Take a moment to consider a place that never should have been and the one that doomed the world.

In a green room, inside a black cell, hidden in an empty building, buried in a dead town, vanished on a lonely island, there was a ghost, and the ghost had forgotten his name. But his descendants never did.

Daphnazaban creeps behind you...

Daphne spent two blissful years as an only child, her parents doting and beyond accommodating. She was, in a word, spoiled. And then her younger sister Astoria was born and things changed, and not for the better. Suddenly her sister was the apple of her parents’ eyes and could do no wrong. Barely more than a toddler, Daphne only grasped that it was completely unfair.

When Daphne turned six, she was already used to being passed over for everything important. Her parents still purchased the visible accoutrements of a family of their status and wealth. Daphne never walked outside without a robe worth more Galleons than a Ministry grunt’s entire years worth of salary. But Astoria had the love.

And worse, she was happy.

When Daphne turned eight, she had no friends but her books, which were dark and brooding children’s tales of horror and gothic fantasy. And some were not children’s tales at all, if her parents had bothered to take notice. Astoria and Daphne were paraded about in matching outfits more and more, but their faces began to take on different shapes.

Daphne’s turned grim and cold, icy and harsh, anger and sarcasm the only way she managed to communicate. It was less than effective when coming from an eight-year old. Astoria in contrast beamed and seemed to spin around in each room she entered, catching the eyes of everyone in sight and the hearts of those not there at all.

And then Daphne turned ten.

Daphnazaban gets closer and closer still...

It was a chilly and empty room, and Daphne was exhausted after a long day of travel. On the day of her tenth birthday, an old lady had arrived to give Daphne a small pendant as a birthday gift.

She had no teeth and one of her eyes was simply missing. Astoria completely lost her senses on seeing the old lady and locked herself in her room. The old lady paid this no mind, and thus Daphne couldn’t help but respect that just a little.

“We have a long road ahead of us,” said the old lady finally to Daphne after things had settled and Daphne’s father had scampered off to sooth his younger daughter’s feelings. “You are the eldest daughter, so you have much to learn. Are you ready to learn your responsibilities?”

At this, Daphne’s mother’s lip curled and her face darkened. This legitimately shocked Daphne, who had never seen anything more negative than mild coldness from her mother.

“She is a child,” her mother said, nearly spitting in anger. “You do not need her, not yet. She is not ready.”

“She is,” said the old lady. “You have made sure of that. And your sister was near the same age when she took on the role.”

Daphne’s mother seemed about to say something, but all Daphne could think of was this mention of her aunt, someone who had died years ago in the midst of the war of the Dark Lord. They had never met, of course, as Daphne had been born years later, but the only thing Daphne knew was her name. Aunt Helena Insulam, or so it was remembered.

“We did this because we had to,” said Daphne’s mother finally. “We knew what was coming, but I’ve never been happy about it.” She looked at her daughter with a guilty expression. “I’m sorry, Daphne. But you’ll understand soon enough.”

This was also a surprise, as neither of Daphne’s parents had ever given anything remotely close to an apology. But as words began to form on Daphne’s lips, ones she was certain she would never have said, the old lady grabbed her arm.

“Time to go, dearie.” And then they were gone.

Daphnazaban sneaks to the side when you tried to see what followed behind

At first, it seemed that the room was empty, coloured in an upsetting, putrid green that seeped into the eyes and seemed to move as though alive. But then Daphne realized that they were not alone at all.

“That’s our ancestor,” said the old lady. “He’s forgotten what he did, but we never can and we never will. Lord Azkaban, we called him, although he won’t understand if you talk to him.”

“He’s a ghost?” Daphne noticed a presence, certainly, a sort of aura and a mental feeling, but there was no visible indication that a ghost was present. “Named Lord Azkaban?” Naturally Daphne recognized the name of the notorious Wizarding prison.

“Yes, but faded and unable-” The old lady paused. “Or perhaps unwilling to muster the strength to show himself. He would be the oldest ghost in existence, at least in this part of the world. I say Lord Azkaban, but to be honest, it’s not really the right translation of his title. He was a sort of magical chieftan a few thousand years ago.”

Daphne started and gasped. “A few thousand? How old are you?”

The old lady laughed, a scratchy, terrible sound akin to a drowning cat. “Not as old as all that, dearie. Only a century or so. And I’m not likely around much longer, despite the magical blood.”

“What does this have to do with Aunt Helena?”

“Her?” The old lady frowned. “Well, everything in a way, but she isn’t really relevant to what you’ll need to do. If she was alive, perhaps you wouldn’t be in this mess, but ah, that is life. We only can do what we can do.”

