Not Like This
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters apart from Elle and her cat, and the writing is mine too. J.K Rowling is so lucky!
A/N this is a fic that I did over a period of about three months because at the start I didn't really have much motivation to write it, but now I've gone over it and changed it I love it again!
Don't ask me about the daughter's name, I just randomly picked one, although I think it sorta suits. She's sort of thin and spritey, and I think that Elle is that sort of a name. Also, if she seems a bit cold sometimes and warm others, I've done that cuz a) I'm a crap writer and b) it's cuz Draco's given her a slightly cold outlook on life and Gryffindors and all that, but Ginny's kept her warm in some ways, because she's her mother and they have a lot of influence on their kids (well from my own experience with my mum they do!).
By the way, I have Ginny joining the dark side in this fic, because I agree that the most plausible situation for this is if Ginny joins the dark side. I don't think Draco can do light (no offence to people who write fics like that though, cuz I still read them!).
Also, this is only meant to be a one chapter thingy. I would love reviews, cuz I give them to practically everyone and I want one of my own, so please leave your comments! (p.s. but no flames please!)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
It wasn't supposed to be just me and Dad on our own, with nobody else.
It was supposed to me and Dad and Mum too, just us three. That's all it ever was and that was all I ever wanted it to be.
We had a slightly (okay a lot) larger than average size house in the country with my cat Marbles and a goldfish called Slinky.
We weren't exactly what the other families at school called normal, mostly because of who and what my parents were. We were accepted by most, and a small amount (mostly the goody goody Gryffindor type) wouldn't go near us with a ten foot pole.
It didn't affect my school life much, but I was considered different, a mixed-blood child in a way a half-blood could never be.
I was a daughter of the warring houses.
My mother, with her fiery red hair and innocent brown eyes, was once a Gryffindor. My father, with an icy temperament and calculating mind, was a Slytherin.
To the older children, I was a unique object of interest, different, but not in a bad way, although I was certainly a force to be reckoned with.
To the younger children I was an article of awe, something their parents had told them was impossible, and yet here I was, a living breathing human.
To my friends I was just Elle, a red haired, grey eyed mate of theirs, and nothing exactly 'special', but certainly nothing ordinary either.
That was who I liked to be best of all.
My parents' story was pretty complicated. They had been raised to hate the other, even though they had never met before she joined the school in the year below his. He had been her brother's worst enemy and hated by everything she was brought up to be.
But they fell in love (it's complicated. It would make a whole other story!), and by the time everybody found out about them, it was too late - they'd got married and I was on the way. Mum was 20 and Dad was 21. Frankly, I'm surprised they managed to keep it all a secret for that long.
Dad was always brought up to become a death eater, and that's what he did, right after his graduation from Hogwarts. Mum was a Weasley, and everyone thought she would just grow up to become one of those anonymous people you see walking by on the street, who isn't anything special, and you don't really take any notice of them.
But oh no, not my mother.
She chose my Dad over her family, and she joined the dark side. Both of them had Dark Marks burned into their arms. I remember playing with them when I was little. I was the only one apart from the Dark Lord who got to touch them.
I remember being at school and my cousins, who I had never met in my life before, coming over to me and asking me if I was Elle Malfoy. They looked like weirdoes as far as I was concerned. They were fascinated by me, and I could see from the way they were acting that they'd been told not to come near me by their own parents. I was too much of a reminder of their little sister and I was also a 'wrong' Weasley.
Too much of a mixture between light and dark.
So it sort of became the norm for it to be just us, the little family living down the road, who nobody really mixed with, and who, to be honest, didn't care a whole lot about it.
So I grew up not far from normal, and when I turned eleven, I went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and got sorted into Slytherin. First Weasley to do so, and might not be the last either.
So everything in my life was fine and dandy, until that fatal day came. Everything started out like usual. It was the summer holidays, so I didn't have to go to school and both my parents had taken a week off work, because it was my sixteenth birthday. 'Bittersweet sixteen', in my case
I had gotten up early and opened my presents with my parents, and the usual chorus of 'oos' and 'ahhs' had followed, like it did every year. I had laughed that morning, joyous in what little knowledge I had of the future.
But then around midday, Mum had said she needed to go get something, and so she'd got out the floo powder and travelled to Diagon Alley to pick up something.
