A/N: Daphne's blackmail scheme on Blaise Zabini and Eddie Carmichael is detailed in Chapter 12: A Snake Cornered in Daphne Greengrass and the 6th Year From Hell. Additionally, Daphne first encounters the tiara mentioned in this chapter in Chapter 24: The Uncaring Snake of the same story.
I own nothing. Thanks to stella8h8chang for the beta-read and clarification points. And much love to all my reviewers and readers out there who have been loyally following what I'll now call "The Hell-verse". It's been a blast to write.
Chapter 18: News and New Blood
"MINISTRY BREAKOUT! LARGEST MUGGLE-BORN ROUNDUP RESCUED AS REBELS INFILTRATE THICKNESSE'S INNER SANCTUM—"
It was exactly what Ginny needed to see, particularly after the crap she had endured over the past couple of days. She read the headline one more time, savoring it and letting her eyes and brain soak it all in before she subjected herself to another day of abuse.
The newest teachers at Hogwarts weren't simply cruel; their apparent desire to hurt many of the students was sadistic. It made Ginny's guts squirm with nausea when she realized that the male Carrow spoke of the pain caused by the Cruciatus Curse as "intoxicating". The leer on his face when he described the class as, "The Dark Arts, as there will be no Defense lessons here," could only be described as glee.
A very perverse glee.
Later that day, many of the other Gryffindors had approached her in the Common Room, wanting nothing more than to talk about what they had just witnessed in their now-mandatory Muggle Studies courses, as taught by Alecto Carrow.
Ginny hadn't forgotten Snape's ominous words from the day before. She had cast the Muffliato Charm to ensure their privacy.
"It's madness, Ginny! The things she was saying about Muggles."
"They're not that bloodthirsty! No Muggles I know want to kill others like savages!"
"—And what the hell does she mean? When she says that they're 'restoring the natural order'?"
Now, on the second day of classes, Ginny sat at breakfast, her face immersed in her copy of that day's The Quibbler, unable to stop reading, unwilling to stop smiling. Around her, the students' whispers were increasing in volume:
"But the article didn't say who it was that actually broke into the Ministry."
"Oh come on! Don't tell me you don't think it was Harry Potter—"
"Whatever. What about all that shite about him in the Prophet, eh? What about all that stuff in Skeeter's book? Harry and Dumbledore's 'special relationship'? Harry involved with Dumbledore's death—?"
Ginny looked up and scowled. It was a couple of fifth year Ravenclaws, if she remembered correctly.
Still holding The Quibbler with one hand and her face still buried in the paper, Ginny Levitated a plate of scrambled eggs. With a flick of her wrist, she dumped it on the head of the boy who had brought up Harry and Dumbledore.
"Oi! What the eff—"
Barely looking up, Ginny saw Michael Corner and Terry Boot as they chortled and slapped each other's hands; they pointed and laughed at the unfortunate sod who had just gotten egged. Anthony Goldstein looked at his friends, and smirked.
"Cretins," Ginny heard him mutter.
Ginny grinned and nodded at Michael, who returned the gestures.
"Anything good?"
Ginny smiled as Neville Longbottom took a seat next to her. Seamus Finnigan, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil all sat in front of them. She folded her paper over, showing all the older Gryffindors the moving picture of the chaos following the break-in at the Ministry.
She grinned even wider when she spotted the shiny and new prefect badges pinned onto Neville and Parvati's robes.
"Those look good on y' two. I know I've already said it, but congratulations!" She grinned at them.
Neville looked down at badge, but he blushed, as did Parvati. "Thanks, Ginny," he said. "It's really weird, though. Me, a prefect . . . isn't it?"
"Neville! You're kidding, right?" Parvati just stared at him. "You deserve it." Lavender and Seamus both nodded vigorously.
"Listen to Parvati, Nev." Ginny said, touching his arm. "Think about what you've accomplished the last two years." She gave him a very pointed look and smiled at him.
Neville blushed. "Th-thanks, Gin."
"No problem. Plus, the two of you are the best choices to carry on prefect duties, especially—" Ginny paused and turned her eyes to the front of the hall, "with our newest staff members and Headmaster Dingle-berry running things!"
Neville couldn't help but snort. "Seriously, Ginny. You sound like Daphne."