“Is this something to do with Azkaban?” An odd feeling crept over Daphne then, a sensation almost like a creeping insect, its cold feet prickling her all over. And then the feeling was gone and she felt something more like pleasure -- no, it was not that. Satisfaction.

The old lady nodded. “Indeed. Well, you already seem to get it, so I suppose I don’t need to say anything else. Let’s get on with it.” At Daphne’s shocked expression, the old lady began to laugh. “Just a jest, dearie. Teasing you. I get so few chances at it these days. Of course I’ll explain.”

“Oh good,” said Daphne in relief. “You truly worried me there a moment.”

“A great many years ago, a very stupid man broke open a portal to another realm. Modern witches and wizards would call it a dimensional rift, but the words for it weren’t invented yet back then. We only even know what happened because of a great deal of work by your ancestors.”

“The Greengrasses?”

The old lady rolled her eyes. “No, not that new family at all. Your true family, the one passed down from each eldest daughter in a generation. The Heir to Azkaban.”

“The Heir, you say?” Daphne couldn’t help but like the sound of that.

“Don’t get all excited now, dearie. This isn’t so much a delightful gift as an endless, boring sludge of a life. Certainly, you will have some new powers, at least eventually, but more critically, you shall have new responsibilities. As the heir you unfortunately will have to deal with the rift, which is still open and can never be closed.”

“Why not? And what’s behind the rift?”

The old lady chuckled. “I sometimes forget how curious young girls can be. Your auntie asked similar questions.”

Daphne’s jaw dropped at this minor revelation. The very idea that she wasn’t unique... well it didn’t bear thinking about.

“To answer your questions in turn, the rift can never be closed because for one, we don’t know how to close it. And two, if we did, it would likely cause a terrible catastrophe for the nearby continent. Where you live, just as a reminder. And for your second question, the dimension behind the rift is a place where magic and the physical laws of reality are very different. Darker. More empty.”

“Is that where those Dementors came from?”

The old lady gave Daphne a curious look. “You already know of them?”

“I read a lot of scary books,” said Daphne with not a small touch of pride. “Dementors and Azkaban are often part of the story.”

“Well, that’s good, it’s made you stronger. Less vulnerable to the horrors you’ll face. And no, the Dementors aren’t from that other place, not exactly. They are from the island at the antipode to the rift, a magical aftermath to the terrible energies of the other place. Purely locals, when you think about it. That’s one of the potential concerns I mentioned. They are feeding off two worlds, and if you remove the rift, they will only feed here. Might be a bit of a problem, dearie, losing all of the British Isles into the maw of those beasties, eh?”

And she laughed again, but this laugh was a bitter, awful thing to hear.

“I don’t know if I like you or not,” admitted Daphne. “You’re weird.”

“True enough,” said the old lady as she hacked out a phlegmy cough. “But you’re one to talk. Why, you haven’t even asked me my name.”

Daphne’s face paled as this sunk in. “Oh, my mistake. I thought you had mentioned not wanting to give it. What is your name, please?”

“Call me Islandria,” the old lady said. “My friends, such as they were, called me Drea. Either is fine if you care to bother.”

“Alright... Miss Islandria.”

“Now enough of all that tosh,” said the old lady. “Let’s get down to biscuits. I’d like to prepare you to handle the strain of the rift now, so that when I die, which ought to be any day now, you won’t be completely overwhelmed.” She sighed. “It’ll have an awful effect on your social life, dearie. As you’ll find it very difficult to muster any emotional response.”

Daphne frowned. “You seem to be managing.”

The old lady grinned. “Well spotted. You’re not wrong, dearie. But I’m afraid it’s simply the work of many decades of adjustment. Until I was fifty or so, I had difficulty with any emotional expression while holding back the rift. You’ll get there eventually, but it won’t be a fun time at Hogwarts. The boys won’t much like you, and the girls likely would be even worse.”

“Well, good,” said Daphne with a scowl. “I don’t need them anyway.”

The old lady’s face dropped and she sighed. “Your parents prepared you too well, I think. At least the adjustment won’t be quite so bad. This is an important task, my dear. You truly will be helping the world.”

“The most important girl in the world...” Daphne mused. “And nobody will even know.”

The old lady rolled her eyes. “Sure, dearie, if that helps. Important in the isles, I’d likely agree with anyway. Shall we get started? We have a lot to do.”

Daphne smiled and nodded.

“Nice smile you’ve got,” said the old lady. “Shame you’ll lose it for forty years.”

Daphnazkaban won’t be seen unless wanted to be seen

In her first year, Daphne Greengrass glided through the halls of Hogwarts, uncaring and unconcerned. It was useful, she reasoned, to learn proper magic and spells against her later responsibilities for the Azkaban rift. But it was foolish, she reasoned further, to spend undue energy and mental consideration to excel above the grasping, infantile students she was unlucky enough to share a year with.

