A Different Sort of Legacy

A Different Sort of Legacy

by LoonyLoopyLuna

Chapter One:

Hesitation, Depression, and Isolation

Twilfit and Tattings, 24 August 1998

"Perhaps if the material were not so sheer..." remarked a witch, rubbing two sides of a thin cloth between her perfectly manicured fingers. A plump, elderly witch with bejeweled spectacles offered another color to behold, all the while shaking her head. "Oh no madam, do not be fooled by the sheerness of the fabric. A powerful warming charm has been interwoven in the threads. A winter dress robe is the perfect outfit this cloth could yield. And so many colors to choose from! Our catalogue shows them all, if you wish to look..."

Twilfit and Tattings, an upscale wizard and witch clothing establishment, remained silent excepting the saleswitch's voice selling her wares to the affluent witch. The interior was handsomely fitted up, with tall mannequins wearing the latest in designer robes. Personal shoppers like the spectacled saleswitch were never short on hand, guaranteeing every serious client the best attention. The room of the current sales talk was geared towards custom wizard or witch wear. Tall, mahogany shelves housed rolls upon rolls of fabrics, in every style or color imaginable. Velvet, silks, Imperviused, Cooled, the list went on. There were stain-resistant cloths, bleed-resistant cloths, Muggle-resistant cloths, etc. What the saleswitch was currently pitching was a light, summery fabric that employed a powerful Warming Charm.

Irene Greengrass furrowed her otherwise smooth brow and examined the cloth again. "I suppose if my daughter approves," she said finally, straightening up from the bench of the table where the fabrics were all laid out. "Is she still in the fitting room?"

"No, I'm here," answered Daphne, walking in just in time to see what her mother had been looking at. A dark, emerald green fabric hung over the edge of the table, and Daphne could see the light sheen that the candles cast over the cloth. "Is that for my dress robe, Mother?"

"Only if you wish it, my dear," replied Irene mildly, turning away to look at some other fabrics that had caught her fancy.

Daphne Greengrass stepped forward, offering the saleswitch a small, reserved smile. The latter bowed slightly and stepped away, offering the young woman all the time she needed to consider her choice. Her sky blue eyes roved over all the colors unraveled in front of her; besides the shimmering, emerald green, there was deep, blood red. Sure, she could pull that off during the holiday ball the Parkinsons always hosted, but she had done red before. No. There was blue, a darkish, azure hue that would set off her eyes perfectly.

You always wear blue, Daph. No, she'd have to get something different. She couldn't show up to Pansy's holiday bash wearing the same color she had worn the year before. Simple black was classic, but was it boring? Purple was sleazy, orange was tacky, pink was undoubtedly Pansy's plan, and yellow did not pay homage to her complexion. But the green...it was her house color. And Salazar Slytherin knew she wore enough green to last her an entire lifetime.

But still, the way it caught the light perfectly, it was dark enough to offset her pale, ivory complexion...and green had never looked horrid on her. And you've never worn a green dress robe before.

