A/N: I am very ahead. Now you all get to reap the rewards. Thinking of updating biweekly... thoughts? As always, reviews are gold...October 11, 1997 - Interpersonal Puzzles
Pansy had been avoiding her, taking the others with her and leaving Andrael to stalk the halls of Hogwarts on her own. The Carrows paid more attention to her, looking at her with narrowed eyes, and the rest of the professors seemed wary. McGonagall in particular was struggling to hide her renewed distaste for Andrael. If the woman thought her a monster… Well, it was only a preview of what was to come. Andrael would need to embrace that role if she wanted to get anywhere in this world.
When Andrael didn't want to be found, she went to her lab. The classroom had long since been abandoned, likely untouched for centuries. She often wondered what Hogwarts was like when wizards were more populous, before the genocides and wars of the twentieth century. What would it be like to have twenty other girls in her dorm, more than one professor per subject? But with the threat of Voldemort looming large over the parents that birthed them, they were one of the smallest Hogwarts classes since the school's founding.
The school felt like a prison in so many ways. This was an escape, a way for her to feel like she was doing something that mattered, a way for her to feel she was directly impacting her future.
So she sat in her lab, carving protective runes into stone and playing her violin, biding her time. If her classmates had thought her a wraith on the battlefield, she was even more so now, drifting through Hogwarts near unseen. She would not let the loneliness get to her. Andrael was strong, determined, and purposeful. She was going to get through this if it killed her.
Ritual magic had been considered dark magic for a long time, because of the simple fact that for the duration of each ritual, the caster(s) life magic was directly tied to the acts. Blood magic made many wizards squeamish. Yes it was dangerous; if one failed, they likely died, but that was what ritual circles were for. Runic protections arrayed in a ring would keep out trespassers, and sustain the caster should something fail.
Andrael could, of course, copy something directly from an old book, but had opted to integrate a few different ideas. Her design had six interlocking circles of runes, each offering different protection wards along their boundaries. She didn't know what ritual she would even perform once she completed it, but would rather have a protected area in her lab space than not.
But… her runic array wasn't working. She didn't know what she was doing wrong. It was probably some obscure conjugation of some point on her circle, but Andrael couldn't find it. She was surrounded by books, flipped open to random pages. Her chalkboard was filled with unintelligible scribbles in her normally neat handwriting. She had been working on this for days, weeks, a solid month in between classes, and was about ready to tear her hair out. She hated being frustrated like this, confronting dead end after dead end.
The intersection points of the interlocking circles were really starting to piss her off. Similar to a venn diagram, each point needed to belong to the circle; if it was a protective circle, each rune had to focus on a different aspect of protection. If it was a circle to keep her alive while she was bleeding out, each rune needed to focus on healing and sustaining her. Not a single rune could repeat, which had forced her to become a human thesaurus for dead languages. But because of the categorical nature of her array, the intersection points had to belong to both circles equally.
It wasn't like she could go to Professor Babbling. The inquisitive Ravenclaw of a woman would ask too many questions Andrael didn't feel like answering. None of the rest of the professors would answer her question even if they knew, nor would her classmates. With nowhere else to turn to for answers, Andrael was stumped. She might as well wander around the labyrinth of a library and search for information.
It was better than doing nothing, or struggling in vain.
Tossing a book to the ground rather aggressively, Andrael stood. She grabbed her wand, checking if the coast was clear. Upon determining it was safe, she snuck out the door, repositioning her wards now that there was no human inside them.
The Carrows were likely too stupid to find her hiding place, likely unable to manage a basic ward detection spell. She had initially picked the dungeons because of the proximity to the common room, but now, there were even more advantages to her location. Slughorn was the only other professor to frequent these parts, and his magic was honed to potions rather than runes and arithmancy.
The only person she needed to worry about was Snape.
Ah, Snape. He had been coming out of his tower less and less. Every time she caught a glimpse of the man, it appeared he was running on less and less sleep. Draco's dark mark had been burning at all hours of the night for summons… She figured Snape's was, too.
