Daphne Greengrass was sitting on the couch in her office, impatiently tapping her fingers against the armrest, trying not to get distracted by memories of fooling around with Harry in this very spot. Her wonderful fiancé had always insisted she looked incredibly sexy while plotting and scheming, so he was usually in an amorous mood after their strategy meetings. As for her, well… seeing Harry Potter support her schemes, whether by actively contributing ideas or just submissively nodding along, was the ultimate turn-on for Daphne.

Unfortunately and to her great annoyance, instead of blissfully snuggling with Harry after being thoroughly ravished, she was currently engaged in a far less pleasing activity – staring at Hermione Granger's butt. The girl stood before her, bent over with her hands tied in front of her body. Her entire posture practically begged for some spanking, and Daphne made a mental note to try that with Harry sometime. But of course, Granger wasn't here to have her bottom spanked by her. The thought of doing that to a woman did nothing for Daphne (to Millicent's eternal regret). More importantly, spanking Granger would require Daphne to physically touch the dirty mudblood, and she would prefer to avoid that as much as possible.

Instead, the real reason for Granger's strange posture and her presence in Daphne's office was her face being submerged in the silvery surface of Daphne's pensieve. It had been twenty minutes since Daphne had left Granger's gloomy cell with the securely restrained prisoner in tow. The last five of those minutes had then been spent with the girl viewing one of Daphne's memories (or rather, one of her ideas) she had a while ago, back when Daphne had still naively hoped the illustrious Miss Granger might accept the truth. Those days were long gone now, and Daphne's original plans for the mudblood were no longer relevant. She was only showing them to Granger because the girl had practically begged to see what her fate might have been had she submitted to her superiors when she still had the chance.

Unfortunately, such a thing was easier said than done, as Daphne knew from experience the mudblood was unlikely to believe anything she would say. She suspected it was a psychological defense mechanism the girl had come up with to deny pureblood supremacy. Basically, Granger had made her up to be a pathological liar of the worst kind in her mind. Only by doing so was she able to dismiss everything she had been told as lies and propaganda, completely ignoring the mountain of evidence and countless examples of her inferiority. Had she actually looked at it objectively, Daphne was certain she would have been begging to submit a long time ago.

Ironically, despite Granger's rampant paranoia about being lied to, Daphne had only truly done so once – back when she had falsely promised to let her go during her escape attempt. Other than that, Daphne had never outright lied to her, regardless of what the girl believed. Still, if she had wanted to, Daphne would have felt little regret about lying to Granger either. The girl was her inferior. Unless she acknowledged that and accepted her place, Daphne felt no obligation to treat her with the honesty reserved for proper wizards and witches.

So knowing the mudblood was inclined to outright dismiss her words, Daphne decided it was better to show her instead. She had Granger secured and escorted into her office, where she poured a bottle containing one of her carefully stored and cataloged thoughts into the pensieve. Finally, Daphne unceremoniously grabbed the mudblood by her tangled, matted mess of brown hair and shoved her face into the silvery liquid. After that, she sat down on the couch, waiting as Hermione Granger viewed the entire memory… and perhaps more.

Ever since becoming head of House Greengrass, Daphne had come to truly appreciate how incredibly useful the pensieve was – not just for viewing memories but also to bounce ideas around, so to speak. While Daphne thought herself a person of exceptional intelligence, she was modest enough to realize she didn't know everything. As a result, her plans and ideas, no matter how meticulously thought out, always contained flaws – a dangerous thing when waging a war. This was where the pensieve came in. By pouring an idea into it, Daphne could examine her plan as a realistic, interactive scenario. Experiencing the results of her plans firsthand allowed her to consider angles she might have otherwise missed entirely. Repeating the process several times could turn even a flawed idea into a flawless one.

Given how useful it was for war planning, Daphne tended to use the pensieve a lot. Harry once jokingly suggested she was suffering from a pensieve addiction after she once spent weeks inside, going over their plans repeatedly. Of course, with the time-compression feature engaged, the time she spent inside translated to only a few hours in real time. But Daphne could definitely see Harry's point. Luckily, the scenario Granger was observing was merely days long, meaning she should be coming out any moment now. By Daphne's estimate, she should have done so already. Daphne was growing impatient at the delay, wondering what was taking so long. There was only so much of Hermione Granger's presence she could tolerate, after all. Just as Daphne was considering forcibly pulling the mudblood out, Granger suddenly lifted her head from the pensieve, releasing a long-held breath in a loud gasp.

Almost all first-time users of the pensieve instinctively took a deep breath before diving in, expecting the silvery liquid to behave like water. In reality, it was anything but, and it was best to breathe normally. The mudblood looked around in confusion, her eyes darting between the pensieve and her surroundings as she tried to make sense of what had happened. That was to be expected, as from Granger's perspective, she had been gone for days. Daphne loudly cleared her throat to remind the mudblood of her presence, causing Granger to spin around as fast as the shackles around her ankles allowed. Granger's eyes flicked between her restrained hands and Daphne sitting on the couch. The confusion on her face slowly gave way to understanding, and then to fear. Granger had nothing particular to fear at this moment, but these days, fear had become her default reaction to Daphne's presence. Surprisingly, though, there was something else in her expression – something Daphne had trouble identifying.

