Disclaimer: Okay so this is my first attempt at posting fanfiction! Yikes.
Well this story is actually something I wrote for a creative writing class
a few years ago, and so I broke it up a bit. I really like the idea of
Miss Hardbroom being a Black but I don't feel that I know enough about that
aspect to write about that, although I love the other stories done on this
page. So basically a lot of this is made up due to my knowledge of the
books and limited knowledge of the show.
Constance sat crouched on the lowest shelf of the bookcase behind her father's desk. The shelf was fairly tall, but Constance was so small and tiny she would have fit in the tiniest space. She sat there reading Pride and Prejudice, pausing every now and then to look up word in a dictionary that appeared larger than her. She was only 6 years old, but she had shown signs of brilliance very early on. She had been able to make her cake explode on her first birthday and there was no book that was to challenging for her. She read quite a lot of the spell books her father had, but she had a love for human literature. All the while her ears were open listening for that familiar sound.
There it was, she threw down her book and curled into an even smaller ball. There was a jangling of keys, a click, and a loud creak as the front door opened. Constance heard her mother greeting her father and finally exclaiming loudly, "Well Rupert, I think we have a stowaway in our house." "Really," he exclaimed, "I bet she's after the pumpkins. Don't worry Dear, I'll track her down."
Constance giggled; her father was so silly. Everyday, this ritual occurred and yet she never tired of it. She heard her father coming toward his office and tried to stifle her giggle. "Hmm I wonder if the pumpkin thief is in here. Hmm, perhaps she's in my desk drawer." Constance snorted through her hand. "Well, what do we have here? My little pumpkin," he said grabbing her and spinning her through the air. He gave her a kiss on the check; his beard scratched her check. "Oh daddy, how could you think I was in your desk." "You're right pumpkin, you are way to smart for me," he said bringing her into the kitchen where her mother was preparing dinner and The Baby was sitting in a high chair.
The Baby was the one glitch in Constance's happy life. Her parents had showered her with all of their love and attention since she was born, but when her mother had started to blow up like a balloon, their attention had shifted. Soon Constance had a little sister. At first she had loved it; it would be someone to share in her games, but she soon learned that The Baby took up all the space in her mother's arms and The Baby took up her story time. Her father had joked that she could really read to herself, but she insisted that her father read to her each night.
"Rupert, guess what little Charity did today." Her mother exclaimed while checking the meat in the oven, "She ate her peas without throwing any of them on the floor!" "Well, look at my baby girl," Contance's father glowed, "Alexandria, she is learning so fast, what a smart girl!"
Constance sat pouting in the chair; she was her father's smart girl, not her sister. Charity was one and a half and hadn't shown her powers yet and all she did was put things in her mouth and drool. But she still loved her sister anyways, her sister would always smile at her and Constance couldn't be mad at her sister for long. Besides, she was much smarter than Charity.
As the family ate dinner, Constance couldn't help but smile to herself. She had such a great family; she hoped she would always be this happy. Unfortunately, fate wasn't so kind to Constance. Moments like these were wiped out of her memory almost completely from the events of the next couple of years.
As her baby sister grew up, she followed Constance everywhere. She always wanted to play with Constance or watch her. Personally Constance found it annoying, but she had no one else to play with; she was painfully shy at 8 years old and even though she had won all the awards her school had to offer she was a loner. Her father would play with her, but lately he had been busy with secret events at the office of Magic problems. He was on the board of Wizards and all Constance knew was that his job was very important. Some days he wouldn't even look for her in his office; he would go straight up stairs to change. Her mother was just as busy, she was a teacher and so during the days she would drop off Constance at school and Charity at witchcare and work a full day at Weirdsister College. But when the family came home, they laughed and talked as if they had spent the whole day together.
