Chapter 1
THUD.
The heavy wooden lid of your trunk slammed shut with a slight wave of your wand, reverberating inside the chest and echoing in the dormitory much louder than you had intended. You winced, the noise obnoxiously loud, but refused to apologise for it.
“I’m sure the whole school heard that,” Pansy Parkinson sneered, packing folded shirts and loose articles into her own trunk. “Careful, or we’ll get scolded for ‘making too much sound’ or something.”
“Well, I had to make myself heard,” you replied smugly, knowing that there was no true ill-intent behind her words. “Maybe if I can get enough attention, I can be the next Harry Potter!”
You’d truly despise having to be like him , but you saw the opportunity for a jab toward the wizard and took it.
“Please, trying to get the same attention he gets is like trying to take care of…what were those disgusting things in Care of Magical Creatures called?” Daphne Greengrass replied, trying to balance her wand unsuccessfully thus far on her shin, leg lifted in the air.
“Blast-ended skrewts,” you replied, actually having enjoyed the class. You liked the danger it ensued, despite not being very fond of Hagrid (well, you liked him a little bit, but you wouldn’t admit that).
“Yeah, those things,” Daphne murmured as if she weren’t paying attention, her leg spasming, sending her wand falling onto her face. She yelped out in surprise.
“Harry Potter is a blast-ended skrewt,” Pansy huffed, dropping another one of her shirts into her trunk. “Looks like one, too. I can’t understand why any teacher here protects him.”
You snorted, then added, “Professor Snape can’t stand him.”
“Which is why he’s my favourite.”
You and Daphne agreed, both changing into your pyjamas.
It was the end of the year and you had returned to your dormitory not too long ago from the End of Year Feast. The rest of the fourth-year girls were down in the common room mingling with the other Slytherins, but you, Daphne, and Pansy were in your room packing. You just didn’t quite feel like socialising right now, although unfortunately you had to make an exception for Pansy and Daphne.
You had sent an owl to your parents the day before, making sure that they knew to pick you up tomorrow at the station. You had also explained to them about what happened at the Triwizard Tournament, and what happened with Harry Potter. You heard rumours the boy claimed Lord Voldemort was back and killed Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff, which Dumbledore had confirmed at the feast. You knew it to be true, of course (because of Draco), but you’d do anything to paint Potter in a negative light.
Potter had a nasty temper anyway; you wouldn’t put it past the boy to frame Voldemort for killing Cedric. It would make sense, afterall, for Potter to constantly use the Dark Lord as an excuse, and it was pathetic, really, how Dumbledore always sided with him. If it were you making claims, you’d lose House points and probably receive a detention.
Although, your parents never did believe anything you say, so you weren’t too positive as to why you even included the information in your letter at all.
Both of them were in Hufflepuff when they attended Hogwarts; your younger sister is currently in Hufflepuff as well, but your younger brother ended up in Gryffindor this year. Of course, your parents were proud of him for breaking the Hufflepuff chain, but when you got sorted into Slytherin your first year, they pretended as if you didn’t even attend the school. It was like admitting their oldest daughter was diseased, wrong .
Your mother came from a pureblood, mostly (if not fully) Hufflepuff family, and your father was Muggle-born, which made you slightly resent him deep down. You had every opportunity to be pureblood, yet your mother just had to marry a Mudblood and ruin it for you (you were surprised her side of the family even spoke to her still for being a blood traitor).
You vividly remembered the blatant disappointment in your mother’s eyes that first summer you came home from school, born to her glorious Hufflepuff family (that’s sarcasm) and ending up in Slytherin of all Houses.
It made you angry and resentful toward her, more so than your father. All of your problems, and fears, and anger somehow always circled back around to your mum.
It’s not like you chose to be different. You were already born strange; you always had a love for the unlovable, such as snakes and acromantulas, as well as possessing a fairly dark mindset. Your way of thinking sometimes could be borderline twisted, and some of your various artworks have depicted more gore than your parents had signed up for.
When you began taking an interest in the Dark Arts at a very early age (you were probably about five when you first found out about them), your parents heavily limited what books you could read during their homeschooling of you (it was difficult to be taught about the Boy Who Lived without teaching you the Dark Arts as well).
You knew getting sorted into Slytherin confirmed their suspicions that you were, as your grandmother put it, an “evil little child” (you really disliked mum’s side of the family).
You had a slight anxious feeling that after that letter you sent, you may not even hear back from your parents at all. It wasn’t like you said anything truly terrible in it; you didn’t even say anything negative about Harry Potter. All you did was provide an update on what happened, in factual details: Harry Potter won the Triwizard Cup, Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff was dead, and rumours of Lord Voldemort’s return sprang up around the school (you didn’t even use Voldemort’s name in the letter).
