The Good Slytherin

Chapter Eighteen: Daphne

As Daphne and her parents sat around the Christmas tree opening presents, there seemed to be a discernable air of forced harmony. Perhaps it was the strained smile her mother wore or the occasional flash of annoyance from her father's pale eyes, but Daphne couldn't help but notice that her parents looked as though they would rather be elsewhere. And as the house elf scuttled about disposing of shredded paper and ribbon, Daphne couldn't help but wonder if her parents were mad at her for going through their things. She did her best to think of other things and not the gnawing guilt that was rising up from within--all the anger that she hurled at her mother the day before seemed spent.

That evening, the family set off for their traditional visit of the grandparents, laden with gifts for the various uncles, aunts, and cousins. Though her mother's Floo phobia forced her to apparate separately, the family's fragmented arrival only served to underscore the heightened strain. Her father's expression of annoyance failed to dissipate as he ushered her into the fireplace. "Quickly, Daphne. We are running late."

"Archwood Manor!" she stated firmly, casting Floo powder from her hand. The last thing she saw before the plume of fire engulfed her was her father levitating a large bundle of presents.

Daphne was pulled swiftly into the warm haze of green flames. It wasn't long before she found herself peering into a cavernous drawing room with its tall windows, tapestries, paintings, and family heirlooms that signified status. Even the ancient fireplace she emerged from, with its ornamental scrollwork and carved falcons, was large enough to hold a half dozen people.

The glowing room before her was filled with family both distant and close. Children ran to and fro, adults exchanged hugs from under the towering Christmas tree, and a house elf served wine into silver goblets. From this pulsing nexus, her grandmother held court.

Hyperia Gordon was a small woman. Everything about her was direct and no nonsense, from her sleek white hair to her piercing blue eyes that never failed to detect a lie. It would be an understatement to say that her grandmother intimidated people. In fact Marion's revelation that her gran might have played a role in the cover-up only served to heighten Daphne's uneasiness.

"Daphne!" came a chorus of aunts and uncles and cousins as she timidly entered into the fray. A succession of hugs and Christmas greetings ensued and she dizzyingly passed from relative to relative all the while keeping an eye out for the only person she was keen to see that evening.

Surveying the room for a glimpse of Marion, it was hard to spot anyone far beyond the wall of family. Her uncle asked if she was giving any thought to working for Gordon & Hollings while her cousin held out a cracker for her to pull. Daphne obliged and a sharp tug sent a shower of gold sparks around them. Out popped a pair of oddly shaped spectacles.

Her father entered shortly behind her and attention shifted to his arrival. As her family moved, Daphne at last spotted Marion on the settee with their cousin Dominic. She was showing off her Summoning Spell work for him, causing random stuff to fly towards her. When a particularly large spell book accidentally hit Dominic in the arm, Marion sheepishly lowered her wand and apologized.

"There you are!" Marion exclaimed as Daphne approached, eyes brightening. Dominic was too busy rubbing his arm and returning the book back to its shelf to notice Daphne's arrival. "Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas," she replied weakly.

"Did you hear the news?" Marion continued and motioned towards the center of the room where Dominic had gone over to talk to his brother. "He's is getting married this summer."

"To who?"

"Not sure. She's probably from some old pureblood family. They're always pureblood," Marion sniffed. "And Ian is the latest family member to start working at
G & H. You'd think it was required."

There was a subtle truth to Marion's statement. It was so common for family members to work for Gordon & Hollings after Hogwarts that it was almost tradition. And until that very moment, Daphne had always assumed she too would take her place in either the London or New York office. Her mind swirled now that doubt was creeping in, but she pushed it aside to think of more pleasant things, mainly Nathan Price.

"Guess who sent me an owl yesterday evening?" Daphne tried not to look too excited.

"The silly look on your face tells me that it might be a boy?"

Daphne blushed and eagerly filled her cousin in on the details. It was nice to have something to discuss other than the Dark Lord for once.

"That's marvelous! Told you he was keen on you," Marion said slyly.

She tried not to look to pleased and told herself that just because Nathan sent her an owl, it didn't mean he fancied her. The sound of her grandmother's sharp voice yanked her back to reality.

