Fallen From Grace

by DramioneInLove

Fallen from grace is just a meaningless expression when you realize that there is no true grace but the one we make for ourselves, and mine was no stellar height- it was merely the top of a circle that never stopped rolling and crushing itself beneath its own weight. Warnings inside. OS.

Hello my lovelies, and Happy New Year for those who haven't read my French fics since then!

So, I'm back with a new OS. It's based on the film "Flowers In The Attic" that I saw earlier on TV today, and I was hit with inspiration. Those of you who know the books/films will know that this is going to get pretty dark, although given the age of the protagonists I've eliminated the incest and tweaked a few other things. So, warning for child abuse (non-sexual), character death, and mindgames. Both adult protagonists are OOC.

I hope you'll like it. The main characters are Hermione Granger, Molly Weasley, Hugo Weasley, and Rose Weasley. Also, if you like the fic, I strongly suggest reading/watching Flowers In The Attic (books by VC Andrews) and its sequels (five tomes/four or five movies total, I'm not entirely certain). Without further ado, the OS.

...

"Come here and put your coat on, Hugo."

"But Mummy..."

"Now!"

I glanced at my mother through wide, blue eyes, mouth forming a little "o" of surprise. Behind me, I knew my little sister was frowning, her sweet little face pinched in her usual expression of puzzlement. But little Rosie was always puzzling over something, after all- Daddy used to laugh and say that she has our mother's curious, fascinated personality.

Mummy looked angry. This had never happened before. Mummy was never angry- never ever. She was sweet and kind and gentle and she never yelled at us, like Daddy did sometimes when we were really naughty. She'd always be there with a kiss and a pat to make things better. Nothing could go wrong with Mummy around, and she never got mad, especially not at us.

So I obeyed, stricken, as Mummy presented my coat and I slipped it on, ignoring her jerky movements as she muttered things I didn't understand.

"Rose," she snapped, making us flinch. "Yours too."

Little Rosie had such a fiery temper, like our father. I just knew, when I saw her frown, that a storm was brewing, and she snapped in turn a moment later, squealing as our mother buckled her in her own coat with more force than strictly necessary.

Slap!

The sound resounded around the kitchen in a harsh manner. Rosie stared at Mummy, mouth wide, as our mother raised her brows, shocked herself at her own behaviour. Then Mummy scowled.

"I don't have time for this. Enough! We're already running late."

She grabbed Rose's hand and then mine, and a moment later, without notice, we were Disapparating.

I tried not to be sick as we appeared in front of Grandmama's house. The tall, rickety building seemed almost ominous in the night. I remembered it, of course- remembered when we used to come here, before Daddy died in a fire-related accident last year. We'd stopped coming here two years ago, however, when Daddy got in a big fight with our grandmother- he'd said something about her turning half insane over her husband's death. I didn't remember Grandpapa much. After all, I'd only celebrated my eighth birthday this year, and Rose, who would turn five soon, didn't remember him, or the Burrow, at all.

Mummy didn't stop to let us breath, though. Instead, she marched up to the house, rapping on the door, and we trailed behind her, Rosie's lower lip quivering as she took in the ghastly house.

A portly older woman opened the door a moment later, wearing a worn-out brown dress and a pristine white apron. Her hair, a red colour so close to Daddy's, was pulled back in a severe bun, and it was turning white at the roots. Her blue eyes flickered over us briefly, eyes distasteful, before settling on our mother. I was taken aback.

I remembered this woman feeding me cookies and milk, tutting happily as she breezed through the packed house.

"Molly," Mummy saluted, tight-lipped.

Our grandmother's nostrils flared.

"The whore of England," she snapped back. "In. Now."

Mummy's cheeks turned pink, but she ushered us in, fingers pressing against our backs in a determined manner. We entered a large sitting room, and it was cold, colder than outside, as the fire was not lit. I peeked around, distinguishing old, lumpy furniture and a thick layer of dust. It seemed that the house was abandoned. Rose pressed into our mother's side, eyes wide, and although I wanted to to the same, I refrained. I was the oldest, after all, and it was my duty to act as such.

"They will stay in Arthur and mine's old room," Grandmama claimed, voice cold. "It is the only bedroom with a bathroom attached."

Mummy nodded, seeming slightly worried, and we once again followed the older woman into the staircase. She opened a door on the first floor and produced her wand, instantly lighting a few old candles. Mummy seemed mad again.

"This room is filthy, Molly," she exclaimed, producing her own wand and flicking it about to banish the dust and cobwebs.

"Like attracts like," our Grandmama mysteriously spat, to which Mummy's anger seemed to deflate again. "I need to leave, Hermione, so make it quick."

Mummy nodded then sighed and turned to us.

"Children," she said demurely, her pale face looking tired and pinched in the candlelight. For once, our pretty mother looked older than her thirty-four years. Her eyes met mine briefly before she glanced elsewhere, making me frown- Mummy always insisted on the importance of eye contact when speaking to someone. "I have, ah. Since Daddy died, you see..." She sighed, seemingly discouraged, before starting again. "Daddy and I had only just begun our lives. As such, we...took out many loans. Daddy died unexpectedly before we could finish repaying them. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I piped up, happy to help. Rosie might be the intellectual- I, just like our deceased father, was all about the sports. But Rose was only four and this she could not understand. "You owe people money."

Mummy cast me an appraising glance.

"Indeed, Hugo. I owe people money. And as I had to stop working to care for you two..." her voice took on a slightly harsh inflexion here, as though she was angry about that. But she couldn't be, could she? Mothers weren't angry about caring for their children because that is what mothers do. "I could not repay those debts, and as such, the house and all we possess are foreclosed." She pursed her lips. "Tonight, people I owe money to will come take our house, which is why...you two will be staying here, at the Burrow, while Mummy tries to better our situation."

This made Grandmama scoff, but I ignored her, eyes trained on our mother, a sense of dread suddenly washing over me.

"We're staying here?" I asked, voice squeaky and hating myself for being so weak. "With Grandmama?"

Grandmama opened her mouth, but Mummy cut her to it with a warning glance.

"Your grandmother is a very busy lady," she explained primly. "She doesn't spend much time here, which means that the two of you will be here on your own most of the time, as you are too young to attend Hogwarts." She paused, thoughtful, then suddenly grinned at us, taking me aback- this situation wasn't funny at all. When she did, though, I suddenly hoped it was all a bad joke- why else would Mummy smile? Was it Halloween? Yes, that must be it- this was all a bad joke, and Mummy and Grandmama would laugh and give us cookies and milk before taking us out to trick and treat some Muggles.

"It'll be like an adventure," Mummy exclaimed instead. "You, Hugo Weasley, will be caring for little Rosie. You're the man of the house now."

Although things weren't funny, I puffed out my chest. This was great responsability. Mummy was entrusting me with my baby sister, as grown-ups do. I felt proud- I never knew Mummy would trust me this much!

Mummy's smile faltered slightly as her eyes met mine.

