The Daughter of a Death Eater

by Chloe Casey

Twelve year old Audrey Malfoy, the youngest in the family, is often ridiculed and taunted for not only being the daughter of the infamous Draco Malfoy, but also for being the only one in her family to have been sorted into Gryffindor. After years of torment from the Wizarding World, she has nearly given up hope in finding a new friend. Until she comes face to face with the Potters.

A/N:

First, I must apologize to anyone who has followed me as an author; I haven't posted anything for almost six months now. I do believe I put an explanation as to exactly why that happened, but in my opinion the reason I give don't cut it at all.

Okay, now that that's over... A lot of my friends who have read this have told me to upload this onto . So far, it's only a one-shot, but I might build off of it if I get the time to. Meanwhile, go ahead and have a good read!

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As I sat in the train that would bring me to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I found myself thinking of the funny feeling in my stomach. Nervousness didn't cut it. It was fear. I knew everyone had their own fears. My mother had told me at a very young age that someone cannot be strong without having fears. For some, it would be difficult distinguishing exactly what fear, or fears, we have. For others, it would be easy to confront them, and those people would scream at their fears to go away.

And they would.

Eventually.

Only, mine wouldn't. They seemed to be almost as stubborn as I am. They continued to stay with me even when I attempted to confront them. Perhaps another angle would get me the answer I seek? I do not know, for the fear I want gone is the fear of myself. Of being who I am. Of coming out into the open and just saying, "My name is Audrey Malfoy. I am who I am and will continue to be who I wish for as long as humanly possible."

But I couldn't. Every time I tried to, all I would be able to think about would be the way children would look at me when I walked next to my father, holding his hand when I was only seven years old. The wizards around us would wrinkle their noses and turn away, or shout and call us names. Traitors. Terrorists. Scum. Villains. I hadn't understood why they were so aggressive toward us, and when I brought it up in conversation my dad would shut me out. Tell me I was too young to even grasp a partial meaning to the words he'd say.

A sudden knock on the compartment window startled me. I sat bolt upright and stared at the brown haired boy on the other side of the glass. He mimed opening the latch I had locked. A bit tentative, I unlocked the door and let him in. He looked around the empty compartment.

"Why are you all alone?" he asked.

I stared at him for a moment. Shrugged, silently.

"Really? You don't know?" He said it innocently enough, but there was a slight undertone of sarcasm in his voice.

"People don't really like me," I told him in my usual, quiet voice. "I'm not completely sure why, but I know it has to do with my father."

"Why would people dislike you due to your father?"

I shifted. I could already tell that this was going to end up badly. "My father is Draco Malfoy."

The effect was instantaneous. The boy took a step back, an incredulous look upon his face. Then he scowled. Tensed his hands as if readying for a fight. "Your father is the Draco Malfoy? You're the Audrey girl that got sorted into Gryffindor?"

I looked away from him and dejectedly sat down. Perhaps I would never find anyone who wouldn't mind my existence. The boy continued to rant. He threw around the same names I had heard year after year: Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Hermione Granger. I managed to block him out for the most part. I stared out of the window, attempting to keep myself busy with admiring the view. But the boy was saying new things now, things I hadn't heard before. I couldn't possibly ignore him now. I needed to find out why my father was considered a menace by the general public.

"Do you even know who I am?" the boy growled. "My father is Harry Potter, the Harry Potter. Your father tried killing him! And his friends! He was on Voldemort's side in the war!"

I stared at him uncomprehendingly. What had he just said? My father had sided with the man that had plotted against almost all of the world? I shook my head. It wasn't possible. He couldn't have done that. He was too - too-

Too what? a small voice whispered in the back of my mind. He had never trusted you, his own daughter, enough to tell you of his past. Of the past. He would never answer your questions. But you had seen in your history book that the faded mark on his arm was that of the Death Eaters. And the Death Eaters had been on Voldemort's side.

"What I am saying is the truth," the boy snarled. "Your whole family is based off of horrible, horrible deeds-!"

I couldn't take it. I stood up, shoved him out of the compartment, slammed the door shut, and pulled the blinds all the way down. My father could never have really been on Voldemort's side. Right? I kept repeating the words in my mind, but that little voice of doubt continued to tell me I was wrong.