Feeling the soft fabric between her fingers, Daphne opened her mouth. "Yes, this is fine." Oh well. What were the chances of her even wearing this dress robe anyway? With all that had happened this year, she would be surprised if the Parkinsons still contemplated having their annual Christmas function.

~~~~

Outside Twilfit and Tattings, Daphne pulled out her shopping list and marked off "dress robe" using her wand. Her mother stood beside her, surreptitiously arranging her bangs in her reflection in the shop window. Around them, a few pairs of footsteps echoed on the cobblestones, though not nearly as many as there used to be. Of course, this was the more affluent corner of Diagon Alley, so the general rush that characterized the main, winding strip did not carry over to the shops that catered exclusively to the rich and famous. However, even here some boutiques were closed, their displays empty, insincere apology notices boarded to their doors.

Daphne read the next item on her list. Books. Well, if the Hogwarts curriculum had not been too much altered, perhaps she could avoid these purchases. Besides Defense against the Dark Arts, during which she had sat all last year trying to keep the bile from rising in her throat, none of her classes had been significantly altered by the Ministry's takeover of Hogwarts. She hadn't been under "Professor" Carrow in Muggle Studies, and the rest of her subjects had more or less stuck to the same content despite threats from Headmaster (former Headmaster) Snape and the Carrow siblings.

Sighing, she pulled out her booklist and made a brief comparison of the books required to the books she already owned. She was right; Defense was the only class requiring a new book. Pushing down a wave of irritation she had been battling since she had received her new booklist, Daphne folded both lists and slid them back into her robe pocket along with her wand. "Mum?" she turned round to see the older blonde waving over another witch who had just exited Villevlume's Fine Jewels.

Daphne heard the distant ringing of a clock, signaling the hour. It was closer to evening than she had guessed, and Flourish and Blotts was in the thick of Diagon Alley. They would be late for dinner if they lingered, but she could see her mother was not going to budge; from the looks of it, this new witch seemed to be an acquaintance she had not recently had tea with.

Shaking her head slightly, Daphne turned away from the gossiping pair of witches and made her way out of the secluded pocket of Diagon Alley, avoiding raised cobblestones and remnants of "Magic is Might" fliers that were blowing listlessly across the ground. The closer she approached the main crowd of shoppers, the more apparent the war's effects were. More shops were closed, boarded up so well Daphne no longer knew what they used to sell. Hurriedly turning her eyes away from the gnarled, warty, outstretched hand of an old warlock sitting on a closed shop stoop, she strode past the outrageous display that made up Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Oddly enough, the ingenious contraptions those Weasleys had thought up weren't making their usual clatter inside the shop.

Another few minutes later, Gringotts loomed ahead, the familiar, crooked white pillars giving Daphne some comfort. For a young witch who had recently gained control over her inheritance (the summer sea cottage included), the bank was not a sorry sight at all. The chaos of the war had not touched the vast fortunes of the wizarding world's oldest families, though a few of them with known sympathies to the Dark Lord's cause still had their funds frozen for a thorough investigation of their "spending habits."

The Death Eater trials had started the day before yesterday; Daphne and her family had not been completely indifferent to the proceedings because like many of the old pureblooded families, they were related in some way to almost everyone else.

A slight breeze rippled through her thick, blonde hair as she deftly avoided being caught in a crowd of witches exiting Madam Maulkins'. Having skipped lunch, she was getting hungry. Irene had not yet caught up to her, but Daphne had not been counting on her to do so, either. It was better this way; she would never admit it aloud, but being around her mother for more than a few hours at a time tended to irritate her. They were alike in many aspects, but Daphne was used to being alone for much of the time. It was how she had been raised; her earliest memories had not been about Mum, but a house-elf she had called Zinnie. The mother-daughter relationship had never developed. Irene just wasn't the maternal sort.

The eighteen-year-old couldn't blame her. Children were another sort of adventure altogether, an adventure she wasn't sure she wanted even years from now. There were other things she could do, such as finish school...

Repeating seventh year was a sore topic in her mind indeed. After seeing Hogwarts descend into chaos and escaping right before hell broke out, she had no wish to go back there. She had found out that most of her old Housemates were going back to redo their seventh year, as well. That should have made her feel better, but Daphne had changed very much over the past year. She guessed that they had all changed, as well. Draco was the exception, of course, due to the fact that the Greengrass family had kept the Malfoys from being totally obliterated by the Dark Lord, and that she and him had more or less lived with each other for the past few months. Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott had all been her playmates at one point or another, so it was odd to think she didn't want to brave her last year with them again.

Crabbe had died horribly, Daphne heard later. Goyle had fallen into depression and took up the drink more than he used to, but he was still coming back to Hogwarts as the new head of his family estate. His father was on trial facing the Dementor's Kiss, as was Nott's father. The most reserved of the group of 7^th year men was set to inherit Nott Manor and his father's immense wealth once it became unfrozen. They were all coming back, and it was exactly what Daphne was nervous about. As a class, they had worked well together, smoothing over Pansy's ridiculous mannerisms, trying to ignore the fact that Millicent and Tracey were actually halfbloods, and not getting romantically involved with each other. Sexually involved was another matter, but that thought was for some other time. She didn't count on them re-establishing the old comfortable dynamic that had been the essence of their group, the same atmosphere that allowed them to be who they had always been, old childhood friends.

Sixth year had been the beginning of the end because Daphne had known Draco was trapped and his parents were reaching the end of their usefulness to the Dark Lord. Now, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were pleading their case to the Wizengamot, reminding them that Harry Potter had lived because Narcissa had falsely declared him dead to the Dark Lord. Draco remained alone at Malfoy Manor, excepting the days he spent with Daphne's family at her insistence. Dinner tonight would include her blond friend, and with a pang of hunger, she hurried her pace through the shoppers. Flourish and Blotts was a little farther away. She had a book to buy.

