Where Heaven Is
________________________
Authors note: I wrote this REALLY late at night after reading old articals on the death of Heather O'Rourke, the young actress who played in the Poltergeist movies. Invidia is my creation, while Draco belongs to the talented J.K. Rowling.
________________________
"Do you know where heaven is?"
Had I known what was to soon follow, I would have answered with words, rather than my usual silence. She always asked those sort of things, those awkward questions that were, normally, met with a brow raising stare or long pauses, which were equally awkward. I think most would find it hard to believe that I, the young 'Overlord of Slytherin' ( Yes, I know what they all say ) actually held intelligent conversation with my sister. My six year old sister. Heh. I suppose it's my image, the way I carry myself, that would make anyone carefully go over such a finding, do I ever choose to admit it.
No one ever believed we were actually related at first, and I did understand why. Even our father wondered every now and again, I'm sure. She was a deep contrast compared to the usual disposition that was always associated with the Malfoy name, all for the better I think, now anyway. By all outer appearance, Invidia indeed was of the 'Bad Faith' clan; white- blonde hair, pewter eyes, and that flawless pale complexion. All the vibrant physical traits of a Malfoy were there, but it was her personality that made our father's lips curl in disgust and mum retrace what men she'd slept with at the time 'Dia was conceived. Apparently the mindset of one is now inherited, or so father accused while raving left and right, in one heated argument, that a -- at the time -- three year old Invidia couldn't possibly be *his* child.
You see, unlike the rest of us 'Slimy Gits', she wouldn't look down upon someone, no matter their social or financial status. She wouldn't sneer or spat rude names from behind a hiding sleeve of lace and frills, or make people, of obvious less importance, feel no more worth the life of a house elf, much to my own distaste at first. There were a lot of things 'Dia wouldn't do, but there were plenty that she WOULD do. Like bringing stray animals into her bedroom, up to five, six, or more at a time ( That was always something to behold. ) And setting our house elves free, that really upset father. I loved it. To me she seemed perfect, a word I'd only used to describe myself, up until that point anyway. And as time and birthday's passed, and she grew exceedingly bright, we began to talk, rather than I just sitting in my favorite chair, watching her crawl and later, walk -- or at least try -- upon unsteady legs. The subjects, you might ask? Anything at all, whatever tickled her fancy. It might have been a new doll, or a frightening noise she'd heard the night before. I just enjoyed listening.
When talking wasn't an option however, notes and scribbles would replace voice. This was usually at the dining table, a time I don't think any, but 'Dia, looked terribly forward to. As you can probably tell by now, 'family togetherness' is not something our parents ( Or I ) ever wanted to practice. It was at breakfast, I recall, that her first complaint came forth.
...
She fell ill two days into my Christmas holiday at home, and though I worried, I thought it nothing more than the common flu ( Something that would not have been uncommon at that season. ) But as the days progressed, she grew ever worse, and thinner. It had come to a point where eating was of great difficulty, and I found myself pleading with her to at least try, everyday, every hour. My little pillar of cheerful light was slowly dimming, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Mum and father seemed grief-stricken to anyone who didn't know better, and I found myself hating them both even more. My sister, their daughter, honestly believed they cared as she lay there, dwindling away. Bastards.
It happened the day after Christmas, December 26th, 6:30pm. I remember everything.. I'd been by her bedside all day, making her laugh with the little shows I'd put on using her new puppets, or talking of Hogwarts. Invidia looked forward to attending when she came of age, she wanted to follow in her big brothers footsteps and be in Slytherin, though I silently thought it did not deserve her. Anyway. She seemed all right enough considering her current state and, I think now, that is what made me all the more angrier when evening rolled over the skies. It started when she went into septic shock, which was followed by cardiac arrest. Knowing of no existing spell or potion that could possibly help her, I hysterically demanded a REAL doctor be brought in, preferably one who was taught in the ways of muggle illnesses and wizardry. Out of this, I would not want anything to do with that sort, but I was desperate to keep her with me and any sort of self control that I ever had was lost then, for I remember yelling heavenward, that they couldn't have her.
My wishes were met, surprisingly, and soon a licensed doctor had arrived at the feared Malfoy Manor. I don't know why, but I thought.. Perhaps.. That she would make it then, now that a trained professional was at her side and tending. It was only this aging fellow and I whom remained by her side, you see, mum had become 'too distraught' and was escorted out by father. Wonderful actor. Eventually even the doctor, not knowing what else he could possibly do after many tries to bring her around and back to us, stepped out to speak to said parents, and told me to prepare for the absolute worst. They never came to see Invidia off, and though it annoyed me outwardly, I was mentally thankful that I was the last thing she possibly saw.
Intestinal stenosis, a bowl obstruction that she'd unknowingly had since birth, had claimed her, or so they told me. Pronounced dead, my darling kid sister.. I cradled her little frame to me with shaky arms, and absentmindedly stroked the back of her head as denial began to set in. I suppose anyone who loses such a precious thing in their life does go through it, but I lost myself completely. I expected her to open her eyes at any moment, to feel her tiny hand on my face. That, of course, did not happen and it was here that I began to toy with that question.
"Do you know where heaven is?"
I think she wanted to make sure I did, so I could still give her those notes and letters she so loved to receive from me.