She should have been back within about 20 minutes, but soon 20 minutes became half an hour, and then half an hour became two, and so on, until it was 2:45 and she still wasn't back. Dad was getting quite worried but trying not to show it, for my sake.
He contacted the ministry to inquire if the floo network had broken or something, but they replied that no, nothing was wrong with the floo network, but they would see if they could locate Mum and get back to us as soon as they could.
It was a little later on that day when we got the Letter.
It was short, simple, and to the point.
Mum was dead.
Some sort of accident with a muggle thing called a 'car', they said, and they were awfully sorry and all that rubbish.
I was just in shock. I sat there on the sofa with Dad, and neither of us said anything.
We couldn't.
I felt like I had hot tar in my throat, blocking my airway, and that I was either going to suffocate or never be able to speak again.
I cried that night, long and hard, like I never had before. I wasn't brought up to cry, but this time I didn't care.
I slept in with Dad, something I hadn't done since I was about three, but we both needed each other.
I needed somebody to hold me and he needed somebody to hold.
The next few weeks pass by in a distorted kind of way. I expected them to last forever, but it was like watching the scenery go by when you're on a train. Blurred.
We had to tell everyone we knew, and then organize the memorial service, and then do a million other equally painful things on top of that.
And then, suddenly, it was the day of the funeral.
It's the day I'm going to remember for the rest of my life. It was a beautiful morning in summer, with cloudless skies, a small breeze, and the warm sunshine falling across the grass like liquid gold. We had the whole service outside, the mild heat of the mid morning sun bathing us in warmth. I remember thinking how beautiful it all was, in a cold way.
Just like mum would have wanted.
That's the day it all felt.final, really. The day I knew mum wasn't going to come bursting through the kitchen door and ask me how my homework was going, or deliberately start flirting with Dad in front of me, or tuck me in the way she had insisted on doing for all sixteen years of my life.
The day I missed her the most.
She was my role model, exactly what I wanted to be, but something I knew I would always be to cold for.
She made me realise how important life is, and that everyday should be lived as well as possible.
So I'm going to live out my life to the full, and make sure everyday is better than the rest.
I love you mum, and I wait impatiently for the day that I finally get to see you again.
Thank you for inspiring me as much as you did in the time I had with you.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters apart from Elle and her cat, and the writing is mine too. J.K Rowling is so lucky!
A/N this is a fic that I did over a period of about three months because at the start I didn't really have much motivation to write it, but now I've gone over it and changed it I love it again!
Don't ask me about the daughter's name, I just randomly picked one, although I think it sorta suits. She's sort of thin and spritey, and I think that Elle is that sort of a name. Also, if she seems a bit cold sometimes and warm others, I've done that cuz a) I'm a crap writer and b) it's cuz Draco's given her a slightly cold outlook on life and Gryffindors and all that, but Ginny's kept her warm in some ways, because she's her mother and they have a lot of influence on their kids (well from my own experience with my mum they do!).
By the way, I have Ginny joining the dark side in this fic, because I agree that the most plausible situation for this is if Ginny joins the dark side. I don't think Draco can do light (no offence to people who write fics like that though, cuz I still read them!).
Also, this is only meant to be a one chapter thingy. I would love reviews, cuz I give them to practically everyone and I want one of my own, so please leave your comments! (p.s. but no flames please!)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
It wasn't supposed to be just me and Dad on our own, with nobody else.
It was supposed to me and Dad and Mum too, just us three. That's all it ever was and that was all I ever wanted it to be.
We had a slightly (okay a lot) larger than average size house in the country with my cat Marbles and a goldfish called Slinky.
We weren't exactly what the other families at school called normal, mostly because of who and what my parents were. We were accepted by most, and a small amount (mostly the goody goody Gryffindor type) wouldn't go near us with a ten foot pole.
It didn't affect my school life much, but I was considered different, a mixed-blood child in a way a half-blood could never be.
I was a daughter of the warring houses.
My mother, with her fiery red hair and innocent brown eyes, was once a Gryffindor. My father, with an icy temperament and calculating mind, was a Slytherin.
To the older children, I was a unique object of interest, different, but not in a bad way, although I was certainly a force to be reckoned with.
To the younger children I was an article of awe, something their parents had told them was impossible, and yet here I was, a living breathing human.
To my friends I was just Elle, a red haired, grey eyed mate of theirs, and nothing exactly 'special', but certainly nothing ordinary either.
