10. Experiencing Struggles
"You want to know how my life as the Dark Lord's daughter is, Draco?"
Her tone was sickly sweet and unpleasantly nice. With her back leaning against the rest of her chair and her hands neatly folded in her lap she looked like a perfect angel. Her hair was falling lightly in strong, big waves over her shoulders to the small of her back and her eyes seemed to sparkle as she smiled lightly at the young man sitting opposite of her.
Act as they expect you to act, an inner voice that sounded remarkably like an internalized Lady Malfoy remembered her sternly. Never show your true feelings.
Malfoy seemed to buy her act of pleasant friendliness and open interest, Saphira realized. His posture was relaxed, his back leaning against his chair, his legs crossed and his arms rested on the chair. A small glint was in his steel grey eyes as his face lit up and he let his lips grace a small, but teasing smile. Little, almost unnoticeable waves of contentedness and happiness radiated off him as he looked at her body again in praise and wonder.
He didn't care for what she was feeling. Why should he? He would just assume, like all those others had and will that Harry would be happy and content to be a girl. None of them would stop long enough to consider how they would feel if they had been forced into becoming someone completely foreign. Nobody had bothered to ask about her feelings or how she was coping expect for Professor Snape. The Professor was her bastion of calm. He knew what torture she had experienced to be who she was currently and he was the only one who honestly seemed to understand that she hadn't chosen this path out of sheer fun.
Her father might understand her emotions and reasons as well. But their communication was rocky at best and his mind filled with other important tasks – world domination, annihilation of muggles, submission of muggle-born witches and wizards and blood purity. He cared for her physical well-being and her progress and that was more than any other adult in her life had done so far. Her father might even care about her emotional well-being, but it was too soon to try and bond with her emotionally stunted father when she herself wasn't the epitome of emotional maturity.
Professor Snape was much better suited to guide her through emotional crises. Without having to be tasked he had assumed the role of guidance in her life and Saphira and her father had both accepted those role of his in her life wordlessly.
She was never truly alone. At any time of the day someone was by her side and as such she had to always keep a firm grip on her emotions and actions. But even though someone was always there Saphira felt mostly as if she was alone. Beside her father and Professor Snape nobody had ever asked her how she was doing. Saphira wanted to be honest with her father and confess that she was having troubles coping with her new situation. It was understandably and in any she would have been provided with psychological guidance and support. But they were at war, lives were at risk. Her father had enough on his plate and didn't need the extra stress and distraction having to worry about her state of mind and well-being as well.
She was his daughter. She wanted to feel happy and honoured that she had been chosen to be his daughter and that he had chosen to become her father.
When she was allowed to leave her bed for the first time the day after she had been born Saphira had idly wondered how long it would take for Harry's consciousness to get second thoughts. Her father had been standing by her side, his purple eyes never leaving her body as he offered her a helping hand and helped her to stand up. His hand never left her always staying at her hip, guiding her and holding her. It had felt strange and slightly wrong. Even though she couldn't say whether this feeling of strangeness resulted from the novelty of having an adult in her life who tried his best to help and guide or whether she felt a grown man shouldn't have his hands on a young woman's hips Saphira couldn't tell.
It might be both.
But even though she had felt uncomfortable Saphira had kept her mouth shut. And mere seconds later she found out it was a prudent thing to do. Professor Snape who had been with them during whole time in case there was something she needed and he would be able to help was eyeing the interaction critically and with a lightly worried frown on his face.
His dark eyes were resting on his Master's back and trailed over the way he was standing just behind her, unconsciously touching her hair or back. Out of the corner of her eyes Saphira could observe how his expression suddenly changed. His face became unhealthy pale, his hands seemed to be starting to sweat and he wasn't able to suppress the painful gulp as a look of discomfort flashed over his face.
Professor Snape cleared his throat softly. "My Lord," He inquired softly. "Shall I help you with her?"
Saphira almost flinched as she feared her father was about to kill one of his most faithful followers and her former Potions Professor nonetheless. However, her father's merely flashed dangerously for the briefest of moments and then remained scarily ablaze. With his wand at hand Voldemort spun around and regarded his Potions Master critically.
She couldn't see her father's eyes but Professor Snape could. Whatever he was seeing caused him to avert his eyes and incline his head in submission. "I am sorry, my Lord." He apologized smoothly. "My input was unnecessary."
Her father hummed softly as he twirled his fair wand between his delicate fingers. "That it was." He muttered softly and cocked his head to the side. Professor Snape looked tense but he didn't flinch or react outwardly in any other way.
