29. Where Rivalry Ends
Daphne Greengrass sat at the Slytherin table, beside her mother and younger sister. The three of them stayed close together, unmoving, as if someone might order them out again at any moment. Daphne didn't look injured, but she didn't look comfortable either. Her eyes were lowered, her shoulders tense, and none of the calm pride she usually carried through the halls of Hogwarts could be seen on her.
Hermione watched them for a few seconds in silence.
Then, without saying anything to the others, she stood up.
"Hermione?" Ron called, surprised.
She only gave a brief nod and began walking. Her steps echoed among the murmurs and conversations in the background. But Hermione did not hesitate. She didn't see a Slytherin girl there. She saw a frightened family. And a girl who—rival or not—she had always respected for her intelligence, and who now needed someone to check if she was alright.
As Hermione approached the Slytherin table, she felt more clearly the invisible line dividing the Great Hall. The separation was not explicit, but showed itself in the exchanged glances, the silent clusters of people, the empty gaps left between tables. On one side were the families who had been attacked or lived under constant threat of attack: Weasley, Longbottom, Lovegood, Diggle, Bones. All connected in some way to Dominus or to the Order of the Phoenix. They were allies, friends, relatives—united by old convictions and a fragile trust in the resistance.
On the other side were the more solitary figures, isolated by history and suspicion. The Greengrass family stood among them.
Although they were not Death Eaters, the Greengrass had always maintained a neutral stance, distant from the ideological wars dividing the wizarding world. Traditionally tied to Slytherin, known for their discretion and pragmatism, they had never sworn loyalty to Mortavius, yet had never opposed him either. That was why—even now as victims—they still looked out of place, like pieces that didn't quite fit on a board that rejected them.
Daphne Greengrass sat between her mother, Selene, and her younger sister, Astoria. The three were composed, but there was no nobility in their posture. It was pure restraint—porcelain about to crack. They looked like a painted portrait: elegant, graceful, beautiful enough to steal the breath of anyone who looked at them.
Hermione approached without saying a word, stopping at the edge of the table. Daphne raised her face, surprised but not hostile.
"Greengrass," Hermione said with a small nod.
"Granger," Daphne replied, matching her tone.
A moment of silence followed. Astoria glanced between them, wide-eyed, and Mrs. Greengrass arched a single eyebrow, containing her curiosity.
"I… heard what happened. I'm sorry," Hermione said, her voice controlled.
Daphne hesitated, then answered simply:
"Thank you. I didn't expect you to come. I imagine… it wasn't required."
"No. But it felt right. School rivalries seem… small now."
Daphne inclined her head slightly. Her eyes held that cool brilliance she always had in class, but it was duller now, worn down.
"I never wanted to be your shadow, Granger."
"I never saw you that way. Actually… you always made me try harder."
For a brief moment, the faintest shadow of a smile passed over Daphne's face.
"Funny. I thought the same."
They looked at each other in a quiet moment of mutual respect. Before Hermione could step back, a cold and elegant voice cut in:
"And if Cassius does not return… we will hire mercenaries. One of the great guilds. Someone will kill Mortavius for us," Selene Greengrass said, her tone unchanged, as if commenting on the weather.
Hermione paled. The coldness of the statement, the weight of the name spoken so casually, and the mention of guilds left her momentarily speechless.
"Mother," Daphne said firmly, though not harshly. "No guild will accept a mission like that. They don't get involved in wizarding wars. They hunt monsters, not commit suicide."
Selene did not look at her. Her eyes remained fixed on some distant point in the hall, as if she were speaking only to herself.
"The League has a grievance with him. An old one. They remember. And if Cassius dies… I will pay whatever is necessary so they remember faster."
Hermione stared at her, stunned. Had the woman gone mad?
She tried to hide her reaction, but Daphne noticed. She gave Hermione an almost apologetic look—something between resignation and sorrow.
At that moment, a sharp crack echoed through the Hall, like a whip slicing the air. Then a crash of breaking plates spread across the room, drawing every gaze at once.