"What I saw… was it the truth? Was it real?" Granger mumbled at last, regaining her bearings. Her habitual skepticism and distrust were clear in her voice, but Daphne thought she also detected a wistful tone. "Is that what would have really happened?" the mudblood added, confirming Daphne's suspicion.

"That is the future I was planning for you had you willingly submitted. I swear it on my ancestors," Daphne assured her before addressing the mudblood's next, fairly interesting question. "Would it have actually happened? That is impossible to say for sure. All I can say with certainty is, at one point, I was determined to see it happen," Daphne explained. From her expression, it was obvious Granger wanted to believe her but, as always, was hesitant to accept her words.

"But why?" she questioned, starting to ramble. "I don't understand! I'm just a mudblood to you, aren't I? An inferior cretin… worthless filth!" she cried out, going on to repeat nearly every title Daphne and her people had ever bestowed upon her. Hopeless bitterness dripped from her words. Unlike back in the cell, this time Daphne didn't interrupt Granger's rant by telling her to shut up. Instead, she let her get it all off her chest. Besides, while the girl's speeches always seemed endless at first, eventually, a lack of oxygen in her lungs was bound to force her to pause. Daphne just waited for it to happen, and when it did, she quickly interjected.

"You're right. That is exactly what you are to me," Daphne agreed without hesitation, much to the mudblood's great surprise. The girl even looked at her with something close to disappointment. Daphne chuckled at her expression, making it even worse, but she didn't care. If the mudblood hoped Daphne would deny her self-deprecating words, she was sorely mistaken. If anything, what she had said hadn't been dark enough to capture the contempt Daphne sometimes felt toward Hermione Granger. She would never vocalize those feelings because a) her parents had raised her to be polite, and b) there weren't curses strong enough in the tongues of men. However, what the mudblood still failed to realize was that her numerous failings (chief among them being a mudblood) didn't have to invalidate her strengths and vice versa.

"Come… join me," Daphne instructed, indicating a chair in front of her. Normally, she wouldn't entertain Granger like an equal, but Daphne could see how confused and hurt the girl was. Not so much by Daphne's words or her first-time experience with the pensieve, but rather by wanting what she had seen in there to be the truth – even if, in that hypothetical future, she had submitted to the purebloods. Daphne could sense all those contradictory thoughts chaotically swirling in Granger's mind, and she wasn't without sympathy. She watched as Granger carefully shuffled to the chair before taking the offered seat. At Daphne's prompting, she even took the glass of water prepared for her on the table. The slack in her handcuffs was just enough to allow her to bring the glass to her lips without spilling. Granger took a few sips before placing it back on the table.

"You've been in there a lot longer than I expected," Daphne began, glancing at the pensieve. Granger followed her gaze before nodding with a sheepish look.

"Yeah… I've been—I've been talking to her," she admitted. In that moment, she looked perhaps more confused than ever.

"Her?" Daphne repeated, raising an eyebrow with an amused smile. It was just like Granger to stumble upon the pensieve's most valuable feature during her first experience.

The girl looked abashed at Daphne's mocking tone. "You know what I mean…"

Daphne nodded. "It's not actually alive, you know," she reminded her.

"I know. She told me that, too, when I asked," the mudblood admitted, looking deep in thought. "She still seemed alive, though. It's quite incredible," she added, glancing at the pensieve contemplatively. Daphne couldn't fault Granger for her reaction. After all, it was fairly common, even among proper wizards and witches. Because of their ability to simulate reality and provide interactive responses, there was a popular misconception pensieves possessed minds of their own – that they were somehow alive. While inside, one could even speak to a human-shaped avatar of that 'mind', if they wished, which Granger had seemingly done.

"Of course, it's incredible. Purebloods invented it," Daphne quipped, causing Granger to roll her eyes.

"You just never give up, do you?" the girl said, shaking her head. Luckily, she seemed to have accepted the pensieve wasn't alive. Knowing how Granger was with house-elves, Daphne had been worried she might next accuse her of keeping the poor pensieve enslaved or something equally ridiculous.

And it would be ridiculous, because as strange as it sounded, the ability to think wasn't among the commonly accepted definitions of life. Daphne wasn't an expert, but she understood enough to know the sentience seemingly exhibited by pensieves was merely a mirror image of all the minds that had ever used it, merged together – a perfect reflection, but still nothing more than a static image of intelligence, lacking emotions, goals, or motivations. With that said, Daphne didn't mean to diminish the great accomplishment of the inventors. After all, they had taught a rock how to think…

The older pensieves, such as the one her family possessed or the one at Hogwarts, could be particularly intelligent and lifelike, making it easy to anthropomorphize them. This was because whenever someone used the pensieve, the magic within it further trained itself based on their mind. The more people who used it, the more minds the magic could train upon, leading to increasingly accurate and interactive responses. In fact, Daphne couldn't help but smirk at the thought of the mudblood's powerful mind making her family's pensieve a tiny bit smarter once more. Whether she liked it or not, Hermione Granger was already serving the pureblood cause, even in defiance. And that was how it should be.