But, her mother started staying home more and eventually stopped working altogether. When Constance asked why she said, "Oh sweetie, it was just to much for me, plus I wanted to be with you and your sister." And it was true her mom was around a lot more than she had ever been when they were little. When they came home from school she was ready with open arms and cinnamon cookies, Constance's favorite. She looked forward to coming home because it was at home that she was the most happy. They had quite a large backyard and her mother would often sit outside and watch them play. Constance loved to read under the maple tree while her sister would run around like crazy in the garden. One day it started raining hard and her mother had to spend a good 30 minutes chasing her sister down.
As Constance remembered, it was her sister who started coughing first. She had a high fever that night and was shaking. She helped her mother take care of Charity; bewitching the cloth on her forehead to become cool and feeding her a potion her mother had whipped up in the kitchen. Constance greatly admired her mother's potion skills, she had a potion for every problem and sometimes Constance would just watch her in the kitchen and try to memorize everything that she did. Luckily, her mother's potion did the trick, Charity got better. But as Charity was getting better, her mother was getting worse. She had a slight cough the day that she had chased Charity out in the rain, but after three days it had turned to an unbearable hacking. Her father was very distraught when he returned from a business trip 3 days later.
"Alex, you know you weren't supposed to exert yourself, you need rest" he said in a concerned tone and immediately called the doctor.
This was the beginning of a long period of bed rest for her mother. Constance would go in her mother's room and sit with her; her mother slipping further and further every day. She had a deep cough and her skin grew pale and cold as snow. One day, a day which is engrained in Constance's memory forever, her mother asked her to make a potion for her cough. The doctor normally supplied it but it had ran out and she needed some as soon as possible. As Constance reflected on this, years later, she realized she should have called the doctor, but being a confident child she made the potion, carefully measuring out the ingredients. She served it to her mother in a purple plastic cup. Her mother smiled warmly as she raised the cup to her lips and drank the potion. "Constance you made this perfectly, you have a real knack for potions."
But even that medicine could do little good. One day, Constance went into her mother's room to bring her some chicken soup and found her mother dead; her lifeless arms hanging over the edge of the bed. Constance ran, it was all she could do. It had started to snow and she ran out into it, screaming, choking with sobs.
Her father found her underneath the maple tree half frozen and brought her in. His little pumpkin. But this time there was no hug when he found her. There was no laughter, only the clock striking midnight. A change in time and in their lives.
Constance sat crouched on the lowest shelf of the bookcase behind her father's desk. The shelf was fairly tall, but Constance was so small and tiny she would have fit in the tiniest space. She sat there reading Pride and Prejudice, pausing every now and then to look up word in a dictionary that appeared larger than her. She was only 6 years old, but she had shown signs of brilliance very early on. She had been able to make her cake explode on her first birthday and there was no book that was to challenging for her. She read quite a lot of the spell books her father had, but she had a love for human literature. All the while her ears were open listening for that familiar sound.
There it was, she threw down her book and curled into an even smaller ball. There was a jangling of keys, a click, and a loud creak as the front door opened. Constance heard her mother greeting her father and finally exclaiming loudly, "Well Rupert, I think we have a stowaway in our house." "Really," he exclaimed, "I bet she's after the pumpkins. Don't worry Dear, I'll track her down."
Constance giggled; her father was so silly. Everyday, this ritual occurred and yet she never tired of it. She heard her father coming toward his office and tried to stifle her giggle. "Hmm I wonder if the pumpkin thief is in here. Hmm, perhaps she's in my desk drawer." Constance snorted through her hand. "Well, what do we have here? My little pumpkin," he said grabbing her and spinning her through the air. He gave her a kiss on the check; his beard scratched her check. "Oh daddy, how could you think I was in your desk." "You're right pumpkin, you are way to smart for me," he said bringing her into the kitchen where her mother was preparing dinner and The Baby was sitting in a high chair.
The Baby was the one glitch in Constance's happy life. Her parents had showered her with all of their love and attention since she was born, but when her mother had started to blow up like a balloon, their attention had shifted. Soon Constance had a little sister. At first she had loved it; it would be someone to share in her games, but she soon learned that The Baby took up all the space in her mother's arms and The Baby took up her story time. Her father had joked that she could really read to herself, but she insisted that her father read to her each night.
