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The shelves of Honeydukes were a whirl of temptation, a sweet spectacle being slowly dismantled by greedy hands descending on Mr. Flume's painstaking work like Nifflers grabbing at anything shiny they could reach, but Daphne hardly stopped to look at any of it.
While everyone else was busy exclaiming over the garish displays of Exploding Bonbons and salivating at the decadent mounds of toffee, she clutched her meager selection to her chest as if she'd stolen it, hoping the rest of the famished crowd wouldn't look too closely. She'd picked out a pack of Sugar Quills, Astoria's favorite, and a large box of Cauldron Cakes chosen just because it was bulky and would serve her well in hiding the one thing that would be a little harder to explain.
The path from her hidey-hole behind the barrel of Fizzing Whizbees to the counter seemed clear, but she hadn't reckoned with the lumbering presence of Lucian Bole, who swung his arms about like Beater's bats even off the pitch and didn't have a single care in the world for who or what stood in his way. She dodged, but it was too late: in the space of the next breath, her sweets were scattered all over the floor.
"Eww, gross! Who even buys those?" said Bole, curling his lip at the great spill of bright red lollipops she'd been trying so hard to hide. "Hey, Derrick, come see this, Greengrass is buying up half the stock of Blood Pops!"
Daphne very determinedly looked anywhere but at the other Beater, who seemed to think there was no better entertainment than to stand there ogling at the commotion. She bent down awkwardly to scrabble for her things, but either Derrick was bored and wanted a bit of fun, or he considered it a far too Muggle thing to do, stooping to the floor instead of going for your wand, and took it upon himself to teach her a lesson in the proper deportment of a witch worth her salt.
At a muttered incantation, the lollipops zipped out of her reach and into his waiting fist. "Are you a vampire, Greengrass? You know that's who they're meant for, right?"
"Maybe she's friends with one. A little bleeding heart who thinks they're just misunderstood," said Bole.
"Or maybe she thought they were strawberry because she just can't read."
That was why her plan had been to get in and out as quiet as a mouse without anyone being the wiser: they didn't get it, nobody did, so they'd just fill in the blanks with their own stupid theories and not listen to a word she said. She really should have come up with a cover story.
"Shut it, Derrick. The two of you have all the grace of a troll, and you don't make the brains of one between you." She waited for her cutting remark to land and smirked at their outrage, her mind working a mile a minute, buying time as they spluttered. "If you must know, I was rather hoping someone else would think they were strawberry. It's for a prank, you idiots. Honestly, it's a wonder you can hold your wands the right way around."
"Oh. Uh, that... that makes more sense than vampires, I guess," said Bole sheepishly.
"Didn't think you were the type," said Derrick. "All prim and proper and stuff. Sounds more like something the Weasleys would do."
"You'd know all about them, wouldn't you, considering how they're riding a pair of scruffy old Cleansweeps and they somehow keep wiping the floor with you?" Daphne wasn't sure it was wise to antagonize them, since they were so much older and bigger than her, but so far, keeping them too angry to question it seemed to be working. "Funny you should mention them. See, I'm not the type to start a prank war, but I'm definitely the type to finish it."
There, blame it on the two most likely culprits, that ought to help her frantic lies be more believable.
"Now if you'll excuse me..."
Daphne collected her Blood Pops from Derrick's slack fingers, scooped up the rest of her purchases, and put on her most queenly strut, the one she usually reserved for those dreadfully boring soirees that had so far failed to materialize her future husband.
Those two simpletons didn't need to know what they were really for.
The first-years' dorm was a near-perfect mirror to her own, and mercifully deserted save for one occupied bed. Even with the Dementors lurking about, drawing an eerie ring around the perimeter in a strange floating march that cast a permanent gloom over the grounds, none of Astoria's roommates had chosen to spend the weekend cooped up behind the relative safety of their bedcurtains. So much the better: it was just the two of them, the way it was back home.
"Hey."
"Hey, yourself." Astoria's too-pale hand peeked out to draw the curtains open a little further. "How was Hogsmeade?"
"It was... fine. Honestly, you're not missing out on much."
"Liar. You're just saying that so I won't feel too much like dragon dung for missing half the weekends when I'm older."
Daphne pretended to be interested in someone else's initials carved into the bedpost who knew how many generations ago, and said nothing. It was better than scrambling to reassure her, when they both knew the truth.
"I got you some Sugar Quills," she said instead, more chipper than she felt, sitting down on the edge of her bed and laying her prize atop her chest. She hated how Mr. Flume's bright packaging bobbed up and down with Astoria's labored breathing like a ship lost at sea.
