The Good Slytherin

Chapter Three: Daphne

Daphne arrived anxiously at Hogwarts with Mark's warning still rolling around in her head. She was struck by the strange mood that had seeped into the air of Slytherin House and it was impossible to miss the whispering, furtive glances, and secretive meetings in the common room. Whatever was going on, she got the distinct impression that her fellow students didn't want her to hear. No surprise, she thought. It's not as if the return of the Dark Lord suddenly changed how Slytherin treated her.

But then again it did. After a couple of weeks, it seemed that Mark had been practically prophetic when he said this year would be different. Distracted by an onslaught of homework in preparation of their O.W.L. exams, it took her a while to realize that a familiar source of aggravation was conspicuously absent. In two weeks, Malfoy hadn't said one word to her--not one single quip about how she looked, not one childish comment after she answered a question right in Transfiguration class. His verbal abuse used to be a daily occurrence and its sudden disappearance was unsettling.

"Mark," she asked one afternoon as she met up with him for History of Wizard Art class, "Have you noticed that Malfoy has been rather, uh, restrained of late?"

"Do you call his feeble attempts at hexing me last Tuesday restrained?" he said with an arch of his eyebrow as they took their seats.

"No, I mean Malfoy hasn't teased me since we got back," she said with a whisper as the classroom began to fill with more students. Wizard Art was one of her favorite subjects, partly because she was able to interact with students outside Slytherin and partly because it was her sole class without Malfoy or Parkinson.

He flashed her a grin. "Malfoy teases you and you complain and as soon as he stops . . . you complain? How very logical of you."

"Just think about it, Mark. Don't you think it's a bit strange?"

Mark looked at her rather incredulously as he took out his ink and quill for the lesson. "Not one word to you?"

"A couple of sinister looks here and there, but not one word of abuse. Are you saying he isn't doing the same for you?"

"Malfoy hasn't managed to extend that honor to me yet," he replied dryly. "I suppose this means that he has his attention elsewhere."

She opened her mouth to prod him further when Professor Tempera quickly entered into the classroom.

"Quiet everyone," Tempera said over the soft murmurs of students and she retrieved a stack of parchment from a valise. She was an older witch with sharp look to her. "I was very pleased to see the results of your essays. I will remind you all of your O.W.L exams at the end of the term, though I am sure you all have not forgotten."

Mark made a soft groan from next to her.

"You'd do well to note that this essay subject will appear on the exam," Professor Tempera continued as she passed back their essays. Daphne was pleased to see that she had got an A, correctly describing the movement of artists forgoing the use of enchanted paint during the seventeenth century. She made a mental note to send her mother an owl--it was she who encouraged Daphne's love of art and reminded her that she descended from the great portrait painter Fillius Thorpe.

Turning her back to the class, Professor Tempera used her wand to write on the blackboard. Lecture notes appeared at once as though an invisible hand were writing them and Daphne got out her quill and parchment and began furiously copying the board. Thoughts of Malfoy were replaced with dates and painter's names. "Today we will be discussing the golden age of wizarding portraiture." The sound of quills scratching against parchment filled the silence between pauses. "You will find that this golden age is generally considered to be from 1650 to 1780."

And so the lecture continued. Daphne noticed that Mark was only feigning interest in the lesson, frequently staring off into space and running the feather of his quill absently across his lips. She gave him a jab from time to time with her wand to get him to pay attention and she had the distinct feeling that her earlier comments about Malfoy were keeping him occupied.

"What are you thinking?" she asked exasperatedly once the lesson had ended.

Mark was reticent to reply and she was reminded that he wasn't always the most forthcoming person. In fact, she was still amazed to think that he came out to her in the first place. In the four years they had spent at Hogwarts, she had come to regard Mark as a mixture of brother and best friend--neither of them had any siblings. He played the part of brother quite well, often sticking up for Daphne when the spiteful antics of their Slytherin peers were too much. But as a best friend, his lack of full disclosure was maddening at times.

Finally he said, "I was thinking about what you told me before class. You're right--this whole Malfoy business is odd."

"Yes, but I know there is something else. The look on your face says it all."

"There's something I didn't tell you all on the train," he admitted as they left the classroom for the Great Hall. "I didn't want to say it in front of Marion. Maybe it's related to what you said about Malfoy. I don't know." He steered her towards a quiet corner of the hallway, out of the way of the steady stream of students.

"So what is it?"

"Well, there was one thing I was able to hear when Lucius Malfoy came by my house this summer and it was one of the reasons I went to France. I just had to get out of that house after I heard that my parents--" he hesitated before bringing he voice down so low that she could barely hear him over the din of students. "My parents want me to become a Death Eater after I leave Hogwarts."

Daphne wasn't sure if she had heard him correctly. "Did you just say what I think you just said?"

"Yes," he said, jaw clenched. "I couldn't believe it either. I know my parents have the same loyalties as the Malfoys but it was never an issue until now--now the Dark Lord is back."

Well aware that Mark once had an uncle that died in the service of the Dark Lord, she knew that in quieter circles his family saw this as a great source of pride. Mark's feelings, however, couldn't have been more opposite. His casual disregard for blood purity and other issues exalted by Voldemort's supporters proved a constant source of conflict between him and his parents.

