Hecate's Child
Sophie was never a particularly outgoing person, in fact, quite the opposite could be said about her: She was such a silent and introvert little girl.
Nothing bad about that, right?
Wrong.
On principal it was a welcomed development after the disasters her ancestors caused; she was the calm clear little lake surrounded by an animated restless jungle. A part of the whole but nevertheless apart from the other, more like-minded people.
I still remember her hesitant smile, her big green eyes, partially hidden behind round big glasses. The way her bangs would shadow her eyes and she would gently bit her lower lip while thinking. Her small pale hand in mine while her thin little legs hurried to hold my pace.
God, why?
My quiet little sweetheart. Never loud or noisy, never to brisk or impolite, always so perfect and sweet … but there was this side, hidden beneath her unassuming personality: mischievous twinkle in this gentle eyes, a flickering amused twitch of her lips here and there, the biting of her cheek, as if she was trying to stifle her laughter. My little imp.
Why?
Her to big cast-offs never could hide her alarmingly thin frame, the bony pale body beneath them. It was so painful to watch her, especially as she was younger, but … the way she took the world around her, the maturity and responsibility was astounding. Nothing could ease me more then sitting under a cherry tree in the abandoned part of the small park in Surrey and feeling her slight pressure on my chest, the view of her half asleep face and peaceful expression. Combing my fingers through her short cut hair and feeling the soft black texture.
Why? Why the hell did that had to happen?
I remember her tears the day she was told that her parents were alive but nobody would ever want her, that nobody could have her because her biological parents didn't sign their signature under the acquired formula. I was there when this spark in her eyes seemed to dime only to return to life with a vengeance. Never will I forget her words, the determination that shone in this soulful hurt gems as she spoke what would become my greatest regret:
„ Hell has no fury like a woman scorned; the only slight great enough to enrage a scorned woman is a child abandoned or neglect. My so called blood family will rue the day they cast me aside like trash. I will show them what kind of waste of space I actually am."
And she did.
I looked down from my position behind her, feeling her failing frail body in my arms, desperate to say, to scream, to rave at this brainless fuck-ups for destroying the child I swore to protect, I learned to cherish and love beyond everything and everyone else.
My mind replays the last years, over and over again; Sophie's nearly obsessive study habits, her unfailing extraordinary memory, eidetic in nature, her joy and frightening skill at all kinds of magic, her first visits in the wizarding world, meeting the Malfoy's, learning my true name, learning of her heritage and destiny, nearly breaking underneath all the burdens and expectations. I saw her exceeding at everything she set her mind to, saw her succeeding against all odds and unknowingly winning the black heart of the Dark Lord, their resulting falling in love and marriage. The moment her own twin killed the man she loved, the moment she unleashed a power long thought extinct in every realm, on every plane of existence, as she killed the weakest of her foes and incapacitated the rest of the little sheep. As her own family was caught and laid in chains.
Why the hell did you have to take her last innocence?
The child in my arms was no child, not anymore. As she stepped forward on the podium, as she let her fragile whitish hand glide over the dark obsidian throne of her late beloved … there was no use trying to stop the tears. Her small elegant hand lingered for a moment longer than normal on her stomach; a stomach that I knew their child laid in.
The moment she slowly took her gaze to the pathetic sheep beneath her, forcefully brought to their knees, chackled and dirty, and they froze, I knew that her once beautifully green eyes glowed in an mind-numbing violet nuance, saw her silky black locks flying eerily around her face, I couldn't suppress the excited as well as dreaded shiver running down my spin.
A true Dark Lady.
She never acknowledged them.
They never looked at her.
Tonight she would fullfil her promise and let them rue the day they dared to get ride of her, slowly and painfully.
I smiled slightly.
Stepping forward my arms wound around her.
She leaned back into me, always trusting, always acknowledging.
And I would always stand behind her.
Always waiting.
Always accepting.
How could I not?
She was, is and ever will be my favorite Childe …
Whispering words, so all-consuming sweet, only meant for my ears: 'Thank you, mother Hecate.'
… and I will always be hers.
I will never leave My Childe, my sweet Sophie Rosalynn Riddle née Potter.
The End