{ trigger warning: mentions of alcohol and violence. strong language. }

             WHEN LUCIUS MALFOY SAW OPHELIA for the first time in several months, the first thing he'd noticed was that she looked different. For a split second, he'd thought she was Narcissa.

Older.

Much, much older.

She had grown several inches taller, and her head was now reaching his shoulder. What had struck him the most was how her facial features and figure had become more womanly. 

He suddenly missed her childhood days full of glory, sunshine, and other less important things like how one of her stuffed bears was sick.

Rather than the fact that the Dark Lord was back, and she was best friends with a mudblood... If Lord Voldemort knew... he thought bitterly, with a grimace, shaking his head. Well, at least she wasn't dating him.

He was screwed if his daughter fell in love with a mudblood.

"Daddy!" the blonde exclaimed, haphazardly dropping whatever she was carrying to the floor and making her way straight towards him, jumping all over him and wrapping her arms around his waist. 

To which Lucius cleared his throat and gently patted her back. "Welcome home, Ophelia," he said stoically. "Your mother awaits you in the kitchen."

Pulling away from her for a moment, Lucius set his sight on Draco. "Draco, I must have a word with you," he ordered.

Draco was usually so arrogant and poised when he was at school, and for once, seeing him so tense and quiet at home was both surprising and satisfying at the same time.

Ophelia pouted as her father's attention was off her, and a small crinkle formed between her brows. 

"Oh, and Ophelia," Lucius called her. "Try getting into the habit of calling me Father. At least, in public."

Her lips parted, and she nodded. "Y-yes Father," she nodded, before heading upstairs to her room, and collapsing on her bed.

She'd missed this place, she realized, once she'd entered her room, staring up at her surroundings, which felt so familiar, yet so different, at the same time. 

Little.

Her house elf was called Little.

It was tradition that every Malfoy was assigned a House Elf at birth; a companion for the rest of their lives; a servant.

The elf was to help bring the child up; to stay awake while the mother slept all night, and tend to all the baby's needs and wants.

Ophelia's elf was known as Flos, when she was born.

But as Ophelia grew older, she was only a few months old when she pointed to her house elf, and noticed that she was smaller than the rest of the people she interacted with, and so pointed to her house elf, and called her Little.

Since then, the name stuck.

Ophelia could not remember the real name of her elf, but the elf did not mind. It's name was Little.

Ophelia was very close to Little. In some ways, closer to her than Narcissa.

The elf had braided her hair when she was young, brought her food when she was hungry, and tried to comfort her when she cried.

And whenever Ophelia was bothered with any sort of information, or thought, she shared her mind with her elf.

Her elf knew all her secrets.

"Little," Ophelia sighed as she laid face-up on her bed, staring at the painted constellations in her pink cloudy ceiling.

There was a sound that resembled a whiplash, and the House Elf made appearance.

"Miss Malfoy," a high-pitched, squeaky voice broke the silence in the room. "Welcome back to the Manor."

Ophelia merely nodded glumly. "Could you get my trunk from downstairs?" she asked. "And put my clothes into my wardrobe. The Christmas gifts can go in my third drawer."

"Yes, Miss Malfoy."

Within seconds, Ophelia's trunk was emptied, and out of sight, her clothes in her wardrobe, and her belongings where they belonged. 

Satisfied, the blonde closed her eyes.

She didn't remember when she fell asleep.

"Ophelia, get up!"

"Ophelia!"

"Get up, will you!"

The blonde stirred, and slowly coming to her senses, the sleep wore off, and she rubbed her eyes with her palms before opening them.

Her room was dark, the curtains still open. The sun had long gone down, and Ophelia felt a strange pang of sadness that she'd missed the sunset.

"Finally," drawled a cocky voice from the direction of where her door was.

She rubbed her eyes and focused on the figure there, and it took less than a second for her to recognize it to be Draco.

It felt like they were strangers, living in the same house. Ophelia knew him so well, yet at the same time, barely knew him at all.

"Mother's calling you," he remarked. "In her study."

Although Narcissa did not go to work, Lucius had insisted she had a study of her own, where she would read, write letters, and manage the household. 

Narcissa rarely entered her study, perhaps once in two weeks or so, and Ophelia had only ever been in her mother's study twice.

Once, when she was four years old, and was playing hide and seek by herself. She had stumbled across the room, and curiously, touched her mother's ink bottle on the desk, where it had fallen, and stained the handmade Indian carpet that was a wedding gift from Narcissa's father, Cygnus Black. 

