Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the brilliant J.K Rowling except for Carina, she's mine.
Author's Note: This story has been swimming in my head for a while and I finally got the courage to publish it. Hope you all enjoy!
All around her the wind howls like a pack of wild wolves, while it whips across her face making her stubble back blindly. Thick fog swirls around in thick dense clouds leaving the surroundings unknown to the young girl. Not even the moon that always hung faithfully in the sky nor the twinkling stars could give the girl a glimmer of light, for they had been hidden behind the ominous storm clouds that had descended down upon them.
With a cry the girl comes crashing down onto the cold damp moss that covers the ground. She had tripped on an unseen tree root of a dead skeleton tree that leered down on the girl. In desperation the young girl with a mane of silvery blonde hair squeezes her piercing grey eyes shut and covers her ears with her ice cold hands in hopes it would block out the bone chilling noises of the storm. Only when she can no longer feel the wind slapping against her body and the sharp whistle of the wind does she crack open her eyes.
Slowly she untangles herself from the ball she had curled herself into and rises slowly from the ground. The wind no longer howls like a pack of werewolves as the girl looks around hesitantly; instead it had been reduced to a dull whisper. The wind had blown way the angry storm clouds, allowing the moon and stars to shine proudly down on her. Just as the girl begins to feel herself being gently torn from this world the last of the thick fog is blown away, revealing the location of this nightmare.
A graveyard.
I feel my eyes flutter open as sunlight streams through my windows and I am pulled from my slumber.
I stretch lazily like cat before grabbing a worn down leather journal off my bed stand. I search for a quill under my pillow as the dream remains etched in my brain as clear as picture. I let out a yell of triumphant as my fingers brush against the fine silky feathers of a quill. I quickly dab the quill in some ink before beginning to scribbling furiously in my journal
I shouldn't even bother to write down my dream. The pages of my journal are filled with scribbles of the same dream. Every night since the day I returned from school I've been having the same dream over and over again. For the first couple of weeks the dream was hazy and unclear, and I would wake up with only the faintest of memory of it. As time went by the dream became clearer and clearer, so clear that I could feel the wind whip across my body like knives and feel the moist air against my skin. I no longer had to struggle to remember it; but only for a few hours. After the a few hours the dream begins to fade away and by night it is only a distant memory.
Perhaps that's why I keep writing down this strange dream, I'm afraid I won't have it one night and it'll disappear from my memory forever.
I set the quill and journal gently on the table once I am finished writing. I snuggle back under my covers, it is after all summer and what's the need to hurry out of bed?
Just as I am about to drift back to sleep, a sharp know against my door jolted me awake.
"Carina!" My mother calls as she rattles at my door. "You better be up and dressed!"
I let at a groan and throw my covers over my heard. "Why must I be awake? It's summer?"
"Yes I know it," my mother calls impatiently through the door, "but may I remind you that it is also Sunday."
That's right Sunday, the only day of the week where my family makes an effort to be a family. It's the only day of the week where all four of us eat together.
"And why is your door locked?" My mother snaps giving the door another rattle.
"Because I felt like locking it!" I yell back in annoyance.
"Well open it!"
"You're a witch, open it yourself!"
I hear my mother let out an exasperated sigh before saying, "we will be expecting you down stairs at the table in ten minutes. You'll have your father to deal with if you're not." My mother threatens.
I wait till the sounds of her shoes clicking against the polished hardwood floor grew faint before I force myself out of bed.
Like all the rooms in the Malfoy Manor my bedroom is unnecessary large and vast. A rich thick rug the color of blood on the battlefield softens the hard wood floor that gleams like a mirror. Tall wooden book shelves are pushed up against the wall bulging with countless novels that I've accumulated over the years. A polished magnolia wooden desk is seated next to a matching wardrobe, and my school truck stands proudly at the end of my bed.
I walking over to my wardrobe and thrust open the doors. It's full of muggle clothing, hardly any wizarding clothes in sight. I smile to myself as I pick out a pair of jeans and a blouse knowing how angry my father will be when he sees me. It's been three years since I first began wearing muggle clothing religiously and my father's blood still boils every time he sees me wearing them.
It is a good thing that he doesn't enter my bed room for he would probably destroy it on sight. Plastered all over the walls are muggle photographs, magically sealed on so they cannot be taken off. The Gryffindor flag is hung behind my bed. All around my room are muggle objects that wizards would never use. A muggle alarm clock is seated on my night stand and an old telephone is planted firmly on desk. No Malfoy crescent or Slytherin colors are present in my room.
