She knows the Heimlich she won't choke, not Daphne (farsick) wrote in caged, @ 2013-12-31 01:18:00
Who: Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass. What: Daphne instigates an awkward-as-hell conversation. Where: The barn at Green Knoll. When: Monday, 30 December 1997. Afternoon. Status: Log, Incomplete -- posted for activity check purposes.
Although the majority of decorations had already been done away with in the two days since the party, a few chairs remained and a lonely pine garland hung lopsided from a rafter crowded with curious and chirruping sparrows. That last may have been Daphne’s fault. When practicing out here last night (there had been no chance of her doing anything productive until at least Sunday afternoon, with the party going as it had), she’d become frustrated after an hour and started playing target practice by trying to knock baubles off of the garland with levitated pebbles. When she returned to the house after dark, hours later, the pine bough was thoroughly abused and Daphne had only had as much success with the Patronus charm as she managed with Tracey and Desdemona the week before. Admittedly, more than she’d had in school, but stubbornly refusing the moderate advancement she’d seen since
Today, things were going somewhat more satisfactorily. The set of her wrist was second nature now, having been drilled into her by Desdemona and practiced daily since, and a proper night’s sleep and a filling lunch did do wonders for one’s mood. And, as always, having someone who knew the spell well on hand was a boon. At this point, when Daphne had the gist down and it was mostly a matter of refining each minor development, she thought it was probably useful to have Theodore’s input. He was more one to observe for specific problems than to actively instruct, and it was easier to focus on what she was doing when she didn’t feel as if she was being constantly evaluated and interrupted.
Of course, it had not even been a consideration to do this at his, with his gran around or not. It had been ages since she set foot in Nott territory, though the fact of it was now merely vague curiosity than abrupt, peculiar cessation. Besides, no one here cared what she did. Her parents had always been indulgent and permissive, whether by dint of frequent absence or mere lax parenting skills. Discretion was all anyone ever seemed to demand. If one of her sisters got wise that she was practicing a spell she wasn’t supposed to be learning, the consequences would be nonexistent - no, there would be nothing like the arguments Tracey had mentioned her own parents had had regarding their daughter’s activities. It was going to be expressly miserable returning to the sneaking around bit she’d become accustomed to at school, but nothing new.
Nearing the half hour mark since they’d come from the house to the barn for their activities, Daphne watched with vague satisfaction as the translucent ball of steady silver light bobbed a few feet from the end of her wand, wavered in the chilly air, and throbbed like a heartbeat before fading. She would have to write Tracey of this later. By all accounts, they were both casting a Patronus now, even if the full power of the spell remained elusive.
With a sigh, Daphne waved some particles of dust out of her face and turned to take up one of the chairs, thinking that a half hour was a fair point at which to take a break. She pocketed her wand and fiddled with one of the toggles of her coat as she glanced over at Theodore.
“Tracey’s mum was telling us how they used to teach this at NEWT level Charms,” she offered by way of relevant conversation, if only to break the concentrated silence. Daphne assumed the temporary nature of this respite was understood. Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. “Of course, not everyone got the full thing down. I think she said it took her five months to get it herself, the corporeal form.”
“And not Defence? That’s interesting.” Theodore leaned back in the chair he had claimed, where he had spent the last thirty minutes with his legs kicked out and crossed in front of him, twirling his wand between his fingers and alternating between watching his friend attempt the spell, thinking about the situation he’d left behind at home, and absently admiring the way the light filtering into the barn reflected off the ball of silver light emanating from Daphne’s wand, sending bits of fractured light around the room. He could still remember his father calling him into his library, demonstrating the complex charm with a flick of his wrist, then handing him his wand. Most of his father’s peers didn’t bother with the Patronus Charm. As Wizards, they believed themselves to be of superior breeding, intellect and power. Of course Dementors were safely under their control. Theodore’s father, though, he’d always been different. Be prepared for the impossible. Never underestimate your enemy.
