Posted 3/5/2014
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You wanted it, you get it. A chapter for Daphne.
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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.
Chapter Twenty-Five – Fifteenth of February
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Saturday was usually a quiet day, spent on resting from classes- unless the students had an interesting topic to discuss. Everywhere Daphne went, people asked her. They wanted to know the truth, "The paper got it right, mostly"; they wanted to know how they had met, "We hadn't beforehand, and afterwards only to negotiate"; they asked about his size, "I have no idea and no interest in finding out"; they asked about the wedding date, "In summer"; they wanted to know the due date, "No baby, no due date." Tracey and Millicent hadn't been lying –people were pestering her continuously.
"How am I supposed to get anything done with them stalking me?" she asked Pansy who had returned to lunch from her report to Professor Snape with a bad mood.
"I don't know, but I don't envy you. It must be hard with everyone talking about nothing else. I had to scare a couple of first-year Gryffindors who were trying to waylay you in the dungeons. I wouldn't have bothered to normally, but they might have discovered our entrance otherwise; I had to act, you see? You're endangering the house, Daphne."
"Not intentionally," Daphne told her, frowning. "And I think it will die down eventually."
"Yes, it will, but until then..." Pansy sighed. "Look, I'm sorry; Professor Snape was just very upset with us. Tracey got herself caught last night..."
"And by Dumbledore no less; yes, I've heard. I didn't know he joined the patrols," Daphne commented. "That's tough, I guess." She finished her meal and waved her wand to test herself on a conjuration. The spell looked alright, and she couldn't find any flaw with it. But again, Daphne noticed the slight tremor of her hand.
She frowned. "Well, Pansy, do you think we could do our Runes essay later? I figure it will be considerably faster that way."
"Sure," the other witch answered, shrugging. Daphne had never understood Pansy's lack of interest. Sure, she had signed up and did the work, but she didn't show any enthusiasm for it. Why take a class if you never wanted to accomplish anything worthwhile? Yes, her aunt was working with runes, but that shouldn't really matter that much. But then, Pansy had always believed she would marry a rich Draco Malfoy, the heir to a big fortune, not the one still left to the family. Pansy might not have learned how to work properly, Daphne mused.
Fingering her wand and glaring at everyone who looked at her, Daphne headed to the library. She couldn't expect Pansy to research the fundamental principles they would need for the homework, but at the same time, Daphne wanted to include a little extra. She had thought initially that Runes might be her calling, just like it had been for her Great-uncle Abel who had invented some very advanced layouts and earned himself a lot of gold to squander later in life. She still liked the subject, and she intended to show her dedication to it, but the exceptional talent of her relative she had not found within herself.
Halfway to the library though, she changed her goal. A pesky Ravenclaw had gawked at her, and Daphne had sent some sparks at the girl. And again she had noticed the odd tremor of her hand.
Shortly afterwards, she walked into the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey, the matron, was running around, sorting the odd potions and some books spread around the room. But she had been at school too long to not notice the new arrival almost instantly.
"Miss Greengrass," she greeted. "What is the problem? I read a... I mean, was it," the older woman hesitated, "a problematic night?"
Daphne fought back the roll of her eyes. Was there no one in the castle who hadn't heard about the contract? Even the school matron who rarely left her office had learned about it, then. Why did everyone bother with it? Why not mind their own business?
"No, that's not it. In neither sense," Daphne replied. "No, I just have a slight headache. It was worse this morning. I wondered whether you had something for that."
Madam Pomfrey frowned at the student in disapproval, but fetched a small bottle. "Drink half of it now and the rest after the next meal. That should clear up headaches without too much of a bother."
"Thank you, I..." But just then, the one person Daphne really didn't want to see stepped around the corner.
"Madam Pomfrey I labelled... the bottles," Potter said. Then, he smiled. "Hello, Greengrass. Bad day?"
She glared at him as if he were the cause of her most recent troubles. He wasn't, she knew it. It had been her idea, it had been her plan, it had likely been her parents who had told the public. But he was just so easy to blame for whatever went wrong. Somehow, he had to be responsible for it. He had to be, mostly because he was just so easy to dislike for her. He was a ready-made scapegoat, in a way.
Turning to Madam Pomfrey, she took the proffered potion. As she grabbed it, her hand trembled slightly. Daphne had gotten used to it by now, but she found herself suddenly facing two frowning people. The matron gripped her wrist and began to turn it a little this way and that, watching like a hawk.
"It's nothing," Daphne told her. Normally, she wouldn't have minded that much. The woman just did her job, didn't she? ANd hadn't she earned a little leeway? And Daphne had wondered about that tremble as well, but hadn't thought to mention it, considering it little more than a curiosity. Yet they were not alone at the moment; instead, Potter was there, and he too seemed far too interested for Daphne's liking.
Instead of a reply, Madam Pomfrey gave Daphne a stern look as she continued her work. It was, Daphne realized, actually quite interesting to see her hand tremble more or less depending on the position it had. Was there some meaning to it? Was that why Madam Pomfrey continued to twist it at the wrist?
And with each tremble, the frowns deepened. What was Potter even doing in the hospital wing, Daphne wondered? And if he wasn't sick but instead helping why did he have to stand around? Didn't he have more important things to do? It wasn't his business, was it?
"I'll fetch Dumbledore," he said, and without waiting, he left.
Madam Pomfrey didn't seem to notice anymore. "Miss Greengrass, please sit down on that bed over there," she indicated one, "and try to relax."
Daphne wanted to leave. What did Potter have to decide anything about in the first place? He fetched the Headmaster? Just like that? Who did he think he was? And it was just a slight tremor. No blood was spurting from her wrist, no sickly colour spread across the flesh. So why involve Dumbledore at all? But curiosity made Daphne follow the orders. Also, she really didn't want word to spread that she had refused an examination. She knew the school far too well, and people would probably spin a thrilling tale of a secret pregnancy or something. And wouldn't that be just perfect? She really didn't need to fan the flames any more, not since people were already asking about a pregnancy.