Her little sister was having one of those days, it was obvious just looking at her. She was drowning in a haphazard nest of every blanket she could find, her skin only a shade darker than her freshly washed bed linens, and spoke in a whisper, as if every word cost her dearly.
"And... and the other thing?"
"Got it," she said, proffering a handful of lollipops. Astoria's fingers fought vainly with the wrappings, frozen stiff even in the warmth of her makeshift cocoon.
"Ugh. Stupid... useless..."
"Hey, none of that." Daphne unwrapped one for her, trying not to pay too much attention to what exactly made it sticky. "Here, it'll perk you up."
With the air of one bracing herself for something unpleasant, Astoria stuck it in her mouth. Her lips and tongue were horribly stained, making her look like something dredged from the darkest corner of Knockturn Alley, but she smiled through her own revulsion.
It was... unorthodox, and she wasn't sure even the Healers knew about it, but Astoria swore by it, and she wasn't about to deny her the dubious pleasure, when her life already had so little of it. It wasn't a cure by any stretch of the imagination: a blood curse was not erased by something as simple as a lollipop. But sometimes, between one dose of Blood-Replenishing Potion and the next, away from the watchful, disapproving eyes of Madam Pomfrey, this was what kept her going: the most disgusting thing in all of Honeydukes, meant for either vampires or consummate pranksters who cackled as their victim choked and gagged.
Daphne wasn't sure how they were made, but something in them must clearly agree with her sister's fragile constitution, provide a measure of respite from the chalk-white skin, the shivering no matter the weather, and the unpredictable bouts of weakness borne of a long-ago malediction. It was only a short-lived burst of strength, a few blessed moments of normalcy that were gone as fast as Leprechaun gold, but it was better than nothing.
"It's like sucking on a Knut," she whined, "but Merlin forgive me, it works. I know it's stupid, but..."
"If it works, it's not stupid," Daphne cut her off. "And that's what the Sugar Quills are for, to chase away the taste."
"Thanks," she mumbled around the lollipop, making the spectacle all the worse. It was hard to look at, but even now, Daphne thought she could spy the tiniest bit of color returning to her cheeks. "You're the best sister ever."
"If our positions were reversed," said Daphne, prying open the pack of Sugar Quills, "I know you'd do the same for me."
"If, if, if. I hate that word."
Daphne mentally cursed Black, the foul creatures, all of it. It was their fault, she was sure of it, that Astoria's burden seemed heavier on her shoulders this year than it had ever been. She'd always had her moments, to be sure: days when her studied facade of cheerfulness crumbled into tears, or she went into a white-hot rant of rage about the unfairness of the hand she'd been dealt, and all Daphne could do was sit by her side and weather the storm.
But this year, with the long shadows of the Dementors darkening the grounds, she found Astoria more prone to brooding and self-pity, lapsing into long periods of answering her questions in stubborn monosyllables, blind and deaf to her new classmates' overtures of friendship, and Daphne was furious. Her first year wasn't supposed to be this way.
"Sorry. Um, how are your classes going?" she said, scrambling to change the subject. Not her most subtle work, but it would do: sometimes there was nothing for it but to entertain her with inane chatter until the stormclouds were gone.
Astoria groaned, reaching for the Sugar Quills as if she needed the comfort. "Don't remind me. I hate Mondays."
"Who doesn't?"
"Not that way. It's not just that the weekend's over, it's that..." she swapped her half-eaten lollipop for a sweeter treat, staining the delicate feather red and not seeming to care that the Blood Pop in her other hand was dripping gruesomely onto her blankets, "Mondays are the sort of day I've got to prepare for, you get it?"
Daphne aimed a quick cleaning charm at the mess just to weasel out of an answer. She'd witnessed it before: when Mother and Father blithely announced another dinner party, another unspeakably dull St. Mungo's fundraiser, another plum opportunity to see and be seen, Astoria would preemptively shut herself in her room and emerge as the perfect little flower of a daughter they wanted, only to fall apart when it was over. What exactly happened in the sanctuary of her bedroom that turned her into the model of a pureblood social butterfly for as long as she needed and not a minute more, Daphne wasn't privy to.
"Perhaps you could explain it to me?"
"Well..." Her brows knitted into a frown. "It's sort of hard to explain, but..."
Astoria looked at the sorry, mangled mess of her Sugar Quill, plucked and bloodied as if a Bugbear had broken into the chicken coop, and lit up with a rare spark of vitality, as though it held some elusive answer.
"Suppose you have to do a lot of writing—say, an essay, a letter to a friend, and one to a boring great-aunt you only hear from at the holidays. If your inkpot's nice and full, that's a breeze, you just dip your quill and go, and you don't have to think too hard about running out. Are you with me so far?"