The sound of my twin brother making his way noisily down the hall reminds me I need to make my way towards breakfast. I run a brush down my tangled white blonde hair and hurry out the door.
"Watch yourself!" My brother snaps at me as I bump into him in my hurry to get downstairs.
I shove him away roughly, "you watch it!"
Draco's face contorts into a sneer, "dressed as a filthy muggle, I see."
"Dressed as a daddy's boy, I see." I snap back at him with a smirk. Before he can think of a snide comeback I add, "oh wait you can't dress like one if you are one."
I am satisfied to see my brother's face turn a pretty shade of purple and the sneer wiped off his face. "No matter how many filthy muggle clothes you wear, you'll always be a Malfoy whether you like it or not." He reminds me darkly before staking off in a fury.
I roll my eyes at him as he stomps away. Once we were inseparable but now we can hardly tolerate each other. Once he was my brother, my twin brother. He was like the other half of me, he was my best friend. Now, we see each other only as enemies.
I smooth out my blouse before proceeding down the hallway. Dark velvet curtains are closed tightly in front of the windows, giving the hallway an ominous atmosphere. Large elaborate portraits of my ancestors decorate the hallway. The inhabits of them loom over me , watching me as I walk past with fierce glares. To them I am a traitor to the Malfoy family.
Reaching the end of the hallway I push open the door that leads into the dining area. Stepping in side I see the familiar set up that I've become accustom too. Father is seated at the head of the dining room table. His face is hidden behind the Daily Prophet with only the top of his white colored head showing. Seated on his left is my mother, delicately sipping tea from one of our hundreds of china tea cups. My brother, Draco, sit's moodily across from her, a scowl etched deeply upon his face.
"Draco if you continue to scowl in such a manner it will become a permanent feature, and I'm afraid it's not really becoming of you." I tell him in sing-song voice, knowing it will only annoy him more.
"Perhaps if their wasn't someone who made me scowl I wouldn't have to worry," Draco tells me icily, his scowl deepening.
I look to my father as I hear the rustling of the newspaper. Folding the newspaper he stares at me silently as I take a seat next to Draco.
"Is everything alright, father?" I ask innocently when I see his blue eyes harden.
Clearing his throat he replies dryly, " you do realize that there are another kinds of clothing besides muggle ones?" He tells me, spitting out the word "muggle" as if it is venom.
"Of course I know that," I reply sweetly," I'm just choosing not to wear them."
"She's just trying to become a filthy muggle, father." Draco drawls out lazily, smirking.
I stare down at my empty plate angrily. I feel heat rise to my face and my hands stay clenched under the table. I'm used to yelling at him whenever he says those things at school but here he's as free to insult muggles as a bird flying in the sky.
"Why looking so upset, Cara?" Draco asks innocently, "I would have thought you would be proud to dress like you mud blood friend."
My hands slam onto the table causing the silverware to tremble. "You little-"
"Carina please," my mother interrupts me; her eyes flash warningly, "let's try to act civil. The food hasn't even been served yet."
As if on cue the doors to the diner swung open grandly, revealing four house elves standing obediently side by side. They each carry our breakfast on a silver tray as they march down toward us. Everyone of them avoids eye connect with us as they set our meal in front of us.
"Thank you," I whisper to the house elf, Winny, as she sets a crystal glass cup of orange juice in front of me. Winny's round wide hazel eyes flicker towards my father in fright, showing no sign of hearing me she gives me a small nod before following the other house elves out the door.
The room is silent except for the sound of my brother's silverware scrape against his place. I watch silently as my mother carefully lays her napkin on her lap and my father inspects his toast and my brother gobbles down his eggs.
Letting out an inward sigh I know that this Sunday will be the same as all the rest. Not that I should be surprised. I look down at my plate and my nose imminently wrinkles in disgust. Sitting daintily on the plate is a crisp chocolate croissant, still warm from the oven. Perched next to it is a careful crafted pair of sunny side up eggs with salt neatly sprinkled across it. Placed next to it in a petite crystal bowl are four gorgeous bright red strawberries.
"Is everything alright, Carina?" My father asks me without looking up from his platter.
I scowl at him knowing he was the one who ordered what would be served this morning, "everything is fine, father" the last word I spit out like venom.
Unfazed by my acid demeanor he takes a bit of his eggs calmly before quietly setting down his fork. "Then why are you not eating?" He asks me, drawling out his words while his cold grey eyes crinkle in a mocking smile.
"Because," I tell him through clenched teeth," I don't particularly enjoy the taste of strawberries, I prefer my eggs scrambled or poached, and I absolutely despise chocolate! But of course you already knew that, right father?" I conclude sweetly.
