Opening My Eyes
A/N: Hi everyone! This is everyone's favorite author who quits all her projects, Lauren! Actually, I don't think I'm anyone's favorite but hey, I don't do it for the glory, just the story. Anyways, here's another little brain bubble that I got one day, hope everyone enjoys it. It's my first Draco/Pansy! (sorta)
Chapter One: Happy Anniversary
Pansy Parkinson rolled over to face the left side of the bed. Empty again. She simply sighed and buried her face in the silver satin of the sheets. She couldn't say it didn't hurt, waking up to find him gone, but after twelve years of it, it was simply routine. In fact, she was more comfortable sleeping without him than with him, even after all of these years.
"Twelve years," she whispered aloud to herself, as she remembered what today was. She pulled herself up from the mussed bedclothes and stood in front of her full-length mirror. There was a woman, staring back at her, an emerald night dress hanging from her thin frame. She was thirty years old; it was her twelfth wedding anniversary.
"You should eat, deary," the cherry-wood mirror frame remarked kindly. Pansy sighed once more, adjusting the straps on the night dress. No doubt, her shoulders were smaller than the last time she had worn it. Shaking her head at her reflection, she pulled down the black ribbon draped over her mirror.
Her jet black hair was beginning to gray at the roots. Her husband, wishing to model her after his own mother, would not allow her to cut it short, which she had done before they were married. By now, she had more than a yard of hair to deal with. She quickly tied half of it back with the ribbon, wishing to get away from the mirror. As she slipped the oversized house robes on and stepped into the hall, she heard the mirror call, "Eat!" at her.
Her pale bare feet carried her silently through hall after hall, naturally taking her towards her daughter. As she reached the door she paused momentarily, staring at the serpentine letters that formed her daughter's name. It was the only thing Draco had to do with the girl; he had demanded that she be named Anya. And so, a little over 11 years ago, she had been born Anya Anastacia Malfoy.
She turned the doorknob as quietly as she could manage, as the door was permanently squeaky (she even suspected that Draco had cursed it to squeak). The room looked a bit silly at the moment, as they were handpainting the previously green walls a bright shade of blue. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, but they confirmed what she had suspected: her daughter was already out of bed, roaming around the manor.
This happened from time to time; she dreaded having to search the house, but refused to allow the house-elves to go anywhere near her daughter. Even in the early times, when Anya cried all night long, she did everything herself. In fact, she didn't trust anyone with Anya, even (or rather, especially not) her father.
Wandering these halls brough back memories she had tried so hard to forget, memories that only surfaced when she was alone. As she turned a corner, a door opened on her left-hand side, revealing a young raven-haired girl.