She didn't have to wait for long. The matron returned with a tome in her hand just as Potter stormed back in, followed by Dumbledore. Daphne was left to wonder how Potter had managed to get a hold of the Headmaster in such a short time. Both kept their distance from the bed, but Dumbledore turned to Potter as soon as they had arrived.
"Thank you, Mr. Potter. I think your work here is done, you may leave now." With a smile, he added, "I don't want to see you wasting this fine day in the hospital wing."
Potter raised his eyebrow, but nodded shortly. He seemed to have gleaned more than Daphne from the exchange, because he turned on his heel and walked out.
Madam Pomfrey waved her wand and cast one diagnosis after another, occasionally reading in her book. From her expression, she didn't seem to like the results one bit. Finally, she sighed and shook her head.
"It is as I have feared, Professor," she said.
"I have informed Professor Snape already. As her Head of House, he will join us soon. Can you tell me anything helpful?" The Headmaster looked very strict, something Daphne found weird. Ever since she had learned about the old wizard she had thought of him as kind-hearted and a bit senile, but watching him, she could see the fighter from the olden days of his youth when he had defeated Grindelwald.
"I wish I could," the matron replied with a shake of her head. "I'm not an expert on those matters, Professor; I specialize on cuts, bruises, burns, and the occasional sickness. This is... well, I know the theory, of course, but..."
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I quite understand. Miss Greengrass, I would like to cast some spells of my own and ask you some questions if you would allow."
She shrugged. "Well, I guess so, yes."
"Well then, this... tremble you have," he gestured to her hand, "can you tell us when you first became aware of it?"
She frowned. That's what had them worried? Really? And here she had thought she had a terrifying sickness or something, but all they cared about was that? From the way Madam Pomfrey had acted, it had sounded serious. "This morning after I woke up. I had a headache, but otherwise, I was fine. Well, I... my muscles were a bit sore, I must have slept wrong."
The reply didn't seem to make the Headmaster any happier, quite the contrary. "You don't know what happened?"
Daphne shook her head.
Dumbledore pulled out his wand. It was, Daphne saw, a really beautifully carved one. The Headmaster waved it, presumably casting some spells. "And you never noticed it before? And have no idea where you got it?"
She shook her head. Should she tell them about her night, about being found out of bed?
Before she could come to a conclusion, Dumbledore sheathed his wand and sighed. "I agree, Poppy. This is... highly alarming, especially the lack of recollection. Perhaps a blessing in disguise, but the mere fact someone successfully managed it shows not only troubling talent, but also raises the question of other occurrences that have been covered up. Very troubling indeed."
"You think someone...?" Madam Pomfrey gasped.
"Possible," Dumbledore said. "No, not possible, likely. If not in the past, then in the future, maybe. It has worked once, after all, and even in a school with dozens of people running around. Or maybe because of dozens of people running around? Hmm."
Daphne was sick of them speaking without acknowledging her. "So, would you explain to me what you are talking about? Since it's obviously about me..."
Madam Pomfrey glanced around unsurely. "I will set up some tests to run on the students, Professor. I'm guessing you want them checked in case something similar happened in the past?"
"Perhaps not, Poppy. It might warn the perpetrator. But you could try to acquire some remedies? I'm sure Professor Snape will be willing to help with that."
She frowned, but nodded. "Very well." The matron left.
Dumbledore turned to his student. "Miss Greengrass, we noticed the tremble in your hand. It is known as a reaction to neural stress."
"It's not always, though, just sometimes. When I hold my hand at some angles, apparently. Or with my wand, for some reason."
"With your...?" The Headmaster narrowed his eyes, but the calculating look vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. "Very well. That is even more troubling. This neural stress is the result of a magical interference. Since you noticed the tremble this morning without remembering, it leads to a very unsettling conclusion, but I'm getting ahead of myself. The tremble is the result of extended exposure to the Cruciatus curse."
Daphne blinked. She had the sudden urge to pinch herself, but instead, she laughed. "Me? Tortured? I'd remember that! I just fell asleep at an odd angle, nothing more!"
"The residues of the spell are still present, Miss Greengrass," Dumbledore told her. "There is no doubt about it, you were held under the curse for some time. All evidence so far points to it happening during the last night."
He wasn't laughing, and she stopped as her mind restarted. "Wait, I would remember that, I'm sure of it! It's supposed to be painful..."
"It is, yes, very," he confirmed.
"So I'd remember that at least, wouldn't I?" Daphne reasoned. "I don't just forget being in pain."
The Headmaster sighed. "That you don't remember might be a blessing in disguise, but no, you would not remember it. This leads me to the second problem –I found another spell that has been used on you, although I cannot identify it without a doubt. Professor Snape might be more familiar with it, but I do know what kind it is. Miss Greengrass, I believe someone erased your memory of the attack."
Again she blinked. But this time, she didn't laugh. Something about the theory disturbed her too much. Assuming it had happened like the Headmaster said, then sometime during the last night she had been attacked, tortured and then had the memory taken from her. There were far too many shocks intermingled in it. Most would latch onto the torture. Daphne hated the idea of torture, but she knew the spell was reality. She couldn't see herself being the target, but she could see someone using it. And assuming the Headmaster was right, it would explain her tremble. Disturbing, but possible.
But more than the actual torture did she think about the other part. Someone had taken her memory of the incident. Again, most would focus on another issue, namely, what else had happened. But Daphne wasn't like that. She valued her mind. She wanted to protect it. Losing it, or even a part of it, frightened her. Someone had messed with her head; she had lost a part of herself. Was she really the Daphne from the last evening? What if they had taken more than that memory? Or what if they had left something behind, tampered with her mind? What if they had toyed around, altered what they had found?
Some people might worry about their attackers. Someone seemed to hate her enough to torture her. But Daphne was too shocked about the lost memories – having her mind invaded and tempered with was far worse than torture. She needed to keep her mind together, needed it complete. If she allowed even small parts to be lost, she felt as if she was moving towards insanity herself.
