A/N: Ah, yeah, there's a bit of torture in this. Not much, not bloody, but yeah. Dark and whatnot (not really, though).

That said, it has been one hell of a ride. Over a year, and I'm exhausted, both emotionally and mentally, and I'm kind of just glad it's over. It's been a pleasure to have been part of this team; no matter what came our way, we stuck together, and I have no idea what my life would be like without you guys, but I'm glad to have met you all, and I'm glad to have come this far. We were the chatty bunch, the bunch who left everything to the last minute, and the bunch that wanted none of the drama, but all in all, I've decided that my choice to join this team had not been in vain. Buzz, buzz, y'all ;)

QLFC Finals: Each prompt is a quote that is widely associated with one particular character, but it's your job to make somebody else say it in your story. - Chaser 3: "Not my daughter, you bitch." – Molly

Beta love: Cookies and a million thanks to Frida, Ellen, and Shane for betaing. You're all awesome :)

Word count: 2017 (according to MS Word)

Extra prompts:

· 2. (quote) "We accept the love we think we deserve." - Stephen Chbosky

· 9. (song) 'Roses' - Poets of the Fall (the use of prompt is somewhat complicated, but I mainly used the scenery, imagery, and symbolism depicted in the lyrics)

· 13. (word count) 2017

The crackle of a bonfire was the only sound in the night, the flickering light concealed under disillusionment charms. On one side of the fire lay a brunette girl, staring at the sky with an indifferent expression—it was only her eyes that would glint, full of pain, from time to time.

'Not my daughter,' a scornful voice hissed in her mind, 'you bitch.'

The girl shook her head. Now wasn't the time to think about that.

"Daphne." She felt someone tap her shoulder lightly. Flicking her gaze to the one who'd said her name without a moment's hesitation, she hopped to her feet, only to come face-to-face with her companion.

"Blaise," she said, letting out an exasperated sigh. "What is it?"

"It's getting late," Blaise replied, "and we shouldn't be outside. It isn't safe outside the disillusioned tent. We're not under anyone's protection anymore."

Daphne nodded, her eyes wandering to the side. As the war had progressed, the Dark Lord and his followers had become harsher and harsher. It hadn't taken long for them to establish a no tolerance policy, meaning one was either an ally or an enemy. No grey people, no outsiders, no onlookers.

Daphne had decided not to participate. She wanted no part in it, not after seeing what the war was doing to her peers. She didn't want to become like the others: soulless, an empty shell of their former selves. She didn't want the war to have that toll on her; so, she'd fled, and Blaise had accompanied her. She hadn't asked him what his reason was, nor had she thought herself to be in a position to do so. They didn't talk about it; they didn't need to.

She nodded without a word but turned back to face the fire, her gaze stuck on the mesmerising flames. "Give me a few minutes."

No reply came, but Daphne heard shuffling from behind her and assumed that her companion had left her to it. As such, it came as a surprise when Blaise plopped down next to her, crossing his legs and fixing his gaze on the starry sky.

At Daphne's questioning glance, he shrugged, a hint of a nonchalant smirk making its way onto his face.

"You can't stay out here without someone watching your back," he said.

Daphne let out a hum and went back to staring at the fire. She wasn't in the mood for talking.

Soon, her thoughts went wandering again, the same sentence echoing through her mind ceaselessly.

"Not my daughter, you bitch." The sentence resonated with a voice dripping with hatred, followed by a flash of bright crimson.

Daphne frowned. This scene, although it had haunted her, had never come back with such frequency as in the last few days. She had thought that she was finally over it, but… But now, she wasn't sure anymore. She was not sure if it would ever go away. The feeling of betrayal and alienation from her family might be there to stay.

She instinctively reached for the brooch that was safely tucked underneath her outer robes. It was in the shape of a rose, and had some Latin—or French? She didn't know—words inscribed on the dark crimson petals. If she could recall correctly, it meant something along the lines of 'We only accept the love we think we deserve.' It was a quote her mother had often recited to Daphne, telling her that the rose resembled love and that it was connected to honour—the virtue their family most valued.

It was the last and only family relic she had kept after that day.

Gritting her teeth, she gripped the rose brooch and slipped it back under her robes. Leaving had been her own choice, and if her family was to condemn her because of it, then so be it. She had known she would be disowned; the gesture shouldn't have hurt so much.

Alas, Merlin knows it did. It hurt more than anything, but Daphne's pride, her honour, stopped her from showing the mixture of desperation and disdain she felt. It was the honour that her family had always been so proud of.

"Thinking about it will only make it worse," she heard Blaise's quiet voice from behind. He was looking at her with a thoughtful gaze, his eyes trained on where she had hidden the pin. "Speaking from experience."

"I don't recall telling you about this particular story. How would you know if thinking about it really worsens it?" Daphne replied, scepticism seeping into her voice.

"Humour me, then." Blaise raised his eyebrows as a challenge.

Daphne shook her head slightly, keeping her indifferent expression intact.

"Maybe later," she said. Then, without another word, she stood, extinguishing the crackling fire with a quietly murmured spell. "I could use some sleep right now, wouldn't you agree?"

Blaise looked at her with slight incredulity. Then, he shrugged. "As you wish."

As he rose soundlessly, Daphne turned around to head to their tent. As soon as she did, though, a hand came to rest on her shoulder, gripping with so much force that she couldn't help but wince.