. . . . . .

Seeing how I was in my second year at Hogwarts, I had the pleasure of watching everyone else get sorted into their Houses. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Those were the Houses, the four possibilities the magical Sorting Hat could put you in.

I found myself remembering the day I had been sorted into my very own House. I had been wishing, oh so very hard, to be in Slytherin. My father had at least told me about that part of Hogwarts. He'd told me how he used to be in the very same House the rest of his family had been in. Slytherin seemed like a pleasant daydream to him, something he would always think of with a fond smile, and so I wanted to make him proud and get into his favorite house.

Then I had been sorted into Gryffindor. The House my dad had always detested from the moment his eyes had laid sight on the name. When news reached my mum and him about which House I had been placed in, he had been furious. I wasn't very much enthused either. All the kids in the House had decided to ignore me completely. They didn't speak to me, they didn't look at me. It was almost as if I wasn't even in Gryffindor. I grew to hate the House that many had said was the best of them all.

That was a whole year ago, though. I had been hoping, and still do, that by some miracle I could meet someone who wouldn't despise me or shove me into a gloomy, desolate corner of isolation. I stared at the wood of the table in front of me, silently chiding myself. There was no way anyone would want to be near me. Not if they knew who I was. I glanced around me. On either side of me, enough room was left for at least three people to sit down. In front of me, I had a plain view of the Ravenclaw table. It was easy to see that no one had changed their mind about me.

I was momentarily brought out of my depressing reverie by the Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall, clapping to get everyone's attention. She laid out the major rules of the school, causing a bitter look to fall upon my face. Some of them, such as "Magic shall not be used outside of class unless it is used for academic purposes only," had been completely disregarded multiple times by numerous students.

With a wave of the Headmistress's hand, the annual feast was placed upon each table. I wasn't startled by the rapidly appearing chicken thighs or the fading into focus salads that were sure to wow the first years. I simply grabbed a few things to eat and nibbled at them. For some reason, I didn't feel very hungry. Not that I was ever really hungry.

. . . . . .

Purgatory - I mean, school, started the next morning. Nothing surprising came from the days that followed. The same routine of wake up, get dressed, go to class, sit in silence, go to bed passed unhindered for several weeks. It was starting to get closer toward the holidays when I found myself seated next to a boy with black hair. I had never taken any real amount of time to remember who was who, though some names were ingrained in my mind. A list of people to avoid. But the boy wasn't on that list, and so it didn't matter that he was sitting next to me. I relaxed my stiff shoulders; showing weakness in the middle of a pack of feral lions was not the best idea.

I sat silently in the back of the room while the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher gave a lecture on what the curriculum was going to look like for the following year. I tried ignoring the youth next to me as he fidgeted and started doodling on a piece of parchment. This class might have had a chance at being my favorite subject, had I not realized that my skills were dwarfed in comparison to that of most Gryffindors, and that I had a better taste for brewing potions. Just like my mother and father.

I winced at the thought. If my parents were the reason why I was hated so much, I didn't want to be like them. I didn't want to have this shiny blonde hair or these grey, green streaked eyes. I didn't want to have a family fortune that could last several generations even if no one worked a day in their life. I didn't want the last name Malfoy.

"Ah, Audrey," the professor said, snapping my attention back to the real world. "Why don't you explain why it is best to know more than just the theory of defensive spells?"

I thought for a moment, choosing my words carefully. "Well, um, if someone were, say, in a dangerous situation concerning a magical creature or another wizard, theory wouldn't help with saving their life. They'd need to be able to defend themselves then and there. Theory can't help you in a life and death situation."

A few people continued staring at me as the teacher nodded. "You are exactly right, Miss Malfoy." I hid a cringe as he continued. "Don't get me wrong when I say theory isn't as important as actually knowing the defensive spells, it is needed to understand the inner workings of how we produce magic…."

I drifted off again, letting myself get distracted by silly things. Anything to keep me away from the accusing stares I knew I was receiving. When the bell rang, I just up and left, heading toward my next subject. But someone tugged at my sleeve. I turned, wary, but curious.

I blinked at the boy who had been forced to sit next to me. "Yes?"