"Now, this is Grandmama's house and she has a list of rules to follow," she chirped, eyes lacking sparkle. "But I'll be back soon enough, and I promise you this, little angels- we'll go live in a beautiful huge Mansion, and to thank Grandmama for helping, we'll bring her with us. We'll have plenty of money and a huge park of our own...why, Hugo, you could play Quidditch there. And Rose darling, you can spend hours dressing up with all the disguises money can buy!"

I frowned. Something didn't click here.

"But Mummy, if we don't have money because we have to give our house away, how will we buy a big house with a park?"

She frowned slightly, jaw clenching, as Grandmama scoffed again, head doddling in something akin to approval.

"Fret not, boy," the older woman tutted. "Your mother knows exactly how to pay for that."

I didn't understand, but there were other, more pressing matters at hand than Mummy producing mysterious money.

"Now," Grandmama took over, stepping forward. "The rules are simple and to be strictly obeyed. Desobedience will result in punishment most harsh." She ignored our mother's sound of protest. "Have you ever heard of God, children? I would hope so, but given the most...liberal...education you have received I fear not...God saw fit to deprive me of my husband and two of my sons. I understood, after your father's death, that God was punishing us for our sins...therefore, to protect my family, I took upon me the voice and will of our Lord and act as his most devoted follower..."

I frowned. I didn't know any Mr. God, and Daddy died in a fire. But after all, Daddy did say that Grandmama went mad after Grandpapa's death. I suddenly felt very sorry for her.

"You will respect and devote yourselves to God as have I, as you are born out of wedlock- the very representation of sin! But no amount of pity could have forced my son to make a respectable woman of your mother..."

I frowned again. I didn't understand any of this, but Grandmama seemed to be very insulting towards Mummy who simply bowed her head in silence. This wasn't like Mummy. But then again, Mummy wouldn't leave us with this old crazy woman and someone who killed Daddy, would she?

"You will each learn the Holy Bible, and will recite it to me as I seem fit," Grandmama stated, pulling two thick books from the pocket of her apron and reverently setting them atop the bed. "You will never be undressed in the presence of each other or myself. You will each bathe daily and clean behind yourselves. You will wash your clothing in the bathtub. Should you clog any drains or the loo, you shall unclog them yourselves. Wetting the bed shall be punished. Talking about anything but religion or educative matters will be punished. Physical contact among yourselves will be punished. Running around, play-fighting, and making noise shall be punished. Talking out of turn, adressing me with disrespect, and refusing to obey will be punished. Wasting food and other resources shall also be punished." She paused, glaring at us, letting her words sink in. "However, I understand that children still have needs. If you obey the rules, you shall be awarded with paper and crayons for drawing, or with dessert, or even with a game." She turned to Mummy. "Say your goodbyes, Hermione."

Mummy came to us, crushing us into a hug. Rosie- whom I suspected hadn't understood a single thing since we'd arrived, but could feel the crushing despair in Mummy's arms just as much as I did- started to cry quietly.

"It will only be for a few days, a few weeks at most, and I will visit often," she murmured gently. "Now wipe your tears."

As she regretfully pulled away from us, I could sense Grandmama's disapproving glare.

"Tonight, you may go to bed directly. There are pyjamas waiting for you in the bathroom. However, starting tomorrow, you will get used to my house rules," she dictated before stepping out into the corridor.

Mummy blew us a kiss and followed her, gently closing the door. I thought I saw tears in her eyes but didn't dwell on them, the only sound after that being the noise of a key turning in the lock. There was silence, and then the faraway sound of Disapparition, and I knew we were alone.

"Mummy," Rosie mumbled, wiping at her wet cheeks. "Mummy?"

"Come on," I sighed, trying to hold back my own- I was the man of the house now, and men of the house don't cry. "Let's go to bed."

...

The curtain being wrenched open, flooding the room with sunlight, awoke me the following morning and I sat up suddenly, the whole situation hitting me as Rosie snuggled deeper into the blanket with a noise of protest. Last night I had been confused and tired, but this morning, I felt like putting up a fight with our old ogress of a Grandmama.

She was standing before the window in a grey dress from another century, covering everything from chin to feet, and she was glaring at us, jowls quivering.

"Up," she rasped. "It is already six thirty in the morning, how lazy are you?"

"But Grandmama-" I attempted, but she interrupted me fiercely, pulling the blanket from the bed and staring suspiciously at the room between Rosie and I.

"You will not speak unless I tell you to," she barked, folding the blanket at the end of the bed. "And you will follow my orders and never try to talk back to me."

"Where's Mummy?" Rosie whimpered, sitting up, blue eyes staring at our Grandmama.

"Gone, you little beast," she snapped, "and abandoning both of you to my care- I can only thank the Lord that it is temporary. Now get up! You will not adress me while lounging around in bed, I am not your servant. You will stand when I speak to you, hands by your sides and heads bowed, understood?"

"I want Mummy," Rosie whimpered. "Where's Mummy?"

With two forceful strides, Grandmama was beside the bed, her old wrinkled fingers around my sister's arm, and she pulled her brutally out of the bed, making Rosie cry out as she banged her toes against the hardwood floor.

"Hey!" I yelled, jumping out of bed in turn. "You can't treat my sister like that!"

Grandmama stopped immediately, as did I, surprised that she'd listen to me. But when she turned her head towards me, slowly, I knew I was gravely mistaken.

"I'm sorry, boy?" she asked, and her voice was a chilly whisper that made me shiver.

"I-I said that you can't treat Rose like- like that," I answered, feeling my shoulders hunch forward miserably, as though I was an old fruit turning wrinkly.

She stared at me, releasing my sister before stepping forward, stopping in front of me.

"Take off your shirt," she commanded, voice soft and calm.

I stared at her quizzically, not moving, and she repeated the order, a little more forcefully.

"Take off your shirt, boy, and go stand in front of the window."

I could hear Rosie cry softly, cradling her foot, and I suddenly sensed that if I disobeyed, my punishment would be worse. What could she do to me, anyway? How long would I have to stand in the corner like a two-year-old in timeout? I plucked off the shirt and stepped in front of the window. There was a rustling noise, and then nothing.

Crack!

The belt whipped against my back, making me cry out in utter pain as I fell forward, hands meeting the wall. Crack! I heard Rosie scream at the same time. Crack! I turned around, attempting to shield myself with my arms, noticing the belt dangling from Grandmama's raised fist.

"Please, Grandmama, I'm sorry!"

"Turn back around," she ordered, eerily calm. "You have broken a rule, boy, and as such you will be punished. I gave you fair warning. Now turn around, or I will reserve the seven remaining blows for your sister."

Crying, tears and snot running down my face, I obeyed. I hadn't been to the bathroom yet, and I only hoped I didn't lose control of my bladder- who knew what punishment that would bring?

Again and again, the belt rained down upon my back, as I cried and screamed and called for Mummy. Mummy couldn't have known Grandmama would do this, and as soon as she visited I'd tell her- she wouldn't leave us here then.

Finally, it stopped, and I whimpered as she commanded, voice still soft and cold,

"Turn around, boy."

I did, still whining in pain. Every movement felt like being belted all over again...