"What-" She was about to turn around and ask what he'd done that for, but a force was holding her back, making her gag when she tried to use her voice. Had Blaise just used a Silencing Charm on her?!

"Someone triggered the wards," he whispered, lifting the charm with a quick Finite, "and they're probably coming for us."

An icy feeling washed over Daphne. She had never been a great duelist; what's more, she was utterly unprepared for an attack, even after living in hiding for the past few months. How had anyone even been able to find their camp?

"What do we do?" she asked, reaching for her wand beneath her robes.

"What can we do?" Blaise corrected. "We get out of here real fast, that's what."

A bright red stream of light came crashing towards the pair of them. Daphne barely had the chance to duck as the spell scratched her upper arm, leaving what she was sure would be an angry scar.

"Or not," she heard Blaise mumble as he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her towards what she knew to be the edge of the apparition wards. She tried shielding the two of them with the best Protego she could muster, but the flurry of spells was rapidly becoming overwhelming. Her wand hand was getting tired, and with it, the shield weakened until it disappeared completely.

It was then, that another pair of hands came snaking around her waist, hoisting her up and forcibly separating her from Blaise. Before she could scream for help, she was thrown over her assailant's shoulder, her wand falling from its holster as she was taken away somewhere deeper into the woods.

Screaming for help now was futile. Blaise couldn't help her while being attacked from virtually all directions, so Daphne opted for kicking and punching her attacker with all her might.

Useless though it was, at least she tried.

Minutes later, as the sounds coming from the clearing with their tent faded, Daphne was thrown onto the ground unceremoniously, landing with a thud that made the air flow out of her lungs. Catching her breath, she tried to get a better look at the man who had kidnapped her. His face, much to her disdain, was covered with a mask.

Great, she thought. Just great.

"I'll have to say that your mother did an excellent job," the man said, and Daphne could almost hear the triumphant smirk in his voice. Daphne's mind clicked, and the so very despised voice that had been bothering her the whole day came back with full force.

She was facing her mother, her sneer mirroring the older woman's. Her hand was on her wand, though she didn't need it, as the woman turned around, looking over her shoulder with a scornful expression.

"You're not my daughter," she said, then added with a lower, more threatening voice, "you bitch."

The memory came flooding back, her mother's voice echoing steadily in Daphne's mind, occupying her thoughts so that she didn't even take note of her immediate surroundings.

Not my daughter, you bitch. Not my daughter, you bitch. Notmydaughteryoubitch.

"Planting a tracking device on you was a brilliant idea of hers," the man said, knocking Daphne out of her stupor, leaving her staring with widened eyes. What device? "It allowed us to wait as you went playing with our enemies. Led us right to you all. Now, tell me," the man continued, putting a boot on Daphne's abdomen and pressing her into the ground. "Where are the others?"

"What device?" she parroted her inner question.

"What do you mean what device?" the man asked, his voice somewhat confused.

"What did you track me down with?" Daphne asked, slipping her business mask—an expression devoid of all emotions—on. "I can simply refuse to reply until you answer. Let's trade information for information, shall we?" she offered, the cogwheels in her mind spinning at the speed of light, trying to figure out how to get out of the situation without being subjected to a Cruciatus.

"Don't mistake me; I could torture you until you spill it," her attacker replied. "I was just offering a profitable deal."

"Tell me what the damn tracker is, and I'll tell you about the others," Daphne said, trying her best to remain commanding. She had no idea where any light-side combatants were, but pretending was her best chance.

"If that's how it is, then as you wish," the man said, pointing his wand at her. "Crucio."

There was pain, the sort of pain Daphne had rarely experienced before. Gritting her teeth, she tried tuning out the spasms of her muscles, trying to steer her thoughts onto other matters. In the end, that only helped her memories to come forward again, her mother's words practically screaming in her ears.

Not my daughter, you bitch.

And then, as suddenly as it came, the pain lifted, and she heard a dull thud from where the man had been standing. Blaise was there, panting and with fresh cuts all over his face, his wand trained on the Death Eater.

"Here's a wand," he said, throwing a piece of wood at Daphne. "Are you okay?"

"I'll survive," she said with a nod, lacing her voice with gratefulness. "The rest of them?"

"We have a bit of time, but if you want something from him," he glanced at the man on the ground, "get it quickly."

"What is the device?" Daphne asked. "Tell me."

The man, face still hidden beneath the mask, stayed silent for a moment before talking.

"The rose. Precious little thing, it is."

Daphne reached for her brooch, ripping it off her robes as her mind started swirling again.

The item was a family heirloom that reminded her of what she had left behind. A relic of the past, the last object she could cling onto, the only memory that kept her attached to her family. And now, she couldn't look at it with anything but betrayal and disgust.

Why must they take away everything that was left of her past?

Daphne cursed under her breath as she banished the brooch, wiping away the angry tears that formed in her eyes. She wouldn't cry, not over someone, something, that didn't deserve the tears.

Before she could use her better judgment, she sent a Stupefy the man's way, irritation bubbling in her as she felt the wand recoil. She was not its master, but it would have to do.

"Should I bother asking?" Blaise inquired, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Maybe later." Daphne nodded. "Hey, Blaise."

"Yes?" her companion replied.

"I think we should leave the country," she said, eyeing their surroundings. "I mean, we have nothing that connects us to this place, do we?" She sighed. "Besides, it would be peaceful. Let's get away, shall we?"

Blaise seemed to be in thought for a moment before sending a lopsided smirk Daphne's way.

"Yeah, let's."