1991

—

To Mordred and Priscilla, the manor is quieter without Daphne, but to Astoria, the manor is also scarier without Daphne.

It's barely been a month since Daphne started school at Hogwarts, but it feels like it's been years to Astoria. Day after day, she sits at the table to eat with her parents, with nothing to do but brace for whatever Mordred holds inside.

Astoria has never been one to take things for granted, but with Daphne gone, she knows she will cherish the days she has with her sisters more than ever before. She yearns to have someone to play cards with, to feed the cats that wander in the yard with, to braid hair with. She yearns so hard she thinks her heartstrings may snap.

She always knew that Daphne's departure to Hogwarts would arrive. She wishes she could have tried to not think about it, but as the day rapidly approached, she sat in anxious anticipation. Now, she wants more than anything else to turn back the time and relive their final weeks together.

Daphne's preparation for school had been rather exciting, and Astoria is sure it would have been even more interesting if she hadn't been so troubled with what lay ahead. While Daphne was busy swishing and tapping wands, all Astoria could focus on was how she'd memorized their father's own hand movements, knowing that would help her anticipate his next reactions. As Daphne browsed through cages of cats, owls, and toads, Astoria longed for someone who would take care of her and nurture her. When Mordred and Priscilla agreed to buy the girls ice cream, Astoria couldn't stop thinking about how that may be the last peaceful moment she felt in a long time.

In the end, Daphne left Diagon Alley with a wand of chestnut wood and unicorn hair and a cage with a small gray kitten under her arm. She had assured Astoria there would be many other students with owls and she would not neglect writing to her sister.

Still, the daily letters didn't seem to be enough to tide Astoria over.

She misses Daphne in the morning, when there is nobody to run into her room and ask if the flowers on her shirt match her pants. She misses Daphne in the afternoon, when there is nobody to take a walk in the garden with. She misses Daphne in the evening, when there is nobody to read books with over a hot cup of tea.

Still, she finds solace in a few comforts that make her feel closer to her older sister. As she sits in front of the pearly white and inky black keys, she wonders if there is a piano at Hogwarts and if her sister has kept up with her practice. Before she was old enough to play, Astoria would sit on the floor next to the instrument and watch as Daphne's hands floated across. Even when she missed a note or played the wrong one, Astoria admired her work.

She lifts her own hands up and they sofly land on the keys, starting off with her etudes. Her fingers don't glide smoothly the way Daphne's do; instead, they're stiff and her movements from key to key feel unnatural. Slowly her joints warm up and the piano sings sentences instead of fragmented words.

She walks over to the dark oakwood shelf, running her fingers back and forth along the booklets before she picks out the sheet music she needs. Her eyes linger on Daphne's side, where the pages collect dust. Not only is Daphne playing at a higher level because she has been learning for two years longer, but she is naturally adept at piano. In fact, every activity the Greengrasses signed their daughters up for, Daphne seemed to pick up nearly immediately — music, ballroom dancing, watercolor painting.

Astoria opens up the booklet, crisp sheets crinkling at the spine. Her pages aren't new, the way Daphne's are. In fact, her pages are old and yellow, cracking at lack of use. At the request of new sheet music, Priscilla immediately went into town for Daphne. But it always seemed Mordred felt it was a waste of money to buy new sheet music for Astoria, who was merely amateur.

Taking a deep breath, the dark-haired daughter places her fingers back on the ivory, being extra careful to curve her hands as if she is holding a golden snitch, just as Madame Antonov had instructed her to do. With an extra dash of courage she begins playing her minuet, focusing her eyes on the parchment in front of her rather than on the keys. She plays the first page well, albeit not perfectly, but her mistakes are in tempo rather than note, so she figures they are less noticeable. At the bottom of the second page she starts to get ahead of herself and her A minor sounds muddy, the keys screeching back at her.

Astoria sighs, searching the notes on her sheet music to see where she stumbled. Find, isolate, play, practice, fix, repeat, she reminds herself, praying she fixes her mistake before the wrong notes become bothersome to the rest of the household. She quickly trades her F for and E, soundly playing through the verse again. She's relieved, and continues on, turning the page carefully.

Yet again, she finds her fingers tangled amongst one another, some sticking to the keys and others refusing to hit them at all. She goes through her process of revisions over and over, with every phrase she gets stuck on. Eventually, the dark notes on the page become foreign to her, as if ants were marching across the parchment to paint out runes. She squints, trying to find where she left off, but only finds herself more confused. Astoria stretches her fingers out, fatigue settling into her small knuckles. Shaking her wrists, she tries again thinking the adjustments will give her a fresh outlook, but her nerves keep the pads of her fingers from meticulously doing their job. Discouraged, but knowing she isn't allowed to give up, she sits swinging her legs back and forth, eyes shut tight.

Astoria finds herself in this position often, nearly every afternoon. The only difference now is, without Daphne encouraging her, she feels very little pushing her to keep practicing. Astoria doesn't expect to have a natural aptitude for everything or anything at all, but it doesn't seem to make sense that Daphne could so easily pick up all the hobbies their parents enrolled them in while Astoria spent afternoons hunched over still unable to figure any of them out.

