Daphne Greengrass’s Ten Tips to Tranquility

Tip One: Consistency is Key
She sat perfectly still in her seat. Her legs were crossed at the ankle, her hands rested upon her lap, and even while seated her spine was impeccably straight. Endless hours of training where she was held in this exact position by the spells her parents cast upon her had forced her body to succumb; her posture was now an ingrained part of her being.


She saw her image reflected in the window next to her. Pale skin. Green eyes. Blonde hair. Perfect posture.


Daphne Greengrass.


Her hair cascaded over her shoulder, left loose but for a gentle swirl she’d added to it with her hand as she sat, a move she’d had to practice long and hard to get correct while maintaining her form. She preferred her hair in a braid, in the way that she preferred Earl Grey tea to English Breakfast. A simple difference, with no great loss in the grand scheme of things if the preference wasn’t met. She’d drink English Breakfast just as soon as Earl Grey, after all.


There hadn’t been time for braiding this morning, however, as she’d had to help her sister Astoria pack for Hogwarts. Her sister hadn’t prepared the night before as Daphne had, instead leaving it until the last moment of this morning.


“If only you were more responsible like your sister Astoria, this wouldn’t happen every year,” her mother had tutted. Astoria had rolled her eyes, and no punishment had been handed out. Understandable, given her sister’s condition.


Daphne’s head was turned slightly towards the window of their compartment on the train, and she purveyed the rushing countryside. A blur of vibrant green, with scattered flashes of beige or brown, flew by at such a pace that it was easier to let the eyes relax and take it all in, rather than attempt to focus on any particular aspect.


She had decided to do just that. The world outside their compartment ran away from her, the flora of the countryside rolling quickly past underneath the stark blue sky.


“Then I said ‘They may look pretty, but a peacock is still just a bird, isn’t it? Looks can be deceiving.’” The words only registered to her due to the raucous peals of laughter they elicited, high pitched squeals which pierced her ears and broke her concentration. Were it only one person, she would have ignored it. But with all three of the voices laughing, she was forced to notice them.


She turned her head and let her mouth upturn slightly as she stared at the familiar scene. Draco Malfoy had his head laid upon Pansy Parkinson’s lap. This put his head right next to Daphne’s lap as well, as she was sat next to Pansy. Crabbe and Goyle sat opposite them, and they were laughing along with Pansy while Draco smirked. He glanced up and saw Daphne’s own upturned lip and incorrectly assumed she had found him amusing.


“Even days later,” he boasted “I’m funny enough to make the great Daphne Greengrass, the girl so icy she once froze a boys bollocks off for asking her to Hogsmeade, sport a smile.” He gave a dramatic sigh. “If only I weren’t destined for greater things, I’d do so well in the spotlight as a celebrity of some sort. Quidditch star, perhaps. Reporters would flock to me. You know how well I interview; at least half as good as I photograph.” He simpered again and was rewarded with tittering from the other three students.


Daphne nodded, then turned her head back to the window. She wasn’t sure where that particular rumor had come from, but she’d never physically harmed any of the boys she’d turned down. She didn’t, however, care enough about its inaccuracy to refute it.


Were her training any less severe, she’d have laid her head upon the window as she watched the countryside fly by. Alas, Madame Xenia’s Rules for High-Born Wizards and Witches was clear on the importance of posture, which was why she’d never complained of her parents Perfect-Posture Charm.


There were no more interruptions, excepting for Blaise’s return from Professor Slughorn’s compartment. Draco and Pansy had already gone to the meeting for prefects, so the rest of the ride she was allowed to simply be.


Her attention fell deeply into trees and grass and bark, into soil and sky, when suddenly the screeching of the brakes broke her concentration as cleanly as it broke the rocking rumble of the railway. She realized it had turned dark; the sky had slowly shifted from blue to grey to black and she’d only noticed after the fact, too aware of the present moment to recognize the gradual change. A smattering of stars dotted the sky, which in conjunction with the moon lit up the trail towards the carriages which would take them to Hogwarts.


Normally she sat with Tracey on the ride up, but she was nowhere in sight. As Daphne had suspected, Tracey wasn’t here this year. Daphne had fleeting suspicions as to why, mostly related to the incident at the end of the previous year in the Department of Mysteries. She didn’t care enough to find out for sure which of her suspicions was true.


“Where’s your friend, Daphne? The half-blood?” Daphne turned to look at Pansy.


“Tracey, you mean?”


“Who else would I mean? It’s not as though you have any other friends.” That wasn’t true. She wouldn’t truly consider Tracey a friend. They were just comfortable sitting mostly in silence together while studying, and Tracey seemed more forgiving of her rigid demeanor.


“Either very far away from here, or likely dead.” The rest of the trip was blessedly silent.


Hogwarts looked the same as it always did in its profile against the night sky. The ride up to the castle was also the same as it always was. The same length, the same rough jostling of the carriage, the same excited murmurs from her year mates.


The predictability of Hogwarts was the reason she had decided to come back after her OWLs. Her parents had offered her the opportunity to be finished. They’d have worked to find her a marriage, and send her away from Britain. France, they’d suggested, or possibly Spain. She’d asked after her sister, and they’d suggested homeschooling Astoria if Daphne decided not to go.


“It’s not as though you enjoy schoolwork, dear, and your sister would honestly be much safer at home, where we could give her the care she deserves. It might even help keep her condition at bay!”


Which was true, but then she wouldn’t enjoy a new husband either. Not any more or less than she did schoolwork, anyways. Her parents had been thrilled when she’d announced the next morning “I think I’d prefer to stay at Hogwarts, if it isn't too much trouble.”


It wasn’t often she showed a preference for anything, and they’d mistaken her choice as a her showing an interest in her education. The truth was, most of her life felt like the decision between teas, or the decision between loose hair and braided hair. But she’d take the routine of something familiar over the unknown. It made her life easier when she didn’t have to spend the time learning new rules.

Tip Two: Devil’s in the Details
The Great Hall was a magnificent sight, from a purely technical perspective. An exact replica of the night sky above it, modified on nights that would be filled with rain or clouds to what the sky would look like were it clear. Every night in the Great Hall was a crystal-clear night.


Daphne swept by the Slytherin table, past the spots where her year mates were sitting, down to where the fourth years generally sat. Her sister was already sitting amongst her friends, laughing gaily. Her hair, a dark honey mead to Daphne’s light champagne, was pulled back in a high ponytail. Her nails were painted a vibrant emerald to match the trim of her robes and contrast the paleness of her skin.


Daphne stared down her nose at the young boy who was sat next to Astoria until he looked up at her with a sneer. His sneer didn’t last long. He hastily budged over when he saw her narrowed eyes and pursed lips, elbowing the boy next to him, and Daphne swept down into the open space. Her sister looked on the verge of a verbal explosion, an outburst of what Daphne was sure would be epic proportions. Rarely did Astoria engage in outbursts that weren’t at least slightly dramatic. Daphne wasn’t worried.


As she predicted, it was at that moment that the giant wooden doors to the Great Hall slammed open revealing Professor McGonagall and all her soon-to-be first years, following along like rows of unsuspecting ducklings. Daphne catalogued the looks on their faces one by one as they entered. She used to do it far more often, to learn to emulate people’s facial expressions and when they were appropriate, but she no longer needed such avid research.


She still did it every year at the opening feast, in remembrance of her first year. She’d been momentarily shocked by just how many people could all have such different looks on their faces while doing the same thing.


She was told that was a thing people did; they practiced traditions to reaffirm or celebrate important moments in their life. Coming to Hogwarts was a momentous occasion, or so everyone always said, so she’d turned it into a tradition.


As always, most of the young children wore looks of apprehension. Given that they didn’t know how they’d be Sorted, and that those with older siblings were often told ludicrously tall tales about what they’d need to do, this was expected.


Second most common this year was wonder. Wonder and joy were different emotions, Daphne had learned, similar but distinctly separate. Wonder had a hint of curiosity thrown in, whereas joy was often more pure in its expression. Joy was, of course, a close third after apprehension and wonder. Or perhaps it was excitement? So difficult to tell the difference, even now.


After the last child was Sorted she half listened to the speech by the Headmaster. Mostly, she stared down at the swirling design of the lacquered wood table, invisibly tracing the grain back and forth across her field of vision. She traced it like she’d trace a maze, back and forth, around and around, trying to find a natural start or end point that didn’t exist.


When the speech finally ended, veritable mountains of food appeared before her and the feast began in earnest. Without a thought, she began ladling peas and roasted cauliflower onto Astoria’s plate, then onto her own as well. A healthy diet was important for her condition, and solidarity was allegedly supposed to ease hardship. Astoria had told her this, although not in so many words, when she’d been nine and Astoria had been seven.


Apparently, this adage had been forgotten in the intervening years. Astoria gave her a glare which could have caused Daphne to wilt, had she actually been a bundle of daphnes. Thankfully for her continued survival, she was not. It


“How was your trip, Astoria? Was the train ride pleasant?”


“As though you care,” the younger girl muttered. Down the way, a snooping first year gasped at the disrespect Astoria showed, and an older boy reached over to the younger boy, grasped him by the ear, and whispered furiously into it. The young boy nodded his head violently.


Astoria truly was the talk of the House. No other pair of siblings had such a cantankerous relationship. Daphne didn’t care enough personally to bother correcting her, but appearances were important in Slytherin, as she had been informed early on in her career by her Head of House. She allowed a scowl to mar her face, darkening her features with an ugly visage.


She knew how terrifying it looked, as she’d had to practice it in the mirror to get it just right. Also, she’d once made a first-year cry by looking at him with the same expression.


“Be polite, Astoria. Mind your elders.” The girl only rolled her eyes in response, but Daphne’s job was done. She’d scolded her sister for being improper, she needn’t do it again.


The girl sat across from Astoria leaned over the table excitedly. “Can you believe it, Tori?! Professor Snape, teaching Defense! It’s going to be the best year ever!”


A vivid smile broke out across her sister’s face. Once, a long time ago, her sister had smiled at her like that. She hadn’t in a long while, not that Daphne was aware of.


She snuck two pieces of venison for each of their plates. If she recalled correctly, Astoria was partial to it; perhaps she would actually eat it, unlike the peas and cauliflower.


“Not sure about Slughorn, though. Never heard of him,” Astoria returned, mouth partially full. Such atrocious manners.


“I rather think it may be a bit too much excitement,” Daphne chimed in. Astoria snorted in response.


“‘Course you’d think that. You thought Umbridge was a good teacher,” she sneered at the name of the school’s own personal devil.


“I never said that.”


“You didn’t need to! You thought it, and we could all tell. You nearly smiled the day you found out every class and every year was simply reading from the book.”


