Ok, people. Let's try this one more time. Thank goodness Cold and flu season is over. I'm not going anywhere for a couple of months and I have a itch to write again. If this one flops I'm giving up. This is my old fan fic, hopely to be revived. I had the last one deleted because it was just too much of me being sick for you to really understand any of the story. I think I was delusional during the writing of some of that, too. :whisle:
I suppose you could say that everything has a purpose. That the pain that is caused will teach us lessons later in life. But, what if the pain only makes us want to hurt others. And this so-called emotion, love, is so foreign we can barely form the word.
I lived for 15 years this life. My name is Alexandria Malfoy. I am just out of school and unlike my ‘beloved’ twin brother, Draco, I was forced to attend a school of lesser reputation. That was until my 6th year. Then, my parents found it suitable to attend Hogwarts. They believed I had learned enough not to bring shame upon the family.
Soon after my parents told me of their plans, we went to Diagon Alley to buy my school supplies. Along the way, we ran into a group of people. It was obvious that most of them where related by their flaming red hair and freckles. There were also two other people. One was a girl, with bushy brown hair and a look on her face like she could pick up a lecture at any moment. The other was a boy, with black untidy hair, emerald green eyes, and a pair of oval glasses. He had the stretched over look of someone who had grown a lot in a short amount of time.
My brother, seeing me observing them, soon told of who they where.
“Don’t hang out with that filthy mudblood Granger, those muggle-loving Weasleys, the boy, that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.”
I rolled my eyes at this statement because I knew that Draco liked this ‘Granger’, who ever she was. But, the person who fascinated me the most was Harry Potter. Everyone knew the story of the boy-who-lived. Even in a dark wizard family like myself. You see my family’s greatest shame would be to produce a good son-or daughter. |