"Stop crying or I'll give you another ten. Go wash your face, you are disgusting...now, as you have disobeyed, there will be no food today, for either of you. Use this punishment to purify yourselves of the Devil within...you will each read your Bible. If the girl cannot read, you will read it out loud to her and by tonight, I expect each of you to know three verses of it."

With those words, slipping the belt over her hips again, she exited the room, leaving me to cry in pain as sweet, innocent little Rosie, not able to undestand that I'd just cost her her meals for the day, ran over to me, tears on her terror-stricken face, to pat my head as she would a puppy's until I stopped.

...

Under such conditions, routine was quick to appear. Grandmama would wake us at six thirty, and we would exit the bed immediately, fists clenched by our sides and heads bowed as she inspected the bed. Then, she would produce a glass of water and a single piece of dried toast for each of us, before leaving. We wouldn't see her again until the evening, at six, when she came to make us recite our daily verses and bring us a sausage, an egg and some rice each with a glass of milk. It was always the same meal. After half an hour, she would extinguish the lights. And, most importantly- we never left the room. The one window was locked as was the door- no fresh air, no grass, nothing. We could see a forest through the window and that was it- we never exited the tiny bedroom with the bathroom attached. We never once ventured into the corridor, nor left the house...

Learning the verses and behaving myself was one thing, but getting a four year old to do the same was another. I hated being the one to take the light from her eyes as I told her that we couldn't play tag, or that she couldn't jump on the bed out of boredom, or that she wasn't allowed to play in the bathtub. Rosie wanted to sing and run and play all day long- but I feared that Grandmama would hurt us again if she did.

The welts on my back were torture at first, but they disappeared over the days. And after six of them, Grandmama didn't come alone with our supper- she brought our mother.

As soon as the door opened, we noticed Grandmama's scowling, and then our mother appeared, holding her arms out wide. We squealed in delight and ran to her as she scooped us up and peppered our cheeks with kisses.

"Hermione," Grandmama snapped. "The food will get cold."

"I will be spending the evening here," Mummy answered. "I will make sure they eat."

"They'd better," she glowered, before slamming the door behind her.

Mummy sat on the bed as we snuggled up to her side.

"How are you, children?"

"Grandmama's so mean," Rosie immediately squealed. "She yells at us and she doesn't let us play and she hurt Hugo bad with a belt and we haven't left the bedroom since you've gone."

Mummy turned to me, grasping my chin between her fingers, inspecting my face worriedly.

"How are you, darling?"

The welts were still large and red enough to be impressive, so I pulled up my shirt to show her. Knowing Mummy, there'd be hell to pay- one time, a man had pushed past me on the sidewalk, making me stumble, and she'd hexed him then and there. Mummy sighed and kissed my temple.

"Now children, I know this is very new and very different to what you're used to, but this is Grandmama's house, and those are her rules. Try to obey her as best as possible if you don't want to get hurt, alright?"

I stared at her, stunned into silence as she turned to ask Rosie about her own injuries. I thought Grandmama was cruel and nasty, but if Mummy agreed with her, that meant I deserved to be punished, didn't it? My Mummy was always right- that's what Daddy used to say with a chuckle. Mummy knew best. If Mummy thought that I should have obeyed Grandmama, then that's what I needed to do, and any anger I held over the belt incident deflated immediately as I was filled with complete and utter shame- I had been naughty with my poor Grandmama and punishment was always fitting to the crime, that's what Mummy said once. So if I'd suffered so much, that meant that I'd made Grandmama hurt just as much.

I hated myself. I never wanted to hurt anyone as bad as this. I vowed then and there to never hurt my Grandmama again.

"...brought you gifts," Mummy smiled, "since Grandmama said you'd behaved yourselves well enough."

She pulled her wand and waved it, and a bag appeared. She pulled a doll for Rosie, who squeaked in delight and hugged it to her, and then she presented a Quidditch book to me. I grinned and thanked her with a sloppy kiss, before carefully placing the book in the nightstand and turning to her.

"Do we have the big house yet, Mummy?"

"Not yet, darling," she laughed. "Soon enough, I promise."

That petered my good mood out.

"So...we're staying here?"

Her smile faltered.

"It won't be long, sweetheart," she answered.

"Promise?"

"Promise," she smiled.

"Next week, then?"

"Oh, dear me, no," she laughed again, as though the very idea of it was amusing. "No, it will take longer than that. You see, children...Mummy is seeing someone. A very nice gentleman who is very rich and has that beautiful house. And soon, Mummy is going to marry him..."

I stopped breathing for a moment.

"Marry him?" Rosie piped up, staring at our mother. "You can't. You're married to Daddy."

"Daddy's dead, Rosie," Mummy deadpanned. "He won't come back. We've been through this. But Draco is a wonderful gentleman, and his own wife died a few months ago, so we've been keeping each other company..."

"I don't understand," I interrupted. "This Mr Draco is going to be our Daddy?"

"He is, love," Mummy promised.

"But...why doesn't he want to see us then? Why are we here?"

Mummy pressed her lips into a thin white line.

"You're overstepping the boundary here, Hugo. Those are adult matters."

I frowned. I didn't understand. If Rosie and I were locked up in a foreign bedroom all day, how was the reason why none of our concern?

However, I didn't like the way Mummy looked at me, warily. So I plastered a smile on my face and said sorry.

...

Mummy didn't visit for another three weeks, and during those three weeks, four things happened.

First and foremost, I took a second beating. This was because I forgot two lines of the verse I was supposed to learn, and those two lines being a total of seventeen words, I earned myself seventeen thrashes- enough to draw blood.

The next day, the second thing happened- as the blood had seeped through my nightshirt and onto the blanket, Grandmama tossed me fully dressed into an ice cold bath and left me there for a half hour in order to clean myself- the cold I developed lasted for a whole nine days.

Thirdly, after several days of good behaviour, Grandmama accepted to give us a single sheet of paper and two pencils to draw on it. Overjoyed, and as all little children are bound to be merciful, Rosie attempted to kiss her for it, which resulted in her crying all evening long after Grandmama pushed her away with a disgusted glare- Rosie needed human contact and I couldn't give it to her as physical contact was forbidden between us.

Fourth, and this I consider the worst thing to have happened since our arrival a month prior- I lost track of time. We had no watches, and I forgot to count the number of days for a couple of mornings in a row, and besides, days were bleeding into days and each resembled the following. So my sense of time was approximative, but I had no idea of the date, and this seemed worse than the beatings and the constant hunger and the fear- as though I was losing part of myself, blending into the walls of the tiny bedroom, becoming part of the furniture itself until I began having nightmares where the bed would swallow me whole and I had no idea, when I woke up, if I was alive or dead.

When Mummy appeared again, we were almost desperate. She looked sharp, dressed with an expensive-looking coat that she didn't shed, and she seemed distraught and irritated, barely kissing us back. She'd brought us gifts, small Muggle cars for me and a plush unicorn for Rosie, but she seemed elsewhere the entire conversation, eyes wandering and forehead pinched into a constant frown. It wasn't until I shyly enquired about Mr Draco that she seemed to perk up slightly.

"He's a wonderful man," she sighed. "We know each other since childhood, in truth- we didn't get along very well back then. He's very good to me. Look at this coat he bought me in Paris, last week..."