Though Draco had essentially an excused absence from the Dark Lord himself, as the man valued his followers being educated, Snape was probably crushing rebellions, hunting order members, and going to super secret Death Eater meetings weekly.
She still stood by the fact that he wasn't as evil as he led them all to believe. More accurately, she clung to it. If she ever lost her faith that she would have a friend on the other side, even if that friend was a hateful old bat, she was done for.
Andrael nodded at Madam Pince as she entered the library. The woman was a curmudgeon, but as long as the students respected the books, were mindful of the space, and brought her chocolate occasionally, she was perfectly pleasant.
She wandered through the messy stacks, trying to find anything with runes or warding in the title among the shelves. Students studied in clumps at the tables, pouring over textbooks and scrolls, too engrossed in their work to notice her.
As Andrael travelled deeper into the library, she began to see less and less students. The scent of musty and yellowed pages was comforting. As she rounded a corner, she heard voices.
Crap. It was her fellow Slytherins. Pansy glanced up at the exact wrong time, seeing Andrael. Her expression morphed into one of visible frustration. She looked stressed, like a piece of cloth that was fraying by the edges, one day doomed to fall apart into a pile of threads.
"Cassowary. What the hell do you want? Come to flaunt your little 'victory' again? Or are you hoping I'll ask for a rematch?" Pansy was clearly in the mood to pick a fight.
"I mean, victory's a bit much, isn't it? I'd rather hoped you'd have gotten over it by now, Pansy. It wasn't anything… serious." She tried not to rise to the bait.
"Oh, so considerate of you, Andrael. I should just forget about it, about you leaving me on the ground for everyone to see?" She snapped a book shut.
"I'm not sure why you're taking your anger out on me. Look, the Carrows wanted a duel. It got a bit… heated. Nothing personal."
"Nothing personal? The way you fought, the shite you said, it seemed perfectly personal. But I guess accidental humiliation is just your style."
Andrael watched her coolly, unruffled. "What can I say? You kept me on my toes for a while. It wasn't planned, Pansy. I saw an opening, and I took it. You're reading too much into it."
Millicent's eyes flicked between them, her expression neutral but with a faint hint of amusement. Daphne couldn't look more bored if she tried.
"Of course. You'd never 'plan' to knock someone out in front of a crowd. So selfless, really. And Millicent, you shut up. Unless you have something to add about a duel?" Her smile faded, and she looked down at the ground.
"Pansy, Pansy, Pansy. Why do you have to be like this? I don't care about it. You're the touchy one. Besides, it's not like I've been going around boasting."
Pansy's eyes flashed with anger, her voice dropping to a deadly quiet. "Touchy? How generous of you, Andrael. It must be easy to brush off when you're not the one left on display."
"If it means that much to you, I'll end it quicker next time. Clearly, you've taken it to heart."
"Don't flatter yourself. It's just amusing how you think you're above admitting anything. You say you want to be friends after all this time, after practically avoiding us for six years, and then you humiliate me? You know nothing."
"I'm the halfblood that's never been good enough for you. I took a break from trying." Andrael's walls began to go back up.
"You're not one of us," Pansy scoffed. "You're annoying at best."
"Yet you treat your friends like crap, too. You don't care about Daphne. You enjoy torturing Millicent." Andrael crossed her arms. "I'm no paragon of virtue, but you're not perfect either."
"You have no idea what you're talking about." Pansy shook her head, laughing. She sounded like was going to snap. "I'm done. Just stay the hell away from me." She snatched up her books, shooting Andrael one last withering look before turning on her heel and stalking off. Millicent watched her leave, then glanced at Andrael with an unreadable expression, neither approving nor disapproving, but quietly followed her.
Daphne let out a long sigh, making no move to follow.
Andrael stood there, stunned. Had that just… happened? She hadn't meant to rile Pansy up like that. She blinked a few times.
Daphne tilted her head to look up at her with dead eyes. Andrael thought she was looking at a corpse instead of her classmate, her pallor grey and her skin dull.
"Sit down, Cassowary," she said finally, her voice raspy from underuse.