She rolled her eyes and grinned. "I guess she's rubbing off of me." She shook her head and the newspaper she had been looking through ruffled in the air.
"So this is what all the buzz's about, huh?" Seamus pointed at the article that was open in front of him, Lavender and Parvati.
Ginny nodded. "The Quibbler's reporting the biggest evacuation of Muggle-borns from the Ministry since the coup. Apparently, the individuals involved masqueraded as—" Ginny leaned over and squinted as she read the article upside-down, 'Mafalda Hopkirk, Reggie Cattermole, and Albert Runcorn.'" Ginny sat up and smiled at Neville and the other Gryffindors. "So, what do we reckon?
Neville grinned as she continued reading the article. "The 'rebels' really got to Umbridge." He gestured at a picture of Dolores Umbridge, clearly red-faced and spitting at a reporter, her jowls flopping about her as she hopped up and down.
Ginny sniggered. "That warms my heart!" She looked over at the article again, and her face fell. "Although, there's nothing about this Muggle-born registration that warms any part of me. It's crazy."
Neville's face had a similar expression. "It can only get worse, can't it? I mean it feels like all of this is escalating, getting worse and worse."
The teenagers fell into a sober silence; the only things that seemed inevitable at this point were more persecution of Muggle-borns, and more violence against Muggles.
And always, the specter of death, waiting for a battle that could not be avoided, a war that appeared to be inevitable.
Looking for — or simply needing — a distraction from her thoughts, Ginny's eyes traveled over to the door of the Great Hall just in time to see Daphne Greengrass walk into the Great Hall. The two girls gave each other a couple of inconspicuous nods and Daphne made her way over to the Slytherin table, taking a seat next to Blaise Zabini. Ginny watched as she waved bashfully to Michael Corner; he looked back at her with a rather affectionate smile.
As happy as Ginny felt for Daphne and Michael, she just couldn't help feeling an odd sensation of loss at the pit of her guts. Witnessing the tiny moments of Daphne and Michael's re-burgeoning relationship made Ginny miss Harry so much.
(Get over it, Ginevra!)
(Just be happy for them, and quit with the pity party!)
Ginny snapped herself out of her reveries and turned back to her housemates.
"So, I've got some theories about who was masquerading as those individuals," she said, opening up The Quibbler again.
A smile appeared on Neville's face. "We were just talking about that."
"So, you both think that they're doing okay then?" Lavender Brown leaned forward.
"Er . . ." Ginny bit her lip. She realized she had spoken far too quickly, not thinking about the consequences of revealing too much information. She didn't want to give away too much about what she suspected was going on with Harry and Hermione, nor did she want to advertise the extent of Ron's involvement with it. Doing so could put her family in jeopardy.
"I do suspect it is Harry. If Hermione's with him, then she certainly was there too."
"But there were three people, Ginny," Lavender said, pointing at the article. "And we know that Ron, Harry and Hermione were as thick as thieves for the past six years. There's no way you can convince me that he wasn't with them!"
"Ron's at home with spattergroit, Lav."
She gasped in response, as did Parvati. "Oh . . . are you serious, Gin?"
(Remember — some lies are okay to tell.)
Ginny nodded. "That's why he's not coming back to school this year. Not because he's with them."
(But they're in the DA . . . they can be trusted. Or, at least, they can be trusted with the consequences should the truth come out . . .)
(Maybe start there?)
She took a breath and she quickly scanned the Great Hall, making sure it was Carrow-free and Snape-free. Ginny then leaned forward and beckoned the others closer. "Besides, if Ron were with Harry and Hermione," she whispered, "my whole family would be thrown into Azkaban or killed on the spot. They'd be used to trap Harry and Hermione and Ron and . . . any Muggle-born evacuation plans that are currently taking place would most certainly be thrown into jeopardy." She swallowed. "So, you see? Ron can't be with them, or else everything would go to shit!"
Ginny breathed out in relief as she witnessed Lavender's face change from confusion to total awareness. She nodded. "I understand perfectly."
"So do I." Parvati said slowly and quietly.
"Well," Seamus subtly winked at Ginny, "give Ron my wishes for a speedy recovery, then!" However, he continued to peer at Ginny for a few moments; he looked like he needed to say something.