~~~~

In Suffolk County, a majestic, Unplottable manor was situated on the side of a shallow hill. Rising three stories high, it was completely invisible to Muggles and unwelcome wizards or witches alike. Lush, green grass surrounded the manor for a mile in every direction, and the light stone building was riddled with tall, curtained picture windows facing west.

Three small 'pops' were heard on the third floor terrace, where Irene and Constance Wilmington, the jewelry store acquaintance, were sitting with their cups of tea beside them.

Daphne straightened, and then did a double take. "Blaise? What are you doing here?" For right in front of her stood Draco, whom she had been expecting, and Blaise Zabini, whom she had never entertained thoughts of expecting. The latter squeezed her hand familiarly and said, "All right, Daphne? Didn't give you too much of a fright, did I?" His olive green eyes held her own blue ones with a subtle playfulness she could not exactly read. It was the way he always looked at her, so she didn't allow herself to turn into mush the way Tracey always did. Turning to mush, unfortunately, was an easy thing to do when around Blaise. Tall, with creamy brown skin that made him appear tanned all year round and dark curly hair that went in every direction, he was unusually handsome; Daphne knew young men like him were a rarity. His strong jaw was covered with a five o'clock shadow, and his hands were shoved back into the pockets of his robe.

"I'm fine, and no," she countered, smiling, reaching past him to hug Draco. They could have been brother and sister because of their physical traits. His father and her mother, friends from their cradles, had also appeared as siblings, and had given their children their own traits; the only differences lay in their height and eye color. Sharing secrets with each other was how they got along. Behind the scenes of the ever-not-so-calm 7^th year dynamic were these two old friends, analyzing their housemates' behavior, updating the other on how the boys felt about the girls doing this or that, who had slept with whom after one of their nights of drinking in the Room of Requirement, the usual. Daphne had been the first to warn Draco about getting in too far with Pansy, while Draco had told her two or three times over their years at Hogwarts that Blaise had a crush on her. She had known why Draco was spiraling downward during their sixth year, and he had confided in her what all he was supposed to do to save his parents.

"Don't mind him, he barged in about five minutes before I was going to leave," explained Draco, scowling at Blaise, who smirked back.

"You were very welcome to the idea of dragging me along," he replied coolly, but Daphne knew he wasn't trying to be snobbish. That's just the way Blaise was. Reserved, laconic, but wickedly attractive and probably the richest of them all, if he was to inherit even a fraction of the wealth his mother had accrued over the years as a trophy wife. A very smart trophy wife.

A closer glance at Blaise (as Daphne stole when she pulled back from Draco) revealed that the past summer had taken its toll of suffering and uncertainty on him, as well. His cheekbones seemed more prominent, and the five o'clock shadow would no longer be just a shadow if he left off shaving for another day. He looked tired, and it was only by his alert gaze that she knew he had not been completely useless since they had all escaped Hogwarts. He was darker, as well.

"Tanned, are we?" she asked him, raising her eyebrows at his richer, darker skin tone.

Blaise smirked, and Draco answered for him, "He's been sitting in France with his mum these past two months." Stretching his limbs over his head, he looked around the terrace and spotting Daphne's mother and her friend, he dropped his relaxed stance, assuming a more formal, stiff air. "Hello, Mrs. Greengrass," he greeted Irene, nodding slightly to Mrs. Wilmington.

"Draco, darling, how are you?" Irene held her surrogate son's hand. "Constance, this is Narcissa Malfoy's son, Draco."

Daphne glanced inconspicuously beyond Blaise's shoulder to see the expression on Wilmington's face; indeed, the other witch's eyes widened a fraction after hearing 'Malfoy' before she recovered herself and simpered, "How very wonderful to meet you, my dear. I do hope you're doing well..."