"I think so."
"Well, some people," said Astoria bitterly, and it was plain to see that by 'some people', she meant herself, "only start with half the inkpot, and some days, it leaks."
"Oh."
"Yes, oh. And with an inkpot like that, you've got to start making choices. Maybe you'll skip the letter to your great-aunt and offend her, or maybe you'll waste most of your ink rambling to your friend about Quidditch and you'll have to rush the essay and get a Troll. After a while, you sort of become an expert at knowing what to sacrifice. If you know you've got three feet due tomorrow, you start saving ink on everything else."
"Wow. You... you'd never put it like that before."
"You never asked. I don't think anybody ever did."
"So what makes Mondays a day that needs a lot of ink? Tough subjects?"
"Partly, but it's just... the way my schedule is arranged, Monday's the day I have to traipse up and down the stairs the most. I count the steps, you know. Fridays are better, it's double Potions, that means I get to spend all morning on our floor, that practically cuts the trouble in half, and Wednesdays are horrible, of course, up and down that stupid tower at midnight and good luck getting back to sleep, but even that doesn't beat Mondays, all my classes are miles apart."
At least she was rambling, which was infinitely better than silence, but Daphne was stuck on that little revelation. Sure, Hogwarts was known to give your legs a bit of a workout, but to Daphne, stairs were a simple fact of life. It had never occurred to her that they would give Astoria so much trouble, much less that she would rank her weekdays not by how much she liked her new teachers, but by how many flights she had to face to even reach them. So much for being the best sister ever.
"Merlin, Tori, I didn't even... if there's anything I can do, anything at all... I'm sure Father knows someone somewhere, or if not, we can talk to the Headmaster, get things swapped around, or have you take your classes with another House so you don't have to run around all day, something..."
"No!" Daphne was taken aback. Those sounded like perfectly sensible suggestions to her, but her sister seemed horrified. "I mean... thanks for offering, but I don't want to stand out. It's why I came to Hogwarts in the first place. You know I was the one to insist, Mother practically had tutors lining up at the door, but I... I just wanted a chance to be normal."
"Oh, Tori."
"Don't say my name like that."
"Like what?"
"Like... like you pity me."
"I don't—"
"Save it. For a Slytherin, you really are a lousy liar sometimes."
"Only to you, because you know me so well."
"Daph?" Her voice came out smaller than she'd planned and she regretfully abandoned her Sugar Quill in favor of another go at the lollipop, sucking every bit of strength out of it she could. "Do you... do you think it was a good idea? Coming here at all? Sometimes... sometimes I don't know if I can make it to my O.W.L.s."
"Don't be silly, of course it was—"
"I'm in the Hospital Wing more than I'm in class, Daphne, don't just tell me what I want to hear."
"Look... I'm not going to tell you it will be easy, because that really would be a lousy lie. But for what it's worth, I think we'll find a way, whether that's Blood Pops, buttering up half the school board to make it more manageable for you, or... or... Merlin, Tori, I don't know, we're making it up as we go along, but there's got to be something. 'Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends', remember?"
"Whatever optimism draught you swallowed at breakfast, I want some," said Astoria.
"There's no such thing and you know it. And... I know it's tough, but I, for one, am glad you're here. What was I supposed to do if you stayed home, sit here and miss you all year?"
"Pfft. You were definitely better off not having to play fetch from Hogsmeade and pass me all your old notes just to keep me afloat."
"Astoria, no! Who put that nonsense in your head? Did someone say something? I don't care if I get detention, they'll be puking slugs from here 'til graduation, I—"
"Hold your Hippogriffs, Daph, nobody said anything. They don't have to. It's obvious, isn't it? I thought I could do it, but I... I bit off more than I can chew, and you're the one suffering for it."
"That's just the Dementors talking, and I don't want to hear it a minute longer. I want you here, Tori, I hated being apart these past two years, you don't know how many times I wished Hogwarts weren't a boarding school and we could just Floo back and forth every day."
"Why, because I'm delicate and I couldn't cope without you?"
"What? No, I... for Merlin's sake, Astoria, stop twisting my words, that's not what I meant at all, you're just tired and cranky and taking everything I say in the worst way possible, and those horrible creatures are certainly not helping. Have some more of your lollipop, then maybe you'll shut up and listen when I tell you that people actually want to be around you, if you let them."
"Yeah, sure. What do you think they see when they look at me, other than this weak, needy thing that can't do anything right?"
Daphne's eyes went wide. Was that really how she saw herself, as a pitiful creature deserving of nothing? Where, how had it all gone so desperately wrong? If nothing else, she ought to have some concept of her worth as a witch and a member of the cream of society; half the kids she knew had heads so big they couldn't fit through the door from hearing that over and over again.
