Daddy's Old Cigar Box

My father was a man who had aged too early. Stress and loss in his life made several patches of grey and bald appear in his blonde hair and caused deep wrinkles and age lines appear on his face. He did have laugh lines, though, from the times my older brothers and I have spent with him, making forget, even momentarily, his pain. My mother, he would tell us, often brought joy into his life and caused some of the many lines on his face.

I wasn't able to spend a lot of time with Mum, because she died when I was six, but I have a few memories of her, which I am thankful for. My brothers, however, remember her better because they were nine, eleven, and twelve.

Once, my eldest brother, Logan, told me that I almost died from a high fever before I was a year old, but Mum stayed up three nights in a row with me, nursing me back to health. She would have taken me to St. Mungo's, but we were trapped inside the house by a huge blizzard.

My dad boasts about how my eyes are exactly like hers: cinnamon brown with a fiery red ring around the pupils. He also tells me often how much our personalities are alike.

<<*-*-*>>

"Come here," Dad said, extending a long arm, gesturing me to come cuddle on his lap. I obeyed. "What story would you like to hear tonight?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. I stared into his light, smokey grey eyes as I thought about my options.

"I don't want to hear a story tonight," I decided.

"Oh?" he asked, both of his eyebrows raised high.

"Yeah, I want you to tell me about Mum."

For a split second, pain showed in his eyes, but almost instantly his expression lightened and he gave a small, but slightly sad, smile. "Okay, well... Where should I start?"

I thought for a while, then shrugged. "Start where you feel like it," I said, patting his shoulder.

He shifted me to the other knee as he thought about it. "Let's see... you remind me of your mother every day."

"I know, I know; my eyes."

"Not just your eyes, sweetie. I don't know if I've told you, Katrina, but your spirit is so much like hers, it's uncanny."

"Really? What do you mean?" I asked. It meant so much to me that I had something in common with Mum.

"Yes, really. Do you remember how you stopped and helped Aiden when he fell, even though you two yell at each other constantly?" Remember how he was hurt and you helped him because you loved him?"

I nodded vigorously. Aiden was the youngest of my three brothers.

"You have your mother's love and compassion for others. Your mother and I... we weren't... nice to each other in our school days. I mean, our families hated each other. One day, though, I was hurting. Not physically, but on the inside. Your mum could see the pain through my mean and nasty remarks, and she cared. She helped me feel better." By this time, my father's eyes were shining with tears. Happy tears.

I quickly faked a yawn so he could cry in peace, if he needed it. "I'm sleepy. I think I'm going to bed. Same time tomorrow, Daddy?"

He shook his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Why are you in such a hurry to leave me?" he asked playfully, tickling my sides. I started squealing with laughter.

"Daddy! Stop!" I screeched, failing to suppress my laughter.

A knock came at the door and Father stopped tickling me abruptly. "Father?" a voice called from the other side. It was Laurent, the middle boy.

"Enter," my dad replied, tonelessly. He never acted the same with my brothers as he did with me while growing up. My brothers told me it was for two reasons: I'm the only girl and I'm the youngest child. I told them they were jealous.

The fifteen year old entered as instructed and bowed respectfully. "Hello Father... Kat."

"Hi, Laurent!" I exclaimed, jumping off of Dad's lap, running up to my brother, and hugging him. I heard my father chuckle softly at the extreme force I hit him with. Laurent, in return, wrapped one arm around my shoulders, then pulled away. I glared at him as I backed away; it was much less of a greeting than I had expected, but then I remembered my brothers treated me differently in front of Father, also. He expected them to be more mature.

"Hello, Son. What would you like? A bedtime story with Kat, here?" he asked with a smirk and patted his lap. Laurent made a disgusted face.

"No thanks. You said it was my turn this summer to decide where we went, correct?" I crossed my arms and frowned. I wanted to choose! Dad nodded as a response. "I decided," my brother said, casting a small glance in my direction, "that I wanted to stay in Paris."

I grinned and controlled the urge to clap my hands. I wanted to go to Paris. He wanted to go to Romania. "Alright. Tell Samantha to prepare Kat's bags, Mata to prepare your's, and Colleen to prepare Aiden's."

