When I walked home that evening I was in a bit of a mood so I wondered about the house. Mother had asked if I wanted to help out with her work and I expressed I didn't particularly want to. She had not needed my help that day and the offer had only been had I expressed interest so she did not insist I stay, and I was left with nothing but the faintest touch of disappointment and also timeless pondering from her, as if wondering what her daughter was doing or thinking with her life that was more interesting than this, but yet not quite being interested enough to broach the question, as I left. I felt it wash over me as I wondered about, from floor to floor, upstairs and downstairs, walking in and out but avoiding the lawns for now. They were so large you actually needed a horse, car or broom to travel to the furthurst ends fast, and I had not felt like wondering about in the seemingly endless maze of outside for now.

What was it like to grow up in the best and most finest house ever? To feel like you were born into everything you wanted and had nothing to live for? Nothing left to do? To feel like your ancestor's had done it all?

I had grown up there and I couldn't even begin explaining to you how it all felt.

For starters, the Parkinson Manor was so large it could've belonged in a museum, or rather, used as a museum, for the great houses of the old England era. Manors were starting to become out of fashion, scarcely built, and harder and harder to acquire as time went on. Modern mansions replaced them, but the few manors around that were still lived in by people were indeed a sight to see. Larger in person than how most people imagined it, reeking of the nostalgia of old and grand times when the occupants within had even more control and influence over the world than they did today, the very house I grew up in was one of the surest nods to our wealth.

We owned the surrounding wood for several hectares around our manor. We didn't want any unwanted guests. The area we lived in was so remote no muggles would ever venture there, but in case they did, there was a large barbed fence in the woods that divided the private property to public property, with some strong muggle-repelling wards that we had done by a professional warder. Curses, hexes and jinxes were out of question as if there was an individual or group who hated us and wanted to take us down a peg, all they had to do was find some way to twist or spin that into us being sadists, that it was a damaging decision to have something too offensive to muggles about our perimeter. Muggle-repelling wards were the strongest measure we could have.

There were also wards to keep unwanted witches and wizards out. In fact, our woods were one of the safest woods around because no one magical could get in or out, and we specifically paid for it.

When the woods finished there were large sweeping lawns. Lots of flower beds, fountains, gazebos, topiary, stables, fields, spots where people would wonder about or settle themselves in. There were even large gravel paths where one could drive any one of our cars (from our incredibly large garage) out in the yard and then take it back in.

I had not enjoyed the gardens much. I had never been a particularly athletic person and if I had to go out in the yard for anything, I preferred to do it on horseback. It was far more efficient. Otherwise, I found the long walks in the garden almost like a mockery of myself and how unathletic I am. I would often be panting or in stitches before I've even covered a good deal of the perimeter if I wanted to walk along the outer end, and there was always the thought that if I hadn't been born here and wanted to 'make use of the lawn', I would've never set out on such a long walk for no reason at all. And then came bitter feelings of self-hatred - why on earth would I even bother with this? Why did I have to make use of everything just because I was born here?

If I had to walk all the areas of the lawn, use all the rooms of the house, wear all the clothes I'd owned, rotate through all the jewellery I owned, make use of all the furniture, items, everything, that was in my possession I'd never run out of things to do until I was 50 years old or something. Fifty, that was the magic number I'd used to benchmark an awfully long bit of time passing when I had been younger. If I wasted my time doing nothing I'd wake up at 50 years old and realise. Or I'd spend the next 50 years on it. It was a bit of a joking number I'd said to myself, but all the same, the notion of wasting a lot of time trying to do everything there was to do in this place was not lost on me. I didn't bother with it though I once felt like I ought to when I was very young, but quickly kicked that idea to the curb and only used and treasured the parts of the manor that were the most valuable and useful to me.

Though I had some awareness of the rest and of the passive wealth that it was.