"Leave us, Severus." Her father ordered softly, his gaze never straying from his Potions Master. "You have been of good use to me as of late. I shall call for you if I have need of your services."
Professor Snape smoothly inclined his head in understanding and straightened. "Thank you, my Lord." He replied completely unruffled by the former interaction. "I shall check up on the Lady Slytherin next morning."
He waited for her father's inclination of head to show that he had understood and that Professor Snape was officially dismissed. As soon as her father nodded his consent Professor Snape inclined his head in farewell, bowed to the both of them and sleekly glided out of her quarters with billowing robes.
As soon as Snape had left her quarters Saphira felt a wave of trepidation crash over her. She could feel her father's hand through her thin shirt she was wearing. The mere nearness to the man who had tried to kill Harry more times than should be possible caused her to swallow in fear. She couldn't help but stiffen in scared anticipation.
Mere seconds ago her father had looked so tense and barely controlled that she had feared he might snap. With Professor Snape gone she was alone with her father with the Dark Lord being tense for the first time. Would her father finally snap and just kill her for breathing too loudly or for walking too slowly?
However, whatever her overworked mind had been unhelpfully coming up with in her nervous state of mind her father remained controlled and quiet. Without uttering a single word he slowly but demandingly pushed her forward, his one hand at her back to guide her and the other at her side to catch her should she fall. Patiently he waited for her, allowed her to walk at her own pace until they finally reached their destination. Around the corner of her room, a place she hadn't been able to see from her position of her bed there was placed a huge, antique looking mirror.
Her heart skipped a beat as she realized what he wanted her to do. He wanted her to look at her new self, see the proof that she was indeed his daughter and wanted her to accept her new identity. It was an understandable plan of action; perhaps Saphira would have done the same if had she been in his position. But in her current state she felt only pressured and forced. This confrontation with her new self was much too soon. She might not even be able to accept her new identity, much less the fact that she was the Dark Lord's daughter and would therefore look a lot like him.
With a last, insisting push Saphira stumbled in front of the mirror. What she saw wasn't half as bad as she had imagined herself to look. She had Tom Riddle's lightly tanned skin and his black hair. With a startle she remembered how her father had looked as a teenager and idly she realized she looked a lot like his younger dashing self.
Her gaze wandered from her hair to her face and she had to blink in surprise. Her eyes were indeed of the stunning light blue that was the reason for her first name. And even though she had not thought it possible, Saphira could understand all too well why the Dark Lord was so fascinated with them.
They were mesmerizing.
A light bush graced her cheeks at the arrogant and self-centred sudden admission that had crossed her mind.
She shook her head lightly to rid herself of the embarrassing thought and tried to focus on the rest of her appearance. With a light startle she realized that whereas she shared a lot of her facial features with the Dark Lord's younger self there were equally as many features that she couldn't place.
Her nose was a little smaller and straighter than his and her lips fuller and rosier. The shape of her eyes was different, too. They were bigger, rounder than his currently purple ones. It might be attributable to her being a woman or to her mother's genetic influence, she couldn't tell. All in all, Saphira thought, she didn't look bad at all. If she compared herself to Harry's female year-mates, she could honestly say that she was quite beautiful.
She really would have to thank her mother for donating her genes and her father for choosing that woman as her mother.
She was too wrapped up in her thoughts and musing that Saphira didn't notice that her father was slowly approaching her. He had a content look in his eyes that caused the purple colour to shine even more. However, while the Dark Lord's eyes shone with a happiness and contentedness rarely witnessed by anyone, his lips were graced with a solemn and sad smile. Had Saphira been mentally present she would have noticed that even though her father's body was present his mind seemed to be far away.
It took a low chuckle from her father to bring her back to reality. Her father shook his head disapprovingly and reprimanded her lightly that mindless staring wasn't something a proper pureblood lady should do.
Saphira blinked and gazed at the image in the mirror in wonder. The image didn't change or waver. This was her new self. The young, beautiful woman in the mirror was how she was going to look like for the rest of her life.
Back then she had thought her father's reprimand was worth the sudden understanding of her new physical form and appearance. It had smarted a little to be reprimanded by her father – she had never had a father figure before and the need to please her father was rather strong. She had vowed to herself that she would do anything in her might to evade disapproval and reprimand in the future. It was a demanding challenge, but Saphira wanted to try her best.
She hadn't imagined, however, that it wouldn't be her father's disapproval that she would come to dread in the future. Lady Malfoy had high expectations and she expressed her displeasure with Saphira's failures quite openly.
