Chapter 5
Growing up, Narcissa had always struggled with her appearance. It may have been hard for others to believe, given how Narcissa radiated an air of grace and sophistication, and her look was never complete without the glossy blonde hair that ran down her back. The average muggle, perhaps, may have called her a "princess" in appearance - such as the little girl they came across in the … the mall, who yelled: "Mom! It's a princess!" However, Narcissa's childhood had always been plagued with the insecurity of being less than her two sisters. They were each extraordinary: Andromeda in heart, Bellatrix in skill. They were each beautiful as well. Narcissa's heart lurched, remembering Bellatrix's wild black curls and the way they hung around her face, or Andromeda's kind eyes, and the way they crinkled upwards when she smiled. Narcissa had essentially no redeeming qualities, other than the fact that she was pretty, although there were many other pretty girls in the wizarding world. Therefore, standing in the mall with Farrah staring at her body, holding up clothes against her back to "measure" Narcissa's body, only brought back Narcissa's entire childhood of insecurity to flood her mind.
Truly, what did Narcissa have to offer the world beyond being the wife of Lucius Malfoy? She loved the elder Malfoy, truly, and she loved her son even more. There was nothing she wouldn't do for them, as obvious from her betrayal of the Dark Lord at the end of the second Wizarding War. And Narcissa did host balls, although considerably less people attended since the end of the war. Narcissa gulped, holding back her tears, remembering how gracious Draco was, those few years of young adulthood, when he did everything he could to convince his peers to attend her balls. Not many people came, but it was appreciated nonetheless. Narcissa was skilled at many things. She was a talented Occlumens, much like her son, was quite capable at dueling, and had excelled in all of her OWLS and NEWTS as a Hogwarts student when she wasn't sneaking off into the cupboards with Lucius. However, those skills rarely applied to her life as a grown woman. Narcissa lived off of the Malfoy fortune and spent her days tending to the rose garden at Malfoy Manor (oh, how she missed her garden!). Narcissa allowed herself to turn slightly so that she was facing the mirror more directly. In the mirror, she caught a glimpse of that silly girl, Farrah. Farrah wore a look of determination on her face, as she scoured the … racks … (Americans had funny words) to find clothing for Narcissa. Occasionally, when she found clothing she liked, she would ask Narcissa to turn in an overly loud voice, and would lift up the clothes against Narcissa's back to check the size.
Farrah was irritating in every way to Narcissa. She wore a silly thing upon her head, covering what Narcissa was sure was a crown of lovely hair, and she was extremely nosy, poking her head where it did not belong. She had practically forced the Malfoys into that thing she called a car (Narcissa had feared for her life), and she was constantly trying to feed them (although Narcissa begrudgingly did appreciate the food Farrah brought). One thing that Narcissa was curious about was Farrah's work. Scorpius had said that Farrah was a healer, but a muggle one. How did muggles heal? What did their training consist of? Wizarding healing was difficult, no doubt, but Narcissa felt that muggle healing must've been exceptionally harder, without their access to magic. Narcissa also found herself curious about Farrah's relationship with her career. She knew Farrah worked all night - she could hear the door slam across the hall whenever Farrah came back late at night, as Narcissa had trouble sleeping - and was positively sure the poor girl was single. What was it like to be a woman with such a demanding career, especially in the muggle world?
"Narcissa, you have to try these on," Farrah exclaimed excitedly, breaking through Narcissa's thoughts. "You're going to look so good in these!"
Before Narcissa could protest, she was shoved into what Farrah called the dressing rooms. Then she shut the door on Narcissa, dropping in a bunch of clothes on the stool before doing so, and yelled to Narcissa: "I'm outside! Let me know when you've tried the first thing on!"
Narcissa smiled wryly to herself, increasingly aware of how different the experience was, shopping in the muggle world versus in the wizarding world. In the wizarding world, Narcissa never would have had to try something without the assistance of another person. How was she supposed to try to put this thing on her? Narcissa picked up the first item of clothing, which was … well, she couldn't tell. Was it a top? A skirt? After tossing it in her hands for a few seconds, Narcissa determined it was, in fact, a blouse. Narcissa struggled with it for a few minutes until she finally put it on.