Taking his time, Seamus glanced down at the table, but he spoke to Ginny. "So yer family's very involved with the evacuation?"
"They are, Seamus."
She watched as he swallowed and bit his lip. "Has there been any word about Dean?"
Ginny brought her hand up to stifle her expression of shock; in all the upheavals over the past couple of weeks and once they had gotten to Hogwarts, she hadn't even asked about what was going on with Dean Thomas.
"Seamus, we haven't heard anything.
His face fell and he shook his head. Ginny had never seen such a sad expression cross the Irish lad's face and she felt a lead weight fall into her own stomach. Her relationship with Dean might not have ended well last year, but Ginny was never one to just turn her feelings off and on like a light switch. There was a big part of her that continued to care about Dean's whereabouts and well-being.
Seamus spoke softly. "He went on the run a few weeks ago, right after the Ministry fell." He swallowed and averted his eyes. Ginny sucked in a sob; Seamus' eyes had just begun to barely water. "Haven't heard hide nor hair from him."
Rubbing his nose vigorously, Seamus' small sniff was audible only to the immediate group.
Lavender reached over, taking his hand into one of her own. "Shay," she said in a sweet voice, "Don't think of the worst. He's still okay. I'm sure of it."
Seamus looked at her; Ginny noticed his face getting stormier and stormier. "Lav . . . love," he said, while jumping off the bench. "It's nice that yer comforting me, but don't keep telling me everything's gonna be all right when you bloody well don't know!"
And, with that, Seamus turned sharply and walked out of the Great Hall. All the eyes of the group followed him as he walked out.
Ginny was horrified. "Lavender, I'm sorry—"
"No, don't be," she shook her head absent-mindedly and stood up. "Parvati, I'm going to find him."
Parvati nodded. Lavender had already turned and started walking out of the Great Hall.
"Is everything gonna be all right?"
Parvati gave Ginny a sad look. "It will . . . it's just, we should've said something to all of you. Dean's disappearance has been really hard on Seamus. And Lavender been really patient with him. She tries to be supportive, but . . ." Parvati shook her head, "They'll go find a broom closet or something later and it'll work out."
Ginny sighed and wiped her face with her hand.
(Well, crap!)
(There goes all hope I had for a good day . . .)
"Blaise—?"
"Piss off!"
"Now, that's not very nice, Blaise."
"Here," Blaise countered, holding up his fingers in a very obscene manner, "that nice enough for you?"
Daphne frowned, crossed her arms, and shook her head.
Daphne had brought Blaise up to the seventh floor to the Room of Requirement for, as she had described to him, "A conversation you won't want to miss!"
And after she had cast a couple of charms to ensure their privacy from prying ears, and after she had made her proposal to her Slytherin friend, he had stared at her, gaping in disbelief for a few minutes . . . and then had laid into her with a stream of profanities and common language that Daphne had to tease him—
"You sound like a Weasley!"
Now, Blaise paced back and forth in front of Daphne, every once in a while kicking a piece of rubbish that some student or teacher or other individual had hidden away in the Room at some point in time long since past.
And while he kicked away at a crate that made an odd jingle-jangle noise every time his foot touched it, Daphne turned and found a very familiar object, resting on top of a bust of an ugly, old warlock.
It was the tiara, old, tarnished and connected to a dirty wig, that Daphne had recognized coming across last winter, when she and Colin Creevey had come to this very room to check on their pictures that they had used to blackmail Blaise and Eddie.
She had forgotten all about it since she had found it back in February. But now that she had accidentally happened upon it again, Daphne decided to take a closer look. She picked up the object and held it in her hand. She looked at the unassuming bauble, and realized that her initial assumptions about the tiara had been all wrong.
It wasn't some cheap piece of costume jewelry. It was old, and something about feeling it, picking it up and holding it in her hands made Daphne realize that it was made from something quite valuable.
(Such a shame that somebody left this old thing in here to rot.)
However, the longer she held it in her hands, the colder and . . . icier it felt. And Daphne thought she was going crazy; she thought she felt a small pulse throbbing inside of it. It felt as if the diadem was moving against her palm.