Being hurt she could deal with. Being cut or beaten or cursed or threatened she could endure and heal from. But this was something more. She didn't know how well a mind could heal, and she would never know whether it had since she couldn't compare it to the original state. Whoever it had been could have tampered with her mind, planted something and removed others. That was possible, wasn't it? So was she who she believed herself to be? Or just a twisted creation by someone else to fit whatever sick purpose? She didn't know. She felt–
Mutilated. As if bleeding from a gaping wound where someone had mutilated her mind.
Daphne fought down the sudden impulse to hurl. She needed to keep it together. She needed to keep her mind, or what had been left of it. She focused on the Headmaster.
"Fix it," she ordered, hating the quiver in her voice.
Dumbledore sighed again. "Miss Greengrass, I'm not sure whether..."
"Fix it," she repeated, more urgently.
"I'm not familiar with the spell as it is rather darker than anything I would delve into willingly."
"Fix it now."
"More importantly," the Headmaster continued, "placing a memory spell shortly after the Cruciatus curse affects the mind. Still disturbed by the torture, the obliviation was likely bastardised. In these cases, the memory spell actually holds the mind together and prevents further damage, lifting it will seriously harm the mind. I don't..."
"F... fix it!" Daphne insisted. He was the fabled Albus Dumbledore. The darker families feared his power; he had no right at all to not be able to undo the spells. And he owed it to her! She was his student; he owed it to her to help fix it!
"That would not be wise, Miss Greengrass. I have aided one too many student in the destruction of their mind already," the Headmaster told her.
She shook her head. It was too important to her to give up completely, but she needed to focus elsewhere. "So someone tortured me," she said with a shaky voice. If she had been happy before that Potter had been sent away, she was grateful he wasn't around anymore. However, thinking about him brought him back to her mind.
"Why did Potter fetch you? Why did he..."
"That is not my place to tell," Dumbledore told her.
So he had seen the curse himself? She could imagine it. No, wait, hadn't he said something in that interview with the Quibbler about him getting tortured himself? But then, he hadn't seen her get tortured, he had recognized the symptoms. Where had he learned about those? He couldn't have, unless he had seen them before, unless...
"So I have been tortured," she repeated her previous thought. Professor Snape chose that moment to burst in, and for a moment, Daphne feared the fire in his eyes would ignite his hair. Dumbledore didn't pay him any attention.
"It certainly seems so," the Headmaster confirmed, sounding oh, so sad.
"And obliviated," Daphne continued.
"Again, it seems so. It would explain your lack of memory of the incident. It would also conveniently cover their tracks."
Daphne blinked again. Professor Snape ran his own spells to confirm the theory from the looks of it, but she focused on the Headmaster.
"It can't be lifted without risk," Dumbledore told her gravely.
"Who did it? Why?" She didn't know why she expected an answer. Unless the Headmaster had been the one to attack her, he couldn't tell her, but after all he'd to have seen in his life, he might some idea. Asking felt almost like doing something, and it settled some of the unrest.
"That is the very problem," the Headmaster replied. "Someone must have either used you as practice –very worrying –or had to have chosen you as a target specifically, but for what reason, I do not know, unfortunately. Are you aware of anyone who might have a reason for wanting to hurt you specifically?"
Daphne blinked. Once the question had been said, she felt the answer pushing itself to the forefront of her mind. "Malfoy," Daphne replied immediately.
"It seems as if Potter's idiocy is contagious," Professor Snape scoffed. "That explains a lot."
"Malfoy, he's a Death Eater," Daphne said. "He's kept away from me since the holidays, and he's been talking to a lot of other people."
"That is a very serious accusation," Dumbledore told her, frowning, "and nothing to take lightly."
"I'm sure of it," Daphne insisted, "he kept his distance since the holidays. Since the contract. He knew about it since he was originally caught in it, he knew it had activated for Potter. He wanted to take revenge on Potter, I'm sure that's it."
"I have rarely heard anything more ridiculous," Professor Snape commented.
"We have found no evidence to indicate Mr. Malfoy has any connection to the current dark lord or any of his predecessors," the Headmaster added. "In fact, he has been on exemplary behaviour all year, from what I have heard. Has he shown any signs of resentment towards you?"
Daphne opened her mouth, but closed it, reconsidering. Had he? Or had she misread the signs? Had he even kept away from her? Or had she only seen what she had expected to be there? "I... I don't know. He... he didn't do anything obvious, I think. Until now, of course."
"It would be a very extreme course of action to attack you to hurt someone by proxy," Dumbledore replied, stroking his beard. "Not impossible, but unheard of among students. In any case, our investigation two weeks ago revealed no evidence to implicate him in any way."
"Your... ?" Daphne narrowed her eyes. "Potter. He told you about Malfoy, didn't he? And you investigated and found nothing, and now Malfoy took revenge on me for telling on him since he can't get Potter."
Dumbledore pursed his lips, eyeing her carefully. "I wasn't aware you had anything to do with Mr. Potter's suspicion, or that anyone knew about such a connection."
"She just wants to blame Potter, that much should be obvious by now. Miss Greengrass might have made herself a target," Professor Snape pointed out in between spells, "and for once Potter didn't have anything to do with it. It is unlikely, from my experience, as all disturbances seems to lead back to him one way or the other, but still possible. Nevertheless, we shouldn't discount his involvement without a very..."
"Severus," Dumbledore warned him in a voice almost too low to hear.
"It's an unknown dark curse, I think," the potions master replied, changing topic. "It affects her memories, and it shows signs of a dark nature, but I cannot identify the spell based on that alone."
"I agree," the Headmaster said before sighing. "Either way, we must tread carefully and investigate. Miss Greengrass, can you think of any other suspects other than Mr. Malfoy?"
Daphne bit her lip. Who would want to hurt her? Who had hurt her in the past?
"No one," she said with more conviction than she felt.