Five more minutes, she tells herself. Five minutes and she'll start again, but she needs this time to take some deep breaths and let her frustration out.

She stares at her reflection in the glossy finish of the piano, then sharply turns away when she is suddenly met with deep humiliation staring back at herself. Her thumbs dig into the velvet beneath her, boring crescents into the plush material. Her jaw tightens with the pursing of her lips, internalizing the stress as it becomes one with her small frame.

"Are you going to tell me why you've stopped playing?" A voice reverberates through the open room, undeniably belonging to Mordred Greengrass.

Astoria's head whips upward to meet her father's eyes. Although their eyes are a matching brown hue, his are filled with anger while hers are clouded with fear. He normally towers over her, but in her seat, she feels tiny, defenseless.

"Answer me, Astoria." Her father's body and expression are both hardened as if he is made of stone.

"I got frustrated because I kept messing up," she says trying to sound firm and confident, but her voice does not fail to break.

Mordred scoffs, "there is no time for frustration. Get back to your practicing or your playing will never sound good."

"I will, I was just taking a break." She tries to remain patient, but it seems her father can never understand her.

"Why was it necessary for you to take a break when you'd only just started? Daphne could play for an hour without stopping when she was your age." He clasps his hands behind his back as he stands in front of the booklet marked with notes, observing the level his younger daughter is playing at.

Astoria looks down at her lap. "Daphne has always been better at piano than me; it's to be expected that she didn't need as much practice as me."

"Daphne practices just as much as you do, but she makes less mistakes and her playing sounds better." His brows angle down inwards as he adds, "one would think after all that time you spend watching her that you would learn a thing or two from her. Now that she's gone, perhaps our goals for your progress are hopeless."

She cries out, "that's not true, Father! I'll show you I can learn. I just need more work than she does."

"If I was not present at both of your births, I would have a hard time believing the two of you are related. The differences in your skills and behavior are astounding." Seeming to have said the last of what he came in to express, Mordred walks out, the beats of his steps echoing and imprinting themselves in the young girl's head.

Astoria huddles over, her forehead landing on the music desk. Her chest heaves up and down as she chokes back her weeping. When the tears can no longer be stopped, she leans back and figures it would be better to get her dress wet rather than the piano. The mint color darkens to a turquoise, and she knows her mother will be cross with her later, but she figures she does not have much to lose anymore.

While she previously had hope that she would find the courage to keep practicing, these sentiments have completely flown out the window. However, Astoria knows her parents will not let her get away with skipping practice for the day, and she will have to try again after dinner.

She knows that if Daphne were here, her encouragement would make Astoria smile, even if she would not be able to defend her sister in front of their father.

Astoria stares intently at the ivory keys, the milky color reflecting back an even smaller picture of herself. She pleads for them to understand her better, to write music inside her head. Her legs kick back and forth, but she's careful not to touch the lower panel. She'll never forget the day she accidentally swung too hard and hit the piano; her father's reprimands were impossible to put aside.

"Miss Astoria, dinner is about to be served," Tooksy appears from behind. He keeps his distance from her, like he is scared of how she'll react if he comes closer. His arms raise slightly, intending to comfort the young girl, but ultimately deciding against it. There is greater fear of Mordred and Priscilla in the Greengrass house these days.

Astoria sniffles as she pulls a handkerchief out to wipe her eyes and nose. "Thank you, Tooksy," she says softly through her tears. She looks up and offers a weak smile to the elf before taking a deep breath and walking towards the dining room, while Tooksy makes his way through to the kitchen.

Astoria wishes she could take a quick trip to the washroom and splash her face with cold water to refresh herself, but she would rather not risk being late to her meal.

"Good evening, Astoria," her mother says as the girl takes her seat. Priscilla nods curtly at her daughter, to which Astoria finds confusing — does her mother have no knowledge of her interaction with her father?

"Good evening, Mother," she responds, the words coming out quieter than she had hoped. Looking down, she finds a vegetable soup for her appetizer. The celery and carrots seem to laugh at her and she swears the squash and tomatoes taunt her.

Mordred grabs the basket of bread from Tooksy's hands and waves him away before passing it around the table.

The Greengrasses have kept Daphne's place set since she left, perhaps to keep a visual balance, but for Astoria it is in hopes that her older sister will miraculously appear one night. She bets if she concentrated hard enough, she could fill the empty glass with Daphne's favorite cranberry juice.

"I noticed you did not finish your piano practice," Priscilla says as she spreads butter on her slice of baguette.

Mordred sneers, "your daughter has a tendency to get frustrated, which makes her want to quit."

Astoria stares down at her appetizers, the soup suddenly looking cold and the bread soggy. She's in no mood to argue with her father, and she'd rather just take what he has to say and go to bed.

He continues, "there is a serious disparity in character between your two children, as Daphne has always been cheerful and hardworking while Astoria is easily irritated and lazy. I haven't got a clue how this happened, as they've been raised the same way."

Astoria wanted to cry out. They haven't been raised the same way; where Daphne is encouraged Astoria is torn down. Even though they had naturally discrepancies in ability, Daphne's were always nurtured while Astoria's were scorned.