The door to the dormitory opened, taking you from your thoughts, and you looked up to see one of your roommates standing there, gaze directed toward you. You hardly ever spoke to her, so you weren’t sure what she wanted right now of all times, let alone what her name even was. Dora? Dory?
“Malfoy’s looking for you,” she said in a squeaky voice. “Said he’s got something to tell you.”
“Be right there,” you replied, and at the vaguely disgusted, vaguely appalled expression on Pansy’s face, you spat, “Wipe that look off of your face, Parkinson. He’s my friend.”
Pansy huffed, turning her back to you as she continued to pack her trunk.
Draco was more like a brother than anything. From that first day at Hogwarts, when he found out you were a half-blood, Slytherin witch from a Hufflepuff background, with an interest in the Dark Arts, he welcomed you into his inner circle with open arms. You could tell the boy truly couldn’t make many friends, and since you liked his energy as much as you did (having found someone to share your interests with), the two of you got on quite quickly.
Of course, he was still fairly smug with you, but you could tell he truly enjoyed your company, having sought you out many times simply just to catch up on how your days went. Not even Crabbe and Goyle got that, since Draco was always sneering at Potter or bullying other students while around them (or making them do his bidding).
While you were never quite a part of the gang of Slytherins that surrounded him, he made it clear that you were the only person that he truly considered his friend.
Now, in your fourth year, you and Draco were inseparable. The friendship between you led to definite dislike toward you from certain teachers, such as Professor McGonagall and even Professor Dumbledore.
Which sucked, because you actually liked McGonagall and wished for her to actually like you.
You hated Dumbledore though, so you could do without him.
Your friendship with Draco did lead to a close relationship with your Potions teacher, though, Professor Snape. There have been times where you and Draco (after classes, of course) would sometimes drop by his office just for a friendly chat. Snape was a long-term family friend of the Malfoys, so since you were practically Draco’s sister at this point, he treated you similarly to how he treated Draco, if not favouring you more.
That’s another reason how you knew the Dark Lord returned: Snape had told you and Draco of the Mark on his arm burning once again.
The only thing that truly separated you from Draco, though, was the lack of meeting his parents. You’ve caught glimpses of his father when he’d drop Draco off at your house over the holidays to hangout for a little while (he’d usually stay over for a week), but you never actually met him. You didn’t even know what his mother looked like, having never truly seen any photographs or glimpses of her.
You were also never allowed at Malfoy Manor, which made you angry, but Draco was always open with you about why, explaining how his parents didn’t trust the children of people they didn’t know or like very much. It was a fair reason, of course, but it still frustrated you. You weren’t your parents, but if Lucius Malfoy and your dad didn’t get along, you could safely gather that Malfoy saw you as an extension of your father.
Of course, Lucius Malfoy did know your father, since they both work for the Ministry. Your dad wasn’t fond of Mr. Malfoy (and you were sure the feeling was mutual) and would openly express it in front of Draco who, on several occasions, almost told him off for it. He never did though, only for fear of you taking the blow from it. The one thing Draco cared about over having the last word was making sure you were safe.
You walked out into the common room to find the subject snarking over something with Crabbe and Goyle on one of the sofas. As you made your way over, he turned to look at you with his signature smirk still plastered across his face, before it vanished as he stood up, beckoning you over to a more secluded area.
You followed him, curious as to what was so private.
“This is one way to beat the rumours of us dating,” you mumbled once you stopped walking, crossing your arms.
You didn’t actually care about the rumours, but it was annoying to hear sometimes (thankfully, no one teased you for it since they were all scared of Draco).
“Dating?” he spat, an expression of disgust appearing on his pale face. “What kind of sick, incestuous relationship have these wartheads got in their brains?”
“If they had any brains at all,” you replied, scanning the room to check that nobody was watching (and to see if you had to bully anyone for eavesdropping). “So, why’d you want me to come out? I was busy , y’know.”
“You can finish packing later,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Just…curious to see if your parents ever returned your letter. You know, about being on time to pick you up. They weren’t exactly punctual last year.”
Your parents hadn’t shown up to King’s Cross for a good two hours after the train arrived at the station last year. Your little sister, who was a year below you, hitched a ride with one of her friends to take her home. That left you alone in the station until well-after midnight, asked by countless Muggles if you needed help. The interactions were humiliating, especially since your owl, Valkyrie, kept getting very strange looks. You still felt quite heated at the memory.
“No, I haven’t received a letter yet,” you grumbled. “Probably won’t even get one, and I’ll have to wait two hours again with sympathetic looks from pathetic Muggles.”
