The Good Slytherin

Chapter Twenty-One: Daphne

The last thing Daphne wanted to find out was that Malfoy was running around Slytherin trying to put her friends under the Imperius Curse. The very idea chilled her to the bone and she must have looked half ready to keel over in shock because Tristan stepped forward to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"It was my idea to tell you, Daphne," Mark said, looking on sympathetically. "Would have been worse if you didn't know."

She felt dazed. "When did this happen?"

"Last week."

Now Tristan was addressing her, sounding like the future Healer. "Daphne, we are all worried. You haven't been yourself."

The image of her mother cowering under Delphinia's screaming form came rushing into her mind. "No, I suppose I haven't." She turned and left the room.

Daphne knew she was sliding down a slippery slope. Her grades fell, homework went uncompleted, and she found it hard to concentrate on much of anything--not when her mother was on the verge of a breakdown and her father was busy in America raising money for the Dark Lord. Professor Tempera looked quite displeased when she handed Daphne back her essay with a red "D" on it. Mark's look of alarm had only confirmed that he too had not expected to see such a low grade.

She shrugged and shoved the essay into her school bag.

Feeling adrift and overwhelmed, Daphne spent less time with her friends and more wandering the empty corridors of the castle. There was something in her that resented Mark for being so self-assured, that he could have this crap Voldemort loving family and still be defiantly himself. She'd rather duck Peeves's ink pellets than have to confront how bloody unfair everything was. Oftentimes she merely went to bed early, pulling the curtains shut on her bed and lying in the semidarkness trying to figure life out.

She wasn't sure how long she could keep up this miserable mood up before Mark ambushed her with a Cheering Charm or Tristan forced her to have some chocolate. And by February, she instinctively knew that she would have to find a resolution soon, or risk getting sent back for another fifth year. The only person she knew to repeat a grade was Marcus Flint and she knew for a fact that she was far more intelligent to deserve such a fate.

Skulking out of Transfigurations class one day, she noticed Professor Snape heading right towards the exiting students. Even more surprising, he stopped right at Daphne.

"Come with me, Miss Gordon," he said curtly.

Her mind began to race. Mark looked on with bewilderment. Could she be in trouble? Was this about the incident with the Imperius Curse? She was not put at ease when Snape added ominously, "The Headmaster wants to see you."

Daphne's stomach sank and she gloomily followed Snape up to the upper levels of the castle. Stopping at a statue of a gargoyle, she was unsure of what to do until Snape said, "Fizzing Whizbee." The gargoyle jumped aside and a spiral staircase appeared from behind. Up they went until they reached a wooden door with a bird shaped knocker. Snape rapped officiously and a voice called for them to enter. The Potions Master opened the door and her heart began to pound loudly as she entered the enormous circular room.

"Ah, Daphne," Dumbledore said kindly as he stood up from his claw footed desk. "Thank you, Severus."

Daphne stood there terrified as Snape turned and exited, leaving her to face the headmaster alone. She had never been in the Dumbledore's office before and her eyes traveled nervously over the contents of the circular room in an attempt to divert her racing mind. The walls of the room were filled with portraits, little silver instruments, a phoenix on a perch, and the Sorting Hat.

"Come. Please sit." His long white beard swayed over the top of a stack of parchment as he motioned to a chair before his enormous desk. If Daphne had done something wrong, Dumbledore was acting rather pleasant about it.

She cautiously moved forward into the room and took a seat. Her eyes darted anxiously to a portrait of a witch sleeping soundly, not wanting to make eye contact with the headmaster.

"Fillius Thorpe painted that," Dumbledore said suddenly in his best avuncular tone.

"Oh," she replied, slightly embarrassed from having been caught looking at his things.

"Daphne, you must forgive an old man. I meant to do this much sooner, but regrettably my attentions have been diverted elsewhere."

"Yes?"

Dumbledore paused and stared at her from over his half moon spectacles. "Professor Snape informs me that your grades have fallen dramatically since returning from Christmas holiday. And if the rest of your professors are to believed, one of their brightest students has made a new habit of turning in work of, shall we say, lesser quality."

She was mute with embarrassment, staring at the floor.

"And Professor McGonagall informs me that you learned something significant before the holiday began."

To this she looked up and met Dumbledore's vivid blue eyes. He was still smiling. "Er . . . yes. I found out that my mother's sister . . . was a Death Eater." McGonagall must have overheard Malfoy after all.

