Daphne sat in her room in Black Manor as she brushed her silver-blonde hair, the movement slow and meditative. She paused, admiring her reflection in the antique, silver-backed mirror, the heavy frame etched with the grim motto of the Black family. She smirked. God, she was beautiful.
She had always known this, even as a child, but adulthood had only sharpened her features and her presence to something undeniably compelling. Her cold poise was not just a mask she used, but a well-honed tool, a shield that kept the foolish at bay.
This was forged since her childhood, where others of her generation were going on about their lives, playing, having fun, worrying about things like their hair, clothes, shoes, and even things like O.W.L.s or Quidditch, her sister was dying, and she didn't have time for anything else.
The weight of the Greengrass lineage, the expectation of being the dutiful eldest, combined with the secret, crippling dread of Astoria's slow decline, demanded an unbreachable front, she could not allow herself to be weak for her sister.
From the moment she entered Hogwarts, boys had fallen over themselves trying to court her, drawn to the challenge of the 'Ice Queen.' The attention only worsened with every passing year. She had always just refused them, finding their attempts clumsy and transparent, irritating distractions from her real goal, studying magic and trying to find anything that could help with her sister.
Honestly, at one point, Astoria had even asked if she had been interested in girls instead, given how completely uninterested she seemed in every suitor thrown at her feet. Daphne merely gave her a cool, dismissive look, unable to articulate that her heart and mind were too consumed by one single problem to spare a single thought for romance. Sure, it wasn't like she wasn't interested, but no one had caught her attention.
But then came fifth year.
Then came Harry. The boy who lived. The boy whom she could admit she had been interested in when she had been younger. But after 1st year, those feelings changed. Or at least she thought they did.
The moment they met officially and began talking, truly talking, something changed. A switch flipped in her chest. The world became a little brighter, a little bigger. It held things beyond just looking for a way to save her sister's life, a welcome, dangerous distraction from the inevitable death of her sister that stalked her family.
Because that had been her life.
Finding a cure. Breaking the curse. Saving her sister. Every book, every rumor, every whisper of a chance… all consumed her. With each passing year, she had felt like she was running out of time fast, frantically searching while her sister slowly, agonizingly weakened.
She vividly recalled the chilling words of the one knowledgeable man she found, an expert in bloodline curses, who confirmed the curse was no longer what it had originally been.
He had described it as having grown and evolved as it moved down the Greengrass line, becoming something entirely different, changing from how it was. He had theories that, having moved through multiple generations, the magic had mixed and modified it, so finding a cure would not be simple even if she found the original spell used.
That confirmation of the curse's "evolution" had been the true turning point of her deepest despair. Knowing that even if she identified what caused the curse, she wouldn't be able to use it to find a cure.
The failures just kept mounting, blood-rituals that yielded nothing, potion regimes that only resulted in violent sickness and didn't even slow it down, desperate attempts to find anything from the belongings of long-dead Greengrass ancestors, which yielded nothing. Each failed attempt chipped away at her soul, leaving her brittle and exhausted.
And even when she and Harry started dating, she had been consumed by the search for a cure. Having Harry as a boyfriend had helped a lot with that, too. Harry had been able to help her meet people that wouldn't even have glanced her way, despite her being from a prominent family, such as reclusive healers, obscure Runes Masters, and secretive alchemists known only to the highest echelons of magical society. She was forever grateful for the access he provided, but even these elite circles didn't have a clue about how to save her sister.
She had seen her sister getting worse, losing more vitality with every passing season. The constant stress had even strained her relationship with Harry for a bit, where she had been cranky and moody. They fought a lot during that period, and every time it was she who started it, snapping and lashing out because she couldn't control the decay happening to her sister.
It was only because Harry was a sweet guy, he knew what she was going through and had been patient with her, enduring her anger, that things eventually worked out. He never retaliated, never walked away. Instead, he would simply sit beside her, silent, until the storm passed, and then gently hold her hand. That quiet, unwavering support was the bedrock upon which her trust in him was finally cemented.
God, she loved that Boy.
Then came the day that changed everything.
Harry had been away for a while, engaging in matters that she was sure he told her about, but she didn't remember. She hadn't kept track of his absence, as she was busy looking through some obscure books he got for her from an association he was affiliated with.
It was then Harry burst through the door, a manic smile on his face so bright he looked like he'd tear his face smiling. He rushed to her, eyes gleaming, pulling out a small potion bottle with golden liquid inside.
It looked like it was shining, no, it was shining, she realized after he pushed the vial close to her face. The liquid inside wasn't just gold, it was like liquid gold that pulsed with power, filling the room with a vibrant energy. She had asked him what it was, and that's when he dropped the bomb.
A cure. A goddamn Cure for her little sister. It was one of his Authorities.
Apparently, when he was away, he had gotten involved with something and had to battle Asclepius, the god of medicine and healing. Harry told her how the heretic god's myth was tangled with Apollo's, Asclepius's father, and how it was, in a sense, like fighting a version of Apollo himself that was and wasn't him.
