The Lament's Of A Weak-Minded Child
Chapter One: Misery Hates Company
"Medea!" Draco greeted his daughter. "I am happy that you could make it."
Medea pushed her straggly black hair out of her gray eyes, sighing. Even though she had missed her father while he was away on business in Russia, she had a feeling that he didn't really want her there. She looked him over. He had aged pleasantly over the years, he being only thirty-four. Just the thought of not seeing him again for a long time caused her chest to hurt. All she could hope for was that he really wanted her back in the first place.
She gave him a small smile. "I can never disappoint you, Father. Not even if I tried."
Draco took Medea's hand and squeezed it gently. "Yes, you are such a good girl. Always striving to succeed, eh?"
"You taught me much of what I know. And shouldn't you be thanking the gods that I didn't turn out like all those other wizarding brats, rolling around with Mudblood filth?"
Draco laughed mirthlessly. "Oh yes, you are my child indeed. And you will be meeting with some of those brats and Mudbloods soon enough."
Medea raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Shipping me off to a boarding school? Why so late?"
"Because you were not of the right age before. And now that you are, you have three choices."
"I have a say in this matter?"
"But of course, child! It's not my choice to make. You will be attending the school for seven years, not I."
"Well then, what are my choices?"
"Durmstrang Institute in Bulgaria, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France, or my personal favourite, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Didn't you go to Hogwarts, Father?"
"Too true, Medea. I had the great honour of going to school with the wonderful, brilliant, magnificent Harry Potter," muttered Draco, his usually placid eyes spitting sparks.
"Harry Potter can never be greater than the Dark Lord. You told me so yourself."
"When you go to school, Medea, be careful with whom you speak of the Dark Lord with," reminded Draco. "The fear of his name is even worse now than it was before!"
"You scare too easily, Father."
"No, my dear, I fear for your safety."
"Don't. I can take care of myself easily enough. Dark Magic still exists, doesn't it?"
"Medea! Am I a parrot in your eyes? I have told you countless times that you are not to become involved in that before you are of a suitable age!" hissed Draco, both outraged and amazed.
"But I am, Father!" Medea protested vehemently. " Any Malfoy worth his money has enough power to bring the Dark Lord back to power successfully."
"Medea, calm down! You know how you are when you get over-excited!" Draco patted his daughter's arm. ''I don't want you to pass out again. We need a way to figure out what disease you have that is making you this way.''
"I'm fine! You don't have to fuss about me!" assured Medea, wrenching herself out of her father's grip and standing a couple of feet away.
Draco sighed tiredly. "We have competition, Medea, and of the highest kind. I have done my part to keep up the power of the Malfoy name, and now it's upto you."
At this, Medea raised her eyes to Draco's, a fierce determination sketched all over her face. Noticing her interest, Draco continued, "Do you remember the Mortimers?"
"Liar!" pronounced Medea, hoarsely. "They'd never take our place ... ''
"They try, and they will succeed if we let them." Draco paused for a moment, thinking hard. "They have a son ... Xavier ... he's about your age ... "
"Don't tell me I have to become friends with him!"
"No ... but be wary of him ... and don't let him know that you're aware of him. Be cunning, find out things about him, use them to your advantage. 'Know thine enemy', my dear."
Medea stood silent, contemplating the matter. "If he's the same age as me, he's going to start school soon."
"Correct."
"What school is he attending then?"
"Hogwarts, from what I've heard," Draco supplied, watching his daughter carefully.
"Then it's Hogwarts for me as well. I will not let the Mortimers succeed, nor anyone else who wants to beat us," said Medea, a strange light shining in her eyes. "They will fear us more than fear itself!"
"Yes, you are indeed my daughter. A true Malfoy, if I may say so." Medea rolled her eyes in reply, the curious light extinguished.
~ ~
The curious light that had shone in Medea's eyes was an example of Medea herself. She was a most peculiar child, and not just because of her mysterious ailment. Medea believed that power was everything. She had been taught to believe it ever since she was a baby, when her father used to tell her that she could achieve great things if she only wanted to. And she believed him ever since then.
