a/n:
Ages ago at the tender age of 12, I began working on this little gem, fully under the impression that it was a revolutionary piece of literature. Suffice to say, it was more like those obligatory fridge pictures that your mom put up from Art class. Fast forward a good few years and I am now older (and 0% wiser, despite dishing out thousands in tuition fees). However, I've never quite been able to shake this story no matter how much I've tried over the years. There remains only one option – grab a cup of tea, turn on that angsty teen music, and put it through a total rewrite. Hopefully, you come along for the ride! :)
Anything you recognize belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling, as always.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated!
(Also, I'm trying desperately to stick to U.K. style of speech for the sake of authenticity, but as a Canadian that's never even been to the U.K. that's a wee bit … difficult ;). Hopefully it doesn't end up too much of a cultural mess!)
~ Anna
It had been a perfectly smooth August day in the Zabini household, which, now that I think about it, should have served as an indication that my life was about to go exceptionally sour. As I sat, polishing my broomstick in my unnecessarily large bedroom, a menu was thrust under my nose.
"Heidi, darling, I need your advice." My mother never used that phrase to preface a situation that actually warranted advice, and this time was no different. "What do you think would feed a growing boy best? I'm between lobster and Kobe steaks. I got the house elf to write both on here, but I'm not sure if one is better."
I blinked. "Growing boy? I don't understand, Mum … who's the 'growing boy' in this scenario? Did you make friends with some family I'll hate again?" I asked hurriedly. "They better not be anything like the other ones or I'm not coming downstairs." I had in mind a certain clan of blonds that I could have stood to un-meet. "Just make something normal for dinner, can't you? Like soup. Soup's a classic."
"Soup is an appetizer," my mother moaned. I had clearly threatened her perception of justice in the world of dinner parties.
"Not if you use the big bowls," I pointed out smartly.
She sighed and retracted the menu. "No one in this house is of any use - I may as well ask my own reflection. Blaise, for one, told me to serve hamburgers."
"What can I say, Mother? At least it's an entrée," I remarked as I went back to polishing my Cleansweep Seven. I could practically feel her purse her lips behind me, but before I could turn to look, she had stormed out of my room with high heels clacking.
I sighed and put the broom aside. The last thing I needed before my friends came over was an angry Estella Zabini. I opened my bedroom door to go after her, and came to face a ghost emerging from the hallway fireplace. Frozen on the spot, I watched the pallid figure - too tall for its face to be visible - make its way out of the Floo system. A closer look put a stopper to my fear. Draco Malfoy stood with his back to me, brushing himself free of what I assumed was soot. Mistaking him for a ghost hadn't been that far off – he looked like he'd lost about twenty-five pounds and half a personality.
Without even a look in my direction, he disappeared into my brother's room. It wasn't until I saw our house-elf Roley struggle along with his trunk that I realized what was going on. My stomach plummeted. He was here to stay.
I burst into Blaise's room without hesitation, wincing as my foot flew into his heavy painted armoire.
Note to self: hesitation is good sometimes.
The two looked up from their conversation, where I was sure they had been mulling over something morally reprehensible as usual. I pointed to the offending party.
"He can't be here!"
Blaise rolled his eyes. "Give it a rest, Heidi."
My frustration escalated. "Did I stutter? I said he can't be here!"
"You're being an id-"
"No, Blaise, why don't you let her talk." Malfoy turned his full attention to me, looking extra vicious. I was one of the lucky few females at Hogwarts that he'd ever shown his natural range of facial expressions to: smirking, sneering, and scowling (Merlin only knows what he showed the other girls, but I'm guessing it wasn't his face). "Go on, Pointless Zabini. Tell me why I can't be here. I'll pretend to give something close to a damn, but no guarantees."
"You can't be here because my friends are coming tomorrow, Ferret," I said through gritted teeth.
He leaned in menacingly, and I was ashamed to say that his newfound gauntness was scaring me. "Well then you better cancel your little club meeting unless you want Potty to become the Boy Who Died."
My nostrils flared. In an effort to keep all of my screaming inside, I turned on my heel and left.
Our home, unlike Malfoy's, was modern and bright. I usually prided myself on the fact that visitors didn't need a copy of The Idiot's Guide to Exorcisms every time they set foot inside; the same definitely couldn't be said of Malfoy Manor. But for some reason, the blinding white floors and skylights irritated me that day as they channeled warmth and light on my surroundings. I felt they were making a mockery of the truth.