Narcissa had cried that her carpet was ruined, and scolded Ophelia terribly for it, until the little girl cried and locked herself up in her room. To which Lucius had scolded Narcissa that it was an accident, and he shouldn't scold his precious princess.

The very next day, Lucius had purchased a brand new carpet made of pure silk, imported from Persia. It was pure white, and soft to the touch, unlike any other carpet Ophelia had ever seen. 

The matter was never discussed again.

The second time Ophelia had entered her mother's study was when she was eleven, and she had just received her owl that brought the message that she was accepted into Hogwarts. She had knocked on her mother's door, and her mother had been overjoyed.

She would never forget that day.

Draco had already left her room, and after closing her curtains, and washing her face, Ophelia was already on her way to her mother's study.

Slowly, she knocked on the door.

"Enter," her mother's gentle voice broke the silence.

The blonde tentatively entered.

The carpet was white as ever, and just as soft as the day Lucius had first purchased it. She slowly set foot inside the room, swallowing thickly, and shut the door gently behind her.

It was just then she realized how dry her throat was after just waking up, and how all her teeth felt like foreigners in her mouth. 

"Sit down, Ophelia," Narcissa spoke softly, gesturing to the soft armchair directly opposite her desk. 

She obliged.

Narcissa waved her wand, and conjured a clear glass half-full of water, and handed it to her daughter. 

She took it, and allowed the liquid to seep between her lips and down her her throat.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Narcissa observed her daughter with her blue eyes. "You look well," Narcissa nodded singly.

That meant that her figure was slim enough. It meant that her face was glowing, and her skin was flawless, and unblemished. It meant that her hair was perfectly soft and shiny.

"So do you, mother," Ophelia said quietly, setting the empty glass down.

"How was your term at Hogwarts?"

She knew this was not the main topic her mother wished to speak of. It was just a formality, before Narcissa went straight to what she wished to discuss. 

Which meant that Ophelia was to barely answer.

"It was fine."

Ophelia looked up at her mother, her grey eyes glazed with moisture. Since when did her mother and her have this sort of relationship?

Where they treated each other like strangers, like they barely knew each other. Once upon a time, she and her mother used to do everything together. They used to wear matching outfits, and bake together, and garden together, and read books together too.

Narcissa seemed to notice this too, and slowly, she stood up, and offered her hand for Ophelia to follow.

The Gryffindor stood up, and trailed her mother's footsteps to where she was directed to a much warmer, more comfortable loveseat.

Narcissa took one side, and Ophelia took the other.

"Ophelia, things are changing," her mother whispered, taking a deep breath, gently clasping Ophelia's hands between her own. "Please, please, take care of yourself."

The blonde could merely nod. This scared her. It only made things more scarier, more real.

"Lucius and I won't be around much to look after you," Narcissa continued. "You and Draco need to look after each other. Please, please, my daughter. Do this for me."

Ophelia blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, and looked at the floor, at the shimmering, silky carpet.

"Mummy, I can't.." Ophelia whispered softly, her grey eyes balancing tears. "Please. I promise, I can do anything, but this... I can't."

"Why?" Narcissa asked quietly, her expression one of hurt. "You're both my children. I love you both endlessly."

Ophelia then spoke the words she had never thought she'd ever speak to her mother.

"Because Draco hates me."

Narcissa's lips parted and her blue eyes softened, slowly tearing up. "No— that's... I'm sure that's not true, Ophelia... Draco's just a boy. He's sweet and gentle."

Tears stained the blonde's eyes. "No— Mummy, you... you don't understand. He— I can't. I just can't."

She did not want to hurt her mother by telling her what Draco said. She did not want any extra family drama.

This was between her and Draco. She did not want to pull her parents into it. If she told either of her parents why she and her brother did not get along, Lucius would scold Draco, and Narcissa would defend him.

It would cause Lucius and Narcissa to fight.

"Please, my daughter. Try. For my sake. For the sake of the family."

The family was all they had.

So Ophelia did the only thing that would satisfy her mother. 

She nodded.

Narcissa pulled her daughter into an embrace. "Thank you," she whispered into Ophelia's ear.

The blonde said nothing.

