To Add To My Collection
Sequel to For My Father's Love
My daddy loves me, he told me so last night. When he first stumbled in I thought maybe he was going to die. His footing was unsure; he was lurching about all over the place. When he collapsed onto the couch near where I was sitting I saw his eyes were all glossy.
"Father?" I asked, crawling over and slipping my hand into his. It was big and heavy, not at all like Momma's. Sometimes Momma let me hold her hand while she sang to me. That only happened when Daddy was really mean. I think she didn't want me to only see the bad, like Daddy did growing up. So when the bad really showed itself, she would try and show me something good.
I wondered if tonight was going to be a night of singing, because when Daddy opened his eyes he did not look too happy. I smiled at him a little uncertainly. 'I'm here for you if you need me, but don't kill me for caring,' it said. I used that smile with him a lot.
He smiled back and my heart tugged, like it always does when he smiles at me. Still smiling he reached over and pulled me onto the couch, with one arm, so that I was sitting on his chest. I think he must be really strong because I am a big girl. That's what Momma told me when she took away my stuffed dragon and told me I had to sleep alone. If Daddy could so easily pick up a girl as big as me he must have the strength of 30 men
I leaned forward and kissed his nose, like I had seen Momma do once. I had seen Momma do many other things to him that night, but I didn't know how to do any of them and something told me if I tried Daddy would be very displeased.
He had laughed when I kissed him and I was still close enough to smell his breath. It smelt funny, kind of sweet and a little bit bitter. I knew that scent, it was the smell that meant the bad was coming. I squirmed a little bit but not too much. He still felt it though and he lifted his hand to smooth back my pretty blonde hair. I flinched and ducked out of the way, afraid that he was going to hurt me, like he so often did Momma.
He looked so sad when I moved away, that when he reached out toward me again I didn't move, even though I really wanted to. I would rather be hurt by him then see that look in his eyes again and know that I had been the one to cause it. He stroked my hair, playing briefly with my perfect curls, then took my hand, brought it to his mouth and gently kissed it.
"Love you, baby girl," he said quietly, mostly to my hand, because after he kissed it he kept looking at it, tracing my fingers with his. I stopped breathing. I knew about love, I read about it in one of the books Momma gave me a year ago, when I first learned how to read. It was something nice and good. I always wanted to be loved, and now… I was.
"Do you want a present?" He asked. I could tell by his chuckle that my eyes had grown wider, as any child's would at the thought of an early birthday gift. His laughter increased, into something almost maniacal. I smiled; this was my favourite laugh of his. It reminded me of home, of him when he was at his happiest.
My head bobbed eagerly. Up and down, up and down. My golden curls bouncing around my cheeks as I bit back the smile that wanted to break across my face and waited for him to give me my gift.
"Hop up and I'll get it for you." Without delay I followed his order, bounding off him and impatiently shifting from foot to foot.
"Melhora," he said sternly. His smoky eyes glared down at me as he stood as gracefully as he could. Immediately I stopped moving, knowing full well that I would get nothing but a scolding and a week in my room if I didn't obey. "Melhora," he said again. His eyes squinting even more. I was positive that I wasn't moving, but dared not to contradict him. Instead I focused as much as I could on not moving. After a couple of head shakes he sauntered out of the room. I followed in an equally loping way, attempting to emit as much confidence as he did.
We walked through many hallways, and my excitement grew. These halls were familiar, even though I was only allowed this way on very special occasions. I tried not to get too excited though; there were many other rooms down this way. We could even be going outside. But then he stopped… right outside the Black Door.
He didn't even turn around to make sure I was there, he probably heard me squeal when he stopped. I couldn't help it and this time I wasn't scolded for my over show of emotion. He muttered The Spell under his breath and the door clicked open.
Inside was a room the size of the parlour, but not as pretty. The walls were covered in shelved and an old dinning room table, a Malfoy family heirloom, was situated in the middle, with smaller tables in various other locations around the room. On all the tables and scattered throughout the shelves was my collection; my treasured porcelain dolls.
There was no real pattern to them, just a wide collection that varied in as many ways as people varied. The ones on the shelves were all dressed in muggle attire. Some even had hair that was funny, unnatural colours. Once I asked Daddy if I could die my hair purple, just like the doll he had given me. He told me quite sharply that to do so would be an insult to my Malfoy blood and if I ever asked such a thing again I'd have to spend the weekend with Grandfather.
The real jewels of my collections though were on the tables. They were witches and wizards. They were made by my Daddy's company. He was head of M.W., or Missing Wizards. Within the past few years an alarming number of wizards starting disappearing; so his department was started. One of his ideas was to make dolls of the missing people, to either help remember them or make people aware of what they looked like. My collection was made of all the originals.
At the centre table there was a new doll. The centre table was the most important table and my daddy told me that I wouldn't be able to consider this a true collection until that table was full. That table held the dolls that were most important to our world.
I rocked back on my heels and stared at the black cloth covering my newest doll. My mind told me that if I stared hard enough I'd be able to see through. So I stared, and stared and stared. Nothing happened and in my frustration I let out a small growl.
Daddy laughed and waved his wand over the cloth, raising it up. I gasped as I recognised the glasses, green eyes, jet black hair, and, when I got right up in front of it, the lightning bolt scar.
Ever since Harry Potter disappeared two weeks ago I had been hoping for this doll. He looked perfect, standing between his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. The table behind them held nearly every member of what daddy referred to as 'The Order of the Phoenix'.
"I love him, father," I said, as politely as possibly since Daddy doesn't approve of gushing. My eyes never left my new doll, he was absolutely perfect and I thought I could probably stay there and look at him for hours.
"So do I, baby. So do I," daddy said softly. I could've sworn that my new toys eyes filled with tears, but when I turned to ask daddy about it, he was gone.
a/n:
Yay! Yay! finished with this. I really like writing the first part and I like what happened, but I'm not sure I really like how the end is written.
I added a little Draco/Harry. Because I love them very much.
And I'm not really sure if this is clear. But basically what's going on with Draco's business is this…
He makes doll replicas of 'lost' wizards because a lot of people have gone missing since a little before the business started. The wizards aren't 'lost' so much as abducted by Draco and then turned into a doll. To make a profit he sells replicas of the original 'doll' under the ministry who think he's helping society. He gives the original dolls (and therefore actual people) to his daughter.
Just a note about his motives. He's doing it because he loves Melhora and wants to give her something nice. It started with muggles and then expanded to wizards. But the muggles aren't replicated, only the wizards.
Sorry if that was confusing.