"Do you think that this has to do with Malfoy's change in behavior?" she asked.

"Like I said, I don't know. It's too out of character to dismiss outright. But whatever this means, it cannot be good."

Daphne couldn't help but agree with him as she nervously watched the flow of students in the hallway--shouting, laughing--all of them, blissfully unaware that Lord Voldemort waited like billowing storm clouds on the horizon.

The weeks slid by effortlessly as they got back into their old routine of classes and life. No matter how much work they were given, there was always that voice in the back of her mind eager to remind her that danger lurked not far beyond. And though it was easy to get immersed in the steady stream of assignments in preparation for their June exams, she remembered to keep her eyes open.

Thankfully her Defense Against the Dark Arts class with the new Professor Umbridge was a complete waste of time, meaning that it was one less workload she had to worry about in the face of her O.W.L.s--but it did strike her as a little maddening that they were not learning any practical defense now that the Dark Lord was back. Umbridge's recent appointment as Hogwarts High Inquisitor did little to affect the lives of Slytherins, which she generally left alone, and it was no secret that Malfoy and Parkinson were here favorites. Her purported unpleasantness was fully reserved for the other three houses.

If Daphne found room to complain about her workload, it was nothing in comparison to Tristan's. Even though his N.E.W.T.s were over a year away, his aspirations to become a Healer meant that she saw him increasingly less. He could be found, without fail, in the library most evenings working on yet another assignment for Snape or mastering a charm for Flitwick.

Now that Malfoy was less of an aggravation, she tried to think of his lack of interest in her as a blessing--an answer to her deepest wishes forged sometime after arriving in Slytherin. But part of her feared that it was merely the calm before the storm and Daphne reminded herself not to get too complacent when she discovered him, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, bullying a Slytherin first year. She would have sworn she heard Malfoy say the words "Dark" followed by "Lord" to the shaking child.

"Marion, do you know what's going on in this place?" she whispered as they did their homework in the common room one evening. Her cousin always seemed to have a more intimate knowledge of Slytherin than her, Mark, and Tristan combined. For some baffling reason, Marion escaped the ostracism that befell Daphne.

"I'm not sure yet, but I'm trying to find out," she quietly assured. "Rumor has is that Malfoy has something he's working on for his father, but I haven't been able to find out exactly what."

"Maybe it has something to do with that," Daphne said as she subtly nodded towards Malfoy and a group of Slytherins at the other end of the long room looking rather shifty as they huddled around the fireplace in quiet discussion.

"Yeah, maybe," she replied. "Or maybe he's just trying to come up with some rubbish plan to humiliate Harry Potter again."

Before Daphne could reply, she spied Mark entering the common room from the dungeons.

"There you two are," he said with a grin that quickly faded once he noticed that she and Marion were working on their assignments. "Not more bloody homework. How am I supposed to have any fun around here?"

Marion frowned and Daphne felt herself brighten. "I was wondering where you had wandered to after dinner," she said.

"Tristan tried to get me to do homework with him in the library. I couldn't be bothered, so I left to find you."

"You're not missing much here except more mysterious conversations," she replied as she made another nod towards Malfoy and the Slytherins.

Mark pulled close a nearby ottoman and sat down. "What on earth could they be plotting? We have to find out."

"Well there's that fun you were looking for," Marion noted sarcastically. "Why don't you go up to Miles Bletchley and ask him yourself."

"Don't be daft," he said with a glare "The fun is finding out what thet is doing in less direct ways."

Marion set down her quill and crossed her arms. "What do you propose?"

"Tristan is good with potions. Perhaps we can get him to brew up a Veritaserum and feed it to Blondie."

"And that is somehow less direct?" she asked dismissively.

Mark scowled in response.

"I think you have an high assumption of Tristan's talents, Mark," Daphne added with a smile.

Mark brought his voice down to a whisper. "Fine. But I for one want to find out what exactly Malfoy is up to before it is too late."

She had a bad feeling that they would be finding out soon enough, but it was something she didn't want to think of. Instead, she went and picked her quill back up, returning to her roll of parchment. "Mark, don't forget that we have our Vanishing Spell homework due tomorrow. Have you even started it?"

His groan was a confession that he hadn't. "Maybe we can use the Vanishing Spell on Malfoy," he said quietly to himself as he reluctantly pulled out his things.

Marion must have heard him because she didn't miss the chance to quip, "Maybe we can use the Vanishing Spell on you."

Mark, thankfully, didn't respond to Marion's baiting. Instead he turned to Daphne and whispered, "Blondie still working with this new hands off approach to you?"

"Yes, not a word."

Marion gave them both a long stare. "What are you two talking about?"

Mark answered before her. "Malfoy hasn't said a single word to her since we arrived at Hogwarts."

"No bullying?" Marion looked at her incredulously. "Blimey. He always bullies you. I can only think of a few Gryffindors who normally have it worse."

"It's okay," she finally replied. "Maybe he's finally moved onto bigger things. I mean, who am I? I'm no one to him." Did she really believe her own words? There was a nagging feeling that she couldn't shake. No, she didn't want to think about it--especially when Malfoy sat twenty-five yards away under the green lamps of the common room.