"Of course I do, what kind of a father would I be if I didn't."
"A good one," I mutter to myself.
"Carina, it wouldn't hurt to try the croissant again. Perhaps your feelings toward it have changed." My mother suggests
"Mother I've been "trying" the croissant for the past five years, I think my taste buds have made it clear that they don't like chocolate."
Letting out a sigh my mother says, "It is a pity that you've decided not to like chocolate. Young men do fancy giving chocolate's to their sweethearts."
"Not that anyone would want her to be their sweetheart," Draco snorts.
I wait to her my mother or father to scold him. They don't, they never do. "If it would be alright may I please be excused?" I ask while purposely scraping my chair back noisily.
"Actually Carina I would prefer for you to stay a little longer."
I stare at my father in shock; he has never denied me from leaving my family's Sunday breakfast early.
"Carina close your mouth, it is very unbecoming." My mother chastises me.
Even Draco is taken aback by my father's request, "why are you asking her to stay?" He asks flabbergasted.
"Because," my father impatiently explains as if he does not wish to delay my stay any longer. "Your mother and I have something to discuss with both of you."
"What?" I breathe
"The Quidditich World Cup."
At the mention of the Quidditch World Cup a wave of excitement shoots through my body like a jolt of electricity. Before I was sorted into Gryfinndor my father used to take my brother and I to Quidditich matches. Since the time I could stand on my own I remember peering out into the arena and watching in awe as witches and wizards whiz around on their broomsticks. Sometimes my father would lift me onto his shoulders so I could get a better view, it's hard to imagine him doing something like that now. My family hasn't been to a Quittach match or any family outing since I was sorted.
"Now I have your interest," my father muses.
"Father what do you have to tell us?" Malfoy asks impatiently. Even his usually cold grey eyes are lit up with excitement.
Clearing his throat importantly my father says, "The Minster of Magic himself has been kind enough to invite our family, our whole family, to come watch the 422nd Quidditich World Cup in the top box. Best seats in the arena." My father adds clearly pleased with the invitation.
Beaming as if Draco had come home with straight marks my mother said proudly, "Wasn't that kind of Cornelius."
My father and mother never discuss what their life was like before the war against he-who-must-not-be-named; at least not in front of me. Any trace that they might have been death eaters has either been destroyed, locked away, or never have existed. But that doesn't keep the rumors about them, especially my father, from spreading. I can't help but wonder that part of the reason why they are so pleased about Fudges invitation is because it means he doesn't suspect my parents of being in league with he-who-must-not-be-named.
"We will be leaving be leaving for the match in preciously two weeks." my father tells us.
"How will we get there?" I ask quizzically
"A portkey, obviously." Draco sneers, "How else?"
"It has also come to our attention," my mother says quickly, stopping me from snapping at Draco. "That your friends, the Weasly, also have seats in the top box too."
Draco looks aghast, "how could they afford to get prime tickets?"
"Arthur managed to get tickets because of his connections with the Department of Magical Games and Sports." My father answers dryly clearly not pleased with having to sit a mere foot away from the man he loathes. I on the other hand is thrilled with news that they'll be at the tournament.
"If they had any brains they would sell their tickets and use the money to get at least some adequate clothing." My father mutters, "their worth more than their home. Though a piece of bread is worth more than that shack they live." He adds while his lips curl into a sneer.
Draco snickers
"So besides being able to insulate my friends, " I ask angrily while giving my brother a hard kick in the foot, "why are you telling me this?"
"Because," my mother explains with a sigh, "your father and I have talked and we believe it would best for everyone if you spent the rest of the summer at the Weasly's instead of coming back home with us."
Staring at my mother in shock I manage to sputter out, "are you serious?"
Mother nods curtly.
"B-but what if they don't want me-"
"I'm sure they won't deny another filthy muggle lover to come stay with them." Draco drawls.
Ignoring my brothers comment I leap to feet, "I'll go send an owl to them right now." I rush to the door not bothering to ask if I can be excused or not.
"Carina," my father calls out to me, making me pause at the door. "Isn't there something you have to say to your mother and I for letting you have this opportunity?"
Turning slowly I meet my father's cold grey eyes that star smugly at me. "Thank you mother and father for graciously kicking me out of the house," I tell them sweetly before turning on my heel not waiting to see their expression.
Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed! Please feel free to comment on what you like or didn't like, it would be greatly appreciated! Also I'm in need of a beta for this story so if anyone is interested please PM me.