A/N: The lyrics are from the song "Common People" from the 1995 album Different Class by Pulp, my second favorite band after my beloved Beatles! The lead singer, Jarvis Cocker, played the lead singer of the Weird Sisters in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
I own nothing. Rated T for strong language. Thanks to stella8h8chang for the beta.
Chapter 2: Meeting of Old Friends
"She came from Greece, she had a thirst for know-ledge.
She studied sculpture at St. Martin's Col-lege.
That's where I—"
Daphne Greengrass shook her head left and right in beat with the synthesized music.
"—caught her eye!"
She bopped along and sang as she listened to her Discman and one of the compact discs she had pilfered . . .
(I liberated them!)
. . . one of the compact discs she had liberated from the record store on Berwick Street.
She had just spent the better part of the morning helping Miss Elvira Proctor pack up some of her belongings. Daphne was actually rather surprised with the amount of things Elvira was sending to storage; the house was filled practically floor to ceiling with cardboard boxes and shipping material.
It rather looked like Elvira Proctor was moving.
She was even more surprised to discover, upon her arrival at Miss Proctor's home, that Elvira had stopped taking in any more foster children. And, Daphne observed, Elvira seemed far more nervous and more scared than she had ever seen her to be. Whenever Daphne would ask her, "Everything all right?" Elvira would simply nod vigorously and give Daphne a shaky smile.
"Never mind," Elvira would say as she waddled to the kitchen. "I'll put some tea on."
And, Daphne didn't fail to notice that Miss Proctor kept getting up in the middle of the night to bustle about downstairs, making tea or a late-night snack.
As Daphne bopped along to her new music, she thumbed through some letters that had arrived at Miss Proctor's practically at the same time as she had arrived—
Daphne — I hope you're doing all right. Really missed you. Could've used your "sunny disposition" around here to liven things up. I know you left and you didn't want anyone to know, but please write me back. I just want to make sure you're okay.
Michael (a.k.a. "Mikey", a.k.a. The-Greatest-Bloke-You've-Ever-Met!)
"Cheeky bugger," she had muttered after she'd read Michael Corner's missive . . . but she had said it with a small smile on her face and a blush on her cheeks.
Daphne had written her former boyfriend back a couple of days after she had received his letter. Her response had been short and simple, and Michael had sent at least two more letters, trying to open a greater line of communication between the two of them—
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Daphne paused her music player and hooked her earphones around her neck. Leaving Michael's parchments on her bed, she crawled roughly over and reached up to open the door.
Elvira's head peeked through the opening. Daphne noted the continued look of apprehension and fear in Elvira's eyes, wringing her hands. Wisps of hair fell out of her loose bun.
"You okay in there, Daphne?" Elvira's voice was deceptively steady.
Daphne furrowed her brow, but continued to look at her foster mother. "Sure. Fine. Everything okay out there?"
"Actually, you have some visitors."
(What. The. Hell.)
"B-b-but, no one knows I'm here!"
(Zabini! That bloody turncoat!)
"Well, it's your friend from school. The one you spent the holiday with, I think. He's got the funny last name and red hair."
Daphne looked at Elvira with complete disbelief. "Ron's here?"
Elvira nodded. "He's brought company, too."
Daphne scrambled off the bed and pushed past Elvira rather rudely, impatient to get down the stairs of the compact and modest two-story terraced home in West Kensington.
She hopped off the last two steps, stomped into the living room, and came face to face with several heads of flaming red hair, two pairs of blue eyes, and two pairs of brown and hazel eyes in nearly-identical faces.
"Oh crap!"
"Is that how you greet all your friends?" Ron asked, with a lopsided smirk and he crossed his arms.
"Y'know, Fred," George turned to his twin brother, "I'm a little offended."
"I know what ya mean," Fred said. "We come over here, leaving our cozy little flat, and our burgeoning business—"
"And all we get is an 'Oh crap!' for our troubles."
Fred and George looked at Daphne and shook their heads slowly in unison.
"Ya break our hearts, Greengrass!"
"George, we shall rise above our sadness and pain one day—"
"Boys, please," Arthur held up a hand to halt the twins' banter. He then turned toward Daphne and gave her a smile. "Daphne! So good to see you again." Arthur looked around the room. It was filled with boxes and belongings scattered about chaotically. "Charming place. Looks like you and Miss Proctor are cleaning house or moving out?"