Due to her important family name, at least among the boring pureblood culture, Pansy Parkinson decided to add her to her collection of Slytherin minions. It was easier to go along with this crowd and say nothing in agreement or disagreement (as either would be taken by Pansy as agreement) to anything Pansy whinged or simpered. The crowd also allotted some manner of protection from the upper years and random bullies amongst the schoolchildren.

And so it went, as the school went into various paroxysms of nonsense at the latest drama, whether it was a troll let loose at Halloween or the latest gossip about Harry Potter and his various girlfriends. It was all so, so tiresome for Daphne. When the old lady had said she would not have any emotional connection to anything, it seemed to Daphne a great boon and gift. But she had not accounted for the sheer boredom.

So it was truly unusual when this was broken up by anything at all.

One day as Daphne was walking in the hall alone, thankful in a muted way that Pansy was off worrying over Draco Malfoy and thus leaving Daphne free in her own, blank thoughtspace. This empty mindfulness was the closest she got to happiness or joy, closer to a sort of non-negative acceptance. So it was quite a shock to be interrupted by anything at all.

“Mad about that troll, eh?”

Daphne whirled in alarm to see a tall redheaded Gryffindor, who appeared just as surprised to have said anything. It was one of the Weasley brood, although the exact name escaped Daphne at the moment.

“Er, sorry,” said the small giant.

“What did you say?” Daphne demanded, although this demand came out as a vaguely stern request. Perhaps this was why the Gryffindor boy felt alright to respond again.

“Just saying it’s crazy about the troll, you know?” He leaned over slightly. “I helped defeat it, you know.”

“Hmm,” Daphne made a noncommittal noise, wondering why the first year boy was quite obviously lying. It seemed to serve no purpose at all. “An odd fabrication,” she said finally. “I do not care about being impressed by you.”

The boy scowled. “That wasn’t my idea, Greengrass. Just making conversation, since you seemed to be out of it. I wasn’t lying either, I did help defeat the troll. I mean...” His eyes flickered to the side. “Harry helped, but I really did use Wingardium Leviosa to drop the troll’s own club on its head.”

Daphne blinked. This seemed weirdly believable, although she could not quite say why. “Good day, Weasley,” she said and walked away, pondering over the unusual encounter.

For his part, Weasley simply rolled his eyes and walked off in the opposite direction.

Later, Daphne picked at her food while Pansy blathered away about something pointless and petty.

“What do you think of Weasley?” Daphne asked suddenly, although she was unsure why the question had come to her mind. Further analysis indicated that perhaps it was because she still didn’t know why he had spoken to her in the first place.

Pansy’s face curdled like she had just drank spoilt hippogriff’s milk. “Ronald Weasley? Or one of the other blood traitors?”
“The one in our year,” said Daphne. “I don’t know the rest of their brood.”

Tracey Davis snickered. “Brood. That’s a funny word.”

“Why do you care about Ron Weasley?” Pansy asked in an acid tone. “He’s a blood traitor.”

“Okay,” said Daphne. “But do you think he really helped defeat that troll?”

“No!” Pansy hissed, a furious expression crossing her features. “That worthless skinny dolt? Snape better not hear you complimenting a stupid Gryffindor, Greengrass. Or you’ll be in deep trouble.”

“I wasn’t complimenting him,” said Daphne and she considered the situation. “But I had forgotten his name, so I suppose this conversation was useful after all.”

“You’re so weird,” muttered Tracey. Pansy’s face seemed to concur but she rolled her eyes.

“Forget about Weasley or any Gryffindor,” Pansy instructed like a professor, her chin pointed up. “Obviously Professor Snape killed the troll. Who else would?”

“I suppose that is logical,” Daphne replied, but she still thought Ron Weasley wasn’t lying. But arguing the point with her yearmates would be counterproductive, so she ceased the conversation and started eating.

Thankfully they saw fit to ignore her the rest of the evening.

The next time Daphne saw Ron Weasley, it was before one of the Quidditch games, Slytherin versus some other House. All of the games were unimportant, so Daphne didn’t bother to keep track. While Pansy was off bolstering Malfoy’s spirits, Daphne stood alone, unconcerned about the solitude.

But just like the last time, Ronald Weasley saw fit to interrupt her reverie.

“Good luck,” he said.

“What?” Daphne turned in surprise. “Oh, you said good luck. I suppose I should say thank you.” But she didn’t really feel like it so she said nothing further.

Ron chuckled. “You’re an odd duck, Greengrass, but you aren’t so bad. Especially compared to Parkinson and the rest.”