Well that certainly wasn’t true. Daphne recalled that day and the memory came as it always did, with startling clarity. She’d been listening to Draco go on about his father knowing Umbridge. Everyone had been laughing, and social niceties had dictated she join in. She’d never been able to quite make her laugh sound natural, and her smile was even worse, so instead she tended to opt for a smirk. That was what had graced her face as they’d walked back into the Common Room after their first Defense lesson.


“No. She was a terrible teacher. She was not good for anyone who wanted to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts. She was, however, good for your health. There was no danger of anyone becoming hurt in her class or overextending themselves.”


“So that’s all that matters? You’d have happily failed your OWLs if it kept me safe?”


“You know very well I would have. Mother and Father would be devastated if you were to come to harm, and I’d likely never hear the end of it.”


“Yeah, that's what I thought.” Her sister glowered while viciously stabbing at her venison.


Astoria was one of the few people who would still have bouts of emotion that Daphne couldn’t decipher. By now, she could generally follow most people, but Astoria still occasionally managed to elude her.


Perhaps if she cared a bit more to study it, she might eventually determine the hidden reasoning behind why those gentle blue eyes would darken randomly. Alas, she didn’t.


“Merlin,” the girl sitting across from them whispered to Astoria. “I forgot how cold she could be.”


“Try living with her,” Astoria muttered back.

Tip Three: Trust Your Mentor
Only a few weeks in, and all Daphne’s expectations for the year were confirmed. Mostly this applied to Defense Against the Dark Arts which was, for the second, or perhaps third time depending on who you asked, a useful course. It really depended on prejudices regarding werewolves.


Professor Snape was quite skilled. So much so, in fact, that even the Gryffindors he tortured couldn’t help but admit it. Daphne listened idly, copying down notes as the professor spoke intently on the minute differences between Curses, Jinxes, and Hexes.


She stared up at him as his voice continued, discussing the chapters they were to read for the next class, and noticed how he caught many students eye, maintained eye contact, then moved on. Ensuring they were understanding him? Perhaps. Odd, as it wasn’t a habit of his during Potions. He very much believed in a ‘sink or swim’ method of teaching.


Eventually, his eyes moved to hers, and she stared back at him placidly. His brow scrunched just slightly, though his words never faltered, and she continued to gaze at him. His brow furrowed even further the longer he glared.


Finally, his eyes moved on.


Class wrapped up, books and parchment and quills creating a cacophony of shuffling as they were hurriedly pushed inside rucksacks. The professor ignored them all and sat down at his desk. He paused for a moment, before his voice rang out among the fervor of his departing class.


“Miss Greengrass. Stay.” He didn’t look up from his desk where he sat, head tilted down towards whatever it was he was writing with a large, black quill.


Well, that was out of the ordinary; she wasn’t often called on. She strolled to the front of the classroom, presenting herself by Professor Snape’s desk. She waited for him to address her.


The dour man continued his scrawl across a seemingly endless pile of papers. He didn’t acknowledge her in any way. Suddenly, after a long while of standing and waiting, without any provocation he looked up and stared directly into her eyes.


Nothing happened.


For a brief moment she was sure she heard the tinkling of glass, followed by a blinding flash of light and a lance of pain piercing her skull.


But no, that was just her imagination.


Her professor was standing, as he had been since he’d called her over at the end of class.


His wand was at his side, as it had been since he called her over at the end of class.


He was nursing a headache, his non-wand hand massaging his head, as he had been since the end of class.


Why would she think he’d ever been sitting, or writing? Why had he called her over?


The polite thing to do would be to offer to get him a Pepper-Up Potion from the Infirmary, a recommendation from Madame Xenia’s The Extra Step in Manners and Etiquette. Had she done so already? Likely he’d turned her down. She must’ve forgotten. Even though she never forgot anything.


“You are dismissed, Miss Greengrass.” Ah, of course. She felt off kilter, which was unusual for her, but it lasted only a moment. Her usual calm reasserted itself, and she nodded to her Head of House.


“Of course, professor. Thank you.” She wasn’t entirely certain of what she was thanking him for, but she fell back on ingrained lessons she’d learned as a child, manners she’d hidden behind her entire life.


She couldn’t quite recall what she’d been called to stay after for, and she didn’t care enough to inquire further. She was sure that if it was important her professor would inform her of it again at a later date.

Tip Four: Honesty is the Best Policy
The Saturday of the first Hogsmeade weekend saw the whole of Daphne’s dormitory up early, primping and preening more than normal. Daphne was the only one left out of the ritual of readiness, instead going through her regular routine.


“Can’t believe she isn’t going.” Daphne heard one of the girls whisper. “Even Millicent has a date for the first weekend!”


“That’s what happens when you spend the last three years turning down every boy who asks you; none will even bother anymore. She doesn’t even have the half-blood to spend time with this year!”


Daphne considered that they were likely talking about her but didn’t think to interject or correct their misunderstandings. Daphne would, in fact, be attending Hogsmeade this year. Daphne had avoided this situation the previous year, which should have been the first year Astoria could have attended, due to her parents’ unwillingness to sign the appropriate permission form. Daphne remembered well Astoria’s tantrum from this most recent summer.


“I don’t want to be different! Everything will be fine!”


“Think of your health, darling. Exposing you to the cold might worsen your condition! We only want the best for you.”


“Sod my condition! What’s the point of living if I never get to really live? I was the only student last year who couldn’t go!”


Crack! The dining room table broke in two, and Astoria’s eyes rolled up into her head as she fainted. Daphne bent down to begin calmly counting her pulse, noting her shallow breathing. Her parents had burst into tears and Daphne had needed to prompt them into firecalling St. Mungo’s.


Astoria spent a week in St. Mungo’s recovering, and when she arrived back home, her permission slip had been signed. Even though Astoria had proved their point about her weak constitution, her parents had capitulated.


This was unfortunate for Daphne. The Hogsmeade weekends acted as a blessed reprieve from social niceties. A complaint against the weather, or a quickly faked sneer at the idea of potentially mingling with those ruffians of lower birth, and she was socially in the clear to stay behind.


Daphne wasn't upset with the stark difference between herself and all the other people around her. She held no ill will for the people who just seemed to intrinsically understand each other when she had to work so diligently to even glean a slight comprehension. But sometimes it was tiring to always be so aware, and Hogsmeade provided her with valuable solitude.


But now, with Astoria able to go to Hogsmeade, she’d have to attend as well. If she cared, she’d sigh, but it was more of a nuisance than any real enmity on her part. It was her duty as the elder sister.


She supposed she should finally tell her sister she’d be chaperoning her.


She found her sister eating breakfast furiously at the Slytherin table. Daphne once again ignored her sister’s terrible manners. She’d either learn, or she wouldn’t. There was little Daphne could do about it.


“Good Morning, Astoria,” she greeted as she began scooping morsels out for herself and substituting things off Astoria’s plate as well. The crepes Astoria was preparing, a food preference she had picked up from their French counterparts during the Triwizard Tournament, were more pudding than breakfast at this point, and would not give her the energy she needed to successfully get through all the excitement of Hogsmeade.


“I’m so excited, I can’t even be mad that you’re messing with my breakfast. A whole weekend in Hogsmeade! Mother and Father finally agreed, and you never go! Freedom tastes sweeter than any breakfast ever could.”


“The slop on your plate only technically qualifies as breakfast. I’d sooner call it “sweets.” Also, you won’t have complete freedom. The professors shall be chaperoning, as always.”


“Fah,” Astoria scoffed “everyone knows the professors don’t pay that much attention.”


“I shall also be chaperoning you.” Astoria’s eyes scrunched, her lips tightened, and she looked ready to let out a stream of vitriol. She was interrupted by another voice.


“Oh, let up a little Daphne. Nothing’s going to happen in Hogsmeade! And if anything does, I’ll be there to handle it!”


A small boy had leaned across the table to speak to her, interrupting her conversation with her sister. He was slightly pudgy, with deep brown hair that had been slicked back with too much grease, or perhaps Sleakeazy’s. His robes were of high-quality material, but Daphne noticed they fell off his shoulders like a window curtain draped across a frame, rather than being tailored to him. He wore a blisteringly bright smile, as though he expected it would charm her into agreeing with him. When he spoke up, Astoria blushed lightly. Daphne arched an eyebrow at him.


“Who are you, again?”


His smile faltered, but he rallied quickly. “Why, I’m Christoph Martell. In your sister’s year? We’ve only been going to school together for-.”


“I don’t actually care.” Daphne interrupted him. “You might be interested to read Madame Xenia’s Rules for Young Wizards. Page 318 might be of particular interest to you.”


He scoffed. “Don’t you go quoting about manners at me! You’re the rudest girl in our whole house!”


“I’ll have you know that not once have I ever broken a rule of etiquette. More importantly, it may not be a rule per se, but my sister and I were having a private conversation. It would do you well to learn some general decorum, boy, before trying to learn the intricacies of actual civility.”


“Boy!” He squawked. “I’m the same age as your sister!”


“And surprisingly less mature. No small feat, I assure you, but not one to be proud of.” She turned back to her sister. “As I was saying, I shall be keeping an eye out for you.”


“You weren’t supposed to go to Hogsmeade,” she grumbled under her breath. Daphne trudged on, ignoring her.


“If I find your behavior satisfactory today I may allow you more freedoms tomorrow.” She refocused her attention on the boy. “You will not be going to Hogsmeade with my sister. You are rude, uncouth, and undeserving of a daughter of the Greengrass family. You will not like the consequences if you disobey.”


The boy paled in the face of her tirade, and she considered her job well done. Astoria had her face buried deeply in her hands, so Daphne had no clue as to what she was thinking or feeling.


Daphne startled slightly at a light tap on her shoulder. She turned and saw the Headmaster standing genially behind her, his arms clasped behind his back. Upon closer inspection, she realized his cloak was not the black she had assumed it to be, but a deep hue of purple.


“Excuse me.” She restrained herself from pointing out to the boy that this was what proper manners looked like. “Would you be available now to join me, Miss Greengrass? I would prefer not to interrupt your breakfast with your dear sister, but I was headed back to my office and thought you might like a companion for the journey before our consultation.”


“Come again, Headmaster?”


“Our scheduled meeting this afternoon? It may take all weekend. Professor Snape assured me he told you.”


“I couldn’t have agreed to that. I need to watch my sister at Hogsmeade.”


“Oh? I do believe he agreed to be her personal escort as well.”


“How convenient. I apologize for forgetting, Headmaster. If you’ll wait just a moment, I’ll happily join you.”


“Splendid!”


