The Good Slytherin

Chapter Sixteen: Mark

Mark was about to dip his spoon into his soup when he saw the most astonishing thing--Daphne's blonde little head in the middle of the dinning room fireplace. Both his parents abruptly stopped eating and turned to watch as their uninvited dinner guest emerged headfirst. Daphne froze in place and her eyes darted frantically between him and his parents looking for some hint of what to do. Surely realizing her blunder, Mark could just make out her pale cheeks turning red beneath a light dusting of ash.

It was all far too amusing.

Mark's mother set her fork down so hard that it clattered loudly against the china and shot an icy glare across the table. "Nigel, if I cannot count on you to get this Floo business sorted, then who can I?"

"I had someone from the Floo Regulation Panel over here just yesterday, Portia," his father sighed defensively as he pressed his fingers against his temples. Mark often thought that his father lost a hair every time his mother expressed her displeasure--his forehead had retreated further back in the last few years. "Everything was sorted and working properly when they came to fix it yesterday."

"Well send them an owl and tell them that the bloody thing isn't working properly again. This is the third time someone's been misdirected to the dining room."

There was a tense pause and meanwhile Daphne hadn't moved a muscle.

"Mark, is this a friend of yours?" his mother asked briskly, brushing a loose strand of her sharply cut black hair back into place.

His mother knew full well who Daphne was and the question annoyed Mark to no end. He was about to make a snide quip when his father made a begrudging attempt at hospitality. "Come in. No use being in two places at once."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt," Daphne said softly as she finally fully emerged looking absolutely mortified.

He watched as his best friend's cheeks grew a steadily deeper shade of scarlet and he knew he just had to put her out of her misery. "Mum, Dad, you remember my friend Daphne Gordon?" he said, winking at her.

"Yes, right," his mother coldly replied as she scrutinized Daphne from across the dinner table. Mark resisted the urge to glare disapprovingly--his mother never did like the idea of his friendship with her. He could only assume that she labored under the same biases as the Slytherins.

"Why don't you show your friend upstairs," his father instructed, his tone only marginally warmer than his wife's.

Mark didn't need to be told twice. He rose from the table and escorted a trembling Daphne out of the dining room. "Hello, gorgeous. You sure know how to make an entrance," he said with a smile once they were out of earshot from his parents.

She looked panicked as they passed by grim looking portraits and furniture. "What was that about? Your dining room normally hooked up to the Floo Network? And by the way, I am now quite certain you mother hates me."

"Lovely people aren't they? You can imagine why France seemed so appealing this past summer."

She fumbled with something to say for a moment, but he raised a reassuring hand.

"Forget it. Just another thing for my parents to fight about," he said dryly as they headed up the stairs. "Actually, I'm glad to see you. I was starting to plan my cunning escape from this wretched place."

Daphne smiled at him weakly and replied, "And it's only Christmas Eve."

"All right, what happened? That little Floo business can't be the only reason you've gone paler than usual," he said when they finally entered his bedroom.

She sunk wearily into the cushy chair adjacent to his bed, her small frame dwarfed by its bulk. "I had to get out of the house. My mother--" Her voice faltered.

"Sounds like my life."

"It's done," Daphne sighed, ignoring his droll comment. "I confronted my mother."

Mark could hardly believe what he was hearing; Daphne was the least confrontational person he knew. "What? When?" he gasped expectantly from the edge of his bed.

"A couple of hours ago. I don't know what came over me. I wanted to come over earlier, but I needed to calm down first." She then proceeded to tell him of her busy day, starting with her interrogation of a couple paintings followed by the ransacking of her attic. "Even after all that, nothing," she continued. "Not a shred of evidence. But then the most extraordinary thing happened--our house elf confessed that I was looking in the wrong place."

"And?"

Daphne reached into her pocket, pulling out a creased photograph and handing to Mark. "This is the only one I managed to smuggle out before my mum caught me going through her things."

He examined the photo closely, noting that it was still warm from being tucked into her pocket. In it stood two longhaired teenaged girls in Hogwarts uniforms, smiling and waving back at him--one of them presumably the infamous Delphinia Thorpe. Having met Daphne's mother before, he immediately ruled out the darker haired, older one of the two. Instead he focused on the blonde who frankly looked rather innocuous to be a future Death Eater. Though not as petite as her niece, Delphinia looked warm and friendly.

"So this is her?" Mark asked incredulously. On the back of the photo was the inscription, "Dissy and Delphie," followed by a date of some twenty-five years previous.