"Rupert, guess what little Charity did today." Her mother exclaimed while checking the meat in the oven, "She ate her peas without throwing any of them on the floor!" "Well, look at my baby girl," Contance's father glowed, "Alexandria, she is learning so fast, what a smart girl!"
Constance sat pouting in the chair; she was her father's smart girl, not her sister. Charity was one and a half and hadn't shown her powers yet and all she did was put things in her mouth and drool. But she still loved her sister anyways, her sister would always smile at her and Constance couldn't be mad at her sister for long. Besides, she was much smarter than Charity.
As the family ate dinner, Constance couldn't help but smile to herself. She had such a great family; she hoped she would always be this happy. Unfortunately, fate wasn't so kind to Constance. Moments like these were wiped out of her memory almost completely from the events of the next couple of years.
As her baby sister grew up, she followed Constance everywhere. She always wanted to play with Constance or watch her. Personally Constance found it annoying, but she had no one else to play with; she was painfully shy at 8 years old and even though she had won all the awards her school had to offer she was a loner. Her father would play with her, but lately he had been busy with secret events at the office of Magic problems. He was on the board of Wizards and all Constance knew was that his job was very important. Some days he wouldn't even look for her in his office; he would go straight up stairs to change. Her mother was just as busy, she was a teacher and so during the days she would drop off Constance at school and Charity at witchcare and work a full day at Weirdsister College. But when the family came home, they laughed and talked as if they had spent the whole day together.
But, her mother started staying home more and eventually stopped working altogether. When Constance asked why she said, "Oh sweetie, it was just to much for me, plus I wanted to be with you and your sister." And it was true her mom was around a lot more than she had ever been when they were little. When they came home from school she was ready with open arms and cinnamon cookies, Constance's favorite. She looked forward to coming home because it was at home that she was the most happy. They had quite a large backyard and her mother would often sit outside and watch them play. Constance loved to read under the maple tree while her sister would run around like crazy in the garden. One day it started raining hard and her mother had to spend a good 30 minutes chasing her sister down.
As Constance remembered, it was her sister who started coughing first. She had a high fever that night and was shaking. She helped her mother take care of Charity; bewitching the cloth on her forehead to become cool and feeding her a potion her mother had whipped up in the kitchen. Constance greatly admired her mother's potion skills, she had a potion for every problem and sometimes Constance would just watch her in the kitchen and try to memorize everything that she did. Luckily, her mother's potion did the trick, Charity got better. But as Charity was getting better, her mother was getting worse. She had a slight cough the day that she had chased Charity out in the rain, but after three days it had turned to an unbearable hacking. Her father was very distraught when he returned from a business trip 3 days later.
"Alex, you know you weren't supposed to exert yourself, you need rest" he said in a concerned tone and immediately called the doctor.
This was the beginning of a long period of bed rest for her mother. Constance would go in her mother's room and sit with her; her mother slipping further and further every day. She had a deep cough and her skin grew pale and cold as snow. One day, a day which is engrained in Constance's memory forever, her mother asked her to make a potion for her cough. The doctor normally supplied it but it had ran out and she needed some as soon as possible. As Constance reflected on this, years later, she realized she should have called the doctor, but being a confident child she made the potion, carefully measuring out the ingredients. She served it to her mother in a purple plastic cup. Her mother smiled warmly as she raised the cup to her lips and drank the potion. "Constance you made this perfectly, you have a real knack for potions."
But even that medicine could do little good. One day, Constance went into her mother's room to bring her some chicken soup and found her mother dead; her lifeless arms hanging over the edge of the bed. Constance ran, it was all she could do. It had started to snow and she ran out into it, screaming, choking with sobs.
Her father found her underneath the maple tree half frozen and brought her in. His little pumpkin. But this time there was no hug when he found her. There was no laughter, only the clock striking midnight. A change in time and in their lives.