Priscilla continued to drink her soup, occasionally using her spoon to stir through the bowl. If Astoria didn't know any better, she would have thought her mother couldn't hear.

"I would be a fool if I thought this time in two years Astoria's marks at Hogwarts wouldn't fall short of what Daphne is receiving now." Mordred seems unphased about whether anyone is listening to him speak. His daughter barely has the energy to eat, but she's wasting no time finishing the course, trying to get to bed as soon as she can.

Priscilla says quietly, "Daphne did write to me today saying she's enjoying herbology very much, and Professor Snape seems to be impressed with her performance in potions."

Astoria's eyebrows furrow inwards, unsure of why her mother's break in silence completely ignores her feelings.

Mordred grins. "As we all expected, she stands out among her peers as a good flier. It's a shame she'd rather watch quidditch than play; I know Slytherin's reign in the quidditch cup would only be more secure with her on the team."

Of course Daphne had so many natural aptitudes she was allowed to refuse certain hobbies. Astoria could never really resent her sister; not only is her body incapable of hatred, but her sister has been her best friend her whole life. Even when Daphne receives favor, Astoria could never blame her.

As the three remaining Greengrasses finish up their appetizer, Mordred snaps twice to call over the elves. Tooksy brings out a large serving platter with cranberry-orange roast duck. The tangy aroma fills Astoria's senses, but with the events of the afternoon and evening it smells more sour than usual.

She barely manages to cut into the meat before her father begins to speak again. "It's a shame you never learned your manners from Daphne while she was still here, Astoria. She was always so polite and esteemed, especially during meal times."

"I haven't even done anything wrong yet, Father," Astoria says, nearly whispering, almost too careful not to raise her voice. "I'm holding the correct fork and knife, my napkin is folded the way Mother taught me, and my posture is upright."

Mordred chuckles darkly, "I'm not an idiot, Astoria. I can see all of that, but I'm smart enough to know you will make a mistake soon enough."

Astoria clenches her jaw and glances over to see if her mother has reacted. Surely enough, Priscilla most definitely looks uncomfortable, her lips pursed and eyes staring intently into the roasted bird. But she shows no indication of an intent on speaking.

The young girl cuts a small piece of duck and puts it in her barely-open mouth, drawing the least amount of attention possible. However, with only one child left in the house, Mordred's eyes will only be on Astoria's etiquette.

Dinnertime is painfully uncomfortable tonight, as it has been for weeks. With Mordred boiling in rage, Astoria cowering in fear, and Priscilla neglecting in apathy, the manor itself chills. Astoria knows the elves can sense it too, as they linger in the kitchen, perhaps whispering when it is best to bring out dessert. They have always felt uneasy around Mordred, as many house elves do around irritable masters, but this particular evening strikes greater anxiety. Wanting neither to be reprimanded for taking the main course away too early nor to be rebuked for delaying dessert, Tooksy peaks around the corner, looking for any sign of progress in the meal. While Astoria is usually an ally to him, tonight she stares blankly down as she continues eating.

When Mordred finally leans back, the elves bring in a strawberry shortcake. They must have had some sort of foresight about the state of the evening, since they know this is one of Astoria's favorites. It hasn't been served in a while, because the Greengrass parents always request Daphne's preference of lemon tarts.

"Be careful, Astoria. You don't want to have too much of this." Mordred warns as he places a slice on his dessert plate.

She isn't sure if he's insinuating about weight or toothache, but either way she's hit a breaking point. She cuts her piece in half before putting it on her mother's plate, to which Priscilla barely gives even the smallest nod of acknowledgement, much less thanksgiving.

As soon as the meal is over, or at least acceptable to be left, Astoria walks away. Her footsteps feel heavy, burdensome, but she knows her pace indicates rush. Before she can make it up to her room, she crumbles down on the staircase, bursting into tears. She finds no matter in the tears falling onto her dress, seeing she doesn't know if she can ever avoid disappointing her father.

Things would be different if she could put her trust and reliance in her mother. Instead, Priscilla can only be found cowering behind her husband, blindly following whatever he says or does. Even if she differs in thought, it does not matter, because she still allows Astoria to remain in her isolation. Astoria previously thought it was more painful to hear her mother voice her agreement with whatever Mordred said, but she comes to the conclusion now that it is more hurtful to watch her sit and watch her own daughter's anguish.

She misses Daphne when she gets dressed in the morning and when she walks in the garden, when she practices her minuets and when she paints her landscapes, but she misses Daphne the most when she realizes there is no sister here to comfort her as she cries alone on the staircase.

—

yes it is as painful to write about mordred and astoria as it is to read!

thank you all so so so much for being patient with me these last seven weeks. i decided to put chapter five up now since y'all have been waiting for so long and i'll have chapter six up asap.

i start my last year of university in a week and a half!

qotd: what hobbies and activities fill your free time?

aotd: i played piano for ten years and debated throughout high school, and i've always been into art. right now i don't do much besides school, work, and seeing friends, but i do bullet journal! i also dabble in embroidery and making clay earrings on the off chance i have time.

tell me how y'all have been doing! any life updates?

don't forget to vote!

have a beautiful day/night : )