She wanted to make her father truly proud of her, of something that she'd done to uphold the Malfoy honour. She would be the one to make the Malfoy name feared again. All of those other wizarding families who believed that they were better than the Malfoys would grovel at her feet. Never again would they believe that. And she would not let one single problem mess up her plans. She knew that she would be sorted into Slytherin house when she went to Hogwarts. Every Malfoy of the British Isles had borne the green and silver Slytherin badge on his or her robes. Malfoys did not fit in with Gryffindors, who were too rash and stupid; Malfoys did not fit in with Ravenclaws, who lacked ambition; and Malfoys certainly did not fit in with Hufflepuffs, who were as much unlike Malfoys as was possible.
Medea had all the qualities of a true Slytherin: cunning, ambition, determination, resourcefulness. And she also had the talent of manipulation ... she knew how to bend people to her will without even using magic. She knew much more then an eleven-year-old girl should have known.
And she knew that she had many powerful allies on the Dark Side, the Dark Lord Voldemort among them. She never let people take advantage of her until she had done so to them. If there were a book of power, she would be on the front cover.
But Medea didn't boast. Like her father, she told the truth even if no one wanted to hear it. Truth was a powerful weapon, she knew. It could bring down the mightiest kings, the strongest of empires, the best of the best. Just like a simple lie handled well.
Soon, she would be making her way to Hogwarts. Soon ... They wouldn't know what hit them. ~ ~ "Father, has my Hogwarts letter arrived yet?" inquired Medea impatiently, a week later.
"No, Medea. Surely you'd think that I'd tell you if it did?" answered her father. "You know, Medea, you surprised me when you chose to go to Hogwarts. I would have guessed that you would want to go to Durmstrang."
"I heard that they practice Dark Magic there. Is it true?"
"But of course! Durmstrang is the finest Dark Arts school in all of Europe. Although, if the Dark Lord decided to make a school himself, it would beat even Durmstrang!"
But Medea was not in the mood to hear of what the Dark Lord could have accomplished. Her mind was too full of her own plans to hear of what could have been of an old evil overlord. "When do you think that it will arrive Farther?"
"Dear me, Medea, you are impatient," smirked Draco. "But after all, you are not made out to be a Hufflepuff. We will find out the truth when you get to Hogwarts. And you will receive the letter tonight."
"How do you know?"
"Because I am holding it in my hand."
Medea sighed in exasperation. "Well, what does it say?"
"You've got eyes in your head. Read for yourself," said Draco, tossing the heavy envelope to his daughter. She caught it, and read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump,
International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Miss Malfoy,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books
and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later
than 13 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Medea laughed hysterically, causing Draco to frown at her in alarm. "That old crab still teaches at Hogwarts, does she?"
"It seems so," muttered Draco, still gazing at Medea worriedly. "It's a shame, because I really hated her. She was always sticking up for Potty, Weasel, and Mudblood Granger."
"Potty? Weasel? Mudblood Granger?"
"My antagonists when I was growing up. Remember?"
"Yes, yes. But what names you use for them! Couldn't you have picked something more scathing? I thought your tongue was supposed to be made of barbed wire!"
Draco laughed heartily. "Oh no, my dear. That is you."
"Well, couldn't you have used something less immature? Something that would hit closer to home?"
Draco sighed and looked up into Medea's face. "Darling Medea, you are too old for your age."
Medea stared back at Draco, suddenly feeling jaded to the core. "I grew up fast, Father. I never did have much of a childhood." Draco swallowed and looked away, ashamed.
"Don't feel guilty, Father. It wasn't your fault." But Draco could tell by Medea's tone of voice that she blamed him entirely.
"Maybe if I was born to a Muggle family, I would have been a good girl."
Draco spread his arms out to her and wrapped them around her thin frame tightly as she floated into them. She never seemed to walk, but float, like some sort of a living ghost. "Oh, Medea! To me, you are the best little girl as you are, cunning plans and all. And anyway, even without me teaching you anything, you would have learned on your own."
"Yes, I suppose so," murmured Medea into her father's chest.
"Oh, but I know! I raised you with the kind of power that a child is never raised with. Nobody can beat you, Medea. Nobody ... '' ~~~
Notes:
This is the way that I picture Medea. Just go to www.artmagick.com and on the top of the page click search. Then put in the name of the portrait.
For Medea: The Lady Clare Click on first title. Double click if you want to see it larger.
