Harry Potter - Untitled (Draco Telekinesis)
Looking through my fanfic folder for other scraps that I'm unlikely to continue has resulted in this story. It was written during my Draco Malfoy craze, and is very unlikely to be continued. It doesn't have a proper title, nor a summary, not a list of genres or characters and other tiny details I usually add at the head of the fic to make it easy for posting.
Still, there are some aspects of the story I do enjoy. I'll just have to scrap together a quick summary.
Title: Untitled (Draco Telekinesis)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: AU With the conviction and Azkaban sentence of the Malfoys, Draco is raised amongst Muggles and has little idea that his talents aren't telekinetic powers, but magic.
Genre: Adventure
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, OCs
Warnings: None
Fragment 1
The courtroom was a mess. Reporters crowded through the door, each vying to get closer than their competitors and blinding everyone with their cameras. Some people were cheering and congratulating each other. Through the din, one could hear the despondent wails of a mother as she was separated from her child. But the mother garnered very little pity from the people around her.
"Crocodile tears," they said.
"A disgrace! Daring to bring her child here in a foolish bid for sympathy."
The child's wails were barely heard above the chaos.
"Draco! Draco!"
But they dragged mother and father away, locking them from daylight, for the rest of their lives. And the child...
The quill hovered above the form, pausing as its user reached into the recesses of his memory for a name. Ah, yes. He remembered now.
Drako, formerly Drako Malfoy of the Malfoy family of dark arts and traitors of the light. That was the name he had heard the woman call her child. His smile was almost a grimace. Well, he may pity the couple to a point, but ultimately, they got what they deserved. It was sad that the child would grow up without his birth parents, but the child was better off without parents like that anyway.
He stamped the form, and Draco Malfoy officially became an orphan. He would be shipped out tomorrow along with the others.
What became of the child?
Tomorrow, at the first sign of dawn, the matron of a certain orphanage would open her doors and find a child in a basket with nothing but a single name. No surname. No distinguishing possessions. She would squint at the paper, and frown at the ugly penmanship. The "e" at the end was deformed enough to pass as an "o"!
"So, Drake, dear, where shall we put you?" she cooed at the fair child.
And she would unknowingly erase the existence of Draco Malfoy.
--
"Drake" could not be said to be a strange child. Even at a young age, he could be surprisingly charming and charismatic, and his fine looks only added to those characteristics. But he could not be said to be a normal child, either. He loved attention, it was true, but he would at times sneak off and stay by himself for hours. He understood instinctively that people feared what was different, and he was different. So, he was both popular and aloof. Many could claim to know him, but few could claim to be his friend.
And he had reason to be afraid. For some reason, he found that strange things happened around him. He didn't understand why. He didn't even know for sure if he were the cause of them. But he did know that they happened enough that the children of the orphanage sometimes whispered things behind his back.
Dangerous Drake.
Yes, he was dangerous. The windows would shake when he was angry, and the sky would darken when he was upset. But he never really meant for those things to happen. They just did.
Being of a curious nature, he had sought his answers in the company of books. It wasn't that he liked to read, exactly. He much preferred playing outside with the other children, or creating some minor mischief for the matron. But books held knowledge, and he respected that. Knowledge is power, after all.
But there were a million explanations of why such things could possibly be happening. He could be spiritually in tune with nature. Or he could possess paranormal powers. One series of comics had him inclined to believe that he was a mutant, but he discarded that idea rather reluctantly later. After all, a four year old was no where near puberty. Some books even explained the occurrences as magic. That idea had made him laugh.
Magic! Ha! He only believed in what could undergo the scientific method. If he could not see it, touch it, or smell it, then he could not explain it, and what could not be explained, could not exist. He believed this as firmly as only a four year old could, with the same stubbornness as a baby's insistent "no!"
But as much as these strange occurrences made him wary of letting anyone get too close to him, he wasn't bothered by them. They were, at times, useful in accentuating his points. He rather liked the dramatic flair they gave sometimes. But more than that, they were a part of him. Others may not understand, but he didn't need them anyway. People were, in general, dumb and slow, and he had little patience for them. They were useful for leading around, but dreadful as company. He watched them sometimes, with pity. He told himself that he was superior to them, and that he did not feel lonely at all.
Even so, he could not explain the anxiety he felt when he saw that lady approach the matron with the request to adopt him. He didn't know her, and she didn't know him. He had seen her watching him sometimes, but that was all. And it seemed like the matron didn't like her very much, either.
But the woman was very persuasive, and very rich. He wasn't supposed to listen in on the adults' conversation, but he did. And he heard that the woman was willing to offer a lot of money, not to adopt him, per se, but as donations to the orphanage if she should be granted the privilege of adopting him. Still, the matron refused. He didn't know why he felt so relieved.
The woman came everyday, and soon, even the other children began to notice her presence. But every day, she left, the corners of her mouth pinched not with disappointment, but with irritation and mild condescension. He didn't like her. But Drake wasn't stupid, either.
It was hard to make ends meet. There were always complaints of being hungry, or not having enough clothes to wear, or enough of anything, really. And while the matron smiled and made do, Drake couldn't stand the idea of being able to pay her back and choosing not to. She had been kind and had provided for him when his parents abandoned him with nothing more than a name on a slip of paper. This was a debt that he had to pay. And if going with that lady meant that the others could finally get enough of something and easing the matron's worry a little, then he had to go.
So on one frosty Friday morning, right after the woman made her offer again, he entered the matron's office where the meeting was being held and said that he would agree to go with her if she upheld her end of the agreement. The matron tried to shoo him out, but the lady's slippery tongue tied the noose he had made for himself, and in the end, forms were exchanged and papers signed.
That day, as he drove away from the only home he had ever known, the identity "Drake" was replaced with "Subject TK023-XX". Perhaps his idea of him being a mutant wasn't too far off after all.
But in the years to come, during his darkest hours, he would remember the firm, almost unbearably tight hug the matron had given him and wonder if there were not some wise, old man with a magic school that would save him someday.
--
Harry Potter led a fairy tale life. Only, it wasn't the ragamuffin-becomes-a-prince type. It war more like the thrown-out-of-the-house-and-eaten-by-a-witch variety. Yes, Harry Potter was a regular, old Cinderella. He cooked and cleaned for his awful relatives, and slept on a cot that could barely pass for a bed.
Which was why he was filled with surprise when his uncle invited him, no matter how grudgingly, to go with his cousin to the amusement park. For Harry, Dudley's birthdays usually meant that he spent his time at old Mrs. Figg's house. It wasn't that he disliked the old woman, exactly. It was just that staying there was even more boring than watching paint dry. Or doing the painting.