"One more thing, Ophelia," Narcissa murmured. "Your father and I made some terrible choices when we were younger, and it is just now that we are paying the price," she whispered, dabbing her eyes with her dress. "Please, before you do something, think. Think once, think twice. I don't want you to find yourself in the same predicament as we find ourselves in. Promise me to think rationally before you make a decision."

This, Ophelia could try.

"I promise, Mummy."

Nothing more was said the rest of the holidays.

Ophelia rarely saw her parents. Narcissa was in her study, most of the time, and Lucius would spend majority of his time at the Ministry, and his nights out until late, and neither he, nor Narcissa would tell Draco and Ophelia where he was.

The only thing that was keeping Ophelia from completely going mental was the good night kiss from her father.

Every night, Lucius would open his daughter's door, and kiss her on her forehead. No matter how late it was, he would always come in to check up on her, before retreating to his bedroom.

That was enough for Ophelia.

The days to Christmas had never passed so slowly before. With no one to talk to, and nothing to do, Ophelia Malfoy spent majority of her days in her bedroom. She would occasionally go to outside to the garden and walk in the snow, or read in the manor's library...

Draco seemed to be in his room all day as well. Ophelia barely saw him. She occasionally saw him carrying bottles of firewhiskey to his room, and she felt rather worried; when did he start drinking? Did Narcissa and Lucius know? Why was he drinking?

She wanted to ask, but she couldn't, for she knew Draco would never answer her.

The Manor felt darker, and more forlorn than ever, and every room looked cold and empty to Ophelia.

She felt like a prisoner in her own home.

The day before Christmas, Ophelia sat at her piano, and gently played a song of her own composure, her fingers softly tapping each key, a somber melody filling her room.

She hummed along softly, lost in her own little reverie.

Thump.

Her fingers left the keys, and the music stopped.

Thump. 

There it was again. She listened carefully again.

Thump.

It seemed to be coming from the room next to hers.

Slowly, she got up from the piano, gently making her way to the door, and shutting it behind her. Knocking gently on her brother's door, she waited, fingers crossed behind her back as she hoped he'd answer.

But the thumping continued, and there was no answer.

She knocked again. "Draco?" she called out softly.

When she received no answer for the second time, she slowly let herself in.

The sight that met her eyes was horrifying.

Empty firewhiskey bottles lay scattered across the floor, which was littered in parchment and clothes.

Draco stood in the corner of the room, his fist colliding with the wall he was next to, his knuckles bruised and bloody.

Ophelia clapped a hand to her mouth, and her feet seemed rooted to the spot, as if they were tightly bound by a thick cord.

Draco noticed her. "Get out!" he hissed. "Not a word to anyone, got it?"

He approached her, his eyes red, and tearstained. His finger pointed to the exit, but she couldn't move.

"Draco," she whispered.

"I SAID GET OUT!" her brother roared, and Ophelia whimpered, shutting her eyes tightly. His mouth stank of alcohol, and his step seemed shaky. She could tell he was very, very drunk.

"No," she said softly, shaking her head. Slowly, she made her way to her brother, taking his hand in her own two, smaller ones.

Draco tried to snatch his hand away from her grasp, but Ophelia came prepared, and held on tightly.

He didn't have the strength to refuse.

"Little," Ophelia called her elf.

Her elf appeared not a millisecond later. 

"Fetch me warm water, a cloth, and some essence or murtlap."

"I don't need your help!" Draco scoffed. "Don't touch me with those filthy hands of yours. The same hands you touch the mudblood with."

She pursed her lips, trying to stop her tears. She couldn't let his words affect her.

She was going to help him.

She'd promised her mother she'd look after him.

"Draco, I don't have time for your drama," she finally spoke. "You're going to shut up, and listen, or I will tell both, Mummy and Daddy you've been drinking."

That shut her brother up.

Little brought the things Ophelia asked for, and she set them down on the bedside table.

After Ophelia ordered her elf to make Draco's bed, the blonde pushed her brother into his bed, and gently tended to his wounds.

He'd punched the wall several times, and his knuckles were broken, to the point where he no longer felt any pain.

And Ophelia, trying to see through her tears, slowly tried her best to clean off the blood, and soak his hand in murtlap essence to stop the bleeding, and heal his wounds. Applying healing ointment to his bones, after the skin had sealed, she dipped a few bandages in essence of murtlap, and dressed his hand.

Draco did not say a word while she did this.

Once she was done, she asked Little to brew her brother a hang-over potion, and she gave it to him, before picking up the empty bottles of firewhiskey, and tidied up his room for him.