“You’ve nearly got it.” He commented, using his hands to push himself out of the chair and up to his feet. It had taken him months of work back then, and had still managed to get more difficult over the last year. Harder to hold onto a positive thought, when it seemed like whenever things got bad, they immediately progressed to worse. Even so, he glanced a little nervously in Daphne’s direction, then closed his eyes and recalled his mother’s face hovering over his pillow as she woke him up in the early hours of the morning. The feeling of her hand holding his smaller hand tightly as she pulled him out of bed and out the door to collect overflowing cups of freshly fallen snow. A silent thought, “Expecto Patronum”, and a fine, silver mist flooded the space in front of him, the sparkling light particles pulling together to form the shape of a medium-sized dog. The edges sharpened and it became a wolf, its silver eyes sharp and intelligent. It circled around itself cautiously, then took a few steps toward Daphne’s chair before dissolving back into the air. “It’s weird.” He said, looking at the empty space where the wolf had stood seconds earlier. “It’s you, but it isn’t. If that makes sense.”
As the corporeal charm took sure shape seamlessly as Desdemona’s had, Daphne nodded silently and pursed her lips, forehead creasing just slightly while she considered. Desdemona’s graceful, keen-eyed hawk came to mind, and the haunting beauty of Susan’s opalescent, prowling tiger; perhaps not immediately clear projections of something within those women, and yet perfectly, utterly fitting. Daphne and Tracey had talked about it, what they thought their own would become, and she hadn’t the foggiest. For someone who prided herself on self-awareness, this was more than slightly annoying.
A few birds alighted from the rafters, sending dust and bits of hay down into the light. Brushing some straw off of her sleeve, Daphne said, “One of the books I read noted that most theorists believe it draws on qualities a person doesn’t resort to often. Maybe I’ll end up with a sea slug.” Her sleeping habits over this break certainly seemed to recommend it.
The bemused grin that had crept onto her face froze there for a moment, then faded. While this was all well and good, there was another reason she’d asked Theodore here, and she’d been unsure whether she would pursue it. Well, now was a time. Defence had come up. She couldn’t recall precisely if it had been that or Charms afterall. Yet Defence had been such a troubled class for so many of the years they had been at Hogwarts—the bright spot of third year, even fourth, notwithstanding—she often found herself underestimating the curriculum automatically. Of course, for its own reasons, this year had done hardly anything to allay that tendency. Which brought her to her conundrum.
Face set a little stonily, Daphne fixed Theodore with an acute look and folded her hands neatly over her knee. “Can I ask you a very serious question?”
Theodore tilted his head at her, one corner of his mouth lifting into something nearing a smile. It was hard to picture someone as vibrant as Daphne being anything as dull or as common as a sea slug. There was something different about her, a little unpredictable. To be honest, it had always been something Theodore appreciated. He couldn’t imagine what form her Patronus might take, some rare creature from some foreign place or another, perhaps. His own wolf had been unexpected, but once he’d seen it there in front of him, it had been hard to imagine that it could have been anything else.
Looking at Daphne, he could see the exact moment the smile faded from her face and he found himself politely ducking his head to examine his shoes. The quiet seemed sudden and tense, and her solemn expression felt ominous. His hand drifted up to rub the back of his neck, waiting for whatever might come next. He thought through their conversation, trying to think of something he could have said to upset her or set her off, but it had all felt relatively harmless. She spoke, and he turned to face her again. Questions made him uneasy. There were so many secrets that he’d been forced to keep lately, so many subjects he preferred to sweep under the proverbial rug than discuss out loud.
“You can ask.” He said, aiming for a breezy tone, but the last word stuck just a little in his throat.
Asking was one thing. Getting an answer, quite another. Which Daphne knew well—information wasn’t a handout, and a person had to earn answers, or work for them. And so she was fully aware that she stood just as much a chance of having this inquiry skirted around as she did of having it addressed with some degree of honesty. The former scenario seemed much more likely, in fact, and she was prepared for disappointment.
She also knew that people made certain gestures when they were uneasy, some particular to individuals and some nearly universal. Watching Theodore a moment longer before glancing at the rafters, Daphne suspected that the rather dark wording of her last statement had made this all too dire. That, at least, she might mend somewhat. Smoothing some hairs back into her ponytail, Daphne cleared her throat.
“Sorry, I’ve made it sound horrible,” she clarified, faint smile returning.
