Tell Me A Story

Tell Me A Story.

"Once upon a time there was boy called Draco. He was small and looked very, very frail.

However, as life has proved many times, he was not what he appeared. Fierceness and an almost uncontrollable desire to, as he childishily would put it, fully live, turned the boy into a petulant, unforgiving and petty teenager.

Nightmare of many other boys; the dream of most of all the girls. The little boy, who had been small and spoiled, grew up. He was now tall, broad-shouldered and blond. Graceful and elegant; all a girl could ask for.

But the boy did not want any of the ones that called for him. Having still that small part of his boyish dreams that called for romantic adventures, he wished for someone who could fulfill that black hole located near his beating heart.

He had always wondered what love - the romantic type of love - really felt like. But, in a world where distrust was second nature and treachery was zealously preached, love was that little something surreal and far-fetched. And so, the boy could never, ever show his true feelings and thoughts, having to wear a horrible, heavy mask.

One thing that was not mentioned before was that this young man was a magical boy. He had the wonderful power of doing things only the mind of children and loonys could think of. He was a wizard.

Being a wizard was almost like being a Muggle, which is what the people without magic are called by the wizarding community. The boy had had to go to school and have classes and study and do all things all teenagers do. Still, it was not the same, for the little boy had had to uphold a huge and weighty family name, not to mention, a dark past of lies and nasty stories.

At school, the boy, Draco, did not get on well with the school's celebraties and most everyone thought he was a wicked, spoiled boy. Yes, he did questionable things to get the trio of friends in trouble but that was only because of their hyprocrisy and self-righteous attitude.

And yes, he did babble about his father's status and money but that was only because he felt nobody would respect him for who he was; for the person he was figuring out he was.

When he was sixteen and coming from his sixth year of school, the boy returned to a dark and cold home. Before, there had been gardens and life all around, however now, every little plant and animal in the Manor was dead and there was a whisper of danger behind each corner he turned.

The evil men had come back and his father - the illustrious, educated man - was one of them. The change on him had been drastic; he had the air of a madman and the eyes of someone dead.

Draco did understand what was happening to his father: he was surrendering to his dark side. The side that calls out for torture, pain, death. But, he once caught himself wondering, was it worth the price they would all have to pay...?

The teenager, who had kept his adventurous dreams intact and untouched, did not like to spend long periods of time in his bedroom and so he took up the opportunity of strolling through the place he had called home once, a long time ago.

It was during one of these so-called strolls that he saw one of the most curious and interesting creatures ever.

She had been about the same age as the boy. The brunette was not what one would call beautiful; she was chubby and had light-colored skin and darkish eyes. She had seemed agressive and wild, struggling against her captors. Yet Draco had got a glimpse of her dark, oh so dark eyes and he had seen something he couldn't quite name but which he had recognised.

He would find out much later that it had been fury. Pure and simple fury, like the one an animal must feel whenever he is imprisoned. This fury had called to him and he had answered.

His father, the one in charge of keeping her prisioner, had requested him to help with dealing with the new girl. The boy had been afraid to ask too many questions and had done as he was asked.

His father had answered all of the ones he dared to ask. She was a Muggle and his father's Lord was intrigued about her part in a prophecy. And what prophecy would that be? he had asked. His father had smirked and replied that it was not about what he was thinking. But that it did indeed involve Draco's rival from school, the boy he didn't get along with. She was part of her own prophecy but that her and his Lord's were connected somehow and he was not to mention that to anyone. They were keeping her so that the prophecy wouldn't become concrete. The wild girl was staying in one of the guest bedrooms on the East side of the Manor and Draco was to help his father take care of her.

It had proved a difficult task, for the girl refused to eat anything they brought her and, if left there, she would throw the food at them or at the walls. Her bedroom was a mess. Most of the furniture was thrown in a strange way, as if she had been so furious she couldn't even move properly. The paintings had been torn apart and her window had been cracked. Even though there was a balcony there, Draco doubted she was allowed to go out to see the dead gardens.

But that had only happened for the first two weeks. Deciding she was not going to go along with their plans, the Dark Lord ordered her breakdown. And the boy's father had been more than happy to accomplish that.

More by habit than by request, Draco went along his father the day after the Lord's order. That proved to be a bad idea.

Somehow, in some way, the boy had developed feelings for the ferocious girl. Not knowing her name was not an obstacle in Draco's path. And when he saw the state she was in after having seen the images his father had produced, the false, non-existent images of her family and friends being tortured and raped and killed, he could no longer stay submissive and in the shadows. He had to do something.

And he did.

The now thin girl was dead to the world; that, he comprehended. But where was the first girl? The one with that bright light in her dark eyes? The one who struggled with all her power and might, even knowing she couldn't escape anymore, for the only purpose of showing her captors she was not one to be dealt with carelessly? He had to see her once again; he could not let her go. He then started to collect the broken pieces of her.

Everyday he would come to her room and would spend hours there. If his father knew, he never commented on it. The boy would talk to her, feed her and sometimes, even dared to touch her cheek or her hand.