Daphne creased her brows and scratched her elbow. She stayed quiet.
"Daphne, we all came here to, well . . . we wanted to propose something to you, and see if you would agree with it." Arthur had sat back down, and now Daphne could see that he was holding some loose parchments in his right hand.
Daphne looked around and found Elvira's chipped piano bench. She pulled and parked it directly in front of Arthur. Summoning the most supremely annoyed and bored expression that she could muster, Daphne plopped herself down on the seat, crossed her legs, draped her hand over her knees, and let out an almighty sigh.
Arthur merely chuckled at Daphne's expression. His own face, however, fell as he prepared himself for what he was going to say.
"I'm not sure if you're aware of what's been going on in the days immediately following the attack at Hogwarts." Arthur paused; Daphne shook her head, her face softening just a bit. "Well, I say this because things are now deteriorating very quickly. You-Know-Who's followers have taken to attacking Muggle neighborhoods, towns, boroughs, what have you. We're predicting that they will make a move on Muggle-borns and possibly Squibs as well, in the very near future."
Any attempt at maintaining the bored, frustrated, or annoyed appearance slid right off of Daphne's face. She leaned forward, looking among the four Weasleys in apprehension and horror.
"You m-mean, Elvira too, then . . . right?"
Arthur's jaw flexed and he looked just to the right of Daphne's head.
"Daphne, I-I didn't want to alarm you." The Slytherin girl turned around at the sound of Elvira Proctor's voice, now soft and apprehensive. "I know that this past year's been very rough on you at Hogwarts, and when I heard about the Headmaster . . ." At this, Elvira brought her tissue up to dab her eyes and nose.
Daphne swallowed, a thick lump of emotion logged deep in her throat.
(Ohdamnohdamnohdamnohdamn—)
"Headmaster D-Dum-Dumbledore h-had sent me a letter, probably no more than a couple of months back. H-he told me that, at some point, and I would probably know what that point was, that I-I would need to take some precautions for my own safe-safety, that it was very likely that Y-You-Know-Who would start going after Muggles, Muggle-borns, and Squibs first. I mean, when you come from an entire family that can do magic, and you're the sole person that can't so much as f-fl-float a feather . . ." Elvira sniffed and frowned. "Anyway," she shook her head and wrung her hands, "h-he warned me that I may want to think about relocating, if I can." Elvira gave a deep sigh. "I'm thinking that my sister, Esmerelda, w-well, she works with the French Ministry of Magic, and I think I might be able to stay with her. We get along all right, although she probably owls me m-more than I ring h-her. Fr-France has the same issues with S-Squibs as England, but the war hasn't quite reached there yet . . ."
Daphne noticed that Elvira wasn't really looking at them while she was talking, and with each rambling, Elvira's voice and movements, already inhibited with the woman's crying, were growing more and more agitated and anxious.
And Elvira's anxiety and nervousness were causing feelings to rise in Daphne; it was a bizarre mix of sadness toward Elvira, and white-hot anger for her own situation.
(Utterly fucked again, aren't you, Greengrass?)
(Utterly fucked and nowhere else to go, and staying here ain't doing you or her any good!)
(The one bloody sanctuary you've always counted on being there for you, and it's over!)
"So," Daphne interjected sharply, "you were going to just what? Leave? Not tell me about it?! I've been packing and wrapping and helping you get all this . . . this shit together, pretending like you were going to take it to storage and you couldn't bother telling me that we're all fucked?" Daphne stood up roughly from the piano bench, knocking it over.
"Daphne—" Arthur tried to calm her down.
"You know, seriously, just — just . . ." Daphne said, palms out, backing away from the group, whose faces registered either shock or awkward wincing at her sudden outburst.
Before she could even finish her thought, Daphne pivoted around and ran up the stairs. Slamming the door to her room shut, she pulled her trunk to the middle of the room and threw the lid open.
Taking two breaths, she pointed her wand at her Discman. "Sonorous," she bellowed. Daphne heard the quick, synthetic percussion and upbeat dance tempo pipe through the room, followed by the angry voice singing from her compact disc—
"You'll never live like common people!