"What about Logan?"

"He decided to pack his own bags this year," Father remarked proudly.

"Goodnight, Father." Before he left, though, he flashed me a small smile and a wink.

I excused myself for a moment and ran out of the door, nearly bumping into Laurent. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I exclaimed. As he bent down, I wrapped my arms around his neck and he wrapped his around my waist.

"You're welcome and happy late birthday."

"So this was the present you were going to give me!"

"Yeah." As he straightened up, he ruffled my hair. "Goodnight, Kat. Love you."

"‘Night! Love you, too!" I yelled over my shoulder, bouncing back into my dad's office.

"You are so spoiled," he commented as soon as the door shut. "Everybody always gives you everything you want."

I stuck my tongue out at him quickly. "Are you going to finish telling me about Mum?" I asked, putting my hands on my hips.

Daddy hesitated a moment. "I'm going to give you something and I want you to swear to me you won't open it a day before your sixteenth birthday."

I thought about it for a bit. I was so nosy and curious, but Daddy's trust means a lot to me. "I promise, but I want you to tell me why."

"Mum had a will. She told me about it almost three weeks before she was killed," he said, clenching his teeth and sounding bitter.

"How, again?" I asked, softly.

"Death Eaters... Anyways, she left that she wanted me to give something to you. You'll know what it is, but I added a few other things..." He opened a drawer and pulled out a small box. At a closer look, I realized it was an old cigar box of his. It had two ribbons wrapped around it of two different colors: pink and green.

"Promise?" he asked, handing me the box.

I rolled my eyes. "I already said I did, Dad!" I exclaimed, exasperated.

"Okay," Father replied, standing up. "It's time for bed. We leave for France in two days."

"Alright... Goodnight!" I love you!" I gave my dad the biggest hug I could muster without bringing any harm to the cigar box.

"Goodnight. I love you, too." He held onto me tightly, so I held tightly back. I heard Daddy heave loudly, so I wriggled out of his grip and excused myself to bed. I know I upset him, but I also think, in some way, he was glad.

<<*-*-*>>

Five and a half years later I take a look at my bed and the contents spilled onto it. I kept my promise to Father. I wanted to open the box with him, but he wanted me to be alone. I now know why.

Mom left me two things: an old, worn-out Snitch and a diary she kept. The diary was kept from ages eight to eleven and then from ages fifteen to thirty-two, the last entry being just two weeks before she died. She wrote her feelings, thoughts, stories, poetry, and even some doodles. The outside of the diary was orange with Chudley Cannons printed on the front in blue lettering. Mum had included a letter, written in beautiful script, that explained the two gifts.

Dearest Katrina,

If you're reading this letter, it means you're now sixteen and I didn't make it through my journey.

First of all, know I love you very much. That being said, I would like to explain the reasoning behind the items I left to you.

While it might not mean a thing to you, I hold the Snitch very close to my heart. This was the first time I knew your father cared for me. While we were playing Quidditch against each other, a Bludger was aimed directly at my head, and was hit with very much force. Your father dove in front of me and got hit in the ribs. He was in the Hogwarts infirmary for weeks, and I visited him every day (of course we had talked a little before that match, but that formed a certain... bond between us), showing him my gratitude. After he had gotten better, he beat Harry for the first time by finally catching the Snitch. After the game, he handed it to me, giving me a kiss on the forehead (you're uncles and grandparents went absolutely ballistic, as well as Harry and Hermione). It's one of my fondest memories.

The diary holds almost all of the thoughts I have every had, every boring and exciting thing I have ever gone through. I hope you read this and not make the same mistakes I did, but also falling in love with someone as good a man as your father, as I had, and making good friends like I did.

Just remember, Kat, you will always be my little girl, and if I die, I'll always be your guardian angel.

Love you doll!

Mummy

Tears are beginning to form in my eyes. I put down the letter and grab the orange diary, opening the front cover and reading the first page.

*-*-*

June 19

Hi Diary!

This is the first time I am righting in my diary. My name is Ginny. I am 8. Ron bout you as a prezpresent for me. He told me just becaus. I'll right later, but Mum is calling for diner now.

Ginny

*-*-*

I flip the pages of the diary, until I reach the last entry when she was eleven.