But in the year of Dudley's eighth birthday, Mrs. Figg had a previous engagement with her husband, and quite unfortunately, could not watch Harry that day. While Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were quite rude to Harry, they, at least, were impeccably polite to their neighbors, which was more than Harry could say about Dudley.
"Mum, make him stay at old Figg's house!" When his cousin whined like that, Harry was really reminded of a squealing pig.
But in this, Dudley did not prevail, and Harry was taken to the amusement park for the first time in his young life. He tried to ignore the dark looks his cousin and his friends shot at him, no doubt planning to exact their revenge somehow, and just tried to enjoy the rare treat.
But before the day was even out, Harry was already regretting his desire to go anywhere public with the Dursleys. Somehow, Dudley's tripping five feet away from Harry was Harry's fault, and as if Aunt Petunia's hissed scolding was not enough, the ice cream Dudley was holding somehow exploded in his face, and Harry was subjected to his uncle's furious yells as he was accused of being a freak in public.
It was only with great relief that Harry finally was able to return to the relative peace of his cupboard. If only he could be anywhere but here. Anywhere would surely be better than this place.
Little did he know that his wish would soon be granted. As to whether that new place was better... Well, only time would tell.
--
Harry shifted nervously in the passenger seat as the woman drove far past the neighborhood he had known. He wouldn't call her pretty, exactly, but there was a certain elegance in the way her blond hair was spun onto the back of her head, and her scarlet fingernails and the deep crimson of her lips did make her into an alluring figure. But there was also a certain unfeeling twist to her lips that seemed to exemplify the rest of her personality. Her demeanor did not invite questions, and Harry had no desire to ask where they were going. He already knew, anyway.
He scowled into the window. His uncle had sold him off. He supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised, and yet, he had always thought that he was worth more than that. Not that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn't get a hefty sum for him, but he had always thought that relatives didn't do that to each other. He snorted softly. Showed what he knew. Perhaps he should be comforted that Aunt Petunia, at least, had looked a little reluctant, whatever her reasons might be. Yeah, right.
The car left the main road, and headed towards the forest. The smooth asphalt seemed to pave a dark road to doom. Harry kept telling himself that it couldn't be as bad as his aunt and uncle's, but as they approached their destination, Harry found it harder and harder to convince himself.
His anxiety only grew as he saw the car drive by chain-linked fences. Finally, the woman parked in front of a large, white building, and bade him come out with barely a glance in his direction. The moment Harry exited the car, a man entered the driver's side and drove the car away. Harry barely had time to wonder where as the woman walked through the automatic doors of the building, her heels clicking ominously on the tiled floor.
The lobby was empty. There were a few potted trees here and there in an attempt to give the building a more homey feeling, but in Harry's opinion, it was a colossal failure. The feeling was only emphasized by the empty front desk. The woman stopped by the desk, irritation marring her face as she tapped her long nails impatiently against the table.
"Ah, I see this is our new friend." A brunette woman in her mid-thirties with a kind looking face walked out from one of the long hallways on the side. She gave a welcoming smile to Harry. Harry smiled tentatively back.
"Where's Nancy?" the woman beside him asked, scorn coating her voice like poisonous honey.
"Out on another 'bathroom break,' I would presume," the brunette shrugged casually. "You know, she gets so bored out here..."
"Save me the excuses." The woman pushed Harry forward none too gently. "He's all yours. Tell Gregorio that I've other business to attend to." She stalked off through another pair of automatic doors, disappearing down the hall. The woman, Helen, extended her hand to Harry, and he took it self consciously.
"Welcome to Witcroft's Institute of Paranormal Research," she said, leading him down the hall she had appeared from. "I am Helen Hopsfield, the Head Researcher of the Psychic Division. What might your name be, dear?"
"Harry," he answered, his eyes wandering to the locked doors on the sides of the hallway. "Harry Potter." She smiled warmly at him.
"Well, Harry, allow me to show you around before we get you settled. Don't be intimidated by these boring, white walls. We're actually quite a friendly group around here. Well, perhaps with the exception of Miss Robinson," she said, winking at him. She pointed at the doors around them. "These are actually the researcher's private offices. Now, here, down this hall, are the children's quarters. You'll be staying here as well." She swiped her card on some sort of machine by the door, and the door unlocked with a hiss. Harry thought the gadget was pretty cool.
They entered a room full of children from all ages. Some were playing with puzzles in one corner, while others were fighting over what channel to watch on the television. A few children stopped what they were doing to watch Harry.
"Children, this is Harry Potter. He'll be staying here from now on, so I want you to be nice to him now, do you hear me?"
"Yes, Miss Hopsfield," they chimed, and Harry waved back nervously. Helen pushed Harry gently on the back, guiding him towards a set of doors on the left.
"Your room will be 106." She opened the door to allow him to inspect it. It was a plain room, with very little furniture, and was white, like the rest of the building. But at least the curtains around the small window was of a pastel yellow, and the steel-framed bed in the corner looked more comfortable that the cot that Harry had slept on for most of his life. There was also a wooden desk against one side of the wall, and a lamp on the desk, in addition to the one on the ceiling.
"Breakfast, lunch, and dinner will be served at seven o'clock, noon, and six o'clock, respectively," Helen said, guiding him out of the room and closing the door behind them. "The dining common is down the other hall, across from the recreation room. You might have seen it when we first came in. Don't worry, if you don't know where it is. The other children will guide you." She patted him on the back reassuringly.
"Now, you might be wondering what we do here," she said, opening a door that led to another hall. She approached a door and swiped her card again, beckoning him inside. Harry entered a room with a long, metal table with several chairs on one side. The table was empty. Facing the table was a large, glass window set into the wall, and Harry could see the next room through it. There were no windows to the outside in this room. Instead, the wall was lined with electronics. There were monitors and strange beeping gadgets giving off different colored lights.
Through the window, Harry could see a boy with pale blond hair sitting across from a man in a white coat. The man must have said something, because the boy rolled his eyes and suddenly, one the cubes that was lying in front of him shot up and into the wall, embedding itself into what must have been solid concrete. The man in the chair jumped as the boy smirked. The boy then turned towards the window and looked at Harry. He smirked again.
"I think that's a good demonstration of what we do here," Helen said, frowning at the blond boy. "We do psychic research here. Telekinesis, telepathy, clairvoyance... You name it, we research it. We want to understand why and how some people have these gifts such as the one you have just witnessed. We also want to try to help people like you control your gift."