Andrael complied, setting her bag on the floor by her feet. She folded her hands on the table, shifting uncomfortably. Daphne finished her page, sliding a bookmark into place.
The library was eerily quiet as Andrael waited for her to speak.
"Pansy was wrong about many things… but do you know what she was right about?" She paused, but it was a rhetorical question. "You don't know anything."
Andrael bit back a retort.
"Therefore, your transgressions come from ignorance rather than malice." Daphne began playing with her braid as she spoke. "You work in that music shop in Diagon… right?"
"Yes," she said quietly.
"While you lived in relative ease, protected by dementors, patrols, and the thin veneer of safety, we were thrust into a hornet's nest. You had it nice and easy… maybe a mark or two showed up, right? We hosted parties for the Dark Lord himself. Our parents were conscripted back into service, Andrael. It's not all sunshine and rainbows."
Andrael squashed her indignance at being told her summer was easy, trying to shut up and let Daphne talk. It was difficult for her.
"There had been whispers of the takeover for a while… it all really started the day the ministry fell, though. Parkinson Manor was to be the spot of the victory celebration. Pansy's parents hosted, of course, because they would never turn down such an honour from the Dark Lord. At some point in the evening, the inner circle were summoned into the study, and when they returned, the Dark Lord gave… a speech of sorts.
"It was something of what a ruler would say to his people at the beginning of a golden age. He claimed Britain, he claimed all wizards of noble blood as his brothers, and told us we should set about rebuilding our traditions. Our population needed to increase, our ranks needed to grow stronger. Of course, I could never do his words justice… The Dark Lord can be extremely charismatic when he wants to be."
Andrael nodded. She had heard rumours.
"My parents… they are not fighters. They were never marked in the first war, but in the coming days they too, met with the Dark Lord in our manor. House Greengrass is an economic powerhouse. We control imports and exports to a large majority of Magical Britain. Not the goods themselves, mind you, but the contacts, the transports, the methods. If our supply chains failed, this country would falter. I saw them enter that meeting hesitant, and emerge treating the Dark Lord like an old friend. He promised them everything we could ever want, knowing the exact words to say…
"I am the eldest of two sisters, which makes me the heir to my House. My summer became overwhelming work by day and the soul-crushing appearances of my social calendar by night. My parents fell ill for a time. There was even more pressure. I had to keep going for our family name, for my sister…" Daphne swallowed. "The Dark Lord said he could find a cure for Tori's curse. He knew we, and I especially, would do anything for her. And I did anything and everything.
"I had the displeasure of personally giving the Dark Lord… bad news, once. I dread ever doing it again, Andrael." She stared off into space, remembering something.
"I didn't want to talk after that," she whispered. "I still don't. And of the three of us, myself, Millie, Pansy, I had it easiest. Because at least I could pour over documents all day from the safety of my chambers, only having to meet with people when things went wrong."
"Pansy didn't talk to me, to Millie, to anyone. She suffered in silence. Her mother's constant critiques were relentless: her posture wasn't straight enough, her laugh too loud, her smile too weak. Every little flaw was dissected and magnified, each imperfection met with searing disdain. And you know Pansy, she is essentially perfect when she needs to be. But you can only be reminded so many times that your family's reputation rests squarely on your shoulders now, and if you slip, the whole house will crumble.
"Her father's expectations were no kinder. The Parkinson name had always stood as a pillar of purity and tradition, and to him, Pansy was a figurehead for that legacy. Every time she thought she was finally meeting his standards, he found new ways to tear her down, his voice cold and cutting, repeating that she could always do better. I regret overhearing the things I did. Some nights, after a particularly brutal dinner of lectures and thinly veiled threats, she'd shut herself in her room, her nails digging into her palms until it hurt, just to remind herself she was still real. I would help her cover the cuts with glamour before the next party, because there was always a next party, Andrael.