"Quit staring at your breasts, Saphira!" The Lady Narcissa had snapped at her, her blue eyes glazing with fury. "It is most unbecoming for a young lady. For Merlin's sake one might think you had never breasts in your life before."
Well, if Saphira was to be honest she hadn't. And neither had Harry for a fact. It should be understandable that she wouldn't react with grace and ease when she came in contact with them. Having breasts was genuinely strange. No matter what she would choose to wear, the blouses and bodice would always accentuate her breasts. It made her uncomfortable to watch herself in the mirror.
And who had come up with the torture device called a bra? Was it truly necessary to press her breasts together and push them up? Her breasts felt sore after a whole day of having to wear a bra. The soreness would have been tolerable but the push-up effect wasn't. She couldn't watch herself in the mirror with her breasts so horribly highlighted. It made her feel uncomfortable and no matter what or how much she wore, she would always feel exposed and naked. She had come to hate being in the presence of males. She couldn't help but imagine that they were staring and leering at her breasts. It was degrading and humiliating.
And even though the thought of her breasts made Saphira feel uncomfortable, it was nothing compared with the emotions she had suffered from when she had looked at herself for the first time naked.
It had been the day she had been allowed to have a look at her new body for the first. After her father had left the room to give her some peace and time to adjust Saphira realized she was still wearing the clothes she had been given after her transformation. The long-sleeved shirt and sweat-pants were clammy and sticky.
Idly she traced slim fingers over her slightly exposed arm only to pull the hand away in disgust. Her skin just like her hair was sticky and sweaty, too. And as she hadn't been allowed to bath so far after her transformation, the last time her body had been cleaned and freshened up was on the morning of Harry's abduction. Harry's sweat was still covering her body smelling of sickness and death and all of a sudden Saphira felt she might get sick if she didn't wash his pain and despair from her new body.
She was in dear need of a shower.
Saphira approached and entered her bathroom with careful and smalls steps. When her eyes had gotten used to the bright light Saphira blinked in astonishment. The bathroom was very nice.
The marble tiles covering the floor as well as the walls were of a pure white whereas the marble tiles coating the walk-in shower were of a perfect Slytherin green. Frosty glass framing the shower would protect her naked figure from unwanted eyes.
Further to the side was a green ball-and-claw bathtub, a toilet next to a sink and a vanity on the other side of the room next to a small window. Chandeliers with silver candles floated softly through the air and illuminated the room. And even though the room was breathtaking and beyond anything she had ever seen – Hogwarts was great but it was plain and functional compared to the wealth, opulence as well as the lavishness of décor and costumes of this bathroom – Saphira's gaze was captivated by the tall mirror standing in the far corner between the bathtub and the shower.
Her heart was pounding furiously as she approached the mirror with cautious steps. When she took in her female features, her hip-long, night-black wavy hair and her bright blue eyes Saphira realized with startling clarity that she couldn't stand watching herself while she undressed.
With a final look at herself covered in shielding clothes Saphira closed her eyes firmly and slowly started to undress with strongly trembling fingers. One after another the long-sleeved shirt, her sweat-trousers and finally her underwear found their way to the floor. The colder air hit her heated skin with full force all of a sudden and caused Saphira to shiver.
In her mind Saphira counted to ten and with a last shuddering intake of breathe she finally forced herself to open her eyes again.
The image caused her to gasp.
She saw a small, petite young woman. Her skin was even and milky one. Not a single dark hair was tainting her body. Idly Saphira wondered how this was even possible. As Harry his body had always been covered with splatters of darker hair. He had had several hairs darkening his legs and even some at his chest. Not to speak of the ones around his chin that Harry had dearly wanted to grow into a beard in the years to come. But as Saphira aside from her trimmed eyebrows and the black hair covering her head there was nothing.
As her gaze had been firmly focused on her face Saphira let her eyes slowly trail further downwards. She observed her jaw, how it changed into her chin and finally led to her slim throat. From her throat parted her shoulders. Her collarbones were showing a little where her upper arms started. Saphira hitched a breath and her heartbeat increased. Her breath came in shallow hitches as she finally tore her gaze away from her sternum and forced it to wander further downwards.
Her breasts were nice, Saphira had to confess. Without the clothes hiding them they seemed to be even bigger than before. From Harry's memory Saphira could retell that she was what Seamus would call really nicely developed. Her slightly pale breasts were nicely round but not too big to look disfigured or wrong on her small and petite body. Saphira hesitated then she turned to the right and then the left. As far as Saphira could tell she had a nice upper body with a good looking bum. Years of having played Quidditch as a boy seemed to have come in handy now.
