A.N: Thank you for the support, but don't be shy! Leave a comment, and tell me what you think!
Disclaimer: I own none of this characters, besides Cassie.
Infuriated. Enraged. Seething.
I hadn't thought it possible to loathe my father this much until this morning. Trading me to some man in the hopes that the money and the name will be enough to raise his stature in the Ministry again. He's deluded, completely deluded. We don't live in an era where the woman must produce an heir if the family is to have any hopes of continuing on the bloodline, even if father is convinced we still do. Pure-bloods were rare these days, and we have about as much luck keeping our blood unspoiled as we do ever being welcomed back into society with open arms.
On my birthday, of all days. He had to go and ruin my birthday. Last year was a travesty in itself, with the death of Astoria so close to my fifteenth, the entire mood dampened by her dreadful departure. None of us had felt like celebrating. The year before hadn't been awful per say, but I don't think a lonely fourteenth spent with just the house-elf for company can be classed as remarkable, however much I'm fond of Io. Every other year before that had been spent in a different hiding place. The valleys in Wales, a creek up in Yorkshire, hillside in Suffolk, and a cavern in Cornwall, to list a few.
This one, this one just tops them all. Tops every catastrophe, every disaster, every calamity. My own father deciding on a husband for me, fourteen years before my wedding is even legal.
I'd turned to escape up the stairs again, but thought against it, and decided to give my father a piece of my mind. I wasn't capable of keeping it bottled in. I had to burst, I had to rage and rant to him. He had to know how disgusted I felt at being bargained and bought like some kind of slave.
I don't bother knocking on his door, instead choosing to force the door open. Where he had been pacing back and forth he jolted, and stared directly at me, aghast, appalled that i dare disturb him.
"Do you know how cheap you made me feel earlier?" I demanded, tensing my entire body, blood boiling.
He sighed. He had the audacity to sigh in front of me, as if my opinion of my own engagement was a mere drop in the ocean to the pile of problems he seemed to have been acquiring since the summer of 1998. Or really, since he considered having a permanent snake design branded into his skin a brilliant idea.
"Trust me, you weren't cheap," he reminds me, maliciously.
I tighten my jaw, and clench my fist so firmly, I'm certain I'd drew blood.
"You will marry the man, Cassiopeia, and you're foolish if you think that you're going to convince me otherwise. The Sewlyn's are wealthy, and have been pardoned by the Ministry. We have not, therefore to unify our bloodlines, we will give the Ministry further reason to pardon us too. So, as I said before, you will wed Aled. That is your service to this family."
"You Elizabethan ideology is pathetic," I spit at him. "I don't think you heard me before father; I am not going to marry anyone, for as long as I am a Malfoy, nobody is going to want me. Not really, not truly. You made perfectly sure of this when you pledged your allegiance to some power-crazed, egotistical, self-serving psychopath, and doing so you dragged our name through the mud, pulling Draco and I down with you. Who's the spoiled and selfish bastard now?"
No sooner had the words spilled over my lips, did I feel the sting of his hand across my cheeks. The noise echoed before I felt the pain, but boy did I feel it. I'm glad I could feel it, it serves as a reminder whenever I forget who my father really is. I smile at him, as viciously as I could manage, the whole left side of my face prickling. He seemed unnerved by my reaction, undoubtedly expecting me to break down, or beg for his forgiveness.
"There's the father I know," I whisper.
Then I leave, oddly calm. I return back up to the confines of my own room, breathing a sigh of relief I wasn't aware I was keeping in.
I perch myself on my windowsill, bare feet dangling down, my heels occasionally grazing the brick wall. Below me lay cobbles, and the odd dandelion, craning it's neck to bathe in the scorching summer heat. The sun was completely in the sky now, not partially hidden by some faraway horizon, and closing my eyes I felt the rays kiss my skin. I always liked this kind of weather; hot enough to do pretty much anything you wished outside, sunny enough to pick up some colour on my painfully obvious porcelain complexion, warm enough to just relax. If the temperatures were to hike any further, than it became too humid and too uncomfortable to bear a minute outside, not unless you enjoyed the sensation of fabric cemented to flesh with gallons of sweat. I wasn't a huge fan.
Freckles always seemed to be brought out in sunlight on my face. They danced across my nose, and cheeks, never straying from the path. I liked them, as nobody else in my family had them. Mother, however, would never miss her chance to tell me how undignified they are.
I was enjoying the feel of basking in the summer's sun, when I heard the door swing open. Fully prepared for the onslaught of accusations with an artillery of quips, when I heard Scorpius's voice call to me from across the room.
"You might fall," he warned me, though I could tell he was smirking. "What will they say once you've split your skull on the pavement?"
"Your father will say 'better her skull than the man who tries to make her his wife'," I retorted. "And my mother will say 'we can't bury her in those clothes'."