"Those were evenings where she had to be the perfect hostess, smiling and pouring drinks, pretending not to hear the horrible things they said. Every party became another performance for all of us. We knew where we fit in. We were perfect pureblood daughters, polished and polite. Pansy played along best as she forced herself to laugh at their jokes and agree with their twisted views, her eyes betraying none of the misery lodged inside us. The better she played, the better her prospects for marriage, and she was the only one of us that thought she had a shot at winning the game.
"The Dark Lord liked her." Daphne saw Andrael's furrowed brow. "Not like that, ew, but he thought her an ideal, putting her on a pedestal for the rest of us. I remember once he commented on how "easily breakable" she looked, as if she were nothing more than a fragile trinket. If it bothered her, she was too good to show it. Because all summer, if I didn't know better, I would say she succeeded in burying her hurt so deeply even us, her closest friends, could see it. But we went through the same thing. I knew, Andrael.
"And Millie… Millie's life was reduced to her betrothal. Her parents had arranged the match with the fervour of auctioneers, eager to prove their worth among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and even prouder to align their daughter with the Carrows. Every mention of her future husband was framed as a tremendous honour, a duty she should feel grateful for, but she was little more than a pawn to them, her life's worth reduced to her marriageability.
"Her mother never hesitated to remind her that she was lucky to be considered for such an honourable match. In her mother's eyes, the union with the Carrows was a lifeline, something Millicent was barely deserving of. We heard it in the way her mother would inspect her appearance with narrowed eyes, throwing out casual criticisms like arrows aimed at every insecurity she possessed. Her father was no kinder, often muttering under his breath about her stature, how she looked 'too strong' for a proper lady. It was always backhanded, under the guise of advice, yet meant to keep her in line. 'Your shoulders are too broad, Millicent,' her mother would say as they fit a dress, half-apologetic, as though her daughter's natural build was an embarrassment she could never quite forgive.
"And then there was Amycus…. She downplayed it on the train, Andrael. His glances linger a moment too long, his tone slippery and insincere whenever he praised her family's good judgement in arranging such a union. He'd throw her what he clearly thought were compliments, his words laced with an unspoken threat. He is a disgusting man. I hate what he's done to her." Daphne's tone had twisted into something bitter.
"And… that's what she has to look forward to, now? For the rest of her life?" Andrael's voice was aghast. "All of you? You're just… trapped?"
"We're girls, Andrael. Be glad no pureblood will have you." Daphne sounded tired.
"Then what's all this Pansy keeps talking about with duels?"
Daphne laughed, but it was hollow.
"Alright, here's the thing. The Bulstrodes had invited over a few of their associates for dinner, the Parkinsons chief among them. Millie was tense, stressed beyond belief with her betrothal to the Carrows hanging over her, but she kept it together. Then, later that night, after everyone had gone home or gone to bed, she and Pansy ended up outside, talking. Really talking. They hadn't done that in ages, and I think Millicent just… cracked.
"Somewhere in the quiet, Millicent let slip that she hated the idea of her arranged marriage and everything it represented. Pansy first admonished her, telling her that if she told anyone else, she could end up in a lot of trouble. She was probably crying then, because when Millie told me later, she was still crying.
"She confessed her real secret, it wasn't just Amycus she hated. Millie likes girls."
"You mean, she's gay?"
"Shut up! And yes."
"But that's not a big deal."
"…Andrael, we're purebloods." Daphne said as if that explained everything.
And it kind of did.
"Sorry. I… go on."
"Millie thought that if anyone could understand her, it would be Pansy. But the confession—well, it changed everything between them. Pansy didn't react the way Millie hoped. I mean, Pansy didn't freak out, didn't threaten to tell anyone, but she shut down. Tried to brush it off, actually. So annoyed, Millie told her it wasn't just girls, but a girl. More specifically… her."
"She likes-?"
"Again. Shut. Up. Yes. Pansy blinked like she does, and Mille said it was like she reset, ignoring it and making it clear nothing would ever happen between them. Millie was gutted, obviously, but she hid it from Pansy. She told me because she thought Pansy would, and well, she really needed someone to talk to. Incredibly, they went on as if nothing had happened, though things were strained after that. Even at the best of times, there was always a power dynamic to their friendship.