"Daphne, aren't you going to come and wish your gran a happy Christmas? You've entered without so much as a hello." Though she was smiling as she approached, her grandmother was the sort of woman who never radiated maternal warmth. A knot formed in Daphne's stomach as she wondered if her gran had heard them talking about Nathan Price. Making friends with a half blood was enough for a family scandal.

"Sorry, Gran. Happy Christmas," she said softly as her grandmother kissed her on the cheek. The perfume that she wore was instantly evocative of childhood memories, banishing all pleasant thoughts of Nathan Price.

"Ah yes. That's a good girl. You're looking more and more like your father's daughter. How is your fifth year, dear? Revising for your O.W.L.s yet?"

Daphne's voice caught a little in her throat as she thought how to best answer. Always a bit of a dark horse, it was no secret to her family members that Daphne was never keen on her placement in Slytherin. And since the Gordons had long been sorted into Slytherin, Daphne's loathing of the house was rather incongruous. "It's fine, Gran," she stammered. "But the professors have given us loads of schoolwork in preparation of our exams. I hardly have any time to do much else." She did her best to deflect conversation away from any talk of her poor relations with her housemates. Her grandmother's piercing stare hinted that maybe she hadn't done a good job after all.

"Not enough time to send your grandmother an owl or two? I want to know how all my grandchildren are doing."

Daphne gulped guiltily. Marion was uncharacteristically silent; her tough façade rendered useless in her grandmother's presence.

"This is an important year for you--for both o you. Times are changing."

"Yes, Gran," Daphne and Marion echoed timidly.

"You two are lucky to have such fortunate family connections," she said with a thin smile before departing as swiftly as she arrived.

"What was that about?" Daphne whispered, baffled.

"Old age catching up with her? Just wait till she hears that I called Draco Malfoy an arsehole," Marion answered anxiously, eyes darting around to make sure no one overheard. "She won't be pleased--especially since she's always fought to maintain ties with the Malfoys."

Daphne watched as her grandmother entered seamlessly into the throng of family. Though she was a small old witch, her presence in the expansive drawing room was everywhere. House elves cowered though they were clear across the room and Daphne felt her own heart beat with anxiety.

"You're mum's here," Marion suddenly added just as Daphne caught sight of her mother crossing the room with obvious trepidation.

"I never understood why she always was so distant at these family gatherings."

"Don't you know?"

"Know what?"

"This is another instance of our dear old gran's influence," Marion scoffed. "Everyone treats your mum like she's inferior because she didn't come from the right family."

Daphne was reminded of the Thin Man's vague remarks the other night. "Why do I feel like there are just a lot of things I don't know about?"

Mark came over one evening after New Years. Both he and Daphne were growing restless in their respective family environments and Mark had already threatened twice to head off to France again.

"I can't take it anymore, Daphne," Mark sighed dramatically as he flung his head onto her bed, a dark wave of hair falling across his left eye. "You think your holiday was bad? At least you weren't constantly compared to the perfect little cousins the whole duration of Christmas dinner. I thought I was going to make the pudding explode into a fiery mess," he added snidely. "I swear, the only reason my parents care that I am gay is because it means that I won't be finding some nice girl to marry and pass on the blood line."

"How old are the perfect little cousins again?"

"Ten, so you can expect to see the twins in Slytherin next year unless the Sorting Hat decides to have a sense of humor and put them into Hufflepuff or something." Mark began to leaf angrily through a fashion magazine.

"They are still young, so there is still hope."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Hope that they might surpass myself as a source of family disappointment?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

"It doesn't really matter anyway. I only have to put up with them for a few months out of the year."

"If you are going to France again this summer, can I join you?" she sighed and laid her head next to his, staring at the dark paneled ceiling.

"Would be brilliant, wouldn't it?" came his voice from close to her ear. "Think you could make it in the Muggle world?"

"Don't know. Never gave it any thought." Daphne tried to imagine herself in Mark's shoes, experiencing the Muggle world with the sense of awe and wonder he had the summer previous. Magic or no magic, Daphne was sure about one thing--you would never get her into one of those Muggle flying death trap machines.

Mark turned to face her. "You know what we'll be needing to sort out soon?"

She had no idea. "What?"

"Careers."