Daphne would've been repulsed by it, but, for some odd reason, she was having a hard time putting it back on the sculpture.
"I hate you, you know."
Daphne turned back to Blaise and she ditched the tiara into the open cabinet upon which the bust of the ugly warlock rested. She promptly shut the door and reoriented herself with where they had left off in their conversation.
She sighed. "I figured."
Blaise exhaled in frustration, and gave one last, mighty kick. He plopped down on some shelving just behind him. "Okay, give it to me again."
She rolled her eyes and walked over to him. "All right. I'm proposing, Blaise, my darling, dearest Blaise—"
He stuck his tongue out at her.
"I'm offering to return those pictures of you and Eddie that I used against you last year, as well as the money you gave me to keep it a secret—"
"You blackmailed me!"
"Tomato, to-mah-toe," Daphne blithely waved her hand. "I'll give all of that back to you once you join the DA and help us out with our fun little activities."
"And?" Blaise swirled his hand around impatiently.
"Well, I'm just telling you my opinion about the other thing." Daphne shook her head rapidly. "It's not my fault you think it's the end of the world or something."
Blaise hissed. "You're forcing me to tell everyone — all your little idiot friends!"
Daphne gave him a pitying look. "All I said was, if you truly want to show your commitment to our cause, you should think about opening up," she circled her hands in front of her, emphasizing her words, "to the others. Let them know exactly what you've got to lose by letting Vol—" she caught herself before completing his name, "You-Know-Who win. Otherwise," she said, with a small shrug and exaggerated expression of uncertainty, "they're not gonna trust you."
Blaise just stared at Daphne. "But look at you! They trusted you!" He threw his hand up, gesturing toward her.
"Not all of them did, and it took well over a year to even get Ron to trust me. And that was after I practically lived with his family last year."
Blaise slumped over and shook his head. Snorting twice, he rubbed at his temples. "Isn't there another way? Can't you just, I don't know . . . vouch for me or something?"
"Blaise, I don't think so. I think that all of us need to show our hands. If we're gonna be working together against the Death Eaters currently employed here at Hogwarts and breaking the law while we do so, then we need to be upfront and honest with each other too." Daphne cocked her head and shot Blaise a smile one could only describe as condescending. "Come on. It won't be so bad."
He growled at her.
"Aw! Puppy mad?" She patted his shoulder and stuck out her bottom lip.
"Can the attitude!" Blaise shook her off, and walked from her a distance.
"Okay, okay . . . I'm sorry. I laid it on a bit thick. But, Blaise," Daphne's voice evened out, and she approached him, now with a truly serious expression. "They barely had any notions about me when I joined up with them in fifth year. All they knew was that I was a sullen, sarcastic . . . maybe a bit slaggy . . . Slytherin girl who did well in classes. Honestly, look at yourself."
Blaise looked at Daphne, his expression softening. He cocked an eyebrow. "What's your point?"
"You are the physical embodiment of everything people think is wrong with Slytherin." Daphne waved her hand up and down, going the length of Blaise's upper body. "Don't believe me? Let me lay it out for you. One," she held up her finger, "you've been one of the most antagonistic pure-bloods in all of Hogwarts. Two," she held up another finger, "you've never minced words — publicly — that you feel pure-bloods are the top dogs and that you hate Muggle-borns—"
"You know I don't think like that anymore! You know!"
"But they don't, Blaise. " Daphne's finger stabbed the air, pointing to the door leading out of the Room, "And they've got no reason to think that you've stopped feeling like that, or that you have your own reasons to fight against the Ministry. If you tell them, Blaise, it'll make it that much easier for them to trust you. It'll help them understand you."
Blaise shook his head. "You don't know that. You don't know that they'll accept me." He chewed on his lower lip and put his hands on his hips. "It'd be one thing if I were just another half-blood Slytherin, like Bulstrode or even Davis. I'm not. I'm with another wizard — Eddie Carmichael of all people! What makes you think all of your gang's going to accept that?"
Daphne realized she hadn't quite thought about that. So focused had she been about recruiting Blaise to the cause, that she had forgotten that wizarding views regarding homosexuality might be as narrow-minded as the Death Eater's views about Muggle-borns.
What was worse, it was very likely that many of the members of Dumbledore's Army might not accept Blaise because of that very fact.