Daphne turned back to her sister. “I shan’t greet you in the Common Rooms this evening to check on you, as I apparently have an appointment, and I don’t know how long it will run. I trust Professor Snape to tell me if you are in worse health. He shall be very thorough, I assure you. Enjoy your trip to Hogsmeade. If I find you in less than perfect health after the weekend, I shall be most displeased.”


Her sister snorted in a rather unladylike manner. “That’ll be the day.”


Daphne decided that, as was usual with her sister, her cryptic half-statements were better left uninvestigated.


She stood, a difficult motion to do smoothly over the long wooden benches, but one she had perfected eventually. The Headmaster smiled at her and led the way out of the Great Hall. They traveled along the empty stone hallways for a while, silent but for the click, clack of their shoes echoing around them.


“I’m sorry to keep you from a Hogsmeade weekend, Miss Greengrass.” His apology broke their amiable silence abruptly, and she turned to look at him. He seemed sincere in his remorse, at least to her.


“It is not a problem. To be honest, it was to be my first trip into the village, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.”


“Oh? I’m flabbergasted. If the gossip is to be believed, for most of our students the purpose of our school is for you all to enjoy Hogsmeade weekends, and classes in between are merely something to fill the remaining time with. I’ve often considered changing the name of the school to Hogwarts Bed and Breakfast, and possibly turning it into a resort.”


Daphne snuck another glance at her Headmaster’s face. Slight smile, crinkled eyes. Yes, that was a joke. She never knew how to respond to humor with non-Slytherins. She understood it in a technical sense; the subversion of expectations, the shared experiences of joy or strife. She’d read a book on it, once, just to better understand. Still, any attempt she made only garnered strange looks.


She settled on a nod, and allowed their comfortable silence to once again overtake them for a few more minutes, until Dumbledore spoke again.


“It is very kind of you to look after your sister, and ensure she stays safe in Hogsmeade. I’m sure Professor Snape will do a wonderful job looking after her for you.”


“It was kind of him to offer to watch over her.”


“Well, I must admit it was at my behest, but he does have something of a soft spot for all his clever little snakes. It took very little persuasion on my part to get him to agree, much less than usual. I’d almost go so far as to say he has a particular fondness for you, he put up so little fuss.”


Daphne only hummed in response. She doubted whether Professor Snape was fond of anything that didn’t belong in a potion. Although, she had heard tale of certain Dark potions which utilized human body parts. Perhaps he thought she’d be particularly useful as a potion ingredient?


Another short while passed in comfortable silence, until once again her Headmaster pierced through it.


“If I may, Miss Greengrass, how do you know young Mr. Martell?”


“They boy sitting next to my sister this morning at Breakfast?” she inquired. At his nod, she continued “I don’t, Headmaster. Today was the first time I’ve met him.”


His eyebrows jumped high in surprise. “You’ve been housemates for four years, and yet you’ve never met before today? You seemed quite firm with him this morning. I surmised you knew him and were scolding him as an older sister might a younger brother.”


Daphne merely shrugged. “I prefer not to be interrupted while speaking to my sister.”


“Ah,” the Headmaster said warmly. “You care for your sister very much, I gather, to scold him so harshly. Quite admirable, really, and easily understood. Young love is never easy to watch as the older sibling.”


Daphne realized he didn’t understand, and felt the need to correct him. “He broke the rules. I needn’t be polite to him any longer.”


“Rules?” Headmaster Dumbledore inquired, brow furrowed.


“Yes, the rules. Headmaster, if you don’t mind my asking, what was it you wanted to speak to me about?”


This was all well and good, but she’d spoken more to the Headmaster in the past 10 minutes of walking than she had in her entire time at school. Daphne hadn’t noticed it during the walk, but they’d walked much further than expected and were quickly approaching the stone statue which guarded the Headmaster’s office.


“Good morning, Lexington.” The Headmaster’s non sequitur was followed by a wink from the statue, who promptly jumped aside to reveal a staircase spiraling upwards. “Did you know that Lexington is technically a Grotesque? A fascinating magical creature, often mistaken for a Gargoyle. Lexington, however, has no desire or ability to help with water runoff from the roof of the castle, much preferring to stay and guard these stairs.” He gestured up the stairs, and they both began walking upwards.


“Therefore, he is most certainly not a Gargoyle. Professor Hagrid and I have been attempting to get him to volunteer for a Care of Magical Creatures class, but he adamantly refuses to leave the stairs unguarded. I am unsure as to whether I should be saddened my students are missing out on a wonderful learning opportunity, or thankful I have such a stalwart guardian.”


They reached the top, and he opened up the door into his office. It was the definition of organized chaos. Silver and bronze knick-knacks lined every shelf, steaming and twirling and fidgeting. Books were spread out over a desk, littered with additional parchments and notes atop them, so much so that the desk beneath it was completely obscured. A large phoenix, of all things, sat atop a perch, snoozing lightly.


“I’m leaning towards the former. Most of what I have in here is paperwork and baubles.” He gave her a small wink, then tapped his nose lightly as he continued. “And I highly doubt anyone would bother breaking in once they realized Fawkes was here.”


The phoenix let out a light trill and ruffled its feathers as it awakened at the sound of what was presumably its name. A pretty sound, Daphne supposed, but only by the standards of birds.


She could see why this meeting might take all weekend, at the pace they were going. “If you don’t mind my asking again, Headmaster, why did you ask to meet with me?”


“Ah, I apologize for not answering your question, Miss Greengrass. I simply thought you might enjoy a bit of privacy for this matter. It may be a bit sensitive. Please, have a seat.”


As he spoke, he flicked his wand in the general direction of his desk. Opposite his throne, on the other side of the desk, a regal and comfortable leather armchair appeared. At the same time, many of the books and parchment littered across his desk floated upwards and converged into an immaculate china tea set.


“May I offer you some tea? Do you have a particular preference in leaf?”


Daphne sat, managing to sit primly even as the leather of the armchair threatened to swallow her whole.


“Yes, please, whatever you have on hand is most welcome. Thank you, Headmaster.”


Another swish, and the tea poured itself, then bobbed a path along to her hands.


“Before we get on to why you are here, do you mind indulging me in a bit more conversation? You mentioned something which I would be fascinated to hear you elaborate upon.”


“I don’t mind, I’d be happy to answer your questions.”


“Splendid! You mentioned earlier that Mr. Martell had broken the rules. What rules were you speaking of?”


Daphne did not fidget in her seat. She did not get uncomfortable or readjust. Her posture stayed strictly perfect as she sat. She did, however, mentally prepare herself to answer his question. She’d been asked something similar, before, and had been looked at strangely by the Mind Healers who’d asked her.


“The rules that everyone knows, but no one speaks of, Headmaster.”


“Oh? How wonderfully vague.” She took in his countenance and was surprised by what she saw. His words matched his expression. She’d heard that turn of phrase before, always used sarcastically. Yet the Headmaster’s face looked to be instead truly pleased by her vagueness.


Being unclear hadn’t been her intent, but she wasn’t surprised he didn’t understand.


“Could you elaborate?”


“The rules which everyone follows regarding how to act with each other.”


“Ah ha! The rules of etiquette, I understand. High Society does have some rather exacting standards to adhere to, I must say. Surely you could have relaxed your standards? The Martell’s are purebloods, but not quite so well regarded as the Greengrasses. He may not have known what rule he broke. Why, even I don’t know every rule laid out in even one of the books written in Madame Xenia’s Rules for a Pureblood series, let alone the rules in all of them. I doubt anyone truly could!”


Daphne did, in fact, know every single one of those rules, but chose not to mention it. She had spent a whole summer during part of her childhood devouring the series. It was a lifeline for her as she tried to navigate how to act around other people.


“He did break one of those rules, Headmaster, by inferring that he had the right to see to the well-being of my sister without approaching a family member first. This is especially egregious due to his lower station of birth. Madame Xenia’s Courting Courteously, Page 162.” She paused. She could just leave things there. Then again, this was the Headmaster.


“But that wasn’t exactly what I was referring to. He instead broke a rule of basic courtesy. Even beyond the specifics of High Society, there are generally accepted rules and principles that govern all people. This is what makes us civilized. They are, so far as I can tell, based upon how people feel. What makes something rude? What makes something kind? What drives someone to be compassionate? My opinion is that it’s based on how your actions makes others feel. He broke those rules by interrupting a private conversation between myself and my sister, showing a lack of regard for our feelings on the matter. In short, he was rude by anyone’s standards. If he won’t follow them, I don’t see why I should adhere to them in my interactions with him.”


“Is not the act of being kind or compassionate worthy in and of itself?” he inquired.


“I suppose some people believe that to be so.”


“Ah, I apologize. I shall be more specific. Do you believe so?”


Daphne considered her answer. Were this a Mind Healer, she’d certainly lie. But the Headmaster had not yet acted as so many Mind Healers had. She decided to risk the truth.


“I don’t see any point in the actions on their own, no.”


“Hmmm.” He didn’t stare, or gawp, or question. He merely stroked his beard. “How very interesting. If I may, when Mr. Martell interrupted you, how would you describe your thought process?”


Her thoughts? No inquiries into how she ‘felt?’ The Headmaster continued to surprise her.


“My first thought was comprehending his words. My next thought, comprehending his actions; I determined he had broken the rules and that he’d been rude. Finally, a cataloguing of the boy’s features and clothes, to see what else I could determine about him.”


“Ah. Would you say that he was rude to you because he made you feel a certain way? Would you say that he made you angry? Irritated? Frustrated?” There were the expected questions. The Headmaster was no different from anyone else, it seemed.


“No, Headmaster. I could only conclude he was being rude due to my experience and investigation into the specifics of the rules which everyone else seems to simply intuit.”


“As I suspected. Ms. Greengrass, I believe you have been given a very special gift.”


It was not at all what Daphne had expected him to say. She wondered, idly, if it would be an appropriate time to laugh, or if she should find it funny. Her expectations had been subverted, after all, with something very unexpected. She wasn’t sure, though, so decided against it.


“There are many gifts which witches and wizards are born with. Some of these, like the rare skills of the metamorphmagus, cannot be replicated by those without the gift. However, there are a few that can be taught and performed by those who weren’t born with it. Why, I met a natural Animagus once, who, at the age of 5 and with no training, turned into the most splendid chicken. He had a rather gorgeous speckled plumage. He was of the opinion that some of our finest magical arts were in fact handed down to us by our ancestors who were naturally born with the gift, and I find I quite agree with him. You see, it is my opinion-. Ah, but you likely don’t care about my little history lesson.”