"We talked about what you showed me… argued, more like it," the girl continued, and Daphne smiled at the idea of Hermione Granger trying to win an argument with her pensieve. From the stories Harry had told her, Daphne knew conversations with Granger could be very long. By Daphne's estimate, Granger must have spent at least a day arguing with it. Alive or not, the pensieve was probably the only conversational partner in existence that wouldn't get frustrated with Granger, so it had to have been a veritable paradise for the annoying mudblood.

"Why? Why let me have any power at all after beating me down to my knees?" Granger finally posed the question that had clearly been burning in her mind since she emerged from the pensieve.

"Because you're an intelligent woman," Daphne declared, folding her fingers on her lap as she regarded her prisoner carefully. "I also realize you genuinely wish to help your kind, even if you're tragically misguided on how that should be accomplished." When Granger still looked at her skeptically, Daphne added, "I want there to be peace and stability after the war. Is it so difficult to believe that I'd see the benefit of having someone like you, who genuinely cares about mudbloods, be responsible for mudblood affairs?"

After much introspection, Daphne had concluded the Muggleborn Registration Commission had been a flawed concept from the very beginning, even disregarding the dark lord's insidious influence. The critical mistake had been not involving the mudbloods in the decision-making process as policymakers and full members of the commission. The mudbloods should have been worked with, not against. "I stand by what I showed you – you would have been a perfect junior undersecretary to the Minister for Magic. A fitting position for someone of both your intelligence and blood status," Daphne concluded.

"So I'd be a puppet for the pureblood supremacist regime," Granger snapped angrily, though her words lacked their usual venom.

"You can call it whatever you want," Daphne replied with disinterest. "That regime is coming, whether you approve of it or not," she pointed out. "You couldn't stop it… I wouldn't let you. All you could have done was to make the most of it."

"And you'd really let me make an actual difference?" Granger asked, disbelief coloring her tone. "Or would you sabotage all my efforts and make me your token mudblood?" she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Daphne laughed, amused at her paranoia once again coming up. "Do you see me micromanaging the lives of the mudbloods who serve me?" she asked. When the girl lowered her eyes without answering, Daphne shook her head. "Granger, I don't even like to look at you!" Daphne reminded her. "Why in the name of sanity would I wish to run your life and department? As long as you didn't deviate from the general policies, you would have been free to do whatever you wished, just like any other department head," she stressed. Before the girl could complain about the term "general policies," Daphne quickly added, "Besides, had I actually prevented you from doing your job, I imagine you would have quickly seen it and quit in protest," she suggested, instantly recognizing she had her there.

Granger nodded thoughtfully, and silence fell as she undoubtedly imagined what that hypothetical future might have been like.

"Anyway, I hope you realize this discussion is entirely academic at this point," Daphne spoke next, interrupting her contemplation. "Instead of submitting, you've resisted me at every turn. And in doing so, you have destroyed any chance you had of helping your people," Daphne told her plainly and without mercy. Granger's fate was, indeed, a great irony. The girl had so dread submitting to Daphne, convinced it would make her a puppet. And yet, that was exactly what she had become by resisting – a person with no agency and no worthwhile future to look forward to.

"What's going to happen to me?" Granger asked, not meeting Daphne's eyes as she asked about her future, likely wondering whether she even had one.

"After the war is over, you'll be transferred to a different, more permanent holding facility," Daphne revealed, coming to the crux of the matter. Explaining her mid- and long-term plans for Granger had been one of the reasons she had visited the girl's cell in the first place. "You'll be kept in comfort and good health. I will even allow you to request books from my family's library. But you will never go free," she informed Hermione Granger of her final decision.

Daphne could see how much the girl tried to be brave, gripping the armrests and trying to steady her breaths as she absorbed what the rest of her life would be like. But in the end, she failed. Against her will, Hermione Granger let out a single sob, followed by another, and before long, she was openly crying, her face buried in her shackled hands. Daphne watched impassively as the mudblood broke down, devastated by learning her ultimate fate. It had to be horrible for Granger – to learn she would be locked up for the rest of her life, never able to accomplish anything really, except perhaps being able to read a lot of books.

On the other hand, Granger had tried to murder her and the people closest to her during her escape attempt. For that alone, Daphne would have preferred to feed her to a dementor. Imprisoning her for life in relative comfort hadn't been her idea but rather something Harry had suggested. His reasoning was that they were planning the same fate for Bellatrix Lestrange, who, unlike Granger, was an actual murderess. Both Bellatrix and Granger were also dangerous fanatics, albeit on opposite sides of the spectrum, so it was a fitting solution to deal with them in a similar fashion. Daphne thought there was plenty wrong with Harry's idea, such as the two women's blood status entitling them to vastly different treatments. However, Daphne had no intention of defending Bellatrix, whom she despised for her actions against the Longbottoms and Lord Black. And so she had agreed with Harry's suggestion – Hermione Granger would be contained in the same manner insane purebloods were in the past.

