Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Chapter 1
Malfoys always had everything. The power, the looks (unless the Malfoy in question was Draco Malfoy, who looked like a pointy-faced bastard), and the opportunities. And the Talivers never had anything. They had a simple household, nothing too fancy. Most of the Talivers looked no more than average (unless it was Tristan Taliver, who was absolutely stunning, or Penelope Taliver, who was hideous). They never were offered any opportunities, either. While Lucius Malfoy had been a school governor and one of the Dark Lord's favoured few, Hector Taliver had been killed upon the Dark Lord's orders not even a month after he joined. The Talivers were purebloods, but people like the Weasleys were also pureblooded. At least the Talivers weren't blood-traitors, and were considerably wealthier than the Weasleys.
Cressida Taliver was a combination of Taliver and Malfoy, but had the misfortune to be born with the Taliver family name, Taliver looks, and Taliver luck. She had been lucky enough, however, to be the daughter of the eldest Taliver, instead of one of the younger ones. Orion Taliver, the eldest of his siblings, had inherited the family house and most of the family wealth. Ariadne Taliver, born a year later than her brother Orion, had always been an unwelcome sight every so often, demanding money as if it were their duty and her due. With the social station of the Talivers, it was a wonder that a Malfoy even married into the Talivers.
Everyone knew that Octavia Malfoy only married Orion Taliver because he was the only male and pureblood that she knew who wasn't already betrothed, anything but a former Slytherin, or directly related to her. She had consoled herself with the thought that the Talivers weren't as bad of a family as some. Cressida never knew whether her mother still thought the same way of their family, as the carefully aloof expression of disdain her mother once wore had been replaced with a carefully aloof expression of . . . well . . . aloofness. She never seemed genuinely happy. She might be a Taliver according to the documents, but everyone knew that deep down, she still was a Malfoy.
Cressida had seen her mother sometimes gaze wistfully at memoirs of her past life, however. She never pried, though. Her mother's affairs were her mother's affairs, no matter how interesting they seemed. An elegant music box, with the inscription "Happy Christmas '73, dearest Octavia." Only yesterday it was a mini-portrait of the Malfoy family, painted when she was but sixteen.
Which coincidentally was the same age Cressida, anticipating the arrival of her OWLs scores, was now. Indeed, after all that had happened at Hogwarts at the end of her fifth year, it seemed trivial, but grades were grades. Her brother Tristan had been top of his class; her parents expected her to be the same. She wasn't as gifted, though, and she highly doubted that she would receive any more than eight owls, and even eight was mostly wishful thinking. She wondered whether Hogwarts would even stay open for her sixth year, after all those events had transpired. If not, Father would just send her to Durmstrang. She delicately shuddered at the thought. Mother had always wanted her and Tristan to go to Durmstrang, saying that her brother had thought it good enough for his Draco, why shouldn't it be good enough for Tristan and Cressida, but Father had never relented. Until now, and that was only if Hogwarts was to be closed.
Cressida herself had always had a sort of affection for Hogwarts, but it was to be expected, after her spending so long there. She was a Slytherin, as all proper Talivers and Malfoys were, a year below her cousin Draco and the famous Harry Potter. It was rather interesting, really. Her cousin whined about Harry Potter so much whenever he was visiting them. It gave her information about Potter and his friends, Ronald Weasley and the Mudblood Hermione Granger, that she never would have known otherwise. Some facts she could pick up from being in the same year as Ginny Weasley, who went with Potter whenever he had the nerve to do something heroic.
Summer holidays shouldn't be tainted with any thoughts of Potter, she decided, finally. She would see enough of Potter in the news or at school, if it didn't close, to think about him any more. Potter, Weasleys, Granger, the lot of them. The holidays were a time away from school, not to meditate constantly upon it. She should be thankful. She didn't even need to see her cousin Draco this summer. Well, that was one benefit of him being involved with the Death Eaters who attacked Hogwarts. The Ministry of Magic was looking for all the Malfoys on grounds of them being followers of Voldemort. Obviously their Wiltshire manor house and Malfoy's brother-in-law's house would be places to search. The Malfoys had long gone, however, and Cressida's family had nothing to fear, as Hector Taliver was the only Death Eater among them. He was only distantly related to them, too, related by marriage. The Ministry officials came, thoroughly making a mess of their entire household while saying that it was for searching for any hidden Death Eaters, and left. Orion had done well in hiding everything of importance, as the Ministry couldn't even come up with a false claim.
It was still June, only a fortnight into the holidays. Tristan would be returning from his foreign extra schooling near the beginning of July, plaguing the entire household with his various facts that no one else thought necessary to know. She had owled Rebecca Nott, her closest ally, asking her to spend part of the holidays at her place, but Rebecca had graciously declined, as her family planned to spend the entirety of the summer vacation in France and Spain. Her other allies were doing the same, except it wasn't just France and Spain. Daphne Lin was going back to her birthplace in China, and Aurora Shanneson was visiting the States. Even her only Ravenclaw acquaintance, Valerie Montgomery, wouldn't be in England for the holidays. Matthias Delmare had invited the boys to his place, meaning that any girl would immediately be unwelcome.
