She couldn't take it anymore. Daphne Greengrass stormed up the stairs, yanking the cord that held the stepladder in place and swiftly ascended to the storage space above the third floor. Grabbing hold of the first thing in arm's reach - a hideous stained glass lantern that lacked not only any functionality but was also bereft of the most basic of tastes - Daphne hurled it against the wall, feeling a guilty twinge of satisfaction at destroying something.

She couldn't stand another minute down there, with them. Her family. Her stupid, weak, resigned parents, who sat down there and held her sister's hand and spewed bullshit about making the most of the time they had left! Letting out a scream of rage, she picked up a heavy vase one of her ancestors must have been swindled into buying, raising it overhead with both hands and hurling it to the floor.

She couldn't bear even breathing the same air as them. It was written all over their faces, how they'd given up hope, given up on Astoria. They said there was nothing to be done but Daphne refused to accept that. How could she? And how dare they ask her to! Hadn't it been Daphne, who'd been at her side since she was born? Who sat in St. Mungo's next to her bed while other children played outside? Who- who loved her more than anything in the world? Daphne's cries of rage melted away into sobs of grief.

She couldn't defeat the disease that was killing her sister, so she'd come up here, to the attic where they stored the less desirable Greengrass heirlooms, to vent her rage and her powerlessness on something she could destroy.

Daphne knew that something was wrong when her parents had quietly withdrawn Astoria from Hogwarts, less than a week into the term. They'd said it was temporary, just some tests to run at the hospital with a new set of specialists, but she'd never returned. Instead, Astoria had been confined to bed rest, the healers claiming to have exhausted all avenues of treatment.

The letter from her parents, telling her that her sister was unlikely to survive to see Daphne's graduation had arrived on Halloween. She had to sit there in the Great Hall, amidst the cheerful celebration and the holiday feast, and read about how her baby sister was going to- going to…

It just couldn't be. She refused to accept it, and so from the moment she got off the Express for Yule Break until this moment, three days later, she'd raged and fought and cried and screamed at her parents to do something, to find some way to protect Astoria from this Merlin-forsaken illness.

They couldn't even tell her any details about it, claiming instead that the blood malediction was the result of a curse stretching back centuries, well into the Middle Ages. It had been the reason that the Greengrasses had fled England, unsuccessfully seeking a cure and only making their return when her father was Astoria's age.

Feeling drained and exhausted, Daphne still managed the strength to direct a solid kick against the side of a rectangular wooden crate bearing the Gringotts seal, the toe of her boot enough to chip away the edge of the container.

A muffled 'Well, I never!' sounded from within, suspending her half-hearted path of destruction. Squatting down to peer inside the crate, Daphne could make out an elaborate frame of a magical portrait.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Lady Elysant Greengrass, daughter of Wilburg and Imogene Greengrass. Who are you?"

"Daphne Greengrass. I think- I guess I'm probably your great-granddaughter," 'A few times over' she thought. Elysant - what a name!

A moment passed before the portrait's shrill voice spoke once more. "Well, are you going to stand there, staring through that crack at the edge of my frame, or are you going to release me?"

"Right. Okay." She looked around, grabbing a curtain rod that bore all the signs of being one of her mother's poor decisions, and wedged it into the crate's opening, prying loose the damaged side and revealing the portrait within.

Elysant was garbed in an ornate, long-sleeved dress, panniers cinching her waist and over-emphasizing her hips, the sleeves and hem of the dress embroidered with gold and silver accents. Despite how hopelessly out of date her style was, Daphne's ancestor was breathtaking.

"That's better!" the portrait said in apparent satisfaction, looking around in disgust at the trashed loft space. "Now that we are face to face, so to speak, introduce yourself properly, child."

"Uh, I'm Daphne Greengrass."

"Your full name."

"Daphne Isabella Greengrass."

"Born of…?"

She frowned. "Huh?"

Elysant scowled. "Your parents! Has tradition truly fallen so low that our family no longer adheres to noble custom?"

"My father is Cecil, my mother is Ava," she replied, repressing the urge to stick her tongue out at the uppity painting. Still, a snobby portrait was easier to deal with than her parents at this time. "I don't see a nameplate; when were you alive?"

The portrait ignored her question. "Is your father of a cadet branch of the family?"

"Huh? No, we're the only Greengrasses. He sits on the Wizengamot, and we're listed among the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

"The what? No, never mind. I shudder to think about how low our world has sunk if your attire is indicative of how heiresses carry themselves."

Daphne looked down at the ankle-length skirt and button-up blouse she wore. "I'm starting to see why you were sealed in a crate and thrown in Gringotts." That seemed to shut her up, and it was with a grin that she repeated her earlier question. "When were you alive?"

Elysant's perfect, button nose pointed haughtily in the air. "I was born in 1387, and this portrait was crafted in 1403."

"You're sixteen?" Daphne squeaked, looking over the elegant woman - girl, really - in shock, then casting an evaluative, self-conscious look over herself. "We're practically- I mean, I turn sixteen next month. You look so…"

"Yes, quite," came the interruption, dripping with thinly veiled disapproval. "In my time, a lady's appearance reflected the station of her birth."