You'll never do what-ever common people do!
You'll never fail like common people!
You'll never watch your life slide out of view!"
"Crescendo!" Daphne exclaimed with such force that the song's volume increased in a split second; it blasted through the room, pounding on the walls with its ferociously ear-splitting beat.
Pouring all her anger out on her belongings, Daphne started throwing and shoving anything and everything that she thought might be hers into the trunk.
"You will never understand how it feels to live your life
With no meaning or control,
And with nowhere left to go . . . "
She jumped in shock when she felt someone tapping on her shoulder. Turning around, she saw Ron Weasley, screaming something at her that she could only guess was her name, muffled in the din of the music CD.
"Decrescendo!" Daphne yelled at her Discman.
"Godric, Daphne! Blimey! How're you not deaf yet?" Ron asked her in breathless disbelief. "I've been screaming your name for ages, and before that, I was pounding at your door for at least the last half of this century!"
"Didn't hear you," Daphne muttered. She had already turned her attention back to her clothes, which had been scattered in the bedroom over the past few days and was throwing anything that wasn't tied, glued, or bolted down into her trunk.
"Apparently. You wouldn't be able to hear a tribe of giants if they came stampeding down the street," Ron deadpanned. Daphne broke quickly from her packing to briefly glare at him.
"You going somewhere?"
Oh, how she wanted to slap that smirk right off of his stupid, caring face!
"Apparently, it doesn't matter if I don't say anything or not! You lot're going to find me anyways."
Daphne could practically hear Ron roll his eyes; she was sure it was accompanying the tremendous sigh that sounded like his body was deflating.
"You're such an idiot!"
She stopped, huffed and turned around sharply. "Well, thanks for that! So glad to know what you really think about me." She turned away from him. "S'pose I'm an idiot for thinking we were friends. I'm definitely an idiot for thinking that I could get away from the shit here—"
"Oh, for the love of Merlin's bloody arse, Daphne Greengrass!" Ron exclaimed. "You're an idiot because you didn't even stay downstairs to hear why we're really here."
"Well, why should I?!" Daphne hollered and turned around to face the stupid, foolish red-head. She waved around the article of clothing that she was currently holding. "I can't stay here. The longer I do stay here, Elvira becomes more and more of a target for those pure-blooded-leaning wankers! Hell, I do too, just by associating with her—"
"And that's why Dad's made arrangements for you to stay with us at the Burrow!" Ron shouted right back. There was no anger in his voice; he was merely shouting above her so she'd hear him out.
And it certainly worked. Daphne froze.
"Thank bloody Godric! So, that little bit of information's sunk in, has it?"
"But I can't! I've still got to come back here until I turn eighteen! I'm not of age yet in the Muggle world—"
"Ri-ight, so, it's a good thing you've got some big ol' wizards on your side," Ron smirked.
"Why the hell're you looking at me like that? What d'you mean?" Daphne demanded.
Ron looked at her and shrugged nonchalantly. "Dumbledore."
It was the only thing he said; it was the only thing he needed to say.
Daphne rolled her eyes. "Dammit!" She sat down on her bed in a huff. Looking at her hands, she finally saw what she was holding—
"Oh, for fuck's sake!"
(Of course I'm holding his mum's stupid, fluffy, warm . . . er, crappy jumper!)
She held up the knobbily-knitted Weasley jumper that Molly Weasley had made for her last Christmas. "I can't escape you lot, can I?"
Ron chortled. "We are a stubborn bunch." He nodded at the jumper. "You still kept it then, eh?"
She shrugged. "It's comfy," she said, mumbling under her breath. Daphne heard Ron snort. Looking up, she saw him gesturing toward the hallway with his head.
"C'mon. Why don't you talk to Dad and see what he's got to say."
Showing absolutely no emotion, Daphne nodded and followed Ron out the door.
Arthur and Elvira were having a calm and steady conversation about something that was apparently important; they didn't notice the two teenagers coming down the stairs.
"Ah, Ickle Ronniekins, the snake-charmer," piped up Fred, who, unfortunately, did notice Ron and Daphne.
"Piss off!" Ron gave them the two-finger salute.
