Okay, so this is a story I created with Draco and a character of my own imagination Elizabeth.
The story takes place after Voldemort's demise, and I do veer off the original storyline in some senses. The focus lies on Elizabeth and Draco and how they interact.
This story is more poetic and dream-like than the other story up on this site.
I rated it T because there is some violence and killing (no blood and not really gory) and maybe some cussing down the line.
The idea for Elizabeth's character and her background and such is based on a book named Gwinna by Barbara Helen Berger. It was my favorite book as a kid and still remains so today.
The story is in Elizabeth's perspective, just FWI
I hope you guys enjoy, please R & R.
I am home.
The sight is pathetic and yet so beautiful. A poet's dream.
The wood is old, where the forest hasn't taken over decay is apparent. Green vines taper along each plank. Each green hand holds the wood within it's embraced, unable to let go.
The moons light shines in the canopies above me, revealing the beauty of my home. Each green tendril and rotting brown plank shines white and creamy in the moonlight.
This is home.
My feet follow the same pattern each night, as the day's activities are apparent in my frame. I feel bent and tired, but my heart is beating soundly. I can hear it singing, as each step is as familiar as the last.
The door hinges remain old as I pull the door aside. The creaking and moaning it makes seem to call to me.
I smile; my face feels plain and usual. I am no beauty, no siren singing her serenade. Yet I am not so plain in character as all of the others I have seen.
This body is scared, is ravaged yet supple, but the beautiful thing that surrounds me is my soul.
It is singing as I see her face. The sun shines across each silver hair, and reflects in her orb like eyes. Each emotion reflects as gold flakes swimming in her liquid depths.
Others think my mind is strange, that each curve of my body has become a madman's blade, despicable and strange. I do not care, the wolf-ess mother stands before me, as she always has before and I know that this is home.
She engulfs me as I kneel, her tongue bidding me hello, and her soft fur surrounding me as a mother does with a blanket.
I myself am only a little taller than five feet, which still made her much taller than other wolves. She is a goddess in her own right, breath taking and terrifying. Towering above her species, her graceful head can rest easily upon my shoulder. Yet even though her size terrified most, to me every fur and fiber of her being existed as my mother, lovely and safe.
We conversed between our minds. No words are ever spoken; where within these conversations it is us and no one else. The world stands still and audible noise don't exist to take away from our emotions.
Natalia, Mother, I am home.
My heart is in every word. Her eyes reflect excitement and her voice emotes happiness as our inner voices block out the world around us so we may tell each other of our day.
The moon is high above us before I feel sleep creep over me. It isn't hard to sleep here; many fur-cloaked bodies lay about me, keeping me warm as we sleep. I can feel the earth within me, each sigh, each groan, as it moves in sleep.
No one that I have met shares this feeling with me. I am one of a kind it seems. Like a raven with white feathers, I feel just as much like an outcast as I do one of all the others.
I am human, but I speak with every four and two-legged creature that walks the earth. With humans I use my tongue, but with animals my mind comes into play.
Here in this old cabin I belong, amidst a fellowship of wolves. Yet out there, with other humans I feel more out of place than I look it.
The streets, noises, and concrete seem to be more painful to my senses than helpful, as people seem to think they are.
My purpose is to heal, to help. With animals and humans I can heal them, without a wooden stick, referred to as a wand. I use my spirit to restore their bodies back to normal. My connection with both is phenomenal to everyone I have entrusted my secret with.
Yet the world is in chaos. I may not extend my hand with a wand and recite incantations, but I still belong to that world more than the non-magical side.
There at least I am not considered a plague, feared more than tolerated.
A dark wizard has fallen, and in his midst lies the chaos and hatred he bred. Death Eaters, thousands of them hit by the tragedy as their Prince fell. Now they run amuck, trying so desperately to kill every last muggle, and every last person who betrayed their beloved that the loss of that hideous figure has done nothing to quiet the fear.
I wanted to help.
Each face has been deemed a possible threat, and in these trying times I have lent my help to an Order whose actions have won my heart thus far, the Order of the Phoenix. Since the war had figuratively ended after the fall of the Dark Lord, its members are few and widespread. Their main focus is to wipe out the rest of the death eaters and save the ones who were forced into his ranks without a choice.
That is where I come in. I have just arrived back from my briefing. And as my body slowly letsthe stress of the day ebb away, I pick up the picture I have been given by the Orders leader Remus Lupin. His eyes were grave when they handed me the moving picture. He said it was a very high profile target, and it was necessary that him and his mother found their way safely to the Orders head quarters.
He has given me 3 days before my rendezvous with a couple wizards and witches that will help me.
Unlike other humans I prided myself in being quiet with my steps and swift with my movements. I spent my younger years watching students learn the art of martial arts in a school that was only a couple miles from this cabin.
My life may be simple, and saddening in my inability to fit in, but at least I would out parry any offender that came in my sights.
I knew few spells, and carried no wand. The healing abilities within my bosom seemed to be also helpful in casting simple spells.
At least I can help, I thought as I put my arm behind my head and took in the moving picture handed to me only a day ago.
The figure before my eyes looked more like an impeccable statue, except for the small movements in his features. The photo was in color, it's corners cut hastily from a newspaper most likely. The man looked no older than myself, 22 years of age, yet his eyes looked years older than he looked. A quiet desolation seemed to emanate from their depths.
His hair was sleek and white blonde, almost silver in it's appearance. The suit he wore was black and no doubt expensive in its construction.
His features were stunning, a strong jaw, and angled cheekbones. He looked more like a fallen angel in appearance than a hellish child, as his smirk would let its viewers to believe.
He was dark that was unquestionable, but hurt. I felt for him, even though it was only a photo.
"Draco Malfoy", I whispered to myself. Remus had told me much of his past. He had gone to school with the famous Harry Potter, but family opinions and loyalties had taught him early to hate the boy. He had been forced to join Voldemort's ranks or watch his mother fall into death's lonesome grasp.
His mother was constantly the bait for his downfalls, every last one. And now my task was to take his mother and himself to a safe haven where he could finally live as himself and not as a puppet.
My eyes feel heavy, and as the moon shines softly on my warm family about me, I drift into a deep slumber. The image of Draco's face is engraved in my mind with silver and grey paintbrushes as I sleep.
I must not fail, for his sake.