The Thorn Amongst The Roses

Chapter One.

Name: Regina Aureus Malfoy. Gina for short.

Age: fifteen years, three hundred and sixty-four days.

Height: six feet, one inch.

Birthday: First March 1991.

Hair Colour: Black.

Eye Colour: Very dark brown/Black depending on my mood.

Place of Residence: Malfoy Manor, somewhere unplottable.

Siblings: Father, Lucius Malfoy. Mother, Narcissa Malfoy. Brother,      Draco Lucius Malfoy

Mothers Occupation: Housewife.    

Fathers Occupation: Dangerous Deatheater and associate of Lord                  Voldemort

School/College: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Year: Fifth Year.

Distinguishing Features: Lots of scars. Oh, and I’m a witch.

I always laugh when they send these forms to fill in, so I thought I’d do one for myself, fill it in truthfully. If I had any friends I’d fill it in with them, have a good laugh at some of the things that would make the muggles think I belonged on a mental ward. I did have an imaginary friend once, until father put a stop to it. The scar for that one is somewhere on my right arm I think.

Oh, and one more thing,

School House: Gryffindor.

There, I bet that shocked you didn’t it? Shocked everyone else as well, especially Draco. Everyone except me that is. I suppose I should explain that one.

Likes: Chocolate ice cream, Qudditch, especially the Chudley                Cannons, the colour red.

Dislikes: Losing, doing what I’m told and homework. Oh and                 my entire family and everything it represents.

Does that explain it? I use the explanation that I was born into the wrong family. Father, or Lucius as I call him when I want to piss him off, uses the explanation that I just shouldn’t have been born. Either way you get the same end result. A fifteen year old girl born into a, erm, shall we say not very loving family, and hating them. Mothers not so bad, just a bit weak and weedy and wet. Lucius is the one you should watch out for, I’ve known that since the age of two, after seeing my brother cowering on the floor in front of him. I’ve forgotten what he had done wrong now, probably spoken out of place or something. All I know is he’s never done whatever it was again.

Draco, well what can you say about Draco? He’ s the biggest muggle-hating, pre-Death Eater ponce I’ve ever known. He wouldn’t have been so bad if Lucius hadn’t of got him at such an early age. Even before he could walk he knew to hate muggles and people who weren’t ‘pureblood’, he had elocution lessons before he went to pre-school for crying out loud. Maybe if they hadn’t he would’ve turned out like me and we could’ve rebelled together. As it is, he does every little tiny thing Lucius tells him, and sucks up to him constantly. He takes it all, every last insult, and that annoys me because he doesn’t have to, he has a choice, he could leave our family tomorrow if he liked and never look back. I don’t have a choice. I’m not seventeen yet.

Lucius never bothered with it for me. He never bothered with the elocution lessons and the drumming of the Malfoy demeanour in my head. I’d like to think this was because he knew I wouldn’t take it, I would know what a lot of bullshit it really all is, but that’s not it. He didn’t bother with me because I was second born, and I was a girl. I wouldn’t get the Malfoy Mansion, and the Malfoy fortune, Draco would. And let me tell you, he’s welcome to it, every last Knut of it.

Honestly, it’s like some Medieval castle in my ‘house’. I was ignored because I was second born, and therefore not important. I thank my father for it though, really I do. It meant that I didn’t grow up to be a complete suck up like Draco; I learnt how to rebel. I thought I was the strange one at first, because I had no other example except for Draco. That was, until Draco brought his friends home and I learnt what a complete wuss he really was. Blaise Zabini, he was my favourite out of all Dracos friends. The rest of them treated me like I was something below them, the proverbial ‘mudblood’ if you like. Blaise didn’t, he would sit there and play with my dolls with me, or play dress up, and tell me how I was much more fun to play with than Draco, because I was a nicer person. I still have a vague friendship with him, but as I’m in Gryffindor and he’s in Slytherin, we have to meet at night, in a disused classroom perhaps once a week. He still calls me his Bambini.

I’m used to it, things were always going to be difficult for a Malfoy in Gryffindor. None of the Gryffindor fifth years trust me, the sixth and seventh years don’t know I exist and the younger years are scared of me. Therefore I’m used to having no friends. I’ve managed five years, two more won’t make any difference.