"As well as can be expected, ma'am," answered Draco very stiffly, and Daphne looked up at Blaise again, hearing him suppress a snort. He looked down at her and asked, "Are you going to introduce me, too?"

"It would be rude not to," she pointed out, breaking eye contact. "Mother has many acquaintances, so this will probably be the only time you'll see her."

After the pleasure of making Constance Wilmington's acquaintance, Daphne, Draco, and Blaise walked inside, following Irene's suggestion that they dine on their own since she was already engaged at the Wilmingtons' home later. They passed through a sitting room, a light and airy corridor, down a winding stone staircase, across a luxurious entrance hall, past a darkened ballroom, down a darker corridor, and finally into a small, comfortable study, filled with squashy armchairs, overstuffed sofas, bookcases lining the walls, a writing desk in front of the heavily curtained window, and a large fireplace.

Blaise knew from the moment he walked in that this was Daphne's study, from the way he saw Draco sink into a chair he was obviously familiar with and sat in every time he visited her. His eyes wandered over the bookcases, recognizing some of their old schoolbooks, then back to the furniture, where Daphne was curling up in the corner of a black suede-covered loveseat. "A notch below that French chateau, Blaise?" she challenged, her eyebrows raised.

He shook his head with a half-smile but did not reply. Still, he observed his two friends carefully as Draco started talking. His pale, gaunt face had regained some color from his obvious satisfaction at seeing them again, and he folded his arms behind his head as he used to do back in 5^th year. "I talked to Father this morning. Trial's going well, it seems. But can you believe it? Mr. Higgs, their attorney, or lawyer, whatever they call themselves these days, actually suggested calling Harry Potter to the stand to force him to corroborate Mother's story from the battle."

"Potter?" asked Daphne, a slight scoff in her voice. "Did they...agree with Higgs?"

Draco snorted. "What d'you think? I'd be ashamed if they didn't have that much pride. If that's the way the Wizengamot's playing, believing complete hooligans one day and doubting a witch who's half responsible for the Dark Lord's fall the next, the wizarding world really has gone to the dogs."

"Your mum could volunteer to take a truth serum," she suggested, running manicured fingers through a lock of straight, long blonde hair. Blaise's eyes wandered between the both of them for a minute or two more, noticing how tense their shoulders were, though they were both trying very hard to talk as normally as possible. He had been in France, staying with his mother and her family in several of their countryside estates, basking in the sun and attention of newly met cousins and second cousins and highly attractive friends of those cousins who were curious about him and his status as the long lost grandson. He had met his grandmother, who in no time was doting on him as if he'd been there all his life.

His mother, Adelaide, as young as she was when she had married Blaise's Italian father, had known what she stood to lost if she ran away with a foreign wizard her parents knew nothing about. She had once been seen as a rival for Lucius's affections by Narcissa Black. Her marriage to a rich Italian wizard, and not a French wizard, had essentially cut her from the rest of her family, and her snub had not gone unnoticed by Lucius, who had taken pains to acquaint himself with the man and introduce him to the circle of Voldemort's supporters. An influential wizard Blaise's father had been, with plenty of money to donate to his friends' cause, but his nature had been tempestuous, fiery, and heated; and he fell to the Order of the Phoenix early in the first war because he was not as skilled at watching his own back as Lucius or others were.

His mother had managed to avoid falling with her husband, and it was precisely this fact that helped Blaise stay out of the war. Though he himself had been associated with prominent Death Eaters' children, the fact remained that he no longer had any blood ties to the murderous organization, and so he was able to slip away without incurring death threats to his family. He wasn't in Draco's or Daphne's (or Goyle's or Theodore's) shoes; he wasn't forced to watch the war's consequences fall on his head. It was a godsend, but he felt bad for his friends. They were considerably altered, more grown up, more aware of their actions, less merry. Draco, of course, had lost all semblance of his priggishness during their sixth year, but now even Daphne was faking smiles and looking guarded all the time. She no longer laughed without abandon or flirted with him, a little fact that proved to be bothering him.