"Ron! Watch your manners," Arthur chided; Ron's ears blushed a vibrant crimson. Arthur turned toward the Slytherin girl and spoke with a much quieter, softer tone. "Daphne, we've all come here to invite you to stay with us at the Burrow for the remainder of your time at Hogwarts. It really means that you have this summer, Christmas and Easter holidays, and then the end of term and you're finished. But we just want to make sure that you're safe too."
Daphne didn't say anything.
"Does that sound okay to you?" Arthur once again asked after a few beats of silence.
Daphne looked at the floor and shrugged. "S'pose . . . I really don't have anywhere else to go."
She felt a hand on her shoulder. "We're not being forced to take you in, y'know that, right?" Ron asked her.
Daphne furrowed her brow. "Dumbledore requested it, right? That's what you said."
"Yeah, but—"
"It doesn't matter what I might want, so long as that barmy git gets his way. We all bow to his wishes, don't we?" Daphne heard the bitter anger in her voice. Looking at Ron and his family and Elvira's expressions as they listened to her talk, Daphne felt a bubble of nausea swirling in her guts and she fought the urge to chuck up her bile.
"Daphne, it was never a request or command for us to take you in," Arthur said. The older man walked toward Daphne and spoke in a very gentle, fatherly tone. "I'll show you the letters, but Dumbledore merely asked us if we could take you into our home. He's already handled everything on the Muggle end in regards to placement for you." At this, Arthur leaned in toward Daphne. "Between you and me, I think Dumbledore used some very tricky Memory Charms and Document-Alteration Spells on your caseworkers and their higher-ups." Arthur gave a small wink, and Daphne fought down the grin that threatened to appear on her face. "All we had to do was send in some consent forms with our signatures on them, and you have a new home until you graduate and beyond, if you want."
Daphne turned her eyes toward the older man.
"It's up to you, Daphne. But we want to do this for you. Not for Dumbledore. For you."
She bit the inside of her cheek, and rubbed her already wet eyes. Daphne let out a great breath . . . and nodded.
Arthur patted her on the head. "This is wonderful, Daphne. We can actually leave today. Ron and the twins will take you back to the Burrow, and I'll stay here and help Miss Proctor with her belongings and help get her to her airplane so she can fly to her family's house in France." Arthur turned to the twins and spoke in a surprisingly commanding tone. "Fred. George. Help Daphne and Ron gather up her belongings. We'll be leaving here within an hour." The three boys ran up the stairs toward Daphne's room.
Daphne felt her heart racing. An hour?
This felt like it was happening far too quickly.
"Daphne, I know you must be feeling a bit overwhelmed," Elvira approached her from behind. The teenage girl turned to face her. "But it's necessary, I think, for all of us to get to our new destinations, okay? So that we're safe and out of harm's way."
"I-I kn- . . . know, Elvira," Daphne said shakily. "I-I'm just—" she stuttered, biting her lip.
"Daphne, I know we haven't always been on the best of terms," Elvira touched the collar of Daphne's tee-shirt, as if she were trying to straighten it out. "But I hope that when you remember your time here, that it wasn't all bad." She pressed her hands on Daphne's shoulders. "You should be around friends now, Daphne. You should be around people that can protect you."
That lump — that blasted lump — returned, and it felt like it had brought company, if the growing moisture in her eyes was any indication.
Daphne managed a meek nod and Elvira patted her on her shoulders.
"Dad! Hey, I think we're done." Daphne and Elvira Proctor turned around and saw Ron, Fred and George hauling Daphne's trunk down the stairs. Daphne ran over to them just as they sat the trunk down on the floor. She opened up the lid, checked to make sure they had packed—
"No, no, no . . . They're not here." Daphne bolted back up the stairs, her wand still in her hand and threw open her door one last time.
"Accio compact discs."
Immediately, three plastic square cases flew into her hand, one of which was clearly empty, judging by the lightness and feel of the case. She took one final look around the room, more water welling up in her eyes. She had to admit that the Weasley boys had done quite a thorough job with packing and gathering her things together. She didn't realize how few belongings she actually had; the room she had used for ages now was rather bare.
Closing her eyes and tightening her brows together, Daphne shut the door, and headed back down the stairs.