“If you don’t receive one, you can stay with me for the summer.”
You stared at him, processing his words. Having never been allowed at Malfoy Manor all of these years, suddenly he’s inviting you over, especially now after Lord Voldemort returned?
“Won’t your parents be upset?” you asked him. “I mean, even though I’ve got pure blood in me, I’m still not one.”
As badly as you’ve wanted to meet them, Draco’s parents weren’t entirely the friendliest wizards. You were actually surprised they let Draco hangout with you like he did, given the fact that Mr. Malfoy surely knew you were a half-blood from Hufflepuff parents (the half-blood part probably wasn’t an issue, but your parents supporting Dumbledore surely was).
“You’re close enough to it,” he replied, shrugging. “I’m sure they’d like to meet you, especially since you do have pure blood in you. Mother asks about you quite a lot, actually. Besides, as you know, my father’s a Death Eater, so maybe you could join our side.”
“As much as I’d love all of that, I still wish it won’t come down to me needing to stay the entire holiday with you,” you replied. “I’d like a letter from my parents, and I’d like to know they care enough to welcome me home.”
“I’m sure Valkyrie will bring back a letter tomorrow before the train leaves,” he reassured you, placing his hand comfortingly on your arm. “I’ve never met a more punctual owl.”
“That’s only because she’s fast, and I trained her well,” you replied, smiling at the compliment.
“Nothing like Potter’s snowy owl, who I’ve seen clip him with her beak a couple of times.”
You snorted a laugh, enjoying when Draco poked fun at Harry Potter. It was never as funny whenever somebody else did it.
“If Dumbledore makes him a Gryffindor prefect next term, I’m going to place as many jinxes and curses on him as I can,” the blonde continued, eyes narrowed to slits. From images you’ve seen of his father, he was almost his spitting image.
“Please, Potter can’t have all the attention,” you replied, putting your hands on your hips. “I’m sure it’ll be that Granger girl, Harry’s little girlfriend.”
“Oh, didn’t you notice? Hermoine is Viktor Krum’s girlfriend,” Draco replied, his signature smirk stretched across his pale face. “Although, we saw how the Daily Prophet said she’s using a love spell on them both. I’ve never seen anything more stupid in my life, but it’s definitely fun to tease them for it.”
“Imagine they made Weasley a prefect,” you snorted, picturing Ron with a prefect badge. “How pathetic would that be, making him one over Potter?”
“All those Weasleys are bums. I can’t believe they’re purebloods.”
“And almost every single one of them has accomplished nothing notable,” you replied. “Except that Percy kid. Doesn’t he work for the Ministry now?”
“He’s a snivelling prat is what he is,” Draco spat. “My father can’t stand him, and he was always docking points as a prefect.”
“He docked me quite a few times,” you grumbled. “At least those twins can be amusing.”
“They drive me mad is what they do, the two gits.”
You stared at him for a long moment, thinking of what to say. You were still processing his offer. It felt a little too good to be true, but something deep down was telling you that you need to go, that you belong there, although that made no sense. Even though your mum is pureblood, you’re quite sure you have no direct relation to the Blacks or the Malfoys.
So why did you feel so drawn to them?
Allowing yourself a moment of vulnerability, you asked, “You promise I can stay with you?”
“I promise,” he replied, a sincere look in his eyes. “You should finish packing and get some rest.”
At that, he said goodnight and you made your way up into your room. The rest of the girls in your class had piled in for the night, all packing their things into their trunks.
Pansy seems to have forgotten she was mad at you, because she waved goodnight with a smile before climbing into her bed. The other girls followed suit one-by-one as they finished packing, and once you finished packing as well, you crawled into your own.
That was a mistake, though, because it allowed your much-dreaded anxiety to creep in.
What if something had happened to Valkyrie? What if your parents never reply? What if the Malfoys hate you and kick you out? You could picture Lucius quite literally kicking you out, your internal imagined image of Mrs. Malfoy snickering in the background.
It wasn’t long before you even realised you had fallen asleep as Pansy was shaking you awake.
“What, do you want to stay in an empty room and school all summer?” she said, dropping a piece of parchment on your face. “Your owl brought this in. You were still asleep and we didn’t wanna wake you, so I grabbed it for you. But now it’s getting late and you need to wake up.”
You glanced over to see Valkyrie sitting on top of her cage, grooming her feathers. Once you get her inside it, you’d be all packed and ready to go.
You sat up as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, slowly unfolding the letter to read your parents’ reply, brain still slightly addled as you tried to wake up.