That was who I liked to be best of all.
My parents' story was pretty complicated. They had been raised to hate the other, even though they had never met before she joined the school in the year below his. He had been her brother's worst enemy and hated by everything she was brought up to be.
But they fell in love (it's complicated. It would make a whole other story!), and by the time everybody found out about them, it was too late - they'd got married and I was on the way. Mum was 20 and Dad was 21. Frankly, I'm surprised they managed to keep it all a secret for that long.
Dad was always brought up to become a death eater, and that's what he did, right after his graduation from Hogwarts. Mum was a Weasley, and everyone thought she would just grow up to become one of those anonymous people you see walking by on the street, who isn't anything special, and you don't really take any notice of them.
But oh no, not my mother.
She chose my Dad over her family, and she joined the dark side. Both of them had Dark Marks burned into their arms. I remember playing with them when I was little. I was the only one apart from the Dark Lord who got to touch them.
I remember being at school and my cousins, who I had never met in my life before, coming over to me and asking me if I was Elle Malfoy. They looked like weirdoes as far as I was concerned. They were fascinated by me, and I could see from the way they were acting that they'd been told not to come near me by their own parents. I was too much of a reminder of their little sister and I was also a 'wrong' Weasley.
Too much of a mixture between light and dark.
So it sort of became the norm for it to be just us, the little family living down the road, who nobody really mixed with, and who, to be honest, didn't care a whole lot about it.
So I grew up not far from normal, and when I turned eleven, I went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and got sorted into Slytherin. First Weasley to do so, and might not be the last either.
So everything in my life was fine and dandy, until that fatal day came. Everything started out like usual. It was the summer holidays, so I didn't have to go to school and both my parents had taken a week off work, because it was my sixteenth birthday. 'Bittersweet sixteen', in my case
I had gotten up early and opened my presents with my parents, and the usual chorus of 'oos' and 'ahhs' had followed, like it did every year. I had laughed that morning, joyous in what little knowledge I had of the future.
But then around midday, Mum had said she needed to go get something, and so she'd got out the floo powder and travelled to Diagon Alley to pick up something.
She should have been back within about 20 minutes, but soon 20 minutes became half an hour, and then half an hour became two, and so on, until it was 2:45 and she still wasn't back. Dad was getting quite worried but trying not to show it, for my sake.
He contacted the ministry to inquire if the floo network had broken or something, but they replied that no, nothing was wrong with the floo network, but they would see if they could locate Mum and get back to us as soon as they could.
It was a little later on that day when we got the Letter.
It was short, simple, and to the point.
Mum was dead.
Some sort of accident with a muggle thing called a 'car', they said, and they were awfully sorry and all that rubbish.
I was just in shock. I sat there on the sofa with Dad, and neither of us said anything.
We couldn't.
I felt like I had hot tar in my throat, blocking my airway, and that I was either going to suffocate or never be able to speak again.
I cried that night, long and hard, like I never had before. I wasn't brought up to cry, but this time I didn't care.
I slept in with Dad, something I hadn't done since I was about three, but we both needed each other.
I needed somebody to hold me and he needed somebody to hold.
The next few weeks pass by in a distorted kind of way. I expected them to last forever, but it was like watching the scenery go by when you're on a train. Blurred.
We had to tell everyone we knew, and then organize the memorial service, and then do a million other equally painful things on top of that.
And then, suddenly, it was the day of the funeral.
It's the day I'm going to remember for the rest of my life. It was a beautiful morning in summer, with cloudless skies, a small breeze, and the warm sunshine falling across the grass like liquid gold. We had the whole service outside, the mild heat of the mid morning sun bathing us in warmth. I remember thinking how beautiful it all was, in a cold way.
Just like mum would have wanted.
That's the day it all felt.final, really. The day I knew mum wasn't going to come bursting through the kitchen door and ask me how my homework was going, or deliberately start flirting with Dad in front of me, or tuck me in the way she had insisted on doing for all sixteen years of my life.
The day I missed her the most.
She was my role model, exactly what I wanted to be, but something I knew I would always be to cold for.
She made me realise how important life is, and that everyday should be lived as well as possible.
So I'm going to live out my life to the full, and make sure everyday is better than the rest.
I love you mum, and I wait impatiently for the day that I finally get to see you again.
Thank you for inspiring me as much as you did in the time I had with you.