eden ➡ james f. potter

06: drugs.

'cause i'm a fucking mess sometimes

GROWING UP, CECILIA NEVER GOT TO EXPERIENCE MUCH OF a childhood. While children her age were playing with toys and fingerpainting the walls of their homes, she was reading books so heavy that she could barely hold them up and learning to rule with her mind and not her heart.

However, as much as the girl tried to be perfect, she would still make errors as she went along for she was human and that was in her nature. Her parents understood this not and for every mistake she made (though they were few), she would be taught a lesson.

When Cecilia was four years old, she learnt her first lesson as a Lestrange.

She was not to do the work that was to be done by slaves.

The pitter-patter of small feet could be heard as the infant ran down the hallway and into the kitchen. At the time, Cecilia Lestrange was a hurricane of energy and unpredictability. The girl whirled around the Lestrange Manor, carefree and oblivious like the wind as to what she would leave in her wake.

She entered the kitchen, her dark hair in two pigtails with dark purple ribbons tied at the base of each one. She was wearing a dark green and purple sundress while her feet were bare, the cool tiles tickling the underneath of her toes. Her mother loved to see her in these colours, for purple represented royalty and green, ambition and slyness; all the things that they had made Cecilia believe she was.

In the kitchen, Buford (one of the family's many house elves) was currently sweeping the floor. With a bright and exuberant smile on her face, Cecilia reached for the broom, "I want to help!"

"No, no," Buford said, bowing his head, "Young Mistress is not to help Buford. This is Buford's job. "

"But I want to," she said, her small lips curling into a pout and her soft brown eyes twinkling as she reached out for the broom once again. Cecilia knew not yet the rules that guided the Sacred Twenty-Eight and kept them pure and whole (at least, most of them). She was young, naive, clueless. But that, that would soon change.

"No, no, no," Buford refused once again, trying to pull the broom out of the girl's reach, "Young Mistress is too kind-"

"Too kind indeed," a cold voice sneered.

Buford whimpered and his entire body sagged upon the man's appearance for Buford knew what his presence entailed. The young girl turned, her dress billowing around as she did, "Daddy!"

Hyperion Lestrange looked down on his daughter, his face expressionless, "Cecilia, what have we talked about in the way you address me?"

"I'm sorry, Da- Father," she answered, bowing her head as Buford had just moments ago.

"And what, might I ask, were you trying to do in here?"

Unable to read into her father's monotone questions and blank expressions, the girl answered without stuttering, "I wanted to help Buford do the sweeping, but he wouldn't let me."

"Is that so?" he asked, his lips curling.

Cecilia, afraid that she had gotten Buford into trouble, reluctantly nodded. One of the things she did know was that house elves had to follow their master's commands or else they would be punished, and Buford had not followed the one that she had given him. Almost immediately, guilt began to fill her chest as she thought of the horrible fates she could've brought upon the small creature.

"Very well. Buford, you may continue your cleaning. Cecilia, come with me."

Hyperion turned to leave the kitchen with his back straight and Cecilia followed, waving at the still whimpering house elf before she made her departure. She didn't know why Buford was still afraid as it seemed that her father did not punish him. However, when she was curled up in her bed a few hours later, with red marks the size of her father's hand imprinted all over her skin, she realized that his fear was not for himself but for her.