Granger took a deep breath, her eyes closed as she did her best to calm herself down and banish the tears. After what seemed like an eternity, she released her breath, seemingly having come to a major, albeit uncomfortable, decision. "Please..." she whispered, slowly opening her eyes and looking at Daphne pleadingly. Granger's eyes practically begged for mercy, but she would find none in Daphne's icy blue ones.

"Please?" Daphne repeated with light mockery while pinning the mudblood down with her merciless gaze. "Are you asking me for help again, Hermione?" she questioned, uttering the name with such false sweetness it could give Dolores Umbridge a run for her money. The mudblood held her gaze only for a moment longer before meekly lowering her eyes and slipping out of her chair. Given both her hands and ankles were tied, it was an awkward process, but in the end, she did manage to get down on her knees. Back in her cell, she had been crying and shaking while doing so, but now she simply looked up at Daphne pleadingly.

'She's getting used to this,' Daphne thought with satisfaction, knowing Granger only had herself to thank for her pathetic fate. Her inability to adapt and accept her rightful place had led her to this – her agency in life shrinking down to begging her captor for mercy. The best outcome she could hope for now was receiving that mercy. She would never have anything more for herself than this. By refusing to submit to her superiors, driving away her friends, and finally trying to escape, she had become what she most dreaded becoming – Daphne's bitch.

"Please," Granger pleaded again, now on her knees. She glanced at the pensieve with longing. "Is there no way that…"

"No," Daphne interrupted decisively, following the mudblood's gaze and knowing exactly what she meant to ask for. In this case, though, Daphne would not be moved to offer any clemency. "I could never trust you in such a position. Not while you refuse to accept your rightful place," she stressed, feeling no pity for Granger. The girl had so many opportunities to avoid exactly this fate—to be a good mudblood—but she had stubbornly rejected them all. At worst, she should have just kept her head down and mouth shut until it was over, and then she could have been free. But no, she had to go and try to murder them all!

"Please… I can't change how I feel about this!" Granger cried despondently. "I'll never believe muggleborns are inherently inferior! I don't! I can't!"

"I know," Daphne replied calmly. A small, childishly naïve part of her even respected Granger a little for sticking to her beliefs like that, even if those beliefs were utterly wrong and would see her condemned. What she didn't expect was for Granger to destroy that impression with her very next sentence.

"W-what if I swore an unbreakable vow not to act against you and to follow your orders?" Hermione Granger asked, her expression unreadable. She was literally grasping at straws at this point, but she also looked completely serious and determined.

"Careful, mudblood," Daphne growled warningly. "Don't make me lose the last tiny bit of respect I have for you."

"I-I was being serious!" the girl protested.

Daphne's frown deepened. "You just don't get it, do you?! Mudbloods serve me because they wish to, not because magic compels them," Daphne reminded her in a harsh tone. "Had I been interested in having an unwilling servant, I would have fed you love and loyalty potions from the beginning!" she told her and shook her head with disappointment. "The only reason you're suggesting this is because now you face the end, Granger. You've lost, completely and utterly. You've lost, and I've won. And, like always, you don't wish to face the consequences of your choices. You—"

"YOU'RE RIGHT!" the mudblood yelled out, interrupting Daphne's speech and making her see red. "I know you've won!" Granger spoke quickly before Daphne could call her out on her insolence. "I know there is nothing I can do to stop you. But it's not the reason why I'm willing to make that oath, I swear!"

Daphne scowled at her for a moment before asking, "What's the reason, then?" she snapped.

Granger met her eyes and said, "Because… because I shudder to think what you're planning for my people! And yes, once again, I know there's nothing I can do to stop you now. But if I can spare them even the smallest part of your cruelty…" she said, trailing off and glancing at the pensieve longingly. "I have to be in a position to do that. Even… even if it means submitting to you," she finished, returning her gaze to Daphne.

Daphne shook her head in disbelief, not buying Granger's sermon about selfless sacrifice for the greater good of the mudbloods. "You seriously expect me to believe protecting your people is why you would submit to me? You just don't want to be confined for life! Admit it!" Daphne spat at the girl kneeling at her feet.

Instead of getting angry as well, Granger smiled weakly. "Well, haven't you once said my filthy mudblood mind is like an open book to you?" she asked sarcastically. Daphne frowned at her tone but then just shrugged, deciding to accept the invitation. Entering Granger's mind had always made her feel dirty, but she knew the experience was even more uncomfortable for her prisoner, so that was a plus. She drew her wand and pressed its tip between Granger's brown eyes, still moist with the tears she had shed.

"Legilimens!" Daphne cried, once again diving into the mudblood's filthy mind. The girl was extremely agitated, and it took Daphne a moment to handle the sudden influx of emotions. But ultimately, it was exactly like Granger said – her inferior mind was like an open book to her. Daphne purposefully probed more deeply than she normally would, verifying there weren't any occlumency barriers. She knew that was pretty much impossible without sufficient levels of physical magic, but it never hurt to be cautious, especially with Granger. She didn't find even a hint of barriers or any other deception and was therefore forced to conclude that what she was seeing were the mudblood's actual thoughts. And what she was seeing… well, it pissed Daphne off, to be honest. Not because Granger was lying, but because she wasn't, proving Daphne wrong in her assumption.