Her stomach sank as she remembered that niggling voice of doubt in the back of her mind that was starting to get louder. "Remember that pact we made when we were first years?"

"The one where we swore that when we grew up, we would work for Gordon & Hollings together?"

"And that we would have desks next to each other?"

He paused, looking serious. "Once upon a time I fancied myself working for your family. More of a boyhood dream really. Now that I am older . . . I'm not so sure."

"I'm starting to have second thoughts too."

"Family is a risky venture. Maybe I'll be a man of leisure instead," he added with a grin. "Travel the world looking for adventures."

She smiled and closed her eyes. It was a nice thought, but not very ambitious of him.

"But," he added, "I have this nasty feeling that things are going to get really pear shaped."

"I think you are right, Mark," she replied, much to her chagrin.

Suddenly a voice boomed, "Quick, child!"

Daphne sat up in alarm and looked around to see Phillipa Gordon staring down from the landscape painting that hung over the bed. Mark clumsily dropped the magazine as he also sat up. "What is it?" she asked, bewildered by the sudden visit.

"Lucius Malfoy is here." Phillipa Gordon swiftly disappeared out of the landscape with a swish of blue taffeta.

Both Daphne and Mark exchanged looks of surprise before scrambling towards the door. Almost immediately she could hear voices echoing up the stairwell as they cautiously entered the hallway. She crouched high up in the stairwell with Mark closely next to her. Making sure not to be seen, Daphne stealthy moved her head to the banister so that she a clear view of the hallway leading to the sitting room.

"Why is a painting going through all the trouble to tell me that Lucius Malfoy is here?" she whispered.

"Maybe she knows something that you don't? Besides, you know what this means?" Mark gravely reminded her.

Daphne knew exactly what it meant--Lucius Malfoy's was here to put pressure on the Gordon family, just as he had other wizard families since the summer. The thought of her parents aligning themselves with such evil was enough to make her feel ill. "They can't be on his side?" she asked a little shakily.

Mark said nothing and they both leaned in to try and pick up on the conversation.

". . . wanted to exploit my contacts in America." It was her father's voice.

"Can you see what's going on?" Mark whispered in her ear, muffling some of the conversation from below.

Daphne caught sight of an unfamiliar woman who looked about her parent's age--petite, well dressed, with black hair pulled up into a chignon and small, wire rimmed spectacles. The woman took one of the high back seats near the fire. Across sat her mother, who looked stiff and expressionless. Minnie moved noiselessly around in the background with a tea tray.

Mark pressed closer as he tried to observe what she was seeing. "Who is that?"

She raised a hand to silence him as the woman began to speak. "There are a lot of wizards and witches in America who are very interested in some of the recent developments here in England. Though our own press says nothing of these events, people such as myself are fortunate enough to anticipate the Dark Lord's role on the other side of the Atlantic." The accent of the voice was nasal and distinctly American--one that Daphne knew from her father's business was a product of the New England upper class.

Lucius Malfoy's tall form suddenly came into view. "Mrs. Prescott--"

"Please, call me Lydia."

"Lydia, our efforts are currently centered in Britain and on the continent, but I assure you, we have no intention to neglect America," he drawled.

"I know Sedgwick was eager to set up this meeting. He has the foresight to recognize that there are a lot of likeminded wizards and witches in America who want to see this movement succeed." Lydia Prescott took a sip of tea before continuing. "I also have government contacts in Washington who are quite willing to pledge support in anyway possible--gold, manpower. You name it."

"I am pleased to hear. In the next few months I would like meet with our allies in America. Can I count on you or Sedgwick to arrange a meeting with your contacts?"

Daphne's head began to swim and she steadied herself against the banister.

"Oh of course." Lydia Prescott smiled sycophantically. "I'll arrange for a party at my residence in Newport. I already know of quite a few people who would like to meet you."

Daphne turned away, willing herself not to hear anymore. Mark still hung onto every word. Pressed up against her, she could feel the heat of his body and the rise and fall of his breathing.

A shuffling sound reluctantly brought her attention back to the sitting room after a few more minutes of conversation detailing plans to extend Voldemort's reach into America. "Lydia, while you are here," her father said casually as he rose from the sofa, "let me briefly show you my own collection of art and spellbooks. Lucius, you are welcome to join us."