"Me?" Harry asked surprised. Helen smiled.
"Yes. You, Harry, are a very special kid."
"But I can't do that," Harry said, pointing at the blond kid looking bored in the other room.
"Oh, we don't expect you to," Helen laughed. "Well, not yet anyway. You see," she started, pulling out a metal chair and inviting him to sit beside her, "every child here has a special ability. What you just saw, what Drake's ability is, is telekinesis. That means he can move objects with his mind. Other people have other powers. Some can see into the future. Others can read minds." She smiled. "Actually, we think that Drake might have some telepathic powers, but we're not sure."
"But I can't move things with my mind, or see the future, or mind read people," Harry protested. Helen shook her head, smiling still.
"Harry, think back. Has anything strange ever happened to you or the people around you that you can't explain?"
Harry remembered that there was a time when Dudley and his gang were chasing him, and he suddenly ended up on the roof. It was just one of many incidents that had his aunt and uncle labeling him as a freak. He wondered if his power was teleporting, or...growing his hair back? The incidents surrounding him were so varied that he wondered if Helen and the other researchers could ever figure it out.
"We think that you might have telekinetic powers, just like Drake here," Helen said, interrupting his thoughts. "Now, don't look so skeptical," she smiled, "Drake came in with similar symptoms as yours, and look at what he can do now. It just takes a little time and patience, Harry.
"Now, come along," she said, getting up. "We still have the rest of the facility to explore." She reached for his hand again, and for the second time that day, Harry Potter held hands with another person.
--
He didn't meet the boy named Drake until several weeks later. Apparently, the children in the institute were separated into two groups, one in the West wing, and one in the East wing. The ones in the West wing were those that had family outside of the facility. Harry was included in this group, no matter how much he felt his relatives couldn't be called his family. The children in the East wing were those that had no relatives any where. In other words, they were orphans. The children of the two wings rarely came in contact with each other, since the two groups had different schedules. But once in a while, especially during the holidays, parents would come and take away so many members of the West wing that the institute would combine the schedules of the West and East wings.
It was on such a day, near a time when Aunt Petunia would have been busy buying supplies to get Dudley ready for the upcoming school year, that the two groups were combined and Harry met the infamous Drake. He had been told that Drake had been here the longest, and also had the strongest control out of all of them. But he was also the most rebellious. He never did anything outright, but it was the attitude with which he did everything that had everyone stepping on eggshells around him. Some kids whispered that even some of the researchers were afraid of him. There were rumors that he could control a person's mind and make them spill their deepest secrets out to him.
So when Harry entered the dining common and saw that the only empty seat in the room was across from Drake's, naturally, he groaned to himself, and reluctantly made his way there. Drake had already made his way through breakfast, and was reading a book, waiting for the others to finish so that they could be released to their own devices, or until they were called for.
Harry started his own breakfast, doing his best to ignore the boy across from him. The boy didn't seem to notice that Harry was even there.
"Drake, do I have to eat these pineapples?" a little girl whined from Drake's right.
Without even looking up from his book, he replied, "Yes."
"But, Drake," she whined, dragging his name out.
"You have to eat them."
The little girl crossed her arms angrily, glaring at the offending fruit. Harry hid his smile behind his glass of orange juice.
"You better eat them," Drake warned, his tone barely changing as he continued to read. The girl huffed, and ignored him.
"You know, pineapple actually tastes pretty good with oranges," Harry said, taking his fork and spearing it through the two fruits. He ate them, and smiled encouragingly at the little girl. She copied him, a surprised expression on her face when she bit down, which she quickly hid with a scowl. Harry grinned, but froze when he saw that Drake was looking at him strangely. Harry quickly affected a nonchalant expression.
"I've never seen you here before," Drake said, bookmarking his place in the book and closing it. "What's your name?" His tone was cool and slightly condescending, which irritated Harry to no end.
"Harry Potter," he answered, barely civilly. Drake cocked an eyebrow at him.
"I'm Drake." He turned towards the little girl next to him. "That's Suzy," he said, indicating with a tilt of his head. "So, what are you in here for?" Harry gave him a puzzled look. Drake rolled his eyes. "What are your powers?" Harry could almost hear the word, "stupid," tacked on at the end.
"They think I have the same powers as you," Harry said challengingly.
"Really?" Drake looked amused. It annoyed Harry. "Well, I'll pray for your sake that you don't and that they'll kick you out of here soon."
The bell signaling the end of breakfast buzzed through the intercom. Drake got up along with Suzy.
"What's the matter?" Harry asked tauntingly, still seated. "Afraid I might beat you?"
"Hardly," Drake smirked down at him. Just as Harry was ready to punch that smirk right off his face, Drake slammed his hand down on the table, leaning towards Harry. "You'll find, newcomer," he sneered, all traces of amusement gone from his face, "that this place isn't as ideal as everyone pretends it to be." Then, before Harry could blink, Drake was walking out the doors with Suzy close behind his heels. Harry scowled and followed the rest of the crowd out.
--
To his chagrin, Harry found Drake's words echoing in his mind whenever he thought the institute a far better place than where he had come from. Slowly, he began to question the true motive for separating everyone into two groups. As September came, and many of the West wing children were pulled out of the institute by their parents to start school, Harry noticed that certain members of his wing were beginning to look more tired than usual. His own tests were becoming more and more difficult every day, and he realized that the children in the East wing had always seemed tired, even before the school year had started.
Harry began to suspect many things. He began to suspect that the reason his tests were becoming increasingly difficult was the researchers' realization of the apparent lack of affection between himself and his relatives. He also began to suspect that the reason for the creation of East and West wing was not for something as innocent as protecting the orphans' feelings by limiting their interaction with those with families.
There was a dark side to this institute, and day by day, Harry began to feel it more and more. He had a strong suspicion that the reason the East wing kids were always so tired was that they had to undergo much more difficult tests, which were easier to carry out without parents to check in on their child's welfare. He also couldn't deny the fact that the children who were left in the West wing, the ones who seemed to get more tired daily, were those whose parents rarely visited.
But still, Harry wanted to cling onto the hope that this place wasn't what Drake had made it out to be. So he decided to ask Helen the next time he had her for his researcher. Unlike the other researchers, who pretended to care about the children, Helen seemed to genuinely worry for the children's welfare. She hugged and comforted them when they needed it, and had hot honey tea brought to those that were sick. And while other researchers got irritated at the lack of progress in a child, or at best, be completely clinical about it, Helen would smile and encourage them.
