My Parents Together

The date was July 12. My father had only gotten out of Azkaban a few weeks earlier, and the newness of his presence had not yet worn off. Rarely before had I ever seen them so affectionate. They were on the loveseat together, my mother folded up next to my father, his arm over her. Before, I had only ever caught a few kisses. I did not particularly enjoy watching them, but at the same time, I felt like the luckiest child in the world. I know most people believe me to be a spoiled, ungrateful brat. Maybe I am, but I do realize that I have the two greatest parents of anyone.

As I look at my mother, I see her gray eyes, her aristocratic nose, her pink mouth, and her high cheekbones. She is thin, but not skinny. She is still taller than I am, but not by much. Turning my eyes toward my father, I see the same gray eyes, the same aristocratic nose, a slightly less pink mouth, and a pointed face, like mine. He is what could be considered of average build. He is slightly taller than my mother, and he says that I am taller than he was at my age.

They are obsessed with each other, but you would never know it. They are as opposite as any two could be. My father is forceful and authoritative. He will say almost anything to anyone, and commands respect wherever he is. My mother is painfully shy around anyone she doesn't know and very meek. She often assumes a very proud and snobbish demeanor, but only in public and only to keep people from talking to her. Father often calls her "Prim and Shy Narcissa" and has since they were very young.

Many people assume that my father behaves toward my mother as toward every other being. They could not be more wrong. As soon as he sees my mother, he drops all shrewd businessman or Death Eater attitude and becomes an entirely different person. He's tender and loving. The most wonderful example of this is on the nights he has been working for the Dark Lord. One night, the first night I had ever seen him coming home from that sort of action, he Apparated into the entry hall, my mother waiting for him. I was watching from the top stair, hoping to hear some details of the night's happenings. Instead of talking, he pulled off his mask, scooped my mother up in his arms, and kissed her. Imagine a man in Death Eater robes holding a woman as though she were a newborn lamb. He placed her on the floor again, put an arm around her waist, and led her toward the stairs to go to their bedroom. I had scampered away so I would not be seen. He usually lets her have her way. When she panicked at the thought of my being in Bulgaria for the majority of the year, he promptly changed his plans. No one else could have dissuaded him, I think.

The only time I remember my father ever hitting me was once when I was about six. I said something awful to my mother (I do not remember exactly), and she began to cry. My father took me by the arm, jerked me out of the room, and dragged me down the hallway to my room. He beat me nearly senseless. He's very protective of her. Never again have I said anything like that to her. It may seem ridiculous to some, but that is the memory I experience when I am around a dementor. Her wounded crying, my father's angry expression, and my screams and pain litter my mind whenever one of those awful things comes around.

When Theodore Nott comes over, I see him looking at my mother enviously. It makes me proud. He doesn't have a mother and his would not be as nice as mine anyway. I know Potter hates me for it. I have everything he has ever wanted, and I do not mind parading that fact to him quite regularly. He tried insulting her once, but he doesn't understand. He never will. I'll never let that Mudblood-loving Half-Blood get near her long enough. She despises anyone but Purebloods, and then only the ones that aren't blood traitors. Family means a lot to her, and I am glad to be a part of it.