Chasing Ghosts - a gift for flyingharmony!
Title: Chasing Ghosts
Author: nearlyconscious
Recipient: flyingharmony
Pairing(s): Andromeda/Daphne + side pairs in the background
Word Count: ~1400
Rating: PG
Warnings: None other than reference to canon deaths and bittersweet memories, but since this is darkwitches fest, I don't think it matters that much. Oh, incest if you squint or if you want to interpret it that way (oops, sometimes I forget Blackcest is incest).
Summary: Two witches busy running away from the ghosts of their past; two witches busy looking for the ghosts of their past. They meet.
Author's Notes: Dear flyingharmony, I hope you enjoy this. While I like to write about the Black sisters, I randomly got inspiration to write this pairing instead -- however I didn't completely skip Blackcest!
you've changed the course of history
and didn't even try
where are you now
standing behind me
taking my hand
come and remind me
who you are
Emilie Autumn - Ghost (Poem)
***
They had met at a ball organised to honour the victims of the war.
Daphne was almost surprised to receive an invitation; there were wild tales about how all of the Slytherins had plotted to give up The-Boy-Who-Lived to The Dark Lord on the night of the attack on Hogwarts. Most of them were just scared to death and desperate for a way out -- especially Pansy, and while Daphne couldn’t applaud her call to hand Harry over, she understood the impulse. Of course it wouldn’t have been the end of it, but Pansy had no reason to believe Potter would vanquish the Dark Lord, either. She had lost all hope. Many had, after months locked up in the castle they had once loved. Months undergoing torture, or perhaps worse, having to inflict it. Daphne hadn’t hesitated much, though; she’d gone to fight. She had never been one for wild bravery and impulsive decisions, but that wasn’t it; she had thought about this beforehand. She knew sooner or later, they would all have to make such a choice. And after all she had seen, she didn’t believe it couldn’t get even worse, and she would rather die trying to make it better. So she took out her wand, and she broke the line of Slytherins going down to the dungeons.
Daphne was a hard-worker, and quite a brilliant student, but she would always repeat later that sheer luck had gotten her out of the battle without much of a scratch; a few broken ribs and the sort, but nothing a bottle of Skele-Gro couldn’t fix.
***
Daphne had chosen a black dress to attend the ball. Everyone would expect her to be appropriate -- of course, Gryffindor heroes could show up dressed in yellow stripes if they wanted, but she was pretty sure there wouldn’t be many Slytherins there and that she would be shunned to show up wearing green, even if it were to flatter her hazel eyes.
The cut of the dress she had chosen was very simple, reminiscent of the one she wore for the Yule Ball. She put on red jewelry, to match the dress she wore that day. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she sighed. The Yule Ball seemed so far away. It was a peaceful time. She was in love back then, and nothing stood in the way. Pansy and her had grown apart, slowly but surely. In their seventh year, they often disagreed over how to behave towards the teachers and other students. Pansy wanted to save her own skin; Daphne too, but she wouldn’t do so at the expense of others. She had a little sister, the year below them, and she couldn’t stand the thought of her getting hurt. It didn’t seem very fair to Daphne to only try and protect her sister. Pansy would bitterly say that the world wasn’t fair, that they should get used to it. Once she even said to Daphne that she must have been mis-Sorted, that she should have ended up in Gryffindor. Now that the war was over and done with, Pansy and Daphne were estranged. Daphne didn’t want it that way, not really, but Pansy was too proud. Guilt didn’t suit her well.
***
Andromeda knew she was expected to wear black to the Ministry ball; she was mourning her husband and her daughter, after all. But black had never been her colour, and it would only remind her why her closed ones had been targeted: because she had been a Black. She wore a deep burgundy dress, and let her hair free on her shoulders but for a few braids keeping it from falling in her face. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she smiled tightly -- a sad smile. Maybe she would wear a little something black. Her mother always insisted she would…
***
Andromeda noticed the young woman immediately. The elegant and rich cut of her dress, her poise and posture, the way she effortlessly made small talk despite the seriousness of the event; everything said she had been raised to observe Pureblood customs. She didn’t seem eager to hide it, but she didn’t flaunt it either. She was impressed to see that the polite smile didn’t falter, even when a person or two obviously tried to unsettle her. Through a few guided conversations, Andromeda learnt this young person was none other than Daphne Greengrass -- Pureblood, as she had thought. While she sipped on elderflower wine, Andromeda kept observing young Daphne. She was troubled to realise that she was reminded of someone.
***
Daphne was entertained -- or rather, bored to death -- by many guests that night. A lot of people came up to her, whether to congratulate her for her bravery (some of their comments left a sour taste in her mouth, like "especially coming from a Slytherin!") or to submit her to suspicious looks and snide remarks. While she scanned the crowd, taking an appreciative sip of the single malt Ogden’s Finest a waiter had just offered, she noticed a dark-haired woman stealing glances at her. She blinked as she was reminded of Bellatrix Lestrange, but shook away the thought; Bellatrix Lestrange was dead, she saw it with her own eyes. Oh, of course. The sister.