France had been a nice distraction; all of those lovely witches with their smoky gazes and flawless complexions and seductive accents and uninhibited natures had helped him forget his friends here to some extent. They were different from girls like Daphne, girls with long, silky blond hair, intensely blue eyes, impossibly long legs, and unimaginable poise. He never knew any of them like he knew Daphne; she was a bit spoiled, aloof, and above herself, but she was sincere and merry around those she was closest to, and more tolerant of other people than the rest of their group of friends. It was odd to see her this withdrawn and guarded, even while talking to Draco. Perhaps she was the way she was because he was currently in the room, which wouldn't surprise him. He had not been there for possibly the hardest parts of his friends' lives.

"It'll work out, there's no question," Draco was saying, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands folded together. "They won't ignore what Mum's saying. If they decide to haul Potter to the stand themselves, Higgs gets his way and Father and Mum are satisfied because they don't have to ask for him themselves."

Blaise took a seat by Daphne on the couch, stretching his arm across the back cushion, and turning his body toward her and Draco, who had fallen silent for a moment after the subject of his parents' trial. Daphne was still playing with the same strand of hair, avoiding his gaze, and Draco's eyes were wandering toward the bookcases. It was a comfortable silence for a moment more, until Draco threw himself back into his chair and said, "I'm hungry. Are we eating here?"

"I don't really want to," answered Daphne, finally letting go of her hair and sitting up a little straighter. "I'd rather we go out." She turned to Blaise for his acquiescence, and he nodded in agreement.

"Let's Floo Theodore, I'm sure he's free tonight," she said, unfolding her legs out from underneath her and stretching her limbs. Blaise tried not to concentrate on her slim, arched figure. "I'm sure I could reach Pansy as well, you could call Goyle, too, Draco. Let's all have dinner together."

"Pansy?" groaned Draco. "I've done a stellar job of avoiding her through all this shite, Daph. Let me have a few days more, will you?"

"Oh come on," Daphne all but snapped. "Don't be childish about it, I haven't seen her all summer because of you and she's been sending me owls every other day." When Blaise sighed heavily beside her, she turned to him as well with a scowl on her face. "Don't you start, too."

"What do I ever start?" answered Blaise. "Pansy's a handful, you can't deny that. She might as well throw herself at Draco's feet and beg him to take her. She's been mad about him since third year."

"Well, you always encouraged her!" shot Daphne to Draco, who rolled his eyes at the ceiling in order to avoid giving her a straight reply.

"Discouraging Pansy from trying to get her hands on him is impossible, Daphne, you know that," said Blaise, a note of disgust in his voice. Just thinking of the way Pansy usually draped herself all over his friend threatened to send the bile into his throat. Yes, she was one of them, but her apparent fantasy of becoming the next Mrs. Malfoy constantly irritated them all. If the Parkinsons were not as well connected as they were, Pansy would not have been in her current place in their circle, a fact she milked for all its worth. Daphne's friendship with her seemed a matter of necessity more than a matter of want.

Daphne sighed wearily. "Yes, I know, but she's frantic with worry. Draco, you haven't talked to her properly in over a year, after the battle she'd given you up for dead until she heard of your parents' trial in the Prophet. The least you could do is see her before school starts up again."

Walking over to the fireplace, Draco lifted a small pot of Floo powder from the mantelpiece in silence. Glancing backwards at both Blaise and Daphne, he finally asked in a low voice, "She thought I was dead?"

"I would have thought you were dead as well, had Daphne not told me what really happened," Blaise put in. "You stayed to fight, and then we never heard from you afterwards. What was Pansy supposed to think?"

"And you didn't think to tell her?" asked Draco incredulously.

Daphne narrowed her eyes. "Did you care?"

He narrowed his eyes as well, though he didn't answer. Another silence, more icy this time, fell over their group of three. Draco opened the pot of Floo powder and eyed the glittering contents while Blaise brought his arm down from the back of the sofa and scooted a little farther from Daphne, who had started playing with her hair again.

A moment or so passed before Draco said sullenly, "Let's Floo Theo, then." And just like that, the chilly moment passed, and the three of them kneeled in front of the hearth while Draco threw in a handful of Floo powder and enunciated very clearly, "Nott Manor."