________________________
Authors note: I wrote this REALLY late at night after reading old articals on the death of Heather O'Rourke, the young actress who played in the Poltergeist movies. Invidia is my creation, while Draco belongs to the talented J.K. Rowling.
________________________
"Do you know where heaven is?"
Had I known what was to soon follow, I would have answered with words, rather than my usual silence. She always asked those sort of things, those awkward questions that were, normally, met with a brow raising stare or long pauses, which were equally awkward. I think most would find it hard to believe that I, the young 'Overlord of Slytherin' ( Yes, I know what they all say ) actually held intelligent conversation with my sister. My six year old sister. Heh. I suppose it's my image, the way I carry myself, that would make anyone carefully go over such a finding, do I ever choose to admit it.
No one ever believed we were actually related at first, and I did understand why. Even our father wondered every now and again, I'm sure. She was a deep contrast compared to the usual disposition that was always associated with the Malfoy name, all for the better I think, now anyway. By all outer appearance, Invidia indeed was of the 'Bad Faith' clan; white- blonde hair, pewter eyes, and that flawless pale complexion. All the vibrant physical traits of a Malfoy were there, but it was her personality that made our father's lips curl in disgust and mum retrace what men she'd slept with at the time 'Dia was conceived. Apparently the mindset of one is now inherited, or so father accused while raving left and right, in one heated argument, that a -- at the time -- three year old Invidia couldn't possibly be *his* child.
You see, unlike the rest of us 'Slimy Gits', she wouldn't look down upon someone, no matter their social or financial status. She wouldn't sneer or spat rude names from behind a hiding sleeve of lace and frills, or make people, of obvious less importance, feel no more worth the life of a house elf, much to my own distaste at first. There were a lot of things 'Dia wouldn't do, but there were plenty that she WOULD do. Like bringing stray animals into her bedroom, up to five, six, or more at a time ( That was always something to behold. ) And setting our house elves free, that really upset father. I loved it. To me she seemed perfect, a word I'd only used to describe myself, up until that point anyway. And as time and birthday's passed, and she grew exceedingly bright, we began to talk, rather than I just sitting in my favorite chair, watching her crawl and later, walk -- or at least try -- upon unsteady legs. The subjects, you might ask? Anything at all, whatever tickled her fancy. It might have been a new doll, or a frightening noise she'd heard the night before. I just enjoyed listening.
When talking wasn't an option however, notes and scribbles would replace voice. This was usually at the dining table, a time I don't think any, but 'Dia, looked terribly forward to. As you can probably tell by now, 'family togetherness' is not something our parents ( Or I ) ever wanted to practice. It was at breakfast, I recall, that her first complaint came forth.
...
She fell ill two days into my Christmas holiday at home, and though I worried, I thought it nothing more than the common flu ( Something that would not have been uncommon at that season. ) But as the days progressed, she grew ever worse, and thinner. It had come to a point where eating was of great difficulty, and I found myself pleading with her to at least try, everyday, every hour. My little pillar of cheerful light was slowly dimming, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Mum and father seemed grief-stricken to anyone who didn't know better, and I found myself hating them both even more. My sister, their daughter, honestly believed they cared as she lay there, dwindling away. Bastards.
It happened the day after Christmas, December 26th, 6:30pm. I remember everything.. I'd been by her bedside all day, making her laugh with the little shows I'd put on using her new puppets, or talking of Hogwarts. Invidia looked forward to attending when she came of age, she wanted to follow in her big brothers footsteps and be in Slytherin, though I silently thought it did not deserve her. Anyway. She seemed all right enough considering her current state and, I think now, that is what made me all the more angrier when evening rolled over the skies. It started when she went into septic shock, which was followed by cardiac arrest. Knowing of no existing spell or potion that could possibly help her, I hysterically demanded a REAL doctor be brought in, preferably one who was taught in the ways of muggle illnesses and wizardry. Out of this, I would not want anything to do with that sort, but I was desperate to keep her with me and any sort of self control that I ever had was lost then, for I remember yelling heavenward, that they couldn't have her.
My wishes were met, surprisingly, and soon a licensed doctor had arrived at the feared Malfoy Manor. I don't know why, but I thought.. Perhaps.. That she would make it then, now that a trained professional was at her side and tending. It was only this aging fellow and I whom remained by her side, you see, mum had become 'too distraught' and was escorted out by father. Wonderful actor. Eventually even the doctor, not knowing what else he could possibly do after many tries to bring her around and back to us, stepped out to speak to said parents, and told me to prepare for the absolute worst. They never came to see Invidia off, and though it annoyed me outwardly, I was mentally thankful that I was the last thing she possibly saw.
Intestinal stenosis, a bowl obstruction that she'd unknowingly had since birth, had claimed her, or so they told me. Pronounced dead, my darling kid sister.. I cradled her little frame to me with shaky arms, and absentmindedly stroked the back of her head as denial began to set in. I suppose anyone who loses such a precious thing in their life does go through it, but I lost myself completely. I expected her to open her eyes at any moment, to feel her tiny hand on my face. That, of course, did not happen and it was here that I began to toy with that question.
"Do you know where heaven is?"
I think she wanted to make sure I did, so I could still give her those notes and letters she so loved to receive from me.