A small smile graced Saphira's face as she remembered one day at the Burrow. Ron and Harry had been sleeping as it had been the first day of their well-earned Yule Holidays. They had depart for the Burrow the day before right after lunch and as they were free to do what they pleased with their first day of holidays there was no need to get up already.
A lightly ruffling sound had ripped Harry from his realm of dreams. His hands had automatically fished for his glasses when he heard two people slowly but carefully open the door leading to Ginny's room right next to Ron's. Carefully that so they wouldn't notice that he was awake, Harry placed his glasses on his nose and peeked around Ron's sleeping figure to the half open door leading to his friend's room.
Despite the rather early time of the day Hermione and Ginny were already deeply engaged in a heated discussion. Harry could observe as Hermione waved her hands and arms agitatedly around the air while Ginny stood in front of her, her arms crossed over her chest and a deep, displeased frown on her lovely features. Both seemed too caught up with their conversation to realize that Harry was awake and keen on listening in their conversation.
There was a slight pause, then Hermione motioned to her upper body and a bright blush appeared on her cheeks. She tried to speak with a hushed voice and her eyes darted around as if she feared that someone might listen in on them. Whatever it was that Hermione had said, it caused Ginny to scoff at her and shrug angrily in defiance. The red-head placed a comforting hand on Hermione's arm looked at the elder girl in a comforting way.
"Don't listen to that cow Lavender." Ginny advised her, her voice dripping with disdain and anger. "Your body is lovely and good-looking as it is. Especially your breasts." She shushed Hermione when the other girl tried to open her mouth and disagree. "Don't let Lavender tell you that they are too small. They are perfect as they are. You look good, like a real woman. Ron loves you the way you are, you don't have to change for him to love you." Ginny emphasised her argument. She swallowed thickly and cast her gaze to the floor. "In contrast to me." She mumbled brokenly.
The last part had been nothing more than a weak mutter, but Harry understood the words nonetheless. The tone and the look in Ginny's eyes caused Harry to feel a painful pang in his heart and he felt as if he had been slapped. Ginny loved him but she thought she wasn't good enough for him. He could sometimes see her looking at herself in the mirror when she thought that no one was watching. A wistful look would creep in her eyes every time her eyes darted over her breasts. She wasn't feeling comfortable in her body and Harry whose duty as a good friend and potential love-interest was to make her feel loved, admired and cared for had obviously failed.
Saphira remembered how Harry had planned to surprise Ginny. Everything had been thoroughly thought through; he had only been waiting for the perfect moment. And then when he finally had thought that he could show Ginny how much he loved her the way she was, Hogwarts had been attacked
Ginny had died. And Harry was no more.
She sighed softly and wiped the tears away. It didn't matter anymore. It wouldn't change anything.
Saphira finally decided that it was time to take the last step. With a shuddering breath Saphira literally forced her gaze to wander further downwards over her breasts to her abdomen, from there to her navel and to her hips and finally to the beginning of her legs. Her curiosity was awoken and Saphira dared to turn from one side to the other to get a better view at her body. She marvelled at the fact that everything that had made their body Harry was now gone only to be shoved to the inside of their body to make her what made her Saphira. It was a strange sight. There was just nothing.
Well, she couldn't see anything at all.
Curious but with a wildly beating heart Saphira bent her head down and slowly spread her legs to get a better look at the one thing that truly made her a woman. Only to immediately wish she hadn't. There, between her legs where once Harry's penis had been was nothing but – a slit. A tiny slit that disturbingly looked like a mouth with those two lips. It was so – tiny.
Saphira shook her head in denial. It could only be wrong, couldn't it? There had to be something wrong. That slit had to be too small. How was another man's penis supposed to fit in there? And what about childbirth? She had never seen a new-born baby, but from what she knew they were supposed to be even bigger. How could she press a baby out of her body through that tiny slit? It could only be wrong. Wrong, so very wrong.
All off a sudden Saphira felt hot and cold at the same time. Her breath came in ragged breaths, her chest was heaving and sinking. Her skin was covered in cold sweat, as her body rapidly choose between freezing and overheating. She could feel her hands start to tremble as she felt her consciousness waver. Air, she needed air. Her surroundings began to spin and became dizzy as the room became darker and darker.
She was suffering from a panic attack or a mental breakdown. Whatever came first.
Seeing the small opening between her legs had suddenly made her new situation all too real. She couldn't stand it anymore. The walls of her bathroom were coming nearer and nearer and she couldn't breathe anymore. It felt as if something had wrapped tightly around her chest and her madly beating heart. She just could get any air.