"Can I see?" Farrah called impatiently from the other side of the door. Narcissa huffed and told her she would have to wait. Narcissa then turned to the mirror to get a better look.
What she saw was not what she was expecting. The shirt was a light pink - a color Narcissa would have never chosen for dress robes - and it was made of a weightless, silky texture. It had the littlest sleeves, and it hugged her figure ambitiously. Staring at herself in the mirror, Narcissa was in awe. Although she herself had tutted at the practically naked girls outside of the restaurant where Farrah's friend worked, it was different seeing the same clothes on herself. Narcissa's face grew a pretty pink thinking of Lucius seeing her in this blouse. Narcissa and Lucius either saw each other on two ends of the spectrum: completely naked in the bedroom, or completely covered for the sake of propriety outside of their intimate moments. Narcissa had never tried on such clothing, clothing that was teasing, that covered enough skin to be modest, but showed enough to put a man on edge. Without thinking, Narcissa clicked the door open, and saw that Farrah's jaw had dropped. Whether it was at the shirt, or the fact that Narcissa was smiling in front of Farrah for the first time ever, Narcissa was unsure. Farrah rushed excitedly into the room - giving her no privacy, Narcissa begrudgingly realized- and gushed about how lovely it looked. Although Narcissa still completely agreed that muggles were inferior, a small part of her couldn't help but feel extremely satisfied and pleased over the attention that girl was showering her with.
"You're next," Farrah said, plopping aggressively into the seat next to Draco. The bloody girl had actually found clothes for his mother! Narcissa had an odd look on her face as she sat on the bench, gripping a bag of her newly purchased clothes. Draco made a mental note to ask his mother what had transpired between the two women.
Farrah was determined to go through each family member and find them clothing, although Lucius had not yet agreed. Lucius was losing his reins on the family and on his elite wizarding status, and Draco could feel his father wither under Farrah's persistent stare. Lucius was a cruel man, although Draco hated to admit it, and Draco feared his father would crucio Farrah in the car on the way back to the apartment complex just for suggesting he needed new clothes. Thankfully, it wasn't Lucius' turn yet. Draco took Farrah's outstretched hand, noticing subconsciously that her hands were slightly cold.
"So, what's your style?" She asked nonchalantly, strolling through the aisles of a store they called JC Penny's. Honestly, muggle stores had the most ridiculous names. Draco did not even know how to answer the style question. What was his style? He had spent his entire life wearing black dress robes or Slytherin green quidditch robes, with the exception of his childhood (where Narcissa had dressed him in every color imaginable) and with the exception of the Yule Ball, where he wore a stunning set of white dress robes. Pansy had been impressed - so impressed, she had allowed him to make out with her in some obscure part of Hogwarts that night. Thankfully, they hadn't been caught by Snape or another professor lurking around. Astoria, on the other hand … she had constantly begged Draco to wear other colors. Astoria especially loved the color indigo, for some reason unbeknownst to Draco. It hurt Draco, thinking about all those times he refused to wear the shirts Astoria had bought for him in different colors. The shirts remained in the back of his closet. Back then, Draco simply didn't want to wear them for the color, but if he wore them now, and they looked good, Draco would be wrought with guilt.
"Any color is fine," Draco surmised to Farrah, "except indigo." Farrah nodded slowly, probably wondering, why not indigo? Also, that doesn't answer my question. Draco followed her through the racks as she piled clothes into her arm. Like a proper gentleman, Draco took the clothes from her arms when she wasn't paying attention. She sent him a quick thanks with a grand smile before turning back to her task.
Farrah continued to pile clothes onto her arm, looking back at Draco occasionally. Draco noticed an unsettling curiosity in her expression, and eventually raised an eyebrow at her so that she could ask what was on her blasted mind. "What's going on between your parents and Scorpius? Lucius seems to treat everyone the same, to be honest, but there's something between Narcissa and Scorpius. If you don't mind me asking, of course," she added hastily.