Daphne blinked, processing this comment. Was it meant to be a compliment? She certainly didn’t care much for Pansy or her minions, but wasn’t she supposed to be a loyal Slytherin?

“I suppose I should be insulting you as a Slytherin,” she said. “As you are a Gryffindor.”

Ron didn’t say anything, leaning forward in anticipation. But after a minute, when Daphne failed to say anything (as nothing came to mind), he began to laugh. “You got me good, Greengrass. See you around.”

The entire encounter was once again confusing, but it was of little importance. Daphne could feel reverberations in the riftlink, and her mind took refuge in the world of endless calm taught to her by the old lady as she waited for the latest incursion. The darkness crept up from the ground of the pitch like inky tentacles, each screeching with the voice of a thousand dying ravens. As they moved, the colour drained from the world, until all was naught but grey and black.

Below the ground, a thought forced itself outwards, scrambling for purchase, and began its mental assault on Daphne Greengrass. Inside her head, it took hours until the attack began to falter and disappear. Slowly the world became bright and clear again, and time spun back up to its normal speed.

Daphne sighed and waited for Pansy to return. All in all, a typical weekday.

Daphnazkaban is not what you thought at all

The rest of the year passed in a blur, as the near daily rift attacks made every day seem much like the last. It was only a bit unusual at the very end, when it appeared that Ron Weasley won an award for playing a very decent chess game. Luckily Daphne had learned her lesson and was careful not to mention Ron’s name.

“Is this the first time someone has won points for a chess game?” She asked the other girls.

Milicent grunted and shrugged, while Pansy stopped talking and shot Daphne a shocked look. “Greengrass, what are you on about? Chess? Who cares about chess?”

“Why are you so obsessed with Weasley anyway?” Tracey asked and she gazed at her fingernails in a bored fashion. “He’s boring. And you’re weird.”

“I’m not obsessed with anyone,” Daphne corrected. “And I did not even mention his name.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “Girl, you do not have a crush on Weasley, you hear me?”

“I know,” replied Daphne in very mild confusion. A crush would imply far more depth of emotion than she was capable of, at least for decades as the old lady had told her. “But it is an unusual way to earn points, you must agree with that.”

Pansy looked like she just bitten into a rotten hippogriff pie. “I... suppose,” she said about as slow as humanly possible. “But it’s far more likely,” she said now more quickly. “That Dumbledore, that old fool, granted the blood traitor points for no reason.” Pansy nodded and smiled. “Yes, that’s it. Draco told me Dumbledore does that for Potter all the time.”

Tracey gave Pansy a look of condescension, and went back to looking at her nails.

“A troll and then a chess game.” Daphne considered the unusual juxtaposition. “Perhaps it was an enchanted chess set?”

“All chess is enchanted,” said Pansy dismissively. “And Tracey’s right. You need to stop obsessing over that idiot.”

The conversation had rapidly become pointless, so Daphne said, “Okay, you’re right.” This seemed to please Pansy and she calmed down.

But later as they boarded the Hogwarts Express, Daphne put herself in the direct path of Ron Weasley, forcing him to trip over her.

“You struck me,” said Daphne mildly. “I assume it was an accident, and not a moment of Gryffindor pique?”

Ron got back to his feet and then he laughed. “I still don’t really get you, Greengrass. What’s pick mean?”

Daphne shrugged. “I forget the precise definition.”

“Well that makes you different than Hermione anyway.” At the mention of the muggleborn girl, Ron glanced behind him in alarm. “Oh, good, she isn’t nearby. She can be a bit touchy, you know?”

“No,” said Daphne. “How did you win points for playing chess?”

The sudden conversational shift clearly seemed to take Ron off guard. “Um, well.” He scratched his head. “I’m not really supposed to say.” He grinned and leaned over to whisper, “It was to help save the school in a way. Definitely worth a few points, eh?”

Daphne considered this and tapped her chin in thought. “Yes, I suppose it is,” she said and started to walk away, hearing Ron laugh again behind her. Ron Weasley, an odd wizard that was for sure.

In her second year, nothing out of the ordinary happened at all, except when she tripped over a basilisk in the middle of January. The great beast reared up and fixed its lethal gaze on Daphne. But of course, there was nothing but infinite darkness and endless cold behind her eyes, so the lizard screeched and fled. A useful piece of data that she was immune to the basilisk’s gaze, although Daphne had thought they had all been dead for thousands of years.

A few months later, she had accidentally cut off one her toes during a reverie (the attacks sometimes came while she was otherwise occupied), so she had decided to go to the Hospital Wing. Ron Weasley was there next to his comatose muggleborn friend.

“Is she dead?” Daphne asked and Ron nearly jumped out of his chair in alarm.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Ron and he shook his head. “No, she’s petrified,” he said with a sigh. “Haven’t you heard about all that?”