The progress had come slowly. After her breakdown, she had sought refuge inside of herself, staying dormant on her bed, moving not a muscle; the only sign of life was the light movement of her chest and the lethargic blink of her eyes. Days and weeks passed before she sat up on the bed and looked anything other than dead.

The depression had been the worst to get rid of. The blond would talk to her but the only answers he got were the following of his every move by her dark, untrusting eyes. She would not utter a sound and he was starting to worry she had been more traumatised than he had previously thought.

Fortunately, she hadn't. The brunette had been just testing how far he would go to make her speak. And he had gone as far as he could. Suddenly, one day, she spoke.

Her voice had been rough and cracked at the beginning from disuse. Within days, he realised that her voice soothed him and, at the same time, made him itch. To do what, he still hadn't figured out.

She told him her name and he told her his.

Moira.

After that, they became closer friends than Draco could have ever thought they'd be.

He tried to please her whenever he could and she tried to tell him the things she hardly knew.

What the meaning of life was. What love was. What the feeling of being loved was.

That last question had led them to the inevitable.

After, he had wondered about it out loud unconsciously, and she had gotten thoughtful and had looked at him in a way that no one had ever done before.

In that instant, she had struck something deep inside him with eyes that he only, at that moment, realised were not black but a very, very dark brown and with a black circle revolving around it. When she asked if he had never felt love he had answered truthfully, for there were no lies in their relationship, that he couldn't be sure for he had never really thought on it. Her eyes had searched something in him and he had let her. She once again asked a question. Do you want to have a taste of it?

He had promptly whispered an affirmation.

She had moved her face closer and he felt her light breath on his open mouth.

He had been kissed before. But none of the girls had had the sweetness, delicacy and chaste characteristic this girl's kiss had.

It was so unlike Moira and yet, it was all her.

He kissed her back and it was just like in one of his boyish dreams; it was breathless and mind-blowing and devastating and oh so romantic.

When they parted, they shared impish smiles and he kissed her again for the simple fact that he wished to do so.

But their happiness lasted for a small period.

One unfortunate day, the boy's father caught them kissing.

They had been talking and one thing led to other, they began a pillow fight, which ended with Draco on the bed and Moira half on top of him.

They had stared at each other for what could have been minutes and a whole eternity and had kissed one another.

The opening of the door passed unheard by them and suddenly Draco found himself holding the body of an unconscious Moira.

He had looked up and found cold orbs looking down at him, the same shade of grey as his own eyes.

'Well done, son,' his father said. 'You have done what I intented for you to do. She has become infatuated with you. Keep it that way and you might someday be one of the elite.'

No more was said and his father left, coldly and as if he hadn't just interruped something so sacred and precious and dear as their kisses had been.

Foolish, he had looked down at his lap, where Moira had ended up when he had sat up. Bad thing, his brain registered, when he met one pair of wild and furious eyes hidden by a curtain of dark brown hair.

'Get out,' she had hissed. 'I don't want to see your face ever again.'

He tried to explain. He really did but she wouldn't listen and after a few seconds of indecision in which he stayed frozen in the middle of her bedroom, he felt a surge of energy that hadn't been there and he was thrown out of the room.

The door locked by itself and he couldn't go back to the warmth and safety of her bedroom.

Crestfallen, Draco did the only thing he could think to redeem himself. He called out for the side of light.

They came and there was lots of fighting, but with the surprise factor, none of the evil men were able to resist. His father was the first one to die. Running away.

Afterwards, they interrogated him and he knew they were interrogating Moira also but he didn't see her anywhere. Wherever she was, she was not at the same place he was.

She played her part in her prophecy. The bravest and noblest of the side of light fell in love with her. What a tragedy. This was the same boy who was Draco's rival at school.

And they met again at school for their last year.

The other boy had blamed Draco for the abandonment of Moira. The blond stated it had nothing to do with him but the black-haired boy had said that if it wasn't for the constant remembrace of him, Moira wouldn't have left and they could've gotten to know each other better and even develop a romantic relationship.

Draco had been green with jealousy and hatred at the audacity of this boy to say she was available. She was his girl and, no matter what she said, she would always be his.

The blond made sure he had driven that point home.

The young man had traveled in search of his love after his graduation. He found her in Brazil almost one year and a half later.

She had come back to her family and best friend.

She had become a well-known lawyer and was not a girl anymore. She was a woman now.

Moira, of course, recognised him. He hadn't changed after all, like she had. He was still quite the same. She wasn't. She appeared more confident and looked more beautiful. Her hair was not as long as before and she was tanned and well-dressed and had a healthy air that hadn't been there during their time together.

They talked politely and impersonally. He did not like it but neither did he question it.

She asked if he had a place to stay and the no-lies rule made him say that indeed he hadn't but it was ok and he didn't mind. The brunette didn't let him continue and actually offered her home for him to stay at. He agreed to the investigation she was asking permission to do.

And, after all, Moira hadn't changed. She had just become subtle.