It’s nice and warm in here, peaceful as well. I’m sat in the dorm, I’ve locked the door and I’m just sitting here on the windowsill, at peace with the world. It’s a lovely colour in here, the setting sun reflecting off the red of the walls and turning the room orange. I love the colour red. When I was little, very little about five or six, before I started hating my family, I can remember my father asking me why I liked the colour red. I told him that I liked it because it was the colour of blood, and he would scoop me up in his arms and call me his good little girl and I remember being so happy, curled up there in his arms, and maybe Draco would come and join us and Mother would look at us and smile. Nowadays Lucius calls me things too. Mostly a disappointment and a failure and a waste of space and a disgrace to the good name of Malfoy, and when he calls me these things I’m happy as well. I stand there and laugh and it infuriates him, because he doesn’t understand that I want to be all these things, all these things and more.

I couldn’t tell him the truth about why I like red so much, it was forbidden. Years ago, when I was four, I had been out shopping with mother to get the things for tea, whilst Lucius had been showing Draco something. However, when we arrived in a small village on the way home mother had suddenly been swept up into a large crowd and I had lost her. I had wondered the town, looking everywhere for her and calling her name, eventually coming to rest under a large cherry tree on the edge of the village green, where I had sat down and cried bitterly, watching several boys play Quidditch on they’re

toy brooms, across the green.

One of them had spotted me and, hopping off his battered looking broom, had raced up to the tree, skidding to a halt in front of me.

“D’ya wanna come’n play Qudditch wiv us?” he had asked, slightly out of breath. I had shaken my head, looking up to him, my hand held above my eyes to block the sun. He had seemed to tower above me, even though he couldn’t have been much older than me, six at the oldest. He had lovely, kind eyes, and a patch of dirt on his nose, obviously where he had fallen off his broom due to a collision.

“Did you know you’ve got dirt on your nose?” I said, sniffing. “Right there.” I pointed to the dirt and he shrugged, not caring.

“Hey wassa matter? You’ve been cryin’,” he stated, wiping the tears from under my eyes with his thumbs, leaving dirty smudges there.

“I’ve lost my mum,” I replied, my bottom lip trembling as I began to cry again.

“Hey, hey! Don’t cry, ‘s all right, I’ll stay wiv ya till she finds ya.

Budge up.”

And stay he did, sat there with me burrowed into his shoulder, crying loudly, his arm round me. He waved his friends off when they came to find him, making numerous jokes about me being his girlfriend.

“Fuck off,” he had said to them and I had been shocked, I didn’t know children were allowed to use swear words, I only thought Lucius was. “She’s lost her mum and I’m waitin’ wiv ‘er. Someone tell me mum that I’ll be back later kay?”

They had wondered off, and it had got later and later, and I had got more panicky. That was, until the boy had started to tell me a story, one about a brave Knight and a beautiful Princess and a dragon. But this hadn’t been like the ones Draco had been forced to tell me, this boy made the story funny and exciting, and by the time he had finished I was in stitches, however worried I was.

“You’ve told that story before,” I gasped after I had finished laughing.

“I’ve gotta little sister,” he had said, smiling. “That story’s her favourite.”

But suddenly I didn’t care about his sister for I had spotted a blonde head over his shoulder, so light blonde that its owner could only be one person.

“Mummy!” I had cried running towards her as fast as my little legs could carry me.

“Regina!” she had said, scooping me up in her arms and hugging me tightly. “I was so worried! Your father is going spare.”

“Mummy this is… well he sat with me while I was upset.”

I pointed at the boy and mothers gaze followed until she spotted the boy standing there shyly. The colour drained out of her face quickly as she hiked me up on her shoulder and barked out a curt, “Thank you.” Before marching quickly in the opposite direction. I had waved and cried out, “Bye-bye!” from her shoulder, and the boy had stuck his tongue out and waved back at me, grinning like a loon.

As soon as we had rounded the corner out of sight of the boy mother had set me down on the pavement, babbling nineteen to the dozen.

“Mummy I really like that boy, he told me a funny story and was nice to me. I wish he was my brother instead of Draco. I bet he would be nicer than Draco.”

“Regina,” my mother had said, taking me by the shoulders and looking into my eyes. I gazed steadily back, scared by the panic I saw in her wide, dilated pupils. “You must never tell daddy or Draco about seeing that boy you understand?”

I had nodded and replied, “Ok mummy,” relaxing as the panic disappeared from hers eyes and she smiled, giving me a hug. I got in trouble for having dirt on my face that afternoon. As I stared at the redness of the new scar only then did I remember that the boy had had red hair.