"I would like to point out," Professor Snape spoke up, "that Mr. Malfoy should have been patrolling the corridors last night, just like every other prefect. If he took the evening off to attack Miss Greengrass, he should have not been seen and should not have caught anyone in school. However, he handed in a report this morning. I couldn't find any faults with it. He would have had very little time to manage the attack. In fact, this seems more like Mr. Malfoy is framed – with how much he would have had to move around last night, it will be difficult to uncover his whereabouts over the night. If he is suspect on the mere fact that he might have had the opportunity, then every other student who had been about and whose exact location at all times cannot be determined should be equally suspect. Additionally, we already know Miss Greengrass' memory to have been tampered with." He gave the Headmaster a meaningful look.
"It is possible, but unlikely. So please look into Mr. Malfoy's actions from last night; he is our prime suspect at the moment," Dumbledore told the Head of House Slytherin who nodded curtly. "Now then," the Headmaster continued, addressing Daphne, "if you remember something else of importance, for example someone who might also have been responsible for the attack, please send us word. For the moment, let us focus on something else. You said your hand also trembled when you handled our wand?"
Daphne frowned. "Yes?"
Professor Snape exchanged a quick glance with the Headmaster. "Hand it over," Professor Snape ordered, extending his hand. She did as told and felt even more vulnerable as soon as she had.
Her Head of House peered at it before he cast some spells on it as well. Finally, he dropped it on the bedside table. "We were correct, I think, Headmaster. It is likely this wand was used for the torture."
"Wait, back up!" Daphne yelled. "They used my wand? Mine?"
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I would have guessed it was obvious. By using your wand, they didn't have to fear leaving incriminating evidence on their own wands. Yes, it is likely the attackers used this method. It indicates planning of the attack in question. Very troubling."
She looked at it. In the past, she had always liked it. It had been hers, an extension of her. Was it still? Or had they taken her wand from her? "The... the memory charm?" she asked, not wanting to linger on her doubts.
Dumbledore stroked his beard. "If I had to guess, I would say they used their own wands for it, one they felt more comfortable and confident with, but I cannot be sure. Unless someone wanted to hurt you or someone else with you as a proxy, the attackers might not have targeted you and were simply looking for an opportunity to test their skills. What do you think of the situation, Professor Snape?"
"I agree, Headmaster," the man replied with a calculating look in Daphne's direction. "They likely used a dark memory erasing spell to hide their tracks, although I cannot be sure. Any results from our tests might be from other spells. The extended torture comes to mind as a possible explanation. How they managed to get a hold of Miss Greengrass I cannot be sure, but I heard no report of any altercations. She might have been stunned – a relatively easy spell the perpetrators might claim they practised last night. As for the torture, assuming they did use her wand, it might explain the lack of any real harm –the wand didn't work that well with them."
"Lack of... lack of harm?" Daphne hissed. She had liked him before. Yes, she had mostly because he favoured his house, but she had liked him. But now she saw a different side to him. How could he dismiss her suffering so callously? A suffering she might not remember, but both professors seemed certain had taken place.
"Yes, lack. The torture seems to have been comparatively weak, likely due to the stolen wand which did not work properly against its owner –you; many people would have recovered by now," he told her, "and in the end, the memories of a schoolgirl aren't that important. Compared to what could have happened, it is indeed a lack of harm we are faced with."
"Severus," the Headmaster warned again. The potions master looked at him.
"You seem to have it under control. If you will excuse me, I will have to clean up her mess now that she so graciously dropped into our lap at this inopportune time. You will have my report on Mr. Malfoy in three hours." The teacher stormed off, his back rigid.
Dumbledore sighed once more. "Please do not listen to him. He has seen worse and gained a rather skewed view on matters like this."
"So the memories, they are gone?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. If it were a normal memory spell, then they would still be in your head, but locked away. The dark arts, however, could have given birth to a completely different result. Very worrying to have such a spell in existence, and even worse to have it used inside the school. And again, even if the memories were still present, lifting the spell would likely cause a lot of harm to your mind. Tampering with a mind once is bad enough, a repeat might do more harm than good – it is a very imprecise discipline."
"You don't say," she sighed. "So I'll never learn what happened."
"You might, but I'm not sure you will like it. I will leave you in the care of Madam Pomfrey. Should you remember something that might help the staff to catch the culprit, please inform us." Dumbledore too left, but the matron returned. She brought some vile potions and ran more tests.
The day passed relatively quietly. Shortly after five, Daphne's friends visited. How they had learned about it, she didn't know, but she was thankful for the distraction. Millicent kept back as always and stood guard. Tracey jabbered on, asking first about anything Daphne might know or feel about the attack, then recounting in detail her date from the previous evening. It had consisted mostly of a walk and then snogging on the lawn. Pansy looked very worried about the attack, and Daphne couldn't fault her. The Prefects had been patrolling the corridors the previous evening, had kept an eye out for anything unusual, yet someone had managed to attack a student, a friend even. Daphne would have been irritated as well.
After they had left, Madam Pomfrey sent for dinner. But it just wasn't the same. Without other students around, it was just a meal, and no matter how well the elves knew their jobs, it was simply missing something.
After dinner, Astoria visited. After a few comments about Daphne surely not minding her stay in the hospital wing, even if no experts were around to properly care for her, Astoria had wondered how long it would take for her to lose her mind. She left the letter from their parents informing her about their displeasure about the contract being made public knowledge. Astoria had also been very upset to report the nasty rumours going around school about Daphne being stuck in the hospital wing, the leading theory being an unplanned pregnancy, theories Astoria naturally had no part in spreading and most certainly not proposing in the first place. Parting with the advice to Daphne to not drive herself mad stuck under the watchful eye of the matron, Astoria had left.
A day in the hospital wing had been a very unpleasant experience. She took solace in the knowledge that at least as long as she slept, she needn't worry about anything. In a few hours time, she would be allowed to leave and then she would finally get to do something again instead of lying around.