He had explained the whole myth and how stories affect the reality of the gods, but she never really got it 100%. What she did grasp was that by slaying the deity whose power was rooted in healing, a power intrinsically linked to the divinity of healing, Harry had gained an authority to heal and do more.
His victory granted him the ability to manifest a single drop of liquid light that could repair any injury, break any curse, and cure anything. Of course, that wasn't all the authority could do, but that was all she cared about in that moment. The potion was the power of the sun that Harry stores and could then turn into a single drop of healing juice.
She hadn't wasted a second after he gave it to her. She had gone straight to her sister and used it. The sight of that glorious, golden light filling Astoria's pale body, chasing out the spectral darkness of the curse, was the most profound visual she had ever witnessed, a reversal of years of heartache in a single, blinding flash.
That day, she had cried so hard, dropping to her knees and sobbing until her chest ached, tears of absolute relief washing away years of stored fear. Her sister was cured. Her sister could live a full life. It was the greatest gift Harry had given her.
She returned the favor by not giving him any sleep that night. It had been a wild, grateful, passionate night, and even the next morning.
With her sister cured, Daphne had been both relieved and a little lost. That singular goal had been her whole life, and now that it was done, what next? It had taken a bit, but she found her passion in enchanting, the subtle, sophisticated magic of weaving properties into objects.
She dressed up after finishing her hair, smoothing down the heavy emerald robes of the Black line, then continued to reminisce. But that hadn't been all. She wanted to help Harry.
It was one of the reasons she decided to be Lady Black, the title carried immense political advantages and influence, which Harry viewed only as necessary clutter, a necessary evil. While Harry vehemently disliked politics, it was good that her husband-to-be knew that not everything could be solved with physical force.
Lady Malfoy, no, Lady Black, Narcissa had been helpful in knowing everything she needed to know about the house. The older witch had not just taught her finance and etiquette, but the secrets of House Black's power.
The specific lessons involved studying the ledgers, learning how the Black family manipulated the system to their advantage, mastering the art of the binding-favor, and understanding which Wizengamot regulations could be weaponized against their peers. Narcissa made it clear that a true Black did not merely attend meetings, she controlled the agenda before the owls even left the post office.
By now, Narcissa had already taught her everything she needed to know, but Daphne had grown to enjoy the woman's sharp, cool presence and ruthless wisdom.
She headed out of her room to the living room.
The moment she passed the door in, someone jumped on her back.
Daphne couldn't stop the groan that escaped her.
"Why must you do that every time you get the chance?" Daphne said dryly as she turned and saw her little sister on her back. She had always thought Astoria was a lively one, but after getting healed, she came to know the truth.
What she had seen before was nothing compared to her now.
"How else am I supposed to greet my favorite sister, the future Lady Black?" Astoria said back at her.
She pushed the little gremlin off her as she sighed. She turned to see the others all looking amusingly at both her and her sister. Tracy, Hermione, Luna, and Rosa (a Slytherin who had been A friend). Her friends. Oh, how odd it was, even now, thinking of all these people as her close friends. Her younger self would never have imagined that.
She greeted all of them as she gracefully moved to sit on a velvet armchair.
It was girls' night, something they started when she and Hermione became close. A cherished ritual that had survived the madness that followed Harry everywhere. She looked at all of them, everyone had changed since the school days.
She looked at her sister, who was already seated and gushing about some boy to Tracy.
Daphne sighed at that. Well, he couldn't be worse than the last one she had a crush on, Draco Malfoy. When she found out she had laughed at that, her sister really didn't have a good taste in men.
When she had told Harry, he had physically shivered. The mere thought of becoming brother-in-law to Draco had nearly had him fainting. Astoria had apparently had a big crush on the guy, a classic case of admiring the supposed 'Slytherin Prince.' Well, that had been before he betrayed them and kidnapped them, handing them to the Ministry. And well... everyone knew how that ended.
Daphne took a subtle glance out the window at the massive stone monolith before turning back to her friends. The monolith was Harry's permanent scar on the London landscape. The consequence of what it meant to oppose the King..
Tracy Davis lounged on a chair, smirking, already halfway through a glass of firewhiskey. Tracy was Daphne's oldest Slytherin confidante, the one who kept Daphne from closing off to the world, from back when they were kids. Hermione sat across from her, sipping tea, looking thoughtful as she listened to Luna. The friendship with Hermione was the most surprising, a bond forged when she started dating Harry and wanted to get to know his best friends.
Luna, too, was a strange friendship, and it was Harry who brought her. At first, she thought he liked her or something, but she had come to learn that he just saw her as a little sister. Rosa, one of Slytherin's, whom she had tolerated and eventually grown to care for, was always quiet and preferred to keep to herself.
Three years ago, if someone had told her she would count these girls, this odd mix of houses and personalities, as her friends, she would have assumed they were mad. A Gryffindor know it all, a naive Ravenclaw, and a loner Slytherin, the circle was an absurdity, but it worked.
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