It was horrible, if it was true. And she saw less reason to think it false, as she’d told Susan, maybe foolishly, weeks ago. But of anyone in the school, when it came to this, Daphne found that she only valued the opinions of two people: Tracey and Theodore. She bit her lip and considered before continuing.
“What I mean is, it is something serious, but—well, mostly, I was just looking for another opinion. From someone who actually thinks about things, for themselves.” Rather than charge full force into the real question at hand, Daphne substituted with one she thought related, and more relevant to their task today. “Why do you suppose learning this spell’s been…not banned, I suppose, but clearly Tracey and I have been sneaking around this for a reason. Flitwick didn’t think it wise, nor did Slughorn. There could be any number of reasons for it, but why would this administration effectively stigmatize good, useful magic, especially when we all know there are Dementors all over the property?”
Theodore stayed silent for a moment, mulling over her question. The set of his shoulders had relaxed somewhat at Daphne’s coaxing, but there was still a slight unease to him as he finally answered. “They don’t think it’s necessary, I guess. A lot of people don’t. Not if they’ve got the Dementors in their pocket. Guarding the prisons, even. They trust them. Or at least, they trust that they’ve always got the upper hand.” Theodore couldn’t say with any real conviction whether they were right or wrong to think that. Maybe Dementors really were useless creatures, loyal to their betters and easily bested by even the slowest Wizard. They had certainly followed orders well enough so far… then again, Dementors didn’t think, not like Wizards did. They moved on instinct, driven by hunger. You couldn’t reason with a Dementor. Couldn’t explain, couldn’t sit down and have a rational chat to talk your way out of a corner. Theodore didn’t trust them, but in all fairness, he didn’t really trust anyone.
It was interesting, if not particularly surprising, that Professor Flitwick and Professor Slughorn had skirted the topic. Neither struck Theodore as the type to purposefully make waves, to go against the current that had turned the school on its side this year. “If the school administration approved it, teaching the Patronus charm, it would make people think there’s a possibility that it would need to be used.” He added, a beat after. “I think… I think making it out to be unnecessary is an attempt to make us all feel safe.”
Daphne made a face, as if that hadn’t quite satisfied her. But then she’d asked for opinions, not solutions. As far as she could tell, there was no solution to any of this. One, maybe. But that seemed nearly impossible, no matter what all of the delusional, self-righteous optimists seemed to think. Instead, after that odd experience at the museum with Blaise a week ago, Daphne felt herself beginning to treat a future in which Voldemort won the war as a reality rather than a possibility, and she didn’t like it.
She shook her head lightly. “Maybe. But having no recourse for defense doesn’t make a person feel safe. Especially when the people who are supposed to be acting as protectors are just as terrifying a presence. To many.”
Feeling agitated, Daphne fidgeted about in her chair, resorting to old habits that had largely been trained out of her since she began formal schooling. After a few moments she settled, legs stretched out straight in front of her and crossed at the ankles so that she could make out the scuffs along the toes of her shoes.
“There’s a difference between making something out to be unnecessary to discourage considerations of a danger in the first place, and giving the impression that a student would be better off hiding the fact that they’re taking the initiative to learn something on their own. As if they’d stand to be punished for it. It’s not something that should have to be approved or disapproved; it shouldn’t even be an issue.” She sighed. It felt as if she was getting off track. When Daphne spoke again her words were more measured. “Dementors or not, a student could want to learn it for their career, like Tracey. Or because they want something more challenging than the course material, or because they would rather have power in their own hands than defer to the whims of—“
Halting herself, Daphne waved a hand. “Even if the administration does trust the Dementors, think they have them under their command, what does that even say about them? This is a school, not a prison.” Something that was beginning to seem laughable.
“Are you surprised?” He said wryly, with the slightest cold edge to his voice. Dolores Umbridge hadn’t let them lift their wands, out of fear that they would use them against the Ministry. The Ministry had trusted their protection to Dementors since before either of them was born. This was nothing new. Theodore tried, not for the first time, to imagine how the situation might look to someone who didn’t understand the inner workings. Who couldn’t see the puppeteers behind the wooden pieces, pulling the strings. Daphne was dissatisfied. Well, Daphne could join the club. He knew she was frustrated and venting, and perhaps under other circumstances, on a different holiday, he might have agreed and ranted alongside her. It wasn’t her fault that this year, at this time, it felt dangerously personal.