"Then, as summer went on, Millie tried to distance herself a few times from Pansy, clearly not in a great place. Pansy started needling her, throwing out little jabs every time Millicent tried to withdraw. Pansy couldn't handle the idea that Millicent could just pull away. No matter what she felt, Pansy believed Millicent to be hers. Her friend, her person, her second in command. She couldn't, still can't let her go. It's twisted, but they both need a friend more than ever.
"Their little toxic spitting contest continued through the summer, Pansy unwittingly continuing to play with Millicent's feelings. All that tension boiled over when Pansy, in a fit of frustration, challenged Millicent to a duel at one of the Parkinson's parties.
"People duelled at these things often enough for sport, so it wasn't out of the ordinary. Sure, girls usually didn't fight, but it wasn't unheard of.
"But you know how Pansy duels… it wasn't just a show of skill. It was brutal. Pansy kept pressing, hitting her with spell after spell, pushing Millicent hard enough that it was clear she wanted to make a point. Everyone was around; family friends, family business associates, members of the inner circle, nearly everyone but the Dark Lord himself. It wasn't just a private spat now; this was a spectacle. And Millie was humiliated, absolutely devastated. It was a thrashing, and everyone saw it.
"Ever since, Pansy's held it over her. All she has to do is mutter the word 'duel,' and Millie… goes quiet. She's furious, wounded, but also trapped, because Pansy still has the secret Millie trusted her with. It's another set of tools to keep her in her thrall… Pansy would never actually use it to hurt her, but we know she could—and that makes all the difference."
"And now I beat Pansy just like she beat Millicent, and…?"
"Yes. Pansy's furious. You've cracked her perfect image. You've reminded her of that day she's tried to forget about. She doesn't like losing… not her honor, not her people, nothing. She clings to things possessively because from a young age, anything she ever wanted was taken from her. From toys to friends… her father enjoyed making her feel powerless." Daphne sighed. "I shouldn't have told you any of this. You know that, right?"
"Daphne. I won't tell anyone. I swear."
"You better not, or I'll end you myself." Andrael could tell how serious the threat was.
"What does Millie think of the duel? With me and Pansy?"
"She… she was terrified at first, honestly. It brought back memories. After some reflection, I think she finds it kind of amusing. Karma and all that, you know? But you've brought their friendship closer to what it used to be than it has been in a while. A part of her will be grateful for that."
"And you, Daphne?"
"I think it was bloody hilarious, and Pansy's butthurt that someone did it to her. I'm their friend, but I can see the irony." She smiled faintly.
"Are you okay, Daphne? You seem… less so, this year."
"I'm worried about a lot of things," she said vaguely.
"You like to downplay your problems, don't you?"
"Perhaps. But it's none of your concern, and that's the last I'll say on the matter."
"Okay." Andrael sighed, leaning back. "Okay."
Daphne nodded once.
"Thank you for telling me… all of that."
"Use your knowledge wisely, Cassowary."
"I will."
"Oh… while you're here… I have a question for you." Daphne tilted her head to the side.
"Sure. It's only fair, I guess."
"Why does Professor McGonagall hate you so much?"
Andrael laughed. She needed something to placate Daphne… it was only fair. Eventually she settled on a safe enough memory.
"It really all started first year… Do you remember the first night of school?"
"How could I forget? The prefects freaked out because you had gotten lost on your way down to the dorms. You were gone for hours."
"I, um, followed the Ravenclaws by mistake. I was too distracted by the portraits on the walls and the moving staircases, and everything else to realise until we got to their common room. The Ravenclaw prefects, as you said, 'freaked out,' and I told them to just give me directions and I'd make my way down to the dungeons. Well, because it was the first day of school, they forgot Dumbledore had closed down the third floor corridor. So I followed their directions, and made it to a locked door. Curious, I thought. I jiggled the handle in frustration, and somehow, it opened. I don't know if it was accidental magic, or I just jimmied it the right way, but I got the bloody thing open."