Draco froze. He was not expecting that. How had she noticed the tension between his mother and son? It was nearly imperceptible, especially considering the way the Malfoys usually conducted themselves. However, Draco remembered, Scorpius had a more vibrant personality. Farrah must've noticed that Scorpius was more dimmed, more tense around his parents. Panicking, Draco tried to find an explanation that could make sense in the muggle world.
"Scorpius … he's engaged," Draco began. Farrah's jaw dropped.
"What? I thought he was fifteen!" She exclaimed, looking slightly frustrated. "Now I feel old. How old is he?"
"He's in his early twenties," Draco snickered. "But that's not the point. He's getting married to somebody that my parents disapprove of. But it's not only the person they disapprove of; it's the whole community." Suddenly he looked down, feeling ashamed. "I used to be the same as my parents, too. Now I'm stuck in the middle, between them all."
Farrah stood thoughtfully, for once keeping her mouth closed. Her usually chatty demeanor was replaced with her being eerily silent. She remained that way until Draco nudged her elbow gently with his hand. "Sorry," she said. "Draco … are your parents white nationalists?"
Draco squinted, trying to understand what the girl was saying. What in the bloody hell were white nationalists? He suddenly wished he had whatever it was that Scorpius was bragging about - a muggle dictionary - so that he could look up what those words meant.
"That means yes," Farrah sighed sadly as she got no response from Draco. "We shouldn't spend time together, then. I had no idea … that must be really hard for Scorpius."
Now Draco really began to panic. Farrah didn't want to spend time with them anymore, simply because of this white nationalist term, which he hadn't even replied to. Farrah was their key to having a good life in muggle America. How else were they going to survive? Draco tried to correct his mistake the best he could. "They aren't … that. I just wasn't sure what that term means."
Farrah exhaled with relief. "Oh. I'm surprised you haven't," she said, looking at him curiously. "You must really live in the middle of nowhere. But basically, white nationalists are people that believe caucasian people are superior to other races. Oftentimes they can get violent against other races, and they're usually associated with other prejudices, like homophobia, Islamophobia, anti-Semitism, etc. They're … really scary. That's why I was worried when I thought your parents were that type of people. White nationalists can also be pretty culty. They have all sorts of offensive tattoos, have their own cult leaders, the works."
Draco's heart lurched with guilt as his pale hands reached towards his left arm. It all felt too familiar: the superiority, the discrimination, the "cult" tattoos. Perhaps the Death Eaters weren't necessarily a "white nationalist" cult as Farrah had described, but they definitely fit part of the description. As Draco watched Farrah speak passionately about how she was against such prejudice, a deep shame penetrated Draco's mind and he felt himself grow increasingly uncomfortable. He remembered being young, bullying Granger mercilessly, being proud to join the Death Eaters. It had taken him being unable to kill Dumbledore to realize this was not the life he had wanted for himself, but then there were people like Potter, Granger, Weasley, and now Farrah, who reminded him constantly of his own inferiority. They did not need to be close to committing atrocious acts to realize that prejudice was wrong. It was almost as if they came out of the womb recognizing that prejudice was bad. Draco somewhat hated those people, because they reminded him of how unworthy he was of co-existing with others. What was he doing, among these muggles? What had he done, encouraging Scorpius to allow all of the Malfoys to stay? What if his parents did something to hurt Farrah or another muggle? Feeling sick, Draco pushed Farrah aside and ran away, stopping only when he found a "restroom" sign that appeared to be a loo.
"Your dad freaks out a lot," Farrah said as she searched through the shelves with Scorpius. She held up a shirt, but Scorpius shook his head immediately, indicating to her that he didn't like it. Farrah smiled in approval, feeling grateful for him and the fact that he made her job easier.
"He does," Scorpius admitted. "Probably because of all of the trauma he's carried from his childhood. I don't blame him for it, but it does make loving him hard. You never know when you're going to say the wrong thing to trigger him."