She giggled, looking more like a schoolgirl than our mature and wise mother and I was suddenly shocked. I'd never seen Mummy like this before- I certainly had never heard her giggle. Mummy was the serious one, Daddy the jokester. But furthermore-

"You were in Paris?" I asked her, throat suddenly tight.

"Oh yes," she preened, grinning widely. "That's where the toys come from."

I felt betrayed beyond belief.

It was one thing for Mummy marrying this man so we could live in a big house. It was another to know we were wasting away in a tiny bedroom we hadn't left in weeks, with a harsh grandmother, while Mummy was waltzing all over Paris with her new lover.

I swallowed back the ball in my throat.

"When will we meet Mr Draco?"

Just like that, she looked irritated again.

"Would you stop asking silly questions, Hugo Weasley?" she snapped, taking me aback. Even Rosie flinched. "If I had an answer to that, I'd have told you already, wouldn't I?"

I loved Mummy. I loved her more than anything. But that didn't stop me from spilling out my own anger.

"Does he even know we exist?"

"Of course he does!"

"Then why won't he meet us?"

Mummy hesitated, before sighing and rubbing her forehead.

"Fine," she muttered. "Draco does know you exist, both of you. However...his parents don't."

I frowned. What did that have to do with anything?

"You see...the house, the money...all of it...it all belongs to Draco's parents. And Draco's parents had one stipulation when we got engaged, as they're blood purists and I'm a Muggleborn- that I was never to have children with their son, and that, should I have already had any children- I told them you both died in the same fire as your father but I don't think they believed it- they were to be desinherited, or I couldn't marry Draco. He himself already had a Pureblood child from his first marriage, so that way, the Malfoys are certain that the family wealth will never be challenged by either of you. However, this deal was never put on paper, therefore it is moot before the law- but you both cannot be discovered by Draco's parents. That's why we have to wait for them to die and Draco to inherit before you can come and live with us. I'm marrying Draco next week, you see...and his father has a terminal illness. As the money is his and not his wife's, it matters little that she gets to know you."

I felt like I was once again sitting in Grandmama's ice bath.

I didn't understand much of it, only that Mummy's new relationship was a fraud and that she was lying to a dying man about the two people she was supposed to love the most. I didn't care about a big house and a park and trips to France. I just wanted Rosie and Mummy and I to be together again.

I'd never missed Daddy more.

So I began crying, and Rosie, always in tune, followed suit, although she didn't really know why. Mummy looked alarmed for a second, then sighed.

"I don't expect you to understand," she claimed tiredly. "Young minds...are not adapted to the ways of the world. But...I need you to trust me, Hugo, alright?"

I wanted to. I really, really wanted to nod and say yes, Mummy, I trust you, of course I do and I'm sorry that I made you doubt that, but I couldn't. All I could do was think about these walls closing in on me a little further. I knew this room by heart- I knew where the hardwood floor appeared gnarled and how many old, faint roses dotted the walls. I knew where the windowpanes fogged up first before spreading to the whole window. I knew the noise the sink taps made when you turned them on- they always spouted a few drops before releasing running water.

And this was all so I could have a park in which to play Quidditch.

Mummy seemed distracted again as she stood, her mind far away from this house.

"I need to go," she said, "but I'll see you very soon, all right?"

I blinked.

"You haven't been here for long," I whined and her eyelids flickered in irritation.

"That's enough, Hugo," she commanded, voice gentle yet firm. "You will not order adults around."

That made me flinch. This was Mummy, but it was Grandmama's house. I didn't like punishment in Grandmama's house. So I swallowed thickly and nodded in apology, and was somewhat relieved when Mummy bent over me to kiss me, then Rosie.

And then she was gone.

...

I don't know how long Mummy was gone this time, but when she returned, snow lay thick over the trees outside and, without any heating in the bedroom, our breathing came out in chilly puffs. Grandmama had given us an extra blanket and thick knitted sweaters, and one of the many punishments she had handed out during that time was taking away those precious items for a day or two. At least the baths were warm.

Rosie had quietly withdrawn into herself. She no longer asked to play tag or draw flowers on the rare sheets of paper Grandmama brought her, and she no longer tried to engage our Grandmama whenever she came. She'd lost weight, but then, so had I, and I wondered what would happen to us if we got sick. Would we be allowed to see a doctor?

I no longer had the energy or will to try and cheer my baby sister up. Her blue eyes seemed wide and haunted in her thin face, ringed by black circles, and she'd taken to gently hitting her head against the bedrest when falling asleep, as though inventing her own, painful lullaby. She'd inherited our mother's dark hair and thick curls, but these now drooped sadly past her shoulders, as though they, too, had given up.

Grandmama had taken to punishing her as well as Rosie, sweet, darling little Rosie began developing a somewhat darker streak. She'd stare at Grandmama, her attitude demure and obedient, but her eyes were full of hatred, and Grandmama was not mistaken about the sentiment either. Nothing got past that woman, and as fearful as it made me, it seemed to anger Rose- and the more she was punished, and starved- Grandmama once withheld food for nearly four days-, and beaten, the more angry she got, and it came full circle when Grandmama punished her for her attitude all over again in a silent faceoff.

One evening, a beautiful lady strode through the door, with thick, polished curls and a designer coat and even gloves on her hands and pearls around her neck. She gave us a beautiful smile and held out her arms, and she looked like an angel- an angel, I realized with a jolt, who I knew well.

Our mother looked prettier than she'd ever been. She was well-fed and well-dressed and seemed to command the world at her feet, and she was smiling at us.

I stood from the bed, where I'd been reading my Bible, Rosie reading hers beside me- at least, I'd been able to teach her something during our time together- and stepped forward to greet her. She pulled me into her arms, and I stiffly returned the hug, feeling lost and breathing in her perfume, which smelled expensive and completely covered her maternal scent, the one that smelled of old books and fresh bread and jasmine. It felt foreign.

"How are you, my gorgeous love?" she gushed, and I tensed even more- she'd picked up a new accent, one that sounded posh and slightly exaggerated. I didn't like it at all.

"Excuse me," Rosie piped up, and I turned to see she hadn't left her spot on the bed. She was staring at our mother confusedly, head cocked. "Who are you?"

I stilled at the same time our mother did. There was a beat.

"This isn't very funny, Rose," Mummy stated, sounding a little put out.

But Rosie wasn't joking. I knew it. I knew her better than anyone- at this point, apparently, more than our own mother. Rosie stared at her as though she recognized her from somewhere but couldn't quite place her. Then my sister glanced at me, seeking an answer.

"It's Mummy, Rosie," I whispered, voice weak, and Rosie turned, wide-eyed, to our mother, before her brow furrowed and I saw her withdraw into herself again.

"Are you here to pick us up?" Rosie asked, voice surprisingly cold for a child her age, and Mummy flinched.

"Well- not this time, but..."

My heart sank and I felt like crying out in despair. She couldn't do this. Not again...she had to get us out of here, take us away, love us again...

"Well then, I don't want to see you," I heard Rosie mumble and Mummy flinched again, eyes wide in shock, before drawing herself to her full height.