With tears streaming down her cheeks Saphira bolted out of her bathroom and with a desperate sob she launched herself at her bed. To cry for Harry, for herself and because of the unfairness of it all.
It had been a traumatising evening, but somehow she had survived. Taking a shower was still awkward, but she didn't feel as if she was about to faint anymore when she saw herself in the mirror or had to undress. Sadly her breasts and her new female organs weren't the only parts of her body that were causing her problems.
"Honestly, Saphira," Lady Malfoy's displeased voice sounded through the room and grated on Saphira's frail nerves. "You have to do something about your hair. You can't just let it fall down freely to your hips. It will always get in your way." She clicked her tongue and motioned to her perfectly pinned up hair. "Keep it up. It is much more suitable for our lessons and I promise you, you will look lovely with your hair pinned up."
Had anyone ever asked Saphira whether she even wanted to look cute or lovely? Harry hadn't done sweet and lovely. It felt a discriminatory that as a woman she wouldn't be allowed to look sporty and young. Trousers, shirts and flat shoes were a perfectly acceptable attire in Saphira's eyes. One couldn't run, duel or play Quidditch in formfitting bodice, floor-length skirts and high-heeled shoes. But Lady Malfoy didn't care for any of Saphira's thoughts or opinions. She didn't need to waste her breath.
"My dear," Lady Malfoy simpered and Saphira couldn't help but ask herself when she had ever allowed the Malfoy Matriarch to address her in that way. Did Lady Malfoy just assume that she was allowed to speak to her in such a familiar manner or didn't hundreds of years old rules concerning the correct interaction in pureblood circles not apply to the highly esteemed Lady? "My dear, as a woman of your social standing it is wiser to just always smile and keep your nice mouth shut." She smiled a sweet, fake smile and cocked her head to the side. "Women don't speak in public and much less do anything that would contradict what their husband or father has said. It is rude and it does not become you."
She noticed Saphira's look of utter astonishment and disbelief, how could she not. The Lady huffed airily and waved her hand dismissively through the air. "If you absolutely have to voice your opinion, then you should speak to your husband or father afterwards but never in the presence of others."
This didn't sound at all how Professor Snape had made life as a pureblood heiress sound. The Professor had mentioned that daughters were as valued and priced as sons and that they were of equal rights and worth. How could it be that she wouldn't be allowed to express her mind? Had anyone ever asked her whether she was okay with this? She wasn't a piece of meat, nothing to just stare and leer at. She hated being reduced to her new beautiful appearance and enviable social standing. Saphira had more to offer than that.
She was funny – at least she thought so – and intelligent, even though Professor Snape might have a different opinion on that matter. She was very interested in a lot of things, she was spontaneous and quite easy going if she felt like it. She liked to experiment and she was dedicated to her friends, family and interests. Harry would have never expected his daughter, girlfriend or wife to just sit there, hold his hand and smile sweetly. It was belittling and horribly insulting.
This wasn't what she had expected when she had agreed to become a woman.
Every time those horrible words forced their way into Saphira's mind and thoughts, her heart would fill with fear and anguish and her soul and heart would weep with sorrow. Was this how her life was going to be? Would she be expected to keep quiet and merely sit there and look nice and lovely next to her father's and her husband's side? Would she ever be allowed to act like she wanted, to be free and herself? Or would her freedom be short-lived as she would leave her father's side and influence only to be bound to another wizard? Would she have to exchange her father for her husband only to be expected to sit next to him, hold his hand, keep quiet and keep on smiling?
As daunting as that thought was, sitting and smiling was nothing compared to walking and standing.
"For Merlin's sake, Saphira, walk like a woman." Lady Malfoy had long ago given up the pretence of possessing never-ending patience and calmness. "Use your grace and elegance! You can't walk around like this." She grabbed her wand and pointed at Saphira. "Keep your head up, straighten your back, make smaller and lighter steps and please, please, keep your arms at your side. You can't just walk with them swinging around like that." Lady Malfoy let herself go and allowed herself to roll her eyes. "You are a lady."
No, Saphira thought with hurt and ire as her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed and her cheeks burn hotly with humiliation. She wasn't a lady. She was Saphira, a girl who had been a boy for the last seventeen years and as such the vast majority of her life.
How was she supposed to just forget all those things that kept popping up in her mind? She had always been walking around like this and never had anyone commented on it. She didn't like to keep her head up, it made her look arrogant and full if herself – two characteristics that definitely didn't fit her. She didn't like making small steps as it was impractical. Small steps wouldn't help her should she need to get away fast. And lastly she hated keeping her arms at her side. It looked and felt so wrong as if she was stiff and dead.