She questioned him about his life and he told her everything, grateful of her interest.

Her eyes were still the same inquisitive pair but now, they inquired but never showed any clue as to what was going on in her mind.

She had a boyfriend for over one year now; her best friend. It was the same boy who had waited for her since her kidnapping and did not think twice before doing anything to please her. Draco would hardly win if they competed for the place by Moira's side.

The man in question, David, had been in love with her long before she was away and when kidnaped, he had done everything in his power to find her. He was not a wizard but nevertheless, had good looks and a bright mind as well. He was a doctor.

Everyone thought they were perfect for each other and Draco could do nothing to change that.

Obviously, she didn't agree with the others. Just like as before, she refused the commitment proposed to her. Moira did not want either Harry or David. She wanted one particular blond man. Also known as Draco.

She informed him matter-of-factly of this and he was paralyzed and ecstatic and excited. He had achieved what he had come for.

They made love to each other that night and, four weeks later, Moira found out that the fruit of their passion was growing in her womb.

They married two weeks after in a field full of witches, wizards and Muggles who were their friends. Many thought the their marriage was a waste, for she deserved so much more than that Draco boy...

She reassured him many times after everyone had left that she was actually happier than ever and well, she said blushing slightly and looking so much like the girl he had met years before, she didn't understand what he saw in her that made him want this union so much. He had showed her exactly why during their honeymoon nights spent in Rome.

However, their happiness was not ever-lasting and after seven months, she went into labor work.

She gave birth to a frail and delicate girl. They had not wanted to know what sex it would be but Draco had desperately wished for a boy. He had been so enchanted and delighted with his baby girl, he had not stopped to remember his prayers for a son from the past few months.

Moira died three hours after the baby's birth. She had held her and looked lovingly at Draco and informed him with her exhausted voice that her name would be Silvia and that she wanted him not to mourn her death, for he would have to move on and take care of this beautiful little human being.

He had stared at Moira's flushed and peaceful face till her eyes drifted close and her breathing stopped. He had only felt that his face was wet when the baby girl, Silvia, touched one small hand to his damp cheek.

He peered at her, searching for signs of Moira's features on her tiny face.

The structure of her face was pretty much like his own at that age and she had the Malfoy's grey eyes. She was fair skinned and had the same pointy noise he had. But in her eyes he saw flecks of honeyed brown and the bright, warm, curious and expressive light shining in there was the same as her mother's. Her hair, from what he could see, was light brown, wavy and thick. Not straight or thin.

The air she emanated was just as intelligent and soothing as Moira's.

She may have looked more like him but it was obvious to Draco that her personality and temper were quite the same as Moira's. And that was more important than anything, for he would always look at his baby girl and see his other beautiful and beloved girl.

He was in love with his child, for she, one day, would turn into pretty much the same wonderful and amazing woman her mother had been. And he would make sure she was never in danger nor harmed by anything. He would protect her. He would be her prince in a shining armour.

The end."

Draco Malfoy looked down at his daughter lying peacefully in her bed with a frown playing on her brow. She obviously had never heard that going to bed late is only for the grown ups. Most probably, she plainly ignored it.

"Daddy, why did the lady have to die?"

He stared at her, searching for the right way to phrase his answer. There wasn't one.

"Ivi dear, why does everything, one day, die?"

"I don't know..." She shrugged, looking a little lost.

"Because nobody can live forever."

"Why not?" Her frown was deepening and her voice was sounding less sleepy and calm. He knew that if she didn't stop asking questions now, she would not sleep as long as she needed.

But he answered her anyway:

"Imagine if people could live forever," Draco began, then paused. "There would be no place for the new-born people and everything would be crowded. Someday, people would be forbidden to have children and there would be no more kids like you around the world."

"So, from what you are saying, people die so that other people can live and be born?" she asked thoughtfully.

Draco smiled fondly at her. "Yes, that's exactly what I said."

"But, daddy-" Ivi started.

"No buts, young lady. It's time to sleep," he admonished heartily.

"Daddy!" she whined, scowling.

"No, Ivi. You said if I told you a story, you would go to sleep. A deal is a deal. Now, stop making faces and go to sleep."

"I don't think I like you anymore," she stated stubbornly and dismissively.

He kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, princess."

Draco started to walk out of her bedroom but was stopped when she sleepily called him in a small voice.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"Did mummy love us like the woman seemed to love her daughter and husband?"

He smiled sadly. "Yes, Ivi. She did."

When he was sure Ivi would not hear him anymore from the closed bedroom, he murmured, "You can't imagine how much Moira loved you, Ivi. You just can't."

Silvia Moira Malfoy was now four years old and her mother, Moira Malfoy, had died on the day she was born.

And Draco Malfoy could not say he regretted the things that happened in his life. After all, maybe if they hadn't happened, the wonderful and precious being sleeping innocently in the next room might not have existed. And, if there was one thing he would not ever let go of, it was the present his first true love had left.

Their daughter. Ivi.

THE END.