While the girl definitely didn't want to spend the rest of her life in confinement, it wasn't enough to make her beg for submission. Instead, it really was the desire to help her people that drove her to such desperate action. She was willing to personally betray everything she believed in just so she could have a chance to make some of it a reality. Daphne resisted the almost overwhelming urge to make the mudblood suffer – not just for proving her wrong, but for making her recognize herself in that mindset. Instead, Daphne almost gently withdrew from her mind.

"Sit down," she ordered the kneeling girl and watched as Granger returned to her seat, looking at Daphne with a hopeful expression but not daring to say anything. Eventually, Daphne shook her head and sighed. "Every time I think I understand you, Granger…"


"You're so pretty… you could have any boy in school!" Hermione declared loudly, looking Daphne up and down as she took a sip from her wine glass.

Daphne swirled the liquid in her own glass, a small smile twisting onto her lips at Granger's words. She was, of course, well aware of her beauty and the effect it had on men. She couldn't even count how many boys had tried asking her out at Hogwarts over the years, or how many proposals for her hand her father had received. It had reached the point where she kept her popularity a secret from her female friends to avoid making them needlessly jealous. Pansy, in particular, could be prickly about things like that.

"So why… why Harry?" Granger stammered out her question. "Is it because he's the boy-who-lived?" she wondered.

"I won't lie and say it's not a perk for me," Daphne admitted after a moment of thought. "But I can honestly say I'd want to be with Harry even if, politically speaking, it brought me nothing at all," she said, smiling as her mind drifted to the person she loved. "Harry and I… I think it's because we want the same things," she theorized. "We fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle," she said, meeting Granger's eyes. "On every level, if you catch my drift," she added in a serious tone before playfully winking, causing Granger's cheeks to flush red, matching the wine in her glass.

After what Daphne had seen in Granger's mind – and faced with the realization she might never truly understand the mudblood – a thought occurred to her: perhaps, instead of trying to understand Granger as a witch, which might be impossible given her blood status, she could try to understand her simply as a girl.

But for that to happen, they would both need to seriously unwind…

To that end, she had called for an elf and requested wine and cheese to be brought for them. At first, the mudblood didn't wish to drink the wine, committing yet another faux pas by refusing Daphne's offer of hospitality. This annoyed Daphne, who retorted, "Fine, it's far too good a vintage to waste on a damn mudblood!" As always, Granger frowned at her words, but ironically, they made her reconsider, and she picked up the glass. Since then, Daphne had already had a second bottle brought for them…

"My turn now," Daphne announced, smirking at her guest. At least Granger felt more like a guest now that Daphne had generously loosened her chains. She waited for Granger to take another sip of her wine before asking her question. "What's up with you and Draco… you fancy him?" Just as she had hoped, Granger immediately choked and spluttered out the wine, spraying it all over her clothes. 'Yes!' Daphne thought victoriously, smiling with supreme satisfaction. She had loved doing that to people since she was little, as Harry had experienced several times. One time, he even got her back the same way. Being the recipient of this prank for a change, Daphne had to admit it wasn't pleasant. But that didn't mean she would stop enjoying it. As a conciliatory gesture, she gave her wand a lazy wave, vanishing the mess from Granger's clothes.

"W-WHAT? HOW? LIKE—WHAT?" Granger stuttered in shock after regaining her breath. "I'm not—I don't fancy Malfoy!" she insisted. "Why would you even ask me that?! Anytime we spoke, we either fought or insulted each other. You know that!"

"True," Daphne acknowledged, having been personally present for many of their arguments. "However, opposites attract, you see..."

The girl vehemently shook her head in denial. "No, they don't! Not like that, anyway," Granger insisted.

"Well, I'm sure my sister will be delighted to hear that," Daphne said with a smile. When her father had first started negotiating with Lucius over Astoria's betrothal, the issue of Draco's apparent obsession with Granger had come up. Of course, Lucius insisted there was nothing there, and her father pretended to accept his word on that while secretly asking his eldest to ascertain the matter herself. Daphne reluctantly did as she was bid and was delighted to report the rumors about Draco and Granger were just that and nothing more.

"I'm not sure how you missed it," Daphne said, shaking her head. "Half the school must have been gossiping about Draco and you at one point or another! The prevailing theory was the two of you were either secretly shagging or about to," she told her without preamble.

"T-that's insane! Why would anyone ever think I could end up with Draco?!" Granger muttered in horror before frowning. "Seriously… don't people have anything better to do than come up with nonsense like that?!" she asked unhappily.

Daphne merely laughed at that, agreeing with Granger on that point at least, never personally subscribing to or showing interest in such baseless gossip – she had always happily left that to Tracey. However, given how insistently Draco would rant about Granger for hours on end, she could understand why some people might think there was something there.