Farrah decided not to respond. Scorpius, as wonderful as he was, was almost as chatty as her, and thus potentially had the tendency to reveal more than he should. Draco's trauma was his own, and Farrah wanted to respect that. She didn't want Scorpius to say something Draco wouldn't have wanted her to know. Instead, she picked up more clothes, taking Scorpius' feedback as he nodded or shook his head for each item of clothing.
They made their way to the changing rooms. As Scorpius eagerly flew through the pile of clothes they had collected together, exclaiming "I like this one!" once every minute, Farrah sat reflectively on the chairs outside of his room. As she rummaged through her bag to look for her cell phone and apologize to Alice for the fifth time for ditching her, she noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye. It was Draco, seemingly apologetic, coming to approach her. Putting down her cell phone, Farrah stood up.
"No need to apologize," Farrah said kindly. "And there's no need to explain. If we're going to be friends, you need to understand that I don't always need an explanation, especially if it's related to some painful past. All I need to know is that I'm safe in your hands."
Farrah couldn't tell exactly what the man was thinking, but she noticed his tense face move into a handsome, relaxed smile. "Thank you," he said. "And I promise you, you're safe. I'm not the boy I was."
"And I'm not the girl I was," Farrah replied reassuringly. "We all have our pasts. And maybe we can talk about them someday, but not today. You have clothes to try on, remember?"
Draco laughed and joined his son in the dressing rooms, looking unfittingly care-free. It was only when he came out of the dressing room, wearing something other than his odd robes, that Farrah really allowed herself to look at him. What she saw caused her breath to hitch in her throat. Farrah had pondered continuously over the Malfoys in the last few days, as they were a weird family, and she had many questions. She wasn't expecting Draco to come out looking so normal, so attractive. His ponytail was slicked back, looking strangely regal against his casual clothes. His shirt stretched tightly against his torso, and Farrah was confronted with the reality that Draco was a man that exercised. His black pants fit perfectly against his lower body, and Farrah suddenly found herself unable to tear her eyes away. As a physician, Farrah had learned the rules of professionalism and composure, but she couldn't apply them in the moment. Her eyes roamed shamelessly as Draco admired himself in the mirror. When he turned around to acknowledge her, she let her gaze drop immediately, scared at being caught looking at him. She took two deep breaths, willing herself to forget that she had just checked the man out - extensively - and stared at him with a look that contained nothing more than friendly implications.
"I look surprisingly dashing," Draco said, admiring himself. "You said these are called jeans, right? The material is softer than I expected it to be."
"Yes," Farrah agreed politely, clearing her throat. Scorpius came out soon after, and before long, the three of them were exiting the store carrying bags of new clothes for the two youngest Malfoy boys.
"It's your turn, Lucius," Farrah teased as they approached the bench. Lucius did not look up. Scorpius shook his head aggressively behind Lucius' back, and Farrah took it as a note that Lucius was not going to buy clothes that day. Something was wrong with the man, she noted with disgust. He was staring at her so intently, Farrah was worried he could read her every thought. Farrah believed unwaveringly in science, but there were also other things that existed in this world that she allowed herself to believe in. For one, Farrah was a religious girl. She did believe in God, though many of her past medical school peers and current colleagues did not. Farrah also believed there were things in the universe that scientists didn't know existed, things that science could not explain. Eerily enough, staring into the intimidating grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy, Farrah could feel that he could read her thoughts.
"Let's go," She said kindly, pulling at Scorpius's sleeve. The five of them made their way to her car, and while Farrah drove them back - the five of them completely silent - she made sure to avoid making eye contact with Lucius through the rearview mirror.
"Pick up my calls," Farrah muttered to herself with frustration as she paced around her apartment. Why was Alice ignoring her? Was it seriously because she declined to go on the date with Kareem? That was another problem; he had not responded to her texts with anything else but a rigid "k." Farrah knew in her gut that the two of them were mad at her. After her fifth phone call went to voicemail, Farrah decided to do the one thing she promised herself she wouldn't do if she and Alice ever got into a fight, and called Alice's boyfriend.
"Dan?" she said as he picked up on the second ring.
"I'm not supposed to be talking to you," he whispered.
Farrah drew her hand to her forehead. "She's mad."