Scorpius laughs, as he crosses the carpet to join me at the windowsill. I undoubtedly had the best view in Malfoy Manor, with the Wiltshire Downs rolling as far as the eye could see, the emeralds and the chartreuses and the mosses all blending into one breathtaking collage of green. The sun would rise in-between the two solitary trees that sat perched on the small hilltop, and I could watch it ascend into the sky every morning, if I wished.
"I didn't know, about the Sewlyn's," he informs me, after a while of staring at the fields. "About any of it, really. Nobody tells me anything."
"You and me both, kiddo," I sigh, and lean over and ruffle his hair, the same silvery blonde I possessed. As I took a hand of the windowsill his eyes widened, afraid I really would plummet, and I chuckle at his paranoia.
"You don't like being cooped up in here, do you?" he asked, as he looks intently at me. I tilt my head, and his eyes widen when he sees the mark left on my face by father's hand. Clearly there must be a mark, whether it's bruised or simply just red I don't know.
"What gave you that impression?"
I'm teasing him, but I know he's trying to be serious.
"I'd give anything for you to come to Hogwarts with me."
My heartstrings are tugged at the gesture, which I fully believe he means. "That's sweet of you," I say, with a smile. It's a sad smile, because as much as his words are lovely, that's all they ever will be; words. Nothing can be changed about the school's opinion of me. "But I know that I can't. I'll just have to live through you, if that's alright? How many days until you go back now, ten, eleven, twelve?"
"Eleven," he nods. "You really would love it there. It's every bit as magical as you'd think, and just as great as you could possibly imagine, times ten."
"Times ten? That's quite high. You sure it's that great?"
"Oh Cass, you have no idea. Someday I'll show you."
"Deal. You can smuggle me in through Pigsmeade."
"Hogsmeade, it's Hogsmeade, Cassie!"
Grinning, I jump down from the windowsill, back into my room. The carpet feels soft underfoot, and my cheeks are tinging slightly. Downstairs I can hear doors slamming, and I know that means mother's tried to coax father out of his office, with no such luck. Grinning despite myself, I sit down on my queen size bed, the plain, ivory white duvet as delicate to touch as feathers. Scorpius sits himself next to me, fiddling with the slightly too long sleeves of his jacket.
"You don't have to dress like them," I tell him, sweeping my hair off my face. He doesn't meet my eyes. "You're a Malfoy, that should be enough for them."
"I'm not like you, I don't want to challenge anybody," he sighs, in an unsteady kind of voice. "I haven't got the guts too."
"You're a Slytherin right? Well, that doesn't make you afraid, or cowardly; it means you're cunning. You're not opposing them, because you worry you'll end up like this," I assure him, gesturing to the mark across my cheek. He glances up, his silver eyes grazing across my battle wound.
"Father doesn't mind so much, though he wouldn't encourage it. Mother, now she liked that I wanted to be my own person."
"Your mother was a real gem, kiddo. Better than the rest of us that's for sure. I admired her so much. She wasn't stuck-up like some of them are, nor as arrogant, or prejudiced. She was nothing but warm to me. You remind me of her. You've got the best bits of both of your parents, and I all I had to inherit was a surname and blonde hair."
Scorpius is watching me carefully now, and his lips curve into a smile, that strikes me so much, because the resemblance between him and my brother was uncanny. He takes my hand in his, our fingers curving together. I never once felt like I was his aunt; the age gap between us was far too small. During the first years of our lives, we hadn't a chance to meet much, but when I permanently moved into Malfoy Manor, our encounters became frequent, and soon we bonded much more than had been expected. He might as well be my little brother.
"Can you do the thing?" he inquires, the grin playing on his lips. It was cheeky, and I enjoyed this side of him. I'd like to assume I was the one who brought it out in him.
I squeeze his hand, and then let go, holding out my palm in front of him. I look around, doing that obligatory check that nobody is lurking in the doorway, and bite my lip. If I was caught doing what I was about to do, I'd receive much worse than a slap across the cheek.
Scorpius is holding his breath, his gaze intently on my hand. I click my fingers, causing him to flinch slightly, and then he releases a gasp of astonishment. Appearing from nowhere, a spark is ignited in my palm, and a small fire is crackling there. I can see the bright oranges and red flickering and reflecting in his eyes. Bringing my hand up to my lips, I blow, ever so slightly, and the little ball of fire shoots out of my grip, where I catch it with my right. I then swirl my finger through the fire, and slowly it starts to turn to water. The droplet floating ominously in my palm earns a quiet cry of delight from Scorpius - he hasn't seen this part of the act before. I'd learnt it only recently, as it was in the last few chapters of my battered copy of Naturale Sorcerye: Elementes and the Essentiales, and had been perfecting it before I was to showcase it to him. Tilting my hand, the water began to trickle, and I motioned for Scorpius to open up his own hand. Willingly, without hesitation, he did so, and I poured the water into his palm, where it transformed into icicles the second it touched his skin. He laughs, holding up the icicles to the light, where the sun catches off of the little tips.
