I do not own any characters or settings you recognize. It belongs to JKR. I do not intend to make any money off of this fanfiction.
If the formatting is completely wacked up, forgive me, because I don't know how Fanfiction . net's formatting works… sorry…
I was on platform 9 ¾, looking around at hugging families, friends reuniting, and seventh years yelling about how school was almost over. Never in my life had I felt so alone in such a busy, vibrant place. "Have a Great first year at Hogwarts!" I pictured someone yelling to me. "Don't forget to owl me!" I would respond.
But dad and mom were in Azkaban, so I stood on platform alone, tossing my dark curls over my shoulder, feeling alone and looking around, hoping someone would sense my discomfort and guide me in the right direction. After a few minutes, I decided I'd never been graced with luck and I never would be, so I pulled up the courage to ask. Tapping an elderly witch with a vulture topped hat on the shoulder, she said, "excuse me ma'am, could you please direc-"
The woman turned and glared at me, so I held my tongue and turned to a woman with bright red hair and a warm, motherly smile. "Excuse me ma'am, could you please direct me to where I must go to put my trunk?"
"Yes, of course darling. You see, bah, just go follow Fred and George over there, they can help you," She said, motioning over to a pair of redheaded twins.
"Hello apprentice," They said in unison. "How might you need the services of Gred and Forge today?"
"I am not your 'apprentice'" I said in what I hoped was a cold voice. "Please direct me to where I might be able to stow my trunk."
"Ah, straight to the point, this one. Just hand us your trunk and go ahead and find yourself a compartment." One said.
"What's your name, by the way?" asked the other.
"Pandora." I said. "Just Pandora."
"Any surname?"
I very well knew my surname would cause everyone to hate me. Everything behind the name Lestrange was hated. My mother was hated. My father was hated. I myself was hated too. I'd decided to keep my surname to myself, while I could. The sorting hat would spoil my secret soon enough.
I just shook my head, and ran off. I ducked inside a compartment, sitting directly across from a girl with bushy hair and buckteeth and next to a boy with a round face and dark hair.
"I'm Neville," said the boy after a few minutes of silence. "I'm Neville Longbottom."
I remembered feeling a sinking feeling in my stomach, for my family taking so much from his.
I woke up from the dream of my first day at Hogwarts, and looked around my Ravenclaw dorm room. It looked just like it did that first day, grand windows arched all around, four poster beds with simple, blue, silk hangings, bedside tables with stacks of books all around. It calmed me. That wasn't exactly a horror dream, but it made me feel sick to my stomach.
"You okay?" Asked a roommate of mine, Lisa Turpin. When I'd first been sorted, most people, including Lisa, refused to speak my name. They'd come a long way. Some of them, at least.
"Fine. Dream. That's all." I replied curtly. Looking over at the clock, I noticed it was six am, almost time to get up. I got up anyways, and began to get ready. It was three weeks until Christmas break, and I'd already put my name down for stay for break. I mean, I didn't have anything to look forward to at the orphanage, so why go back?
"Oh, Okay," murmured Lisa. Lisa could be friendly, but we didn't really hang out at all.
Careful not to wake anyone, I grabbed a bundle of clothes and headed to the fifth and sixth year Ravenclaw girl's bathroom to change. You'd think that with living in an orphanage or a dorm room your whole life you'd get used to changing in front of people, but I never did.
My resemblance to my mother, Bellatrix Lestrange, was uncanny. It was like I'd missed out on dad's DNA completely, and I was a clone of mom. I had her same pale skin, dark curls, heavily lidded dark brown eyes, and I looked every bit as deranged as her, from the glint in my eyes to my sadistic looking smile.
I kept a picture of me and her. She might be an insane lunatic, but growing up without a family was hard on me, and I needed something to hold on to. In the picture, she was in a long, black, lacy dress, holding a small baby cloaked in black. In almost every picture I'd seen of her she'd looked like an escapee of a mental health institute from an age where women still had to wear dresses, but in this picture, when she was looking down at me, tickling my chin and grinning, she didn't look like a female satan. She looked more like a regular mom, bringing her kid to a costume party or something, and it was hard to picture her as… as what she was. Is. A murderess. A torturess. The female embodiment of the devil.
Sometimes- no - all the time, I yearned to be the daughter of someone else. A mom who didn't try to be the left hand woman of someone planning on taking over the world. That would be nice.
I sighed, and began to brush through my hair. Today, since I'd gotten up early, I could straighten my hair. It was a time consuming endeavour, considering how much hair I had, and how tightly my corkscrew curls were wound. By the time I was done, a yawning Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecomb had joined me, doing up their makeup and braiding their hair.
I didn't talk to them. They were some of the people who didn't forgive my parents.
I packed up the hair straightener, and brushed nonexistent dust from my uniform. The Ravenclaw tie looked fabulous on some people, like Cho, or even Luna Lovegood, but it didn't match my looks at all. If any uniform looked right on me, it would've been Slytherin. The blue of Ravenclaw looked horrid with my shade of brown eyes, and- bah, the bronze? Try pairing bronze with- dark brown(!). I mean, I'd never been one for petty beautician magic, but it would be nice if the uniform looked okay on me.
But enough about that.
My first lesson that day was charms, my second worst subject behind arithmancy. Somehow, I made Harry Potter's- yes, the Harry Potter's- desk explode. (And he was pretty much the worst person who's desk I could explode, except maybe Neville's, since my parents tortured his, and since Harry is basically the epitome of anti-deatheater.)