"Yeah. She's kind of pissed you blew her off," Dan said, sounding sympathetic. Her and Dan did not like feeling Alice's wrath. Alice was the type of person that felt emotions dramatically, both the good and the bad. It was fun to be around her during her highest highs, but when she was at her lows, the people around her tended to drift away. At her saddest moments, Alice would bury herself in her blankets and cry until she had squeezed out every last teardrop. When angry, Alice would yell loud enough for everybody within a five-mile radius to hear her voice. It wasn't that Alice was volatile or invalid in her emotions; she simply felt emotions more deeply than the people around her did. Farrah often found herself admiring Alice's ability to revel in her emotions … until they were directed at her.
"Shit." Farrah crumpled on her couch, feeling guilty. "Can you just pass on a message for me? Tell her I'm sorry. Please. And tell her what I did today wasn't because I didn't want to spend time with her. I was just feeling overwhelmed, and …"
"You're always overwhelmed when it comes to this stuff," Dan said kindly. "Farrah, the two of you have been going on about this for years."
Tears stung the corners of Farrah's eyes as she drowned in Dan's words. She was barely able to muster a "you're right. Thanks, Dan. Talk to you later," before she moved to her bed and cried all over again. Farrah was so tired. She was tired of feeling lonely. She was tired of feeling envious of Dan and Alice. She was tired of Alice being mad at her. She was tired of Karim's existence, as rude as that sounded. She was tired from work (not of work), of pushing her emotions away, of missing her family, of everything.
Farrah climbed out of her bed minutes later and wiped off her tears. "Strong girls move on," she whispered. As she strolled through her apartment, trying to calm herself down, a certain picture caught her eye. Nicholas. Farrah reached to the picture that Scorpius had pointed out earlier and pushed it down so she wouldn't have to see that smile.
Narcissa shyly stepped into hers and Lucius' bedroom, wearing the pink shirt she had admired earlier while shopping with the muggle girl. Although Narcissa still hated the thought of wearing muggle clothing, she had to admit that her appearance was jaw-dropping. Lucius would be unable to speak when he saw her in it. Narcissa had paired the shirt with a flowing, black skirt that Farrah had so disrespectfully claimed was "sexy as hell." Her blonde hair fell gently at her neck, and Narcissa finished the look with a few glamour charms.
"Hello, Lucius."
Lucius stood up quicker than Narcissa had ever seen him move, his mouth parting at the lips. She watched with satisfaction as a light pink blush creeped its way into his pale face. "It is nice to see that after all these years, I still have the same effect on my husband," she said as she strolled towards him.
"Muggle clothing," Lucius muttered, unable to pry his eyes off of his wife.
"Yes. Does it matter?"
Lucius' grey eyes turned a cold steel. "Of course it does. Fortunately for us, we can solve this problem by taking them off." The corner of his lips curled into a seductive smirk while Narcissa quickly applied a silencio charm.
"This was a bad idea." Scorpius sat on his bed opposite his father. The two of them rummaged through the bags of clothing Farrah had purchased for them. As Scorpius fingered a white sweater made of soft wool, his dad stared solemnly out the window in Scorpius' room. "Dad … maybe we should start thinking of a way to get back. You know that grandad and grandmum won't change their minds. We have no jobs, no money. And - and I miss Rose." Scorpius sputtered on her name. The past few days had been a blur, moving so quickly he had barely had the opportunity to miss her. Now that he was faced with the reality of muggle clothing, Scorpius wanted nothing more than to be within the streets of Diagon Alley.
"I know." Draco spoke so softly, his words were almost imperceptible, if it weren't for Scorpius' ability to hear his father's whispers. Scorpius knew his dad had the tendency to end his sentences quietly, as if he found what he was going to say invaluable, unworthy of being heard. It was a contrast to the Draco Scorpius had heard about, the one who was loud and boastful during his teen years. Who had quieted his father so severely? Things were better when his mum was alive, but now, Draco carried himself in a way that was unusually soft.