And . . . there was the fact that he was a very unlikable Slytherin.
Daphne whistled out a breath, and clicked her tongue. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, but she wanted to find a way to say it.
Pulling in her lips, Daphne lifted her eyes towards Blaise. She blinked very slowly. "Then change their minds."
Blaise lifted his eyebrow.
"Change their minds, Blaise. You've actually been an okay friend to me this past year—"
"You forced me!"
"No. No, I never said that you had to hang out with me, or be nice to me, or be my friend." Daphne spoke to him in a very direct manner. "I only asked for your protection. You were nice to me last year — healing me when Pansy broke my nose, sitting at meals with me when the whole House was shunning me, giving me Eddie's flat number so I'd have a place to go if I needed it." Daphne stood close to Blaise now; she looked up at him. Blaise forced himself to not look at her.
So, she continued talking.
"When you quit being an arse, and you let yourself be you, you're a nice bloke. Let them see that about you. Let them see why Eddie's completely barmy over you." Daphne looked at him with kind eyes; she did notice his body relaxing, even though he gave her no sign of a smile. "Can you be the nice Blaise, the one that doesn't bite?"
He shrugged in a hopeless manner. "I have to lure them in with my sparkling personality before I tell them, then?"
Daphne sighed. "Or, you can tell them, and be nice all the same." She swallowed. "I really don't like feeling like I'm backing you into a corner—"
(That's Carmichael's job, innit?)
She amazed herself with her ability to suppress a snort. "But, I'd recommend that you tell them about yourself, and treat them with respect. Even if they treat you like scum. Just be nice to them."
Blaise's brow darkened. "I'm not going to let them run all over me. If they treat me like crap—"
"Then deal with them, Blaise. But deal with them in a way that you'll still feel good about yourself in the morning."
Blaise looked off into the distance, just to the left of Daphne's head. "Can . . . can I make a decision . . ." his head fell. Daphne watched as he bothered and worried his fingertips. "Can I decide on Saturday? About whether to tell them?"
Daphne regarded him, her eyes soft and understanding. "Absolutely. But first," she said and held up a finger. She walked toward a very familiar cabinet and pulled away a stack of books and boxes that hid it from view. Without a word, Daphne opened the dark wooden door.
She walked slowly back toward Blaise, and held out a cream-colored envelope, filled with some documents.
"Here. Take 'em."
Blaise looked at the envelope, then looked back up at her.
"You're . . . you're not kidding?"
Daphne shook her head. "Check them. I told you we only made about five copies of each picture. Ten different pictures. So, fifty in all. And they're all there."
She spoke without sarcasm, and the straightforward tone that she used seemed to affect Blaise. He slowly reached out for the envelope, and grasped it carefully. Never taking his eyes off of her, Blaise took the package from Daphne's hand.
And without another word, he walked away.
Friday.
It was Friday evening, and she had to do it.
After having put away as much of her roast chicken and potatoes and treacle tart as she could manage, Daphne Greengrass stood along with Draco Malfoy, Head Boy (more like Head Git!) and made her way toward the Headmaster's office for their first meeting with Snape.
Daphne had heard of silences so thick, they could be cut with a knife. It was more than just a little true for this particular excursion.
Daphne felt like a ton of hippogriff dung had settled between her and the blond idiot.
Malfoy, for his part, seemed to have a permanently disgusted sneer stuck to his ratty visage. He kept his eyes trained forward, never looking at her. Daphne, however, continued her observations of Malfoy's face; he still didn't look like he was getting any sleep, and the grey bags under his eyes seemed to be more pronounced than ever before.
They arrived at the gargoyle statue marking the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Daphne stood back as Malfoy approached it first; she felt a sickening feeling as she realized that Snape now inhabited the sanctuary of the man he had killed only a few months earlier.
(Does he sleep at night?)
(How can he not think of that night? How can he take a life of a friend and colleague and not dream about it every minute of every day?)
(How does Snape live with himself—)
(Hell, I can't even live with myself for having idolized him for all those years . . .)
"Greengrass, are you going to stand there like a mute idiot, or are you going to say the damn password?"