"Funny, isn't it?" she mumbled as she flung her hand casually towards the picture. "All these years and I never knew something so simple as the fact that my mum had a sister."

"I expected something, er, nastier. Fangs perhaps?" Mark looked back at the photo. "She looks a lot like you. Hair's darker though."

"Anything would be darker than this colorless mop. Remember, I am related to Malfoys," she replied disparagingly, running a hand through her long pale hair.

"You can't help that any more than you can help being related to Delphinia Thorpe." Mark paused and looked back at the photo. "But she can't be all that bad. She did try and help Dumbledore after all. That's something to be proud of."

Daphne looked unimpressed--or maybe overwhelmed. It was hard to tell. She seemed to sink lower in the chair. "I sent Marion an owl this afternoon and told her everything that happened. She tells me Delphinia was supposed to have killed a bunch of Muggles in addition to some ex-boyfriend of hers," she said point blank as she stared out the window.

"Yeah well, we won't even mention the things my uncle was supposed to have done," Mark sneered, trying not to sound too flippant. "And that was before he got himself killed in a battle with some Aurors."

She sighed and continued to stare off into the pink tinged glow of the London night.

"Here, let's talk about something else," he said as he handed back the photo and searched his brain for some bit of overlooked gossip to distract her with. "You look like you could use a break. What are your plans for Christmas tomorrow?"

Daphne opened her mouth to say something when she was interrupted by a tapping noise on the windowpane. Mark turned his head to follow her gaze to a tawny owl that perched before the glass. Flapping its large wings and hooting, he could see that it had a letter attached to its leg. "Suppose that's a Christmas letter from one of your many secret admirers," Daphne said glumly.

"Listen you," he chided as he went to open the latch on the window. "It's almost bloody Christmas and I'm two moments away from putting a Cheering Charm on you."

"No, Mark. No more Cheering Charms," she groaned.

With the window open, the owl bobbed its damp head in and presented the letter. Curious, he reached down to retrieve the small square of parchment tied to its leg. Maybe it's from Zacharias to apologize for being such a twat, he thought and sighed. The last thing he expected was to see it addressed to Daphne and not him. Bewildered, he handed the square envelope to her. The owl hooted a farewell and flapped its wings into the drizzly night.

"Me?" Daphne looked shocked and began to open the letter. "Who would be writing me?"

"It's probably Draco Malfoy wishing you Happy Christmas and to let you know that he's sorry for living," he said as he shut the window.

"Don't be--" He was sure Daphne was about to tell him not to be an arse, but she stopped suddenly and gazed at the letter, green eyes wide with excitement.

"Okay, this is where you tell your best friend who's it from," he said impatiently as he hovered over the chair.

"Merlin," she gasped, her shock quickly morphing into a giddy, toothy grin. "It's from Nathan Price."

"What, the Ravenclaw bloke from my birthday party? Tall, black hair, blue eyes, good looking?"

Her goofy smile was enough confirmation.

"Well done you! Does he say he wants to shag you lots and have babies with you after Hogwarts?"

"No--"

"Pity. So what does he say?"

"He says," affecting a deeper voice, "'Hi Daphne. Hope you are having a brilliant holiday away from Hogwarts, though Tristan did tell me your bit of bad news. That Malfoy can be a bit of a prat, so I only wanted to make sure you were okay. Happy Christmas and I'll see you in January back at Hogwarts. Nathan Price.'"

"Is that all?"

"Blimey, Mark. A boy writes me and you say, 'Is that all?'"

"I was waiting for the bit where he says he wants to shag you lots."

Daphne looked slightly crestfallen. "It's not coming. He has a girlfriend--at least I think he does. And he's half blooded, something that would make my family get in a right twist if they found out."

Perched on the arm of the chair, Mark reached down and snatched the letter from her to have a read for himself. Sure enough, there was no postscript about shagging or snogging at any rate. "But hey, he wanted to make sure you were okay. That's boy-speak for 'I fancy you.'"

She sighed and yanked the letter back. "I swear Mark, you don't pay attention. He has a girlfriend." She then paused, looking grim. "You know, he tried to tell me that my grandparents were killed by Death Eaters."

"But when?" This was a new admission.

"Right before Malfoy let it slip. You know that day I went to ask him something? I thought he had me mistaken for someone else."

"Oh. He probably felt bad and that is why he is writing you. But I still think he fancies you," he harrumphed.

Daphne held the letter back up and grinned goofily. "Do you think he might like me after all?"

It was the happiest he had seen her in a long while.