She ascended the stairs and took her new seat.
There was a scattering of applause, mostly from the Neutral benches, but the rest of the chamber was too busy dissecting every word and hidden meaning.
Dumbledore certainly was.
What in Merlin’s name had that been?
That was not a speech Tom Riddle would ever give.
There were Light-leaning sentiments mixed with traditionalist ones, far more moderate than blood-supremacist rhetoric.
It was… practically Neutral.
The realization struck him like a Bludger.
Impossible as it seemed, Lord Slytherin was not Tom.
But then who was he?
The only name even remotely plausible was Harry Potter, thanks to the Right of Conquest.
But that was absurd—both because Tom was not truly dead and because of the boy’s age.
Could Morfin or Marvolo Gaunt have fathered an unknown bastard child?
It seemed unlikely given what he knew of that wretched family, but it was still more plausible than Harry Potter.
And an unknown male line might explain why Tom had never been able to claim the title.
It also wouldn’t explain why such a person had never surfaced before… unless they had been living abroad.
So what he had was a recently returned male-line descendant of the Gaunts who appeared to lean strongly Neutral-Gray.
And this person intended to heavily influence the students and alumni of Slytherin House.
That could not be allowed to happen without careful monitoring.
He would need to arrange a meeting with this Lord Slytherin and steer him away from any dangerous mistakes.
He could not permit another breeding ground for Dark Lords to form.
A loud cough from somewhere in the chamber jolted him from his thoughts.
He realized he had been standing in silence for a full thirty seconds.
“Ah, yes. Thank you, Slytherin Proxy Lady Greengrass, for those most thought-provoking words. Please convey our gratitude to your Lord. I am certain you have given many of us a great deal to consider. Let us now proceed with the rest of the day’s business.” This chapter was copied from novelping(.)com without permission.
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The newly appointed Slytherin Proxy, Lady Sunny Greengrass—temporarily the most talked-about person in the wizarding world—returned home after hours of nibbling on finger food, pretending to sip wine, and fielding endless questions.
The moment she stepped inside, she sensed something was wrong.
From the sitting room came the sound of soft sniffling and broken sobs.
She hurried in.
“Dear?”
The sight that greeted her shattered her heart and drove every thought of the day’s politics from her mind.
Daphne was curled into a tight ball on one of the sofas, rocking gently, tears streaming down her face.
Daphne looked up, hiccupping.
“I don’t want to,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying across the room.
Oh, Merlin.
Sunny closed her eyes.
The post-session meeting with Lord Slughorn had clearly gone terribly.
“I don’t want to,” Daphne repeated, a little louder this time.
Sunny crossed the room without a word, sat beside her daughter, and pulled her into her arms.
She held her close, stroking her soft blonde hair, unable to find the right words.
“He’s horrible!” Daphne suddenly burst out, clutching at her mother’s robes.
“I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t, I don’t…” Her words dissolved into fresh tears that soaked Sunny’s shoulder.
Lady Sunny’s heart ached.
She felt utterly helpless.
If nothing changed soon, the betrothal would be signed within weeks, sealing her daughter’s fate.
She couldn’t bear the thought of watching Daphne’s bright spirit slowly crushed.
To hell with it.
She knew she might get in serious trouble for this, but she no longer cared.
“Dear,” she said softly, still stroking her daughter’s hair, “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but… we’ve spoken with someone else about your betrothal.”
Daphne sniffed.
“Who?”
“Harry.”
The girl went completely still in her arms.
After a long silence, Daphne finally spoke, her voice barely audible.
“And what did he say?”
“He said he would consider it.”
More silence.
Then, without warning, Daphne pulled away, scrambled off the sofa, and ran for the door, nearly tripping over her robes in her haste.
Sunny watched her daughter disappear down the corridor, praying she had done the right thing—and that something good might finally come of it.
≤○≥
Daphne ran through the halls of Greengrass Manor, her heart pounding.
She needed to find Harry.
She needed to.
She flung open the door to an unused study and found him sitting at a desk, absorbed in reading.
Her throat tightened, but she managed to choke out his name.
“Harry.”
“Miss Gree—” Harry looked up, startled.
“Daphne? What’s wrong? You look terrible.”
She crossed the room in a rush and threw her arms around him, clinging desperately.
“Please,” she begged, every word heavy with desperation, “please don’t leave me to that man. He’s horrible! I told him I wanted to explore the world, and he laughed at me! He said that wasn’t what witches were for. That once I married him, I would stay at home, host his parties, and raise his children—that was all I was good for. When I got angry and did some accidental magic that turned his skin blue, he slapped me! He said I would learn to be obedient, or I would never be allowed to leave the house again.”
She looked up into his face.
His expression had hardened, and there was no trace of his usual smile.
“Please, Harry,” she whispered again, “I don’t want to be a prisoner for the rest of my life.”