"I've got more important things to worry about than fashion or cosmetics."

"Perhaps, but attracting a desirable suitor can only be of benefit to our family. Tell me, do you have a brother? Is there a male heir?"

"No, it's just me and- me and my sister," she stumbled over the words, her breath catching in her throat, fresh tears pooling in her eyes.

"What is it?"

"My sister, she- she's sick. The healers say there's no hope…" 'Wait' she thought. The curse had followed her family's bloodline for centuries, perhaps Elysant had some information? "Err, Grandmother, do you know of a blood malediction, one placed upon our family?"

"I do not, although I would remind you this portrait only contains the memories up to the day it was painted. It was a rather thoughtful token from my betrothed, Harlan Potter."

"Potter?" Her nose twisted in distaste at the thought of being related to that attention-seeking dunderhead.

"Yes, they're a very powerful family. It was a boon that my father was able to secure a contract; let that be a lesson not to neglect your appearance, child," the portrait said, casting another insulting glance over Daphne's figure. "Harlan was so immediately taken with me that he threatened to duel any man that so much as breathed over my knuckles."

Daphne ignored the backhanded insults and over-the-top self-aggrandizement of her ancestor, furrowing her brow in confusion. The Greengrasses, like all families within the Sacred Twenty-Eight, kept meticulous genealogical records. In a climate like Magical Britain, it was an important tool in fashioning alliances and commercial ventures.

Still, with how famous the current living Potter was, surely her father would have mentioned their relation before now! Not bothering to bid farewell to Elysant, Daphne made her way down the ladder from the loft and was halfway to the parlour where she'd left her parents after storming away before she remembered why she'd gone to the storage space in the first place.

Turning on her heel, she instead left and headed for her family's study, unfurling the wrinkled, weathered scroll of the Greengrasses' ancestral lineage. Daphne had looked upon this before, giggling madly with Pansy when she'd stayed over for a few days during their Second Year hols, the two girls poring over Daphne's family tree for a trace of the Heir of Slytherin. She hadn't noticed a Potter then - surely not, Pansy would have never let her live it down.

There - Elysant Harte née Greengrass, 1387-1409. She'd died young, but that was hardly the surprising part. No, clearly marked on the scroll was a marriage line to a Sedgwick Harte, 1404. He died the same year they married.

Rolling the scroll up and returning it to its protective casing, Daphne tramped back upstairs, climbing the ladder for the second time that evening and taking a seat on the floor in front of her many-times-great-grandmother, the portrait still looking out the opened Gringotts crate.

"You didn't marry a Potter. A year after this portrait was fashioned, my family records show you married someone named Sedgwick Harte."

"Sedgwick? That can't be!"

"You know- er, knew of him?"

"Of course, Sedgwick was in my year at Hogwarts. An excellent hunter, an adept outdoorsman, but his family was as poor as the serfs that till the soil. I would never marry him, I signed a contract with Harlan!"

"I guess you changed your mind," Daphne shrugged, satisfied that the mystery had been resolved, but Elysant was clearly distressed, pacing back and forth within the frame.

"You don't understand, Harlan was- he was a jealous man, and powerful as well. The contract was magically binding, it couldn't be negated simply because some pauper caught my fancy!"

While betrothal contracts still existed for the more traditional pureblood families, the idea of making them magically binding was insane to Daphne. "You mean, if you broke the terms of the betrothal, there- I mean, there was a penal clause?"

"Of course there was, the Potters were one of the most influential families in the country!"

"What was it? What was the penalty?" Daphne asked urgently, leaning towards the portrait.

"How should I know? My father negotiated the contract, I am a lady, after all."

Daphne fisted her stringy black hair with both hands, wanting to cry out again in frustration. This was- it had potential. The timeline fit, and the contradictory stories from Elysant and the ancestral scroll provided a plausible story. The idea that Astoria might die, though, because of the actions of this- this vapid slag made her want to ram her fist through the canvas.

"I need more information. Were there portraits of your mother, or father?"

"No, in those days it was exceptionally rare to have a magical painting made in your likeness. I was only the third Greengrass to ever be granted such a luxury."

"So why were you in Gringotts all this time, then?"

Elysant sniffed, a haughty expression adorning her beautiful features. "An impudent great-nephew of mine did not take kindly to the wisdom that I offered, and took me from the family manor and dumped me in our vault."

Daphne couldn't blame him for that. "Well, thanks for the information. I'd say it was nice meeting you, but… it wasn't."

Were she not so irritated, she might have laughed at the way her ancestor sputtered at her disrespect. "You can't just leave me here, do you have any idea how dull it is to sit in a box, day in and day out? At least hang me up somewhere with a view!"

She did provide Daphne with a new theory on the root of Astoria's illness. Reaching into the crate, she tried to wrestle the large and awkward frame out of the broken wooden box, hissing in pain as the section she had previously kicked in tore a jagged cut along the knuckles of her right hand. "Ow! Gods-dammit!"

"Coarse language of that sort has no place on a woman's tongue. I shudder to think of what sort of match you might garner with such manners!"

