Summary: Not your everyday Mary Sue. She has flaws, problems, and is NOT in
love with Draco Malfoy and he is NOT in love with her.yet. Her slow and
painful progression from hating to loving our famous-or infamous as you
might call him-Slytherin.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS WHATSOEVER except for my very own Sarah Louise Crawford. I wish I did. Well, maybe not ALL of them, like Pansy Parkinson (ew). But I do wish I owned Tom Felton, but that's another story. Anywho, DON'T SUE COS I WARNED YOU! (wow that rhymed!)
Author's Note: Thank you for clicking on that little button that said "Anything But Little Miss Perfect". That has made me happy in the first place. Next, after you finish the story, you go down to the bottom left hand corner that says "Submit Review" and tell me what you think. That will make me even happier. Of course, if you don't want to make me happy you can still click on "Submit Review" and flame me. I will know it's just because you are jealous of me and my utterly brilliant story. LOL. All right, enough of this silliness.
On with the story.
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Chapter 1: Prologue: Meeting Sarah.
She stood tall and dark in front of him. He just sat there, smirking, grinning, laughing inwardly. She was wearing a frown. Many emotions were playing across his face, among them, laughter, joy, happiness at her pain and suffering. And that was killing her.
He spoke to her: "You know why you are here?"
"Yes" was her simple reply.
"And you know what you must do?"
Another "Yes."
"And you also know why you must do it?"
"No."
"You must do it because I tell you to. You must do it because he tells you to. You must do it because they tell you to. And you know who I'm referring to."
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Voldemort and his band of minions."
He slapped her hard across the face. "Do not refer to the Deatheaters as if they are low, helpless, pitiful creatures. Because they are not. They are strong and brave. Not the Gryffindor kind of brave, the Slytherin brave. Gryffindors aren't brave. They are daring and stupid. They get themselves into terrible situations and just get lucky enough to always seem to get out of them. They have a friend in Dumbledore and consequently are favored above all others. They get more help than they deserve. Everyone looks up to them, they are the so-called 'heroes'. Deatheaters are the kind of heroes that are heroic to themselves and know it. They don't need to call themselves "The boy who lived", or "The Great" or brag. Because they know they are great, and so does everyone else. They are loyal. Not the Gryffindor kind of loyal. The Gryffindor kind of loyalty is to all mankind, they are in it to 'help others' and not themselves. That is the weak kind of loyalty. Deatheaters are loyal to one thing: Voldemort. They do it for themselves and Voldemort, and no one else. They do it so they gain from it. They're not in it to 'help others'. They're in it to serve only who they are loyal to. And they are proud of it. They have pride in what they do. They can never, should never, and will never be referred to as 'minions' again in this household. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Excuse me?"
"Yes, sir." The sir was forced. Sarah felt like someone was sucking the air, along with the words, right out of her mouth. She would have loved to scream at the the top of her lungs "No!" But she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't want be more hurt than she already was.
".not so that you can be educated. It is so that you may gain acquaintances that will help you and lead you in the right path towards the Dark Mark and the Dark Lord and the Deatheaters. For that is what you are to become one day. And when that day comes, I will stand tall and proud." He was rambling on again about getting in with the so-called "Deatheater crowd", and that was the reason he was transferring her to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
'Screw that', she thought. 'I'd rather eat dirt than become friends with those blood-sucking half-breeds that call themselves 'Deatheaters' and 'Purebloods' and say they are of the 'highest class'. Like I'd really want to be 'friends' with them. They are ungrateful, spoiled, utterly unpleasant pieces of filth I wouldn't waste my time kissing up to.'
"Sarah, answer me when I question you." He slapped her hard across the face once more.
"I'm sorry, sir. I was just thinking about how I would never be caught dead kissing up to one of those filthy bastards that are the 'next generation of Deatheaters', as you say. I'd perform the Cruciatus Curse on myself a thousand times before I would kiss the asses of those brats."
With that, she ran out of the dark room before he could strike her once more. She wanted to go outside, to see light, to breathe fresh air-since there were almost no windows in her home, this was quite impossible from the inside-but she knew if she did she might chance having him catch her.
She almost couldn't believe that this man-this man who laughed at her pain and torture and sadness, this man who punished her constantly, this man who showed no love whatsoever toward her-was her father.
She sprinted upstairs to her bedroom and quickly packed her bags. Where she was going, even she didn't know. But she packed enough for a long time away from home, nonetheless. She grabbed a bag with a little money and the key to her safe located in the deep caves of Gringott's Bank. She also snatched up some Floo Powder from her mother's (who was away, conveniently) stash. She ran to her parents master sitting room, stepped into the oversized fireplace, shouted Diagon Alley loudly (not loud enough for her father to hear, however), and scattered the powder. Within seconds she had arrived.
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Well, I hope you enjoyed that, because I sure enjoyed writing it. Now see that button down in that left corner over there, the one that says "Submit Review"? Yeah, that's the one. Click it! When you do a little window will you pop up and, no matter if you are logged in or not, leave a review! Flame or not, I don't mind. Without flames, no one would improve. So go ahead, fire away. I live where the sun don't shine (not literally, ew), and would appreciate a little warmth. Which can actually be gained from warm friendliest (ex: I love this story!) or flames (This story bites the penis big time! Get off of ff.net bitch-you suck!). Both will be greatly appreciated. Cheers and beers! Get to reviewing.