Daphne shrugged. “I don’t really listen to gossip or school announcements.”

“But what about the basilisk?” At this, Ron’s face paled and he looked worried.

“Is that what happened to your friend?” Daphne asked. “I thought the basilisk’s gaze killed people, not petrified them.”

“Um, I guess,” Ron said and scratched his head with a confused look on his face. “You may be right. Maybe it has something to do with her mirror? Harry said something about that.”

“Okay,” said Daphne. “I haven’t seen the basilisk in months anyway.”

“What?” Ron shot up. “You saw the basilisk?”

Daphne nodded. “Yes, where is Madame Pomfrey?”

“She’s, um, Greengrass what are you talking about? Did you see the basilisk or not?”

“It didn’t kill me,” Daphne pointed out. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

Ron’s mouth opened and closed and then he shook his head again. “I still don’t get you, Greengrass. I don’t think you’re lying, but... I dunno.”

Of course Daphne wasn’t lying, but she did not feel the need to say this aloud as it was obvious. “I don’t think you’re lying either,” she said instead.

Ron blinked and then he smiled. “Well, thanks for that anyway. Why are you here, anyway?”

“I accidentally cut off a toe,” she said and pointed to her wrapped up right foot. “I need Madame Pomfrey to regenerate it.”

“What? Greengrass, that’s no joke!” Ron looked at Daphne and then he frowned. “Well, you don’t joke like that, do you? I guess I’ll go get her.”

“Hmm.” Daphne considered this and nodded. “I suppose I should say thank you for that.”

Ron chuckled. “Nice, Greengrass. Glad you haven’t lost your sense of humour after all. I’ll be back in a moment.”

After Ron had left, Daphne looked over at the prone muggleborn, whose name Daphne had completely forgotten. “I wonder what happened to you,” said Daphne, and then she realized, to her very mild shock, that she was slightly curious. This wasn’t an emotion she had felt in two years, but perhaps she was more advanced than that old lady had been? That sort of notion gave Daphne a soft, pleased feeling. Another example of her uniqueness and importance, as she had known all along.

In the summer, the old lady died.

Daphnazkaban is coming straight for you!

The old lady had sent an owl a few hours before she passed, a typical sort with more minutiae and meaningless pablum. Of course it mentioned she was about to die, but all of her letters said this.

When word came of the actual death, Daphne was neither sad nor surprised. She felt resigned and capable. Her mother accompanied her to the house where the old lady was found.

“Are you okay, Daphne?” Her mother asked with a concerned look in her eyes.

“Yes,” said Daphne without paying much attention to her mother. She was considering the ramifications of the event. Without the old lady’s riftwork, Daphne would be the only defense to prevent the British Isles from falling into the darkness of ancient nothingness and ineffable evil. She felt ready, certainly, but it did cause some minor stressful concern. This time, the minor sense of emotion was not such a great thing to acknowledge.

Her mother said something again, but it was likely unimportant so Daphne continued to ignore her. The only way to get help, she realized, was for Astoria to have at least two daughters to pass along some of the family magic. This meant, as unappealing as the notion was, she had to somehow help her ten year old sister get married and give birth as soon as possible. But there was no way her parents would permit this while Astoria was still in Hogwarts, which meant she had to survive Hogwarts.

Which also meant Daphne had to keep her sister alive until then. At least seven years of difficulty ahead, Daphne realized. She was not looking forward to them. And then she recalled that Ron Weasley had a younger sister and Ron would be an appropriate age in seven years time.

“He’s pureblood too,” she said aloud, causing her mother to look at her in surprise. “Although I suppose I shouldn’t be picky.” Her mother gave Daphne a look of utter confusion but that was no matter. If Weasley wasn’t going to work, which was possible given Astoria’s difficult nature, perhaps another option would be acceptable. Maybe that Harry Potter that was so famous, although he was only a half-blood.

That didn’t matter one whit to Daphne, but her parents and Astoria might care. Among the non-traitorous purebloods, there were other choices too. Zabini, Goyle, Crabbe, Malfoy, Nott, Macmillan. Unfortunately Daphne only recalled the names, as every other feature about them was coming up blank in her memories. Well, she had a few years to figure it out.

Later, on the Hogwarts Express when they were nearly back to school, she felt an unusual sense of riftflux. It took a few minutes to realize the sensation, but then it came to her: Dementors. A normal wizard or witch had few ways to deal with such monsters, Daphne had read in her old stories, but she had a few extra tricks up her sleeves.

She moved through the suddenly cold and weirdly comfortable train cabins, searching for the monsters. It would be a shame, she realized, if Ron Weasley was killed before he could marry her sister. When she came across him, he was huddled against the wall while four Dementors hovered above an unconscious Harry Potter.