Thoroughly out of her depths, Daphne wasn’t sure what to do. He was smiling gently at her, across his desk, sipping on his steaming cup of tea. She, on the other hand, was like a sailboat out to sea without its rudder. She decided to fall back on that which had never failed her: the rules of etiquette.


The Headmaster was in a position of authority over her and was quite obviously fascinated with a topic. The correct response was to defer to his interests and engage in conversation. Madame Xenia’s The Professional Pureblood, page 32.


“On the contrary, Headmaster, I find your telling of history to be quite engaging.”


“It does you credit to flatter an old man, but if you encourage me over much, I may never get to the point.” He winked at her. “As I was saying, I believe you were born with a natural talent for a particular branch of magic. Miss Greengrass, have you ever heard of the Mind Arts?”


She threw herself back through scattered memories, scouring them for anything she could find.


“Are they similar to Obliviation?” It was the only thing she could come up with that might fall under that category. He beamed at her.


“Five points to Slytherin for a wonderful deduction, Ms. Greengrass. Yes, they are tangentially related. I am referring specifically, however, to Legilimency and Occlumency. These are the arts which, in broad terms, allow a witch or wizard to enter another’s mind, or protect their own. A dear friend of mine once knew a natural Legilimens. If I hadn’t been graced with her presence, once upon a time, I might not have known that Legilimens and Occlumens could be born to the art. As it is, I believe you to be a natural Occlumens.”


He announced this with great aplomb, as though bestowing upon her the greatest gift of her life. She didn’t see how having a name changed her circumstances.


“Is that all, Headmaster?”


“My dear girl, no. I should like to offer you private tuition to further develop your skills. It seems to me, for some reason, that you are not utilizing your skills to their fullest extent. I could not say why; the natural Legilimens I knew had to work to read more than merely surface thoughts, but when she put the effort in her skills were quite profound, and not something she’d ever needed training in. But unless I’m mistaken, you have no control over your gift, even less than she had.”


“What skills would you be teaching me, sir? Perhaps more importantly, how would you be teaching me?” His lips turned down into a grimace.


“The relationship between teacher and student when it comes to the Mind Arts invariably ends up being rather personal. We would need to take it one step at a time, as it would be a unique situation. An adventure we shall embark on together, you might say.”


“May I have the day to consider it?”


“Of course, Ms. Greengrass. There is no rush. Please, if you’ve reached a conclusion, feel free to approach me any time tomorrow. I shall spend the day in my office catching up on the bane of my existence: parchment-work.” He gave an evil glare to the teacup in his hand, formerly a pile of parchment on his desk.


Daphne gave a slight nod, sipped what remained of her tea, then set it down gently upon his desk. “Thank you, Headmaster.”


“Of course, Ms. Greengrass. The password is Jelly Babies.”

Tip Five: Take Time to Relax
Once safely ensconced in her dorm, she pulled out a ream of parchment, her quill, inkpot, and sand. She dipped the quill deeply into the inkpot and then allowed the ink to drip off slowly.


She touched the nib of the quill lightly against the parchment then flicked her wrist. Back and forth, up and down, around and around. The dormitory was filled with the incessant scritch, scritch, scritch of her quill. Her dorm mates would become quickly irritated with the sound of her quill flying across the parchment, so she relished these Hogsmeade weekends where she could practice her calligraphy.


She did not finish with any sort of superfluous motion. She simply stopped and sprinkled some dust along the parchment.


‘Aa Aa Aa.’


Row after row of the cursive letter A. She set aside that piece of parchment, filled to the brim with her penmanship, and pulled out a new, blank 12-inch piece. She began to trail down the parchment once more.


‘Bb Bb Bb.’



Over and over, she wrote the next letter of the alphabet, each as uniform as the last. When that was filled and sanded as well, she moved on to the next. Then the next, and the next, and the next until the last ‘Zz’ had been filled in on her twenty-sixth piece of parchment.


She enjoyed this act for its meditative properties, but as she finished the last letter, she wondered if there wasn’t more to it. If she was truly a natural Occlumens, as her professor proclaimed, then perhaps she was lucky to be thinking at all. What was Occlumency, truly?


She began to write some of her favorite words and phrases as she allowed her thoughts to bubble up. A page filled with ‘minimum,’ a page of ‘left left left.’


The Headmaster had only mentioned protecting her mind. He seemed to believe it was related to her lack of emotions. Apparently, she wasn’t using her abilities to their full potential. Was she supposed to stop all of her thoughts, as well?


She had no conception of what it might be like to be unable to think. She’d been to the Janus Thickey Ward of St. Mungos once, and had seen a comatose patient. Would it be like that? Would it be like being always asleep?


Or would it perhaps be more like when she practiced her calligraphy, braided her hair, or played the piano?


She sanded the last set of parchment then set it aside. All twenty-nine pages of her practice were stacked neatly on her desk as she dutifully put away her writing materials.


Daphne pulled out her wand and checked the time with a muttered ‘Tempus.’ If she got ready for bed now she’d have time to braid her hair for a while before curfew. She burned her used parchment with the Fire-Making Spell, prepared for sleep, and closed the curtains of her canopy bed. A Silencing Charm and a Light-Making Spell later, and she was ready.


She pulled her hair, now completely dry thanks to a fast acting Drying Charm performed right after her shower, around her shoulder as she sat cross legged and back straight. She separated it out into three separate strands, and let her fingers begin to fly, quick and nimble, strand over strand, as she braided her hair in a pattern she knew well.


Perhaps she sought out time to braid her hair and practice her calligraphy for a reason? She had always assumed it was merely to enjoy the solitude, something to occupy her hands as she finally allowed herself to relax. Being around people as a young child, and even still to this day, was incredibly taxing on Daphne. Always alert, always aware, always analyzing. It was tedious.


She undid the simple braid, already on a fourth iteration, and began a different pattern.


What if it was more than a simple desire for solitude and relaxation? When she got deep within her braiding or calligraphy, time could fly by without her realizing it. She’d look back on her hours spent, and not recall what she’d been thinking of.


She pulled her hair out from another braid and changed the pattern again.


She could recall with clarity, as she always could, each individual moment, but the thoughts themselves? They were blurry, indistinct, or even nonexistent.


It didn’t worry her. It certainly didn’t scare her. But she thought, for the first time, that perhaps it should.


By now her hair was done up in an elaborate braid she’d recreated from the memory of a book she’d received on braiding techniques during her last birthday over the summer. She doubted she’d gotten it perfect, but checking in the mirror would be more trouble than it was worth.


Instead, she undid the braid, ended her magical light, and allowed the magical Silence that pervaded her bed to lull her to sleep.

Tip Six: Play to Your Strengths
It was early the next morning when Daphne found herself face to face with Lexington the Grotesque, unsure why she was hesitating. She’d made the decision during breakfast to agree to the Headmaster’s proposal. From her perspective, there was little to lose from agreeing. There wasn’t much in her mind of interest to a wizard as powerful as Albus Dumbledore. She had no ancient secrets, no hidden knowledge.


She also thought she wouldn’t mind being able to finally understand some of Astoria’s more obscure mixed expressions. Learning about Occlumency might be a way to do so, and if it all turned out to be a waste of time, well then nothing of any true importance was lost. Just a bit of her free time.


She took a deep breath. “Good morning, Lexington. Jelly Babies.”


Madame Xenia’s Rules for High-Born Wizards and Witches page 48: It never hurt to be polite to those of lower station than yourself, assuming they’d broken no rules of etiquette. It would incur a sense of noblesse oblige. She thought she saw the creature blink at her, but even upon later recollection she couldn’t tell for sure.


She knocked smartly upon his door and opened it upon the call of “Enter!”


“Ah, Miss Greengrass. How lovely to see you this morning. I do so hope you are here to provide a distraction for me from my ever-mounting pile of parchment-work.” He offered her a smile that Daphne assumed reached his eyes by the way they twinkled.


“Yes, Professor. I should like to take you up on your offer of tutelage and thank you for the honor of learning from you.”


She bent into a deep curtsey, taken from Headmaster Armando Dippet’s Curtseys, Bows, and Other Genuflections which had been listed as a reference guide in many of Madame Xenia’s works. Her back stayed straight, her knees bent forwards rather than outwards, and her right leg crossed less than four inches beyond the left one. A proper curtesy from a witch to a wizard of professional superiority when thanking him for an act of kindness.


A portrait behind her Headmaster spoke up. “Well, Albus, at least you’ve finally found a quality apprentice. That is a proper curtsey. Straight out of my book, that is. Chapter six, ‘Young Witches of Pureblood and High Station.’”


“Thank you, Armando. I feel I have a more proper appreciation for the act now that I know it’s source. Unfortunately, my new pupil and I will be engaging in some learning with the potential for quite a bit of embarrassment. We would much appreciate a bit of privacy, if you don’t mind terribly.”


There was a general chorus of grumbling from all the paintings scattered throughout the office, but one by one at first, then in droves they all exited their frames.


“Much better. Would you prefer to be standing or sitting for this, Daphne? You will be in the same position for quite a long while.”


“Whatever is most convenient for you, Headmaster.”


“Ah, sitting it is, then. I’m getting frail in my old age, I’m afraid. My bones grow weary.”


Daphne saw that more than just weary bones, he seemed to be suffering under some form of curse. It blackened and weathered his hand, a putrid looking thing. She did not mention it, which would be impolite until he referenced it first. She rather thought that it was a more serious problem than weary bones, but it wasn’t her place to say.


He stared at her, deeply looking into her eyes. It was then that she realized he had not once, until that moment, made direct eye contact with her.


“Occlumency, at its most basic, is magical control over your own mind. Forcing yourself and your magic to ensure your mind stays clear will protect you from someone attempting to sneak into your mind. I am going to incant the spell, ‘Legilimens,’ and when I do so I will attempt to enter your mind. I shall give you a countdown of three, and I shall endeavor to be gentle. I would prefer not to shock you with the full force I could bring to bear, so we will gradually increase the pressure until I can bypass your defenses. Once we know the level of force needed to break through, I will be able to slowly lessen the amount of force used, and you will attempt to tell me when you feel my mental probes. Recognition of an attack is the first way to learn to defend yourself from an attack. We’ll be working backwards from how a normal student would learn Occlumency, but that’s to be expected. Your mind is clear enough as it is, no need to clear it further. Do you have any questions for me, Miss Greengrass?”


“No, sir.”


“Then let us begin. 3, 2, 1, Legilimens!”


Nothing happened.


That is to say, Daphne didn’t feel anything happening. She continued to keep eye contact with the Headmaster, watching as his eyes sparkled.


