Fanfiction

Little Sister by Rochelle

Title: Little Sister
Author: Rochelle
Rating: PG

Summary: A squib was once born to the Malfoy family. A grown up Draco remembers her.

Note: I'm reposting this story as Rochelle has taken her site down, and the link no longer works.

I remember the day you were born, little sister, even though I was barely four. Mum and Father knew they were having a girl, and I knew that my short life would never be the same. Already, all that Mum and Father ever talked about was the baby's room, the baby's crib, all the things "the baby" would need, and little regard was given to me. I knew already that I would hate you, the girl who took my parents away, even before I laid eyes on you or so much as knew your name.

Or at least that's what I thought.

"Draco," Father had said with a smile, peering at me from around the corner, "come with me and meet your new sister." I was sitting in the hospital waiting room, coloring in my coloring book. Even then, I knew how relatively rare it was to see Father smile like this, so joyful and proud that I thought he might burst. I swore there tears in his eyes, too, something I had never seen and haven't seen since then.

"I don't want to meet her," I said with a stubborn scowl and scribbled fiercely in my coloring book.

"Come with me," Father said again, his voice harsher this time, "or I promise I'll make you regret it." So, sulking, I let him lead me down the long, white hall and into Mum's hospital room.

When I walked through the door, I saw Mum lying in bed and holding a small, squirming bundle of pink blankets. "Come see your new sister, Draco," Mom told me with a smile of her own: wearier than Father's, but no less proud. "Her name is Sapphira Emily."

I was frowning when I first approached, but when I looked down at your little face -- all pink and white and innocent with thin wisps of pale-gold hair -- I couldn't hate you anymore, even though I wanted to. You cooed a bit when you first saw me and blinked your big, blue-gray eyes. I think that was your way of trying to charm me, and yes, little sister, it did work.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Father said. "She looks just like your mother."

I didn't say anything right then. I just reached out and let you grab my finger. You had the tiniest hands I'd seen, like a little porcelain doll's, and I couldn't help marveling at how delicate you seemed. I sought to protect you from... from.... Well, I wasn't certain then; I was only four. But if any creature, man or beast, tried to harm my baby sister, it would have to come through me first. "I'm your big brother," I finally said as you played with my fingers. That was when I understood the pride that my parents were feeling right then.
* * *

Sapphira Emily Malfoy. As much as my parents love grand names, I never thought that one suited you and simply called you Emily. It was a pretty, honest name, and I thought it was best for someone so small. And as soon as you could talk (you weren't quite one then -- a very smart girl), you simply called me Drake. You're the only one who ever got away with that, you know. Anyone else who called me Drake would have ended up tasting my fist.

As time went on, I think I only loved you more. You may be the only thing I've ever really loved, or at least the only thing that truly loved me back. Mum and Father? Yes, I know they care about me in their way. But the only reason Mum had me is because Father wanted an heir, and Father only approves of me when I do what he expects. But you, little sister, my Emily... you didn't care about those things. I was your big brother, your hero; all you asked of me was that I be there for you, and I always tried to be.
* * *

"Lucius, what are we going to do?" I heard Mum say in a loud, panicked whisper behind her and Father's closed bedroom door. "Sapphira hasn't shown the slightest bit of potential yet, and if something doesn't happen soon...."

"Don't talk like that, Narcissa," Father answered sharply. I could almost hear him frowning. "She isn't even three years old; maybe she just needs a bit more time."

"But it's only a matter of time before people start to talk," Mother whispered back. "Can you even imagine it if anyone thought our daughter... was...." Then, she began to sob.

Stupidly, I opened the door. I saw Mum crying Father's arms, head buried against his shoulder. "What's wrong with Sapphira?" I asked, eyes wide. I always used your first name when I was in front of them. "Why's Mummy crying?"

"Get out of here!" Father snapped at me. "Get out of here right now!" The look in his eye was murderous. Frightened, I hurried away and shut the door behind me.

I didn't understand it then. I was only six years old. All I knew for certain was that Mum and Father were very upset about you, so I went to your room to check on you. You were only sitting there on the fluffy white rug, playing with your favorite toy: a yellow teddy bear that you'd named Mr. Fuzzy. It was small and cuddly, like you, and the only thing magic about it was the way it made you smile.

