(A Harry Potter Fanfiction) Just Add Magic

Erica: "The Second Malfoy"

Draco's screams echo through the manor, filling me with dread. What are they doing to him? Madeline's covering her ears and shivering in fright. She may not like her brother much anymore, but he's clearly in pain. I'm here more for her, as my cousin really doesn't treat me nicely. But should he be going through a pain like this? Has he ever screamed this loud in all the years I've been here? No, I don't think he has.

I've been living with the Malfoys ever since my parents were sentenced for life. Narcissa being my closest living relative and my aunt, she was more than obliged to take care of me. Lucius minded a bit more, but I think he either felt bad for me or knew that as my uncle it was his duty. I've always thought that the whole Malfoy family seems to look like an oil painting with their long, almost white, blonde hair. Their eyes are so dark and lifeless as if painted on a canvas. Madeline has the classic Malfoy look, but her hair is a bit more golden then white and her dull colored eyes shine with life. But she has the same smooth pale lips that match Narcissa's and Bellatrix's, as well as the same slightly pointed chin and pale skin as Lucius, Draco and the Malfoys before them. There are only two things that set Madeline apart from most Malfoys in appearence. Her hair, which is only a little darker, and her glasses. Her glasses are a dark purple round the frames, bringing out the color of her face and hair. They make her appear smart, which she may, or may not be. She's a potions genuis, and a magical creatures expert, but otherwise she's a ordinary child. I'm almost the opposite, loving all stuff except potions, and unable to cope with magical creatures, or any creature, as she can. We may be just cousins, but I think our lives are blended together, like complimentary colored watercolors, intertwined and matched, but different in appearance and creation. Maybe we're more like sisters, depending on each other when there's no one else to trust, which is often.

Madeline pins her shaky hands to her ears as Draco cries out in more pain and anguish then before. I can't really make out any words, but I'm almost certain I heard him scream stop. None of the death eaters seem to react or care about his pain from what I can gather, as no obvious interference is made. At least, I don't think there is. It's hard to tell what's going on when your hearing nothing but Draco's pained cries, just as it's often impossible to be sure how art will turn out before it's done. Madeline's pets rustle in their cages, probably afraid of the noise. But I know nothing about them really, just as Madeline barely knows about shading, contour, shape, color or texture. She's just not into sketching, inking or painting. I'm not that into magical creatures either.

Madeline rises shuddering, approaching a cage filled with tiny blue birds. The birds feather's are very dark covered with the occasional gold speckles that remind me of glitter. I'd like to paint one of these birds some time, and I can think of the perfect mix of colors that I could blend to make that kind of blue. I could use glitter for the beautiful shining spots of gold. Madeline places a hand into the cage stroking the smallest of these creatures. I forgot what she calls them. I think it had an n in it somewhere. "I wish they didn't have to hear this. Well, of course I wish none of them had to hear this, but we could do without my jabberknolls repeating  Draco's yelling. It's bad enough now." she whispers sadly.

"Repeating it? What do you mean Madeline?" I ask.

"Before they die, jabberknolls give a cry composed of all the sounds they've ever heard recited backwards. They don't make much sound until then though." she explains, "'Fantastic beasts and where to find them' says they don't make a noise until they die, but they still move." I blink a couple times feeling a fraction confused. "It's complicated." Madeline whispers covering her ears as Draco shrieks louder than before.

"What do you think they're doing to him?" I ask, getting nervous.

"They're death eaters," she mutters anxiously, "who knows what they'd be doing."