Dumbledore folded his wizened hands together. "Yes, Delphinia Thorpe was a Death Eater. I am surprised that you were kept from this information, though it is not my place to speculate on your family's reasons for doing so." He paused. "Delphinia did some terrible things--things that no one would want to be associated with. She was a bright girl, but not bright enough to choose friends of better character."

Daphne was suddenly feeling petulant. "And got my grandparents killed for it."

"I can imagine you must find this all rather difficult to take in and I am not making excuses for your aunt--far from it. But I want you to remember that she sat in that very chair fifteen years ago and pledged to help in the fight against Lord Voldemort even though it was the equivalent of a death sentence. It takes a great amount of courage to do that."

She shuddered at the blatant mention of the Dark Lord's name.

"Daphne, I have called you here this evening in hopes of getting to the bottom of your sudden change in academic performance. I've held off on contacting your parents because I wanted to talk to you first. You are aware that if your grades continue to fall, it will adversely effect your upcoming O.W.L. exams in June."

"Yes, sir," she responded weakly, withering in his gaze.

"You are a bright and resilient young woman. I have no doubt in my mind that you can pull yourself around before June."

Dumbledore studied her from behind his half moon spectacles. His voice was soft and mollifying. Some of her initial anxiety began to ebb.

"Though you might not know this," he continued, "your resemblance to your aunt and your mother is quite remarkable--but that is where the similarities end. Do not think that you are bound to Delphinia's fate . . . or the Gordons'."

Daphne was startled. Did Dumbledore know about her family's dealings with the Dark Lord? Nothing on his face hinted either way and she turned his words over and over in her mind. Suddenly the truth lay bare before her and she realized at last what had been bothering her since January. She had been so afraid that she would get sucked into the current and lose herself to what her family thought she should be. She had two options--moan how unfair life is and never actually do a bloody thing about it or she could resolve to make something of herself

Sitting there in Dumbledore's office, she finally felt as though she was beginning to understand who she was--and understand what Mark had gone through the previous summer. This would be her Provence. Taking a deep breath as if for the first time, she said, "Yes, Headmaster. I know."

She believed her words.

Dumbledore smiled and began to move as if to bring the meeting to an end. But she had one thing to ask.

"Sir, I was wondering--" she began, knowing full well it was a long shot. "I mean, is it possible to get resorted? I think the Sorting Hat made a mistake."

Dumbledore gave her a placating smile, but looked firm. "You are not the first student to ask that, nor will you be the last. All I can say is that the Sorting Hat sees things that not everyone else can. We must respect that. There is a reason why you were placed in Slytherin--some untapped potential--that will reveal itself in due time."

Untapped potential? Hopefully he didn't mean a potential for evil. "But, sir. I'm nothing like them," she protested.

"Daphne, the word cunning has been traditionally used to describe a Slytherin student, just as brave has been used for Gryffindor--traits that are both equally admirable," he said calmly. "And let us not forget that Slytherins are also known for their resourcefulness and ambition, qualities that can be used to bring extraordinary good to the world." He paused, blue eyes twinkling. "I wouldn't be so hasty to let the actions of your peers taint what are otherwise laudable traits."

"Right," Daphne stammered.

"Why don't you visit Madam Pince. I'll have her give you some books to glance at about Slytherins throughout history who did some remarkable things."

"I will, Headmaster." She had never really believed that being in Slytherin could impart good until then. The strangely mollifying words "untapped potential" began to roll around in her head.

Dumbledore dismissed her with a warm smile and she scurried for the door. She was already down the tower and heading towards the Great Hall before she remembered the Imperius Curse incident. Too late to tell him now, she thought. As if it would change anything.

Saturday. Valentine's Day. Hogsmeade Weekend. Daphne was not amused.

With her bed hangings pulled tightly around her bed, she lay in a cocoon of darkness and contemplated if she wanted to face the day. Though still buoyed by Dumbledore's motivational speech, even the sage words of the headmaster couldn't change the fact that she felt like she was the only one at Hogwarts without a date.

She sighed and reached for her bedside clock. Half past seven. Still a bit early, though not early enough that people wouldn't be stirring soon for breakfast. Today of all days, she didn't want to be around when Pansy Parkinson woke up.

The door to the room creaked softly and someone padded in, stopping right at her bed. Marion's head soon peaked through the black velvet bed hangings.

"I had a feeling you were up," her cousin whispered as she climbed in, reminding Daphne of childhood sleepovers.

"Marion, your feet are freezing," she groaned. Pansy Parkinson snored a few beds away, undisturbed.

"Sorry. Happy Valentine's Day!"

"Thanks. I was trying to forget," Daphne whispered sleepily as she rearranged the duvet and fluffed her pillow.

