Just something I came up with, while I was drunk…so go easy on me…if you guys like the FF, I might drink more often...lol…please review!
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Rowling.
There is always noise in the background: the swishing of cloaks, the scraping of chairs, the chirping of birds, the sniveling of house elves, Father's rants, the death threats, the hooting of owls, the chattering of the portraits, the ticking of the clock, the noise that deafens and I cannot hear what is being said to me.
I see smoke, thick grey moustaches, over which I can see the tops of the trees, and the shoe-box like buildings standing vertically in a very untidy manner. The clouds above dip down and touch the rising fog. I see nothing, yet my eyes are strained.
Today, from the morning, I have been sitting at my yellow circular window, and looking down at the street below, with its pedestrians and cars like little red ants swarming around an ant-hill. Behind me, two ladies are sitting and gossiping. One of them is the sweet smelling lady who calls herself Mother, and the other is a new one, with flowers all over her dress.
Her dress hurts my eyes; the shapes of the flowers are distorted as the daisies and lilies loom large over her body. Sometimes, I hear them speaking about me, as if I am not in the room and cannot hear them. I can almost feel their fingers in my hair or else pointing at me, while they whisper tales that they have fabricated in their oppressed brains.
I see myself on my bed, curled up like a foetus, waiting to be ensconced in a warm embrace. But I don't know whom to turn to. They are all so busy among themselves. Is it my fault that I paired the chromosomes in such a way that makes me incapable of reaching out? Yes, it is about reaching out. I stretch my hands in front of me, and I feel the emptiness of the air. I touch myself and feel the smooth softness of my cheeks.
My brother came home today. I like it when he gets sweets for me: Honeydukes chocolate, Droobles Best Blowing Gum, Pumpkin Pasties, Jelly Slugs, Chocolate Frogs, Sugar Quills, and Liquorice Wands. He puts them is separate brown paper packages neatly lined up on my shelf. He never brings me Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans, because he knows that I don't like them. I don't like sweets of different colours and tastes in one box. There hurt me at the back of my eyes and gave me a splitting headache.
I like to sit beside my brother, and look at his books. He never holds me tight, and I like that. His books smell nice too. They do not hurt my eyes.
"Mistress Malfoy, your dinner," says Tipsy, as she brings out my dinner on a large tray and puts it before me. I like Tipsy better than the other house elves, because she always knows how I like my food. The green peas must never touch the roast beef, and she knows that. That's why Father has told her to take care of my meals for me.
Mother does not like me to eat dinner with everyone else in the dining room, when she has guests. I can't say I blame her, because the last time I had dinner at the table, when Mrs. Parkinson and her daughter had come, I had thrown mashed potato at her girl, Pansy, because she was making faces at me. Draco told me later that Pansy was not making faces; her face was simply like that.
Now that my brother is home, I will be able to sleep in his room. I don't like my room since the house elves changed its picture, and shifted the bed to face the wall. I cannot see the stars out of the yellow circular window.
"So, how are your lessons going, Ebbie?" says my brother to me. I like it when he speaks to me. When everyone else speaks, they throw strings of words at me that echo back and forth in the tunnels of my ears, and knock about in my brain. I smile at him and he gets his answer.
"You know, tomorrow, one of my friends is coming to stay with us for a week," says Draco. I hoped that it wasn't one of those big, stupid sacks of potatoes that had once come to stay. "His name is Blaise Zabini. I think you'll like him, Ebbie. Mother knows his mum well."
I wish Mother knew me. I wish she would talk to me, not talk about me. I found her crying once, when I was three, and I went to her, and held her hand. She pushed me away, and went up to her bedchamber. Draco told me when I was nine that she was crying because I was different. The Healer told her that I was square and they were round. But it unsettles me. I want to be part of the pattern; for all patterns intrigue me and I hate disorder.
"Don't worry, I'm square too," Draco had said, when he was ten, "You mustn't worry. I will always love you, no matter what." I had held on to his finger, like I always did, to tell him that I loved him.
When, Draco had turned eleven, he had gone away to Hogwarts. Father had not let me go, even though Dumbledore had told him that I could come. Father had kept a teacher at home, to teach me magic. And when my brother came back for the holidays, he had helped me practice.
Since then, every year, whenever Draco went to school, I had practiced hard with my magic, hoping to show Father that I could cope up with the standard of Hogwarts. But then Draco told me that Father would not send me, no matter what I did. So Draco had got me a pet cat instead, to keep me company while he went to Hogwarts. Three years had passed since then. Draco was in his fourth year now.
"Let's go to sleep, now, Ebbie," said Draco, pulling me into bed. I did not know how I would survive when he went away again. But survive I must, I have no choice. Just like I had none, when I was ripped out and left alone in this world, on the floor of a dark musty jungle, a sounding cacophony, and a collective sigh that reverberated in the confines within.
Please review…Blaise comes in the next chapter…hope you liked it so far!