Slowly, she began to notice his visage contort. As the lines on his face deepened and his lips pursed, the room began to fade into the distance. Soon, all she saw was his face, staring back at her as she stared at it. Unbidden, her own lips pursed as she felt uncomfortable. Her spine, straight as it was while sitting, tensed and her back felt raised like the hackles of a cat.


All at once, the room came rushing back to her and she and the Headmaster let out twin breaths of relief. “Miss Greengrass, I really do need your cooperation in this. If you are actively clearing your mind, it will only hurt more when I finally break through. Although, I must confess, the strength of your mental defenses surprises me, even with your effort added to them.”


“I wasn’t attempting to be difficult, Headmaster, or defending myself. I apologize if I made it difficult unknowingly.”


“Truly?” He looked shocked, though she couldn’t fathom why. “This is normal for you?”


“Yes, sir.”


He looked almost defeated as he reached out to grab her hand. “My dear girl, I am so sorry. I had assumed your emotions were simply muted behind your defenses. Are you implying you feel nothing at all?”


“Yes, sir. Not so far as I can recall. It took me a long time to realize I was different, and even longer to determine the reason why.”


“We may need to do this in an even more roundabout fashion. I may need to teach you more advanced skills before I teach you the basics. They seem to be too ingrained as a natural part of your mind to be manipulated just yet. If I’d pushed any harder, I’m afraid I may have broken your mind.”


“I thank you for your restraint, then.” He chuckled at her, and damn her if she could figure out why what she’d said was funny. She had been offering a sincere thanks, but he seemed to think it was an attempt at humor.


“At least your sense of humor hasn’t perished in the face of that potential catastrophe.”


“I was being sincere, Headmaster. I’m not particularly fond of jokes, or humor in general. I don’t much understand them.”


“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t be. Forgive me for forgetting. If you’d like to make another attempt?” At her nod, he continued. “I would like to try something different, this time. I shall make the connection we made last time and although you may not feel it, I would like for you to show me a memory. Any memory, it doesn’t matter which. I shall attempt to see how clearly you can recall it.”


“Of course, sir.”


“In 3, 2, 1, Legilimens!”


Again, she stared deeply into his eyes after he cast the spell. She waited for a few moments to be entirely sure whatever connection he was talking about had been achieved, then pulled up her calligraphy practice from the evening before. She mentally reviewed going through each letter, stroke by stroke, line by line, parchment by parchment. The world faded around her as she remembered, until it was as though she was reliving it. While she could normally recall her memories with precision, this was new.


She was both simultaneously the Old Daphne and the Current Daphne, experiencing this for the first time and for the second. About halfway through the letter C, Daphne felt the memory fade back to normal. No longer was she reliving the memory, though she could still call on it precisely.


“Was that what you did last evening, Miss Greengrass?” The Headmasters face was closed off, expressionless, and so Daphne had no idea how he would like her to respond, no inkling as to what might make him pleased and what might make him upset. She opted, as she tended to in such situations where she couldn’t use the rules of etiquette to determine a course, for the truth.


“Yes, Headmaster. It is what I do most Hogsmeade weekends, or weekends when I’ve finished my school work and can find some privacy. I find it soothing, and practice makes perfect. It wouldn’t do for my penmanship to be less than perfect. Even Professor Snape has complimented me on my legibility.”


Well, he’d said it was one less reason to hate grading essays, but she supposed that counted.


“I see. I’m glad you have hobbies you enjoy, Miss Greengrass.”


“I don’t actually, Headmaster. Enjoy it, that is. I don’t particularly enjoy much of anything. Nothing brings me any joy, or happiness, so far as I can tell. But it is practical, and soothing in a way, to practice it. It’s also why I braid my hair, in addition to my preference to have it neatly tucked out of my way.”


“I have never seen you with your hair braided, Miss Greengrass.”


“‘All witch’s hairstyles shall be either loose, held lightly at the bottom in a leather band, or wrapped neatly in a bun underneath the customary hat while in lessons and at meal times. Ornamentation and stylistic choices are for free time and social affairs, classes and meals are for learning or eating.’ That’s page 236 of the Hogwarts Rulebook. I prefer not to break the rules, Headmaster.”


“I have never taken points, nor has any professor currently employed, for that rule being broken.”


“That does not make it any less a rule.”


“I suppose that’s true. Shall we continue, Miss Greengrass? That was a wonderful first attempt, and incredibly clear. I should like to try a few more times, before we move on.”


“Of course, Headmaster.”


They spent the day sat in those chairs, mostly in silence. Daphne assumed that if anyone saw them, it would have looked quite strange, but to her, it was a dizzying experience of flying down memory lane. Their silence was broken only by the Headmaster’s incantation, and their occasional soft words of discussion.


As the sky outside darkened, Headmaster Dumbledore eventually brought their day to a close. “I have a prior engagement this evening, Miss Greengrass, but are you available next weekend? On Sunday again, perhaps?”


“I can make myself available to you, of course.”


“Splendid. I shall see you then.”


As she left, she nodded to Harry Potter, of all people, as Lexington jumped out of her way. Potter gave her a surprised nod back. All in all, not the worst way to spend a Sunday.

Tip Seven: Don’t Be Afraid to Take Risks

It was months later, and Daphne felt her additional tuition was coming along nicely. The Headmaster had been initially shocked at how well she took to the skills he showed her but had eventually conceded he shouldn’t have been. She was a natural after all, quite literally.


She’d met with him regularly, every Sunday, and she learned quickly all that he taught her. Choosing memories, showing memories, modifying memories. She learned to recognize the subtlest of intrusions upon her mind, whispers of another person brushing up against her caused her mind to snap to attention. She learned to trap another’s mind within her own, lead them on a merry chase, determine what they were searching for and obfuscate the facts with half-truths and white lies. She learned to blur her memories so they looked more natural and resembled more fully the memories of someone who had never studied the Mind Arts.


For the first time, however, she disagreed with the Headmaster’s next lesson.


“But why should I need to feel my emotions? I’ve got control of my mind now, I’m no longer under the misapprehension that I’ll stop thinking and become comatose, as I told you I considered might happen. I’ve got on just fine for this long without my emotions, why should I need them moving forward?”


The Headmaster sighed. “Because, my young pupil, your memories are precise, but lacking. You can show someone exactly what they want, but a skilled Legilimens will be able to tell easily that your memories lack the emotive value of an unskilled mind’s memories.”


“You’ve seen my memories, Headmaster. You know as well as I do they are barren of any feelings. I recall quite clearly your shock during our first lesson. I have no emotions to feel, my mind wipes them away before they can even begin to form. If you’re truly stuck on this, perhaps you could just show me yours. I should have no problem learning to replicate them, correct?”


“That might work, but to feel so complexly another person’s emotions without the ability to empathize or contextualize them with your own might truly be the load which breaks the phoenix’s grip. No, much safer to allow you to access your own emotions rather than risk breaking your own mind.”


“I repeat, I don’t have them, Headmaster. You know this. Your pursuit is in vain, why do you refuse to accept it?”


“Ah, my dear girl, I refuse to accept it because it isn’t true! I must admit to a small amount of deception. These past weeks, I have slowly been reviewing your memories. There are blips, fleeting shadows of sensation. They become less noticeable as you grow older but are easier to pinpoint in your youth. You were not born without emotions, but with the natural ability to suppress them and clear your mind. Clearing them does not eradicate them, rather it subjugates them to the background. We shall tease them out, you and I. Are you ready?”


“I see no value in this, I shall make myself clear. Emotions are merely a hassle. I’ve spent my life watching people make fools of themselves at the whims of their fickle feelings. They are messy, uncontainable, and make a ruin of everything. Yet if you say we must, then we must.”


He didn’t give the incantation this time, but rather made eye contact subtly before slipping into her mind. She noticed him like a breeze on a summer’s day. One of his preferred tricks, making the probe feel pleasurable rather than painful, so that his opponent’s mind might naturally acquiesce and recall a similar memory.


She didn’t fall for it.


She allowed him to peruse her memories anyways, flickering back and forth. She held no secrets from him now, after all these weeks, and did not begrudge him his knowledge of her life.


He came upon the first Birthday she could remember, her sixth.


Her family approached the wishing well in the courtyard of their manor. Astoria held aloft by her mother, snoozing on her breast. Daphne ambling along next to her parents. The wishing well was out of place among the manicured lawns, old and almost crumbling.


“It’s ancient,” her mother whispered. “Our family has watched over it for many generations. A true Wishing Well. It has a magic of its own, deep and powerful. Here.” Her mother handed her a knut, polished and new. “You get one wish. Throw the knut in and wish for the thing you want most in the world. It can be anything, anything at all that you want.”


Want? Daphne didn’t particularly want anything. She was quite content as she was. She stared at her sister, nestled against her Mother. Her Mother’s smiling face, her Father’s crinkled eyes. Daphne tried her hardest to want something, anything at all.


Nothing came to her.


Something was different within the memory than she remembered it, however. As she stared at her family, there was something lurking beneath the surface of her mind. It stalked, back and forth, as though waiting to pounce.


She felt it only because the Headmaster pulled on it in an attempt to tease it out. It refused to budge, stuck behind some impenetrable barrier. Were these her emotions?


The Headmaster replayed the memory, again and again, pulling at the nebulous sensation within her, with ultimately no success.


After an endless time, once he’d finally given up, she felt him burrow deeper through her memories to find a new one. He seemed to pull them out at random, with no rhyme or reason she could determine, discarding them quicker each time.


Her first broom ride. Being read to in the evening by her parents. The first time she’d been praised by her comportment tutor, her dancing instructor, her parents. Her sister.


Memories of her sister began to overwhelmingly outnumber any other memory the Headmaster pulled up. Again and again and again she saw her sister. In their rooms, in their lessons, in front of their hearth at night, drinking sweet drinks and listening to their mother play the piano.


Once she knew to look for it she couldn’t help but notice that strange sensation which eluded her. Like a tugging and a bubbling all at once, it flickered at the edge of her awareness, teasing her with its knowledge, too coy to appear.


She surmised the Headmaster was becoming frantic, or perhaps incensed, based on the slowly increasing intensity of his perusal. She allowed him to rifle through her memories and even helped him find new, relevant ones.


With all the memories of Astoria filtering through her mind, she wondered what her first ever memory of Astoria actually was. Astoria had been born only two years after her, and it seemed as though she had always been a constant presence in Daphne’s recollection.


Her earliest memory of Astoria turned out to be shortly after they’d brought her home from the hospital for the second time. Daphne was only just turned six years old herself, and her memories from that time were incredibly ill-defined.


Two words stood out starkly amongst the gibberish, though.


“Weakness… curse.” She focused herself on the memory, willing it into clarity.


Ah. It was the first time Astoria became sick.