"Almost there!" she would cheer. "You'll have greater control than even Drake someday!"
So, some time in December, when Harry finally got Helen for his researcher again, he asked the question.
"Do you perform the harder tests on those of us who don't have caring parents?"
"What? No!" Helen looked horrified. "How could you think that?" Harry immediately felt ashamed. Helen rubbed her temples, as if warding off a headache. "I'm sorry for shouting like that. It's just... Why would you ask that?"
"Er..." Harry nervously pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Well, it seems that the people in the East wing--you know how they don't have parents, right? Well, they seem to be more tired than us in the West wing. And ever since the parents took away most of us in the West wing, the tests have become much harder, and..." Harry felt that he was rambling and grew more and more embarrassed.
"Oh, Harry, dear," Helen said sympathetically, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Are the exercises getting too difficult for you? Is that was this is all about?"
"What? No, no," Harry shook his head vigorously. Helen looked confused.
"Is it... Do you miss your relatives? Would you like to visit your aunt and uncle?" she guessed.
"No thanks," Harry mumbled. "It's not... I don't miss them. That's not why I asked." Harry scratched his head, feeling like a fool. "It's just that, well, I've been thinking about something that Drake said, and..."
"Ah," Helen nodded knowingly. "Drake. I see."
"You do?" Harry asked.
"Oh, yes. He always does this, you know." She smiled at Harry, showing him that there were no hard feelings. Harry smiled back, though on the inside, he wanted to pummel Drake into the next century. Helen suddenly laughed.
"You know, I just realized how appropriate his name is," she said, a broad grin on her face. " 'Drake.' Did you know it can mean 'snake?'" No, he didn't. But he did now. And he would make sure to treat that little snake appropriately.
What Harry didn't realize was that Helen completely neglected to mention the name's other meaning.
Dragon.
Discontinued...
And that's all that's written for this part of the story. The following portion is from the sequel that was planned. Obviously, it's also a fragment--and a much shorter fragment as well.
Title: Untitled (Draco Tele Sequel)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: Everyone has a relative like that; the relative that is almost a stranger.
Genre: Family, Drama
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Andromeda Tonks, Nymphadora Tonks
Warnings: None
Fragment 2
Andromeda Black Tonks was a strong woman that did not fear to stand up for what she believed in. She was strong enough to break free of the generations of pureblood indoctrination instilled in her and her sisters since birth, and she was strong enough to recognize when it was time to let go of all that she knew and loved to pursue a greater love.
She had grown a skin thick enough to ignore the whispered comments and harsh glares. She could defend her choice and her views to anyone who would dare question her.
But she did not know how to defend herself against accusations of the pureblood bigotry that she had tried so hard to separate herself from.
She still felt nervous whenever she went to answer the door.
Teddy would say that it was simple paranoia. She hoped it was so.
It didn't change the fact that one sunny June afternoon, she felt a pit of anxiety grow in her stomach when she heard the doorbell ring. Of course, she went to answer the door. She loved Teddy, make no mistake about that, but there were some habits of men that seemed to transcend all barriers.
The feeling of dread didn't go away when she saw a small man dressed in ministry robes outside of her door. He introduced himself as a Mr. Figg, how do you do, wasn't it just a pleasant day, and could he please come in? She took his hat and cloak, led him to the parlor, and proceeded to be stupefied by his tale of storming into a Muggle facility, oblivates and confunduses, and somewhere in his whirlwind story, the rescue of a relative.
"I'm sorry?" Ted cleared his throat. "Did you say, 'nephew?'" She was glad her husband had asked because she was too overwhelmed to begin processing what the little man had said.
"Yes, yes," Mr. Figg replied cheerfully. "It seems you have a nephew from your sister, Narcissa Malfoy." He pushed a few papers closer to them. "Normally, you would have been informed first for his guardianship, but with times as they were... Let's just say the ministry was very busy back then." He smiled, almost apologetically if she stretched her imagination a bit.
"So you would like for us to take care of the boy?" Ted asked for clarification.
"Yes, yes." Mr. Figg's head bobbed up and down. "Dumbledore feels it would be best. Young Mr. Malfoy is currently at Hogwarts, but he can be flooed over at any time."
"Well, any relative of Andy's is a relative of mine," Ted said, too cheerfully in her opinion.
"Ted, dear, don't you think we should discuss this before making such a big decision?" she asked, trying to convey telepathically that she did not think this was a good idea. As if she did not have trouble before; she really didn't need to add the Malfoy name to her family.
"Oh! Forgive me! I did not mean to imply that you needed to make a decision now." Mr. Figg stood up, shuffling a few papers into his briefcase, and smiled what he probably thought was reassuringly. "Please, take all the time you need. Just keep in mind that a child's future lies in the balance. Don't take too long now, whatever your decision is." He gave a little bow, took his hat and cloak back from Andromeda, and left in the same manner that he came in.
--
Two days later, Andromeda waited nervously in Headmaster Dumbledore's office. She was torn between dredging up all the small talk she had learned as a child, and remaining in what her mother would have thought of as unthinkable silence. She tried not to shift around too obviously, but her old habits were fast winning against her defiance. She envied Dumbledore's unflappable cheer in the stifling quiet.
"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore said as the door opened, startling Andromeda. Her old teacher looked as stern as ever, but behind her, gently pushed forward by McGonagall's hands, was a boy pale as moon-spun gold. Even in his young age, he was pretty, just like her sister was. He lacked the definition that separated his father from being simply fair to handsome, but perhaps that was a resemblance that only time could carve.
"Draco, this is your aunt, Andromeda Tonks," Dumbledore introduced. Silver eyes alighted on her, and she couldn't help but feel a chill run through her.
"Hello, Aunt Andromeda." Her name had never sounded so foreign as when he said it.
"Please," she smiled, "Just 'Aunt' or 'Aunt Andy' will do." He nodded, and gave no indication of what he thought about it otherwise. She smiled again, this time a bit forced and uncomfortable, thanked Dumbledore, and guided her nephew to the fireplace.
They arrived home to a silent house. Ted had wanted to be there, but he had work, and Nymphadora had a date with her friends that she couldn't change. Her daughter had half jokingly suggested bringing her friends here instead, but Ted thought that would have been too much for the boy. Andromeda had been too busy arranging the child's room to say anything.
But now that they were entering the quiet, empty house, she wished that she had spoken up one way or the other. The quiet offended her. She did not want her nephew's first impression of this family to be of emptiness.