"Now listen here, Rose Weasley," she snapped. "I am your mother and an adult and you will show me some respect-"

"If you don't love us, can we please go to an orphanage?"

I stared at Rosie. For all the time she'd spent lost in her thoughts, brow furrowed in anger, she'd actually been thinking about this. Where had she heard of orphanages? And why did she think that Mummy didn't love us?

But I knew why. I'd wondered the same, very often. If she loved us, why would Mummy leave us here?

"Rosie darling," Mummy sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and glancing between us, "I do love both of you. But the situation is complicated. My father-in-law is still alive and well. I need to continue for quite some time, which means that both of you need to show me some more understanding. Now, I know I missed your birthdays and Christmas, but-"

I jolted at that. I knew Mummy must have missed Rosie's- my sister was born in September, and it was winter- but I was born in February. On the 14th. The child of love, my mother used to say jokingly. Where was the love now?

"Mummy," I murmured. "What's the date?"

"February 21st," Mummy answered, eyeing me curiously. "Why?"

We had arrived at the house at the beginning of August. The last time we'd seen Mummy must have been around the beginning of September, which meant that Mummy had left us alone for nearly six months. It also meant that Rosie was now five and a half, and that I was nine.

"Why didn't you visit us earlier?" I asked, mouth dry, and Rosie nodded forcefully.

"Well, I got married," she said, rolling her eyes. "You are the son of Hermione Granger, Hugo, please don't tell me that you inherited your father's brains. When adults marry, you know they go on a honeymoon, don't you?"

I frowned.

"Daddy once said your honeymoon with him only lasted for two weeks," I pointed out and Mummy laughed.

"Indeed...we couldn't afford any more time. But Draco took me on a four-month honeymoon. And since we've been back I've been so busy renovating the Manor..."

I blinked at her.

Mummy hadn't visited us because she was renovating her new house?

"It must be a big house if you were that busy," I deadpanned, feeling dread fill my veins.

Maybe Rosie had a point about her not loving us enough...but that was silly, wasn't it? That's what mothers do. They love their children. They don't have a choice.

"It is a big house," she conceded, although her eyes dropped down to her joined hands for a moment. "I have gifts for you!"

She pulled a doll out of her handbag for Rosie and a pretty quill for me. Rosie stared at her doll for a while before violently throwing it against the wall. Mummy stared at her in shock as Rosie began crying for the first time in weeks, big fat tears running down her cheeks, but I understood. I wanted to throw my new quill against a wall too.

"Well, if that's your greeting to your poor old mother who only wanted to visit her babies, so be it," Mummy snapped, raising daintily from the bed. "I hope you're happy- I'm not. Have a good day, children."

She floated out of the door, slamming it shut behind her, and I could have sworn I saw relief in her eyes.

But that was silly, too, right? Mummies love their babies.

...

Grandmama was an odd woman. And over time, she seemed to grow even odder.

I'd hear her at nights, mumbling as she walked around the house, spitting words about God and the Devil and other strange things. Sometimes, I'd hear her stop in front of the door, as though listening to Rosie's snores while I held my breath, before leaving again. A few times, I was quite persuaded I heard her talk to someone else, as I could hear a second voice, but I always thought that I was dreaming- no-one ever visited Grandmama.

Some days she didn't even come. She'd extinguish the lights at nighttime, and in the morning we'd wake on our own. We'd bathe and dress, puzzled but relieved at her absence, make the bed, clean up and set to our Bibles. In the evening, we'd wait, before going to bed ourselves- we had to go early as we had no means of lighting the candles. Sometimes, she wouldn't visit for up to three days, and when she'd return, looking as cold and hateful as ever, we'd be trembling in hunger- at least we were able to drink from the sink.

The trees turned green and then yellow again as Mummy never visited and Grandmama's schedule became more and more uncertain. This scared me- what if one day she never came back? She was an old woman- what if she died in her sleep or tripped in the stairs? Would we die of starvation in our bedroom, with no-one to visit us?

It gave me nightmares. The phantom hunger killing me was worse than imagining the bed swallow me alive, because it felt real.

Then one night, I heard Grandmama's steps in the corridor. She wasn't muttering about God this time- she was speaking to someone, loud and clear, and the footsteps haltered in front of our bedroom.

"...cannot let you do that, Hermione."

"I thought you wanted out?"

I jumped. There was no mistaking that voice- it had an unrecognizable sneer to it, but then again, Mummy never liked Grandmama much.

"This is..."

"The children's bedroom," Mummy snapped. "Keep it down- let's talk elsewhere..."

"The children are asleep," Grandmama snarled. "They won't hear you- they never wake up."

"They're good children," Mummy replied, with a familiar fondness in her voice- "but I have to do this, Molly. Don't you see? It's the only way. I'll do it myself if you can't."

There was a long silence.

"You will go to hell for this," Grandmama sneered, and I flinched, remembering all the times she'd promised us the very same thing.

"Meet you there, then," Mummy answered, and then they started moving again and their footsteps covered their voices until they disappeared.

I didn't understand. What was Mummy doing here, especially in the middle of the night? Why did Grandmama want to have their conversation in front of our room, of all places? And why wasn't Mummy popping in to kiss us?

Feeling confused, I fell into a restless sleep.

...

Mummy came the very next day. This time, she took off her coat as soon as she entered, draping it across the doorhandle as she smiled at us. I moved to greet her, mind buzzing about last night, but decided to say nothing- Mummy wouldn't like me eavesdropping on adults.

She kissed Rosie too, although my sister simply stared at her, and then she sat between us, pulling toys from her bag.

She stayed all afternoon, and when the evening came, she decided to dine with us. I was overjoyed and I could see that little Rosie's face was opening up, too- as though she could barely believe that our Mummy was finally spending time with us. Her lips curved up into a faint smile for the first time in weeks- no, months. Since well before Mummy's last visit.

Mummy went downstairs for a while to prepare dinner herself, and she returned with fresh lasagna and a salad a while later. Our eyes widened.

Toast, eggs, sausages and rice. For a year and a half, that's all we ever ate. Now, lasagna? My belly hurt with need.

I stuffed myself, barely pausing to take long swigs of the apple juice she'd brought, and Mummy watched me half-tenderly, half-irritably as I wolfed it down, as though I'd never eaten before.

"That's enough, Hugo," she tutted when I moved to serve myself for a third time. "Or else you'll have a stomach ache tomorrow." She waved her wand, making everything disappear before producing a small plate of sugared doughnuts.

"Grandmama doesn't believe in sugar," she winked at us. Rosie gasped and immediately threw herself on the plate, making our mother roll her eyes. I struggled, but I had to admit Mummy was right- I had eaten too much. Still, I didn't want her to imagine that I refused her doughnuts, so I pretended to eat one while slipping the bits into my pocket- it'd make a good snack for later. Maybe I'd even give it to Rosie and see her smile again.

"Now, the reason I'm staying so long tonight," Mummy smiled, leaning across the table, "is because I have excellent news. My father-in-law, Draco's father, has finally passed."

I stared at her, mouth wide open.

"So...we're going to leave this place?"