I sensed this might anger some people had they known me. If they were born in this position they might want to do everything there was to do there. I bit back laughter as I pulled myself away from the windows and walked onwards again, lots of people would hate me or feel very angry or vindictive towards me if they found out how I truly lived. There were some details about my wealth, my home, my life, I kept private to many others because I knew it wouldn't go down well. Oh how I dreamed of a guy as equally used to all of these riches and wealth as I was, someone who wouldn't hate me for being a spoilt princess or daddy's little girl once they found out. Someone who possibly was from the same background.

Even though I had a crush on Draco Malfoy for many reasons - that I was competitive and dating him made me better than everyone else, the best, that he was the most desirable Slytherin boy personality-wise that had jumped out at me throughout all my time at Hogwarts, that I did have a bit of a crush on him for his own personal charm, the fact that he would not throw a fuss at my home or wealth, that we'd both manage to blend our lives into each other well if we were to truly become a couple...was also part of the reason for my said crush on him.

I could see it, all in my mind's eye, playing out like some prince in shining armour that would one day save me from the horrors of what romance could bring me if it went wrong or I married the wrong person, someone who was always fated to be mine. The heavy weight lifted of my shoulders once I dated and married him, the feeling of having chased a dream or level in a person you wanted for so long, and everything finally fell through to that reality.

I could see Draco and I on horseback riding through the lawns and walking about moving to his house after marriage and how our fortunes were going to combine, all of that, in my mind's eye, even though the few times Draco had been over to my place and we rode on horseback, it happened to be with our family and friends as well so it had never been personal.

Barring Draco all other men were likely to be a downgrade in the sense their house nor assets could not rival mine. But that was the case for every single guy except for Draco Malfoy so I could manage dating a guy with less than I had, it was a very real possibility, but understanding of wealth and a casual sense of ownership over it was one thing I'd wanted.

The manor was made of stone. It had three floors and three towers that added a fourth and fifth level. The towers consisted of two winding staircases going up and down and rooms tucked into the sides. There was also a passageway that was open to the skies that connected all three towers together built on the roof of the third floor. There was a closed-in garage as well to the side that connected to it. We had a cellar for wine and storage, and even a discreet staircase on the ground floor that led to what looked like a chamber for hiding under a siege. There was a working bathroom connected to it. It looked big enough to house several families with a bit of cramping.

The moving portraits on the walls and statues talked of the history of the Parkinson Manor. It was built towards the end of an era of castles and manors, where the occupants within still used them for attack and defense, but mostly defense. The three towers were previously watch towers and enabled a skillful lookout with a telescope or binoculars to identify enemies coming from miles and miles away. You could actually open the windows on the fifth floor and shoot arrows out of them, and many of the portraits and statues talked of old age nobility who once did and defended the castle in such a way. To do so on the corridors between the three towers was a bit of a deathwish however, as there was no cover and people below could also shoot arrows alight with flame at you - it was a common battle strategy.

The walls were incredibly hard to scale. They were made of smooth beige stone that was slippery and offered no grip. The windows were incredibly strong, strong, thick double-layered glass and metal frames all the way throughout. When you walked in there was a drawing room where you could place your bags, hang up your coat, take of your shoes. Some tea rooms for a bite to eat or drink before you entered the ground floor living room, which had a grand piano and several other instruments though we didn't play them. There were several large couches to lounge in. A fireplace. A wall that had a few ledges made so one could prop things on it - small items, or larger maps, posters, anything, so one could easily show an idea or something they had over there. Large and beautiful chandeliers hung over us. Magically fortified to prevent themselves from falling - there was a lot of magic about this place.

We rotated through chandeliers though and stored them in some large storage rooms in the rest of the mansion.

We had a large formal dining room. A ballroom. Kitchens. Pantries and storage rooms. A few more coffee rooms. A breakfast room. A few rooms near the back we used as storage rooms. Some of the coffee and storage rooms used to be servant's rooms but we had no in-house servants or house elves.

That was the ground floor. Of course, a few bathrooms as well.

The second floor had all our bedrooms, guest bedrooms, bathrooms, laundry's, powder room's, and more empty rooms which we used for storage, or for turning into whatever room we wanted. Whether it was a coffee room, a personal room for one of us, a relaxation room, or room for our pets though we didn't often have any besides our horses, or any other sort of room.