Discontinued...
And that's the last fragment for this story. Re-reading it almost makes me want to write a little more... The problem, of course, is that I have no idea what else to write about.
Still, there are some aspects of the story I do enjoy. I'll just have to scrap together a quick summary.
Title: Untitled (Draco Telekinesis)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: AU With the conviction and Azkaban sentence of the Malfoys, Draco is raised amongst Muggles and has little idea that his talents aren't telekinetic powers, but magic.
Genre: Adventure
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, OCs
Warnings: None
Fragment 1
The courtroom was a mess. Reporters crowded through the door, each vying to get closer than their competitors and blinding everyone with their cameras. Some people were cheering and congratulating each other. Through the din, one could hear the despondent wails of a mother as she was separated from her child. But the mother garnered very little pity from the people around her.
"Crocodile tears," they said.
"A disgrace! Daring to bring her child here in a foolish bid for sympathy."
The child's wails were barely heard above the chaos.
"Draco! Draco!"
But they dragged mother and father away, locking them from daylight, for the rest of their lives. And the child...
The quill hovered above the form, pausing as its user reached into the recesses of his memory for a name. Ah, yes. He remembered now.
Drako, formerly Drako Malfoy of the Malfoy family of dark arts and traitors of the light. That was the name he had heard the woman call her child. His smile was almost a grimace. Well, he may pity the couple to a point, but ultimately, they got what they deserved. It was sad that the child would grow up without his birth parents, but the child was better off without parents like that anyway.
He stamped the form, and Draco Malfoy officially became an orphan. He would be shipped out tomorrow along with the others.
What became of the child?
Tomorrow, at the first sign of dawn, the matron of a certain orphanage would open her doors and find a child in a basket with nothing but a single name. No surname. No distinguishing possessions. She would squint at the paper, and frown at the ugly penmanship. The "e" at the end was deformed enough to pass as an "o"!
"So, Drake, dear, where shall we put you?" she cooed at the fair child.
And she would unknowingly erase the existence of Draco Malfoy.
--
"Drake" could not be said to be a strange child. Even at a young age, he could be surprisingly charming and charismatic, and his fine looks only added to those characteristics. But he could not be said to be a normal child, either. He loved attention, it was true, but he would at times sneak off and stay by himself for hours. He understood instinctively that people feared what was different, and he was different. So, he was both popular and aloof. Many could claim to know him, but few could claim to be his friend.
And he had reason to be afraid. For some reason, he found that strange things happened around him. He didn't understand why. He didn't even know for sure if he were the cause of them. But he did know that they happened enough that the children of the orphanage sometimes whispered things behind his back.
Dangerous Drake.
Yes, he was dangerous. The windows would shake when he was angry, and the sky would darken when he was upset. But he never really meant for those things to happen. They just did.
Being of a curious nature, he had sought his answers in the company of books. It wasn't that he liked to read, exactly. He much preferred playing outside with the other children, or creating some minor mischief for the matron. But books held knowledge, and he respected that. Knowledge is power, after all.
But there were a million explanations of why such things could possibly be happening. He could be spiritually in tune with nature. Or he could possess paranormal powers. One series of comics had him inclined to believe that he was a mutant, but he discarded that idea rather reluctantly later. After all, a four year old was no where near puberty. Some books even explained the occurrences as magic. That idea had made him laugh.
Magic! Ha! He only believed in what could undergo the scientific method. If he could not see it, touch it, or smell it, then he could not explain it, and what could not be explained, could not exist. He believed this as firmly as only a four year old could, with the same stubbornness as a baby's insistent "no!"
But as much as these strange occurrences made him wary of letting anyone get too close to him, he wasn't bothered by them. They were, at times, useful in accentuating his points. He rather liked the dramatic flair they gave sometimes. But more than that, they were a part of him. Others may not understand, but he didn't need them anyway. People were, in general, dumb and slow, and he had little patience for them. They were useful for leading around, but dreadful as company. He watched them sometimes, with pity. He told himself that he was superior to them, and that he did not feel lonely at all.
Even so, he could not explain the anxiety he felt when he saw that lady approach the matron with the request to adopt him. He didn't know her, and she didn't know him. He had seen her watching him sometimes, but that was all. And it seemed like the matron didn't like her very much, either.
But the woman was very persuasive, and very rich. He wasn't supposed to listen in on the adults' conversation, but he did. And he heard that the woman was willing to offer a lot of money, not to adopt him, per se, but as donations to the orphanage if she should be granted the privilege of adopting him. Still, the matron refused. He didn't know why he felt so relieved.
The woman came everyday, and soon, even the other children began to notice her presence. But every day, she left, the corners of her mouth pinched not with disappointment, but with irritation and mild condescension. He didn't like her. But Drake wasn't stupid, either.
It was hard to make ends meet. There were always complaints of being hungry, or not having enough clothes to wear, or enough of anything, really. And while the matron smiled and made do, Drake couldn't stand the idea of being able to pay her back and choosing not to. She had been kind and had provided for him when his parents abandoned him with nothing more than a name on a slip of paper. This was a debt that he had to pay. And if going with that lady meant that the others could finally get enough of something and easing the matron's worry a little, then he had to go.
So on one frosty Friday morning, right after the woman made her offer again, he entered the matron's office where the meeting was being held and said that he would agree to go with her if she upheld her end of the agreement. The matron tried to shoo him out, but the lady's slippery tongue tied the noose he had made for himself, and in the end, forms were exchanged and papers signed.
That day, as he drove away from the only home he had ever known, the identity "Drake" was replaced with "Subject TK023-XX". Perhaps his idea of him being a mutant wasn't too far off after all.
But in the years to come, during his darkest hours, he would remember the firm, almost unbearably tight hug the matron had given him and wonder if there were not some wise, old man with a magic school that would save him someday.
--
Harry Potter led a fairy tale life. Only, it wasn't the ragamuffin-becomes-a-prince type. It war more like the thrown-out-of-the-house-and-eaten-by-a-witch variety. Yes, Harry Potter was a regular, old Cinderella. He cooked and cleaned for his awful relatives, and slept on a cot that could barely pass for a bed.
Which was why he was filled with surprise when his uncle invited him, no matter how grudgingly, to go with his cousin to the amusement park. For Harry, Dudley's birthdays usually meant that he spent his time at old Mrs. Figg's house. It wasn't that he disliked the old woman, exactly. It was just that staying there was even more boring than watching paint dry. Or doing the painting.