“Her weakness is the result of a blood curse.” A man stood before her, speaking to her parents. His lime green robes stood out starkly against the tasteful decor of the room, easy to pick out. “We’re doing everything we can for her. If you could go back through your family histories, perhaps determine where the curse originated, we might be able to provide more help.”


She felt that bizarre sensation, stronger than before, simmering under the surface of her subconscious. She felt Dumbledore’s metaphorical fingers grasping at the slippery sensation, whatever it was that eluded her that he wanted so desperately to achieve. Out of obligation, she reached with him as well.


She existed in that strange in between place, both wholly consumed by reliving her memory, and fully aware that she was not the Daphne sitting in that room. The whole of her attention was completely on her parents as they spoke to the Healer, and wholly on the Headmaster as he grasped at something beneath the placid surface of this memory.


“There won’t likely be a cure, but we could perhaps mitigate the effects. As it is now, she’s not likely to survive the week. I’m so sorry. I’ll leave you to your family. Please, Floo me if you find anything else out.”


Daphne felt herself come closer and closer to the elusive prize, that nebulous concept just beyond her grasp. The Headmaster suddenly, violently, roughly pulled away, but she was so close! Why would he pull away now, when they were so near to their prize? Was this not what they’d been aiming for, this sensation? Were these not her hidden emotions?


Daphne was sitting in the corner of the room, on a small chaise lounge, waiting to be noticed. Her parents murmured together in soft tones, and Daphne noticed tear streaks down her Mother’s face as her parents turned to her and walked to kneel beside her.


“Daphne? Do you know what’s going on?”


“Yes, Mother.”


Closer.


“Can you tell me what you think is going on, honey?”


“Yes, Mother.”


Closer. Closer.


“What’s going on, dear? Tell me what you know.”


Closer. Closer. Closer.


“Astoria is sick. She’s going to die.”


There!


She cracked open the thin veneer of protection surrounding her elusive prize. She could sense the Headmaster pleading with her to leave well enough alone, but she was weary of this exercise and ready for it to be over. It was the only exercise she’d never mastered after only a few attempts.


Like an unwatched cauldron, something bubbled up and over her, consuming her until it was all that she was.


All that she felt.


Oh. Felt. Feeling. A gnawing, ravenous pit that soaked up all of her thoughts, until her whole world became one single thing.


Fear. Her sister was going to die. Astoria was going to die. There was nothing she could do about it, no power she had, and yet her sister was going to die! She would lose her, for forever, this tiny little thing, as though she never existed.


Would she die too one day? Would her parents die as well? Would everyone die? Why, why did people have to die? Of all the people, in all the world, why did it have to be her sister?


“Are you doing okay, dear? Are you feeling alright?”


“Yes, Mother, I’m fine.” No, Mother, I’m anything but!


A look of despair graced her Mother’s face, and revulsion spread across her Father’s.


Despair. Revulsion. They bloomed within her, her psyche a springtime of emotion. The cauldron had been tipped, no longer bubbling over but spilling out. She could stop nothing from flowing out and filling her up, and she tried desperately, furiously to shove everything which blossomed within her back to whence it came.


She wrenched herself away from the memory, forcing herself and the Headmaster out of her mind with prejudice. The world reasserted itself, and she felt her cheeks growing wet, her vision blurred. She was going to lose her sister.


Her sister was going to die.


“Miss Greengrass,” the Headmaster began.


She tried to flee, but when she reached the door it was locked. She banged her fists against it, pitting every ounce of strength she had to call upon against that which blocked her path. It didn’t budge.


She slid to the ground as panic set in to the fear which consumed her, feeding the flames of her fervor until she was flailing futilely against the floor. She just wanted to leave! She needed to see Astoria, she needed to see her now, before she, before she…


She was going to lose her!


“Miss Greengrass, I really think-.”


She interrupted him with a wail. She didn’t want to hear his words, they couldn’t do anything for her now. She was stuck swirling down an ever-deepening tunnel of terror.


Astoria was going to die, and there was nothing she could do about it and-.


“Fawkes!”


-and she couldn’t have that because she loved her. Astoria was her sister, and she loved her. She heard distantly in the background the sound of the Headmaster’s familiar singing, and it was beautiful. Joy surged through her at the sensation, the clarity with which she felt it was astonishing.


Her sister was alive, when she should have perished years ago, but she was here, in Hogwarts! Her sister had friends, and a full life, and had got to come to school! Her sister was wonderful! Oh, how Daphne needed to see her, to hug her, to hold her.


The joy burbled up inside her until she could no longer contain it, and she let it out in the only way her body knew how.


A laugh escaped her lips, a sharp, high-pitched bark that turned into a stuttered giggle, rolling into an avalanche of chuckles, her only outlet for the exhilarating euphoria coursing through her veins. But even to her own ears, she sounded wrong, too angular and sharp, almost tinged with madness.


Once, when she was younger, she had met Walburga Black at a luncheon. Someone had told a joke in which the punchline involved a Muggle dying. Walburga had let out a laugh that had made Astoria cry in fright, so hideous a sound it was. A terrifying cackle, tainted by insanity and a sick sort of joy, as though it was an unexpected emotion she was experiencing.


Daphne thought she sounded exactly like Walburga as she descended into happy hysterics.


Would Astoria cry if she heard Daphne laugh? The thought threw her back into despair. What had Dumbledore done to her?


She looked up at him then, and for a moment all she saw was his eyes. Piercing blue, almost white like a blizzard and just as fierce, starkly framed by his half-moon glasses. They reminded her of Astoria, and for a brief moment she felt another soaring surge of pure and unadulterated joy, affection, love, fear, panic all at once.


Then the look in his eyes registered, the meaning beyond the color, and the pity she saw made her flinch. She didn’t just see it, she wasn’t just recognizing it, it was like she was feeling it herself. The soft downturn of his lips, the gentle glisten at the corner of his eyes. She catalogued it all as she would have hours ago, but it didn’t lead to a simple conclusion of ‘pity’ as it would have before. Instead, she felt his pity for her like a tangible punch to her gut.


She felt something red hot begin to course through her, boiling and urging her forwards. She was suddenly overcome by the intense desire to hex the most powerful wizard alive, to scream and shout and terrify him. To force upon him exactly what she was feeling. She knew it to be illogical, knew it to be foolish, but couldn’t restrain herself for her rage.


She opened her lips to tear into him, to tell him what she thought of him, to repeat all the nasty words she’d ever heard uttered about him in the Slytherin Common Room. All that came out was a snarl, rippling along her lips as she bared her teeth at him.


He raised his wand and the fury swirled up higher in her, pulled on her panic to push her into flight or fight mode, and she decided to fight. She couldn’t hurt him directly, he was too strong for her. So instead she lunged right for the phoenix. It squawked as it rocketed into the air, her fingers wisping through its tail feathers.


She heard a light clack and looked over her shoulder from her place on the ground, to see that the Headmaster had merely opened the door for her. She ran towards it, stumbling as she went, as fast as her legs would take her. She coursed down the staircase, the Grotesque already out of her way. Racing towards her Common Room, the halls of Hogwarts blurred around her.

Tip Eight: Strengthen Your Resolve
She missed a week of classes. No one came to bother her. For the longest time, her whole existence was a maelstrom of emotions all vying for her attention, overwhelming her. Even in sleep, she couldn’t find rest. Dreams plagued her when they never had before, and she woke up screaming in terror as often as she woke up whooping for joy


Memories came to her, unbidden, and each one forced upon her the emotions she’d thought she’d never felt. She’d repressed them, Occluded them away, but now the floodgates were open, the dam broken. They were drowning her. Tumbling mentally, desperately grasping out for any sort of port, she found nothing.


She wasn’t sure how, when, or even if she ate. At some point she’d had the thought to cast a ’Tempus,’ worry rising up among the hurricane of other emotions warring for her attention, and she realized half a week had gone by. Even still, it took a few more days until she felt ready to leave the safety of her dormitory.


It was Saturday when she finally, blearily stirred from her bed. The storm inside her had finally quieted from a tempest into roiling clouds. It might spring upon her again at any moment, but it seemed that for now everything was content to simmer under the surface.


She stumbled into the bathroom to make herself look at least slightly presentable. The shower ran on and on as she was distracted by a rush of contentment or pang of sorrow as old memories forced themselves upon her, mingling freely with whatever she currently felt.


As she finally walked into the Common Room for the first time in a week, the ever-present whispers of relaxing children quieted. Daphne swept her eyes across the room, doing her best to clear her mind. Her head stilled as her eyes rested on her sister.


Astoria.


She almost broke down again, nearly falling into sobs of both joy and despair as she had over the past week. She walked towards her sister. She couldn't feel her feet as they touched the ground, the world around her fading as her focus narrowed.


She knelt down next to where her sister was sitting on a leather couch, two other people bookending her, but Daphne paid them no mind. She reached out and grasped Astoria faintly by the cheeks.


“You’re alive.”


Daphne breathed it more than she spoke it, an utterance like a prayer.


She’d beaten the odds, lived longer than any had expected her to. She was enjoying all the things that life had to offer her, and every memory Daphne held within her mind of Astoria’s smile, of her laugh, of her enjoyment of life warred with every time she fainted, every dropped object, every reminder of her fragility.


“Well, uh, yeah? Obviously?” Her sarcasm shot through Daphne like spellfire, and she couldn’t contain herself. She tilted her head back and laughed.


Silence followed her laughter, the only sound in the room as she let out peals of glee. She knew she sounded mad, that her laughter didn’t sound quite right, but she didn’t care.


“Daphne?” Her sister snaked one hand up to her forehead, back of the hand to her temple to take her temperature. “Have you gone sick?”


Daphne swooped her arms around her sister and dragged her into an embrace. She couldn’t come up with any other way to fully express what she was feeling. She held her sister tight, squeezing until she nearly couldn’t breathe. She felt her sister squirm beneath her, struggling to get free, and eventually she let go.


She sister grasped her by the hand, tugged her fiercely, and led Daphne away with a murmured “Let’s go!” Astoria took them to the safety of her own dorm, kicking out the few girls scattered about until they were alone.


She turned to Daphne, and paused, a look of shock on her face.


“Are you… Daphne, are you crying?” Her sister spoke in a muted whisper. She reached out tentatively to wipe one of Daphne’s tears away. Daphne could only nod. “What happened? What’s going on?”


“I can feel, Astoria. I can feel. I feel everything.”


Astoria stared at her, too confused or perhaps shocked to say anything. Daphne realized, finally, that she might be feeling both. After the week she’d had, she could finally understand how a person could feel so many things all at once.


“It’s horrible.” Daphne whispered. “I want it to stop.”


