If the Great Hall had descended into brouhaha over breakfast at the news of Daphne's latest infatuation, she was not there to witness it. Astoria, it seemed, had read her mind.
"Daffy, I know you're not staying out of sisterly love, so I don't mind if you go get some breakfast. I'm sure nobody cares about you liking Harry Potter. You're not the first, you know."
"Should I even ask who told you?"
"Maybe I figured it out myself. You always said I'm a smart cookie."
"Yes, that you are."
Bertie mewed in agreement, and Daphne unconsciously began to stroke his back. Massages were typically Astoria's prerogative, but Bertie made an exception because his master barely had the strength to lift her glass-skinned arm. After copious pets, the kneazle yawned and clambered into bed beside Astoria, bidding her to sleep. Bertie was unusually clever even for his species, and clearly had formed a deep bond with the girl he loved.
Daphne sighed and went back to her herbology treatise. She was, in fact, here out of sisterly love – the avoidance of an irrational fear of public humiliation was merely an additional, if strictly unnecessary, incentive. While she did not skip classes for the day every time Astoria had an episode, she did do so more often than not. Her professors understood her absences, though reacted with varying degrees of sympathy. It never bothered Daphne – her housemates had no right to begrudge her for whatever house points she lost for her absenteeism, since she always ended the year with a nett positive.
The origin of Astoria's condition eluded all medimagical explanations. The consensus was that it was a curse, yet none had ever heard of a curse afflicting a witch that made her allergic to magic itself. Their mother had fallen gravely ill not long after conceiving her, and sadly did not live long enough even to hold Astoria, who came out almost a month early. Only a team of the best medimages in the country had kept her alive past that horrible first night, which would be forever burnt into Daphne's memory.
It had become something of a family quest to cure Astoria in the years since, and careful progress had been made as Lord Greengrass travelled the world to consult medimagic professors, potioneers, muggle doctors, seers, and even an eccentric centaur (who had been deeply supportive but ultimately unhelpful). While Astoria's condition remained serious, it had at least kept from deteriorating as many had feared, thanks to an ever-improving regimen of obscure potions.
Nowadays the curse flared up with less regularity than it had in childhood, but it still reared its ghastly head about once a month. When it did early that morning, Bertie had pawed Daphne's face until she woke up. She had tumbled out of bed half-asleep, and immediately cast an oversized Null-Magic Bubble Charm over her sister and rushed her to the insulating capsule in the Hospital Wing. She had practised the routine a hundred times, and could almost do it unconscious – a condition that her father had insisted upon for Astoria to attend Hogwarts, lest the ambient magic in the castle itself rent her apart when she was vulnerable. More than three years later, Daphne had not failed once. Of course all the Professors and each batch of Slytherin prefects knew the requisite charm, but she would never entrust her sister's life to anyone else.
Astoria was now peacefully asleep with Bertie, and if experience served, the potions would repair her body by the afternoon. Daphne's presence was no longer strictly required, but she felt no particular desire to leave her sister's side to go to class. Unfortunately, the Hospital Wing with its aerified calming drought was not the ideal setting for scholarly endeavour. After scanning the same page three times and not registering a single sentence, Daphne took one last glance at her sister and headed off for Advanced Arithmancy.
Computing matrices for shrinking objects of varying magical densities on an empty stomach was an experience Daphne was not keen to repeat. She had barely half an hour for lunch before double Herbology, where she did not even get the chance to speak with Potter because the entire lesson was, disappointingly, entirely theoretical. Professor Sprout had seated them in a musty-smelling lecture room beside the greenhouses to give them an overview of the NEWT herbology curriculum, which covered plants endemic to regions beyond Europe. The second period comprised a lecture on carnivorous trees in sub-Saharan Africa, which for self-evident reasons did not include a practical component.
By the lesson's end, Daphne was thoroughly drained and longed for a pepper-up, so it was with some irksomeness that she followed Professor Sprout to her backroom office when asked to stay behind with Longbottom. Daphne was almost disappointed to find that it was not filled with all sorts of exotic plants – it was, by all metrics, a perfectly ordinary office, with shelves of books and a desk of stationery and other office-like paraphernalia. Professor Sprout sat them down on wooden chairs in front of the desk and lowered her podgy self into a well-worn armchair. Watching the armchair slowly deflate only reminded Daphne of how much she longed for a nap. They were silent for a few moments, which was evidently too long for Longbottom.