I suppose I should open the door. That bitch, Finnigan or whatever her name is, is outside, whining. God she annoys me, her and her little sidekick, always whining on about this or that or giggling about the boys in seventh year. Hah! They’d be welcome to spend the summer with Draco if they wanted.

“Yes?” I enquire as I stick my head out the door.

“It’s bedtime,” Finnigan whines.

“And what, pray tell, does that have to do with me?”

“We need to get into the dorm.” She’s getting annoyed now, I can tell. Good.

“Well you could’ve said to begin with,” I say as I swing open the door and watching them march across to their beds, dark looks on their faces.

“You know what,” Finnigans sidekick says angrily. “Sometimes I wish you were in Slytherin.”

“You know what,” I reply sweetly, snapping closed the drapes around my four poster bed. “Sometimes I wish you’d actually find someone who gave a damn.”

Chapter Two.

Most people that know me think I’m a bitch. The people who think I’m a bitch don’t know me. Goes around in circles, ending up with the simple fact that no one knows me, not properly. Lots of people know Draco, but that’s because most people hate him. Most people hate me, but I’m the opposite, the people that hate me don’t know me, they ignore me.

It’s my Birthday today. I woke up at midnight, exactly when I was born, and sang Happy Birthday to myself. Now I’m sat at breakfast on my own, waiting for the parcel that will come from home. There’s always a parcel from home, mum insists, even if it is smaller than Dracos.

God this is sad. I’m sat on my own at breakfast on my sixteenth birthday, I think this may be as bad as it gets. Oh whoopee, the parcel. The highlight of my day. Can you hear the sarcasm? I open the brown paper with a sigh and read the note that falls out.

Regina,

Happy Sixteenth Birthday. Please find enclosed a note for Draco that I wish you to give to him at breakfast. I hope that reaching this landmark age will help you choose the right path.

Father.

That’s the really sad thing about Lucius. He still thinks that I’ll join the Death Eaters. No chance Daddy, I think as I tear open the parcel. Wow a packet of Sugar Quills and a book on the Dark Arts. The Sugar Quills would’ve been from my mother. That’s my entire fare of my birthday every year, a book and a packet of Sugar Quills, always raspberry flavoured. You would’ve thought this year would be different, I think as I sigh and make my way across to the Slytherin table where Draco’s eating his pancakes.

“Oi, Blondie.”

Draco turns in his seat, giving me his especially frightening sneer. Ooh scary. I roll my eyes.

“Regina. What gives me the intense displeasure of seeing you here?”

“Lucius wanted me to give you this.” I chuck the note to him, landing it in his golden syrup smothered pancakes. He plucks it out gingerly.

“Why didn’t father send it to me himself?”

“Well you know how much of a Scrooge dear old daddy is,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “He probably wanted to save on owl fares.”

“What’s it about?”

“How the hell would I know? Probably your initiation exam for the Death Eaters.” I laugh as he flinches. “Have a nice death loser.”

“I take it your Gryffindor instincts are telling you to join the ‘good’ side?”

I grin widely, unsettling Draco. God it’s so easy. “But of course, won’t Lucius be pleased when he hears that? And as I’m leaving that godforsaken place as soon as possible, you’ll be the one that’ll be there to… celebrate with him. Should be fun, eh?”

I laugh at the look on his face just as Blaise sits down next to where I’m standing.

“Hey Blaise.”

“Hello Gina.” He smiles as he brings out a small box covered in red paper and hands it to me.

“You remembered?” I shriek, taking the box off him and pulling the paper off.

“Of course. Happy Sixteenth Birthday, my little Bambini.”

“You still call her that Zabini?” Draco says with disgust. “It’s been what, eleven years?”

“Twelve,” I say in shock as I stare down at Blaises present. Inside the box are a pair of gold earrings, three deep red drop rubies hanging from each, like drops of blood. Red. My favourite colour. He remembered, after all these years. Suddenly I find tears welling up behind my eyes and swoop down to hug Blaise warmly.

“I take it you like them then?” he asks, laughing.

“Oh Blaise, they’re gorgeous ! Much better than a book on the Dark Arts and a packet of raspberry flavoured Sugar Quills.” I laugh myself, echoing Blaise. “Help me put them on?”

Blaise nods and I sit down patiently beside him, holding my hair up and waiting for him to finish. As soon as he does I remove my hands and flick my hair back.

“How do they look?” I ask, tossing my head about.