"Besides, he wouldn't have liked me even if I wasn't a muggleborn and we didn't argue all the time," Granger suggested after calming down a bit. "I wouldn't be pretty enough for him," she said with a hint of sadness. Daphne shook her head at that statement. While she did think her sister was more attractive than the mudblood, what Granger said was ridiculous.

"Oh, please," Daphne said, rolling her eyes. "You went out with Viktor Krum. Are you seriously telling me he first noticed you because of your brain and personality?" While Daphne knew those things were very important in a relationship, it had been her observation physical appearance was often more important in the initial attraction and approach. "Most girls at school were jealous of you that year!" Daphne could still recall every detail of her fourth year, which was probably the most annoying year of her education. All the girls had gone crazy over either Krum or Diggory… or sometimes even Fleur Delacour. It had made for tedious conversations with her friends, so Daphne had spent most of that year in the library – just like Granger.

"He must have seen us both in the library… and yet you're the one he asked out," Daphne said, shaking her head. Had she been even slightly interested in Viktor Krum at the time, she would have been greatly insulted and hated Granger's guts even more than she already had.

"Viktor's an exception," Granger insisted. "Between the two of us, out of a hundred boys, ninety-nine of them would ask you out first."

Daphne raised an eyebrow as she parsed her words. "For the sake of argument, let's say you're right. Is that something that bothers you?" she wondered. From her many excursions into Granger's mind, she knew the girl rather intensely disliked the fact Daphne possessed the classical female beauty. Not out of personal jealousy, but rather because she thought it had allowed Daphne to ensnare Harry. At least that was the impression Daphne had originally gathered, but perhaps she had overlooked some hidden insecurities the mudblood harbored about her appearance.

Hermione shrugged. "I'm merely stating a fact. It's just one more advantage you have," she stated, and now Daphne could hear the bitterness in her voice clearly. "And you make it look so effortless, too," she added, looking Daphne over once more. "I mean, how much effort did you actually put into looking this amazing today?" she wondered aloud.

"Not much I guess," Daphne admitted, watching as Granger threw her hands up in frustrated resignation.

"Exactly my point!" Hermione declared, picking up her wine glass and draining half of it.

"You could make an effort too, you know," Daphne retorted. When the girl snorted in response, Daphne frowned and added, "I was being serious." She stood up, walking behind Granger's chair. "Why don't you take better care of yourself?" Daphne asked, brushing a hand through the girl's unkempt hair. Only the alcohol dulling her magical senses allowed her to do so without recoiling in disgust at the complete absence of magic in those brown tresses.

'Hey, maybe that's the key to the ridiculous equality the mudblood wants. We all just need to stay drunk forever!' Daphne thought sarcastically.

"It's hard to take care of oneself when you're in prison," Granger replied sarcastically. She was about to say more, but the audible grinding of Daphne's teeth made her think better of it.

"I meant at Hogwarts," Daphne clarified, remembering the hairstyles – or rather the lack of them – she had seen on Granger over the years. She knew the mudblood wasn't terribly concerned with her appearance, unlike the rest of her Gryffindor classmates. Daphne didn't mind that attitude – in fact, she even respected it. But there was a wide gap between excessive vanity and being a complete slob. And while Granger wasn't a slob either, she could certainly stand to put in a bit more effort.

"I've tried. With my hair, it just takes too much time to do every day," the girl said, and Daphne couldn't tell whether she was joking or whether Granger was just being her usual muggle self.

"You do remember you're a witch, don't you?" she asked impatiently. "There are hair-styling charms and potions."

"That's exactly what I meant. Lavender and Parvati showed me every single one," Granger retorted. "But they take at least two hours every day to use… not really worth the effort."

The moment Granger mentioned the names of the girls who'd taught her about hair-styling magic, Daphne understood the problem instantly. She could've kicked herself for not seeing it sooner – but then again, she'd already had plenty of wine…

"Hmm, we shall see," Daphne hummed as she took out her wand and started poking the girl's hair with it. Granger instantly froze in fear, making Daphne realize she hadn't given her any warning or asked for her permission. "May I?" she asked.

"D-do I have a choice?" the mudblood asked, her tone a mix of resignation and genuine surprise.

"In this, you do," Daphne assured her.

Hermione Granger was silent for a while before she relaxed in her chair. "Go ahead, then. Just… don't turn it blonde. Please!" she added rather anxiously.

Daphne paused at that before exploding with laughter, finding Granger's worry about becoming a blonde hilarious. She had been in Granger's mind and knew the girl suffered from many muggle cultural stereotypes, including the one about dumb blondes and them having more fun. Granger was convinced Daphne had played up the latter by seducing Harry and taking her friend away. At the same time, she bemoaned the fact Daphne did not fall under the first stereotype by being an airheaded blonde bimbo, believing they would have escaped by now if that had been the case.

"And risk Harry falling in love with you too? Why would I do that?!" Daphne asked in fake shock. "I already have Luna Lovegood to worry about. I don't need even more irresistibly beautiful blonde women running around the place," she told her in a totally serious voice, deciding to play on Granger's prejudice instead of trying to change her mind in vain.