"Professor… we're not in trouble, are we?"
"Oh, no, no! Merlin, no – the farthest thing from it," chuckled Professor Sprout. "Now, I know you two aren't from my Den, but you must have had your career-planning chats with Minerva and Severus, no?" They both nodded. "Now I have no right to pry, but if you're comfortable sharing, have you thought about what you might want to do after Hogwarts?"
Longbottom mumbled something about being an auror or a healer, while Daphne kept her answer vague and alluded to continuing the family business. All of her ambitions were of course contingent upon her House surviving Lord Slytherin, though Daphne refused to contemplate any other possibility. Professor Sprout seemed satisfied with their answers.
"Yes, I had a feeling that might have been the case. All of those careers are quite related to herbology – joining the Auror Corps perhaps less so, but you'd never know when being able to tell a Death-Cap mushroom from a Fly Agaric might save your life. Although I'm certain you're quite capable of that already." Longbottom preened, and Daphne politely sat still with her hands folded across her lap.
"But let's not beat about the bush any longer. Every year, I offer the top student in my NEWT class the option to help me with some… extra-curricular activities. It's all quite informal, mainly for me to get some extra hands, but many of my former helpers have gone on to complete herbology masteries with the Guild, not to mention learned a couple of useful things. As the top students in my year, I was hoping to offer you that same opportunity."
Daphne's eyes lit up. She was unsure if Longbottom appreciated the significance of what Professor Sprout was offering, but masteries awarded by the European Guild of Herbologists were as rare as they were coveted. It was impossible to run a proper horticultural business without one, while having one entailed joining the ranks of the most eminent herbologists, potioneers, and alchemists in the world, and rubbing shoulders with them. Daphne's grandfather had been a Guild fellow, and if Lord Greengrass were to be believed, had once brought home the Flamels for Christmas.
An hour later, Daphne was almost beginning to regret her decision. Both she and Longbottom had accepted Professor Spout's offer, but neither seemed to expect her to put them to work immediately, or to make them do something so… menial. Professor Snape had requested more leaping toadstools for a batch of Baruffio's Brain Elixir, and they had been sent to the edge of the Forbidden Forest with two lidded jars. "What I don't teach you in class is that fieldwork is the cornerstone of our study. Every respectable herbologist collects her own specimens where possible," she had explained, which Daphne supposed was completely true – if extremely disappointing.
Longbottom seemed tense and reticent, which suited Daphne just fine; she herself was tired and irritable and in no mood for conversation. They got to work, but stayed together as per their instructions: one could never be too careful in the Forest at night. For the second time in five minutes, Longbottom jumped at some shadow in the treeline, spilling his jar of toadstools and clambering on his knees to catch them as they began hopping to freedom. Daphne sighed and waved her wand in a wide arc, summoning them into her jar. Longbottom muttered his thanks. Daphne was seriously tempted to keep them and ask him to find more of his own, but ultimately decided against it out of sympathy (and because it would certainly do her no favours with Potter). It was going to be a long night.
The moon had risen by the time both their jars were filled to the brim. They headed back to the castle in silence, with Longbottom saying an awkward goodbye as he headed off to Gryffindor Tower. Daphne popped into the Hospital Wing and was relieved to find that Astoria had been discharged several hours ago, in time for dinner. Daphne's stomach growled upon being reminded that she had eaten only a single meal that day, yet Morgana evidently had cause to smile upon her: despite telling her off for visiting with soiled robes, Madam Pomfrey poured her a bowl of stew out of the cauldron kept for overnight patients. As Daphne herself had experienced on occasion, magical remedies made one ravenous, and the matron was nothing if not well-prepared.
It was past curfew by the time Daphne began the long walk back to the dungeons. Despite having a good excuse for being out, she cast a disillusionment charm over herself to avoid any bothersome questions. All she could think about was the comfort of a hot shower and the snugness of her blankets. As she rounded a corner, however, she heard a distinct baritone voice speaking in harsh tones.
"Draco, now is not the time to be stubborn. Whatever it is you think you know, there are…"
"With respect, Professor, you don't seem to understand that Lord Slytherin himself asked me…"
Daphne was intrigued, but knew better than to stay. She turned around and sought a detour, but did not make it two steps before she was knocked to the floor unconscious.