This wasn't how Harry had been walking.
But Saphira knew that arguing would be futile. Neither her father nor Professor Snape had commented on her way of walking to be disgraceful and shaming to her family's name. However, that might only be due to that Professor Snape's duty and focus was on her health which contained in the Professor's mind the fundamental knowledge about healthy but balanced nutrition and the proper amount of the correct sports to keep her healthy and fit whereas her father saw his duty in monitoring her progress and educating her about their family history. They might not spare their walking too much of a mind.
And still Saphira didn't know nor could she accept that she had to change so much. Not everything that Harry had done could be wrong. And why did she need to know how to walk in this atrocity called high heels? Lady Malfoy might force her to wear them during their "girl lessons" but Saphira always shed them as soon as those lessons were over. The Lady Malfoy might think that Saphira would change her mind if she only forced Saphira to walk the corridors up and down often enough, but Saphira didn't think so. And every time that she had to stumble her walk over the uneven stone floor, Saphira would ask herself why she had agreed to go through this torture.
Because you wanted to live, her subconsciousness would snarked darkly at her. You wanted to live so desperately that you agreed to do everything you needed.
Saphira sighed resignedly. Perhaps she had been wrong to do so. But now it was too late.
With a low, suffering sigh Saphira straightened up again. She was just about to show the world that Saphira Slytherin, former Harry Potter and the boy who lived, saviour of the wizarding world, the one to save them all, would not be intimidated by a mere pair of black, sky-high shoes as she made another step and lost her balance. A small yelp escaped her lips as a light cracking sound echoed through the halls and a sharp pain shoot through her left ankle. With tears forming in her eyes and a low groan on her lips Saphira kneeled down and softly massaged her badly hurting ankle. She must have strained it.
Lady Malfoy wasn't sympathising. "By Merlin, Saphira." She huffed exasperatedly, as if Saphira had injured herself just to anger her. "You act as if it is impossible to walk in those shoes. It's so easy. Honestly, I just don't understand what your problem is." She rucked her floor-length skirt up to her knees and exposed her slim legs and her high-heeled shoes. "Look, one foot before the other, a light but only light sway of the hips and then another step." She made a show of walking around the room as if it was the most basic and simplest thing to do. "It's so easy. Honestly, Saphira, what is your problem?"
She had just strained her ankle, she was bone-tired and in a horrible mood. She was forced to walk in those impossible shoes, her feet were aching, her toes were hurting and her knees were already bloody from all those painful impacts against the hard stone floor. She was a former boy who had never once before been walking in those monstrosities, how was she supposed to suddenly be able to walk in them? Was it something that should naturally come with her new gender? Was there a gene that enabled women to walk in high-heels? If there was such a gene, she had didn't possess it.
With a pain-filled and angry glare at the Malfoy Matriarch Saphira gritted her teeth together and shakily straightened up again. And even though her ankle hurt like hell and she was barely able to keep her tears at bay and her lips from trembling, she kept up a hard and cold mask. It wouldn't help her to let the Lady Malfoy see her weak. She didn't care for Saphira's problems, why should show that she had problems in the first place?
Lady Malfoy was truly disappointing, Saphira thought. She had expected the woman to understand her problems. The Lady Malfoy knew what it meant to be a woman and how difficult it was to fulfil all of those expectations. And at the same time the Lady Malfoy should know what it meant to be a man. She had raised her son, after all. She knew how Draco walked, ate, talked and behaved. The Lady Malfoy had to know that there were differences in the way men and women acted. She had to realize that Saphira might need help and that she wouldn't be like a young woman who had been raised to act that way. Surely the Lady Malfoy would have known this and understood it.
But she didn't.
From the first day on the Lady Malfoy had insisted on treating her as if she had been born as a girl. It was wrong, as she hadn't been born this way, however, it made things easier for Saphira at first as the Lady Malfoy would merely state what she expected from Saphira. That was an advantage. Saphira needed directions in her time of crisis and need. But at one point the Malfoy Matriarch seemed to have forgotten that Saphira wasn't born a girl. Every time Saphira slipped up and acted a little manly, the Lady Malfoy would scold her severely and scoff nastily at her actions.