Chapter One: Misery Hates Company
"Medea!" Draco greeted his daughter. "I am happy that you could make it."
Medea pushed her straggly black hair out of her gray eyes, sighing. Even though she had missed her father while he was away on business in Russia, she had a feeling that he didn't really want her there. She looked him over. He had aged pleasantly over the years, he being only thirty-four. Just the thought of not seeing him again for a long time caused her chest to hurt. All she could hope for was that he really wanted her back in the first place.
She gave him a small smile. "I can never disappoint you, Father. Not even if I tried."
Draco took Medea's hand and squeezed it gently. "Yes, you are such a good girl. Always striving to succeed, eh?"
"You taught me much of what I know. And shouldn't you be thanking the gods that I didn't turn out like all those other wizarding brats, rolling around with Mudblood filth?"
Draco laughed mirthlessly. "Oh yes, you are my child indeed. And you will be meeting with some of those brats and Mudbloods soon enough."
Medea raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Shipping me off to a boarding school? Why so late?"
"Because you were not of the right age before. And now that you are, you have three choices."
"I have a say in this matter?"
"But of course, child! It's not my choice to make. You will be attending the school for seven years, not I."
"Well then, what are my choices?"
"Durmstrang Institute in Bulgaria, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France, or my personal favourite, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Didn't you go to Hogwarts, Father?"
"Too true, Medea. I had the great honour of going to school with the wonderful, brilliant, magnificent Harry Potter," muttered Draco, his usually placid eyes spitting sparks.
"Harry Potter can never be greater than the Dark Lord. You told me so yourself."
"When you go to school, Medea, be careful with whom you speak of the Dark Lord with," reminded Draco. "The fear of his name is even worse now than it was before!"
"You scare too easily, Father."
"No, my dear, I fear for your safety."
"Don't. I can take care of myself easily enough. Dark Magic still exists, doesn't it?"
"Medea! Am I a parrot in your eyes? I have told you countless times that you are not to become involved in that before you are of a suitable age!" hissed Draco, both outraged and amazed.
"But I am, Father!" Medea protested vehemently. " Any Malfoy worth his money has enough power to bring the Dark Lord back to power successfully."
"Medea, calm down! You know how you are when you get over-excited!" Draco patted his daughter's arm. ''I don't want you to pass out again. We need a way to figure out what disease you have that is making you this way.''
"I'm fine! You don't have to fuss about me!" assured Medea, wrenching herself out of her father's grip and standing a couple of feet away.
Draco sighed tiredly. "We have competition, Medea, and of the highest kind. I have done my part to keep up the power of the Malfoy name, and now it's upto you."
At this, Medea raised her eyes to Draco's, a fierce determination sketched all over her face. Noticing her interest, Draco continued, "Do you remember the Mortimers?"
"Liar!" pronounced Medea, hoarsely. "They'd never take our place ... ''
"They try, and they will succeed if we let them." Draco paused for a moment, thinking hard. "They have a son ... Xavier ... he's about your age ... "
"Don't tell me I have to become friends with him!"
"No ... but be wary of him ... and don't let him know that you're aware of him. Be cunning, find out things about him, use them to your advantage. 'Know thine enemy', my dear."
Medea stood silent, contemplating the matter. "If he's the same age as me, he's going to start school soon."
"Correct."
"What school is he attending then?"
"Hogwarts, from what I've heard," Draco supplied, watching his daughter carefully.
"Then it's Hogwarts for me as well. I will not let the Mortimers succeed, nor anyone else who wants to beat us," said Medea, a strange light shining in her eyes. "They will fear us more than fear itself!"
"Yes, you are indeed my daughter. A true Malfoy, if I may say so." Medea rolled her eyes in reply, the curious light extinguished.
~ ~
The curious light that had shone in Medea's eyes was an example of Medea herself. She was a most peculiar child, and not just because of her mysterious ailment. Medea believed that power was everything. She had been taught to believe it ever since she was a baby, when her father used to tell her that she could achieve great things if she only wanted to. And she believed him ever since then.