"Do you know what the next class is? I dropped my time table on the way here, and, well…."

I stared at him for a few minutes. He shifted uncertainly, looking terribly awkward. "Herbology with Professor Longbottom. Out at the greenhouses."

"Oh, right." He smacked his palm against his forehead. "Now I remember. After that we have Charms, and then Potions class." He glanced at me sheepishly. "Thanks, anyways. We should get going."

As the boy walked off, I stood stockstill. What had he said? "Thanks"? I blinked as I realized he had told me thanks. No one had ever said that before-

"Are you coming?"

I whirled around, trotting up to his side. "Sorry, I just got lost in thought." I paused for a moment. "I'm Audrey, by the way."

"Albus," the boy said. "Albus Potter."

I blinked at him. Another Potter? He grinned a bit.

"Yeah, I've gotten used to that face. Once everyone knows your mum and dad's name, you might as well be put in a book with them, you know?"

"Y-yeah," I managed. "I know."

Albus caught the look in my eyes, his face softening. "I guess you're one of the only people who would truly understand the ruinous side effects of having famous parents."

I turned away from him. Why was he so nice? His brother definitely wasn't. So what was it with Albus that allowed him to even be able to stomach standing by my side? I could barely stomach being who I was. An awkward silence stretched between us, almost as if sensing how we were each other's polar opposite; I was cowardice while he was valor, he was the son of the Chosen One and I was the daughter of a famous Death Eater.

Death Eater.

The words rang in my ears. My father was a Death Eater. I had been blind all this time, choosing to ignore what was right in front of my face. But how could I now? The words had been thrown at me in a maelstrom of truth. There was no way I could ignore what my father had hid from me all those years.

An unsettling thought pushed its way into my mind. Had he laughed at my expense, the way he had laughed alongside Voldemort all those years ago? Had he been looking down his nose at me, eyes full of disgust, because I didn't have the intellect to find out on my own who he really was? When I had told him about being in Gryffindor, had he really shown his irritation not because he hated the House, but because my being sorted into Gryffindor meant that I had failed him?

I cleared my face of all emotion as I shouldered my way into the greenhouse, shuddering at the vile implications of those three questions. I snuck a quick glance at Albus. As much as he could be considered amiable, he reminded me too much of the everlasting loop of torture I had endured over the last year. He was Harry Potter's son, the son of a legend, the son of a legend my father had once tried to kill.

. . . . . .

"Hey, Malfoy."

I continued scribbling down my letter to my parents, paying no heed to those two whispered words. Surely no Gryffindor would risk a bruised ego talking to me of all people.

"Malfoy."

My quill stuttered across the parchment in front of me. I frowned at the ink smeared over various lines of carefully thought out text. Slowly, I turned to see who it was who kept saying my name.

"What-?" The words died in my mouth. The boy from the train - most people called him James - stood at the other side of the table. During the last few weeks at school, he had become my most committed persecutor. Being two years my senior, it made sense that he was almost a head taller than I was. Still didn't make the fact any less intimidating.

"I was just wondering if you knew the code to get into the Slytherin common room," James said smoothly. "You know, 'cause you practically are one."

I clenched my fists. Although he had been mocking me for almost 41 days without pause, he had managed to find something different to jeer about each time he saw me.

The boy smirked. "So, do you know the code?"

I shook my head.

"Really? I guess what the others were saying about you was true. No one really does want you around."

I mentally screamed at myself to just ignore James and his abuse. But once again, my mind chose to disregard its own advice. I couldn't just turn away from what he was saying. Because it was true.

My mother and father had little to no time for me; their work had them traveling far and wide. The teachers never stopped anyone from discrediting me. No one in Gryffindor would even allow the start of a proper conversation-

My train of thought came to a screeching halt. There was a Gryffindor who had talked to me. Who had said he was sorry for what was going on around me. There was Albus. So at least one person cared about me. Which meant that what James was saying was false.

But only just barely.

"What are you writing?" James seemed a bit miffed that I hadn't said anything yet.

I pulled the paper further away from him. "It's nothing."

He put a hand on the table. "Oh, really?"

The tiny bit of me that had subconsciously been planning to rebel against him shrunk back in on itself. James snatched the paper from under my hand. Fear made me lurch to my feet.

