A/N: Everything except the stuff you don’t recognize belongs to JK Rowling and her utter genius.
Family Issues
Medea looked at him in confusion. She didn’t understand why he wasn’t supposed to like her. It never once occurred to her that he’d grown up hearing about “the Malfoys” from his whole family, and how he should avoid them and their daughter at all costs. She never imagined that his father the hero had told him that her parents, who were just as heroic in their own right, were to be looked upon with contempt.
They didn’t know it, but they were both lost when it came to their parents’ pasts.
She let her school girl game go and let her pain show in her eyes. “Why aren’t you supposed to like me?”
He just shrugged again. “You’re a Malfoy,” he answered simply.
“Oh, well, that’s a good reason! What is this, Romeo and Juliet?”
“What?”
“Nevermind. What’s wrong with being a Malfoy?” she asked with forced calmness.
“I don’t know! That’s just what my family says, Uncle Ron especially. Something about dark magic and Death Eaters and betraying friends. “ He couldn’t look her in the eye, it was too painful.
“What are you talking about?” she asked angrily. Surely he was lying; there couldn’t be Death Eaters in her family, her parents had fought against them. “Why are you making this up?”
“I’m not!” Patrick defended himself. “You can ask Odile, she hears it all the time, too.”
“I can’t believe I trusted you, you prat!” Then she turned around violently and ran away.
“Just brilliant!”
* * * *
Medea ran through the corridors blindly. She could’ve passed ten students practicing forbidden curses and she wouldn’t have noticed. She only stopped when she noticed the Headmistress coming toward her. She realized she could ask the Headmistress all of the questions that were now swimming through her brain.
“Professor McGonagall?” she asked timidly.
“Yes, Miss Malfoy?”
“Could I ask you a few questions about my parents?”
“Of course. What do you want to know?”
Medea scanned the area before she asked, “Were they Death Eaters?”
“Heavens, no!” she exclaimed. “You’re mother was some of Voldemort’s greatest opposition in the war! Why do you ask, my dear?”
She looked down in embarrassment. “I just heard someone talking about Malfoy Death Eaters.”
This made the Professor uneasy and she hesitated slightly. “Well, your mother isn’t a Malfoy.”
“So there were? My father…?” She could barely ask it, let alone believe it.
“Miss Malfoy, I don’t know if should be the one to answer these questions. I will say that your mother was the best thing that happened to your father, but other than that you need to ask them.” Then she began to move down the hall again.
Medea knew the Professor was right, but she was still disappointed. The last thing she wanted to do was ask her parents, “So tell me, were you a Death Eater way back when?” Somehow she just knew that wouldn’t go over so well.
So she took advantage of her free period and went to her most reliable source: the library. Many would find it unbelievable, but she’d never read the accounts of “the Boy Who Lived” or the account of the war. But she had a feeling that those were the resources she‘d need.
She went strait to the account of the war. She flipped through the chapters until she found what she was looking for. There was a bio-sketch of her father; it said he’d gone against generations of Malfoys and fought for the right side, putting his life in more danger than almost everyone else because the Death Eaters, his parents included, never let anyone out of their ranks.
It took all of her will power not to slam the book shut and throw it across the room. She was the descendant of Death Eaters. Her grandparents, whom she had just assumed were dead, had been the worst kind of sorcerers.
No wonder this book wasn’t in the library at home. She walked out of the library numbly and somehow made it to the Head’s common room. She had Herbology next, but she knew she’d never be able to get there. She couldn’t even leave the couch. Hopefully Professor Longbottom would understand.
* * * *
“Well, I guess little miss perfect isn’t so perfect after all.” Hyatt smiled mischievously as Patrick fell into the chair next to him.
“What’re you talking about?” he asked distractedly.
Phaedra answered, “Malfoy wasn’t in Herbology today. Skipped class, I bet.”
Hyatt’s grin widened. “Who’s willing to wager that Glenn the Geek wasn’t in History of Magic?” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively.
Odile turned to him with a traumatized look. “Eww, that is disgusting!”
He laughed and punched Patrick’s shoulder to get his approval. “Sod off, Hyatt,” he whispered angrily.
The three of them looked at him incredulously. “What’s got his wand in a knot?” Phaedra asked with a glare.
Patrick stood up and numbly walked out of the common room. Something was up and he had the sinking feeling that it related to what he’d told her that afternoon. There was only one person that would know where she was, and he would most likely be in the library at this time.