Daphne's head snapped around. She had been standing there for several minutes in silent disgust, staring at the statue as she thought of the man who currently occupied the room. She remembered that she had been the one who had received the note from Snape earlier that day, reminding both her and Malfoy of the meeting and telling her . . .
"And, just so you know, my mother's maiden name was Eileen Prince."
At first she had been mystified by the statement, and had even thought about asking Malfoy, since his daddy and Snape seemed to be the best of Death Eater-y friends, why Snape had chosen to reveal such a small bit of personal information. It had taken her only a couple of minutes to realize that Snape had just told her what the password to his office was.
She paused, cleared her throat, and, glaring at Malfoy, she enunciated clearly: "Eileen Prince!"
The statute swirled, and the stone grinded and crunched. Daphne's eyes widened as the stairs to the Headmaster's office appeared in full view.
Malfoy didn't even wait for her to go first; he pushed her roughly aside and stomped up the steps. Daphne suppressed a growl and followed him, stopping directly in front of the door.
Malfoy had his fist raised, but stopped just before he knocked on the door.
For the first time since knowing the blond Death-Eater-In-Training, Daphne could actually see stark, naked fear written all over his face.
She felt herself about to say, "Draco—" to get him to snap out of his trance, when the door opened.
A tall, sallow-skinned man with dark, beady eyes and greasy hair stepped into the doorframe.
"Well," Snape drawled, "I am glad I chose two students who could find my office with such a minimal amount of effort." He spoke thick and lazily to the pair of students, his face bearing one of the most minimal expressions possible. With his right hand, he gestured toward the interior of the office. "Come in, but make sure that you have properly cleaned the soles of your shoes." Snape walked back inside the room. "It will not do have dirt and other effluvia tracked in from the devil . . . knows . . . where."
He floated over to the desk in the middle of the lower level of the office. Positioning himself behind it, he turned with his arms crossed, to face Daphne and Malfoy, who now stood in front of him, side–by–side.
"Wonderful," Snape said, without a trace of amusement or enthusiasm. "Now . . . sit."
Two chairs appeared out of nowhere. The seat of Daphne's chair hit her behind the knees rather roughly, causing her to stumble into a sitting position in the piece of furniture. Just out of the corner of her eye, she could see Malfoy doing the same thing.
Daphne took this opportunity to look around the office. Whatever dark and evil things she had been expecting — cauldrons filled with some poisonous green concoction, dead creatures hung from anywhere a rope could be tied, or other dangerous objects — she did not get.
The place seemed normal. Almost boring.
Particularly for the man who was essentially Voldemort's second–in–command.
The cabinets were all closed, and Daphne thought she could hear the whirring and whizzing around of some odd object or another behind the doors. The paintings of the old headmasters remained on the walls, but most of the occupants were either sleeping or had vacated the canvas. Only one, a very haughty, 'turn–of–the–century'–looking fellow whom Daphne recognized as Phineas Nigellus, the worst Headmaster in the history of Hogwarts, still remained, awake and filing his fingernails on his suit.
And that's when Daphne noticed, with a tightness in her chest, the picture just below Nigellus' portrait. With a gasp of shock, with water pooling in her eyes, she got up out of her chair and walked over to it.
The old wizard in the portrait was sleeping soundly, his spectacles sliding to the end of his very long nose. His long red and purple robes fell about his form as he snored quietly, his elegant fingers folded in front of his chest. Despite his slouching and slumbering form, it was obvious he was a wizard of great height and great knowledge.
Daphne stood transfixed, mesmerized with the sleeping figure. She reached out to the portrait with a trembling hand and chin.
"Pr- . . . professor?" she whispered. "D- . . . Dumbledore?"
She thought for a brief moment that the old man's eyes flickered as she said his name, and that she could see his sparkling blue eyes.
"Miss – Greengrass."
Daphne spun around. Snape stood stock still, his arms folded, and Daphne could hear his foot tapping on the cold stone floor. Draco Malfoy slouched lazily in his seat, huffing impatiently.
Snape swept his hand back to the chair that Daphne had just vacated. "We have a great many things to discuss to-night, Miss Greengrass."
Daphne nodded slowly. Wiping her eyes, she shook her head and composed herself as she made her way back to her seat.
A/N: Next -- the first meeting of Dumbledore's Army . . .