Daphne watched as Lucius Malfoy gave her father an odd look. "A tempting offer, but I have yet to have the chance to talk to your lovely wife."

When her father directed Lydia Prescott out of the sitting room for the library, her mother's rigid expression finally broke. "You have some gall coming here tonight."

"Tsk, tsk, Eurydice. That is a rather shameful display of hospitality. I doubt your husband would approve."

Her mother looked like she would want nothing more than to throttle him. Daphne had no idea her mother knew Lucius Malfoy and silently wondered what had happened between them to cause such enmity.

"Sedgwick has enough sense to try and erase the stain that your sister Delphinia made--"

"How dare you speak her name!" her mother hissed in a low voice.

Lucius Malfoy looked amused. "From what I hear, you haven't been speaking her name either. That was a rather ambitious plan, now was it?"

Even from the narrow vantage that Daphne had, she could see her mother recoil a little. "I suppose I have your son to thank for that," she said fiercely.

A thin smile of satisfaction spread on Lucius Malfoy's lips. "You silly woman. How long did you think you could keep that little secret?"

Silence, save for the blood pounding in Daphne's ears.

"Your sister only got what she deserved," he continued in a low drawl, moving a closer to her mother. "She was a traitor and all traitors must be dealt with accordingly. This was true then as it is now."

Daphne wondered if Lucius Malfoy was making a subtle reference to the blood traitor list. A nudge from Mark confirmed that he was thinking the same thing.

"Eurydice, you are powerless--you always have been."

"And you, Lucius, are a murderer."

The look of amusement returned to his face. "Ah yes. Don't you forget that."

Her mother looked at him with loathing.

"You were always so irritatingly moral."

Daphne could tell that her mother was teetering towards collapse and Lucius Malfoy must have known this too--he continued to push her further and further, seemingly deriving a great amount of perverse pleasure off this exchange.

"Why are you here, Eurydice?" He made a derisive snort and added, "You were never good enough for the Gordons."

"Stop," her mother cried. It was painful to watch her mother broken down slowly and methodically by Malfoy.

"Who knows. Perhaps Slytherin will finally have an effect on your daughter. But I am sure your daughter would make a finer servant of the Dark Lord than that disgusting sister of yours."

"You think I don't know that you loved Delphinia?" The retort was quick and pointed--enough to finally show a reaction on Lucius Malfoy's slick veneer.

"You labor under a dangerous misapprehension," he said through clenched teeth.

"I know what you are doing, Lucius," her mother said as she rallied some kind of defense. "You'd like nothing more than to corrupt another member of my family, but it won't happen. Not again."

"You're right. It will not happen again. Draco tells me that your daughter would rather die than be on the right side. She better be careful how she chooses her words in the future. I hear she's weak like you. Draco thinks me might serve the cause well under the Imperius Curse. Since your husband is such a generous supporter of the Dark Lord, I thought it fair that we extend your daughter a little consideration."

Daphne watched as all the color drained from her mother's face, finally defeated. Malfoy's bravado made her feel ill and his candor was shocking.

"That bastard!" Mark hissed in her ear.

Not a moment later, her father and Lydia Prescott returned from their tour of the study, animatedly discussing one of the family paintings. Lucius Malfoy greeted them with a small, triumphant smile and acting as if nothing had happened.

Though Daphne was still trying to understand what she overheard that night, it was evident the following day that her mother's encounter with Lucius Malfoy had left her greatly unsettled. If there was any courage in her, it had all but evaporated and Daphne could only watch in dismay as her mother meandered around the house in a daze. Minnie had taken to following her about and wringing her hands. And since Daphne's father had left yet again for New York, she alone was left to deal with her mother's deteriorating mood.

Mark, she wrote in an owl that afternoon, hand shaking as she did, I think my mother has completely lost it.

It wasn't long before Iris was swooping into the room with Mark's response, grey wings flapping furiously. I'll come over anytime you want. Just send word.

As Daphne sat at her father's desk, quill poised to respond, Minnie came in whimpering and tugging at her bat like ears. "Your mother. She is not well."