She wanted to make her father truly proud of her, of something that she'd done to uphold the Malfoy honour. She would be the one to make the Malfoy name feared again. All of those other wizarding families who believed that they were better than the Malfoys would grovel at her feet. Never again would they believe that. And she would not let one single problem mess up her plans. She knew that she would be sorted into Slytherin house when she went to Hogwarts. Every Malfoy of the British Isles had borne the green and silver Slytherin badge on his or her robes. Malfoys did not fit in with Gryffindors, who were too rash and stupid; Malfoys did not fit in with Ravenclaws, who lacked ambition; and Malfoys certainly did not fit in with Hufflepuffs, who were as much unlike Malfoys as was possible.
Medea had all the qualities of a true Slytherin: cunning, ambition, determination, resourcefulness. And she also had the talent of manipulation ... she knew how to bend people to her will without even using magic. She knew much more then an eleven-year-old girl should have known.
And she knew that she had many powerful allies on the Dark Side, the Dark Lord Voldemort among them. She never let people take advantage of her until she had done so to them. If there were a book of power, she would be on the front cover.
But Medea didn't boast. Like her father, she told the truth even if no one wanted to hear it. Truth was a powerful weapon, she knew. It could bring down the mightiest kings, the strongest of empires, the best of the best. Just like a simple lie handled well.
Soon, she would be making her way to Hogwarts. Soon ... They wouldn't know what hit them. ~ ~ "Father, has my Hogwarts letter arrived yet?" inquired Medea impatiently, a week later.
"No, Medea. Surely you'd think that I'd tell you if it did?" answered her father. "You know, Medea, you surprised me when you chose to go to Hogwarts. I would have guessed that you would want to go to Durmstrang."
"I heard that they practice Dark Magic there. Is it true?"
"But of course! Durmstrang is the finest Dark Arts school in all of Europe. Although, if the Dark Lord decided to make a school himself, it would beat even Durmstrang!"
But Medea was not in the mood to hear of what the Dark Lord could have accomplished. Her mind was too full of her own plans to hear of what could have been of an old evil overlord. "When do you think that it will arrive Farther?"
"Dear me, Medea, you are impatient," smirked Draco. "But after all, you are not made out to be a Hufflepuff. We will find out the truth when you get to Hogwarts. And you will receive the letter tonight."
"How do you know?"
"Because I am holding it in my hand."
Medea sighed in exasperation. "Well, what does it say?"
"You've got eyes in your head. Read for yourself," said Draco, tossing the heavy envelope to his daughter. She caught it, and read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump,
International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Miss Malfoy,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books
and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later
than 13 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Medea laughed hysterically, causing Draco to frown at her in alarm. "That old crab still teaches at Hogwarts, does she?"
"It seems so," muttered Draco, still gazing at Medea worriedly. "It's a shame, because I really hated her. She was always sticking up for Potty, Weasel, and Mudblood Granger."
"Potty? Weasel? Mudblood Granger?"
"My antagonists when I was growing up. Remember?"
"Yes, yes. But what names you use for them! Couldn't you have picked something more scathing? I thought your tongue was supposed to be made of barbed wire!"
Draco laughed heartily. "Oh no, my dear. That is you."
"Well, couldn't you have used something less immature? Something that would hit closer to home?"
Draco sighed and looked up into Medea's face. "Darling Medea, you are too old for your age."
Medea stared back at Draco, suddenly feeling jaded to the core. "I grew up fast, Father. I never did have much of a childhood." Draco swallowed and looked away, ashamed.
"Don't feel guilty, Father. It wasn't your fault." But Draco could tell by Medea's tone of voice that she blamed him entirely.
"Maybe if I was born to a Muggle family, I would have been a good girl."
Draco spread his arms out to her and wrapped them around her thin frame tightly as she floated into them. She never seemed to walk, but float, like some sort of a living ghost. "Oh, Medea! To me, you are the best little girl as you are, cunning plans and all. And anyway, even without me teaching you anything, you would have learned on your own."
"Yes, I suppose so," murmured Medea into her father's chest.
"Oh, but I know! I raised you with the kind of power that a child is never raised with. Nobody can beat you, Medea. Nobody ... '' ~~~
Notes:
This is the way that I picture Medea. Just go to www.artmagick.com and on the top of the page click search. Then put in the name of the portrait.
For Medea: The Lady Clare Click on first title. Double click if you want to see it larger.