AND THEY WERE... DAPHNE, WHAT ARE WE, REALLY...?
𔓘 independent portrayal of daphne greengrass. implied compulsory heterosexuality. reader is afab slash identifies with feminine pronouns. reader's house isn't specified.
i think that loving you has been the truest and kindest thing about me.
it was a mystery what exactly allured daphne greengrass to inspire such popularity. the truth is, from the moment 1978's first-years ventured in the boats while older students took the carriages, daphne was noticed. in the great hall, daphne was merely another kid of eleven years old who landed in slytherin, be it for an ancient expectation twisted into pressure, for her own merit of a serpent-like personality or because daphne is unapologetically herself.
blonde hair—initially presented with a headband, carved onto her scalp pleasantly to keep her long-ish bangs from falling over her eyes—not any rare shade of golden or pale-moonlight like the malfoys. daphne didn't have green or blue eyes either, brown orbs that inspired the same ordinary looks from most of the scottish population. a cute face that sharpened into a feline beauty, sure, but these aren't reasons that fully justify why daphne greengrass lures attention to herself from the moment she steps in a room.
daphne wouldn't know, either.
perhaps it was a cruel irony, daphne thought, that hogwarts bent backwards and strained necks upon the sight of her—when at home, somewhere overshadowed by astoria even if her younger sister was coughing upstairs, daphne was as invisible and average as a bland decoration forgotten in a dusty room.
attention meant that people wanted to know her name, and soon, daphne easily merged with groups of people. her curiosity was won by pansy, her looks similar to astoria, if her sister inherited the same sharpness that she did, instead of softness and frailty. daphne decided that she rather liked to sit together with theodore, draco and blaise, weary of mattheo initially, never fond of lorenzo.
as cruel as that might be, the course of her friendships—with the exception of pansy. no, pansy was her truest sister, twin flame born in another house from a completely different mother. the sister she never had, nevermind astoria—were a bland chapter of her life. no, daphne might assume them to be a line, maybe a paragraph, of her life.
in comparison, you were the most wonderful and detailed chapter of daphne's life.
at first, daphne was awfully irritated by your existence. objectively, you were nothing special; nothing that distinguishes you from the crowd, although her eyes easily found you every single time. your grades weren't spectacular, nor outstanding to the point of rivalling theodore or that granger girl. watching you from a distance gradually developed into a close admiration—three rows away in mcgonagall's classroom transformed into sitting side by side in the library, days before what they learned throughout the months was verified in charmed exams.
pansy began suspecting that there was something deeper about daphne's fascination by their fourth year.
it was then that daphne was perceived a little less than a popular pretty girl, and more of a, for the lack of a less direct approach, whore.
a cruel assessment for a fifteen year old, if you ask any of her friends. daphne would have been more upset, if her actions weren't unconsciously planned.
the yule ball had been stressful for daphne. from long conversations to small talk, the topic was the same: who would you like to go with to the ball? do you have a date yet? are you fancying someone from hogwarts, or a boy from durmstrang? no matter where daphne ran to, there was a suffocating pressure to know exactly who caught her eye. durmstrang. hogwarts. slytherin? gryffindor. perhaps ravenclaw, totally not hufflepuff. senior? junior? same year?
but none was a boring answer, and by fourteen, daphne noticed that people expected a certain version of her. scandalous, bold, confident, interesting. admitting the truth—that she couldn't care less about dancing with a boy, whose hands might be sweaty and his cologne too strong to inspire a smile from her—would be the beginning of a small social death.
and daphne, well, daphne knew it was a vicious addiction. attention, she means. marvelous or ostracizing, attention is the water that allows her to not wither. if she was ignored during winter and summer break in colchester, then at least in hogwarts, daphne greengrass shall feel special.
instead of taking her own annotations in classes, through the days that followed by her dilemma, daphne studied other students instead. a boy that wasn't too plagued by acne or victim of puberty, pretty enough to be acceptable to fancy, sufficient to please those who she couldn't disappoint. in the end, daphne chose a boy, senior by a single school year ahead, who she noticed to be so deeply in love with a ravenclaw of her year that his eyes never averted to another skirt passing by him.
in her mind, it was perfect.