How dare you send a letter such as that? Harry Potter winning the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric Diggory dead…Amos is quite heartbroken, indeed, but you are making it seem as if Harry Potter killed the boy. We do not tolerate rumours such as that. We have explicitly told you to only write about important events, and rumours such as these are not important.
As for your return for the summer, we think it’s best you go elsewhere. Your brother and sister have been sending letters, as well, and none of their words about you have been quite anything to brag about. We have already spoken it over with Professor Dumbledore, having sent him a letter as well. Be sure to see him before you leave to discuss living arrangements, because it will not be here. We don’t care where. They can stick you in a den, so don’t bother sending any updates on where you’ve gone to.
I wish we could say we are proud, but we are far from it. Best of luck finding someone to put up with you.
Mum and dad
You stared at the horrible letter, reading it over and over as if that would make the words change, but they didn’t.
Why were your parents so terrible toward you? All you wanted was a little bit of love, but it felt like a chore asking for it from them, even as a small child. It seemed even more difficult now that you’re fifteen, a growing teenager, no longer a child who needs her parents (even though you were a child who needs her parents).
“Professor Snape came in looking for you, too,” Pansy continued, snapping you out of your thoughts.
As much as you loved Snape, you weren’t keen on being the centre of attention, especially now, clad only in your pyjamas, hardly able to process any of your surroundings. You nodded and made your way out into the common room anyway, ignoring the hushed whispers and hidden snarks as you made your way over to your Potions professor.
“Good morning, Professor Snape,” you murmured as you came up to him, keeping your eyes on the ground.
“Good morning, my dear. Professor Dumbledore asked me to escort you to his office,” he muttered, eyes raking the room before landing on someone. “Malfoy, come.”
You looked up, expecting Draco to look confused, but he seemed to know what he was being called for.
You quickly realised what this was about: Snape had informed Draco about the letter to Dumbledore, you were sure. And of course, Draco offered you to stay with him, did he not? This meeting must be about where you’ll be going for the summer.
It wasn’t too long before Snape led the two of you into Dumbledore’s office, muttering the password as the gargoyle sprang to life and took you up.
Snape knocked on the door, and at a soft reply from inside, opened it.
It was an eyesore in here, filled with trinkets and photos of previous headmasters, who all seemed to be wide-awake, staring at the three of you as you entered. One was giving you a particularly nasty look, so you stuck your tongue out at him, hearing Draco scoff at your side.
“I have escorted the girl, Professor Dumbledore,” Snape drawled, taking a slight step back. “I have also brought Mr. Malfoy.”
Dumbledore’s eyes jumped from Snape, to Draco, to you. They returned and lingered on Draco for a moment, as if in question, then turned back to you.
“Good morning,” he greeted you, a smile under his beard. “I suppose you know why I’ve called you in here?”
“My parents wish me to not return for the summer,” you murmured, fighting the urge to pull your eyes away from the headmaster. Realising that you forgot to mask how upset you were, you added, “They’re a couple of prats, anyway. I wouldn’t want to be around them if I had to.”
“Unfortunately, as you know, Hogwarts does not offer the option to stay for the summer holidays,” Dumbledore continued, clearly ignoring your words. “I have spoken to several of your professors already, but unfortunately, none of us can find suitable housing for you.
“We have had circumstances like this before with students, albeit not often, where we’ve ended up needing to send them to a ―”
“She’s staying with us this summer,” Draco said, cutting Dumbledore off. “I have already offered her a place to stay, and my parents will make sure she’s well-taken care of.”
You saw a flash across Dumbledore’s face, a seemingly uncertain look in his eyes, but he said nothing.
Afterall, the Malfoys weren’t known to be nurturing , and you were well-aware that they weren’t fond of Dumbledore.
“Are your parents aware of this?” he ended up asking, although you could tell he had a million other questions on his mind instead.
“Of course they are,” Draco spat, and you knew that was a lie. “I wouldn’t offer her to stay with me if they weren’t aware.”
“Are you suggesting that Mr. Malfoy is lying to you?” Snape asked Dumbledore, eyes narrowing.
“No, Severus, I am not,” Dumbledore replied calmly, meeting his eye before turning back to you and Draco. “Well, since Mr. Malfoy says you may stay with them for the summer, then you are no longer needed here. Have a wonderful holiday, as well as you Mr. Malfoy.”
You weren’t quite sure what to feel. On one hand, you were thrilled that you didn’t need to return to your horrible household, going someplace where you won’t need to fight just to be treated like a person.
On the other hand, now you are stuck meeting the Malfoys. Living with the Malfoys. Something you began dreading.
“Thank you, Professor,” you settled on saying, nodding your head respectfully before following Snape and Draco out of the office.