She didn't think her mother was home, having gone to call upon her friends. Cressida would have joined her as well, but Octavia had heavily implied that she wouldn't be wanted. Her mother always spent a long time whenever she visited her friends, just returning in time for supper, never before, never after. Her father was at work now, leaving her in the house alone. It was a rather common occurrence, but she paid it no mind. In her opinion, her life was practically the same, whether others were in the house or not.
Reclining in the privacy of her room, Cressida dreaded the thought of how monotonous the hols would be. OWL scores wouldn't come until later, she knew, but that didn't stop her from awaiting their arrival. Her OWL scores could influence the rest of her life much, as her brother had always rambled on about. His looks were certainly wasted on him, as he always was immersed in his books, never caring about relationships. Cressida had seen the girls who tried to get him interested. She had suspected once that he wasn't the straightest arrow, but later she saw that he rejected the advances of those his own gender as well. It really was a shame.
Her thoughts were interrupted by an owl tapping on her window. Finally. The Daily Prophet had come. Lazily getting up from the bed, she crossed the wooden floors of the room to open the window, Knut in hand. The owl, a common brown barn owl, immediately stuck its leg out and flapped its wings impatiently. She gave it the Knut, untied the newpaper from its leg, and shooed it out, but not before it gave her a vicious peck, however. Cursing, she restrained herself from shouting after it angrily. Slytherins did not do that.
A quick skim showed all the news it would give. It was filled with naught but information about inconsequential dealings at the Ministry that made it seem as though they were doing something, when anyone with half a brain could tell that it was merely that—inconsequential dealings. "Death Eaters" were being arrested everyday, but some of the names the paper put up as being alleged Death Eaters made Cressida scoff. "William Abbott, aged 45 and owner of an antiques store, was arrested Monday for providing information to known Death Eaters." The Abbotts had been Hufflepuffs for generations, and she had seen this particular Abbott before. Less nerve than his daughter, if even that was possible. She had heard that Hannah Abbott had had a breakdown during her OWLs, if that was anything to measure by.
The Daily Prophet still was on her writing desk, but Cressida didn't want to read stories about which Death Eaters were captured or what the Boy-Who-Lived did. Frankly, she didn't care that much, not right now. Not when that was all she heard, day after day. Perhaps there would be something new, but after days of hearing nothing in the news but of Potter, it had grown tedious. Yet, instead of writing Potter as a raving lunatic, as they had two years ago, they had written of Potter as a Saint, like the previous year. The Malfoys—instead of practically worshipping them, anything written about them was scorning. The fickleness of the media, while quite apparent, had been irking Cressida for a while now. Saint Potter, Saint Potter, Saint Potter—it could only be tolerated for so long.
Witch Weekly was worse. She had skimmed it once and had put it down almost immediately afterwards. The only reason the Talivers even subscribed to it was because they had won a free subscription a while ago. Granted, the recipes it gave were rather useful, but Octavia remained resolute in that Malfoys did not do servant's work, like cooking and cleaning. The house-elf that Octavia had insisted upon her first month of being married to Orion was responsible for that. The most use that Witch Weekly served was being a paperweight, for the most part.
An owl flew by her open window, but as it didn't so much as look her way, she doubted the letter was for her. She didn't recognise the owl, although it did seem familiar. It had a regal air about it, if that was even possible from an owl.
"Miss Cressida!" a young voice from outside called out. "Would you like to—?"
She firmly closed the window without gracing him with a response. It was one of the neighbourhood children, always wanting someone else to play with them. He always came day after day, never stopping, even though he full well knew that she would never join them. She had heard him so many times; she already knew what would come after that. "Would you like to play ball with us?" "Miss Cressida! Show us magic!" "Miss Cressida!"
Slytherins did not fool around with children. They were the children of purebloods and half-bloods, most of them, but none of these children were old enough for formal schooling. None of the people in this village would make good companionship. One of the older girls, Angelique Montblanc, was near her age, but she only came here over the holidays, and only spoke French. If Cressida couldn't even speak to her well, she wouldn't make to effort to form a friendship. Slytherins didn't make friends, after all. They formed alliances, and a random French girl did not make a good alliance. She only was half-blood, too, as Cressida had discovered upon asking around. Half-blood French girls made even worse alliances then pureblood French girls did.
Hearing not much sound from outside, she opened the window again. The boy had given up for the day, it seemed, but he would be back again tomorrow. He always came back. Octavia had wanted to move to a manor house, like her brother had, but the Talivers weren't rich enough to afford one. Octavia had always had enough money as a Malfoy, and it was obvious to see her dislike of the Talivers' lack of wealth. Sometimes, Cressida wondered why her father had consented to marry her mother. He must have guessed that she would be accustomed to a rich lifestyle. But, him marrying a Malfoy was very good for his station.
Cressida idly drummed her fingers against the windowsill. There wasn't much to do now; there never was during the beginning of summer. Draco had sometimes visited, but the monotony was better than another of his visits. Her cousins on the Taliver side rarely came, unless her father was hosting a reunion. None of her relatives were interesting, though. They all were too old, too young, or too boring. Rebecca had visited the previous year, making the summer actually be enjoyable. But now, Rebecca was frolicking in Paris or Madrid, and probably barely sparing a thought for her closest ally, and Cressida was here, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by simple-minded fools.
The holidays did seem as they would continue as listlessly as they began.