Only sleep didn't come so easily. Ever since she had learned about what had supposedly happened to her, she had felt her skin itch. The image of the bleeding wound in her mind kept pushing itself to the forefront. And she still didn't know what had happened, or who it had been, or why. Who would hate her enough to attack her? Or had it been a warning to someone else? Her parents maybe, to get them to stay in line?
And then there was the silence. It was simply too quiet in the hospital wing, and it did get on Daphne's nerves. Her breathing echoed loudly in the room, but she was no fool. She wouldn't hear everything in the empty room, and the echo might just hide other sounds, of people nearby. The sound of the wind outside made her jump slightly from time to time, as she thought she heard someone move in the room, even if she was alone. And it wasn't just the sounds that kept her awake either. From every corner of the room she saw attackers emerging, but only moments later they became the shadows they really were –tricks of light, nothing more. She might have been a sixth-year and an adult, definitely too old to fear the monsters of the night, but a part of her was also eight and in her bed at home. She'd never been that good with silence.
Daphne felt horribly exposed. Why couldn't the hospital wing offer four-poster beds? With curtains, preferably, so she could shut the world out? Or why couldn't they light the room fully? It might look reasonably good and give the room a warmer feeling. Come to think of it, why did she even have to stay in the hospital wing if all she did was lie around? She could have done that in her dorm, she was sure of that. The only concession she had managed to get from Madam Pomfrey had been her move to the bed in the corner. Even the teasing about it being Potter's bed –plague and all –hadn't been that bad. And it was a good bed. She could keep an eye on the room that way and her back to the wall. It was a good bed. In fact, if it had had curtains, she might have liked it.
But she still couldn't sleep. The room was simply too big. True, it wasn't like the rooms in the manor, lighter and definitely less cosy. If Daphne had to choose an adjective, she would have picked orderly. The Hospital Wing had its advantages, and she did not mind staying all that much in theory. But it was still far too big to keep an eye on, and far too empty to be comfortable. And the shadowy attackers still waited in the darkness for her to fall asleep, didn't they? Her only company they were, and yes, they were there; she could hear them moving about. She wasn't alone in the room, someone was with her, creeping closer, ill intend oozing off of them. Her attackers had to have come back to finish their job, or perhaps someone else wanted to take advantage of her weakness. And she felt really exposed. Why hadn't she fought the matron to be allowed to return to her dorm? If the woman wasn't even around, why should Daphne be? She tightened her grip on her wand and listened for the source of the noise. She couldn't lie there not doing anything, even if she was just imagining things. She knew herself well enough to know it was true; she was likely just imagining things, the stress playing tricks on her.
And yet she could hear it drawing nearer, closing in on her from all sides. Madness. Madness was coming to get her.
And then it showed its face.
Under a mop of unruly black hair, startlingly green eyes shone over from behind the next bed.
"Sorry, I didn't want to wake you," Potter said.
She didn't know whether she wanted to curse or hug him. He hadn't been there a moment ago, and then, he seemed to pop into existence, as if he had apparated, only without the noise, for she would have noticed that for sure. Yet he had appeared, and while she really wanted to curse him for showing his face, she suddenly felt a huge weight lifted off her shoulders. She wasn't alone anymore, and since she couldn't sleep, she saw no reason not to talk to him. There was also the issue of his sudden appearance which she found both curious and worrying. If Potter could do it, then others might as well. So reasonably speaking, she had to talk to him and question him on his appearance at least.
"What do you want?" she spat, sitting up and at the same time wishing she would be wearing something else than pyjamas. They weren't that bad, considering what she would have worn had she been in her own bed, but it was still only a single layer of fabric between her and his eyes. She pulled up the blanket as if to ward off the cold.
He hesitated, but slowly moved over to her. "Mostly, I wanted to deliver something that might help." He lifted a small bottle. She didn't recognize it, but also didn't really look at it too closely.
"I didn't ask for help, least of all yours," she replied, still frosty. A small part of her scolded herself for her tone and words. Did she really want to be alone in the hospital wing? And even if she hadn't asked for it, if he spoke the truth, then he had thought about her and tried to do something nice.
"I know. You didn't have all that much time to before I rushed off, though, so I don't think you had time to voice your opinion on the matter anyway. You are in capable hands, and they know what they do. I'm guessing Dumbledore asked Snape to help, but... this might help, and I thought you might like to have the choice."
Deciding to focus on the offer, Daphne tilted her head. "What is it, then?"
He placed the bottle on the table. "It's a potion that will lessen the irritation of the nerves. It doesn't work instantly, but should speed up the healing considerably. It's Ministry-approved and all, it just took me a while to get it as it is not something that is stored at school. I had to send someone for it or I would have been here earlier."
She watched him shift slightly. She had seen him before, of course. They had spent hours carefully observing each other during the negotiations, even if it had been fake. But for some reason, he seemed different than before. His eyes reminded her of a cat, shimmering slightly in the darkness. And he moved like one as well. There was a certain threat in his movements, as if he were ready to jump – to unsheathe his claws and attack. She wanted him gone. She didn't like having him around, not when she was at full strength, and certainly not when she felt weak. But the small part of her reminded her that she preferred his company to the shadows and fears.
"Madam Pomfrey got me something already," Daphne told him.
"That's good. Perhaps you won't need that one then," he replied.
"How do you know about this?" She asked, pointing at the bottle.
He laughed quietly. "I heard about it. It works in cases of," he broke off. "It works."
"Why did you recognize it? You're younger than I am." She didn't need to clarify. He would understand, and the less she spoke to him the sooner he would be gone, the less she would be seen with him, even if no one was around to see them. Then again, he hadn't been there one moment and had popped into existence the next. What if someone else could do the same?
"I know the curse. I've seen it." He glanced around the room, conveniently avoiding her eyes. "And I'm not so much younger, only half a year," he added after a moment.
He was also avoiding answering her question, it seemed. Why did he recognize the after-effects of extended torture?
"Any idea who it was?" Potter asked, carefully eyeing her.
She sighed. "Malfoy." After a moment, she added, "Not that it's any business of yours."