The third floor had our libraries and private studies, and lots more extra rooms which we could turn into whatever we wanted. There were two gallery's in the third floor, some rooms were gallery's as well - they displayed tapestries, portraits and statues that talked of the house's history, though they were present in the hallways as well. A lot of the rooms on the second and third floor were outdated - a sowing room, a music practice room, two game rooms, the furniture and decor had been put there generations before us and no one had bothered to touch it.

To the outside eye perhaps they thought we planted all of the items there, purposefully chose each and every room. However it was only a handful that we truly decorated or was reflective of our actual tastes, and about the same amount of rooms that we actually lived in as the average family. Most of the rooms were untouched. Except for when I felt like walking around the place and I wondered from room to room. All that happened was that I opened the door, slipped in and out, and sometimes picked up the items, inspected them, then placed them back down again. They were mostly boring in my opinion - no one to play with, outdated and ancient things - so I had not much interest in them beyond seeing that they were valuable and mine, but besides noting that they were inventory that was mine to keep and feel superior over, I did not like them very much.

The stone walls were beige on the inside as well. We had some rooms that were lined with handsome wood on the inside because we wanted an earthy feel to some of the rooms. Some rooms had marble as well. The colours were typically white, various shades of beige and different shades of pink, with some pastel floral wallpapers. It was a very homey and comfortable manor, not unlike the Malfoy manor which was mostly black, grey and brown, and had many gothic architectural structures, gloomy designs, and gothic furniture and decorations around. It wasn't any message Draco's mother intended to send. The very architecture of the Malfoy manor and many of the rooms were gothic and gloomy in design, so it was impossible to change that, regardless of whatever decorations Draco's mother had picked out. It was just the style of the manor.

I often thought Draco's mother made it more cheerful than how I could imagine a place like that to look when I was over. Very few men naturally had a taste for interior design so it was often the wives in wealthy or socialite family's to take over the decorating and managing of the house. That was my mother's job at home as well. Also to manage things like cleaning, which was probably how we interacted with all the rooms the most - through cleaning them.

It was a long, arduous, nightmarish process that needed to be done somewhat frequently. I used to pity my mother for having to do it, but then realised I would have to do so as well one day when I lived in my own place (unless I wanted to call mother over every time I wished to clean, which I didn't), and after that I observed her, asked her questions, and had taught myself roughly, how to clean and manage it so I knew I could one day when it became my own life, even though I didn't enjoy it and helped out perhaps less than half the time when my mother cleaned. Besides my own living quarters that was, which I cleaned every time.

The floors were marble, stone, wood, a mixture of things really.

We had large expensive clocks in all areas of the room. Cabinets of trophies, expensive artifacts, items. Animal heads hung around. Animal rugs as well. As well as lots of rather exotic decorations, ornaments and things.

Some of the portraits were muggle and didn't move. Some of the magical ones moved and talked more. They said all of the same things and I'd heard all of their story's ad nauseum by now so I had very little interest in conversing with them. In fact, I began to really talk to them when I was 7 years old and by the age of 9 had exhausted all possible conversation topics with them so they were just pictures on the walls, and moving statue busts to me, but I was polite with them if I passed them. No need to be rude.

When I walked around the place, I was reminded of all the times other people had come over, their mouths had dropped and they looked ridiculous gaping around. I was reminded of how I sat at the apex of the food chain, how much everyone wanted to be me, to steal what I had, to beat me up for having what they wanted but weren't born into. I knew the glimmering jealousy others viewed me in, the lofty position I sat in, and yet also how I could both rise to even greater heights for myself and my family - or fall and come crashing down. It was slightly dark and heavy thoughts that plagued me when I took in the size of the house, all the rooms, the extent of it all, let alone all the items that I owned...

How fitting it was I was reminded of why people wanted to associate with me all over again before the day out with 'friends' tomorrow.