Chapter 352: Guilt
Oleandra woke up screaming the following morning, tears streaming uncontrollably from her eyes as she tore at her pyjamas in a desperate bid to claw at her heart.
"Are you okay?" Tracey cried, jumping out of bed and to Oleandra's bedside. "Is it another prophecy? Just take a deep breath!"
As the smouldering pain gradually faded from her sternum, Oleandra finally managed to get a hold of herself. Despite the pain, she felt oddly… happy, though she didn't have the foggiest idea as to why she'd be feeling this way.
She shook her head mechanically in response to Tracey's question.
"It's my scar," Oleandra said, putting a hand daintily to her chest. "It was burning me, but it's okay, now."
She had already tried all the purification spells Viviane had taught her on herself, but the unsightly scar that marred her otherwise perfect skin just wouldn't go away; it was something she found deeply unsettling.
"You need to see Madam Pomfrey," Daphne said as she rose from her own bed, her concern obvious in her voice. "It could be a remnant of the Killing Curse…"
Oleandra wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of having a time bomb embedded in her chest, but Madam Pomfrey had already given her the all-clear at the beginning of the year. If Madam Pomfrey had found a hidden danger in Oleandra's cursed scar, then surely, she would already have told her so.
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Breakfast was… different, to say the least.
Daphne had grown used to others pointing and gawping at her green hair; it was obvious why people stared— she was a freak of nature, a half-human, half-Wood Nymph being. But now, the eyes staring at her were filled with fear, hatred, or admiration, rather than curiosity. She had never let the staring get to her, but now, even she was beginning to worry.
Oleandra had been nice enough not to bring it up, but Daphne could sense the way she looked at her, her worry and her guilt evident in her eyes. The others might not know it, but Astoria and Oleandra both knew that her wand's wood was yew— exactly like the Dark Lady's in the prophecy. As much as she didn't want it to be true, she couldn't think of anyone else who might fit the profile described in the prophecy, and she just didn't know what to make of this.
"I thought you might like a copy of the Daily Prophet, my lady," Pansy Parkinson stammered. "I've noticed you always like to read it while having breakfast."
Daphne looked up at the girl in surprise; was that fear she heard in the pug-faced girl's voice?
"Er… thank you… I suppose," said Daphne awkwardly.
Pansy quickly stalked over to Draco's side before Daphne could even pay her back for the newspaper. Ordinarily, she would have loved to see the proud Pansy cowering before her, but as things stood, she couldn't even enjoy that simple pleasure.
Pansy doubtlessly believed that Daphne was the Dark Lady; after all of the verbal abuse that Pansy had heaped onto the Greengrass sisters over the past years, she had to be terrified for her well-being!
"I b-b-brought you this Danish," Millicent Bulstrode spluttered. "P-p-please don't kill me."
Daphne looked at the squashed-looking pastry that the large girl was offering her.
To be perfectly honest, it looked like someone had sat on it; the culprit probably being Millicent herself. But to avoid terrifying her, Daphne reluctantly accepted the offering.
"I'll bring you more!" Millicent said, relieved that her gift had been accepted.
She then shuffled away as fast as her fat body would allow her.
"There's really no need!" Daphne called out after her.
Daphne felt someone lay a hand on her shoulder, and upon looking up, she saw that said hand was attached to an arm that belonged to her dormmate, Mafalda Prewett.
"So now you know," she said with a playful smirk, "what it feels like to be the villain. Welcome to my world, Greengrass…"
"Take your hand off her, you filthy Mudblood!" Pansy snarled viciously, standing up from her seat and raising her wand.
Mafalda lifted both her hands to around head-level in surrender, a mocking smile still etched on her face.
"Ooh, I'm sooOoo scared," she said in a monotonous voice.
A vein popped on Pansy's forehead; she drew back her wand to ready a Jinx, but to her astonishment, Mafalda quickly closed the gap between the two of them and kicked her as hard as she could, right between the legs.
"@$%&@%$&!!!"
And on that day, womankind received a grim reminder: getting hit in the unmentionables hurts just as much for women as it does for men.
With a wordless scream, Pansy fell to the floor, writhing in pain and clutching… that part.
"For the last time," Mafalda said sweetly, "I'm a half-blood, not a Muggleborn. Okay?"
"I've wanted to do that for years," Oleandra commented, sounding rather envious herself. "Did you learn that trick while you were in prison? But I am going to have to give you detention for that, Prewett."
Daphne shook her head slightly in disapproval at the way her sister smiled gleefully at the two other girls' misfortune, but she couldn't blame her…
The tension at the table eventually drained when everyone realized that Daphne was not going to be taking action, and breakfast resumed as usual. That is, until a tiny owl fluttered over from the Gryffindor's table and fell into Tracey's bowl of cereal; it was Pyg, Oleandra's pygmy owl.
Daphne looked over her shoulder and saw Astoria waving at them.
"Here," said Tracey, picking up the soggy owl and handing it to Oleandra, who wrinkled her nose at the wet owl smell wafting off from it. "Pyg probably meant to land in your porridge, instead of my cereal…"
"Actually, it's for you," said Oleandra in surprise, upon reading the name written on the envelope clutched between Pyg's talons. "Your eyes only, for some reason— here you go, Trace."
Daphne watched as Tracey carefully cut open the envelope and retrieved the letter from its papery confines. She raised an eyebrow, and then another, before destroying the message with an, "Incendio!"
"Well, what does our little sister want with you?" Oleandra prompted her.
She was rather curious to know why Astoria would write to Tracey; Tracey was the twins' friend, not Astoria's; they didn't especially interact much with each other, usually.
"Oh, nothing," said Tracey offhandedly. "Oh, and before I forget, don't wait up for me for our usual homework session, Oleandra. I've got something to do after classes."
Daphne watched as Oleandra's brow twitched almost imperceptibly; at some point, she had noticed that whenever her twin sister caught someone lying, her brow would jump slightly. She could tell that her sister didn't suffer liars gladly, but this was clearly a white lie, wasn't it? Where was the harm?
"Okay," said Oleandra, with a neutral tone that barely veiled her jealousy. "I won't wait up, then."
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