"Daphne?" Arthur inquired, as she emerged from the stairwell. She merely looked at him, trying to keep her face completely expressionless. "You've got everything."
She silently nodded.
Giving her a compassionate smile, Arthur turned to the twins. "Fred. George. I think we're all ready. I'll Banish her things to the Burrow, so Ron and Daphne can Side-Along Apparate . . ."
"I have my Apparition license," Daphne spoke up, her tone mildly indignant.
"Oh yes, I knew that, Daphne. But we're trying something a bit different. Just . . . trust me, please. Can you trust me?"
Arthur's look was so full of sincerity and something Daphne interpreted as hopefulness. Whatever it was, it was a look that even Professor Snape would be hard-pressed to ignore.
(Snape.)
(Haven't thought about that bastard in a few days, have you?)
(D'ya blame me? Every time I think about him, I either want to break something or punch someone in the face!)
(Well, I'd say it's a bloody good thing no one's ever said you reminded them of him . . . oh, wait! They did! Stupid Dumbledore.)
(Merlin, my own brain's revolting against me.)
"Daphne?" Arthur's voice successfully pulled Daphne out from her battling inner dialogue. "Are you okay?"
She swallowed and nodded at Ron's father, who once again, smiled at her with such warmth, that it made Daphne feel rather good, even though the thought of leaving this home, and leaving it permanently, loomed in her mind.
(Home.)
This compact house had been her home for such a long time. Even when she had run away after fights with Elvira or the other children, she'd run away from this home, and she'd always been brought back to this home, no matter what.
Daphne again turned back to Elvira Proctor, the woman she had both tormented and worried about for the better part of her adolescence and youth. "We're done then, aren't we?"
Elvira nodded, her own eyes teary and wet. "I don't know if I'll be able to write you, Daphne, once we're gone. I . . . j-just take c-care," Elvira said, her voice trembling with emotion.
"Um, Miss Proctor," Ron came forward and stood next to Daphne. "I just wanted to say that Daphne's talked tons about you. She even made your bread and warm milk dish for all of us. It helped us many nights."
"You made that for them, Daphne?" Elvira looked at her with an expression of disbelief. Daphne watched as Elvira brought her fingers — arthritic and trembling fingers — up to her mouth to steady her lips and chin, both of which were shaking by now.
Daphne suddenly found herself unable to talk. Instead, she steeled herself together. Daphne had already settled in her own mind the realistic expectation that this would be the very last time in her life that she would see Miss Elvira Proctor, her foster mother since she had been seven-years-old.
And so, with that thought firmly in place, Daphne hugged the older woman, as tightly and as sincerely as she thought she was capable of.
"I reckon I'll probably always make it, Elvira," Daphne said quietly, her voice choked with emotion. She could feel Elvira's body shaking, and the older woman was audibly crying.
As she hugged the middle-aged woman, Daphne wondered if Elvira had shrunk over the years; she seemed so much smaller than Daphne remembered, small for even the 5'1" Slytherin girl.
Pulling away from each other, Elvira smoothed down Daphne's flyaway strands, static electricity causing them to hang in the air every which direction. She patted Daphne check gently.
"Take good care of yourself, Daphne. Be careful, will you?"
Daphne nodded, and she turned to face Arthur and the Weasley boys, now standing all together to give the two of them a few moments.
"I'm ready," she said with as much finality as she could fake.
"Well, Greengrass, your 'carriage'," Fred held out his arm to her, "awaits."
Rolling her eyes, but managing a feeble smile, she looked back over her shoulder to Elvira Proctor. Arthur Weasley was standing next to Elvira, a hand on her shoulder, comforting the woman as she cried in earnest.
With a small wave back to her old foster mother, Daphne followed Ron and the twins outside of the house and to the spots designated for their magical travel back to the Burrow.
A/N: The bread and warm milk dish comes from Nigella Lawson, and is one of my favorite comfort foods. It pops up several times in my other story, Daphne Greengrass and the 6th Year From Hell. And, yes, my version of Daphne has/had a love interest in that story, Michael Corner. If you're interested in how they got together, broke up, and became friends again, check out Chapters 12 and 17, 22, 26, and 28 for background into their relationship.
I'd love to hear from you in a review. Ta!