"Of course you did."
"Well, if you recall, Hagrid's dog, Fluffy, was right there. The door shut behind me and locked again. Now, good thing I had my violin, or else I would be toast. So pop quiz, if you see a three-headed dog, what do you do?"
"Um… run screaming?" Daphne played along.
"You play it music. Duh. Have you ever read a single Greek myth in your life…? Never mind. So I began to play music, and it started to drift off to sleep-"
"Wait, how?"
"I had my violin on me?"
"Oh, right. I often forget you work in a music shop."
"Yes. So I tried to stop playing once he was asleep to check the door, but the moment I did, he woke up angry… so I sat down against a giant paw, knowing if I stopped playing, it wouldn't be good. I looped Orpheus and the Underworld about a thousand times because I thought it was funny. You know, because Orpheus had to play for Cerberus…" she trailed off at Daphne's blank look. "It's called topical humour, okay?"
"Right. Sure. What does this have to do with McGonagall?"
"Oh yeah. Snape and McGonagall found me a few hours later with blisters forming on my fingers. I found the whole thing funny, which annoyed the shite out of McGongall that I wasn't more concerned. They were kind of pissed, but also I was a first year student who didn't know the castle, made an honest mistake, and had my directions sheet from Ravenclaw Tower. They told me not to speak of what I had seen, blah, blah, blah, and took me back to bed. And then I met you guys! The prefects involved just got a strict warning that the corridor was closed, and never to send a student off unaccompanied again. It wasn't malicious, anyhow.
"From then on, McGonagall thought of me as a suspicious troublemaker, because, apparently, I laughed in the face of danger. The tension between us mounted for a while. I didn't always pay attention in class. I answered questions sarcastically. She called me out in the halls more than she needed to, always thinking I was sneaking around. Joke's on her, I was. And then last year, I kind of told her off."
"You WHAT?"
"It was a very high-stress moment, and she wasn't listening to what I had to say, and my words may have sounded like a threat, I suppose-"
"How? Why?"
"Um… I can't give much context. She made me swear not to discuss those matters with anyone else." It wasn't totally a lie.
"Fine. Great. She looks at you like you're a menace this year."
"Don't remind me." Andrael smiled at Daphne. This was actually… kind of nice.
"Alright, menace. I should probably go check on Pansy and Millie… I'm going to let them know what I told you. They're not going to like it."
"Do you want me to like, sign something telling them I know how to keep my mouth shut?"
"Actually, that's not a bad idea." Daphne grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, writing in the most gorgeous handwriting Andrael had ever seen.
"Wow." She said simply.
"It's contract hand. I use it for family business. You want a document to look good when it gets framed on the wall, right?" Andrael nodded. "Do you have any middle names?"
"Just Cygnus."
"Curious… That's a pureblood name."
"I know." Daphne made no further comment, continuing to write with a flourish.
"Here. It's just a quick draw up, but read it over."
Miss Cassowary will not reveal a word of the conversation taking place between the two on October the Eleventh, Year Nineteen Ninety-Seven to another soul unless granted permission by Scion Greengrass, Scion Pansy Parkinson, or Miss Millicent Bulstrode. This contract can be broken by the unanimous consent of both parties at any time. Miss Cassowary promises to uphold these terms under threat of retaliation by Scion Greengrass, including but not limited to, physical harm and sworn animosity from House Greengrass to House Cassowary.
(Miss Andrael Cygnus Cassowary)
(Scion Daphne Rose Alessiana Capricia Greengrass)
Andrael read it over, finding no complaints. Taking one of her potions knives, she nicked herself without thinking. Daphne gasped audibly at her blood.
"What? I know it's not required, but I think they'll take more comfort if it's signed with blood."
"They're purebloods. Of course they will."
Daphne mirrored Andrael's motions, and the two signed their names at the bottom of the paper. There was a faint red glow as the parchment took to the contract.
"It's done." Daphne stood, rolling up the contact. "A pleasure doing business with you."
"Likewise," Andrael muttered to Daphne's slender, already retreating form.