"Heidi, dear, has Draco come? I heard a commotion."
My mother appeared in the doorway of a bedroom nearby. I stormed towards her.
"You told me I could finally have Harry, Ron and Hermione over, and then you go and invite him! Is this some kind of joke, Mother? Because I don't appreciate it – not even a little!"
Her brown eyes snapped sharply to mine. "You mind that tone! If Draco is here, it is because he needs to be. You do not get to question the guests I have in my house. You can owl those friends of yours and tell them you'll have them over next time."
I crossed my arms and tried not to cry from the frustration – a frustration that had already begun building at the sight of Malfoy's face. "You're only doing this because you hate my friends, aren't you?"
Her face softened. She brushed a strand of brown hair from my cheek. "You know that's only half-true," she said with a smile. "Though, now that we're on the topic, I would really rather you stay away from those Gryffindors this year. Especially after the fiasco at the Ministry. Your father's friends are still giving him trouble for that, you know."
I pushed her hand away, unready to make nice. "It's his own fault for making friends with creeps like Ortwin Nott and Lucius Malfoy."
"If it weren't for those 'creeps' doing business with him, you'd be living in a broom cupboard instead of this house," she reminded me sternly. She gave a pleading sigh. "I know you and Lucius' boy have issues getting along, and that's fine. But I have to ask you to watch your tongue with Draco for the length of his stay."
I crossed my arms, affronted. "It isn't my tongue that throws the word mudblood around as if it's a normal thing for someone with a soul to say!"
My mother opened her mouth to talk, then gave up and walked away, leaving me standing in the guest room. I sighed and fell into a white leather armchair. The linens had been changed, the bookcase had been filled, and the room was made to smell faintly of orange blossom. Only one thing made it unlivable, and he had snuck up right behind me.
"Get out."
I squeaked and brought a hand over my pounding heart. "Would it kill you not to snarl from behind me?" I looked Malfoy up and down. Bitter realization hit. "You're the growing boy that my mother was talking about! The one we're having over for dinner!"
He ignored me and hung his grey travelling cloak on a hook by the dresser. It was then that I noticed a strange absence of Narcissa, who was always insisting that he wear the 'warmer green one' even in summer, each time leaving me puzzled about how someone could coo so obsessively over Draco Malfoy.
"Go mope about missing your mudblood friends in your own room," he drawled.
I ignored his request. "Where's your mum?"
Malfoy's eyes flashed viciously, and before I could take a breath in, I found myself the victim of a Hurtling Jinx that sent me out the door and across the hallway.
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"Wine, dear?"
"Wouldn't kill me," I said darkly, fingers clenched around a fork with a carved, pointed handle that had played many a part in my revenge fantasies.
"I wasn't offering it to you, Heidi," tutted my mother. In my peripheral vision, I saw her shake her head and pour Chardonnay into my father's glass. Peripheral vision was all I could give her. My eyes were glued to Malfoy, who my brother was trying to appease through some stupid lie about a Hufflepuff he beat in a duel. Couldn't he tell that the ferret wasn't even bothering to listen?
Twins though Blaise and I were, I considered us the anti-Fred and George. We were in opposing Hogwarts houses, on opposing Quidditch teams, with opposing priorities and opposing (or in his case oppositional) friends. Though it had never been quite so bad until the Prince of Bullshit got himself involved. Draco Malfoy had, in a nutshell, voted me out of the rich kid repertoire at the tender age of eleven and my brother hadn't offered a peep of an argument. Now, at sixteen, I was frequently found clutching steak knives at fancy dinners and trying desperately to use them only on the steak.
"So have you had a chance to get your books, Draco?" asked my mother with a tense smile.
"Yes, Mrs. Zabini."
"Wonderful. Though if you need anything else, we would gladly accompany you since your mother … cannot."
I frowned. I didn't think the day would come that Narcissa Malfoy didn't take her son to Diagon Alley before school and threaten to buy him anything they laid eyes on. "Is she alright?"
"She's fine, Heidi, eat your dinner," said my father impatiently.
"That's convincing," I murmured as I reached for a second steak. Malfoy watched me with badly masked judgement. "I'm not going to eat all of it!" I snapped.