Granger opened her mouth at the blatant admission but quickly realized Daphne was teasing her. She closed it into a frown instead, staying silent while Daphne worked on her hair. It didn't take long – barely few minutes of quiet spellcasting to make Granger's hair look passable. The rest, Daphne thought, would be more effectively handled with a potion. "All done," she announced, conjuring a mirror and handing it to the mudblood.

Granger was skeptical about it taking such a short time and thought she would see nothing new in the mirror. All the greater was her shock to see her normally bushy, unruly hair had been softened, each strand gently relaxing from its usual frizz into something much smoother. Her curls remained, but they no longer tangled chaotically. Instead, they cascaded down her shoulders in polished, defined waves, giving her graceful, natural volume. Daphne had subtly lifted the hair near her face to keep it from falling into her eyes, while the rest was tamed with a loose twist at the back.

"It's beautiful! How… how did you do that?" Granger asked reverently, staring at her reflection in wonder. Her childlike amazement lasted only a few seconds before she remembered who she was dealing with, and the inevitable rant began. She practically demanded to know which spells Daphne had used to achieve such impressive results so quickly. When Daphne explained they were family-developed spells, Granger all but accused her of hoarding knowledge once again.

It was one of the girl's favorite refrains – the insistence Daphne's family should freely share all the magical discoveries her ancestors had made over the centuries, as if House Greengrass were some kind of charity with no expenses or obligations. Daphne had no idea where Granger had picked up such an attitude, especially considering even muggles routinely licensed nearly all their inventions, including chemical compounds found in human bodies. Not to mention House Greengrass had actually shared nearly half of their magical discoveries freely with the community, including the very hair-styling spells she'd just used.

"But I tried all those spells!" Granger protested. "Lavender taught me, and I even looked up the spells in the library. I did everything right! The spells just don't work!"

"Oh, I'm sure you did everything right," Daphne said, her tone balancing between patronizing and sympathetic as she imagined a frustrated Hermione Granger perfecting the wand movements and incantations, only to get terrible results.

"Lavender Brown is a pureblood; she has magic in her body and hair. You… don't," Daphne said, her face scrunching up in mild disgust as she spoke. "The spells you used weren't designed for hair without magic. It throws them off, drastically reducing their effectiveness," she explained. "The spells I just used were specifically adjusted to compensate for the lack of physical magic. You could even use them on a muggle!" she added, though she couldn't imagine why anyone would ever want to – but it was possible, she supposed.

"This again?!" Granger said tiredly and sighed, shaking her head. "I've read literally every book in the Hogwarts library about magical hairstyling. Not one of them mentioned muggleborns shouldn't use those spells!"

"Of course not," Daphne replied, watching Granger's frustration with quiet pity. In Daphne's view, the girl was essentially a victim of Dumbledore's philosophy – one that ignored the genuine differences between purebloods and mudbloods to gradually erase the very concept of blood status. Naturally, this philosophy required the mudblood-specific spells be kept hidden. "If you read about spells specifically tailored for mudbloods, you'd immediately want to know why. And that, sooner or later, would lead you straight to pureblood supremacy," Daphne explained.

She then called for an elf and asked them to bring a book from the library. In less than a minute, the elf was back, handing the book to Granger, who looked at the cover.

"A Hundred and One Spells for Well-Groomed Mudbloods…" Granger read the title aloud, her gaze shifting to the next line. "…by Errenius Greengrass," she finished, staring at the cover before placing the book on her lap and laughing at the absurdity of it all. Her eyes flicked between the book and her shackled hands. "I never even stood a chance against you, did I?" she said after a moment. "The deck's been stacked against me from the very start."

"If that's how you want to put it, then yes, I suppose it was," Daphne answered, unsure where Granger was going with this.

The mudblood stood up from the chair and turned to face her with determination. "I will never believe you or the other purebloods are superior to me, Daphne," she told her before pausing and biting her lip. "But I'll swear whatever oath you wish me to," she added. When she noticed Daphne's skeptical expression, she pleaded, "Will you please at least think about it?"

The blonde stared at her for a while before nodding. "Aye, I'll think about it," she finally agreed. "But if I still decide to have you locked up for the rest of your life?" she asked, watching as Granger swallowed nervously, her eyes downcast.

"Then I will not resist."

'It's not like you could, even if you tried,' Daphne thought snidely but said nothing.

Granger extended her arms, offering the book back to her. Daphne's gaze shifted between the girl's shackled hands and her brown eyes. "It's alright… keep it," she told the Hermione, who looked up at her with wide, surprised eyes. "Consider it a gift."


Later that evening, as Daphne prepared for bed, she sat in her bedroom, reflecting on the day's events. Ever since her impromptu girl talk with Hermione Granger, a thought had been nagging at her. Namely, she had always considered herself a very traditional person – a conservative, even by the strict standards of House Greengrass. But now she couldn't help but wonder whether she was perhaps more liberal than she'd once thought. Not to the extent of the Weasleys and other muggle-obsessed blood traitors, of course, but perhaps more than the average Greengrass in history. After all, who but a pureblood liberal would even consider Granger's unusual request – to accept a mudblood's servitude while she outright refused to acknowledge the superiority of purebloods?