Constantly dreaming, Dreams*of*Draco
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS WHATSOEVER except for my very own Sarah Louise Crawford. I wish I did. Well, maybe not ALL of them, like Pansy Parkinson (ew). But I do wish I owned Tom Felton, but that's another story. Anywho, DON'T SUE COS I WARNED YOU! (wow that rhymed!)
Author's Note: Thank you for clicking on that little button that said "Anything But Little Miss Perfect". That has made me happy in the first place. Next, after you finish the story, you go down to the bottom left hand corner that says "Submit Review" and tell me what you think. That will make me even happier. Of course, if you don't want to make me happy you can still click on "Submit Review" and flame me. I will know it's just because you are jealous of me and my utterly brilliant story. LOL. All right, enough of this silliness.
On with the story.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------
Chapter 1: Prologue: Meeting Sarah.
She stood tall and dark in front of him. He just sat there, smirking, grinning, laughing inwardly. She was wearing a frown. Many emotions were playing across his face, among them, laughter, joy, happiness at her pain and suffering. And that was killing her.
He spoke to her: "You know why you are here?"
"Yes" was her simple reply.
"And you know what you must do?"
Another "Yes."
"And you also know why you must do it?"
"No."
"You must do it because I tell you to. You must do it because he tells you to. You must do it because they tell you to. And you know who I'm referring to."
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Voldemort and his band of minions."
He slapped her hard across the face. "Do not refer to the Deatheaters as if they are low, helpless, pitiful creatures. Because they are not. They are strong and brave. Not the Gryffindor kind of brave, the Slytherin brave. Gryffindors aren't brave. They are daring and stupid. They get themselves into terrible situations and just get lucky enough to always seem to get out of them. They have a friend in Dumbledore and consequently are favored above all others. They get more help than they deserve. Everyone looks up to them, they are the so-called 'heroes'. Deatheaters are the kind of heroes that are heroic to themselves and know it. They don't need to call themselves "The boy who lived", or "The Great" or brag. Because they know they are great, and so does everyone else. They are loyal. Not the Gryffindor kind of loyal. The Gryffindor kind of loyalty is to all mankind, they are in it to 'help others' and not themselves. That is the weak kind of loyalty. Deatheaters are loyal to one thing: Voldemort. They do it for themselves and Voldemort, and no one else. They do it so they gain from it. They're not in it to 'help others'. They're in it to serve only who they are loyal to. And they are proud of it. They have pride in what they do. They can never, should never, and will never be referred to as 'minions' again in this household. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Excuse me?"
"Yes, sir." The sir was forced. Sarah felt like someone was sucking the air, along with the words, right out of her mouth. She would have loved to scream at the the top of her lungs "No!" But she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't want be more hurt than she already was.
".not so that you can be educated. It is so that you may gain acquaintances that will help you and lead you in the right path towards the Dark Mark and the Dark Lord and the Deatheaters. For that is what you are to become one day. And when that day comes, I will stand tall and proud." He was rambling on again about getting in with the so-called "Deatheater crowd", and that was the reason he was transferring her to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
'Screw that', she thought. 'I'd rather eat dirt than become friends with those blood-sucking half-breeds that call themselves 'Deatheaters' and 'Purebloods' and say they are of the 'highest class'. Like I'd really want to be 'friends' with them. They are ungrateful, spoiled, utterly unpleasant pieces of filth I wouldn't waste my time kissing up to.'
"Sarah, answer me when I question you." He slapped her hard across the face once more.
"I'm sorry, sir. I was just thinking about how I would never be caught dead kissing up to one of those filthy bastards that are the 'next generation of Deatheaters', as you say. I'd perform the Cruciatus Curse on myself a thousand times before I would kiss the asses of those brats."
With that, she ran out of the dark room before he could strike her once more. She wanted to go outside, to see light, to breathe fresh air-since there were almost no windows in her home, this was quite impossible from the inside-but she knew if she did she might chance having him catch her.
She almost couldn't believe that this man-this man who laughed at her pain and torture and sadness, this man who punished her constantly, this man who showed no love whatsoever toward her-was her father.
She sprinted upstairs to her bedroom and quickly packed her bags. Where she was going, even she didn't know. But she packed enough for a long time away from home, nonetheless. She grabbed a bag with a little money and the key to her safe located in the deep caves of Gringott's Bank. She also snatched up some Floo Powder from her mother's (who was away, conveniently) stash. She ran to her parents master sitting room, stepped into the oversized fireplace, shouted Diagon Alley loudly (not loud enough for her father to hear, however), and scattered the powder. Within seconds she had arrived.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------
Well, I hope you enjoyed that, because I sure enjoyed writing it. Now see that button down in that left corner over there, the one that says "Submit Review"? Yeah, that's the one. Click it! When you do a little window will you pop up and, no matter if you are logged in or not, leave a review! Flame or not, I don't mind. Without flames, no one would improve. So go ahead, fire away. I live where the sun don't shine (not literally, ew), and would appreciate a little warmth. Which can actually be gained from warm friendliest (ex: I love this story!) or flames (This story bites the penis big time! Get off of ff.net bitch-you suck!). Both will be greatly appreciated. Cheers and beers! Get to reviewing.
Constantly dreaming, Dreams*of*Draco