"Nobody at Hogwarts can do that," he tells me, shaking his head with bewilderment. "I don't even think Professor McGonagall knows how to do this - at least not without a wand."
I ruffle his hair again. "You're just easily amused," I wave off, though his words bring me great comfort. Maybe I don't need Hogwarts to make me a witch. Glancing out the window, into the back garden, I can see the broom shed calling out to me. Grinning, I nudge Scorpius, who's transfixed by the icicles still, and point towards the garden. His eyes meet mine, and I know that we're on the same page.
I've snuck out the window faster than you could say Quidditch, shimmying down the drain pipe that leads from past my windowsill, to the cobbles below. Having escaped from my room a hundred times this way, I was more than capable of clambering down, whereas Scorpius was a little more cautious than I. He took his time, with me guiding his footing from the floor below.
However, we've both got out feet on firm ground soon enough, and are racing across the pitch to where, fortunately, the broom shed has been left unlocked. I grab the broom that I'd begun to call my own; a Nimbus 2021, which had been all the rage seven years ago. Scorpius chooses the much more sensible one, a Cleansweep.
Kicking off of the ground, I'm in the air before Scorpius, eager to feel the breeze on my face again. My nephew joins me, clutching the Quaffle under his arm. You can't really have a proper game of Quidditch with just two players, so we settled for tossing the ball between us. It's a riskier, more adrenaline-filed game of catch, I'd like to think.
He was actually quite good, performing manoeuvres I had yet to see anywhere else. "And tell me why you have yet to try out for the house team?"
Even when he's hovering a good few feet above me, I can still see his eyes roll. Hell, I taught him to roll his eyes. "I don't want to, simple."
Sensing his discomfort at discussing school sports, I try my luck with a different topic. "So, humour your auntie; is there anyone at school you have your eye on?"
His usually porcelain skin flushes a deep scarlet, only confirming my suspicions. "You do!" I gasp, and immediately fly up to join him. "You'd tell me who, won't you?"
He snorts, and I realise that I'm going to have to work a little bit harder if he's ever going to tell me who this mystery girl is.
"Oh come on, kiddo, you know I won't tell - who have I got to tell? And anyway, it's not as though I'm going to know who it is anyway, or be able to confess everything to her, am I? I don't go to school with you lot. She'll never know. Please, I'm curious."
I can see his little engines whirring, his mind ticking over the possibility. He's chewing on his lip, and sighs. I grin - I've cracked him. I lean forward, comically, on the broom, careful not to tilt it, and put my hand under my chin, glancing wide-eyed up at him.
"Fine. But you can't tell father, and definitely not grandmother and grandfather, alright?"
It's never not going to be strange hearing somebody refer to my parents as 'grandfather and grandmother'.
"Sure, because they'll be the first people I'll entrust a secret with," I retort, sarcastically, then pursing my lips together when I see the exasperated look on his face. "No, don't worry, I swear it'll stay between us."
He seems satisfied, and scoots even closer, afraid he'll be overheard.
"Rose Granger-Weasley."
At first I'm convinced it's a joke. I'm milliseconds off laughing, when I notice that he's deadly serious. He's looking at me, innocently, with the exact same kind of expression he'd use when he was little, and asking him if I wanted to play with him, or read to him, and my heart melts. I feel both overwhelmed with love for the youngest Malfoy, and pity. He clearly likes this girl a lot, or else he wouldn't have risked mentioning her, and that's adorable in itself. However, just like our last name brands us as political traitors and monsters, hers casts her as a blood traitor and the daughter of a Muggleborn, both equally as despicable in my father's eyes. Draco, however much he had changed over the years, especially since the war, would never accept the fact his son fancies a Weasley. The rivalry between the two men was far too thick to even bear considering forgiveness. Plus, she bears her name. How would Draco react to hearing her name after so long? Scorpius wasn't aware of his father's affiliation with Rose's mother, and I doubt Draco would have kept his secret till his dying day, if I hadn't have read between the lines.
"I can't help it, Cass," he sighed. "She's ambitious, she's smart, she's kind."
"She's pretty isn't she?"
"The prettiest."
I smile at him, and he smiles back. I can see the frustration dancing in his eyes at the mere mention of this girl, as there's not a family member who'd support the relationship, besides me. However, I can also see the adulation of her, and sometimes that's all you need.
"You have to make me a promise, kiddo, okay? Promise me that when you next see her, you'll not hesitate, not even think twice about it, you'll simply bound over to her, look her square in the eyes, take her hands, and tell her how you feel. Don't leave a single thing out, or else she won't think you're committed. Then, ask her out. If you've done it right, she'll be swept off her feet, and will be thinking that she's never met a boy like you, and that she must say yes right that second."
"But what if she says no?"
"Then she can't be as intelligent as you say she is," I reply, quick-tongued.
We're both in fits of laughter, when my mother's voice calls to us from below. Not only does she bring us down to the ground, she drags my spirits too, informing us both that Scorpius and Draco were leaving.