Elizabeth Caellum Malfoy-Weasley
Just for my reference:
Elizabeth Caellum Malfoy-Weasley
At Midnight
She was waiting for him, wailing with that newborn trumpeting sound at the top of her little lungs, her face scrunched up like a shriveled up grape. He lifted her from the confines of her crib and took a seat in the nursery’s rocking chair, cradling her protectively in his arms.
He rocked gently, listening to the chair creak against the hardwood floor beneath his weight, each creak reminding him of how he should really get around to applying silencing-charms to them. He looked outside the window at the black Arizona sky filled with millions of stars. Never before in his life had he’d seen so many stars; not even when he was still living on Hogwarts grounds. Unlike America, England was always so dim and drizzly, that there was hardly any reason to pay attention to the sky.
When her trumpeting had died down to nothing more than steady breaths underneath the rocking chair’s creaking, he cradled her body in his arms and peered down into her face. She returned his gaze with inquisitive, and yet content, blue eyes.
“You don’t mean to tell me you woke me up at midnight because you were lonely, do you?” he asked.
She hiccupped and emitted what sounded like an indignant sigh in what he assumed was her response.
How would you feel if you woke in the pitch black at night all by yourself in an otherwise empty cradle? Her eyes seemed to tell him. He smiled at her, and lovingly ran a finger over her cheek, tracing over one of her tearstains. She hiccupped again.
“Don’t worry, I know what it feels like to be lonely.”
It was impossible to think that he could love her any more, and yet he knew that with each passing day his love for her grew by leaps and bounds in ways that he had never dreamt was possible. He wondered if his father had ever felt the same way for him, even the tiniest bit. A vague feeling of anger crept into him as he quickly dismissed the thought; he knew it was not possible for his father to ever truly love him as he loved his little girl. It was not as though the feeling of love for one’s child could ever be a tiny feeling, it was either there or it wasn’t.
He looked down into her face, wanting nothing more than to hold the her in his arms forever.
He had wanted to change his last name as soon as he had entered into the United States. Something nicely similar to his original, but just different enough that no one could go looking for him. Malleaux sounded nice. Back in England, there was a war raging, a war of epic proportions, and he knew that Potter’s army of Aurors would start looking for the Death Eaters, the blood-traitors, and the heirs to the Slytherin throne. But he had decided against it, instead agreeing that he would turn himself into Potter if it meant that Ginny and the baby could slip out from under his grasp without him knowing; without him knowing that Ginny had moved on without Potter. Elizabeth didn’t deserve to be thrown into the intricacies of war; she was too young, too innocent.
Her life, right now, was soley focused on her bottle of milk, and on her father, of whom she was staring at. He smiled down at her, brushing his fingertip over her nose. That bottle of milk was all she needed to be focused on.
“Did I ever tell you how I met your mother?” he asked her quietly, “I met her long, long ago, when I was in my second year at Hogwarts. That’s the school I went to. Her family and my family -- we didn’t get along too well.”
He glanced up through the bedroom doorway at Ginny’s sleeping figure and smiled.
“And then one day, out of the blue, she was sitting in the same Astronomy tower as me, and she just talked to me. And she was so beautiful. But we were in two different places in our lives, and were doing two different things. Not all of them were good. Your mother, she helped me see what was good.”
He looked back down into Elizabeth’s face. She stared up at him contently, as though taking in every word he said.
“There’s a big war going on in England right now. A very evil wizard is trying to rise into power. And everyone against him is trying their hardest to keep that from happening. I’m sure one day it will be in your history books. For a long while, I served on the wrong side of that war. Not because I wanted to, though, it was because my father did. Your mother, she also helped me learn to follow my heart and do what I want, not what other people want.
“Then one night, we decided that we just wanted out of the war, and everything that comes with it. I took a broom to her bedroom window, and we escaped. We came out here, and had you. You were the bet thing that ever happened to me. Ever. I want you to know that. And I want you to know that, whatever happens, I will always love you.”
- - -
Crumbling Dawn
Harry pushed the door to Madam Malkin’s robe shop, and found Malkin was tending to a little girl’s school robes. The measuring tapes were buzzing around her body, taking her measurements and, occasionally, ticking her cheek. She watched the tapes with rapt interesting, giggling whenever it poked her. Malkin was occupied with talking to a tall wizard, of whom Harry assumed was the little girl’s father. When the tapes were done, the girl stepped down and walked over to the chair next to Harry.
“Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I think you’re sitting on my robe.”
She had a strange accent, it was almost American but not quite, and she spoke with soft confidence. Harry mumbled an apology and stood up quickly as she tugged the arm of a very fine, forest-green robe out of his seat. As he sat back down, he looked at her, and was startled to find himself staring into a pair of large, silvery-gray eyes. She smiled at him.
“Thank you!”
He watched as she slipped her robe on and skip toward her father, who was paying for quite a large amount of school robes. He thought about returning to his book as he waited for Madam Malkin to finish tending to the purchase, but found himself unable to take his eyes away from the little girl.
She was the daintiest little girl that Harry had ever seen. Her hair was long, reaching down to the middle of her back, and was a blonde color touched with a hint of strawberry-red.
Madam Malkin folded the school robes and slipped them into a bag, upon which the little girl’s father cast a size-reducing charm on it and slipped it into his pocket. Malkin bid them farewell. As the little girl walked passed Harry, she sent him an impish grin that vaguely reminded him of Fred Weasley. She waved at him, and then took her father’s hand. Harry noticed that her face was dotted with a sprinkle of freckles. He waved back at her.
He glanced up at her father to give him a nod of farewell. Her father glanced back at Harry with what seemed like instinct, and ran a hand through a mass of very light, silvery-blond hair. His eyes were the same color as his daughter's. Harry froze.
No… it can’t be.
It took almost an instant for the girl's father to take his daughter’s hand and quickly disappear outside. Harry dropped the newspaper he was reading and ran for the door, hoping to catch another glimpse. Surely, he had been imagining things.
But as soon as he reached the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, the little girl and her father were gone, perhaps dodged into another shop. He could imagine the little girl indignantly asking her father why he so quickly pulled her from the robe shop, and her father answering her in an all-too-familiar, snide tone that Harry had grown up with back in his schooling years at Hogwarts.
“Malfoy,” he whispered after her father, who was probably now giving the brilliant little girl a lesson in knowing who one’s allegiances were. In an ironic way, it was much like the way that Harry had first met Draco Malfoy, almost twenty years ago, in the very same robe shop.
Elizabeth Caellum Malfoy-Weasley
At Midnight
She was waiting for him, wailing with that newborn trumpeting sound at the top of her little lungs, her face scrunched up like a shriveled up grape. He lifted her from the confines of her crib and took a seat in the nursery’s rocking chair, cradling her protectively in his arms.
He rocked gently, listening to the chair creak against the hardwood floor beneath his weight, each creak reminding him of how he should really get around to applying silencing-charms to them. He looked outside the window at the black Arizona sky filled with millions of stars. Never before in his life had he’d seen so many stars; not even when he was still living on Hogwarts grounds. Unlike America, England was always so dim and drizzly, that there was hardly any reason to pay attention to the sky.
When her trumpeting had died down to nothing more than steady breaths underneath the rocking chair’s creaking, he cradled her body in his arms and peered down into her face. She returned his gaze with inquisitive, and yet content, blue eyes.
“You don’t mean to tell me you woke me up at midnight because you were lonely, do you?” he asked.
She hiccupped and emitted what sounded like an indignant sigh in what he assumed was her response.
How would you feel if you woke in the pitch black at night all by yourself in an otherwise empty cradle? Her eyes seemed to tell him. He smiled at her, and lovingly ran a finger over her cheek, tracing over one of her tearstains. She hiccupped again.
“Don’t worry, I know what it feels like to be lonely.”
It was impossible to think that he could love her any more, and yet he knew that with each passing day his love for her grew by leaps and bounds in ways that he had never dreamt was possible. He wondered if his father had ever felt the same way for him, even the tiniest bit. A vague feeling of anger crept into him as he quickly dismissed the thought; he knew it was not possible for his father to ever truly love him as he loved his little girl. It was not as though the feeling of love for one’s child could ever be a tiny feeling, it was either there or it wasn’t.
He looked down into her face, wanting nothing more than to hold the her in his arms forever.
