LOG. WHO: Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass, with an appearance by Astoria Greengrass WHEN: Tuesday May 2, at breakfast WHERE: Great Hall SUMMARY: Daphne and Draco discuss events of the battle. WARNINGS: Contains battle spoilers.
“This is your fault!” Daphne screeched, the glass that had contained her breakfast orange juice suddenly hurtled at Draco Malfoy’s head. He ducked, the glass smashing against the wall behind him before he glanced over to see what was going on.
Daphne Greengrass, of course. He took a long look at Pansy’s best friend, deciding not to drop any of the cutting remarks he’d been tempted to fire in response to the accusation. Instead he just put down the butter knife he’d been using, focusing his full attention on her.
“What is all my fault, Daphne?”
“Pansy’s dead, you idiot, because of you and your stupid cause!” Daphne continued to scream, unable to cope with the fact that her best friend was now just— gone. Forever.
“Daphne.” Draco sighed, glancing at his parents who were watching the exchange with worried expressions on their faces. They didn’t need this sort of attention, not — not after everything that had happened. He moved out of his seat, taking her by the elbow so they could sit elsewhere and have this discussion quietly. Not privately, he could see the eyes of many of the students on them.
“This was the last thing I wanted for her,” Draco continued quietly, once they were seated. “I tried to convince her to leave, but she wouldn’t. Do you really think anyone could have dissuaded her from what she wanted to do?”
“You could have,” Daphne hissed, suddenly aware of the audience they had. “She loved you. You could have convinced her!”
“I—” Draco shook his head, standing up. “No.” He walked away from Daphne, returning to sit with his parents, Narcissa putting an arm around him as he turned in to murmur to her.
Daphne just stared at him for a long few moments before she realised tears were streaming down her face. She pressed a hand to her cheek, trying to pretend they weren’t happening, that none of this was happening. She didn’t move until she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, turning to see Astoria standing there.
“Not now, Astoria,” she snapped, and strode out of the Great Hall, refusing to acknowledge any of the eyes on her. What did any of them matter when her best friend was dead?