~ Continued from previous chapter ~

"What?!" Hermione said eventually.

"My name's Pandora Malfoy," I said resignedly. "I come from one of the oldest Pureblood families in Britain, and the rest of my family believe very strongly in the whole Pureblood elitism thing."

"But you don't?" Hermione asked, sounding a little confused.

"Of course I don't," I confirmed.

"How does that work?"

I gave her a confused look, and she elaborated for me.

"Normally, if your family have such strong beliefs, you'll grow up with the same beliefs unless some outside influence changes how you think or feel about those things," she explained. "But that can only have been someone you're close to, who grew up with the same beliefs but then had them changed later in their life, because you wouldn't have befriended anyone from — what do you call it? — the Muggle world if you still had your family's beliefs." She took a pause for breath, then added, "Did that make sense?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it did. And as for your question, it was my mother."

"But I thought all of your family were blood-purists?"

"They are. Well, I think they are, anyway..." I made a confused face. "Father and Draco definitely are, but Mother... I don't know. I think it was an accident that she gave me the book, but—" I broke off and shrugged.

"What book?"

"Oh, right. When I was about eight, Mother gave me a hardback book. It had a cover that said it was The Tales of Beedle the Bard — that's a book of wizarding fairytales — but when I opened it, it was actually Muggle book called Matilda."

"Oh, I love that book!" Hermione said, sounding excited. "When I first read it, I managed to make things move like Matilda could, and I got so excited, I dropped the book on my foot."

"Ouch," I said, with a sympathetic wince.

Hermione nodded, then said, "Anyway, how did that book get a different cover? And how did your mum not notice it?"

"I don't know, but someone called Andy had written a message on the blank page at the back," I said, shrugging.

"What did it say?"

I frowned as I tried to remember, bringing up a picture of the message in my mind.

Pandora,

There's much more to life than money, power, and blood status. The Muggle world is a fascinating place, and the people living in it are just as human as we are. Don't let yourself become another child who follows their family's twisted beliefs without question.

Andy

I repeated these words to Hermione, who looked increasingly interested with each sentence.

"So Andy was a wizard then?" Hermione asked, and I nodded.

"And a Pureblood, by the sound of it," I added. "But he can't be very closely related to me, because I know a lot of my family tree, and he's definitely not on there. Father's an only child, and Mother had one sister, but she got married to someone called Rodolphus and didn't have any kids. And even going back another couple of generations draws a blank." I sighed quietly.

"Why does he have to be on your family tree?" Hermione asked. "Aren't there more Pureblood families?"

"Well," I started, "technically, yes, but you'll find that most, if not all, old Pureblood families are connected in some way. They tend to marry into the same few families to 'keep their blood pure', which can lead to a pretty confusing family tree."

"That's really creepy," she said. "How closely related are the people who marry?"

"Usually, anything from second cousins to so distant that the link is hard to trace — although there are a few instances of cousins marrying if you go back enough generations, and even siblings a couple of times."

"That's even more creepy."

I nodded. "Tell me about it."

There was a comfortable silence for a few minutes as Hermione and I watched the start of a rain shower patter against the window. Unfortunately, this silence was soon broken by the sound of out-of-tune piano playing coming from downstairs. Hermione's face screwed up into an expression of annoyance and irritation.

"Eurydice's back to playing the piano?" I asked, and she nodded.

"Mum and Dad have paid for her to have lessons again. They're hoping her interest in it lasts longer than a month this time, but I'm sure she'll have moved on to the violin by the end of next week." She stood up and closed the door, then turned back to me and said, "What's your parents' relationship like?"

"Why?" I immediately asked.

"Well," she started, "I was just wondering if perhaps Andy was someone your mum was — um — seeing, if you know what I mean."

I shook my head, a frown appearing on my face. "She wouldn't do that — she loves Father too much."

But why she still loves him after all the times he's hurt her is a mystery to me, I added in my head.

"Besides," I continued, "that sort of thing can't be covered up for long, especially with Rita Skeeter and the Prophet—"

"Who's Rita Skeeter? And who's the prophet?" Hermione asked interestedly.

"The Daily Prophet's our newspaper," I explained. "There's a couple of other independent ones too, and quite a few magazines, but the Prophet's the only mainstream paper. Rita Skeeter writes for the Prophet, and occasionally for Witch Weekly magazine as well, but her stories are either complete fabrication, or a highly exaggerated version of what's actually happened." I rolled my eyes. "She's all about what'll sell."

A crash of thunder sounded from outside the window, making me flinch. The rain shower had escalated into a full-on storm. And when the first lightning lit up the dark sky, it brought with it a horrible realisation.

"We can't be friends at Hogwarts," I said softly.

Hermione looked up sharply, her eyes wide.

"What?! Why?!"

"You're Muggleborn, Mione," I explained sadly. "My family won't allow me to be your friend."

"But why does it matter?" she asked, sounding upset. "I didn't think you were like them!"

"I'm not," I said, "but I have to pretend I am. I'll be sorted into Slytherin when I get to Hogwarts — my whole family have been for centuries, so there's no denying that." I sighed quietly. "You'll probably be a Ravenclaw, or maybe a Gryffindor, so we won't be able to talk without word getting around the school, and eventually that word will reach my parents."

And by parents, I mean Father. Mother wouldn't mind too much, I don't think...

"And?" Hermione said, having to yell a little to make herself heard over a new rumble of thunder. "Why should you care if it does? You're your own person, and your mum and dad shouldn't be able to stop you!"

I shook my head, sighing again.

"Mione, my family isn't like yours. Mother and Father carefully manage our public image to ensure we stay in a position of fame and power. If I were to openly cut myself off from their beliefs..." I hesitated.

"What?" Hermione asked, her expression one of anxiety. "What would happen? Would they hurt you? Because they shouldn't be—"

I cut her off quickly. "No no no no, they wouldn't—"

Yes yes yes yes, he would...

"—but — well," I continued, "there's people who were on my family tree, but aren't there anymore. People who felt the same way as I felt, and showed this openly."

"What happened to them?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide.

"They got disowned," I said softly. "Some of them when they weren't even of-age, I think. And I don't want that to happen."

A flash of lightning and a crash of thunder came in quick succession, telling me the storm was right overhead. I shuddered slightly.

"But I don't want to stop being your friend!" Hermione said. I couldn't tell if she was more angry or sad. "You're the only friend I've had since I was five!"

"And I don't want to stop being yours," I said, not able to meet her eyes. "We can still be friends during the holidays, when I can slip away from my family without anyone finding out where I'm going... but not while we're at Hogwarts."

"Why?"

I gave her a sad look.

"I'm sorry. This is just how it has to be."

***
Word count: 1390