down as she silently repeated:
They don't know. They don't know.
They did not know she was one of the people they wanted to subjugate, brutalize, or eradicate—whichever they had a fancy for, really. So long as they continued to believe she was a pureblood, she was in no danger.
Daria opened her eyes, frowning with her lip worried in her teeth.
But her housemates had never spoken to her about that sort of thing before. There was only one thing different this year.
Bloody prefects. Wretched, wretched prefects.
Daria scowled. Any tolerance she developed for her new job was well down the drain after that awful conversation. The stupid prefect badge was a bloody beacon to her status-obsessed housemates. Apparently now she had opinions they wanted to hear.
For a wild instant, she contemplated storming up to Dumbledore's office to chuck her badge into his stupid old face. But then she remembered she'd left the thing in her bedside drawer and Daria would rather drown in the Black Lake than go back to the dorm anytime soon.
And anyway, the urge passed as quickly as it had come. Daria had never been held in thrall to her own fury. It was a tendency that protected her more often than not.
"Ah, ça ira, ça ira, ça ira!" she sang softly to herself. It'll be fine, it'll be fine, it'll be fine.
She just needed to get better at avoiding her fellow Slytherins this year. That wouldn't be too difficult. After four years at Hogwarts, Daria knew all the best places to hide.
The entrance courtyard was rather empty for a Sunday afternoon. Usually, there were flocks of students playing gobstones by the fountain or giggling together in the colonnade. Today, there were only a few single students scattered about, reading books or practicing new charms by themselves.
Daria was glad for the quiet. She only needed a moment of fresh air to sooth her rattled nerves. Then she'd slither back into the castle, probably finding an even quieter corner of the library to set up shop until dinnertime, when she'd raid the kitchens for something to eat. She didn't want to see another human for the rest of the day.
"Daria!"
Daria gritted her teeth as she glanced up. Lily Evans waved at her, breaking away from her fellow Gryffindor fifth-years Marlene McKinnon and Mary MacDonald to continue on without her.
"Sorry to shout across the courtyard," said Lily when she was closer. "I just wanted to tell you that Remus says his mum's not well so he's going home for a few days."
Daria had no idea why Lily was telling her this. "Right…"
"Oh, er—" Lily looked embarrassed. "He said the two of you had rounds on Tuesday? I offered to take his place then. I hope you don't mind doing them with me instead."
Ugh, I completely forgot about rounds. Daria's mood dipped to a new low.
"Why would I mind? It's terrible regardless," she muttered.
"Trading one Gryffindor for another?" asked Lily mildly. "I promise we're not all arses like Potter and Black." Daria hid her flinch at the name 'Black.' Regulus's clumsy endorsements of cruelty still rang in her ears.
She wouldn't normally correct Lily's assumption that she was disgusted with Gryffindors. It was an assumption that generally worked in Daria's favor.
Yet against her better judgement, Daria opened her mouth. "It's not that. I just hate doing rounds."
Lily blinked. "Really? I don't mind it, if I'm honest."
"It's insufferable."
Lily choked out a surprised laugh. "That's a bit dramatic, isn't it?"
When you are terrified of being cornered and murdered by your housemates, dreading prefect rounds doesn't seem dramatic at all. Daria deflected, "Why don't you mind it? Doesn't it take you away from your books?"
Lily either didn't notice her sarcasm or gracefully ignored it. "I dunno, I just think it's kind of neat seeing the castle at night. It looks different—more magical. When all the students are about, it's just a regular school, really… but when the halls are empty, I can hear the torches burning and the portraits whispering to each other. It's a strange and wonderful place at night. I suppose that must not make much sense to you," she finished, nervously pushing a lock of auburn hair behind her ear.
Daria gazed at Lily, bemused. Of course it made perfect sense to Daria. Daria understood all too well how the castle was both strange and wonderful to muggleborns. A place where fear and wonderment could be around every corner. You just could not know which it was until you stepped around it.
And of course Lily was the sort of girl who'd need to be prefect to see the castle at night. Daria had been sneaking out of the common room after curfew since she was an ickle firstie.
"Daria?" Lily asked, worriedly. "Are you alright, Daria?"
She blinked slowly, gaze unfocused. She couldn't answer Lily with the truth, that of course she understood her muggleborn point of view. But neither could she lie to her. The realization terrified her.
"I suppose I don't like doing rounds because I've never liked rules. Don't like following them, don't like enforcing them. They're just not for me," said Daria honestly.
Lily's worried expression melted into a grin. "I think the point of rules is that they're for everyone," she teased.
"No," said Daria sadly, "They're not."
The title of this chapter comes from the French Revolutionary anthem "Ça Ira." Interestingly, it was rewritten multiple times during the Revolution. The first version was relatively tame, but as the revolution became bloodier, the song was rewritten to call for mass executions of the aristocracy. In a great scene in the 1954 film "Royal Affairs in Versailles," Edith Piaf sang yet another version of "Ça Ira" which I recommend watching at some point for no reason other than it's cool.
Also I ended up writing way too much about made-up French wizard history here. It'll probably come into play later in the story too but I had fun thinking it up.
Please take a second to review if you liked this chapter or the story in general!