“Truly?” There was so much sadness in that one word, that Daphne started crying even fiercer.


“Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s horrible, and awful, and terrifying, and awe inspiring, and phenomenal, and wonderful. It’s just too much. I can barely sleep. I don’t know if I’ve even eaten.”


“Why don’t we… why don’t we get you some food, then. That’ll help, yeah?”


“Perhaps.”


Ignoring the looks they were being given as they walked back out through the Common Room, they got up and made their way to the Great Hall, hoping to find some semblance of breakfast or lunch. Food acquired, they took it back to their dorm rooms, and cocooned themselves in Astoria’s bed with the curtains closed.


Daphne was not nearly so hungry as she expected to be and assumed she must have eaten somehow over the past few days. Unbidden, she pulled on her skills at Occlumency to check the past week.


It came back, as it always did, with startling clarity. House elves had provided her simple meals, and she’d scarfed them down quickly. She’d been thrust into the throes of emotional turmoil due to other meals she’d eaten. Her first birthday cake. The first dinner in St. Mungos waiting for Astoria. So many others.


The memories came flooding back again, and she nearly choked on her food as she attempted to hold them back.


“What happened to you, Daphne? What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”


Daphne told her. She held nothing back as she explained about her mind’s natural inclination to Occlumency, how she had been Occluding without knowing it for years. How Professor Dumbledore had offered to teach her, and she had eagerly taken him up on it. Her speed at learning, and finally her undoing.


She let everything spill out of her, her new impressions on all her memories. The feelings associated with them. They relived most of their lives together, alone in Astoria’s bed. They laughed, and cried, and railed angrily against the injustices they’d suffered under the cruel yoke of their parents’ authoritarian control of their lives.


For a short while it was like they were normal sisters.


“How do you do it?” Daphne finally asked. “How do you feel so much, all day, every day, with no breaks from it? It’s unbearable. One week and I’m exhausted.”


“It’s normal, Daphne.”


“It’s terrifying.”


Astoria chuckled. They sat next to each other, lost in thought, as Daphne let the Light-Making Spell hanging above them fade away. Eventually, Astoria’s voice broke through the darkness. “I owe you an apology.”


“What for?”


“All these years, I thought you just didn’t care. I thought you were cold, and cruel, and unloving. I thought you were socially inept as well, sure, but I thought the root of it was just a lack of empathy on your part.”


“You weren’t far off, Astoria.”


“But I was!”


“You weren’t. I didn’t care, for all intents and purposes. It was buried so deep, Occluded so well, it was the same as if I didn’t. I only looked out for you because it was my duty, and it made my life considerably easier by not having to listen to Mother and Father complain constantly about looking after you.


“I followed the rules, Astoria, because they made my life easier. I didn’t understand you, any of you, all of you. I still don’t. To live like this every day, to feel so intensely everything that happens to me, it’s terrifying.” She let out a shudder as she spoke softly into the darkness. “I don’t want it. I don’t like it. I need to get myself back to normal.”


“I like you like this. The real you is nice.”


“This isn’t the real me. My mind is broken, right now. At least, that’s how it feels to me.”


“Don’t you want to be like everyone else? What if you stop loving me?”


“Love hurts, Astoria. It is beautiful, and glorious, and it fills me so completely I’m afraid I might burst. It sears through me, and I can’t even think for how powerful it is. I love you so fiercely I can’t come up with the words to describe it; my mind is shattered by it. That’s just one emotion, a positive one at that. I feel everything, fully, all the time, and I can’t turn it off. It’s maddening. I just, I can’t be like this forever. Imagine the most you’ve ever loved someone. The angriest you’ve ever been. The happiest, the saddest, the most excited. Imagine feeling it all at once. Can you really ask me to stay like this?”


“I’ll miss you like this.”


“If I get good enough, I may learn to bring my emotions out in a controlled fashion. But I won’t ever enjoy it.” She reached out her hand into the darkness and grasped her sister’s hand in hers. She squeezed it tightly. “But in private, for you, I will. I love you, Astoria.”


“I love you too, Daphne.”

Tip Nine: Let Go
She approached Lexington the Grotesque with her sister, hand in hand. Daphne couldn’t help but laugh aloud at the absurdity of the whole conversation she’d had with the Headmaster that first day so many months ago. Astoria smiled once more as she heard Daphne’s crazed laugh, and murmured “Are you sure you wouldn't like me to come with you?”


“Thank you, but I’ll be alright. I need to face this on my own. You really don’t need to wait for me. I can meet you back in the Common Room.” Secretly, Daphne hoped she’d stay.


“I’ll wait.” With one last tight hug, Daphne moved towards the Grotesque guarding the Headmaster’s office. She was certain she saw Lexington nod at her as he moved aside. The Grotesque hadn’t even required her to give a password.


She approached the door, but heard a furtive conversation taking place behind it as she came within a few steps. Instead of knocking or announcing her presence, she decided to listen in.


“I understand your concerns, Severus, but I won’t force the issue.”


“You still won’t tell me why you’ve changed your mind. After you spent so long convincing me of the necessity of an aid, an accomplice, a confidant, you simply decide to forgo the plan? The girl has-.”


“Enter!” the Headmaster called as she moved in closer to hear more clearly. The door swung open, and she walked in proudly, head held high, as though she hadn’t stopped to listen.


“Ah, Miss Greengrass. Truly, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you in my office again. Severus, we shall speak of this later.”


Her dour Head of House nodded to her as he swept out of the office. She nodded back. Seeing him brought up a whole other whirlwind of emotions, and she bit her lip harshly to keep them in check.


“I’d like to offer you my deepest apologies, Miss Greengrass. I never intended for our last lesson to be so disastrous.”


Her emotions continued to smolder beneath the surface. Over the course of her evening with Astoria, going over her memories out loud had helped to release some of the pent-up intensity. They still sprung up on her without warning, but she could mostly keep herself under control. Even still, her anger threatened to spill over at his apology. His intentions weren’t worth much, in the grand scheme of things.


“I understand.” She gritted out, though she knew they could both tell it for a lie. “I just want things to go back to normal.”


“I have gotten in contact with my old friend. He gave me the updated contact information for the friend of his who is a natural Legilimens, whom I haven’t spoken with in many years. She mentioned there was one time when her own natural skills were interrupted, and she gave me quite a scolding for meddling in things I knew not. She then graced me with a likely answer to our problems. I’m afraid you may not like it.”


“I would like to know what it is, please.” Though she did her best to keep her voice steady, she could feel herself tremble.


“I feel I should apologize again, Miss Greengrass, for how we went about breaking through to your emotions. I had never intended to let you experience anything but positive emotions first. I had intended to slowly introduce you to them. Once again, it seemed I underestimated your natural abilities. I just hope I’m not now overestimating them. We shall have to venture back to the scene of the crime, as it were. We shall need to review the memory in which you first grabbed hold of your unfiltered emotions. You shall need to relive it again, and when your do so, allow your mind to do what it naturally should.”


Once again, Daphne’s mind became a warzone. The memories of hours upon hours spent in the Headmaster’s office, working in each other’s minds battled against the atrocious week she’d experienced. She sat silent as she worked through her trust and distrust, her fear and her desires, her anger and her memories.


“Will I be able to access my emotions again afterwards?” She certainly hoped she hadn’t promised Astoria something she couldn’t deliver. The Headmaster’s sigh didn’t provide her any reassurances.


“The natural Legilimens I spoke to explained it to me thusly: you should be able to, much in the same way she learned to soothe out the thoughts of all those around her, tease out the faintest touches of your emotions with practice. Now that you know they are there, you should be able to identify them, view them, categorize them, even infuse them into memories you show to other Legilimens. But it is unlikely you will ever be able to truly feel them naturally, the way I suspect you were never meant to. You shall never be able to turn off your gifts, not without a dire consequence similar to what you’ve experienced this week. As a witch or wizard grows, our mind becomes more accustomed to our emotions. We have felt them all before, and their severity lessens as we learn to manage them, and our expectations. This is why children are often so excitable.


“She has explained to me that your magic shall keep you from doing the same. If you were to permanently break your shields, so that you might never practice Occlumency again, your mind would never become accustomed to your emotions. You would always feel them intensely. Your joys and exultations would be unparalleled, but your fears and anger would be paralyzing and dangerous. A similar thing happened with her own Legilimency, in the reverse. She managed to break her mind away from her ability to peer into the minds of others, thinking it might make her husband more comfortable.


“Years ago, when we had discussed something similar, she explained it to me as though she’d spent her whole life listening to music in the background, and then suddenly it was silent. I didn’t fully understand, so she Charmed a harp to play a beautiful classic tune that only I could hear, nonstop. After six months, she took it away. I almost went quite mad at the silence. I imagine it is much the same for you, although perhaps it is completely opposite. I wish there was a middle ground, but there is not. She told me in our most recent letter that once she repaired her mind, she was never able to break it again. She tried, many times. It is, of course, up to you how you wish to proceed.”


Daphne didn’t even need to consider. The idea of living her life this way, at the beck and call of every emotion that battered against her, terrified her to no end. Much better the oblivion of her existence before.


She pulled up briefly the love she felt for her sister. It warmed her, like the hearth of their home where they spent many nights together as small children. She held it tightly to her. She refused to release it until the last moment but resolved to let it go when she must. She looked the Headmaster proudly in the eye, chin held high, and said “I would like you to help me return to normal, please.”


He sighed and seemed almost resigned as he said “Very well. I caution you, we have one chance at this. If we enter your mind, we shall be attempting to allow your psyche to reassert its natural state. If we fail, you may be stuck this way permanently.”


“I understand.” She swallowed the nervous energy rising up her throat, threatening to make her keel over and cry once more.


“I think that this time, I shall count us down. If you’re ready now?”


At her nod, he began. “3, 2, 1, Legilimens!”


The transition was smoother than normal. As though it was easier for him to slip into her mind than it would normally be; she imagined her emotions allowed him an easier entrance than he’d normally have.


He tugged lightly on emotions, moving through them like a duck through water during a summer storm. Rough and turbulent rather than calm, the surface of her mind was as unorganized and fearsome as it had been all week, merely tempered beneath the pure force of her desire to get back to normal.


She felt a mounting terror as he pulled first on the love she had for Astoria, which she wrapped around herself like a cocoon, and followed it to her care for her, the concern she felt for her, followed it all the way through to her fear of losing her.


Memories presented themselves with an eagerness, almost puppylike in the way they vied for attention.


The first time Astoria broke a bone.


Astoria’s first outing away from home that Daphne hadn’t attended.


Every subsequent outing.