“Beautiful, especially with your hair Gina,” Blaise replies. “Sit with us this morning, I often see you sitting on your own and think that you look lonely. And you can’t sit on your own on your birthday, especially your sixteenth!” I nod in wonder at how nice he’s being, especially seeing as Dracos sitting about two seats down. “I can’t believe you’re sixteen already! My little Bambini’s all grown up!”

We sit there and laugh and eat breakfast while Draco reads his letter. His were always longer than mine, even on my Birthday. Suddenly he drops his letter and looks at Blaise, panic in his eyes.

“It’s about the initiation test. How come you don’t have one Zabini?”

“Because,” replies Blaise, “I told my old dad about a week ago basically where he could shove his Death Eater crap.” I give him a worried look and he shrugs. “Hey, don’t worry about me Gina. I’ve got enough gold saved to rent a place at Diagon Alley this summer until I can find a job. I’m not scared of death, and I’d much rather die and be remembered than die at the hands of a so called friend and be forgotten.” He shrugs again and Draco gulps.

“You see this is what I’ve never got about you Draco,” I start; glad to be approaching the subject at last. “I’m much less scared of the wrath of Lucius when I tell him where to shove it than the wrath of a fellow Death Eater, or Voldemort, or even an Auror if I live through the battle. You’re far too scared for your own good Draco.” And with that I got up from the table having finished my breakfast and left my only brother with my parting statement.

“Like I said, die painfully, don’t bother contacting me and have a nice time in hell.”

**********

I can’t take much more of this. There’s a birthday party going on here in the common room, but it’s not mine. A seventh year, I don’t know him, is standing with someone I vaguely recognise as Finnigans brother and doing an Irish jig. It would be his birthday party then, I muse, and a fine one at that. There are plenty of people getting plenty drunk enough on Firewhisky, so all the makings of a good party. There’s more people here than even know about my birthday, let alone would come to any party I held. That’s it, they’re about to cut the cake, I can’t take being in a room full of people singing Happy Birthday to someone else when it’s my birthday. I grab a bottle of Firewhisky that no one will notice going missing and head out of the Common room, my cloak wrapped tightly around me.

“Just where do you think you’re going at this time of night young lady?” The Fat Lady interrupts me as I walk down the corridor.

“None of your fucking business,” I say and disappear quickly, waiting just long enough to hear the portrait mutter,

“Well really, how rude! I always was suspicious of her. Once a Malfoy always a Malfoy, just as I said to…”

I laugh at how arrogant even portraits can be. Silly bint. I find my hidey hole quickly, a small space behind the tapestry next to the prefects bathroom, just big enough for two people to hide comfortably. I quickly begin downing the Firewhisky, even though I’m old enough to know that alcohol and self-pity are never a good mixture. Soon I’m not only completely rat arsed but crying loudly.

Why do people always have to forget my birthday? And it’s my sixteenth as well. I know for a fact that Draco spent his sixteenth at a great party, getting pissed and then shagging half of Slytherin house. Which I suppose is exactly what that seventh year guy is doing now. And now Dracos gunna join the Death Eaters and however much I hate him, he’s my only brother and I don’t want him to die.

At that point I give up on thinking and concentrate on crying as much as possible. That is until I hear a voice coming from right next to the tapestry and shut up quickly, trying to stifle my sobs with my hand and just ending up giggling loudly.

“Hello?”

A hand lifts up the tapestry, the person spots me and quickly drops it again, but not before walking inside himself. Oh great it’s the Birthday Boy from before; why isn’t he still in the party?

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he says gently. “What’s the matter?”

I shake my head obstinately, refusing to answer.

“Come on now, you’re completely pissed.”

“Oh like you aren’t,” my mouth says before I can stop it.

The boy grins. “I have an excuse, it’s my Eighteenth Birthday.”

“Happy Birthday. I guess I have an excuse as well then. It’s my Sixteenth Birthday. I just suppose not as many people remembered mine as yours, that’s if anyone remembered at all.” Oh god I’m off again, I just can’t help it.

“Nobody remembered your birthday?” the boy asks incredulously. I shake my head. “But that’s terrible! And it’s your sixteenth. Well I know now so Happy Sixteenth Birthday, erm… What’s your name?”

“Gina,” I manage to sob out.

“Happy Sixteenth Birthday Gina. Oh come on do stop crying.” He puts an arm around me comfortingly. “It can’t be that bad can it?”