Sure enough, he was the first person that Patrick saw when he entered the quite room. He approached the table slowly; the last thing he wanted to do was scare him. Even though he was Head Boy, he was pretty jumpy. And since him and his cousins had not so affectionately referred to him as Glenn the Geek since they were twelve, Patrick had to pull out all the stops.
“Hey Glenn,” he greeted in his most jovial voice.
Glenn jumped anyway. “H-hello, Potter.”
“Could I ask a favor of you?” Patrick asked immediately.
“Sure.”
“Could you tell me where Mal”Medea is?”
Glenn looked at him in confusion. “She’s in our common room. Why?”
“Was she okay when you saw her?” he asked quickly.
But he shrugged. “I don’t know, it was weird. It was like she didn’t even see me.”
Patrick closed his eyes. Something was wrong. “Could you take me to her?”
Glenn wasn’t so enthusiastic about this request. “I don’t think””
“Please,” Patrick whispered desperately. “I know I’ve been a total prat to you since we’ve been in school, but I need your help. I really need to talk to her. I think I might have caused this.”
After Glenn got over his obvious shock, he looked around anxiously and then nodded. “Alright, but you can’t tell anyone where it is.”
“Course not,” he agreed.
Glenn didn’t say anything as he led Patrick through the corridors. He understood completely, though, because he and his cousins had never been fans of authority, especially from people their own age. In fact, they’d probably given him several nightmares over the years. Along the same lines, Patrick could also understand Glenn’s shock at his sincerity. But he wasn’t a complete heathen; his parents had instilled morals and values in him, it had just taken awhile for him to put them into action.
Glenn stopped in front of a portrait of a milkmaid and muttered, “Veritas.”
Patrick saw her as soon as he walked in the room. She was sitting eerily still on the couch and staring strait in front of her. He noticed that Glenn looked concerned. “She hasn’t moved,” he whispered in explanation.
And she didn’t move until he sat on the coffee table directly in front of her. “Medea?” he said softly.
Without warning her eyes filled with tears. “Why did you have to tell me?” she asked through her constricted throat. “I was just fine not knowing.”
In an impulse that was utterly new and foreign to him, Patrick wiped the tear that fell from her eye and held her cheek. “I’m sorry, really, I just assumed you knew.”
She sniffed. “Do you know everything about your father?”
He smirked. “Who doesn’t?”
“I’ve got the feeling that my parents made it so I wouldn’t find out.”
“Haven’t you read the account of the war? I mean there’s bio-sketch of your family, it’s riddled with dark wizards.” He’d only assumed she’d read them, considering that she always had her nose in a book.
But she shook her head. “I never knew, I never read them. I mean, they’re not even in the library at home and my mum wrote them.”
Patrick frowned in confusion. “Your mum? Your mother is Hermione Granger?” he asked incredulously.
“Well Malfoy now, but yes. You looked surprised.” By this time Medea had almost forgotten her disgust at her ancestors; she was too focused on the interesting turn the conversation was taking.
“Of course I’m surprised! If she wrote the Boy Who Lived about my father then they must have been friends.” His brow furrowed. “If they were friends, then why does he hate the Malfoy name so much?”
“Merlin, does he actually say that?”
Patrick shrugged. “In so many words. Now Uncle Ron says it right out. Do yours say anything about my family?”
“No, they don’t talk about the past. They say it’s better that way; it’s makes them happier, I guess.” She smiled at the memories of seeing just parents just smile at each other, completely content.
“Hmm, I think my whole family could learn a lesson from that.”
Now she smiled at him. “It’s always served us well; we’re happy just being our little family.”
“I don’t understand this,” Patrick admitted after a length of silence. “But it doesn’t change anything. I like you, I’m admitting out loud.”
“Are you going tell your cousins?” she challenged seriously.
“That depends. How do you feel about me?” he questioned in an equally serious tone. “Because if it’s hopeless I don’t see why they would need to know.”
She looked away from him as blush crept up into her cheeks. “Well, I’ve got bad news. Since there’s no way that I would carry on a secret relationship with you, you’re going to have to tell them.”
He smirked. “You really had me going there,” he teased. But his face turned pensive and he leaned closer to her. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered.
“What will our parents say?” she asked breathlessly.
Patrick gently pressed his lips to hers before he whispered, “They’ll have to deal with it.”