The Dementors whirled when Daphne entered the cabin, and they all screeched hatefully. But Daphne waited, daring them to attack. One jumped at her and tried to pull at her soul, but of course, this would never work. It screamed in alarm and fled the cabin.

But before Daphne could continue, a man she hadn’t noticed threw out a charm, bright and cheery, that sent the rest of the creatures fleeing. He walked over to her with a concerned look in his eyes.

“Are you alright, dear?”

“Yes,” said Daphne. “Dementors can’t hurt me.” She said nothing further.

“I... see.” The man looked her over and then shrugged, perhaps agreeing with Daphne’s correct assessment. “But the others aren’t so lucky. Here, take some chocolate, it helps.”

Daphne accepted the candy and she looked at it curiously. Chocolate for Dementors? She had never heard of it, but there was no harm in trying. She chewed on the snack as the older man helped revive the other students and distribute more of his chocolate. The candy tasted sweet and slightly bitter, but otherwise it had no effect Daphne could sense.

“Greengrass?” Ron Weasley looked up at her blearily. “Did you get attacked?”

“Yes,” she replied. “But they can’t hurt me.”

Ron waited for further clarification, and then he laughed. “You know, that doesn’t surprise me for some reason.”

“Ron!” The muggleborn girl glared at the tall boy. She looked over at Daphne. “Why don’t they hurt you?”

Of course, Daphne was not about to explain anything, so she said nothing. And then: “I see you survived the basilisk.”

Ron laughed a bit harder. “See what I mean, Harry?”

“I guess,” said the bespectacled boy as he bit down on his own chocolate. Instantly the colour returned to his cheeks, so perhaps it was a help after all. “She is a bit... I mean, hello there.”

Daphne cocked her head at the odd phrasing. “A bit weird, do you mean?”

Potter and the muggleborn girl winced but Ron laughed.

“Glad you’re not dead either, Greengrass,” Ron said. “Hermione isn’t either, so you two have that in common.”

The girl -- Hermione, Daphne reminded herself -- gave Ron a withering look. She glanced back at Daphne. “Sorry about him,” she said.

“Okay,” said Daphne. “I should go. Good day.”

As she left the cabin, she heard Ron say, “She’s great, right?”

When she got back to her cabin, Daphne decided instead to find Astoria. Her chatty younger sister already had a crowd of sycophants hanging on her every word, although she scowled when Daphne came in view.

“I just had a warning for you,” she said to Astoria. “Stay away from Ron Weasley. Mother and Father would forbid it.”

Astoria’s face quirked up in confusion.

“Why should she worry about some blood traitor?” One of the interchangeable cogs around Astoria asked angrily.

“She shouldn’t,” said Daphne simply. “Ron Weasley or his sister --” Daphne paused, realizing she had forgotten the Gryffindor girl’s name -- “whom I am sure you know,” she said to recover. “You are not permitted to be seen with either with them.”

Astoria’s eyes narrowed but then she smiled brightly. “Of course, sister. Nothing to worry about from me.”

Daphne nodded and walked out of the cabin, feeling what could only be described as a mild sense of amusement and satisfaction.

Sure enough, over the next year Astoria desperately tried to hide her secret friendship with Ron’s sister, who it seemed had very few friends to speak of. The girl, whose name Daphne consistently was unable to recall for more than a few minutes, had a more complicated dark edge than Daphne had expected from a Gryffindor.

All this she discovered from her secret ears, which told Daphne everything she needed to hear.

Daphne suspected that the friendship was initially planned to be false and vengeful against the obvious manipulative (obvious to Daphne anyway) effort. But despite Astoria’s flighty, annoying personality, it seemed that she was a good fit for the unusual Gryffindor.

Some afternoons, when she was bored of classwork, Daphne would activate her secret ears to listen in.

“Apparently Professor Lupin is teaching the Patronus Charm to Harry,” Ginny was saying. “Ron mentioned it to me,”
“Oh is that so?” Astoria’s voice was lightly teasing.

A pause. “Oh alright, I was following him around and listened in on his private lessons.”

“You’re terrible!” Astoria said with a gasp, and then both girls began to giggle.

“I blame your influence,” said Ginny after the giggles had subsided. “Your sneaky Slytherin ways.”

“Don’t put it all on me,” said Astoria. “You’re the older student that’s corrupted the young, innocent first year.”

Ginny snorted. “Innocent. Right.”

Astoria laughed. “Well, my parents think so.”

“Mine too.” And the two giggled again.

These were the sort of typical conversations that soothed Daphne’s boredom and helped break up the daily horrors with the feeling that her plan was truly coming together. And perhaps she was beginning to understand her sister just a little bit. Slightly.