He shrugged at me, as if he hadn't noticed a thing. "I'm not surprised Potter has you on some sort of regimen, since your Quidditch team has to rely on brawn now instead of tactic."
I snorted, piling some peas, potatoes and chocolates on my plate amid my mother's protests. "And what does Slytherin rely on when they fly? Because I saw your captain, Malfoy, and he looks even thicker than you-"
"Heidi!" squeaked my mother. I could officially be considered a disruption in decorum. "I'm sorry, Draco, she's a bit excitable these days after she got her exam results back. She's not sure if she'll get into N.E.W.T. level Herbology next year, you see."
"MUM! Don't tell people I failed Herbology!"
"Well she got Os on everything else!" she said quickly.
Malfoy looked ready to file this away into the 'Crap I Don't Care About' part of his brain, which, if I had to take a guess, constituted about 99%.
"I hear you did wonderfully last year too, Draco," my mother went on.
Malfoy shrugged and took a sip of wine, leaving me to wonder how that kid got his hands on wine in the first place. "I did alright."
"Lucius must be proud," said my father.
I bit my tongue and unwrapped a chocolate. My opinion on Lucius Malfoy – especially after our run in at the Department of Mysteries – was... disagreeable. At least to this crowd.
For the first time in a long one, Malfoy looked embarrassed. "Yeah. I guess he is."
"I wrote to him in Azkaban just last week, actually. He said the food there is more ghastly than the Dementors themselves. But he's a slippery chap, your father. He'll be out in no time."
The expression on Malfoy's face put a drop of sympathy in my blood.
"Dad, subject change. Now."
My father looked at me as if I'd pulled him out of a daze. "Did I say something wrong?"
I shook my head at him and went back to my peas and chocolates, somewhat aware that Malfoy was staring at me with ill-hidden loathing.
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"MALFOY! I COULD HAVE BEEN IN THE BATH!" I bellowed as he strode into the bathroom. It was accessible through two doors – one in my room and one in the guest bedroom. This was a welcome arrangement when my cousin Ceana came to visit, since we could sneak into each other's rooms to cause trouble undetected. It was less welcome when I had Malfoy bursting in on me as toothpaste foam dripped down my chin.
"Funny, I never pegged you as someone who bathes."
He reached around me (into my drawer, might I add) and produced a bottle of cologne. I hated that thing. Maybe it was a Pavlovian effect – every time I smelled amber and spice, I was sure to experience something that made me feel like garbage. Today was no exception.
"Feeling sympathetic again, Zabini?" he muttered as he straightened his dark green tie.
"What?"
"You know, about my sad, imprisoned father and my alcoholic mother," said Malfoy scathingly.
I stared at him in the mirror as everything came into place. "I – I didn't know. Not about your mother." I turned until we were facing each other. He looked down at me cautiously. I was too shocked by the news to realize just how close we were standing – I could clearly smell the amber, and see the flecks of ocean in his gray eyes. "I am so sorry," I said with a tremor in my voice. "Where is she right now? Is she alright?"
"St. Mungo's," he grumbled.
"Was there some sort of accid-"
"What the hell do you care?" Malfoy snarled. I jumped back. "You and your Gryffindor losers are the reason any of this is happening. Now you get to act the heroes and pretend like you give a shit. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, right? I'm sure you feel so very sorry."
I stiffened. For some reason, him spitting on the small truce I tried to offer had hurt me more than usual. "About your father? I don't feel sorry at all. Let's face it, he's where he belongs."
For a second, I thought he was going for his wand. Instead he bent down until he was practically staring through me. "Good. Don't feel sorry. Because the mighty will be out soon, and when they are, I'll be sure to pass your name along."
"What for?" I said, trying to sound as cold as him. "I didn't put them in Azkaban. Their own stupidity did."
His eyes glinted savagely. I crossed my arms, trying to look unfazed as all six feet of him towered over me with an eight inch advantage. "You gonna hit me?" I was never comfortable with his long, pointed pauses or his vindictive expressions. Whatever he was planning, I wanted him to get it over with.
To my surprise, he straightened up and turned to leave.
I softened a little. "Hey … Malfoy …"
"What?" he snapped.
"Your mother … I didn't know about her um … problem. I really am sorry."
He laughed insultingly. "Well as long as you're 'sorry'."
Looking more put out than ever, he left.
