❝𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗲𝗹 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗲?❞
❝𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗵, 𝗶 𝗱𝗼❞
Cassiopeia Narcissa Malfoy, twin sister to Draco Lucius Malfoy, was born on the fifth day of June 1980, just under thirty minutes before her brother. Being from two strong pure-bl...
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— 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 —
' *•.¸.•** . **•.¸.•*'
CHRISTMAS AT MALFOY MANOR was an unusually dull affair that year. With her father too occupied with other things, there was no Christmas dinner to host or ball to attend. Just the family opening gifts in the drawing room by themselves.
The death eater meetings were occurring more regularly than usual. Neither of the twins dared to ask why — their father would never disclose what went on during the meetings. Either by his own decision or their mother's. Most likely both.
Cassiopeia never would have thought she would miss the annual dinners held at the manor. Even though she hated being there and would always spend the night away with Draco. Not having these dinners meant that everything was changing. Ever since the events of the previous summer, a dark shadow was cast over the Malfoy family that was only growing bigger.
The only thing that cheered her up from her glum mood was the fact that she had received a response from Harry. To her relief, he caught on to the tone of Cassie's letter and wrote back in a brief and vague letter:
We're fine. He's healing. I'll try to explain later.
On the corner of the parchment was a tiny lightning bolt, making Cassie grin slightly. He was okay.
There was a knock on the door of her bedroom. "Come in," she called while she quickly stored Harry's letter away. She was surprised to see Draco enter the room — he rarely knocked on her door. "What do you want?" she snapped unpleasantly.
"I guess someone's not in the Christmas spirit," he replied unenthusiastically. He walked over to her bed and sat down.
"Seeing you this morning was bad enough. Seriously, what do you want?"
"I want to talk," he answered, patting the spot beside him. She raised a brow sceptically but went to sit with him nonetheless. She gave him an expectant look, and he sighed heavily. "Look, I know we haven't exactly been on the best of terms lately—"
"That's an understatement," she snorted, "but go on."
"It feels like we always argue. This time we haven't spoken for a month, last time was over two — it's stupid. Over stupid mudbloods and traitors."
"That's not the problem," she muttered. "The problem is that you're so insensitive, you don't realise how many people you hurt. And even when you do, you don't care."
"What about you?" he retorted. "Always on their side. Always defending them like you're friends with them or something. Ever since we started Hogwarts it's always like this with us, and I'm getting tired of it. Remember before we started first year? We said we'd do everything together. Even when that stupid hat sorted you into Gryffindor, I still thought we'd be close. And now we can't even talk with each other without one of us insulting the other."