"We can't go back, Scorpius. Not yet." Draco's voice broke through Scorpius' thoughts. Scorpius climbed off the bed and moved towards his dad, trying to see his expression. It was exactly what he expected: cold, calculated, and still. Darkness was imbued in the thin lines on his father's face.
Scorpius threw his hands in the air. "Dad. I know you think it's better for us to stay. I know it's … it's better for you. I'm sorry for everything that has happened to you back in London. But what was I thinking? Dad, I'm about to be married!" His voice reached hysterical measures. "I should be with Rose right now, picking out the right flowers for our wedding, instead of gallivanting around in muggle America, where staying here won't even make a difference!"
Draco looked at his son with judgement reaching his eyes. "I thought you wanted to come here for Rose, not for yourself. Am I wrong, or were your intentions for her to be accepted by our family?"
"I don't care about grandmum and grandad anymore. You're my family. If you accept me, that's enough."
Draco's lips parted in surprise as his eyes softened. "Scorp. You're right. I do accept your engagement … and we can leave after a week. How does that sound? Please. I just need more time to be away. Or … or I could stay here, and you could go."
Scorpius snorted. "I won't leave you here, dad. We go together or not at all. One week, alright?"
"Alright," Draco responded. Though he was smiling, sadness echoed throughout his father's movements. His perfect posture angled, his hands ran to their familiar spot, along his stomach, tied to each other. Guilt lurched in Scorpius' stomach, but he quickly pushed it away. While he loved his father, his father had made his mistakes. It was time for Scorpius to move on.
"How are my plant babies today?"
Draco's heart pounded with shock until he whirled around and found Farrah tending to her plants. Rolling his eyes, Draco realized she must've come out onto her balcony while he was deep in thought. Somehow, the sounds of her arrival had gone completely unnoticed. She didn't seem to notice him, either, though they were but a meter and a half apart. Draco sat completely still, hoping she would leave after she watered each blasted plant without noticing him. The last thing he wanted to do was hold a conversation, especially with this nice but irritatingly peppy lady.
Though … for a peppy lady, she seemed oddly melancholy. Her movements were no longer the jittery movements that had bothered him at the mall. She moved slowly between each potted plant, touching the leaves gently, humming a song under her breath. The scarf she wore on her head was black. Draco's stare moved across her slowly. He watched her steady hands stroke flower petals. Each copper knuckle of her hands was kissed by the white moonlight. Her body was completely covered by clothing, that Draco realized upon second glance, was sleepwear, a top and trousers that were inked with little honeybees. Her dark eyebrows were drawn together in concentration, and her bottom lip jutted out, a subtle pink. Draco swallowed thickly, suddenly aware of where his thoughts had guided him. He hated noticing other women.
It was impossible not to, obviously. There were the ministry galas, where the Malfoys would be shunned to an undesirable corner of the room, where he would see Granger walking down the Ministry stairs from a distance, her body covered in sparkling red fabric that fell across her body like the waves of a gentle ocean. There was Ginny - the girl who everybody had wanted (even him, although she was a blood traitor) back at Hogwarts - of course Potter had her. She came to these galas dressed in green matching Potter's eyes, and her dresses were always figure-hugging. Women, with their attractive faces and bodies of different yet beautiful shapes; women, with perfume smelling of flowers and desire; women, with all their talent and intellect and beauty. Draco could not help but notice them, especially when he was as touch-starved as he was. It had been so long … Draco did not yearn for much. Simply a kiss could set him free.
But there was the guilt. Ah, the horrendous guilt. Astoria had told him before she died that he was allowed to find love after her. In fact, the damn woman had suggested it! She was on her deathbed, holding his hand weakly, her eyes sparkling with tears. "Draco," she had said before she cradled his sobbing body, "Please allow yourself to be happy when I'm gone." Yet Draco could not. Astoria was the one person in the world who forgave him for his sins. She was the one person who opened up his heart. Draco would sell his soul, would die to have another moment with her, just to feel loved the way she loved him. Was this selfish of him? To think this way? Draco loved Astoria for many reasons beyond himself: her kindness, her quick Slytherin wit, her undying love for Scorpius, her proclivity towards mischief. However, he found much of this reflected in their son. Whenever Draco wanted a glimpse of Astoria, he looked towards his son's actions, or waited until he slept to feel her presence again. It was not her that he missed - knowing she was at peace - but rather, the way she made him feel.
