WILD FLOWERS ✿ d.malfoy

5.

The next morning, there's a commotion downstairs. And to add to it, the portrait of Walburga Black is screaming it's head off. More like it's paint off. Whatever. She never listens to her own son. She listened to me though, bloodline and all. What absolute shit.

I don't feel like going down; it certainly seems like there are teenagers downstairs. Probably Molly's kids, they were talking about it a day or two ago. I wish for my legs to go lead, so I can't walk downstairs. I try to teleport myself into outer space. No go. I groan and get ready. Even though I don't care, I should at least pretend like I do.

I put on a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt; my hair is already on my shoulder; it grows bloody fast. How so, was always a mystery. I look in the mirror, hoping to look a least bit presentable. I look dead; the flesh does reflect the monster within.

The chatter grows louder the closer I get to the dining hall, as do Walburga's screeches. Sirius is trying to shut her up. What a waste.

"Filth! Scum! Stains of dishonor, blood-traitors, dirt!"

I step in front and raise a hand. "Walburga," I command, "enough." The curtains immediately fall over her portrait. There's silence.

"Thank Merlin," Sirius huffs, "she was driving me up the wall."

"I can see that."

"Come in," he gestures towards the hall, "there are people who want to meet you."

I gulp and try not to look repulsed. Dosen't work; Sirius gives me a sympathetic smile. I look away.

I walk into the hall and all chatter stops; all eyes on me. I feel like running away. Molly introduces me seeing that I've clearly lost the ability to talk. There's a sharp intake of breath at my last name. I feel like scoffing. They introduce themselves one by one; the Twins: Fred and George, Ron, Ginny. All red-heads. [yellow – all yellow.]

Someone would have to be blind to not spot the resemblances; there were too many of them. There's a brunette: Hermione Granger. She looks like the person who has their head buried in a book 24/7. [golden orange.]

I sit down for breakfast; don't eat anything. I probably should. Sirius tells me I should. I shove an apple down to my stomach, that's all I can manage.

The next two weeks breeze by pretty much like the prior few. I speak a little, even to the new residents of the house; they're itching to speak to me, I can see it. They are put to the task of cleaning, I'm not. I read, study magic and refuse to visit my prior self.

One evening, there is pure chaos in the house. All members of the Order are there, all angry. There was a constant watch on Harry Potter, but Mundungus Fletcher had ditched his duty. That's it, a disaster took place. Harry Potter was attacked by dementors. Two of them. And he's now expelled from Hogwarts because he performed underage magic.

A team is accumulating to go and rescue him. I silently make my way upstairs, wanting nothing more than solitude.

• • •

The coffee is hot. And dark. And bitter. It burns my tongue; I keep drinking it. The leather-bound book on bloodlines lies open in my lap. My eyes skim through the lines, drinking in everything my mind can hold. My wand lies idle by my side. A body stops in front of me. Harry Potter.

I look up slowly, setting my coffee aside. He runs a hand through his hair, the oversized garments hang loosely on his frame. His eyes are green, emerald green. He get's them from his mother, I was told. They were green like the carpet in my house – which no longer exists, thanks to the Death Eaters.[red fading into orange – crimson.]

I get up and hold my hand out. I didn't think I did it, until his hand slides into mine and gives it a firm shake.

"I'm – I'm Harry Potter," he says uncertainly. Was he uncertain of his identity? Or me? Probably me. Definitely me.

"I've heard a lot about you," I choose to say instead of my name. He cracks a small grin. His green eyes scan over my face searching for something, anything. He can't find what he's looking for.

"And you are...?" He knows my name. I know he does. Maybe he's being nice, by pretending to not know my name.

"Celestia."

"Celestia...?" he wants to know more. He already knows it; he doesn't need to bloody pretend. This is annoying me.

"Morgana."

He's surprised. Or he tries his best to pretend that he is. He opens his mouth; I cut him off.

"Please," I assert, "I'm a person before my name. Surely you would know that."

"Yeah, of course," he chuckles nervously. "Are you attending Hogwarts? I don't think I've seen you around before."

"I'll be starting this year, as a fifth year." I sip my coffee, it's gone cold.

His face lightens, "That's great. Hopefully we'll be in the same house. I'm a Gryffindor." Of course, he is.

I give him a forced smile.