A large crash punctuated the house elf's warning and it sounded as though it was coming all the way down in the kitchen. Daphne quickly ran to check out the commotion and what she found was her mother lighting a cauldron with her wand. Spread out before her was an odd jumble of potion ingredients and everyday kitchen items. The cupboard looked as though it had been ransacked.

"Mum, what are you doing?" Daphne asked, alarmed, Minnie shifting anxiously at her side.

Saying nothing, her mother seemed possessed with a wild-eyed determination, brown hair disheveled and her face pale. Though her movements were hasty, there was a certain sense of thought and direction as she grasped at the little glass jars with fading labels and wax sealed tops, putting a little dash here and a pinch there into the gurgling cauldron.

"Mum?"

Without warning, her mother marched out of the kitchen and up the narrow stairwell that led upstairs.

"Where are you going?" Daphne called out in vain, struggling to keep up.

Again her mother said nothing, but it was soon clear after three grueling flights of stairs that their destination was the attic. Her footfall was sharp and swift upon the coiling stairs as she ascended the final length to the upper most reaches of the house. "I should have done this long ago," her mother muttered as she opened the attic door, wand out. "Lumos!"

A glow fell over the jumbled objects that filled the attic and in looked as though someone had cleaned up after her raid last week. The trunks were neatly packed and there was no sign of the lantern she had left. Her mother moved hastily past the trunks and headed straight back for the furthest reaches of the attic. There, buried under a dusty clump of badly folded curtains, was a long padlocked trunk. "You shouldn't be up here!" her mother snapped, addressing her daughter for the first time.

Daphne didn't know how to respond. She stood there timidly and said nothing, watching as her mother cleared off the curtains, only to step back with her wand pointed before the trunk. Her mother then uttered an unfamiliar incantation that caused the lock to turn burn green and disappear with a trail of smoke. The lid sprang open with sharp click revealing a black lined interior with an assortment of vials and jars. The smell alone reminded Daphne of Professor Snape's office.

"Mummy, what are you doing?"

Carefully grabbing some of the vials in addition to a serpent covered spell book, her mother made to leave the attic. She barely got a few feet away, glass clinking in her arms, when suddenly her attention was drawn to a dark corner of the cluttered attic. "What's that noise?"

Daphne didn't hear anything.

"Do you hear it?" her mother asked, moving cautiously towards its source.

"What--" Daphne stopped as she too heard it. There was a banging noise coming from a desk and it was getting louder. The whole structure began to rattle, sending up small clouds of dust with every lurch. Daphne knew for sure it had to be a boggart. "Mum, you should be careful," she began, but her warning was too late.

Her mother reached for the top drawer of the shaking desk and opened it. Though seemingly implausible, a young woman emerged from the small space and stood upright before her mother--blonde hair hanging in wet clumps and eyes wild with rage. No older than her early twenties, Daphne couldn't help but think that there was something eerily familiar about this figure.

"IT'S YOUR FAULT!" The woman's tone was guttural and full of rage; the force of her voice alone caused Daphne to jump and her mother to stagger backwards. The vials dropped and shattered on the wooden floor, sending broken glass everywhere.

Daphne was transfixed with shock. She knew full well that this was a boggart, but she couldn't help but gasp when she realized that this woman was none other than Delphinia Thorpe. She was older than her photo, but it was still unmistakably her--wet clothes and all. It was astounding to see the dead woman brought back to life.

"D-d-d-del-ph-phina," her mother stammered as she fell backwards against a sideboard, wand falling clumsily out of her hand as she slid to the floor with a thud. The attic became instantly dimmer.

"You left me to die, Eurydice! You could have helped me! Now our parents are dead because of you! It's all your fault!" The verbal abuse kept on in a steady stream.

As Daphne looked on, gobsmacked, she couldn't help comprehend that the one thing that her mother feared most of all was condemnation from her dead sister. The hurls of abuse made her cower as Delphinia came closer and closer. The serpent book threatened to slip from her arms.

"You could have helped me! It's your fault!"