Draco stifled a sob.
"Draco?"
Bloody hell. Farrah had heard him. Draco straightened his back and wiped hastily at his eyes, turning towards the woman. She met his gaze curiously.
"Are you okay?"
I'm not one of your plants. I'm not one of your projects. Draco thought this, but dared not to say it aloud, especially after the generosity this woman had extended his difficult family these past few days. "Yes," he coughed. "I am very much alright."
Farrah continued to stand where she stood, staring at him through a bushel of potted plants, where her balcony met his. "I can tell you're not okay. You don't have to talk about it." The corners of her mouth drew upwards into a soft smile. "It's okay not to be okay."
"Why do you have so many plants?"
Farrah stepped back, visibly startled at the question. Her teeth bit the crevices of her bottom lip, causing it to bleed. Draco watched as she raised a finger to wipe it clean. "Children." She said simply. Then she shook her head, as if such an action would erase her words. "I mean, I …"
Draco felt another pang of guilt. Oh, how he hated that emotion. "You don't have to talk about it either."
"It's okay," Farrah sighed. "It might help, actually, since I've pissed so many people off by keeping my walls up. You don't know me, and I don't know you, so maybe this won't be so hard."
"I can't have children. And I love them. I really want them. Especially with somebody I love. I don't have either of them: somebody to love or the ability to have children. So instead, I buy plants. Plants are an incredible thing, you know. I first learned about them in AP Biology back in high school. Just like children, people often underestimate plants. Children can be so intelligent, so curious … they only become rotten by the way their parents belittle them. Just like the wild grass that grows, or a bonsai tree … snipped to perfection, not allowed to grow into itself. When allowed to flourish, plants produce beauty. Love. Plants have the ability to move towards sunlight. Their roots, if the plant is big enough like a tree, can extend for yards. Plants can poison and entrap, or shelter and protect. In a way, I guess they protect me. When I have them, I don't think as much about the things I don't have."
It was minutes before Draco allowed himself to speak. He felt his heart burst with the empathy for the woman in front of him, who had shown him time and time again in just a few days that she lived for giving to others. It must've pained her to learn of her infertility. "I can understand, though I have a child," he said slowly and quietly. The wind picked up his words and he watched as Farrah absorbed them. "I have felt loss too, in my own way. Though instead, I wish to be taken care of."
Farrah's voice was a mere whisper. "And how do you cope with this loss? With not being taken care of?"
Draco stood up, breaking the moment. He brushed nonexistent lint off his new sweater and jeans. On his way to the balcony door, he glanced back at Farrah, who was looking at him with the same damned curiosity. "I sleep."
Author's Notes:
Hello to my lovely readers! I'd like to take a moment to respond to saoirse820, whose kindness I've felt throughout this writing process! Thank you for your kind reviews, your comforting words about my loved one, and for continuing to encourage me to write! I'm not really sure how to respond to reviews, so I figured I'd do them in the author's notes like other authors do. I just want to let you know that your reviews (and anyone's reviews, if anyone else is reading this) are REALLY appreciated! Not for the ego boost, but for the comfort in knowing that somebody is enjoying something you're putting your heart into.
The story is starting to get a little darker, and I'm thriving off of it. The first few chapters were to introduce characters and setting, but now, I'm going to go deeper into everybody's emotions: Narcissa's insecurity, Draco's loneliness and guilt, Scorpius's naivety and sheltered-ness, Farrah's loneliness and fear. Interestingly enough, Lucius's perspective has not made an appearance in this story yet, but it will at some point! Lucius is a difficult character to write - I'm struggling with that right now - and I want to make sure I'm doing his side of the story justice too. Hopefully, as I continue to write more chapters, you'll slowly fall in love with each character for who they are.
Anyway, all feedback is appreciated! Please let me know what you think, and if you have any questions! I hope you're enjoying reading this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it!
See you soon,
dreaminginsilver