The Adventures of Jinx Not-So-Malfoy

The Name's Malfoy, Jinx Malfoy

Things contiuned basically the same as before for three more months. By that time I was so filled with hatred and loathing towards so much I almost commited mass homicide several times.

I was depressed.

There was no doubt about it. I was miserable. I barely slept, and when I did I always had nightmares. I had no appetitie, so I had become even skinnier than I was before, which really isn't a good thing. I could barely remember the last time I was happy. I began locking myself in my room when I wasn't needed. I spent a lot of time away from the manor as well, since I couldn't stand it there, but I didn't dare go see someone from the Order.

I just wanted it all to end.

I knew that if I could leave, if I could go back to my friends and my real family, I could start to recover. I could be happy again. But I had a duty to the wizarding world.

Sometimes I hate how stubborn I am.

It was around mid-March when I finally caught my break. Voldemort went out for a spa day, so I was in the library, reading, when my mother came to find me.

"Jessica," she said, "you must come. Quickly."

She had a bounce in her step and and sparkle in her eye that I had never seen before. I apprehended her with caution.

"Why?" I asked.

"We may have caught Harry Potter."

My eyes widened and I dropped my book.

"Where is he?"

"The drawing room," my mother answered.

I practically sprinted there. My brother and father were there, along with Bellatrix, a couple of Snatchers and Fenir Grayback. I could feel all eyes on me as I entered the room. In the middle, all tied, were Ron, Hermione, a disfigured Harry, and a couple others. Hermione must have cursed him to conceal Harry's identity. His hair was shoulder-length, he had a shadow of a beard, and his face was remarkably rounder than usual. But his movements were one hundred percent Harry Potter.

All three of them were looking upon me in disbelief. I couldn't blame them. I barely recognized myself in a mirror anymore. I had no idea how I must have looked to them. My clothes were too tight over my too-skinny frame. My were cheeks hollow, my eyes lined heavily. But I commanded respect from every person in the room. A room full of Death Eaters. 

Now isn't that terrifying?

"Well, Jessica?" my father asked me. "Is it him?"

I stared at Harry. He looked at me with pleading eyes. I pretended to contemplate for a while, until Fenir Greyback got impatient.

"Any day now, Miss Malfoy," he sneered.

"Watch your tongue, Half-breed," I snapped at him. Hermione gasped a little bit. I looked back at Harry. "It's not him."

"Now, are you sure, dear?" my mother asked. "It is very important that you are sure."

"I'm sure," I said. "I know Harry Potter better than anyone. That's Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, obviously, but that thing is not Harry Potter."

"But the scar -- "

"Unfortunate garden hoe incident, perhaps?" I suggested. "Do you know what the Dark Lord would do if we called him about this? Do you have any idea of the danger? Take them downstairs. I'll interrogate them."

"Wait!" Bellatrix cried. "Is that my sword?"

My eyes came to rest upon the sword of Gryffindor hanging at the hip of a Snatcher.