Saphira wasn't interested in fashion and style yet, but she loved to talk about and play Quidditch, she liked wearing black, dark blue and other dark colours more than wearing white and bright colours, she preferred trousers and shirts over skirts and blouses. She always had a fit when the Lady Malfoy told her to wear more girly clothes that would hug her lovely figure, she hated using more make-up than absolutely necessary, she didn't understand the reason in painting your nails in different colours every other day and painting small, floral designs on them and finally she didn't like to spend more than ten minutes doing her hair. It looked good open with those strong waves. Why should she braid her hair, pin it up or force it into an extravagant bun?
The Lady Malfoy didn't seem to understand but no boy or men on earth would do such things. And that was how she felt at the moment as if she was a young man in a young woman's body.
At least being a girl had some, minor advantages. She was allowed to read as much as she wanted. For some unknown reason Narcissa thought it acceptable for her to sit in the huge reading salon with a book in her hands and a warm fire cracking behind her. She seemed to think that it was something very 'womanly' to do. Conversing over tea, strolling through the gardens, enjoying the landscape and having a closer look at portrays were acceptable activities as well.
But those activities couldn't keep her occupied for a long time and soon Saphira grew incredibly bored. With a heavy pressure on her heart and tears prickling in her eyes Saphira remembered the day the Lady Malfoy had for the first time made her cry.
She had complained in not a too subtle way that she was quite bored. She had been reading about pureblood society, etiquette and history. Revising and learning something for her school subjects was forbidden, however. Her mind was supposed to be open to the world of pureblood families and nothing more. For the last few days Saphira had done nothing more than reading, doing her chores for her lessons and preparing herself for the tests of the next day. But even with all the books and knowledge offered there was only so much she could take. When she had taken care of everything and there was nothing more to do, she had finally decided to have some fun and get some action.
With her plan firmly in mind Saphira had left the room and walked to the gardens. She didn't know where she was going, Saphira just let her feet guide her way and her mind and eyes wander. It was such a nice day, the sun was shining, the sky was blue and some birds were chirping in the background. A small smile, one of the few honest ones, appeared on her lips. Finally, she would be able to be herself.
Once her feet came to a halt Saphira looked around and nodded lightly in approval. She was at the backside of the gardens. There weren't any flowers or trees, only grass and the walls of protecting the Manor's ground. Behind the high, grey stone walls she could see huge, dark green trees protecting her and the Manor from the outsides' few. Smiling to herself Saphira looked around.
It was perfect.
With a quick movement Saphira grabbed her ever present wand, lovingly traced its wood and then waved it over her head. Lowly she muttered the foreign sounding words. For mere moments nothing happened. With her eyes close Saphira concentrated until a faint, whitish light appeared in front of her, the centre growing darker and darker until finally mere seconds later a perfect broom was swaying in the air in front of her.
Her heart was fluttering with happiness and joy as her fingers traced the long, cold wood lovingly. A content sigh escaped her lips and her eyes closed lightly in comfort. Finally, she would finally be able to be herself again.
She was just about to mount her conjured broom when an angry shout from behind her caused her to spin around in surprise. With wide eyes and unable to react in any way Saphira couldn't rescue her broom as red lightning came flying towards it, its course never changing. With a loud, crashing sound the lightning connected with the wood and caused it to explode into small pieces that were blown away by the soft breeze.
Her heart was aching and pounding as her longing gaze was staring at the place where the broom had mere seconds before been. Only air and small pieces of burnt wood were all her eyes could see. With anger and confusion Saphira lifted her head, ready to tell whoever dared to do this off only to stop dead in her tracks.
In front of her was standing the Lady Malfoy with her hair flying around wildly in the wind. Her wand was clutched firmly between her fingers and her other hand was firmly placed at her hip as the Lady Malfoy was staring down at her in disapproval and barely contained rage. She was panting heavily, her cheeks were flushed and her posture was uncontrolled. The Lady Malfoy was angry that much was obvious, but anger wasn't the correct word to describe the look in her blue eyes. It was ice cold fury and brightly burning ire. She looked as if she wanted to slap Saphira badly.
"What do you think you're doing?" She raged and her eyes blazed dangerously in the bright sunlight. "Mounting a broom, getting all dirty and sweaty, your hair sticking to your head and your body smelling of sweat?"
She shook her head and advanced on Saphira with long, angry steps. "Are you a mere boy, Saphira? Have you forgotten everything I told you about being a girl?" She asked needlessly. How could Saphira ever forget those endless tirades? "You don't ride a broom and you don't play Quidditch. This is something men would do." She extended her hand and motioned Saphira to come to her side. "Come here now and get inside. I expected better from you. I'm disappointed, Saphira, very disappointed."