When she left the room, he was nearly asleep, his cold blue eyes trained on her.

"Why?" he asked simply.

She tilted her head and took a deep breath. Why? He asked. Because she couldn't stop herself from caring about him.

"Because you're my brother," she replied quietly. "And I love you."

And then, knowing he wouldn't remember any of this in the morning, she left, shutting the door behind her.

She entered her room, going back to her piano, and resuming the song she had previously been playing, pretending nothing had happened.

Christmas morning arrived far too soon for Ophelia's liking. There was no Christmas tree this year. Everyone woke up at whatever time they wanted. 

Ophelia found her presents at the foot of her bed.

Even the joy of opening them had faded, but it was the only good thing about this Christmas, so she unwrapped the first one.

Makeup items from her mother.

The second one was much larger, and contained a cage, with two, small, golden birds inside.

Her jaw dropped, instantly recognizing them.

Lucius Malfoy had gifted her with two golden snidgets this year.

The rarest bird in the magical universe. She did not even want to think of how much it all costed.

She received a set of quills from Professor McGonagall, and the thought made her smile. Professor Snape, her godfather, had gifted her a vial that contained felix felicis, more commonly known as liquid luck.

No gift from Colin this year.

Sadness flooded through her, and she took in a deep breath.

All that remained was a single envelope.

Slowly, she opened it.

A parchment fell out.

Thank you. 

Nothing else.

Immediately, a smile formed across her features. She knew that it was Draco.

Sure, it wasn't polite, and neither did it contain a gift, but it was still something.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face that night.

No, it wasn't the best Christmas, but she still wouldn't change it for the world. Her brother had acknowledged her, and as she tucked the note into her bedside drawer, she thought about the small gesture, closing her eyes, and telling herself that it was enough.

Lucius had come into her room late at night, gently kissing her goodnight. He lay next to her for a few minutes, thanked her for the watch she'd gifted him, until he retreated off to his room for the night.

Ophelia awoke late the following morning. She was starving, having barely eaten the past few days. It wasn't that she was trying to starve herself, or attract attention, she merely did not feel like eating.

Slowly, she made her way to the kitchen, after putting on a long, loose dressing gown, over her satin camisole and shorts, in search of something to eat.

As she looked through the kitchen, and the pantry, her eyes landed on a sealed packet of pasta. Usually, Narcissa made pasta at home, but for emergency reasons, she still kept readymade in the house.

The blonde's smile widened, and she read the instructions on the back before boiling it.

She went through one of her mother's old cookbooks, looking for a recipe. On finding the recipe for a creamy, white pasta, she began cooking, taking her time to perform each step carefully.

When Ophelia had finished eating, she asked Little to help her clean the kitchen.

Today, she took her time in getting dressed. She wore a warm, grey cashmere sweater that brought out her eyes, and paired it with a white, pleated skirt. Beneath it, she wore delicate black leggings, and tied her hair in a half-ponytail, finishing it up with a baby-pink ribbon.

She had only two days to complete her homework, before it was time to go back to Hogwarts. Ophelia was nearly done with her holiday homework.

She had finished Potions, History of Magic, and Charms.

Only Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration remained.

As she took out her quill, and got to work, she heard a commotion downstairs.

Judging by the loud voices that came from Lucius' study, which was directly beneath her room, Ophelia could tell that they had visitors.

If needed, her mother would call her to greet them.

About half an hour later, Ophelia yawned and stretched, finally done with Professor Umbridge's assignment. 

She had forgotten all about the visitors, and decided to go to the library and read a book for a while. 

She'd do her transfiguration later.

On her way to the library, and in all her eagerness to get there, she failed to notice that she was in someone else's way.

It was only after she bumped into him, that she realized she wasn't alone.

"Sorry—" the words slipped out of her mouth. From the smell alone, she could tell it wasn't Draco. The Manor was usually so empty. This rarely happened.

Her eyes flitted upwards to see who she had bumped into.

Hands in his pockets, his dark blue eyes stared down at her with a smirk on his face.

Theodore Nott.

His breath left his lungs when he realized who he'd bumped into. He'd gone breathless partly because she'd knocked the wind out of him, and partly because he had not been this close to her in a while.

She had grown noticeably taller than the last time he'd seen her properly, during the Hogsmeade visit about a month and a half ago.