"Th-that's personal," I stammered.

He waved at me to be quiet while he scanned over the page. A few people were starting to take notice of where exactly James was. A few continued staring; others turned away.

"What exactly are you saying in this letter?" James demanded.

"It's nothing you would understand."

"'Dear Mother and Father,'" James read. "'I do not believe it will be possible for me to come home this coming holiday. Surely you will understand, as many teachers have been deciding to give out pop quizzes recently.' What are you talking about? The teachers never give out pop quizzes. You're lying! To your own parents! Blimey. And just when I thought you couldn't get any worse."

I glared at him for a moment. He had no right to say any of that! He had no idea for why I was lying to them, how I felt lying to them. I barely knew when I had started moving, but I was suddenly running. Running away from him and the Gryffindors, and out the door, and down the stairs. I ran into someone, but simply mumbled an apology and continued bolting down each staircase without any thought in the world for the dangers of going so fast on these ancient, moving steps. At last, gasping for breath, I came to a halt in a classroom. No, it wasn't just a classroom. It was the classroom for Defense Against the Dark Arts. The one class I had always wanted to excel in, but never would. I collapsed in one of the chairs, sobbing.

How long had I been crying? I wondered. It felt like years, but I surely hadn't been bawling in front of James or Albus, or anyone else for that matter. I scrubbed furiously at my face. I shouldn't be crying. I should be trying to overcome my fears! But how could I do that? It was impossible! People would always look at me as the Death Eater's daughter. Nothing more. I would never be given the benefit of the doubt.

The sound of voices ringing through the halls beyond the door made me stop snivelling. Were they coming to get me? To harass me further? I hiccupped, looking around the room. There was nowhere to go except the small cabinet the professor sometimes used. I took a slow breath to calm my convulsive breathing. It was either the bullies or the cabinet. The cabinet, though positively full of virulent objects used for class, was seeming way more secure than the people outside.

Crammed uncomfortably in the closet, I listened for the footsteps to go away. They stopped outside the door the the classroom. Just my luck. I clamped my jaw down firmly, unwilling to alert anyone to my presence. The door clicked open, creaking slightly.

"Audrey?"

The word echoed through the room. Was that Albus's voice?

"Audrey, are you in here?" he asked again.

I was tempted to reply. He'd never made fun of me before. What was the harm in letting him know I was here? I tried talking, but my voice wouldn't work. I took a deep breath, moving onto plan B. I slipped my foot toward the door, nudging it open a little bit. Albus walked further into the room.

"Audrey?" He pulled the cabinet open a bit more. His green eyes came into view, disheartening as he crouched down to look at me squarely. "Oh, Audrey. Why are you in here?"

My jaw trembled. Without warning, my eyes teared up and my throat constricted. I shut my eyes tightly. I was not going to cry. I hadn't cried all this time, so what was the point in crying now?

"I can't take it," I gasped. Whether to answer Albus's question or mine was lost to me; all I knew was that I had to say it. "I just - I can't take it anymore!"

"Shh, shh," he said softly. "It'll be alright-"

"No - it won't - be alright!" I choked out. "My family - is full of monsters - I'm a monster-"

"Hey, you are not a monster," Albus said fervently. "You are intelligent and kind and strong." I opened my mouth to argue, but he continued. "Even though people have attacked you over and over again, even though people have done nothing to help you for more than a year, you still answer other's questions, you give people advice when they are stuck in class. Despite all that has happened to you, you have continued to be yourself, and that is everything anyone can ask of you."

I sniffled. "But I don't want to be who I am."

He sighed gently. "C'mon. Let's get out of the cabinet shall we? Then I can tell you what my dad told me a few years ago. Something my namesake told him."

I tentatively got out and stood up. Albus brought me to a chair and pulled another one in front of me.

"Albus Dumbledore," he said, "told my father that it didn't matter whether someone was born to a great legend or a man who once was a Death Eater. What matters is the life that person leads. Just look at James. He's the son of Harry Potter. But he boasts about it, and says that he is the best Quidditch player in the whole school, and picks on other people. Now, don't get me wrong, he's my brother and I love him. He isn't a vile psychopath or anything, but what he does is wrong. The way he lives is wrong and being related to the savior of the Wizarding race can't change that. The same goes for you. Just because you're a Malfoy doesn't make you a terrible person. Your life is your own, and other people can't rule the way you live."