Potter nodded slowly. "Malfoy. Hmm."
"Revenge for the contract. Or perhaps for your suspicions and telling the Headmaster," Daphne told him. "If so, then this is your fault. Well, I have no enemies and am well-liked, so it's likely it's your fault anyway."
Potter made a sound halfway between a snort and a chuckle. "Yeah, probably. Has Malfoy shown any signs of not trusting you?" he inquired.
Daphne raised an eyebrow. "You're almost sounding like the Headmaster. 'Did he show signs of resentment?' No, I don't think so."
"He kept his distance from you," Potter reminded her. "You told me so."
"Or he might have been busy and I misread it," Daphne countered. "I was kind of tense, what with the... business we're stuck in. Or he might have felt uncomfortable around me and might have tried to come to terms with the drastic change after no longer facing the contract. Or maybe he was planning a surprise party for me, who knows? It's not evidence of anything going on."
Potter frowned in thought, but kept silent.
"And anyway," Daphne continued, "maybe Professor Snape is right – with Draco doing Prefect duty, he would have been quite busy and difficult to keep track of over the course of the evening. I don't think so, but someone might have wanted to frame him and used the one evening when it would be difficult to know his location at any given time. He might have been anywhere, and who knows when it happened? It could have been anyone, really."
"Or he might have used the chaos with everyone running around to do it. If he was quick about it, he could have been finished in maybe an hour or so," Potter pointed out. "He might have organized some alibi as well."
"That's true for every student, though. It's him, I know it, but... no evidence yet," Daphne pointed out with a sigh.
Potter nodded. "Yeah, that's the problem there, isn't it? No evidence. Well, I guess we could make him tell us everything he knows, but he wouldn't do it out of the goodness of his heart. If we roughed him up a bit, well, I doubt Dumbledore or the Aurors'd be all that happy. A truth serum perhaps?"
"And how do you plan to get it into him and ask him the right questions? Short of Veritaserum, I doubt there's one to force him to answer. Veritaserum on the other hand is highly restricted, illegal even for you or me."
"So are the Unforgivables," Potter replied. "We both know it's Malfoy. Anyone with half a brain should, so it's just proving it."
"Professor Snape is investigating. I trust him to find out what happened," Daphne said.
"No offence, but..."
"The news got out," she said, changing topics. "About the contract." Her own voice sounded oddly hollow, but she hoped it was merely her imagination. It wasn't that talking about torture was troubling her, but she doubted it would have led anywhere, and she preferred the contract for the moment.
"Yes," he confirmed. "That was some trouble I could have done without right now, but it doesn't matter. I don't know who talked, but it was bound to happen sometime." He sounded unconcerned.
"My mother, I think. She lost her daughter; she is devastated."
He frowned. She could see it even in the dim light. "You're not dead yet."
Daphne shrugged, partly to subtly move her arms. Holding up the covers was more tiring than she had thought. "It doesn't matter to her. As long as the war is not decided, supporting the marriage will be a bad idea. She has to think about her family. And part of that is protecting the image of a proper pureblood family."
"You are her family, aren't you?"
"You know what I mean. My father, my mother, my sister. You don't understand it, the... I mean..."
He sighed. "You are probably right. Being an orphan does have its advantages, doesn't it?"
"I'm sorry," she said, and she meant it, despite sounding more brusque than she had intended. "It's just the day getting to me. I would rather do something then wait around to be cleared to leave, especially with the rumour mill around here."
"Yeah, I know the feeling," Potter told told her with a lop-sided smile. "So... with the news out, we'll likely be busy the next weeks, if not months. I got swarmed by my house mates already. Some Ravenclaws tried to drag me into a corner to discuss the finer details of contract law, and that's no euphemism. A bunch of Hufflepuffs followed me halfway through the school before I could lose them. Madness out there. McGonagall wanted to give me a detention for disrupting the quiet, despite me not doing anything. So yeah, busy school. I doubt it'll change anytime soon."
"Does it matter?" Daphne pointed out. "Stick to the plan. Don't be seen with me, don't wink at me, don't send me presents or letters or anything. The less we give them to talk about, the better. The less they have to work with or confirm their theories, the better. Otherwise, deny everything. I know you Gryffindors aren't that big on lying, but as long as you don't have to say much, you should do fine. And once the next big secret comes around, they'll focus on that instead. Always remember, I tell myself, it's just a temporary complication."
"The attention or the upcoming marriage?" Potter asked with a quirked eyebrow.
"Both, of course," Daphne told him.
He shifted again and turned his head to the window. Even without clearly seeing his face, she could imagine his expression as he gazed into the distance. "Of course." He relaxed slightly. "All will end in time. The attention, the business with you, the..." He broke off, turning back to Daphne. He reminded her of a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "Your mother loves you, I'm sure of it."
Daphne laughed. She couldn't help herself, it simply bubbled out. "Love? Do you honestly think this is about love? Potter, you are an idiot."
He smiled. "Yes, I know. I sounded like Dumbledore, talking about love like that. But it doesn't matter. Everything will work out in the end." Then, his eyes wandered for a moment over her face, and he grew serious. "Are you all right?"
She really hated his gaze. Why did he have to look at her anyway? "I think so, Potter, yes. My friends certainly like me well enough," Daphne told him, intentionally misunderstanding his question.
"I meant..." he shook his head. "No matter."
Daphne rolled her eyes. Did he really think she'd let him off like that? "No, no, out with it! What else could you possibly mean?"
He sighed. "You looked... you were... I don't know."
Daphne bristled. "I'm fine, and even if I wasn't, it wouldn't be your problem." She glared at him, but she wasn't sure whether he had noticed. "How did you get in here anyway?" She needed to refocus on the important matters, and his sudden appearance still needed an explanation. It would also mean turning the focus of the conversation away from her still stuck in a bed and dreadfully weakened.