The Headmaster discarded them as quickly as they came, and Daphne soon became disoriented and nauseous at the dizzying speed they travelled through her emotions. That had never happened to her before, and it worried her. Dumbledore seemed to feel her worry as more and more scenes of her being worried presented themselves, and he used it to fuel his search for the scene.


Even when broken, her mind still Occluded for her, protected her. It had hidden that most terrible memory from her so much she couldn’t even recall it. Hadn’t recalled it once, in fact, since they had last viewed it.


The Headmaster fought for her, though, true to his word that he’d help her. Eventually, her will coupled with his skill won out. She was once more sitting on a comfortable chaise lounge, listening to a Healer in lime green robes.


“Her weakness is the result of a blood curse.” Fear, like nothing else she’d ever experienced in her week of hell, gripped her. It held her in its grasp and shook her, tainting every emotion within her.


“There won’t likely be a cure, but we could perhaps mitigate the effects. As it is now, she’s not likely to survive the week. I’m so sorry. I’ll leave you to your family. Please, Floo me if you find anything else out.”


All she knew was a welling panic at the thought that her sister was cursed and there was no cure. She knew what was coming, the scene with her mother, and she felt like she was scrambling to be prepared.


Her Mother approached her slowly, like she a wounded animal and her Mother the huntress. Would she put her out of her misery, or increase it further?


“Daphne? Do you know what’s going on?”


“Yes, Mother.” Oh, how she knew. She knew it in her bones, an integral part of her being. The sky was blue, the grass was green, Astoria was sick.


“Can you tell me what you think is going on, honey?”


“Yes, Mother.” Of course she could tell her! Why had she dragged it out? She could see now clearly, even in these trying times, the exasperation on her parents face at her oddities, her inability to glean subtlety or implication in how people spoke to one another.


“What’s going on, dear? Tell me what you know.”


“Astoria is sick. She’s going to die.” Die, die, die, she’s going to die. Her sister, the best thing in the world to ever happen to her, the one person she’d need to love and protect among all others, was going to die and there was nothing she could do to stop it. If only, if only, the blood curse had struck her instead. How unfair to have two broken children, one in body, one in mind.


“Are you doing okay, dear? Are you feeling alright?”


“Yes, Mother, I’m fine.” No, not yet, she needed her mind back! To live forever broken, at the whim of her emotional turmoil would be intolerable. She reached to wrench the memory back, but it was already in motion. She felt it slip away, before being put firmly in her grasp.


Headmaster Dumbledore!


“Daphne? Do you know what’s going on?”


“Yes, Mother.” She focused on the physical details which might ground her in reality rather than her out of control emotions. Her mother’s bright green eyes. Her Father’s gentle blue eyes. The color of their hair, the shape of their noses, the expressions on their faces.


“Can you tell me what you think is going on, honey?”


“Yes, Mother.” The details of the memory, the world around her. The feel of the chaise lounge, the smell of antiseptic from the spell the Healer had used. The image of tear marks down her mother’s face, forever etched into her memory.


“What’s going on, dear? Tell me what you know.”


“Astoria is sick. She’s going to die.” It wasn’t working! Panic, worry, love, fear, surprise, terror, rage, they all welled within her at the thought that her sister might be lost to her forever.


“Are you doing okay, dear? Are you feeling alright?” Perhaps instead of many emotions, she could pare down to just one? If only she could focus, she was sure she could draw herself back to normal.


“Yes, Mother, I’m fine.” No, Mother, I’m not fine. I feel too much. I feel too fiercely. I want to feel nothing at all.


This time she had the ability to keep herself firmly rooted in the memory, she didn't need the Headmaster’s help. As she pulled herself back, she had a decision to make.


Could she fall so deeply into that fear?


“Daphne? Do you know what’s going on?”


“Yes, Mother.” Yes. Yes, she knew very well what was going on. Her sister was dying. She let everything else fade away but that thought. Her sister was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it!


“Can you tell me what you think is going on, honey?” She was going to lose her sister. She was terrified of a world without Astoria, the best thing to ever happen to her. Her parents thought her odd, but her sister would have to love her, wouldn’t she? She didn't want to lose her when she hadn’t even gotten to know her yet!


“Yes, Mother.” Yes, Mother. Yes, Mother. She knew what was going on. She was losing her sister. It was scary, but it would be okay. She could say the words. If she really needed to.


“What’s going on, dear? Tell me what you know.” A fact of life. Maybe not today, but someday, it would happen. She couldn’t stop it.


“Astoria is sick. She’s going to die.” They all were. Eventually. If it wasn’t today, or tomorrow, it would be some day.


“Are you doing okay, dear? Are you feeling alright?” Some things are inevitable, and nothing can change them. So, was she alright? Well, why wouldn’t she be?


“Yes, Mother, I’m fine.” I really, truly am. It doesn’t bother me at all.


Her world faded away, and she found herself once again in the Headmaster’s office. She blinked once, keeping eye contact with the headmaster.


“Miss Greengrass?” he inquired, softly.


“Yes, Headmaster?”


“I take it you were successful?”


“Yes, Headmaster. Thank you for your help. I may not have made it, if not for your help in keeping me rooted in the memory. Allowing me to focus on my clarity of mind, rather than keeping myself rooted in the memory, was invaluable.”


She felt her emotions deep beneath the surface, glinting at her like knuts within a wishing well. Too deep down to grab, but easy enough to distinguish one from another.


There was relief. Oh, and there was gratitude. Joy and sadness laying one atop the other.


She viewed the headmaster’s expression and recognized it with more ease than she may have in the past. He looked almost regretful. Before she might have guessed he was merely upset, but regretful was more accurate. She could distinguish it better now, having experienced it over the past week.


She wasn’t glad she couldn’t feel it anymore, nor was she upset by its lacking in her life. She simply was how she was meant to be.


“Shall we continue our lessons today, Headmaster? Was there any other Occlumency techniques you’d like to teach me?”


“Not today, no, Miss Greengrass.” He paused. Pensive, Daphne decided on. “You would not be averse to learning Legilimency from me, if you could?” He finally ventured.


“I would not, sir.”


“Ah. Then perhaps you might come back next week? It’s only, I believe I need a bit of a lie down, as that was rather rigorous for a man of my age. I also suspect that a certain other girl named Greengrass is waiting for you down the staircase.”


“Thank you, Headmaster. Enjoy your lie down.”


“I shall endeavor to, Miss Greengrass. Would you like to take a cup of tea with you, for the journey?”


She paused, before speaking.


“If it isn’t too much trouble, Headmaster.”

Tip Ten: Practice Makes Perfect

Two cups in hand, both a soft white substance the Headmaster had claimed was of Muggle invention, she descended. True to the Headmaster’s prediction, her sister was leaned up against the wall waiting for her. She smiled at her sister to greet her and her sister smiled back.


“Hey! You’re back! Look, I won!” She shouted, pointing a finger out towards Lexington. “We were having a staring contest. He won the first 20 or so, but I think I got him that time! He moved to the left and broke eye contact when he did it, which means I won!”


“Does it really?” Daphne asked. Her sister nodded fervently. “I got you a cup of tea.” She held the second cup out to her sister.


“Oh?”


“The Headmaster brewed it and offered me some.”


“Oh, well, thank you then.” She seemed unsure what to say, so instead took a sip of her tea. “Earl Grey! I didn’t know that’s what the Headmaster drank.”


“He doesn’t. I asked for it; I prefer it.”


“I didn’t know that about you.”


Daphne shrugged her effortless, graceful shrug, and let the smile fall from her face as she explained. “It isn’t something I’ve ever asked for before. I don’t much care, to tell you the truth. I don’t enjoy any particular tea, I just find the citrus flavors easier to pick apart while drinking. Something to think of as I drink. It doesn’t make any real difference, but given the choice, I’ll choose Earl Grey.”


Her sister’s face fell. She almost missed the murmured “So you’re back to normal then.”


Crestfallen, Daphne decided on. Another knut for the well.


“Yes, sister, I am.”


Astoria stopped, then, and turned to her. Daphne stopped with her sister. They both stood in the hall, staring at each other. Daphne waiting, Astoria clearly contemplating something.


“I still love you anyway, and I’ll never stop!” Astoria made this statement as though it was a grand declaration, and Daphne merely nodded her head.


“Of course.”


Daphne continued walking, and when she finally heard Astoria’s footsteps falling faster as they attempted to catch up to her, she whispered, “I believe I love you too.”



In her well was one more knut, shiny and bright, like the one she’d thrown in so many years ago. She was quite sure it was love.


“You know what? I really think you do.”

 

The only criticism I can lever against this work is that of paragraph grouping. There's a tendency to (1) mix reactions of one character with the dialogue of another, or (2) Separate actions and dialogues of the same character when it is better served as one paragraph.

Examples of (1)

I would make Astoria's reaction a new paragraph, and merge the interrupted by another voice with the dialogue.

Examples of (2)

Other Technical Writing Suggestions

Maybe rewrite as "Yeah," -her sister glowered while viciously stabbing at her venison- "that's what I thought."

lowercase breakfast

LOL

This line perfectly captures Daphne here.

Endings are paramount, and it's fitting that I ended with this one. This entry was amazing to read, and a real joy after enduring the others. Daphne's slavish obedience to rules is clear early on, and drops enough hints that she's on the spectrum that it does not come as a surprise, but rather as the logical conclusion when it is revealed. That this then segues into being a natural occlumens, the use of this as an explanation for why she's considered an Ice Queen (she isn't, she just doesn't feel), the nature of that problem, how she deals with her emotions...all of it ties together beautifully.

You did well showing us Daphne's quirks, her ins-and-outs, and she feels very much like a real person here.

This story is well-crafted, and well-executed. It's idea is similar to Entry 4, but where that was bubbly and romantic and light, this is serious and familial. (Sidenote: Autism!Daphne may be my new headcanon).

The ending does the story justice too. The choice of going back to her old-self, followed by this revelation that perhaps not everything has to be the same, had me cheering inside. It's a nice reaffirming character moment, and puts a happy end to Daphne and Astoria's relationship.

5/5

 

I found this slow at the beginning, though the writing is technically very good. Your prose is elegant and thoughtful and the tone has a consistent rhythm that really fits with your charecters inner world. The story inexorablely draws you in, by the time Daphne's condition was revealed (wonderfully smoothly by the way) I was fully invested. It ended beautifully and is a wonderful bit of writing that gives us a fresh new perspective on the typical fanon idea of Daphne.

If I had a criticism it is that some elements played out more like you were writing a short film than a short story. More like you were writing down what you were visualising without thinking how that would best work within the medium you were presenting your story in. That is a minor stylistic thing though.

5/5 really well done, you should be proud of this.