"Emily," I asked, sitting down across from you, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine," you answered brightly and offered me your teddy bear. "Mr. Fuzzy wants you to hug him," you explained. Your expression was so earnest that I couldn't help chuckling. Nonetheless, I took the bear, hugged it and handed it back to you.

I nearly asked you if you knew what had upset Mum and Father so, but you weren't that much more than a baby. I didn't expect you'd have the answer any more than I did.

You gave me a puzzled look and asked me, "Are you sad?" You always were perceptive for your age.

"Why do you ask?" was my response.

"Your eyes look sad," you answered, and offered me Mr. Fuzzy again. "Maybe you'll be happy if you hug him again."

I looked at the bear, but hugged you instead. You threw your arms around my neck, smelling of soap and strawberry shampoo.

"Drake," you told me softly while I was still hugging you, "Mummy and Daddy are mad at me. Mummy threw me out the window this morning, and they yelled at me because I didn't fly."

"But you're not hurt, are you?" I asked with concern.

You shook your head. "No."

I didn't say anything for awhile.

"Drake?"

"Hm?"

You leaned against me, prompting me to hold you again. "Can you fly?"

I nodded. "Every wizard and witch can. It's only a matter of time, is all."

Worry creased your small brow. "But... what if I don't learn? Ever?"

I didn't have an answer for you. "You'll learn," was all I said.
* * *

I never meant to lie to you. I did think you would learn to fly, or float, or disappear, or do something magical sometime soon. I'd shown my abilities when I was just two years old, and surely you would by the age of three. But by the time that you were nearly four years old -- nearly the age that I had been when you were born -- you hadn't done anything at all.

Mum cried nearly every day, and I saw Father hit you once. He called you a "filthy, worthless squib," slapped you across the face and yelled at you, shaking you, saying you were an embarrassment to the Malfoy family name. Saying he wished you'd never been born. You were so small and terrified then; you kept apologizing to him through your tears. I tried to get him away from you and got thrown into the wall for my trouble. But at least I gave you time to run away.

I found you later in your room, huddled in the corner with Mr. Fuzzy in your arms. You looked up at me, gasping in fright, probably thinking I might've been Father. I could see a livid bruise just beneath one eye, and tears still streamed down your cheeks. I could feel you shaking when I held you.

"What's... what's wrong with me?" you whispered. "I didn't mean to make them angry."

"They're just upset because you don't have any magic yet," I said, smoothing your long, white-gold hair. "Just give it more time, Emily; they'll be proud of you."

But without meaning to, I'd lied to you again.

It was only two days later that I found you in your bed. Mr. Fuzzy was still at your side.

"Wake up, Emily," I said gently. "It's getting rather late."

You didn't move at all.

"Emily?" I shook you a little. "Emily!" I ran off to look for Mum, knowing Father was at work. I found her in the living room, looking out the widow. "Mum! Come quick! Something's wrong with Emi... Sapphira!"

When Mum looked at me, I noticed her eyes were red-rimmed and lifeless, like she'd been crying a very long time. "It is?" she asked. Her voice was as dull as her eyes. She followed me right to your room, but seemed in little hurry to get there.

"She won't wake up," I told Mum urgently, feeling frightened and confused. "But... but she'll be okay... won't she?"

Mum kissed you on your forehead, but she didn't say anything. Then, she left me alone with you.

You never opened your blue-gray eyes. You just lay there, like a porcelain doll, and your skin was cold as stone.
* * *

I had lost my little sister. Once the funeral was done, Mum and Father told me I was never to speak your name again. They never mentioned your name again, either, and they took down all of your pictures. I saved Mr. Fuzzy, though. I stole him from your room when they weren't looking, and I've kept him hidden from them all this time. Even though I knew how much they wanted to try and forget about you, I just couldn't let them bury every trace of you.

It is... best that they got rid of you, though. This, I realized in time. You were worthless to the family, even worse than muggles and mudbloods. I would have been the laughingstock of Slytherin because of you, would've been the boy whose sister was a squib. I can almost hear it now: "So much for the Malfoy family name!" and "Hey, Malfoy! I heard your sister is a muggle!"

Yes.... it is better for both of us that you're gone. If they had let you live, I only could have hated you.

The End.

Posted by rockygirl at August 31, 2003 11:32 AM