And then one conversation stood out.

“Ron said something weird about your sister,” said Ginny one day as Daphne listened in.

“Ron and Daphne?”

This caused Daphne to sit up in surprise. Surely it couldn’t be happening, not already?

“I think he likes her,” said Ginny and she giggled.

Daphne frowned at this blatant lie, unusual for the normally bright and cheery girl.

“He’s flying on the wrong pitch if he is,” said Astoria with a dismissive voice. “Daphne isn’t even capable of liking someone like that. She’s like some sort of ice girl.”

“Mean,” said Ginny although there was a hint of a giggle. “I’ve seen her around, maybe you’re right. But Ron thinks she’s funny or something.”

“Ridiculous,” scoffed Astoria. “She’s dull as an old cauldron. I’m the funny one. I’m sure Ron knows that.”

“Oh really? Don’t tell me you like Ron?”

“Shut up!” Astoria hissed and then she giggled. “Ron’s alright, but his ears are too big.”

“You’re right,” said Ginny with a high-pitched giggly rasp. “Maybe he’ll grow into it. He’s a third-year, after all?”

Astoria didn’t say anything for a moment, and then, “Oh, I don’t know, Ginny. He just sees me as your firstie friend or my weird sister’s little sister.”

“We’ve got a few years,” said Ginny in a confident tone. “We’ll work on him. And you can help me with Harry.”

“Yeah, good luck with all that,” said Astoria. “Harry the Hero. You know he doesn’t see you as anything but Ron’s baby sister that he rescued from the Chamber.”

They were both silent for a little while. Daphne considered this revelation about Ginny and dismissed it with a small effort.

“Well, we both have a lot of work to do, right?” Ginny said finally. “Assuming we don’t die. I mean, it almost happened once to me, so what are the odds of it happening again?”

“Depends if you hand in Potions homework late,” said Astoria with a giggle.

Ginny laughed and Daphne disconnected her ears.

Her plan was coming well, almost suspiciously so. Ron and Astoria would eventually have a relationship, her sister would see to it with her usual overconfidence. Ron’s sister and Harry Potter, that was something Daphne could care less about. There was something about the idea of Ron and Astoria, as useful as it would be, that felt strangely off balance.

Daphne was unsure about it, but after further investigation, she decided it was nothing.

Daphnazkaban is coming in hot now...

In Daphne’s fourth year, Astoria surprised Ron by asking him to the Yule Ball. A second-year and fourth-year going together was a bit unusual, but Ron had said (as Daphne listened in) that he wasn’t sure if it was allowed.

But this was a lie.

Ron approached Daphne later in the halls between classes. “I suppose you know about Astoria.”

Daphne nodded.

“Um, it’s a bit strange, I guess. She’s only in her second year, even younger than Ginny. My sister.”

“I know,” said Daphne, mildly annoyed for some reason.

“I told her I wasn’t sure if it was allowed, but that isn’t quite true,” said Ron. “I thought it only fair that I asked you if it was okay.”

Daphne nearly said “It is okay”, to support the eventual culmination of her grand plan, but she paused. There was something that was holding back her answer.

“Alright, I understand,” said Ron and he gave Daphne a sort of half grin. “I’ll tell her no.” And then he nearly said something until Daphne interrupted.

“No,” she said with almost vehemence, surprising them both. “No,” she said again more calmly. “You should say yes. She will enjoy her evening. I believe she has a ‘crush’ on you.”

Ron frowned. “Yeah, I figured as much. Daphne, really, I don’t have to say yes.”

Daphne looked up at the boy, who was still so much taller, straight in his eyes. His eyes, unlike hers, still had life in them but he did not flinch back. “Say yes,” she told him.

“Fine,” said Ron, although he did not seem happy at all. As he started to walk away he paused. “She’ll be happy about it, I hope.” And he continued from her sight.

It was oddly pleasant when the great monster of unending unsightly unlife attacked a few minutes later and Daphne had to clear her mind to banish it from the riftspace. But when the monster was gone, the empty feeling returned.

Daphnazkaban doesn’t want you to see what’s really there

In their fifth year, Voldemort returned but otherwise nothing interesting happened. Ron and Astoria continued to hang out in a casual way, as she was still far too young for anything else. Her former Slytherin friends ostracized Astoria completely but by this point, Astoria did not care at all.

Ginny had not quite managed to hook Harry Potter herself, but this was barely interesting one way or another. Harry probably had no idea the younger, weirdly intriguing girl was even after him. And then the year was over.

Daphne took a trip that summer to the house of Lord Azkaban.

The ancient spirit was still present, although not visible to the naked eye. Of course, Daphne had other ways to see things by this point.