***
While Andromeda and Bellatrix had only ever been able to have a love-hate relationship, like many sisters, Andromeda and Narcissa got along almost perfectly. They were very different, but they loved each other dearly. Andromeda’s decision to run away had been hard mainly because of her younger sister. She knew they wouldn’t have any contact after she left, and it hurt, but it was Narcissa’s choice to follow these wretched blood purity ideals… Andromeda couldn’t support it any longer.
Andromeda never regretted her decision. She lived a happy life with Ted -- he was caring, kind, spontaneous, cheerful. The polar opposite of all the Pureblood men that had been considered to be her husband. Andromeda did miss Narcissa a lot at first, though. Sometimes she would dream about her, and wake up crying. Ted would hug her and stroke her hair until she fell back asleep, but it didn’t make it go away, not really. There was still a Narcissa-shaped void in Andromeda’s heart, and nothing ever filled it up; she only learnt to ignore it.
Andromeda felt exposed in Wizarding public places, so she rarely ever got out of the family cottage. She didn’t know what she was most afraid of: Bellatrix wanting her dead, or Narcissa wanting her back. Running into her sisters was not an option, so accompanying Nymphadora to Diagon Alley was not, either. Andromeda would live dangerously up to a certain point.
A few times already over the years, Andromeda had thought she’d seen her sister. It was always a stranger -- an elegant, lean, blonde stranger. A half-second later, she realised Narcissa was taller, or the stranger turned around and Andromeda could breathe again.
Never the impression had been so striking as that night. It wasn’t so much a question of physical traits; Daphne was lean and tall, yes, but not as angular as Narcissa, and she certainly didn’t seem as haughty. But it was a graceful air about her, the way her hair glowed under the chandeliers’ light, and that simple, tasteful black dress…
Andromeda tried to keep composure as her eyes searched the crowd frantically. Daphne wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Where had she gone?
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Tonks.’
Andromeda tried to soothe her nerves by taking a deep breath as she turned around to face Daphne. The young woman looked at her with what seemed to be compassion but not pity, admiration but not glorification. The same look which inhabited Narcissa’s grey eyes years ago.
‘Thank you, Miss...’
‘Daphne. Daphne Greengrass.’
There was a gleam in Daphne’s eyes as she said her name, a gleam that was never in Narcissa’s eyes. It elicited something in Andromeda -- something odd, that felt familiar and unheard of all at the same time. The two women conversed for the rest of the ball, ignoring the rest of the party. Small talk didn’t have its place in the discussion, and although it took some time for them to call themselves by their first names, and although they didn’t kiss for two months more, there was always something urgent and passionate about their relationship.
Author: nearlyconscious
Recipient: flyingharmony
Pairing(s): Andromeda/Daphne + side pairs in the background
Word Count: ~1400
Rating: PG
Warnings: None other than reference to canon deaths and bittersweet memories, but since this is darkwitches fest, I don't think it matters that much. Oh, incest if you squint or if you want to interpret it that way (oops, sometimes I forget Blackcest is incest).
Summary: Two witches busy running away from the ghosts of their past; two witches busy looking for the ghosts of their past. They meet.
Author's Notes: Dear flyingharmony, I hope you enjoy this. While I like to write about the Black sisters, I randomly got inspiration to write this pairing instead -- however I didn't completely skip Blackcest!
you've changed the course of history
and didn't even try
where are you now
standing behind me
taking my hand
come and remind me
who you are
Emilie Autumn - Ghost (Poem)
***
They had met at a ball organised to honour the victims of the war.
Daphne was almost surprised to receive an invitation; there were wild tales about how all of the Slytherins had plotted to give up The-Boy-Who-Lived to The Dark Lord on the night of the attack on Hogwarts. Most of them were just scared to death and desperate for a way out -- especially Pansy, and while Daphne couldn’t applaud her call to hand Harry over, she understood the impulse. Of course it wouldn’t have been the end of it, but Pansy had no reason to believe Potter would vanquish the Dark Lord, either. She had lost all hope. Many had, after months locked up in the castle they had once loved. Months undergoing torture, or perhaps worse, having to inflict it. Daphne hadn’t hesitated much, though; she’d gone to fight. She had never been one for wild bravery and impulsive decisions, but that wasn’t it; she had thought about this beforehand. She knew sooner or later, they would all have to make such a choice. And after all she had seen, she didn’t believe it couldn’t get even worse, and she would rather die trying to make it better. So she took out her wand, and she broke the line of Slytherins going down to the dungeons.
Daphne was a hard-worker, and quite a brilliant student, but she would always repeat later that sheer luck had gotten her out of the battle without much of a scratch; a few broken ribs and the sort, but nothing a bottle of Skele-Gro couldn’t fix.
***
Daphne had chosen a black dress to attend the ball. Everyone would expect her to be appropriate -- of course, Gryffindor heroes could show up dressed in yellow stripes if they wanted, but she was pretty sure there wouldn’t be many Slytherins there and that she would be shunned to show up wearing green, even if it were to flatter her hazel eyes.