She had changed so much since she was ten, back when he'd promised her he'd always been her friend. Her grey eyes remained the same; wide and innocent, and her figure had filled out in a most glorious way.

She looked so beautiful.

Merlin, she was gorgeous.

Her blonde hair fell around her shoulders effortlessly, and her grey eyes looked up at him with surprise of seeing him there. Her lips had parted as he had left her breathless, her cheeks flushed pink.

Theodore knew his effect on women. He knew she was intimidated. He knew she was confused.

And although she was pretty enough to hook up with, and he enjoyed flirting with her, and playing with her feelings, her behavior towards him was enough to make his blood boil.

Not to mention the fact that she was off-limits.

"No worries, darling," he drawled, his voice reeking with confidence. "Where are you off to?"

Ophelia chose not to answer him. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, folding her arms and looking up at him.

Theodore clicked his tongue. "Wouldn't you like to know."

She glared at him.

"My father's in the study with yours," he answered, clicking his tongue. "And Narcissa told me Draco's room was around here somewhere..."

"Upstairs," she stated. 

She turned back to walk to the library.

Her wrist was grabbed and she found herself pulled backwards, right into Theodore's chest. He pinned her against the wall. She couldn't help but gasp, and narrow her eyes.

Yet she noticed it was much gentler than the last time she found herself in the same position.

"Didn't give you permission to walk away from me," Theodore drawled.

"It's my home. I don't need permission," the blonde said snidely. "Let me go, Nott."

"Why the hostility, darling? What did I do to deserve this?"

She chose not to answer. "Let go of me Nott, or I swear to God, I will scream until my father finds you."

Theodore let out a cold chuckle, and he tilted his head slightly. "Still a Daddy's girl then?" he remarked. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ophelia arched a brow, folding her arms and glaring at him.

"You're still a spoiled brat who'll let Daddy fight all your battles for you," Theodore drawled. "Can't do anything without Daddy, can you?"

He crossed the line that was Ophelia's limit; insulting Lucius Malfoy.

"Shut up," she stated, her eyes pricking with tears.

"Or what?" Theodore chuckled at her expression. "Going to run off and complain to Daddy? First chance you'll get, and you'll go crying to him. Can't fight your own battles, can you?"

Ophelia's eyes were like taps, and she couldn't stop the tears that dripped down her cheeks. Because every word was true, and no matter how much she tried to fight her own battles, Lucius was always there to clean up her mess and pick up the pieces.

She couldn't find anything to say, except, "Go fuck yourself!"

Theodore's eyes narrowed. "Does Daddy know you use such dirty language?" he continued. "You really should learn how to treat and respect your superiors."

"Leave me alone, you bastard!" she shrieked through her tears. 

Theodore's hand wrapped itself around her neck, and he pressed her into the wall. "Let's see how you fight this," Theodore chuckled.

It hurt.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her air supply was low.

Tears dripped down her eyes, and she shut her grey eyes.

She tried to struggle, and get out of his grasp, but his hold was too strong.

"Nott!" Draco exclaimed, walking in on the scene, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Within seconds, Theodore was off Ophelia, and she had placed her hands on her neck. She was breathing deeply, on the floor, crying furiously.

"She called me a bastard, and told me to fuck myself," Theodore replied confidently. "Merely teaching her a lesson here."

"Stay away from her," Draco said coldly. "It's not your place to teach her lessons. That's the role of her parents. Next time, lay a hand on her, and I will not hesitate to break your fingers."

Theodore said nothing, but focused his blue eyes on Ophelia. 

"Thanks," Ophelia stood up, wiping her eyes.

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I wasn't helping you. It's not always about you. Stop being so self-centered. Stay away from Theo. You should know better than to disrespect him."

Ophelia opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Draco told Theodore to follow him, and headed for the staircase.

Before completely leaving, Theodore passed by Ophelia, leaning in to whisper into her ear. "That's right, now go run off to Daddy."

She watched them walk away.

Tears dripped heavily down her cheeks.

Draco had taken his side over hers.

And that fucking hurt.

More than anything else.

{ longest chapter yet! more than 4k words. i wanted to thank each and every one of you for 50k reads. please, please vote, comment and follow ,, it would mean the world to me. hope you enjoyed this chapter. take care of yourselves.
what's your zodiac sign?
mine's a leo.
love you guys, take care. follow me on spotify (dessertoholic), and please, please vote, comment, follow and share this story!
unedited chapter.
love, jasmine. }

{APR 30. 2023}