But in the year of Dudley's eighth birthday, Mrs. Figg had a previous engagement with her husband, and quite unfortunately, could not watch Harry that day. While Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were quite rude to Harry, they, at least, were impeccably polite to their neighbors, which was more than Harry could say about Dudley.
"Mum, make him stay at old Figg's house!" When his cousin whined like that, Harry was really reminded of a squealing pig.
But in this, Dudley did not prevail, and Harry was taken to the amusement park for the first time in his young life. He tried to ignore the dark looks his cousin and his friends shot at him, no doubt planning to exact their revenge somehow, and just tried to enjoy the rare treat.
But before the day was even out, Harry was already regretting his desire to go anywhere public with the Dursleys. Somehow, Dudley's tripping five feet away from Harry was Harry's fault, and as if Aunt Petunia's hissed scolding was not enough, the ice cream Dudley was holding somehow exploded in his face, and Harry was subjected to his uncle's furious yells as he was accused of being a freak in public.
It was only with great relief that Harry finally was able to return to the relative peace of his cupboard. If only he could be anywhere but here. Anywhere would surely be better than this place.
Little did he know that his wish would soon be granted. As to whether that new place was better... Well, only time would tell.
--
Harry shifted nervously in the passenger seat as the woman drove far past the neighborhood he had known. He wouldn't call her pretty, exactly, but there was a certain elegance in the way her blond hair was spun onto the back of her head, and her scarlet fingernails and the deep crimson of her lips did make her into an alluring figure. But there was also a certain unfeeling twist to her lips that seemed to exemplify the rest of her personality. Her demeanor did not invite questions, and Harry had no desire to ask where they were going. He already knew, anyway.
He scowled into the window. His uncle had sold him off. He supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised, and yet, he had always thought that he was worth more than that. Not that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn't get a hefty sum for him, but he had always thought that relatives didn't do that to each other. He snorted softly. Showed what he knew. Perhaps he should be comforted that Aunt Petunia, at least, had looked a little reluctant, whatever her reasons might be. Yeah, right.
The car left the main road, and headed towards the forest. The smooth asphalt seemed to pave a dark road to doom. Harry kept telling himself that it couldn't be as bad as his aunt and uncle's, but as they approached their destination, Harry found it harder and harder to convince himself.
His anxiety only grew as he saw the car drive by chain-linked fences. Finally, the woman parked in front of a large, white building, and bade him come out with barely a glance in his direction. The moment Harry exited the car, a man entered the driver's side and drove the car away. Harry barely had time to wonder where as the woman walked through the automatic doors of the building, her heels clicking ominously on the tiled floor.
The lobby was empty. There were a few potted trees here and there in an attempt to give the building a more homey feeling, but in Harry's opinion, it was a colossal failure. The feeling was only emphasized by the empty front desk. The woman stopped by the desk, irritation marring her face as she tapped her long nails impatiently against the table.
"Ah, I see this is our new friend." A brunette woman in her mid-thirties with a kind looking face walked out from one of the long hallways on the side. She gave a welcoming smile to Harry. Harry smiled tentatively back.
"Where's Nancy?" the woman beside him asked, scorn coating her voice like poisonous honey.
"Out on another 'bathroom break,' I would presume," the brunette shrugged casually. "You know, she gets so bored out here..."
"Save me the excuses." The woman pushed Harry forward none too gently. "He's all yours. Tell Gregorio that I've other business to attend to." She stalked off through another pair of automatic doors, disappearing down the hall. The woman, Helen, extended her hand to Harry, and he took it self consciously.
"Welcome to Witcroft's Institute of Paranormal Research," she said, leading him down the hall she had appeared from. "I am Helen Hopsfield, the Head Researcher of the Psychic Division. What might your name be, dear?"
"Harry," he answered, his eyes wandering to the locked doors on the sides of the hallway. "Harry Potter." She smiled warmly at him.
"Well, Harry, allow me to show you around before we get you settled. Don't be intimidated by these boring, white walls. We're actually quite a friendly group around here. Well, perhaps with the exception of Miss Robinson," she said, winking at him. She pointed at the doors around them. "These are actually the researcher's private offices. Now, here, down this hall, are the children's quarters. You'll be staying here as well." She swiped her card on some sort of machine by the door, and the door unlocked with a hiss. Harry thought the gadget was pretty cool.
They entered a room full of children from all ages. Some were playing with puzzles in one corner, while others were fighting over what channel to watch on the television. A few children stopped what they were doing to watch Harry.
"Children, this is Harry Potter. He'll be staying here from now on, so I want you to be nice to him now, do you hear me?"
"Yes, Miss Hopsfield," they chimed, and Harry waved back nervously. Helen pushed Harry gently on the back, guiding him towards a set of doors on the left.
"Your room will be 106." She opened the door to allow him to inspect it. It was a plain room, with very little furniture, and was white, like the rest of the building. But at least the curtains around the small window was of a pastel yellow, and the steel-framed bed in the corner looked more comfortable that the cot that Harry had slept on for most of his life. There was also a wooden desk against one side of the wall, and a lamp on the desk, in addition to the one on the ceiling.
"Breakfast, lunch, and dinner will be served at seven o'clock, noon, and six o'clock, respectively," Helen said, guiding him out of the room and closing the door behind them. "The dining common is down the other hall, across from the recreation room. You might have seen it when we first came in. Don't worry, if you don't know where it is. The other children will guide you." She patted him on the back reassuringly.
"Now, you might be wondering what we do here," she said, opening a door that led to another hall. She approached a door and swiped her card again, beckoning him inside. Harry entered a room with a long, metal table with several chairs on one side. The table was empty. Facing the table was a large, glass window set into the wall, and Harry could see the next room through it. There were no windows to the outside in this room. Instead, the wall was lined with electronics. There were monitors and strange beeping gadgets giving off different colored lights.
Through the window, Harry could see a boy with pale blond hair sitting across from a man in a white coat. The man must have said something, because the boy rolled his eyes and suddenly, one the cubes that was lying in front of him shot up and into the wall, embedding itself into what must have been solid concrete. The man in the chair jumped as the boy smirked. The boy then turned towards the window and looked at Harry. He smirked again.
"I think that's a good demonstration of what we do here," Helen said, frowning at the blond boy. "We do psychic research here. Telekinesis, telepathy, clairvoyance... You name it, we research it. We want to understand why and how some people have these gifts such as the one you have just witnessed. We also want to try to help people like you control your gift."
"Me?" Harry asked surprised. Helen smiled.