it was scandalous enough to make daphne interesting in that trippled forbidden love: unrequited, older, taken. people took pity on her, smothered her ego in reassuring words that she'd find a boy who loves her the same someday, that a girl as pretty as daphne would easily find a boyfriend.
to daphne, those words sounded more like a threat than a compliment.
a pattern would take shape from then on: daphne would be questioned about the boy she fancies, and unable to flee endless conversations about her friends' crushes, she'd pick a taken boy from the pitiful litter and pretend to be into him. giddy laughter became subtle frowns, and before her sixth year, daphne greengrass was labeled a cruel whore with no compassion for other girls.
a heinous bitch, when all that daphne thought about back then, was to buy matching dresses with you—and try to dance the waltz with you, without either having to fill the "male" partner role.
if her admiration and focus on you led daphne to get into misunderstandings before, then her impulsive decisions—like one holds a band-aid against a cracking glass, foolishly hoping the dam won't break—would only worsen from then on.
summer break was more colorful when daphne took the courage to owl you more often. her letters were long, sometimes complaining about her parents, other times convincing you to hang out for a whole day and arrange a sleepover so more time is spent together in the following morning. pansy would be invited sometimes, too—but parkinson knew her best friend better than daphne was aware of herself, so more often than not, you two explored diagon alley, muggle london and wherever your feet wandered to throughout july.
that might have been when the polaroids began.
being a teenager wasn't just hormones, a growing sense of fashion and troublesome feelings. daphne thought that it was about wanting to look prettier, find an identity that distinguishes you from the crowd and register those moments into memories in loop—a pleasantry born from wizardry inventions.
one thing is to have a handful of polaroids with your close friends.
another thing is to hang them on the corners of your vanity's mirror, frame them on the little table next to your bed and store your favorite one inside your wallet. pansy would have been jealous if she didn't know.
know, what their other friends easily understood in a week or two. gave space, with the shared knowledge that you weren't to be messed with—no flirtatious jokes, no eyes wandering to you with second intentions or thoughts of romance. even lorenzo backed off.
they knew that daphne needed this. needed you. needed those moments where her hands would cradle your face with the excuse of a nice polaroid, or those pictures that froze daphne's look of utter devotion while you stare at the camera with a silly face. those photos that neither you or daphne noticed pansy took, when proximity is so common between you and her, that your head rests on her lap while daphne plays with your hair.
if she was a boy, other students wouldn't consider asking you out. if you were a boy, daphne wouldn't hesitate to kiss you, to bring you impossibly closer.
is this a normal thing to go through? the brewing self disgust and guilt that follows butterflies in her stomach, when her gaze finds your lips instead of looking into your eyes, paying proper attention while you tell her all about last weekend's hogsmeade trip.
the next dooming step of daphne's growing infatuation for you took an unpleasant, bordering the line of a friendship poisoned with toxicity, turn.
jealousy is a green eyed monster that lurks behind daphne's bed and follows her around the corridors, not giving her a second of respite. daphne felt sick to her stomach, every single time a boy would linger close to you, itching to take that first step. somehow, daphne wonders if that was worse than seeing you grow closer with other girls, girls that threatened to slowly but surely steal that precious place in your heart that daphne calls home.
isolation was labeled as protection. bystander of someone's attempt at spending the weekend alone with you, daphne always had an excuse on the tip of her tongue, filing your schedule and disappointing those who sought a moment alone with you.
daphne could have been smarter with her approach.
perhaps jealousy, fear and possessiveness makes you dumber, blinder, easier to succumb to desperation.
every time you'd try to talk to daphne about this boy you're fancying, or a sweet interaction that happened in her absence, daphne would roll her eyes. no one is good enough for you—worse, every single boy you bring to the conversation is flawed, uninteresting, not worth the effort or attention. tension bristles between the two of you, between daphne's growing resentment of the life you build with no care for your connection, and between your rightful disappointment of her selfishness.
liar · paramore. bags · clairo. so happy i could die · lady gaga. ache · not for radio.
DAPHNE GREENGRASS, WHO...