He laughed again, this time slightly mischievous. "I'm quite good at sneaking around." He sat down on her bed, facing the door. "I've brought you something else, by the way." He reached into his pocket and produced a slightly crumbling cookie. "I know how much one can miss the simple pleasures in life in here. Far too often I've been here for my liking –even in this bed, actually – and I know just how annoying it can be. Also, Madam Pomfrey is rather strict. Nice, but strict. And every time I wished for a small piece of normalcy. Well, that and getting out of here, but that is kind of a given."
Daphne nodded, but felt herself unable to speak. Of everything someone had brought her in the past hours, this had to be the most insignificant and ridiculous. Finally, she told him the first that came to her mind. "She'll be around shortly, you should probably leave." She didn't want him around anymore. Somehow, the presence of invisible attackers was preferable to his.
"She likes me," he replied with a shrug, but he did stand up. "Good night, Greengrass," he told her.
He hadn't been lying; he really knew how to sneak around. There was nothing to hear as he dove from shadow to shadow, melting with them. Only after he had left the hospital wing did Daphne eat the cookie – the only present of the day – drink the potion and succumb to silent tears in the lonely hospital wing.
She was cleared to leave late on Sunday after an uneventful day doing homework and fighting off the fatigue. The school had been oddly quiet when she had descended to the Common Room, but she had been fine with it. After over a day of seeing hardly anyone, she really hadn't wanted to run into people. The thought of them crowding her had been troubling. Daphne knew the rumour mill in school and it wouldn't have surprised her to be interrogated about every detail of her love life by people she barely knew. That was ignoring the fact that as far as anyone was concerned she didn't have one, and least of all with the Gryffindor Golden Boy. That people wouldn't get more out of her likely wouldn't make much of difference, unfortunately.
Once in her dorm, she had packed away the belongings she had had with her in the hospital wing, closed the curtains and fallen asleep on the spot. On the next morning, she had woken up a lot earlier than she would have liked. But at least she had found sleep, and rested as she had been she had walked into the empty Common Room to read a bit. At quarter to six, the Quidditch team left the room for what Daphne knew a bit of snooping. Other teams might have used the time to train or improve their skills, but Slytherins had long since abandoned that one-track mentality and switched to a mixture to improving oneself and sabotaging the other teams.
And that was how the first day of the week began for her. After a quick breakfast and dodging questions, she had gone to her classes as if nothing had happened. She had ignored the stares of the other students as well as the covert glances and frowns from the professors. She had evaded the more outrageous gossip queens and kept her eyes on her goal –summer was drawing nearer, and even if she would have to endure endless talks afterwards, she would still have a refreshing holiday to give her strength. And Potter might have died already when the school reopened. Wasn't that a nice thought? She might be done with it by September.
As the days turned to weeks without another attack, she found herself still watching her surroundings more carefully. Perhaps that was the reason she noticed the changes around her. Professor Snape had once again reduced the preferential treatment for her noticeably, which made her stand out among her house-mates. As a consequence, her grades had dropped to their previous level in Defence against the Dark Arts. Luckily for her, Professor McGonagall had done no such thing. Perhaps she took her vocation too seriously to let her personal opinion influence her work, but apart from the occasional frown, she hadn't changed at all. It was very odd to prefer the stern woman to her own Head of House, but Daphne had begun to value that professionalism.
The Daily Prophet had run a few articles, mostly consisting of high tales about Potter, that dealt with the outcry at the injustice of Britain's favourite son having to marry such an unremarkable girl – those reports confirmed Daphne's suspicion about her mother being the leak and trying to steer the focus away from her daughter. The Witch Weekly ran a special edition, wondering about the wedding dress and offering a reward for anyone who could provide a picture of the happy couple. It seemed even the foreign press got wind of it – Jean, Daphne's date from the Yule Ball, had sent her a clipping from the French paper she found amusing. All in all, while she didn't like the publicity, it luckily stayed well-away from her. Then again, the author of the Potter book series had announced the return to work, which Daphne guessed couldn't mean anything good for her reputation.
The students of her own house had initially given her odd looks, but after a while without her suddenly sprouting wings or proclaiming her undying love for red and gold, they dropped it. It might also have been the result of the lessons taking its toll and people simply being too busy to think about anything else, but Daphne knew her friends had taken to spreading the word about the finer details of the arrangement, especially the unexpected betrothal as opposed to a planned and anticipated event. Only two people in the house knew the truth about that, and neither Daphne nor Millicent had any inclination to tell about it. Slytherins had learned soon enough to not imply Daphne having any sort of feelings for Potter, and once her house-mates had accepted the simple lie sold to them as truth, Astoria had stopped spreading rumours about the secret and very passionate love with the fabled Boy-Who-Lived.
Students from other houses had been a bother naturally, but most had understood her refusal to discuss her situation with them, especially after she had made her opinion very clear. Sure, it might have also been the lack of time she spent with them that didn't allow for many questions, but Daphne really liked to think she scared them off of chatting about Potter with her. When they had first passed each other in the corridor after the news had gotten out, they had only exchanged a polite greeting. The second time, someone had conjured rose petals to fall down on them. Potter had cast a shield while Daphne had set the petals aflame. It had been an impressive sight, from what Daphne had heard later on.
She had watched Malfoy very carefully, waiting for any signs of another attack. But she saw nothing. He acted reserved towards her, and they talked far less than before the holidays - understandably with her keeping her distance - but he showed no dislike or suspicious behaviour. Indeed, he spent his time helping others with their assignments or worked on his own. He studied, he talked with some people, he even read a book or two in the evenings that didn't look school-related, and she saw him play a game or two. When she found herself in the same group with him - for example, waiting for a class - he would even joke around quietly. Despite all that, her senses screamed at her, telling her it had been him behind the attack on her, which meant he probably had nothing to do with it. She couldn't allow herself to fall prey to paranoia; she needed to keep calm and listen to reason. So if her paranoid side was convinced it had been Malfoy, there was a good chance she was mistaken - nothing but shadows on the walls. Additionally, Professor Snape had taken her aside in early March and indicated his investigation into Malfoy's actions had not revealed any evidence or justified her suspicions, but that he did take the matter seriously and kept a close eye on the school.