He had wanted to change his last name as soon as he had entered into the United States. Something nicely similar to his original, but just different enough that no one could go looking for him. Malleaux sounded nice. Back in England, there was a war raging, a war of epic proportions, and he knew that Potter’s army of Aurors would start looking for the Death Eaters, the blood-traitors, and the heirs to the Slytherin throne. But he had decided against it, instead agreeing that he would turn himself into Potter if it meant that Ginny and the baby could slip out from under his grasp without him knowing; without him knowing that Ginny had moved on without Potter. Elizabeth didn’t deserve to be thrown into the intricacies of war; she was too young, too innocent.
Her life, right now, was soley focused on her bottle of milk, and on her father, of whom she was staring at. He smiled down at her, brushing his fingertip over her nose. That bottle of milk was all she needed to be focused on.
“Did I ever tell you how I met your mother?” he asked her quietly, “I met her long, long ago, when I was in my second year at Hogwarts. That’s the school I went to. Her family and my family -- we didn’t get along too well.”
He glanced up through the bedroom doorway at Ginny’s sleeping figure and smiled.
“And then one day, out of the blue, she was sitting in the same Astronomy tower as me, and she just talked to me. And she was so beautiful. But we were in two different places in our lives, and were doing two different things. Not all of them were good. Your mother, she helped me see what was good.”
He looked back down into Elizabeth’s face. She stared up at him contently, as though taking in every word he said.
“There’s a big war going on in England right now. A very evil wizard is trying to rise into power. And everyone against him is trying their hardest to keep that from happening. I’m sure one day it will be in your history books. For a long while, I served on the wrong side of that war. Not because I wanted to, though, it was because my father did. Your mother, she also helped me learn to follow my heart and do what I want, not what other people want.
“Then one night, we decided that we just wanted out of the war, and everything that comes with it. I took a broom to her bedroom window, and we escaped. We came out here, and had you. You were the bet thing that ever happened to me. Ever. I want you to know that. And I want you to know that, whatever happens, I will always love you.”
- - -
Crumbling Dawn
Harry pushed the door to Madam Malkin’s robe shop, and found Malkin was tending to a little girl’s school robes. The measuring tapes were buzzing around her body, taking her measurements and, occasionally, ticking her cheek. She watched the tapes with rapt interesting, giggling whenever it poked her. Malkin was occupied with talking to a tall wizard, of whom Harry assumed was the little girl’s father. When the tapes were done, the girl stepped down and walked over to the chair next to Harry.
“Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I think you’re sitting on my robe.”
She had a strange accent, it was almost American but not quite, and she spoke with soft confidence. Harry mumbled an apology and stood up quickly as she tugged the arm of a very fine, forest-green robe out of his seat. As he sat back down, he looked at her, and was startled to find himself staring into a pair of large, silvery-gray eyes. She smiled at him.
“Thank you!”
He watched as she slipped her robe on and skip toward her father, who was paying for quite a large amount of school robes. He thought about returning to his book as he waited for Madam Malkin to finish tending to the purchase, but found himself unable to take his eyes away from the little girl.
She was the daintiest little girl that Harry had ever seen. Her hair was long, reaching down to the middle of her back, and was a blonde color touched with a hint of strawberry-red.
Madam Malkin folded the school robes and slipped them into a bag, upon which the little girl’s father cast a size-reducing charm on it and slipped it into his pocket. Malkin bid them farewell. As the little girl walked passed Harry, she sent him an impish grin that vaguely reminded him of Fred Weasley. She waved at him, and then took her father’s hand. Harry noticed that her face was dotted with a sprinkle of freckles. He waved back at her.
He glanced up at her father to give him a nod of farewell. Her father glanced back at Harry with what seemed like instinct, and ran a hand through a mass of very light, silvery-blond hair. His eyes were the same color as his daughter's. Harry froze.
No… it can’t be.
It took almost an instant for the girl's father to take his daughter’s hand and quickly disappear outside. Harry dropped the newspaper he was reading and ran for the door, hoping to catch another glimpse. Surely, he had been imagining things.
But as soon as he reached the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, the little girl and her father were gone, perhaps dodged into another shop. He could imagine the little girl indignantly asking her father why he so quickly pulled her from the robe shop, and her father answering her in an all-too-familiar, snide tone that Harry had grown up with back in his schooling years at Hogwarts.
“Malfoy,” he whispered after her father, who was probably now giving the brilliant little girl a lesson in knowing who one’s allegiances were. In an ironic way, it was much like the way that Harry had first met Draco Malfoy, almost twenty years ago, in the very same robe shop.