"Yes, Hugo," Mummy answered with a smile. "You're going to be free, both of you."

Rosie whooped for joy and I grinned so wide my face hurt as we threw ourselves at her, smothering her with kisses as she laughed.

We were going to be free. It was finally over.

"I'll fetch you in a couple of days, when the funeral is over," Mummy grinned.

We were finally going home.

...

That night, Grandmama's footsteps weren't what woke me. It was Rosie.

She'd bothered me all evening before falling asleep, tossing and turning, but I couldn't fault her- had we not been locked in a tiny room for the past year and a half I would have ran ten miles to burn off the energy following Mummy's news. But then, the coughing began. I sighed- it was getting chilly, after all. Winter would soon be here.

She whimpered in her sleep and her hand stretched out to meet mine. It felt cold and clammy. Frowning, I turned to her, forgetting the no-touching rule, and placed my hand to her forehead. She was burning up.

"Hu...go..."

Her voice was so weak, but that wasn't what hit me. It was the iron, tangy smell. When I was young and I'd hurt myself, I'd smell the same thing. I knew what blood was.

I shot out of the bed, almost tripping over the bedsheets, and began pounding on the door thunderously.

"Grandmama! Grandmama! Rosie, she...Grandmama!"

It took surprisingly little time to hear footsteps on the other side of the door, but then again, I didn't know where her bedroom was. The key scraped in the lock and the door opened. I stepped back as my grandmother towered over me, the candle she held burning my eyes.

"Grandmama, it's Rosie," I squeaked, wondering if this would earn me a whipping. "She's sick!"

She produced her wand and instantly, the room lit up with a dozen white lights, blinding me, as she shoved the candle into my hands and strode over to the bed. Rosie seemed terribly white, all white, eyes bulging even as a trickle of blood stained her lips. For a split second, Grandmama looked terrified, then she bent over my sister who was trembling.

Another silhouette appeared in the doorway, and I was shocked to recognize my mother- I thought she'd already left, but she was apparently still here, probably speaking with Grandmama- which would explain why they'd arrived so fast. Mummy's eyes were haunted as she stared at Rosie, then she turned to me.

"Hugo, what happened?" she asked, voice sharp.

"I don't know," I whimpered. "I was sleeping and Rosie started coughing and then...Mummy, she needs a doctor, now!"

Grandmama turned to Mummy, face stern.

"Your son is right," she declared. "Take the girl to a doctor's, now."

Mummy seemed lost, staring at me then at Grandmama, never looking at poor Rose.

"I...how are you, Hugo?"

I wanted to scream. Who cared? Rosie was very, very sick.

"I'm fine, Mummy! It's Rosie who's sick!"

"Hermione!" Grandmama snapped. "Your daughter!"

My mother seemed to come to her senses and crossed the room, whimpering slightly as she caressed Rosie's forehead before lifting her into her arms. The two women sped out of the room, leaving me alone- but Grandmama didn't forget to lock the door.

...

I'm not certain when I fell asleep but I did, lying across the bed. The sound of the key in the lock woke me up and I stood instantly as Grandmama entered, face closed, standing before the window- to my surprise, Mummy was there too, looking worse for wear, red-rimmed eyes glancing everywhere but at me.

"How's Rosie?" I asked immediately.

"Hugo," Mummy began. "Hugo, I...Rosie...Rosie caught tuberculosis."

I frowned. I didn't know what tuberculosis was, but it sounded bad.

"The doctors said that she's probably been sick for quite a while," Mummy added quietly.

"Where is she? Can I see her, Mummy?"

Mummy's eyes closed briefly as she inhaled. When she opened them, she was staring at a point above my head.

"Hugo," she whispered. "Your sister's dead."

I took a step back as though slapped in the face.

No. No, it was impossible. Not my baby sister. Not my little Rosie. Little girls don't die of tuberculosis. It's old people who die. Or, if they're young, it's because of accidents. Or...

My Daddy was an Auror. I remember him speaking about a case once, one that had rocked the wizarding world, of a father who had killed his infant son by beating him.

Rosie hadn't died of tuberculosis, had she? She'd died beaten to death. She'd died because Grandmama, the ugly old bitch, had beaten her two days before. That was it. I needed to tell Mummy- but without Grandmama knowing, or she'd kill me, too.

I could feel the tears falling, but I managed to ask, voice meek and very childlike,

"When's the funeral?"

Mummy closed her eyes again as tears appeared in her own.

"We've already buried her, Hugo," she answered. "Early this morning. I thought...I thought you wouldn't want to...to see it."

"Mummy," I wailed. "Please take me with you. Please. Let me leave here or I'll die too. Please Mummy, please..."

She stepped back, out of the door, shaking her head, still crying silently, and then she was gone, as Grandmama, without a word, followed her, locking the door. Only then could I scream. And I screamed hard, and I threw myself at the walls so hard I carved a huge dent into one, which brought Grandmama running- and after she belted me, although only twenty times, probably out of guilt for murdering my little sister- she shoved me into the bathroom so that she could repair the wall and I could wash.

And I screamed and screamed and screamed.

...

I couldn't fall asleep. Not without Rosie beside me. She was the only thing I had left in the world, and that had been taken from me, too. Besides, she'd died in her sleep and I didn't want to...

I hadn't been allowed to bury Rosie, so I made her a burial of my own. I vengefully ripped a page from her Bible and turned it into a cross, and I took the crumpled doughnut from my pocket and prayed in front of it as though it represented my sister- it was all I had. Mummy had left with her toys while Grandmama was repairing the wall. Then, I flushed the cross and doughnut down the toilet. That was all I could do- it was the only funeral I could afford the one person I loved more than anyone.

I couldn't count on my mother's help to leave. I couldn't count on her at all- she'd left us here when we begged her not to. She was also somewhat guilty in my eyes, as cruel as it seemed.

So I turned my attention to the window, wishing I had done this while Rosie was still alive instead of hoping against hope that Mummy would save us.

It didn't take long to open once I smashed through the panes- the wood was rotten. Grandmama had just left me my breakfast that morning, the morning following Rosie's death, and left- to where I knew not. Once the window was open, I waited, heart beating, for her to come rushing up the stairs- but she didn't. Hoping that she wasn't home, I slowly inched my way through the window.

I was on the second floor. It distracted me for a moment- for how long hadn't I felt the breeze against my skin, chilly as it was?

There was only one way out, and it was to jump. Rosie had been braver than I ever could. She'd already be out of here. Still, I swallowed back my apprehension, and let myself fall from the windowsill.

A sharp pain shot through my left foot, but I ignored it even though pain stung my eyes- I needed to leave as soon as possible. So I bit back my cries of pain each time I leaned on it and hobbled towards the forest, the one I'd seen every day from my window, glad there was no snow yet.

Grandmama wasn't home or else I'd be dead by now. Life or death, life or death...like a mantra, it kept me going until I reached the cover of the trees.

Life or death...

It hadn't worked for Rosie, but it'd work for me.

...

15 years later

...