྅ headcanons about our pretty slytherin. cw ; toxic friendships, jealousy, checking reader out without her permission / consent. possessive behavior.
daphne greengrass, who 𔓘 has your order memorized. even though you can order stuff yourself, daphne enjoys showing off how much she knows about you. sometimes comes across as unnecessarily rude, whenever another friend of yours suggests a piece of clothing or a new snack for you to try, because obviously you wouldn't like that—come on, does that person really know you? and they call themselves your friends. daphne's comment might embarrass your friend, unintentionally or not, it's proof that she's the one who knows you best. your number one, right?
daphne greengrass, who 𔓘 cancels plans to make a sleepover with you—sometimes, convincing you to sleep in the same bed together, with the excuse of being rather cold outside. best friends cuddle all the time, and it saves you from the effort of splitting pillows and sheets to manage two beds. furthermore, daphne's nails massage the best feeling on your nape and scalp, easing you to sleep while your legs intertwine under the duvet.
daphne greengrass, who 𔓘 suddenly is really into playing cards. normal card games are a bit boring, so daphne suggests spicying things up with exchanging colorful chips for stripping a piece of clothing at the time, every single time one of you loses. daphne lounges in front of you, perching her shoulder so her elbow pushes one breast closer to the other, cupped by a laced bra that she may, or may not, intentionally chosen. her hands switch the cards from place to place, changing their order and sequence absentmindedly, so you don't notice how her gaze sweeps over you—reverent, tracing every curve, every mole she's allowed to witness—and how she hopes you return those lingering stares. are you looking at her, too? did your eyes linger on her chest, or did you prefer the curve of her thighs and waist?
daphne greengrass, who 𔓘 is awfully possessive of you. daphne knows you the best, so she totally knows that no boy is good enough for you. faster than you, clocking someone else's growing interest before they make a move, daphne discreetly lets them know that you're not interested, not available, and already liking someone—although that's a lie. if she's too late, or he's too persistent, daphne interrupts the conversation, abandoning pansy and astoria halfway to wrap her arms around your waist, big smile and extroverted demeanor, totally excluding the person who was talking to you by creating a bubble where only you, and daphne herself, are included. that, or she ends up pouting at you, reminding you that hey, she's super in need to catch up on potions this weekend! come on, you don't want her to fail slughorn's class, do you?
daphne greengrass, who 𔓘 insists on getting ready together for every party, no matter if it's in her common room—well, it always brings the excuse of having you sleeping over at hers, so you don't have to be careful about sneaking to your own dorm, tipsy and sleepy—or hosted by another house. if it's to celebrate your house's victory, daphne swiftly invites herself to your dorm room... and might use your perfume on some belonging of hers, just because. just so, you know, she can buy you a new one for your birthday... and need to keep it close to her to get further acquainted with the smell. no particular reason.
daphne greengrass, who 𔓘 doesn't mind sharing her clothes with you. if anything, the knowledge that you're wearing her belongings, or using stuff she gave you as a gift, fuels a strange pride that threatens to explode in her ribcage. besides, having a similar style means that going to parties somewhat matching is possible. daphne also enjoys doing your make-up, somehow insisting that she can't do your eyeliner properly standing up or sitting down. no, it's easier if you're laying on her bed, possibly carving your body mist and perfume in her blankets, while daphne straddles you. it always makes her feel some type of way—a guilty pleasure that has her fingers drawing your eyeliner slower than necessary. but hey, she just wants to get it right in her first try.
daphne greengrass, who 𔓘 insists that you're both girls, so it's silly to undress behind a closed door or in the bathroom. like, hello, she's also a girl! nothing to be embarrassed about, silly. after all, daphne dragged you to countless stores throughout summer break; how is this any different from trying out dresses in the same fitting room? daphne sluggishly turns another page from her magazine, or pretends to read rita skeeter's new issue—swiftly watching your hands pull your sweater upwards, or the slow fall of your skirt abandoning your thighs. if daphne gets particularly still when you change bras, well, the sound of her breath hitching is swallowed by the music blasting from her player.
daphne greengrass, who 𔓘 knows how to tug at your heartstrings. the second you're about to walk away, daphne makes herself the victim—in a matter of minutes, you went from the person being hurt to the person who's responsible for making daphne feel better. similar to theodore, daphne twists the narrative, however not blaming her childhood or background, but reminding you that her actions come from love, perhaps the anxiety of abandonment or being replaced like she felt since astoria was born. you're the closest person to her—daphne does everything for you, so that gives you some responsibility, right...?