The cut of the dress she had chosen was very simple, reminiscent of the one she wore for the Yule Ball. She put on red jewelry, to match the dress she wore that day. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she sighed. The Yule Ball seemed so far away. It was a peaceful time. She was in love back then, and nothing stood in the way. Pansy and her had grown apart, slowly but surely. In their seventh year, they often disagreed over how to behave towards the teachers and other students. Pansy wanted to save her own skin; Daphne too, but she wouldn’t do so at the expense of others. She had a little sister, the year below them, and she couldn’t stand the thought of her getting hurt. It didn’t seem very fair to Daphne to only try and protect her sister. Pansy would bitterly say that the world wasn’t fair, that they should get used to it. Once she even said to Daphne that she must have been mis-Sorted, that she should have ended up in Gryffindor. Now that the war was over and done with, Pansy and Daphne were estranged. Daphne didn’t want it that way, not really, but Pansy was too proud. Guilt didn’t suit her well.
***
Andromeda knew she was expected to wear black to the Ministry ball; she was mourning her husband and her daughter, after all. But black had never been her colour, and it would only remind her why her closed ones had been targeted: because she had been a Black. She wore a deep burgundy dress, and let her hair free on her shoulders but for a few braids keeping it from falling in her face. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she smiled tightly -- a sad smile. Maybe she would wear a little something black. Her mother always insisted she would…
***
Andromeda noticed the young woman immediately. The elegant and rich cut of her dress, her poise and posture, the way she effortlessly made small talk despite the seriousness of the event; everything said she had been raised to observe Pureblood customs. She didn’t seem eager to hide it, but she didn’t flaunt it either. She was impressed to see that the polite smile didn’t falter, even when a person or two obviously tried to unsettle her. Through a few guided conversations, Andromeda learnt this young person was none other than Daphne Greengrass -- Pureblood, as she had thought. While she sipped on elderflower wine, Andromeda kept observing young Daphne. She was troubled to realise that she was reminded of someone.
***
Daphne was entertained -- or rather, bored to death -- by many guests that night. A lot of people came up to her, whether to congratulate her for her bravery (some of their comments left a sour taste in her mouth, like "especially coming from a Slytherin!") or to submit her to suspicious looks and snide remarks. While she scanned the crowd, taking an appreciative sip of the single malt Ogden’s Finest a waiter had just offered, she noticed a dark-haired woman stealing glances at her. She blinked as she was reminded of Bellatrix Lestrange, but shook away the thought; Bellatrix Lestrange was dead, she saw it with her own eyes. Oh, of course. The sister.
***
While Andromeda and Bellatrix had only ever been able to have a love-hate relationship, like many sisters, Andromeda and Narcissa got along almost perfectly. They were very different, but they loved each other dearly. Andromeda’s decision to run away had been hard mainly because of her younger sister. She knew they wouldn’t have any contact after she left, and it hurt, but it was Narcissa’s choice to follow these wretched blood purity ideals… Andromeda couldn’t support it any longer.
Andromeda never regretted her decision. She lived a happy life with Ted -- he was caring, kind, spontaneous, cheerful. The polar opposite of all the Pureblood men that had been considered to be her husband. Andromeda did miss Narcissa a lot at first, though. Sometimes she would dream about her, and wake up crying. Ted would hug her and stroke her hair until she fell back asleep, but it didn’t make it go away, not really. There was still a Narcissa-shaped void in Andromeda’s heart, and nothing ever filled it up; she only learnt to ignore it.
Andromeda felt exposed in Wizarding public places, so she rarely ever got out of the family cottage. She didn’t know what she was most afraid of: Bellatrix wanting her dead, or Narcissa wanting her back. Running into her sisters was not an option, so accompanying Nymphadora to Diagon Alley was not, either. Andromeda would live dangerously up to a certain point.
A few times already over the years, Andromeda had thought she’d seen her sister. It was always a stranger -- an elegant, lean, blonde stranger. A half-second later, she realised Narcissa was taller, or the stranger turned around and Andromeda could breathe again.
Never the impression had been so striking as that night. It wasn’t so much a question of physical traits; Daphne was lean and tall, yes, but not as angular as Narcissa, and she certainly didn’t seem as haughty. But it was a graceful air about her, the way her hair glowed under the chandeliers’ light, and that simple, tasteful black dress…
Andromeda tried to keep composure as her eyes searched the crowd frantically. Daphne wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Where had she gone?
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Tonks.’
Andromeda tried to soothe her nerves by taking a deep breath as she turned around to face Daphne. The young woman looked at her with what seemed to be compassion but not pity, admiration but not glorification. The same look which inhabited Narcissa’s grey eyes years ago.
‘Thank you, Miss...’
‘Daphne. Daphne Greengrass.’
There was a gleam in Daphne’s eyes as she said her name, a gleam that was never in Narcissa’s eyes. It elicited something in Andromeda -- something odd, that felt familiar and unheard of all at the same time. The two women conversed for the rest of the ball, ignoring the rest of the party. Small talk didn’t have its place in the discussion, and although it took some time for them to call themselves by their first names, and although they didn’t kiss for two months more, there was always something urgent and passionate about their relationship.