"I look out for the students under my care," he had said with a stern face.
Potter had been a curiosity to her, and she had found herself watching him far more than she would have liked. It naturally had nothing to do with any feelings she might have had for him, and in fact, she had thought a few times about how her life would have been easier without him messing it up. The reason she had started to watch him had been the wish to know about uncertainties, and he had become one since his visit in the Hospital Wing. The more she had thought about it, the more she had been intrigued by it. How had he managed to get inside without being seen? Why had he even shown up during the night, why not wait for the next morning? Why had he recognized the signs of the torture the moment she had entered the Hospital Wing?
Over the weeks, the mystery had deepened. She had seen Potter with his friends in the past. She knew that for some reason he tolerated Weasley. Maybe it was something similar to how Daphne tolerated Tracey due to entertainment value and a genuinely well-meaning person despite other shortcomings, but it was still strange. In all honesty, she wasn't really that interested in their connection, and they seemed to be getting along relatively well even if she had occasionally thought Weasley had looked less than happy lately whenever Potter couldn't see it.
His friendship with Granger made more sense. She was smart and ambitious, even if she would likely never achieve much. Muggleborns usually didn't come far in the world and with the Dark Lord on the move, Granger would be lucky to live to her twentieth birthday. Truning to her to get ahead in school was still a good idea even if it wasn't his motivation to befriend her in the first place. But apparently something had changed between them. In the past, she had been Potter's most devoted follower –or maybe it had been the other way around –but once Daphne started to watch Potter, she noticed the difference to the past years. They seemed oddly formal at times, and more than once he handed her some parchment that sent her running to the library. Whatever he had given her, it seemed to have ignited her interest – maybe he had her look up difficult spells for him. Daphne doubted it because it was Potter and he wouldn't have that many epiphanies to keep Granger running.
But whenever they were together, Granger looked less cheerful than usual. She frowned at the back of Potter's head; she pursed her lips in disapproval when he couldn't see it. Something had changed, and if Daphne didn't know the boy better, she might think he had tried his luck with his Muggleborn friend. Or maybe it was the fact that Potter didn't seem to pay much attention in class.
Potter had been the real mystery. Following Tracey's advice, they had met a few times in the first weeks, but they had only talked business and planned for the wedding. Neither had shared something about him- or herself; Daphne hadn't wanted him poking around in her life, and she assumed he had had the same reasons. Apart from their brief and formal meetings, she had kept an eye on him. In the past, he had been a rather unremarkable student. From what Daphne knew –and she had kept her eyes on him before the winter holidays to have a better judgement of his character before she was bound to him –he had very rarely shown any real talent apart from the unusual aptitude in Defence against the Dark Arts. In fact, it had been part of the reason why she had been confident her plan would work. He wasn't a thrill seeker, but he lived dangerously enough to die before the contract would end and had a dangerous enemy. Being mediocre as he had always been, he stood no chance against the Death Eaters even with exceptional duelling skills.
But he had done something. Perhaps he had gotten himself a tutor or perhaps he had dropped the act and applied himself, but most of the time he looked downright bored during class. He doodled on some parchment or read in a book under his desk. Once or twice she thought she had seen him yawn behind his hand. From what she could tell, his schoolwork hadn't improved noticeably, but she could see the change in him. He held himself differently, he moved differently as well, and he also had a different aura. At times, he almost seemed sure of himself, a completely new side to him from what she knew.
Around the Easter holidays, Daphne had concluded that Potter didn't find the lessons boring. He was simply tired. He had tried to hide it, but she had seen him doze off in class, only to be awoken by his friends. His new aura had been replaced by a yet another one, and she could only think of fatigue as the fitting description. Despite herself, she actually worried about him. Or rather, she didn't worry about Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, or her betrothed, but the young man carrying his books and his name. She knew lack of sleep, and even if the reasons likely weren't the same, she could still imagine the stress he felt. For perhaps the first time since she had heard about the rise of the Dark Lord did she think about the weight he had to carry. Granted, she still found herself conflicted about whether she should hope for him to crumble under it.
But despite his general state, his performance hadn't dropped, from what Daphne could tell. His team won the house cup, having given a strong show from what she had heard. For security reasons, she had kept away from the games. She didn't like him, and everyone was to know about the lack of attraction between the two. Watching him play would have sent a conflicting message. She only knew Potter had failed to catch the Snitch in his final game due to bad luck, but had been saved by the Chasers' previous goals. Draco had laughed about it, comparing Potter to the Irish Seeker from the last World Cup –too stupid to catch the ball. He only stopped when Blaise had asked him whether he meant the compliment for the Gryffindor Chasers.
Before Daphne knew it, May was upon her, and a strange restlessness had settled in the castle. She couldn't place it, but it felt as if the air was charged somehow. Between classes and sleeping, there shouldn't really have been any time left to do anything worthwhile, and the N.E.W.T.-students were under more stress than everyone else. Daphne more than once counted the days until she would finally be free to enjoy her time, conveniently ignoring the duty waiting for her during the summer holidays. Millicent seemed as indifferent as always, but even she had complained loudly in the safety of their dorm about the work load expected of her. Tracey had been the most relaxed about it, but that might have been because she had found herself a boy to keep herself busy. Pansy and Draco had been hit worse than everyone else as their Prefect duties heavily cut into their time as well. He had even stopped his tutoring project, claiming it had fulfilled its purpose for the year with the exams close, but Daphne knew better. He simply preferred investing his time for his own studies. He was, after all, still a student and without his father backing him, he needed his grades to be acceptable for pureblood standards.
One day in May, Daphne stopped thinking about it. She woke up that morning and decided not to worry about her betrothed and his curious behaviour, not to think about her house mates who were keeping their noses in their own books, and focus on what lay ahead.
Not her week. At least Daphne's got her friends and family around to keep her occupied.