"But…." I swallowed roughly. "People aren't going to think any different of me. I don't have any friends and my family is a disgruntled mess." I took a deep breath. "All I can find myself thinking about these days is how I don't have any friends and how I barely know my own family."

"You do have friends, Audrey."

"Really? Then name one."

"Me."

I stared at him. Was he really a friend of mine? I didn't really know what a friend was. Was it something like what my father and I had, years ago, before he had started lying to me? If a friend was anything like that…. Then I guess that I was Albus's friend. Which in turn made him my friend. Despite the moisture still on my face, I managed to grin at him.

"Thanks. For everything."

He beamed at me. "No problem. We should probably get back to the common room, though. It's going to get dark out and we don't want the teachers yelling at us, now do we? And I should probably show you a few tricks to getting around bullies."

. . . . . .

"Will you just bugger off, James?" Albus exhaled, glaring at his brother.

I just continued to nibble at the bit of chocolate I was eating. Remember what Albus said earlier, a small voice told me. He's trying to help, and you have to pull some of the weight too.

"What's with you?" James grumbled. "You were the one who brought up how weird it was to have a Malfoy in Gryffindor."

"At least I'm not going around making fun of Audrey because she was born."

James scowled. "I'm not making fun of the fact that she was born. I'm trying to point out that she doesn't belong in Gryffindor."

"Why not?"

"Because she's a Malfoy." He glanced at me. "And Malfoys aren't Gryffindors."

"That's not a very good statement," I mumbled.

"What?"

"My mum taught me how to make proper math proofs last year," I said, almost as if having a casual conversation. "It involves if-then statements, conditionals, and converses. Wanna hear about it?"

"No, I do not want to hear about stupid conditionals and converses," he growled.

"I'd love to hear about if-then statements," Albus told me.

"Well, in order to make a proper statement, it has to be correct in two forms: the conditional and the converse," I said. "The conditional is the original form of the if-then statement, and the converse is the reverse order of the if-then. So with your brother's thought, the conditional would be, 'If someone is a Malfoy, then he or she isn't a Gryffindor.' The converse would be, 'If he or she isn't a Gryffindor, then that person is a Malfoy.' But the converse isn't correct, seeing how there are other people who aren't in Gryffindor who don't take the last name Malfoy. Therefore, the statement is incorrect."

James turned his scowl on me. Then he walked away. I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I had been holding in.

"See?" Albus grinned halfheartedly at me. "All you have to do with people who bully you is either outsmart them, turn the conversation to a different topic, or ignore them."

I shrugged, continuing to peck at the piece of chocolate in my hands. "I know you don't like me doing this to your brother, Al. And I don't like driving you two further apart than you already were."

His brow wrinkled as he scratched at the side of his head. "It's only been three days and you've already picked up on that. It must show pretty well."

"You look haggard. Tired." I stared at my spotless plate, my eyes darting over to the correspondence of his platter. "And you're not eating much. I used to be the same. Still am. That's how I know."

"You are right," he said slowly. "I don't like having to do this to my own brother. But he's the one who's really oppressing you at the moment."

I wanted to argue a bit more. James and Albus were brothers. I had an older brother of my own, and he wasn't the most hospitable of people, but I was pretty sure that sibling relationships weren't supposed to play out like that. Families weren't supposed to be as dysfunctional as mine. Albus, though, was sure to simply brush off my worries with a reassuring, "I can take care of my relationship with my brother." Like I probably would.

I sighed. "If you're sure about this, then alright. I'll go along with your plan. But if things get too hairy between you two, I'm out. I'm - I'm not going to drive a hole into your family."

"You aren't going to," He said, but he seemed a bit more relieved than he had been moments ago. "Shall we go to class now?"

I nodded, following him as he walked out of the Great Hall. Charms class with Professor Flitwick was a bit more enjoyable than usual, since I had someone else I could talk to. The atmosphere of the room started out a bit awkward, and then slowly relaxed as time wore on. I wasn't completely sure if the reason behind that was Albus and I having a friendly chat, or just some other phenomenon that I hadn't heard of yet.