This evening Narcissa had banished and destroyed all brooms in Slytherin Manor. How she had managed that feat, Saphira didn't know. She could only assume that her father didn't know as she couldn't imagine that he would provide the Lady Malfoy with such liberties. However, as her father didn't need a broom to fly he would probably never find out.
Saphira had been shocked beyond belief. She could see that the Lady Malfoy though she meant well. Saphira noticed that she was always sticking around her and would try to engage her in other, more girly things to do. But even though the Lady might have meant well, her actions had caused Saphira to slip down a long spiral of desperation and despair right into the throes of depression. Quidditch had been all she got, everything that she had been. She didn't care much for anything else. She loved Quidditch, it was what she and Harry had liked and were good at; it was something that had connected her to Harry. By banishing Quidditch the Lady Malfoy had destroyed the last link to her former self once and for all.
And sadly the Lady didn't even know.
After the shock had worn off and her loneliness and boredom got the better of her Saphira experimented with all things available to pass her time. It was during one of her experiments that she finally found out there were some things that would keep her mind occupied and sane. Narcissa had given her a clarinet and a violin as a present after her transformation. And even though Saphira hated the thought of taking anything that mean woman who had banished brooms from the Manor had given her, her boredom finally got the better of her.
Playing the clarinet or the violin helped her keep her mind sane.
If it wasn't for music and light reading she would have long ago lost her mind due to boredom and loneliness. But there was only so much playing music and reading books could help her. Harry had thought she might be able to live the life he had always wanted to live. He thought people would accept her more easily and would grant her the freedom he never had. He had expected that the Death Eaters would treat her properly. But most of all Harry had expected her to make new friends, friends of her age, people who would love and respect her for who she was.
The deaths of her former friends weighed heavy on her soul. She remembered Harry's struggle to accept and mourn Sirius' death. Nobody had been there for him, they had all expected him to just accept the death of his beloved godfather and continue to live his life as if nothing had happened, as if his only true chance to live with his family hadn't just been crushed. Being left alone with such a horrible burden wasn't something Harry or she would be able to stomach. That was why she had hoped to make friends at the Manor quickly. She needed help to be able to cope and mourn Harry's friends' deaths. She needed someone by her side who would help her through her pain. But the only person of her age who had been allowed to visit so far had been Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy.
Harry had hated his guts and frankly Saphira could understand his reasoning quite well. Malfoy had done everything in his might to make Harry's life at Hogwarts, the only place he had ever truly called home, a living hell. She had been very sceptical when her father had told her that Draco Malfoy had been selected to act as her as he called it 'her personal Death Eater'. Malfoy was supposed to make sure that she was safe and that she had everything she could ever wish for. With a sadistic jolt Saphira had realized that a personal Death Eater was nothing more than a glorified name for a servant.
She couldn't imagine that Malfoy would to take to this task too well. Surely the knowledge that Voldemort chose him out of all other, possible junior Death Eaters was flattering and would boost his already gigantic ego even more. But Saphira couldn't imagine that Malfoy would like to be treated like nothing better than a mere common. She didn't know whether he would throw a gigantic fit or resign himself to his fate.
It was or that reason that Saphira had decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Everything inside of her screamed that this was a horrible mistake, especially those parts still dominated by Harry's memories but she felt it was what she needed to do. Her father had expressed his explicit wish that they would be able to get along and act civilly. And as much as she hated following orders, her father's commands and wishes were special. He was family, the one who had allowed her to live. For him and his actions she would follow his orders but only for him and only his.
Now, however, Saphira wondered whether she had been wrong to do so. She had wanted to act friendly and open, give Malfoy the chance to accept that she was now a girl and his better at the same time. She wanted him to feel comfortable around her so that they might be able to form a new relationship and might be able to become friends in the process. But all her friendliness had brought her was his teasing and smirking face, his arrogant and self-important posture and the victorious glint in his eyes. Malfoy thought he had won some stupid competition.
By merely being a man.
Saphira snorted inwardly. Leave it to Malfoy to boost his ego with the knowledge that he still had balls while she hadn't. It was so stupid, so infantile, so – Malfoy. It hurt her deeply that he couldn't understand her pain and sorrow and that he didn't even try to. However, what else could she have expected? He was Draco Malfoy, the most arrogant and ignorant bastard of her life. Her father wanted her to befriend him and befriend him she would. But she would be damned if she let him see how much she was hurting and how deeply she needed someone to help her.
He would never be witness to her suffering. Even if it killed her.
Smiling so brightly that it hurt the muscles in her cheeks Saphira beamed at Malfoy. "Oh, it is a never ending ray of sunshine."