Had I come here without knowing the place, I wouldn't be impressed by it- I'd pity it and those unfortunate enough to live here. Still, the Burrow stood, rickety and ominous, just like that first day so many years ago...neither the summer sunlight, nor the soft breeze managed to make the place less terrifying. I wanted to turn tail and run.

Yet I didn't. Because Rosie wouldn't have. And I was here for her.

So I hobbled up to the front door. No amount of magic had been able to change that- falling from the second floor window and shattering half the bones in my foot, spending four days lost in the woods, and finally stumbling across the small wizarding village down in the valley, where I'd pretended to be a lost Muggle tourist so that the Muggle cops would be called and I'd be taken to an orphanage- a rare trait of genie. Rosie was the clever one. Not me.

I rapped on the front door, physically fighting the urge. I was a grown man now- no longer a wide-eyed child.

The door didn't open, so, reminding myself of my sister, I pushed it, swallowing down the bile in my throat, with the impression of returning to my own jail, like a horse who returns to the barn after throwing his rider...

A thick layer of dust still covered everything and the curtains were drawn, just like the day we arrived. I tentatively made my way through the house of an old woman who had given up on life and kindness the day her youngest son was taken from her. The house, also, of a hoarder, I thought as I pushed past towering piles of rubbish- magazines, clothes, Muggle objects...I knew Muggles well. A family had adopted me soon after my arrival at the orphanage. They were the best people I knew and had loved me so much- still did to this day...they never questioned why I couldn't stay in a room with the door closed. They never questioned why I named my teddy bear and my kitten and my favourite broom Rosie. They never questioned why I stood, head bowed and fists clenched, whenever an adult entered the room...all they did was love me. They'd questioned Hogwarts a lot, though, and Dad was still delighted whenever I transfigured Mum's ugly potted ferns into reading glasses, as he spent his time losing his. Mum was still in wonder when I prepared a full meal with a few movements of my wrist.

And I was still surprised by the fact that they could love something this broken so wholly.

A slight cough made me flinch, and I turned to the stairs. I didn't want to go there. This was bad enough.

But I had to...for Rosie.

I tentatively walked up the stairs and heard coughing again from the first floor. Frowning, hand on my wand, I slowly approached a slightly ajar door. The person behind it coughed again.

I pushed the door open, taking in a surprisingly small bedroom. The room reeked of piss and other such delights and I wrinkled my nose, taken aback, before my eyes met two brown ones.

Grandmama had thinned a lot, and her parchy skin sagged under her night cap. Gone was her thick, red hair, of which remained a few grey strands. She coughed again, brutally, before slowly reaching out and grabbing a small bottle that she uncorked, eyes never leaving my own, before downing it.

Her eyes hadn't changed though- unrelenting, hard, cold.

I was a little boy once again.

"Better," she rasped, letting her hand fall by her side. "Come to finish off the job, have you, boy? About time. I was wondering when you'd come."

I inhaled slowly, inching into the room.

"You didn't know that I'd come."

She laughed at that, the sound soon turning to a cough, and as she spluttered, I sat on the chair opposite the bed. The smell of death permuted the air and I wrinkled my nose again, making her laugh- and cough- once more.

"Ah, so you smell her too," she chuckled darkly. "You're more like your mother than you think, boy. You look like your father...but you have her curiosity. Unable to stay away, even when it's not good for you."

I clenched my jaw as she coughed again.

"So," the old woman rasped. "How're you going to do it, boy? Smother me with my pillow? An Avada? Poison? ...ah, fitting, I suppose."

I frowned.

"I'm not here to kill you. You're not worth the jail time...although I suppose some assassins do get away with their crimes."

"I won't contradict you there, boy," she grunted, eyes twinkling. "But why are you here, then?"

I inhaled. This woman, even on her deathbed, was still an old cow...what if she refused? What more did she have to lose?

"Rosie," I said, and for the first time, my voice came out a whisper.

"Ah," she nodded. "Well, what about her?" She smiled cruelly then. "I'm done with this stench."

"I want her," I replied. "I want her body back to give her a proper burial. I have money now. I was adopted by good people and I'm making lots of money, and-"

"Frankly, boy," the old woman interrupted. "I don't care."

I flinched, suddenly ashamed. Why would I say that to someone who hated me? Whom I hated back with even greater passion? Someone who had destroyed my entire life? What was I, a boy still looking for her approval? Rosie had learned, after the day Grandmama rejected her kiss, that it was no use. She was five back then...six when this fragile old cow had murdered her. So why couldn't I ever learn? Did I think that telling her this would make her proud of me? Would make me worthy in her eyes?

"You want your sister," Grandmama muttered harshly. "So take her."

"Why did you do it?"

She frowned at me, jowls wobbling.

"Do what, boy? Does it look like I have time to play charades? Don't you see I have some dying to do?"

"Kill her. Why? She was innocent. She was-"

"She was an awful little child who ruined my life," Grandmama spat. "As long as your father was alive, I could tolerate you. My only grandchildren born out of wedlock. And my husband loved you so...but then your father died, and your clever mother's brilliant plan to save your worthless hides was to seduce a rich widower and leave you here, with me." She glared at me. "That being said, boy, and I'm not certain where you got the idea, I did not kill her. I thought you were clever. Use your brain."

"Liar," I hissed, suddenly furious. "Lying is a sin, Grandmama...isn't it?"

She chuckled dryly.

"Aye, it is, and so is murder," she replied coldly. "I tried to warn you about what she was doing, didn't I? But did you take heed? If your sister died it was because of her, and your, stupidity, not mine."

My mouth went dry as I stared at her, confused.

"What...?"

"Did I not speak to her outside your bedroom, one night, boy? Your mother. Your precious whore of a mother...I knew you weren't sleeping. I'd practiced, you see, I'd known and rejected her plans for quite some time, so I'd tested the waters...walking by your room at night. Sometimes you'd stop snoring and I knew you were awake, and at other times you kept sleeping..."

I tried to think back to that night, the night before Rosie had died. What had been said? The details were fuddled.

...cannot let you do that, Hermione. I thought you wanted out?...let's talk elsewhere...They won't hear you- they never wake up...I have to do this, Molly. Don't you see? It's the only way. I'll do it myself if you can't. You will go to hell for this...

"You're lying," I whispered, throat tight.

"You know full well I'm not, boy, stop playing games," she snapped. "Thought you'd get the hint and not throw yourself at food your mother prepared you, but apparently not. Arsenic in powdered sugar on the doughnuts- evil way to kill when you know how to use a wand, in my opinion, but your mother insisted. Better have you dead of apparent food poisoning than a spell if the Aurors ever came this way...she would know, she said, she married one..."

I could barely hear her over the roaring in my ears. It made sense. It made so much sense that it was believable...the reason why Rosie had died and not me, the reason our mother had made food for us after showing no interest for so long, her strange conversation with our grandmother...and what had she said when she told us we'd be leaving? That we were going to be free?

I felt sick all of a sudden.

"Our mother wouldn't have done that," I muttered weakly. "She loved us."