After class was over, everyone shunted themselves up the stairs leading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. On the way, a small group of kids wearing the Hufflepuff crest grinned and waved at me. One even said, "Good luck."

I blinked, trying to take in the possibility of people actually wanting to be friends with me. Surely their thoughts hadn't changed overnight? Because that wasn't possible. Or was it?

I took my seat next to Albus, shifting slightly when I noticed people weren't bothered by me being so close to them. "Albus?"

"Yes?" he whispered back.

"Why isn't everyone treating me the way they once did?"

"Well, it's a combination of things, really. I only just found out myself."

"But what is it?"

"The brunt of Gryffindor House thought that people were only teasing you a bit. Playing a sort of prank. Gryffindors have been known to do that." He paused for a moment. "Then everyone saw you run out of Gryffindor Tower, crying. And they realized that the game of isolation they had been playing wasn't exactly a game. Word got around of what happened, and now most people want to help you. Of course, James and a few other people haven't listened to anyone else, but then again, there will always be people who think hurting others is fun."

"Oh," I whispered.

The door slammed shut behind everyone. Professor Kline swaggered into the room, a vast grin plastered to his face. "Okay, class. I have a special treat for you today. A well known individual has decided to come in and give a lecture. He should be here any moment now…."

There was a faint pop. Suddenly, standing next to Professor Kline, a man wearing long blue robes appeared. He grinned at the class, subconsciously straightening the rounded glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose. A few students gasped when they saw the lightning bolt scar on the man's forehead.

"Hey, Dad," Albus muttered, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Good to see you, Al," Harry Potter said. "And yes, in case anyone has any doubt, I am Harry Potter."

There was a low chuckle that ran through the class, but most were too stunned to really do much more than just ogle at the man standing in front of them.

"So Professor Kline and I have decided that, with the holidays coming and all, you were most likely not going to pay complete attention to rather important lessons and you needed a bit of a break from learning everything about magic," Potter said. "Also, I know that you all probably have a few questions of your own to ask. So ask away. Raised hands of course."

A few hands tentatively waved in the air. But there was something nagging at me, something I just wanted to know….

Despite my thoughts on not drawing attention to myself, my hand shot into the air, exuding confidence. Albus's father immediately looked over at me. He pointed at me. I took a deep breath as a multitude of people turned to peer at me.

"Is it true that you can perform a Patronus Charm?" I wondered.

He nodded slowly, as if lost in some train of thought. "I can. In fact, I taught a whole group of my friends how to produce the spell. It's hard work, but I think everyone can conjure a Patronus. Eventually. Another question?"

A few people asked about his adventures, though most stayed away from him and his final encounter with Lord Voldemort. I guess that even Gryffindors were a tad bit touchy with finding out the more gruesome details about the battle that had killed hundreds. I listened with apt attention while Albus doodled on a spare piece of paper. He had probably heard all the tales that his father was describing to the class.

But I wanted to see if Mr. Potter would say anything about my father. He didn't. The class all wanted to know about practically everything besides the points where the infamous Draco Malfoy came into play. Were they all still against my father? Did they not want to hear about him because of him being a Death Eater? I squirmed in my seat. I didn't like the way my thoughts were going - back toward the way I had thought on a regular basis - so I halted all of my mental chatter and started paying even more scrutiny to the spell Mr. Potter was casting. A few people oohed and awed at the bluish-white stag forming in front of us. I blinked, realizing that someone else had asked about Mr. Potter's ability to perform a Patronus. When the stag neared me, I nearly reached out my hand to stroke it, but caught myself and was contented to just watch it pass by.

Class ended barely two minutes later.

I gathered my things up slowly, almost meticulously. "You go on, Al," I said slowly. "I want to ask your father another question."

He nodded and walked out of the classroom, finding another person to talk to. Gathering all the courage I could muster, I walked over to the famed wizard.

"Mr. Potter?"

He looked up from a Quibbler magazine. "Yes?"

I nervously bit at my lip. "Can I, er, ask you a question about my father? About Draco Malfoy?"