*-*-*

October 06

Oh, diary! I think I'm smitten with Tom! He's my first real friend here at Hogwarts and he's so sweet. I'm sorry, dear old friend, but this will be my very last entry. Tom's diary will be my diary now.

Ginevra(Tom said he likes this name better)

*-*-*

I shudder at the thought of my mum liking Voldemort. My dad warned me, though, about what had happened in her first year.

I flip the old, yellowed pages to two days after I was born.

*-*-*

February 10

I had a beautiful, baby girl Feb. 8th at 3:12 in the afternoon. She weighed seven pounds and three ounces. Born a week early, but that's all alright. The doctor assured me it happens all the time. He said most pregnancies occur even earlier! Draco and I named her Katrina Ricarda.

Ginny A. Malfoy

*-*-*

I smile and tears flow like rivers down my cheeks. My eyes sting and are sticky, and I imagine they are as red as Mum's hair was. It feels like a weight is inside my chest and resting on top of my heart. I've only cried one other time in my teenage life; a boy I grew up with, Thomas, died in a house fire last year. He was, you could say, my best friend.

I never really grieved over Mum, so it's all pouring out at the moment. I felt exactly the same as last year: I feel so sick to my stomach and my legs are shaking violently. My face growing hot, my body still freezing, and my head is pounding. My breath is ragged, getting caught in my chest as I try to hold everything in.

I carefully sit down on the bed, wiping my tears away, and flip the pages to her very last diary entry. The ink was smudged in small, sporadic spots; apparently Mum was crying when she wrote this.

*-*-*

April 19

Diary, I hate this, but Harry and Ron need me so desperately. Hermione was captured two months ago and they're now begging me to go with them to get her. I'm going. We think Voldemort has her and is going to put her under the Imperius curse so she'll use her brains for evil. It's horrible. We all thought he died in the last battle after we graduated, but he hadn't, and now he's back. Draco wants to go, but I'm definitely not letting him. He has to stay here for the kids. My lovely, lovely children.

Katrina, who's only six... She won't remember me. That hurts me so much. I want her to know who I am. I've left this diary and the snitch to her in my will, so if you're reading this, Kat, I love you, honey.

Aiden, only nine years old. So funny, such a prankster. I'll miss his red hair so much. He's the only child of mine that inherited my side of the family's trademark color. Everything else about him is like his father, though.

Laurent... what can I say? Eleven and growing like crazy. I love his name... it's french and Fleur helped me pick it out (No, no longer "Phlegm"). When she mentioned this was her cousin's name, I went crazy and had to name my child that. Draco, of course, agreed.

Logan, even though he's the eldest, he's still my baby. My first-born. I learned all my "how to's" of motherhood with him. Even though he doesn't have my hair or eyes, he has the Weasley freckles.

Draco... my first and true love. I can't stand the thought of not being here with him, anymore. I wanted to grow old with him. I imagined us riding our brooms together when we were, oh, 80 or so. Haha.

I'm going to miss this family. That settles it, I'm going to be back, no matter if it happens in fifteen or fifty years, I'm coming home.

I'll be here again, I swear my life on it.

Ginny A. Malfoy

*-*-*

I shut the diary, put it back down on the bed, and bury my face into my hands. She was so determined to come back. Dad always told me about her stubbornness and determination. After what seems ages, I carefully stand up, testing my legs before I put all my weight onto them. When I know it's safe, I stand all the way, and look at my bed.

Dad had included some things, just like he promised me: a green, serpent necklace, traced in pure white gold, matching the thin chain, a small, pearl necklace, and about fifteen pictures.

I only look at one of the pictures before I break down and run out of my room, downstairs, and into my father's office. It was of Mum and Dad, sitting in the Astronomy Tower of Hogwarts. Dad was sitting down, Mum leaning her back onto his chest. His arms were wrapped around her shoulders and he was whispering in her ear. She would giggle and hit him. They obviously didn't know they were having their picture taken.

As I cry in my dad's arms, I contemplate going back to my room and looking at the rest of the pictures. I also realize something: I'm never going to get rid of Mum's and Dad's memories I hold in Daddy's old cigar box.