He took a steadying breath and looked at her- red hair, familiar freckles arching across her nose and cheeks, and the gray eyes that he had silently admired since fifth year. Fifth year felt like it had been centuries ago. He sat down beside her. When he spoke again, the sharpness in his voice was gone, replaced by a tired sort of sadness. “I’m sorry. I know you’re upset, and I agree. It’s just… it doesn’t really matter. Does it?”
Once again, Daphne sighed, more heavily than before. As Theodore sat down she glanced at him surreptitiously and then back at her shoes.
“No, I’m not surprised.” She splayed her hands out on her legs until she felt her fingers crack, then crossed her arms over her chest. “I think that it still matters, though. It’s not the first time there have been…changes, in the way things are run. The last time was shit, too. And there’s nothing to do about it beyond sucking it up and trying to get something out of it. But that doesn’t mean the reasons don’t matter.”
Umbridge’s guest appearance in the school shortly before break had rankled Daphne, and then so had that idiotic move in the Quibbler. Both occasions deepened the bad feeling she’d been having for no precise reason other than a progression of events, small things seen and heard and nothing at all to do with so-called arguments. It was infuriating to feel as if she was being lied to, and to be treated like a bit of clay to be molded. But now, she had an inkling that she was beginning to sound unhinged, and didn’t expect that what she was going to say next would help that impression at all. Half the time she didn’t know why she was expending any thought on it at all. As it was, she stood to come out of anything that happened at an advantage, so long as she kept toeing the line. Maybe Theodore was right, and none of it mattered.
Her fingers fumbled at the collar of her coat, pulling it up around her neck and chin to half obscure her face as she sank into the chair. Daphne gave a grumble of frustration and said, flippantly sour, “Sometimes I find myself—I don’t know. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I believed what people are saying about them.”
Daphne was right, in a way. The reasons did matter, but Theodore couldn’t see the use of going on about them as though they were something unfixed, something that could be changed. In the larger scheme of things, amidst the disappearances and the mysterious presence of the “Wandless”, the imprisonment of Muggleborns and the vicious future looming over his head, not being taught a Patronus charm seemed small and insignificant… even to Theodore, who nearly always sided on the side of education.
He glanced sideways at Daphne, half-masked by the collar of her coat like she might burrow into it and disappear entirely. He might have smiled at the sight, if he hadn’t felt so nauseated by what came next. “Oh?” He echoed hollowly. “Like what?”
Theodore’s voice sounded odd, and Daphne wondered what was worse—being taught nothing at all, as they had been fifth year, or being taught quite a bit, but with such an obvious slant behind it. It wasn’t so much a single instance of deprivation that was bothering her, though it certainly gave her a channel upon which to blame her sense that something more was wrong. They were very likely being lied to at school, and she was sure that the Ministry was lying to everyone beyond that. To what extent, she was less sure. But it was all connected, even when it trickled down to something as insignificant as curriculum choices. The past made that much clear. Daphne had become accustomed to things not adding up over the last few years, and this just seemed the latest on the pile. Sometimes, rumors offered something that almost seemed to make sense, corralled those errant and inconsistent elements, even if the thought of it was terrifying and the method of delivery more likely to make her turn up her nose.
Inadvertently, her mind wandered a bit to the slew of jokes she’d heard made, and made herself, at the Carrows’ expense. While she doubted anyone would take issue with admitting, if only to themselves, that their new professors were creepy, distressingly ubiquitous, and very probably sadistic, there had been, of course, other things proposed.
Unsure of how to continue or how specific to be, because it was difficult to admit even when this was the safest place she could think of to try (and because it mattered to Daphne what Theodore thought of her and she was very aware of how mad this sounded), she grew silent and dragged a foot along the floor, toward the leg of her chair. She felt her face growing hot and was glad of that high collar. “That their allegiances aren’t strictly to the school or the Ministry.”