"Shut up, you old bag," Daphne muttered, carefully reaching back into the crate, this time withdrawing the portrait without incident. It was heavy, more so than any painting should be, and she huffed as she walked it over towards the wall that faced the small window in the loft. Jostling it a bit as she leaned it against the wall, Daphne could feel the liquid warmth of a thin trail of blood from the cut seep between her fingers. A dark, crimson stain smeared across the brass frame, sending a heavy jolt through her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

The back of the frame clicked.

"What was that?" she asked herself, bunching her skirt to wrap around her cut finger. With her uninjured hand, Daphne felt around the back of the portrait, seeking out the source of that unexpected noise.

There was a secret compartment built into the frame, disillusioned and hidden! She felt parchment, old and tattered, and carefully withdrew it from the compartment for closer inspection.

It was actually several pieces of parchment, sewn together to form a rough, hand-made sheaf. There was a date at the top - 31 October, 1409.

"What is that?" She nearly jumped out of her skin at Elysant's question.

"It was hidden within your portrait's frame," she replied, spreading it flat on the floor directly in a beam of sunlight. "You wrote it."

"What does it say?"

It was Old English, meaning there were a few words here and there that weren't comprehensible, and in other places, age had frayed the sections into illegibility, but Daphne was able to read most of it.

"You were- you were frightened, and on the run when you wrote this. Apparently, you'd had a, um, a dalliance with Sedgwick Harte, six weeks before you were to wed, and your affair was discovered."

"I must have been bewitched! I would never-"

"You loved him," Daphne said quietly, continuing to read as though there'd been no interruption. "You loved Sedgwick, and Harlan killed him in front of you. He vowed to make you pay for betraying him, and- and wove an enchantment that would poison the blood of your family with the pain of his heartbreak- you BITCH!" she suddenly screamed, "My sister's going to die because you couldn't control yourself a month before your wedding?!"

Elysant was quiet, for perhaps the first time that evening.

"I should smash this painting to splinters, and piss on the ashes!" she raged, panting with fury.

"What else does it say?" A surprisingly restrained Elysant asked.

Pushing the strands of her unwashed hair out of her face, Daphne returned to the parchment. "The child you carried, Sedgwick's baby, was stillborn. Harlan desecrated both of their graves every year until you decided to flee. You enchanted your portrait, the other lasting token of your betrothal to the Potter family, and hid this note before you ran."

That was it. There were no answers, no cure. Somehow, it was worse knowing that Astoria was going to die, all because of a spurned lover from five hundred years ago.

"Do you have a wand?"

"Huh?"

"In my day, ladies said, 'pardon', not 'huh', child."

"Do you really think I care about what you think?"

"A wand. Do you have one?"

"Of course I do, I'm a witch, aren't I?" Daphne spat, withdrawing the ten and half inch, sycamore and wampus hair wand from her sleeve.

"Tap the parchment, and repeat exactly what I say: 'Lasting love is not limited by loss'."

"Why?"

"It's something Sedgwick used to say; he thought himself to be quite a poet, but between you and I, he never had the gift for it."

Daphne did as instructed, watching intently as the ink on the parchment swirled, reforming into a different message. "Something's happening!"

"I thought it might. What does it say?"

She read aloud, "Harlan is a madman, he refuses to lift the curse despite the toll he has already exacted upon me. His hatred and jealousy show no signs of diminishing. I fear he will tire of toying with my grief and decide to stamp out my family line permanently in his boredom. Flight is the only chance I have to save them.

"I know not how long this abhorrent enchantment he has cast will linger, so I am hiding this note within the frame of my portrait. I know that Harlan would never destroy it. He proudly told me the solution to this vile magick: to make up for his wayward bride, a Greengrass must regain a Potter's love. One goblet of a lover's blood, freely given, will ease the pox that plagues our young.

"Forgive me. Try as I might, I cannot bring myself to love him, nor any of his clan again. Not after all he has taken from me. It will fall to another to right my wrong, to lift this curse."

This was it. The answer, the cure! And there was still time, she could still save Astoria!

Elysant had listened to her quietly read the hidden message, and spoke up, her snide voice for once sombre and serious. "Tell me, what became of the Potter clan?"

"They are all dead, but one boy. The last Potter."

Another long moment passed. "That does not leave you much choice, nor room for error."

"I know."

"Are you familiar with this boy?" Daphne bit her lip and nodded, apparently telling Elysant all she needed to know. "Then you have your work cut out for you. You'll need my help."

Seated there in the dusty, junk-covered storage loft of her family manor, next to the portrait of her long-deceased, disgraced ancestor, Daphne Greengrass settled on her newfound purpose in life.

Tricking Harry Potter into falling in love with her, to save her sister's life.

A/N: This fic is based off a prompt by MidgardWyrm, on the HPFF subreddit. The post was entitled 'Maledictus Cure' if you care to read it (and spoil this fic hahaha).

We'll stay in Daphne's POV for most of it. I'm going to try hard to give her a different feel than typical, without losing the fanon 'essence' that we all know and love.

If you enjoy, let me know!

Stay safe, healthy, and happy! ~Frickles