"But it's Hogsmeade Weekend. We can go shopping and you can come with me when I get my hair cut."

Daphne was feeling very reluctant about the whole idea. Part of her just wanted to hang around the castle in peace knowing that Malfoy and her other tormenters were gone. Marion, sensing this reluctance, tugged impatiently on her arm.

"Daphne Gordon. You are not staying here. You are going to go to Hogsmeade with me and you will have a good time. I'll even be nice to Mark."

"Don't be too nice. He'll think something is wrong."

Marion grinned. "And maybe you'll run into Nathan Price."

"And his girlfriend too? No thank you."

"I don't care what you say. I still think he fancies you."

"Do you want me to get kicked out of the family? You know Nathan has a Muggle father."

"Daphne, since when did you believe in that rubbish?"

"I don't! But if I keep this up, Gran's ever watchful eye will find me out."

Marion sighed like Daphne was failing to miss the point. "You know you'll never be happy if you try to make yourself into what they want."

"Ha! Easy for you to say. What would you do if you fancied a half blood?"

"But I don't fancy a half blood." As soon as Marion said this, she blushed.

Daphne sat up in bed. "Ah ha! So who do you fancy?"

"I'm not saying," she whispered.

"You're worse than Mark! Am I going to have to pry this out of you?"

Marion continued to blush. "Are you hungry, because I'm hungry."

"Changing the subject?"

"Yes," she said with a grin.

"I'm hungry too. Let's go up for breakfast."

Pansy Parkinson snores continued to drone on in the background.

Later than morning, Daphne was beginning to wonder if she would have been better off in the castle. Hogsmeade was practically exploding with cherubs and kissing couples and other saccharine trappings of the holiday. She moped under the heavy overcast sky as she and Marion walked past windows full of red colored decorations and the scowling wanted posters of the escaped Death Eaters. Mark and Tristan had already gone off to Dervish and Banges and agreed to meet up with them in the Three Broomsticks at one o'clock.

The hairdressers, which was right across from Honeydukes, smelled strongly of perfumes and soap. Entering into a small waiting area lined with cushy chairs, a young witch swooped down on them and began to assess their hairstyles.

"Just a trim, Miss Avery? Yes, yes. We can do that. Have you thought about fringe?"

Suddenly the witch was picking up the long locks of Daphne's pale hair. "Oh my. It's a bit long, isn't it?" she tutted as a tawny cat rubbed against her leg.

"But I'm not here to--" Daphne tried to protest, stepping away from the witch's roving hands.

"Yeah, Daphne," Marion grinned. "You should get your hair cut too!"

"I'll do Miss Avery first and then I'll do you," the witch replied matter-of-factly before Daphne could begin to state otherwise. Marion then disappeared into the back leaving her to sit and leaf through magazines in a daze. The tawny cat curled up next to her and blinked its eyes approvingly.

"Blimey," she muttered to herself and stared down at the glossy images of models preening and strutting throughout the pages. The witch had said her hair was too long. Was it too long? She suddenly felt very self-conscious. What on earth would she change it too? It had always been long. . .

"Done!"

Daphne looked up to see Marion looking a bit smarter than when she came in. Nothing too radical, but tidy and back to the cut she had during the summer months. Her brown hair was just above shoulder length and now with fringe.

"Do you like?"

"It's great," she replied, but her attention was now on the witch, who was motioning for her to go back into the salon. She bit her lip and followed the witch behind the curtain.

First the witch washed her hair with a pink sudsy soap that kept sending bubbles into the air around them. The warm water relaxed her a little, but as soon the witch was done, she felt her body clench up again.

"Have you given any thought about what you want to do with it?" the witch asked as she sat Daphne down in a chair in front of a mirror and draped a large cape over her body.

Well no, this was your idea, was what she really wanted to say, but didn't. Instead she stared at herself in the mirror and she was no more than a little blonde head sticking out of the cape like a terrapin. Daphne scrutinized herself very closely and was surprised to realize that she didn't like what she saw. The person who stared back looked timid and insecure. No, that was not her. Not anymore, at least.

She had a vision of her older self . . . and her older self had short hair.

"I want it shorter," Daphne responded quickly before she had the chance to change her mind. "Much shorter." She reached for a nearby magazine and flipped through a couple pages before finding what she wanted. "Like this."

The witch smiled gleefully, picked up her wand, and began to work.