"Have you forgotten the part where you're so smart you were almost a Ravenclaw?"
"Comes with the territory," she shrugged. "You sort of become a bookworm by necessity, when turning the pages is just about the only thing you can do without feeling like you've run a mile."
"Give yourself some credit, Tori, not everything has to be because of that."
"But it is, Daphne! Don't you see? Everything I am, everything I do, everything I like or don't like... who's to say how it would have changed, without the curse standing in the way? I could have been halfway to playing Quidditch for England, for all we know."
"Somehow, I doubt it. Some things... some things are just you, and would be just the same with the curse or without it. And as for the rest, all right, maybe the curse did change it, but people do like the person it made you, I promise."
"Yeah, when I'm pretending. When I'm being Mother's lovely little doll. The real me is far too much to handle."
"You are not too much to handle, Tori. Well, maybe for a great troll-brained lump like Flint, but not for anyone with any sense."
"Do you really think so, Daphne? That... that there's someone out there who can cope with me? All of me?"
"You mean like... a boy?" Daphne looked at her sister's impossibly tiny frame and hated that she was already thinking about it so young. In a family like theirs, it was less about daydreaming of true love's kiss and more about moving pieces on a chessboard.
"Who else? Mother's last letter sort of implied she doesn't care about my grades, that I can just get enough O.W.L.s that they won't snap my wand and then I can drop out and snag myself a husband."
"I take it that's not what you want?"
"I'm... honestly not sure. I'm happy just letting Mr. Future Husband be this sort of... faceless stranger for a little while longer. Someone I'll have to deal with much, much later."
"Someone you'll have to deal with? Is that how you see it, as just... a duty?"
Astoria frowned as if puzzling out an especially difficult riddle. "I don't know. I hope it turns out to be like... like studying a subject you're actually good at: it's still something you have to do, but you might as well enjoy yourself while you're at it."
That she had even given it this much thought before her first year at Hogwarts was done, thought Daphne privately, was a deafening condemnation of a witch's 'proper' place in the world, but that was the sort of thing she'd never dare say in front of their parents.
"For what it's worth, I hope it turns out that way for you too, Tori. I really do."
"Good luck finding him, anyway. Mother seems to think pure blood and a pretty face are all I need to get by in life, but... I don't think she gets it, really."
That threw her. She was fairly sure Astoria could recite the Sacred Twenty-Eight before her multiplication tables. Who had she been talking to?
"I mean, you do have both of those."
"Yes, but does it matter?"
"Careful, Mother might have a fit if she finds out you're turning into a proper little revolutionary."
"Not like that. I mean... who cares how pure my blood is, when it's tainted? I might have a longer pedigree than a prize Abraxan stallion, Daph, but I don't think Mother has fully accepted the fact that marrying me is about as politically savvy as having cubs with a werewolf. I'm going to need a live-in Healer more than a husband, and he's going to have to pray for a male heir not because of land or money or anything else, but because any girls might turn out like me."
Daphne felt a little sick to her stomach. She was eleven! That kind of reasoning would not have been entirely surprising if she'd been twice that age, but on the pale, bloodied lips of such a young child, it sounded heavy and out of place.
She fished into a pocket of her robes for a handkerchief and dabbed gently at where the Blood Pop had left its gory trail. For a moment, it seemed to mean something that the elaborate letter G stitched in the corner became soaked with red, but such omens were best confined to Divination class.
"Or they might not. The curse did skip quite a few generations," said Daphne. "And at any rate, if Mr. Future Husband so much as thinks of being unhappy with you or any children you may or may not have, I'll turn his knees the other way."
"Thanks, Daph. For... everything."
"What are sisters for, if not to threaten to hex people for you?"
"I don't know. To bring you sweets, and talk about things that would turn Mother's hair white?"
"Oh, yeah, that too. Just... just think about it some other time. You're wasting ink."
"You're just going to take it and run with it, aren't you? The ink thing."
"Hey, if it works, it works."
Astoria nibbled thoughtfully on the rest of her Sugar Quill. "These should come with matching inkpots, to change the flavor when you dip them. Red ink for strawberry, blue for blueberry, green for mint..."
It was a desperate attempt to lighten the mood, and it didn't quite land as gracefully as she hoped, but for a moment, they could pretend everything was fine. The curse was still there, lurking somewhere along the short, broken life line on Astoria's palm, but the two of them had become consummate experts at shutting it out.
"How clever! We should talk to Mr. Flume about getting that patented. Are you going to finish the Blood Pops, by the way? I need to borrow a couple. I... might have hinted to Derrick and Bole that I was taking up a life of crime."