“What’s the point of this anyway?” Daphne said, and a small feeling of anger slipped into her voice. “Why am I trying to get Astoria and Ron together anyway?”

The reason, the obvious reason, seemed weirdly less obvious in the room with the confused ghost.

Daphne glared at the only connection to her past in existence. “Shut up, you old fool! You’ve ruined my life, don’t you see that?” She blinked, feeling something warm and wet on her face. She reached out, shocked to find tears.

“What is this?” Daphne asked the spirit in confusion. “Why do I feel so much, so suddenly?”

A dam of emotion broke out of her mind, suddenly, and the old ghost reared back in alarm as the paint, normally green and putrid, began to wither and blacken.

“Oh no.” Daphne desperately tried to calm her mind, to get back to where she needed to be. And then the house collapsed around them.

Daphne cursed and watched in fury as the ghost of Lord Azkaban disappeared into the sky. “Coward!” She screamed after him. “Leave your duty, do you?”

Not her. Not the most important girl in the world.

As the world began to bleed dark and the sky started to shatter, Daphne fell back on herself, looking in on her mind, on her emotions. The old lady had somehow embraced her emotions eventually, and still had been effective. It wasn’t needed to be without emotion, after all, but it helped.

She considered it all once more. Astoria. Her parents. The old lady with the impossible name. Harry Potter and the Dark Lord. That muggleborn friend of his. Stupid Pansy and dull Tracey. Ron Weasley. His unusual sister. His weird, cool sister. His oddly pretty sister. Hmm.

The actualization came slowly as did the revelation, and Daphne forced the darkness back, inch by inch, hour by hour. And then it was gone. She opened her eyes to see the island, torn and in ruins. Unfortunately she knew that the Azkaban prison was likely mostly destroyed as well, so close to her struggle, but at least it had been filled with mostly criminals and not innocents.

Ah well. At least she had broken out of her dangerous spiral of self-destruction. Daphne congratulated herself as being once again the most important person in the world. Ron and Astoria would make an odd couple, but Daphne decided she might make an even odder one soon enough.

Daphne made her way to the Weasley house later that summer, when it was bright and cheery outside and Daphne didn’t look a complete mess. An overly beautiful girl opened the door to the house and said something in French.

“This is the Weasley house, isn’t it?” Daphne asked in confusion.

The beautiful blonde girl nodded and said something unintelligible.

And then Daphne spotted Ron and Ginny curiously walking to the door.

“Phle.. who’s -- Daphne?” Ginny looked over in confusion.

Ron’s face reddened. “Daphne, why are you here?” He swallowed. “Are you- are you here to see me?”

“No,” she said. “I’m here to see your sister.” And then she smiled.

In honour of the memory of the world, we present to you this simple tale of:

DAPHNAZKABAN
Or:
ONE WEASLEY OR ANOTHER

 

I am...confused?

As I understand it, Daphne is some kind of physical embodiment of Azkaban? It's hard tot ake the story seriously, and I'm left scratching my head at what is going on for most of it. I'm vaguely aware there's some attempt at a Ron / Daphne romance, but it just falls flat and Daphne is entirely too indifferent the whole time that there's no real catharsis in the climax. The ending falls flat to me and I'm not sure what's really going on. The scenes don't really seem to serve much of a purpose and while there's an ongoing thread of this Daphnazaban thing, it just kind of felt weird.

And then suddenly surprise lesbianism? It just feels disjointed. Things happen, rocks fall, girls fuck.

I think i'd like to have seen more of a progression, more uncertainty from Daphne as she comes to her realization. Let her piece things together, and really show that internal struggle of love vs duty. Also, you need to be clear what you want each scene to be doing - and I think the whole Daphnazaban thing probably detracted from it. Not the idea itself, but the multiple mentions of it in italics don't really serve much of a purpose. Surely there are better ways of reminding us Daphne has killed her emotions in order to do her duty?

Show some touching moments among the people around her and just ahve her be unable to care, even when she wants to. Let it frustrate her intellectually, if not emotionally.

 

On a technical level your writing is more than competant. The sentences play out well, it is readable, the rhythm lands itself to the writing.

On a story level I think you had a larger story than your word count allowed. The peices of this, the Azkaban stuff and the Hogwarts romance did not fit very well together. Her connection with Ron (whatever it was supposed to be) felt crude and superfluous. Her being without emotion was not conveyed that well in the writing. The Azkaban aspect and what it ment not feel all that well fleshed out. The Daphnazkaban stuff was just baffling. I am still not sure what you were going for here.

Over all I think this could have done with some better planning and a rewrite/second draft. On a technical level the skill is there but the story told does not do it any favours. 3/5.