At one o'clock, just as they had planned, they found Mark and Tristan in the Three Broomsticks talking over butterbeers, with the spoils of shopping laid out before them. The place was very crowded and Daphne was grateful for a table. Pushing through the swarm of patrons, she reached nervously to feel her hair and was still shocked to find it so short. Whereas before it came down past her shoulders, now it was cropped just below chin length.

As they approached, Mark was on his best behavior and complemented Marion on her new haircut. Even Tristan looked pleased. He smiled over his butterbeer and said, "Yes, it looks quite nice, Marion."

"Cheers," she blushed.

Tristan looked around. "Where's Daph--"

It suddenly became quite clear that neither Mark nor Tristan had recognized her, even though she stood right before them. Now their gazes were fully fixed on her as if they couldn't believe what they were seeing. Tristan looked astounded and Mark seemed like he was trying not to choke on his butterbeer. Marion's earlier reaction had been closer to gushing, assuring Daphne that she looked wonderful. The boys' reactions, however, were a bit worrying.

"You don't like it?" she asked, obviously deflated, as she sank into a seat next to Mark.

"Wow, Daphne. It's only that you look so different," he gaped.

Tristan cleared his throat. "What my friend here is so ineptly trying to say is 'nice hair.'"

"See! You look gorgeous." Marion seemed rather pleased with herself and Daphne silently wondered if her cousin had planned this makeover all along.

"Oh good," Daphne said with a weak smile. She wasn't used to all this attention.

An hour and a couple of rounds of butterbeer later, Daphne was feeling sluggish, though still compelled to feel around for her missing lengths of hair. The Three Broomsticks was starting to thin out and Madam Rosmerta floated around picking up the empties. Mark had just finished telling a story about Filch when he suddenly grinned.

"Ah, Daphne, look who's coming."

"What are you on about?" She followed Mark's gaze and her stomach gave a leap. She was also pretty sure Marion had kicked her from under the table. "Oh."

Nathan Price was approaching their table, but then he was staring at Daphne. Instinctively, she reached for her hair. She suddenly felt naked.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"Nathan. Nice to see you, mate," Tristan said with a smile. "Care to join us?"

"Thanks, but I'm just about to head back to the castle." He motioned to a table across the pub where two Ravenclaw sixth years were getting up and putting on their cloaks. Daphne was quick to notice that Nathan's girlfriend was conspicuously absent. "If I had seen you earlier, I would have come over," Nathan added, giving Daphne a furtive look.

"The place was packed so I'd be surprised if you could have seen much of anything," Tristan replied.

"Yeah, it was. So I'll see you in the library on Sunday, Tristan? We have that essay due, remember?"

"Haven't forgotten."

Nathan was about to leave when he turned to her. "I like the hair, Daphne," he said with a sheepish grin before heading back to his mates.

Daphne's mind swam with glee.

"Where do you think that girlfriend of his went to?" Marion asked slyly as soon as Nathan was out of the pub. "It's Valentine's Day."

"Who, Rebecca? Nathan broke up with her right after we got back from holiday." Tristan looked bemused because Marion was trying her best to reign in her excitement, though she did kick Daphne in the leg again.

"Ouch! Yes, I get the point. He's available."

"So do we know why they broke up?"

"Marion!" she hissed. "That's none of our business."

Tristan offered the information anyway. "Well, Nathan tells me that Rebecca was in a bit of a strop because he was making friends with Slytherins. Apparently she labors under the tired delusion that all Slytherins are evil," he said with a grim smile.

Mark cleared his throat.

"Well, that's rubbish," Marion replied rather loudly. No one had doubted that.

Soon they left the pub to head back to Hogwarts. With their umbrellas out, they slogged against the rain and the mud and the cold. Marion moaned a few times when the wind would pick up, threatening to knock their umbrellas out of their hands. Daphne couldn't help but worry that her new haircut would be ruined by the weather.

When they finally reached the main oak doors of the castle, she thanked the rush of heat that warmed her shivering body. There was already a stream of students moving towards the Great Hall, but Daphne preferred to get cleaned up first and so they headed for the dungeons.

"Malfoy alert," Tristan said as they slid past the crowd. Daphne looked off to the side and sure enough, there was a smug looking Malfoy with Parkinson, Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle--nothing too out of the ordinary except that they were joined by Dolores Umbridge. It looked far too suspicious to discount. "What on earth does Umbridge want with all of them?" he asked, visibly irritated.

"Don't stare," she said brusquely, remembering Mark's recounting of the Imperius Curse incident, "or we'll find out soon what they are up to."

Mark groaned and turned to Tristan. "Every time you notice Malfoy looking suspicious, we find out some nasty bit of information."

"Right. Then it looks like we have some investigating to do."