"Yes. You, Harry, are a very special kid."
"But I can't do that," Harry said, pointing at the blond kid looking bored in the other room.
"Oh, we don't expect you to," Helen laughed. "Well, not yet anyway. You see," she started, pulling out a metal chair and inviting him to sit beside her, "every child here has a special ability. What you just saw, what Drake's ability is, is telekinesis. That means he can move objects with his mind. Other people have other powers. Some can see into the future. Others can read minds." She smiled. "Actually, we think that Drake might have some telepathic powers, but we're not sure."
"But I can't move things with my mind, or see the future, or mind read people," Harry protested. Helen shook her head, smiling still.
"Harry, think back. Has anything strange ever happened to you or the people around you that you can't explain?"
Harry remembered that there was a time when Dudley and his gang were chasing him, and he suddenly ended up on the roof. It was just one of many incidents that had his aunt and uncle labeling him as a freak. He wondered if his power was teleporting, or...growing his hair back? The incidents surrounding him were so varied that he wondered if Helen and the other researchers could ever figure it out.
"We think that you might have telekinetic powers, just like Drake here," Helen said, interrupting his thoughts. "Now, don't look so skeptical," she smiled, "Drake came in with similar symptoms as yours, and look at what he can do now. It just takes a little time and patience, Harry.
"Now, come along," she said, getting up. "We still have the rest of the facility to explore." She reached for his hand again, and for the second time that day, Harry Potter held hands with another person.
--
He didn't meet the boy named Drake until several weeks later. Apparently, the children in the institute were separated into two groups, one in the West wing, and one in the East wing. The ones in the West wing were those that had family outside of the facility. Harry was included in this group, no matter how much he felt his relatives couldn't be called his family. The children in the East wing were those that had no relatives any where. In other words, they were orphans. The children of the two wings rarely came in contact with each other, since the two groups had different schedules. But once in a while, especially during the holidays, parents would come and take away so many members of the West wing that the institute would combine the schedules of the West and East wings.
It was on such a day, near a time when Aunt Petunia would have been busy buying supplies to get Dudley ready for the upcoming school year, that the two groups were combined and Harry met the infamous Drake. He had been told that Drake had been here the longest, and also had the strongest control out of all of them. But he was also the most rebellious. He never did anything outright, but it was the attitude with which he did everything that had everyone stepping on eggshells around him. Some kids whispered that even some of the researchers were afraid of him. There were rumors that he could control a person's mind and make them spill their deepest secrets out to him.
So when Harry entered the dining common and saw that the only empty seat in the room was across from Drake's, naturally, he groaned to himself, and reluctantly made his way there. Drake had already made his way through breakfast, and was reading a book, waiting for the others to finish so that they could be released to their own devices, or until they were called for.
Harry started his own breakfast, doing his best to ignore the boy across from him. The boy didn't seem to notice that Harry was even there.
"Drake, do I have to eat these pineapples?" a little girl whined from Drake's right.
Without even looking up from his book, he replied, "Yes."
"But, Drake," she whined, dragging his name out.
"You have to eat them."
The little girl crossed her arms angrily, glaring at the offending fruit. Harry hid his smile behind his glass of orange juice.
"You better eat them," Drake warned, his tone barely changing as he continued to read. The girl huffed, and ignored him.
"You know, pineapple actually tastes pretty good with oranges," Harry said, taking his fork and spearing it through the two fruits. He ate them, and smiled encouragingly at the little girl. She copied him, a surprised expression on her face when she bit down, which she quickly hid with a scowl. Harry grinned, but froze when he saw that Drake was looking at him strangely. Harry quickly affected a nonchalant expression.
"I've never seen you here before," Drake said, bookmarking his place in the book and closing it. "What's your name?" His tone was cool and slightly condescending, which irritated Harry to no end.
"Harry Potter," he answered, barely civilly. Drake cocked an eyebrow at him.
"I'm Drake." He turned towards the little girl next to him. "That's Suzy," he said, indicating with a tilt of his head. "So, what are you in here for?" Harry gave him a puzzled look. Drake rolled his eyes. "What are your powers?" Harry could almost hear the word, "stupid," tacked on at the end.
"They think I have the same powers as you," Harry said challengingly.
"Really?" Drake looked amused. It annoyed Harry. "Well, I'll pray for your sake that you don't and that they'll kick you out of here soon."
The bell signaling the end of breakfast buzzed through the intercom. Drake got up along with Suzy.
"What's the matter?" Harry asked tauntingly, still seated. "Afraid I might beat you?"
"Hardly," Drake smirked down at him. Just as Harry was ready to punch that smirk right off his face, Drake slammed his hand down on the table, leaning towards Harry. "You'll find, newcomer," he sneered, all traces of amusement gone from his face, "that this place isn't as ideal as everyone pretends it to be." Then, before Harry could blink, Drake was walking out the doors with Suzy close behind his heels. Harry scowled and followed the rest of the crowd out.
--
To his chagrin, Harry found Drake's words echoing in his mind whenever he thought the institute a far better place than where he had come from. Slowly, he began to question the true motive for separating everyone into two groups. As September came, and many of the West wing children were pulled out of the institute by their parents to start school, Harry noticed that certain members of his wing were beginning to look more tired than usual. His own tests were becoming more and more difficult every day, and he realized that the children in the East wing had always seemed tired, even before the school year had started.
Harry began to suspect many things. He began to suspect that the reason his tests were becoming increasingly difficult was the researchers' realization of the apparent lack of affection between himself and his relatives. He also began to suspect that the reason for the creation of East and West wing was not for something as innocent as protecting the orphans' feelings by limiting their interaction with those with families.
There was a dark side to this institute, and day by day, Harry began to feel it more and more. He had a strong suspicion that the reason the East wing kids were always so tired was that they had to undergo much more difficult tests, which were easier to carry out without parents to check in on their child's welfare. He also couldn't deny the fact that the children who were left in the West wing, the ones who seemed to get more tired daily, were those whose parents rarely visited.
But still, Harry wanted to cling onto the hope that this place wasn't what Drake had made it out to be. So he decided to ask Helen the next time he had her for his researcher. Unlike the other researchers, who pretended to care about the children, Helen seemed to genuinely worry for the children's welfare. She hugged and comforted them when they needed it, and had hot honey tea brought to those that were sick. And while other researchers got irritated at the lack of progress in a child, or at best, be completely clinical about it, Helen would smile and encourage them.
"Almost there!" she would cheer. "You'll have greater control than even Drake someday!"