ANYHOO, I got yelled at, extra homework, blah blah blah. What I really cared about was the was Lavender Brown whispered to Parvati Patil. "What a deatheater. Like, seriously, shouldn't she be in Azkaban with her parents? It's only a matter of time until she kills us all. Like, we should just lock her up now, before it's too late."
Like, I know you're supposed to 'shrug it off' because 'they're just trying to get a reaction from you, and if you don't give them one they'll stop' and 'they're only doing it because they feel insecure themselves'.
Well, firstly, easier said than done. Secondly, it doesn't even work, and thirdly, I highly doubted Lavender Brown felt insecure. She basically drowned the world in her cleavage, and she talked loudly and confidently at every opportunity.
When all's said and done, I did really think calling her a… 'slug' (Not a slug, but a similar sounding word) was a little uncalled for, but I didn't get in trouble because Flitwick was too busy helping Harry to notice.
By the time lunch was ready, the rumors had spread like wildfire, and half the castle was convinced that I had cast the killing curse at Harry and that I'd narrowly missed him, blowing up his desk instead. Lunch was so unbearable that when I caught Draco's eye, I tugged the end of my hair and stood up. It was our signal, saying 'meet me in our special place'. He nodded, tapping his nose. His hair was too short to tug without looking weird.
I didn't bother to grab food from the table, because the kitchens were on our way to the hiding spot.
I reached the kitchens first, asking the elves for a parcel of food.
"Tiffy is wondering what would Missius Lestrange care for?" asked Tiffy.
"Uh, one roast beef sandwich, a ham one, some pickles, some tarts, please." I replied. Not two minutes later the elves handed me a large cardboard box, and Draco stepped through the door. "Already have your food, darling." I said.
Darling was a bit of a joke between us. When we were little, his parents would force us into minescule dress robes, and made us call each other darling. It wasn't much, but it had evolved into a huge joke.
"Excellent, my darling." he replied, taking the box from my arms. We walked a little ways down the hall, and I halted in front of a portrait of Helena Ravenclaw turning down a suitor. I tapped her nose with my wand, and the portrait came to life like all the others in the castle.
Helena knew us, so she didn't even bother to conceal the way through the picture. We stepped through the frame (him going first, then helping me up, ever the gentleman) and we were welcomed into a small square room, covered in pillows and blankets, with posters of wizarding bands and quidditch teams covering the walls. When Draco'd first found it, it had been completely stone, but over the years, things had accumulated and it felt more like home than Malfoy Manor, the orphanage, or the Lestrange Estate ever had; or ever would.
"So, I'm assuming you didn't try to cruciate Harry?" Said Draco. Usually in public Draco called Harry by his last name- Potter- to hold up his image. His parents weren't locked up, so he had to be careful to be the proper Slytherin.
"What?! No!" I responded. "Who on Earth told you that?!"
"Pansy."
"I always hated her." I muttered to myself.
"Yeah, yeah. Hand me one of those sandwiches."
I did so, and he grinned. We never ate in silence, we always laughed and talked and gossiped about all the people we hated. Today was no different.
"Oh, Merlin, did you see Padma's hair? It looked like bowtruckle barf." He said, rolling his eyes.
"That's what you think it looks like? Eugh, it was more like hippogriff dung." I replied, rolling my eyes in disgust.
"Excuse me for being unable to compare hair to the proper form of waste, darling." he said, and we both broke into peals of laughter.
"Ugh, two words- Lavender Brown."
He retched. "Ew, her shirts make me wanna barf. She needs to stop borrowing first years' and get her own!"
"I know, right! It's like, 'Honey, They don't make you look attractive!'"
And with that, my worries of rumors and that awful Lavender were banished from my mind, and I could focus on my friendship with Draco.
It may sound weird, but Draco was really the only person I trusted. He knew what it was like to be the child of deatheaters. He didn't care about impressing Harry Potter.
In fact, back in third year, Draco and I had come up with the perfect meaning of Harry Potter.
Draco played with my hair as he talked about how Zabini's ties annoyed him, and, well, it was hard not to be transported back to the memory.
It was a Tuesday afternoon, and rain pattered down on the castle. Draco and I were sitting in the room, talking about overrated people.
"And that," he finished off, "is why our minister of magic is overrated."
"Agreed. You know who else? Harry Potter. Everyone treats him as a prince, unable to see how mediocre he is."
"Indeed, Darling. He is a bit like… bread. Plain. Unassuming."
"I like bread," I'd countered. "Plus, bread isn't overrated, everyone knows what it is."
"Very true… crackers."
"Too salty. Dresses? Everyone thinks they look so nice but they're really no big deal." I said.
"But they do look nice. Potter doesn't."
"Oh well."
"Khakis."
"Oh Merlin, Draco. Khakis. Harry Potter is undoubtedly khakis."
And I suppose most of us were khakis. It had been hard not to make other people fit into clothing types too.
Draco was a suit & tie. I was a blouse and dress skirt with tall stilettos. Mom was a black lacy dress with a corset that made you look killer but was uncomfortable. But it was impossible to pin down one person.
Fred Weasley.
So... what did you all think? I'm not really expecting reviews because I'm awful at writing, I'm doing it soully to entertain myself and if I can, you. Even leave negative reviews, that would be ok. Constructive criticism, even destructive criticism can be good for you.
Hope to see you soon!