I nod and suddenly I find myself telling him it all, the whole thing. How I hate my family and they hate me, especially my father. How I have no friends because no one trusts me and I should have been put into Slytherin and how my father still expects me to become a Death Eater.

“…and now Draco, my brother, has turned seventeen and he’s joining the Death Eaters and I don’t want him to die and…”

“Hold on a minute.” The boy suddenly looks aghast. “Draco Malfoy is your brother? You’re Gina Malfoy?” I nod sullenly. “But you’re a Gryffindor !”

“I know,” I reply. “Sucks doesn’t it?”

The boy nods, still lost for words, and I notice that his hair is red. Now I’m the one lost for words, an idea forming in my head. I need to ask him some questions first though, make sure I’m right.

“Do you like Quidditch?” I ask suddenly.

“Of course,” the boy replies, looking confused.

“And do you live in a village that has a village green?”

“Yes, Ottery St Catchpole but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Once upon a time,” I begin, trying for the life of me to remember the story that the boy recited to me all those years ago. I know if I’m wrong this boy will think I’m a loony but, hey, what’s one more to the club? “There was a handsome Knight and a beautiful Princess and they loved each other and they lived in a world where there was peace and everything was happy and good. But then an evil wizard came along and locked the Princess up and told the Knight if he wanted her back he would have to slay the dragon living in the hills. Now the Knight, he was scared, because the dragon was known to be big and vicious and made a noise like this; ‘Grrrrrr!’…”

At this point I stopped and looked desperately at the boy who was staring back at me.

“ You were the little girl under the cherry tree?” I nod mutely and he runs his hand through his hair slowly, looking shocked. “Bloody hell.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” I slide down to the floor of the hole, pulling the boy with me. We both whisper ‘Lumos!’ at exactly the same time and looking shakily at each other.

“Well an introduction would be nice,” I mutter, annoyed.

“Well my name’s Ron Weasley and I’m your brothers biggest enemy and bloody hell, what’s that on your arm?”

“A scar. I did tell you that Lucius didn’t like me, didn’t I? I guess you just didn’t realise how much. I can name what I did to gain every single one of them and tell you a story if you like.” He nods again, biting his lip as not to say anything.

“Well the little one are for little things you know, like speaking out of place or not sitting properly at the meal table. Nothing serious until these ones.” I point to ones one each of my wrists and either side of my neck. “Oh and this one.” I point to one large, wide scar going all the way up my leg and lift my shirt up, to show Ron it goes all the way up my side and stops just before reaching my neckline. “These are the ones I got the summer after my first year at Hogwarts, for being sorted into Gryffindor. It was when I woke up in a pool of my own blood on the floor of the dungeons at home and had to call for a house elf to save me that I decided enough was enough.”

“Your dad tried to kill you?” the boy asks, flabbergasted.

I shrug. “Hey I was always his favourite, he’s only tried once. Draco should be dead five times over already. Malfoy children have a knack for surviving.

The summer after second year I started to fight back. I knew exactly when the moment was just before he would attack, and I got there first. A quick stunning spell, an obliviate, a levitating charm and he’d be back in his bed, not remembering that he was mad with me. It left time for the scars to fade, you see. Then when I came home after third year, he was gone. Mother eventually told me that he had been captured and sent to Azkaban. I, personally, have never been happier. These past two summers haven’t exactly been a blast, what with mother crying a lot and Draco wondering around with a dark look on his face muttering, “Fucking Saint Potter and Weasel,” a lot but hey, as long as there was no bodily harm involved I was fine. Draco’s supposed to be the man of the house now and I can definitely deal with him.”

“Wow,” the boy muttered softly. “I was going to take a cold shower to sober me up but I think that stories just about done the trick. Thanks.”

“Anytime, my life is pretty sobering.” I sigh. “I suppose you’ll want to get back to your party now, if it’s still going. Have a nice birthday.”

“Yeah the party is still going but I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Huh?” I’m completely nonplussed.

“Well it’s your birthday too isn’t it?” Ron replies with a cheeky grin, pulling me out from the tapestry. “And seeing as there’s still a couple of hours of today left I think that’s quite enough time to enjoy a sixteenth birthday to it’s full don’t you?”

“Oh yes,” I say, a grin as wide as his appearing on my face as I follow him down the corridor. “Quite enough.”

“Oh and Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve dirt on your nose.” I point. “Just there.”

He shrugs, not caring.