So, some time in December, when Harry finally got Helen for his researcher again, he asked the question.
"Do you perform the harder tests on those of us who don't have caring parents?"
"What? No!" Helen looked horrified. "How could you think that?" Harry immediately felt ashamed. Helen rubbed her temples, as if warding off a headache. "I'm sorry for shouting like that. It's just... Why would you ask that?"
"Er..." Harry nervously pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Well, it seems that the people in the East wing--you know how they don't have parents, right? Well, they seem to be more tired than us in the West wing. And ever since the parents took away most of us in the West wing, the tests have become much harder, and..." Harry felt that he was rambling and grew more and more embarrassed.
"Oh, Harry, dear," Helen said sympathetically, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Are the exercises getting too difficult for you? Is that was this is all about?"
"What? No, no," Harry shook his head vigorously. Helen looked confused.
"Is it... Do you miss your relatives? Would you like to visit your aunt and uncle?" she guessed.
"No thanks," Harry mumbled. "It's not... I don't miss them. That's not why I asked." Harry scratched his head, feeling like a fool. "It's just that, well, I've been thinking about something that Drake said, and..."
"Ah," Helen nodded knowingly. "Drake. I see."
"You do?" Harry asked.
"Oh, yes. He always does this, you know." She smiled at Harry, showing him that there were no hard feelings. Harry smiled back, though on the inside, he wanted to pummel Drake into the next century. Helen suddenly laughed.
"You know, I just realized how appropriate his name is," she said, a broad grin on her face. " 'Drake.' Did you know it can mean 'snake?'" No, he didn't. But he did now. And he would make sure to treat that little snake appropriately.
What Harry didn't realize was that Helen completely neglected to mention the name's other meaning.
Dragon.
Discontinued...
And that's all that's written for this part of the story. The following portion is from the sequel that was planned. Obviously, it's also a fragment--and a much shorter fragment as well.
Title: Untitled (Draco Tele Sequel)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Summary: Everyone has a relative like that; the relative that is almost a stranger.
Genre: Family, Drama
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Andromeda Tonks, Nymphadora Tonks
Warnings: None
Fragment 2
Andromeda Black Tonks was a strong woman that did not fear to stand up for what she believed in. She was strong enough to break free of the generations of pureblood indoctrination instilled in her and her sisters since birth, and she was strong enough to recognize when it was time to let go of all that she knew and loved to pursue a greater love.
She had grown a skin thick enough to ignore the whispered comments and harsh glares. She could defend her choice and her views to anyone who would dare question her.
But she did not know how to defend herself against accusations of the pureblood bigotry that she had tried so hard to separate herself from.
She still felt nervous whenever she went to answer the door.
Teddy would say that it was simple paranoia. She hoped it was so.
It didn't change the fact that one sunny June afternoon, she felt a pit of anxiety grow in her stomach when she heard the doorbell ring. Of course, she went to answer the door. She loved Teddy, make no mistake about that, but there were some habits of men that seemed to transcend all barriers.
The feeling of dread didn't go away when she saw a small man dressed in ministry robes outside of her door. He introduced himself as a Mr. Figg, how do you do, wasn't it just a pleasant day, and could he please come in? She took his hat and cloak, led him to the parlor, and proceeded to be stupefied by his tale of storming into a Muggle facility, oblivates and confunduses, and somewhere in his whirlwind story, the rescue of a relative.
"I'm sorry?" Ted cleared his throat. "Did you say, 'nephew?'" She was glad her husband had asked because she was too overwhelmed to begin processing what the little man had said.
"Yes, yes," Mr. Figg replied cheerfully. "It seems you have a nephew from your sister, Narcissa Malfoy." He pushed a few papers closer to them. "Normally, you would have been informed first for his guardianship, but with times as they were... Let's just say the ministry was very busy back then." He smiled, almost apologetically if she stretched her imagination a bit.
"So you would like for us to take care of the boy?" Ted asked for clarification.
"Yes, yes." Mr. Figg's head bobbed up and down. "Dumbledore feels it would be best. Young Mr. Malfoy is currently at Hogwarts, but he can be flooed over at any time."
"Well, any relative of Andy's is a relative of mine," Ted said, too cheerfully in her opinion.
"Ted, dear, don't you think we should discuss this before making such a big decision?" she asked, trying to convey telepathically that she did not think this was a good idea. As if she did not have trouble before; she really didn't need to add the Malfoy name to her family.
"Oh! Forgive me! I did not mean to imply that you needed to make a decision now." Mr. Figg stood up, shuffling a few papers into his briefcase, and smiled what he probably thought was reassuringly. "Please, take all the time you need. Just keep in mind that a child's future lies in the balance. Don't take too long now, whatever your decision is." He gave a little bow, took his hat and cloak back from Andromeda, and left in the same manner that he came in.
--
Two days later, Andromeda waited nervously in Headmaster Dumbledore's office. She was torn between dredging up all the small talk she had learned as a child, and remaining in what her mother would have thought of as unthinkable silence. She tried not to shift around too obviously, but her old habits were fast winning against her defiance. She envied Dumbledore's unflappable cheer in the stifling quiet.
"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore said as the door opened, startling Andromeda. Her old teacher looked as stern as ever, but behind her, gently pushed forward by McGonagall's hands, was a boy pale as moon-spun gold. Even in his young age, he was pretty, just like her sister was. He lacked the definition that separated his father from being simply fair to handsome, but perhaps that was a resemblance that only time could carve.
"Draco, this is your aunt, Andromeda Tonks," Dumbledore introduced. Silver eyes alighted on her, and she couldn't help but feel a chill run through her.
"Hello, Aunt Andromeda." Her name had never sounded so foreign as when he said it.
"Please," she smiled, "Just 'Aunt' or 'Aunt Andy' will do." He nodded, and gave no indication of what he thought about it otherwise. She smiled again, this time a bit forced and uncomfortable, thanked Dumbledore, and guided her nephew to the fireplace.
They arrived home to a silent house. Ted had wanted to be there, but he had work, and Nymphadora had a date with her friends that she couldn't change. Her daughter had half jokingly suggested bringing her friends here instead, but Ted thought that would have been too much for the boy. Andromeda had been too busy arranging the child's room to say anything.
But now that they were entering the quiet, empty house, she wished that she had spoken up one way or the other. The quiet offended her. She did not want her nephew's first impression of this family to be of emptiness.
Discontinued...
And that's the last fragment for this story. Re-reading it almost makes me want to write a little more... The problem, of course, is that I have no idea what else to write about.