A look of realization passed across his face. He put the magazine to the side, the same expression of sympathy flitting across his face that had crossed Albus's the first day we had met. "Go ahead."

"Was he on Voldemort's side during the war?"

He was silent for a moment. "That's a complicated question, I must admit. He originally was all for the Death Eaters, because he wanted his parents to be proud of him. So he joined the Death Eaters. But he did not enjoy being one. He regretted making the decision of going to Voldemort's side almost immediately. Before the actual fighting really broke out, I'm pretty sure he wasn't even on his side anymore."

"But he wasn't on the other side?"

"If he wasn't on Voldemort's side, what other side could he have been on?"

I blinked. The question held a pretty interesting concept in its grasps. Eventually, I managed to say, "His own side."

He gave me a patient smile. "Here, take a seat. There's something I should tell you." He sat down in front of me. "Your father was never completely on Voldemort's side, nor was he ever on his own side. He was always on his family's side. He joined the Death Eaters because he thought it would help him and his family live another day. He knew that saying no to Voldemort would cause doubt in where his mother and father's loyalties lay, and so he said yes." He paused for a moment. "Did anyone tell you about the time he saved my life?"

I frowned at him. "He… saved your life? All I've heard was that he tried killing you. Multiple times."

"He never really tried killing me. I mean, yes, there was that one time where he really did get a bit violent, but he never was thinking of killing me. The time he saved my life, it was when Hermione and Ron and I had been dragged to Malfoy Manor to await the arrival of Voldemort. The Death Eaters were using the place as a headquarters, but the only people there at the time was Bellatrix, your father and his mother. No one could tell whether or not I actually was who the Snatchers thought I was, but your father could. He said that he wasn't sure even though he was completely sure of who I was. Without your father, I wouldn't be alive, I would never have been at the Battle of Hogwarts, and Voldemort would still be around. And that was only one time. By the end of the war, everyone in your family, excluding Bellatrix, wasn't on Voldemort's side."

I glanced at him, a bit skeptical. "Really?"

He nodded. "I wouldn't lie to you about something like this."

I lowered my gaze. "My dad never told me any of that. He never said anything about being a Death Eater, or trying to kill you, or save you. He barely told me anything."

Again, Mr. Potter was quiet. "I heard about what's been happening. People have been telling you that your father should be in jail, haven't they?"

I nodded tentatively.

"Albus told me about the other day as well."

I winced.

"I would have came in earlier, but I had to finish up some work at the Ministry. How long have you been bullied?"

I clamped my jaw together. Something inside me was flashing red lights of warning to my brain, telling me to keep quiet about everything.

"It's alright, Audrey," Mr. Potter said. "I know it's a tough subject to think about, let alone talk about, but it's better to get things out instead of keeping everything bottled up."

I stared at my hands. They were trembling slightly, my nails biting into my palm. "It's been happening for as long as I can remember." He didn't reply so I continued. "I could barely even step outside my house without someone saying something about my parents being horrible people. I didn't understand the reason behind it until I got here at Hogwarts, and people started screaming at me day after day. Being in Gryffindor just made it worse."

"I'm so sorry," he murmured. "Is there anyone in particular that has been bullying you?"

I glanced at him. "Albus didn't tell you?"

He looked slightly confused. "Didn't tell me what?"

I swallowed down my fear. "Th-the person who's been attacking me, he's… James. Your son."

"James? He's been-" Mr. Potter rubbed his forehead. "I'll talk to him about it. If he gives you anymore trouble, tell Albus to send me an owl, or just send me one yourself. Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Relief struck me before his question could register. After a moment, I said, "Well, there is one thing."

He looked up at me.

I grinned. "Thank you."

. . . . . .

Five days. Not a single snide remark from James for five days. It was strange how invigorated I felt knowing how those five days could lift my spirits up to the point of feeling dizzy with happiness. A few of Albus's friends became friends of my own. I found myself laughing at least once everyday, though the transition from being quarantined to being helped was a bit startling. Not everyone welcomed me into Gryffindor, but I took Albus's advice and tried ignoring them. After all, I had other things to think about. Like what to buy my new friends for Christmas.

Or what caused the ear piercing scream that woke all of Hogwarts.