Daphne had to do something to stop this; watching her mother cower before the image of her dead sister was far too heartbreaking. She quickly thought back to her third year lessons from Professor Lupin and tried to remember how to get rid a boggart. As Daphne approached her mother, the wild eyes of Delphinia Thorpe locked on her before swiftly morphing with a loud crack into the sneering embodiment of her greatest fear--Draco Malfoy. Thinking of the most amusing image she could think of, Daphne got out her wand and shouted, "RIDDIKULUS!"

Malfoy began to perform a jig and it was quite liberating to see the source of such grief perform a complicated dance move between a dusty armchair and a stack of books. Her mother looked on, mouth agape, as if she couldn't believe what was going on. Daphne smiled with satisfaction until finally the form of Draco Malfoy burst into wisps of smoke. The grin faded from her face once she remembered that her mother was still crouched on the floor. There was a tense silence that broke once her mother burst into sobs.

Daphne wanted to say something--reassure her mother that it was only a silly boggart and not really her dead sister resurrected--but the sight of her crumpled up against the legs of the sideboard rendered Daphne speechless, as if she was seeing her for the first time. Every line on her face and strand of grey spoke fifteen years of grief and a pain as fresh as an open wound. She couldn't help but notice that her mother looked helpless and incapable of action as she cowered on the floor, glass shards scattered around her. It was sorrow that Daphne could feel creeping into her veins like a sickness as it passed from mother to daughter.

"What on earth was that?" came a stunned voice from the entrance. Daphne jumped back and turned to see Mark standing in the doorway with his wand clutched in his hand.

"Mark! What are you doing here?" she exclaimed over the soft cries of her mother.

"Er, you said things were bad, so when I didn't hear back from you I got worried. I heard shouting when I entered the house and I followed it up here," he said, slightly embarrassed, as he entered the attic.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," came his awkward reply. "Was that a boggart or did Draco Malfoy really dance across your attic?"

"Yes it was a boggart." She suddenly realized that she was so happy to see Mark that she could kiss him. "Help me get my mum out of here, please?"

He carefully made his way towards them, recoiling slightly when he caught full sight of her mother. Daphne picked up her mother's fallen wand and said, "Nox." The lighted tip immediately extinguished itself before she pocketed it. They then removed the book from her mother's arms and coaxed her listless form upwards. It was precarious at times getting three people through the mess, but they finally made it to the stairwell that would take them downstairs. Her mother's sobs had ceased and she now walked dazedly between Daphne and Mark.

"Where should we take her?" he asked softly when they were out of the attic.

"Er--her room is good." Daphne suddenly realized that she was shaking.

They sat her mother down on the edge of the bed and looked between each other for a sign of what to do next. "Where's your dad?" Mark asked.

"New York. Again," she grumbled.

He looked sympathetic.

"Where did Delphinia go?" her mother suddenly asked in a hoarse whisper, eyes wide with confusion. It was hard being angry at her now.

"That wasn't her, Mum," Daphne said soothingly.

"It was a boggart, right?"

"Right."

"Daphne, I am so sorry I never told you."

What she really wanted to ask was why had her mother gone to the attic and what was she planning to use the contents of the trunk for. Was this her mother's idea of retaliation against Lucius Malfoy's? As much as she loved Mark, she didn't want to have this conversation in front of him--not today at least.

He must have sensed her uneasiness. "Do you want me to stay with you?" he asked quietly.

Daphne hesitated, knowing that it was nice to have a friendly face around other than a sputtering old house elf. In the end, she knew that it was best to handle this alone. "No, that's okay. I'll let you know if I need you." She forced a weak smile.

"Promise?"

"Yes."

Mark stayed long enough to help her make her mother more comfortable before heading back to London. When he was gone, Daphne had Minnie bring up some tea for her mother, who looked as though she was finally beginning to calm down from the shock of the boggart.

"Do you want me to get Dad?"

"No," she replied curtly.

Daphne feebly began to leave the room when her mother called out to her.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Daphne remained awkwardly silent, bracing herself for the confession that she instinctively knew was to come.

"I'm sorry. I really, truly am."

"But why, Mum?"

"It wasn't my intent . . . you don't know what it was like back then--to be associated with the Dark Lord. Hyperia, your grandmother, was in an uproar. The whole family was. When you started to get older, it was easier to keep putting off telling you. And then the years just kept coming and . . ."

"Will you finally tell me what happened?"

"Yes."