"She could and she did. And she loved you, probably...until you became threats to her new, fancy lifestyle. I think that when she abandoned you on my doorstep to go whore herself to her fiancé, she still believed that it would become feasible one day...get you and your sister back...but over time, that dream faded into something darker. Her husband's old man is still alive and kicking to this day. An orphanage was out of the question, you were old enough to decline your identities as her kids..." She chuckled coldly. "Some mother she was. Did it with her own pretty, manicured hands when I refused. Ah, in case you were wondering- her husband still doesn't know you exist. She told him the same she told his parents- you both died with your father." Her eyes glinted harshly. "And a part of you has always known it, boy- that's why you didn't try to return to her when you escaped through the woods."

I raised an eyebrow at that.

"Oh yes, boy. You still owe me a window- watched you hobble out through the garden."

"Why didn't you stop me?"

"Why would I? If the woods didn't kill you first, you were still off my hands."

There was a short pause as I tried to convince myself it didn't matter. Rosie was long gone...and I was broken beyond repair.

"Where did you bury her? I'll retrieve her body today."

The old woman clucked, a wry grin on her face before pulling herself up and grabbing the cane next to the bed, which she exited with strength I didn't suspect she still had.

"Come, boy," she uttered, hobbling through the door.

I followed her, frowning when she went up the stairs and not down, but only questioned it when we reached the second floor. The stench was worse than in her own room, as if this floor hadn't been visited in a long time.

"I'm here to retrieve Rosie," I stated coldly. "I don't want a guided visit, and I don't want to see-"

But she stopped in front of a door, and my heart sank. Despite myself, despite everything, my fear and my pain, a morbid curiosity jolted through me as she produced a key with trembling hands and inserted it into the lock, beckoning as she entered the room.

Nothing had changed in fifteen years. Nothing since the day I'd escaped after a nineteen months of brutal captivity. Only the window had been replaced, but the bathroom door was slightly ajar, showing two tiny toothbrushes on the sink. The sheets were still pulled back from the bed. A layer of dust covered everything, but that was it.

She hovered over her cane, blinking at me.

"Fond memories, boy?"

I glared at her and she barked in laughter before coughing again.

"Rethinking killing me, eh? Go ahead, you'd do this old woman a favour."

She pulled her wand from her nightgown, moving slow, and I tensed, fingers wrapping around my own. She chuckled.

"Don't worry, boy. Had I ever truly wanted you dead, you'd have been with your sister years ago."

She pointed it at the wall, the one I'd broken a hole into so many years ago.

"Bombarda," she muttered, and the wall exploded, covering everything in white dust and making us both cough violently.

When the dust cleared, I frowned. The wall had revealed something- a large, leather-bound suitcase. I glanced quizzically at her.

"Thank you for retrieving that, boy. Been here long enough that it stinks up the whole house."

I towered over her.

"What game is this? That's enough. Where's Rosie?"

But even as I said it, I knew.

Ah, so you smell her too.

I'm done with this stench.

Thank you for retrieving that, boy. Been here long enough that it stinks up the whole house...

Horrified, I turned my gaze to the suitcase. It wasn't big, but it could certainly fit a six year old child...

I ignored the old bat's chuckle as she noticed the understanding dawning on me, and approached the suitcase. It looked expensive- certainly hand-crafted. And there, on the golden plate...

Hermione J. Malfoy.

"You didn't even bury her," I whispered, horrified.

"I wanted to, but your mother was convinced that no body, no crime," she chuckled mirthlessly. "So that hole you made in the wall was a godsend to her. The suitcase fit...she'd planned on Disapparating to the middle of the ocean with it but was certain that even there, it could be found."

I reverently traced the gold clasps.

"Well, now you have her, get out," Molly coughed. "This old woman has some dying to do."

Stooping, I grabbed the handle and lifted the suitcase from the floor. I'd marched three steps toward the door when suddenly, the bottom of the suitcase split-not all the way through, but enough to let a dark liquid escape from within in a waterfall, letting a stench so hateful that both the old woman and I began retching instantly fill the room.

"Out. Out!" she rasped, stumbling for the door, and I didn't wait as I pulled out my wand, thoroughly traumatised, and Disapparated.

...

I'm a coward- Rosie had always been the brave one. The one who'd glare stubbornly at our Grandmama, knowing full well it'd earn her a beating. The one brave enough to know before I did how hurtful our mother would turn out to be. The one who would have become a great woman, who would have broken the wheel- the one who would have fallen from grace during childhood only to spread her wings mid-plummet and soar to greater heights.

And I'm not even a coward for the good reasons, either. When I think to myself that I wished I, and not Rosie, had died that night, I don't mean that I wished that she survived as I heroically took her place in the arms of death.

I mean that I wish I wasn't broken.

I mean that I wish I wasn't physically disabled.

I mean that I wish I wasn't plagued by nightmares of Grandmama's belt and sugared doughnuts.

I mean that I wish I hadn't seen my sister's putrid juices escape from a suitcase.

I mean that I wish I hadn't let my mother and grandmother get away with it.

I mean that I wish I could sleep with a woman without rejecting her touch because I'm instinctively afraid of corporal punishment.

I mean that I wish I could enter a Church without being terrified of the hidden demons within.

I mean that I wish I had the courage to take my own life and end the perpetual suffering.

I mean that I wish I could finally find peace for what they did to me through my own strength.

I mean that I wish I didn't see my mother's fine traits or my grandmother's red hair in the mirror.

I mean that I wish I didn't feel the need to take the key when my children have gone to bed and I've locked the door.

I mean that I wish I didn't feel the need to research arsenic and understand what happened to Rosie.

I mean that I wish I hadn't tested arsenic on rats.

I mean that I wish that I didn't ground my children in their bedroom for days on end when they displease me.

I mean that I wish that I didn't have to take a belt to their backs or deprive them of food when I punish them.

I mean that I wish my own daughter hadn't died of tuberculosis like her aunt.

I mean that I wish I didn't know that her body wasn't in that tiny little coffin.

I mean that I wish my son hadn't died of tuberculosis too, a few weeks ago.

I mean that I wish I hadn't suggested to my wife that we have another child now that ours are both gone and that the bedroom upstairs is empty...

I wish it had been Rosie. Not me. Fallen from grace is just a meaningless expression when you realize that there is no true grace but the one we make for ourselves, and mine was no stellar height- it was merely the top of a circle that never stopped rolling and crushing itself beneath its own weight.

...

The End

...

There you go! Hope you liked it. If you know Flowers In The Attic, you'll notice that I've eliminated not only the incest but the characters' bittersweet ending- hadn't planned on it, actually, just wanted Hugo to kind of ride off into the sunset but he surprised me.

I am myself from a traditional Christian family and I am an occasional church-goer. I don't want anyone to think that I despise religion or anything along those lines, but I made Molly a religious fanatic to a) explain her change in character from doting grandmother to cruel monster, b) keep in line with the personality of Olivia Foxworth in the film. Hermione's change from loving mother to murderous animal happens "offscreen", as for Corrine Foxworth, as the POV is that of Hugo in this fic and Cathy in the movie- I originally wanted to write this fic from Hermione's POV as she descends into darkness and insanity, but I couldn't quite bring myself to do it, maybe because it was already weird having her this OOC.

If you have any questions or remarks I'd love to read them!

DIL.