Daphne's musings were suddenly interrupted as she threw her head back, a cry of pleasure escaping her lips. A moment later, however, she looked down with annoyance. "Did I tell you to stop?" she asked sternly, glaring at her lover, who had pulled away after her cry of pleasure.

"N-no," Harry Potter replied, his voice shaky as his enchanting green eyes gazed up at her with love and adoration.

"Then get back to it!" Daphne commanded, watching with satisfaction as Harry eagerly obeyed, diving back in. She began to moan again, her hand tangling in his black hair as he pleasured her. Yes, Daphne reckoned, she was definitely more liberal than the previous heads of House Greengrass. After all, these days it was hard for her to even imagine an evening that didn't end with a halfblood's tongue or cock in her pureblood pussy. Daphne was certain some of her more conservative ancestors would condemn her for indulging in such debauchery! At the same time, though, Daphne liked to think they'd forgive her. After all, she had brought Harry James Potter – the boy-who-lived and a celebrated champion of mudbloods – to his knees. She had secured him for the pureblood cause and shown him his place...

Actually, no – scratch all that. She had done virtually nothing. Instead, Harry Potter had knelt and put himself in his place all on his own – not because Daphne had pushed him, but because that's where he felt most comfortable, most at home, and most loved. Some might say that lessened Daphne's accomplishment, but in her view, it made it even more impressive than had she actively pushed for such outcome. And with that thought, Daphne once again came onto the halfblood's face...

This time, Harry was more mindful of his orders and didn't stop licking her until she pushed him away, standing up and towering over him completely naked. Daphne could see the immense frustration and lust in his eyes, the desire to jump forward and take her. At the same time, it was tempered by his submission and Harry would gladly keep on worshipping her even if it meant he would remain hopelessly unsatisfied. And some nights, Daphne would make him do so. She would make him give her everything, satisfy her in every way… and then have them go to sleep. She would enjoy the feeling of his hopelessly unsatisfied erection poking her backside as they would fall asleep, with Harry gently stroking her body and whispering how much he loved her.

Fortunately for Harry, today wasn't one of those nights. Daphne glanced at the bed and winked at him, giggling at the way his expression lit up. Without being told to, Harry Potter got on all fours, offering her a seat. After all, the bed was at least several meters away. Why should Daphne have to trudge such an arduous distance when she had a perfectly willing halfblood at hand? Some nights, Harry even took it as a personal challenge for her feet never to touch her ground – just his body and lips. And with that thought, Daphne finally sat down on her halfblood, feeling the waves of lust and love emanating from his body as her naked butt touched his equally naked back. She did cast a feather-light charm on herself first though. For one thing, she wasn't a total bitch. More importantly, she didn't want to tire him out for their subsequent activities…

"Move!" she commanded regally as Harry carefully shuffled them over to the bed. Daphne felt perfectly comfortable the entire time, her fiancé getting very good at this. 'Must be all the training I've been giving him,' Daphne thought proudly even as she pushed off from his back, jumping onto the bed. Thanks to the feather-light charm she bounced on the mattress several times before turning around, just in time to see Harry stand up from the floor. She looked the boy up and down, focusing on his raging erection and the way he was practically mad with lust as this point. Daphne made it even worse by spreading her legs and biting her lip while pleasuring herself absent-mindedly. Harry looked like he was going to lose his mind at the display, but still he obediently waited for her instruction.

This time, however, Daphne had decided to try something new… something to perhaps to test the limits of her newfound progressivism. Instead of ordering Harry to do what she wanted, Daphne turned over and assumed a position not unlike Harry's a moment ago, but facing away from him. "Come Harry… I want you to fuck your pureblood bitch," she told him in husky voice before wiggling her bottom, offering herself to him, and waiting to see whether he would bite. She needn't have any doubts as a split second later she felt him join her on the bed, his strong hands grabbing onto her hips. He quietly asked her if she was sure and she nodded resolutely, moaning yes before burying her head into the mattress in anticipation.

However, instead of his cock filling her, Daphne felt one his hands let go of her hip… only for Harry to suddenly slap her naked butt! Not too harshly, but definitely enough for her to feel it. "OH, YOU HALFBLOOD BRUTE!" Daphne cried out loudly, pretending to complain. She more felt than saw Harry's smirk before he leaned over her, whispering into her ear.

"I'll kiss it better later," Harry promised while Daphne moaned at the mental image. Then all the thoughts evaporated from her mind as Harry finally entered her, pushing forward with his cock, fucking his pureblood bitch fast and hard while slapping her butt occasionally.

'Mommy and daddy were right. Halfbloods really are lecherous beasts!' Daphne Greengrass thought even as she moaned in a storm of ecstasy, muffled only by the mattress her face was pressed into while Harry Potter relentlessly pounded her from behind.