“Mommy, tell me another story.”
Mother looks down at me, her wide brown eyes dull from the exhaust of the day. Her fiery red hair is tied in a knot at the back of her head, yet some pieces in the front have fallen out and tumble into her eyes elegantly. Her hands holds mine and she strokes my palm with her thumb. It tickles a little, but I love it when she does it so I don’t complain. “I just told you one!” she says, protesting against my request. I nod sadly, and she can’t help but give in to me, “Alright, alright. Which one?”
It doesn’t take me long to pick the story I want to hear, “Your story.”
Mum tucks a piece of her hair that had gone astray behind her ear, looking down at me with a small smile. “You win – one more story. Mine. Okay. But then, it’s bedtime, missy!” I nod. With her other hand, she plays with my hair, the colour matching hers, looks up at the ceiling, and begins to tell the story I’ve heard so many times.
“Seven years ago, a war was going on. Wizards who believed that wizarding learning should be permitted to only completely wizarding families, no Muggle-borns, or with a Muggle parent had a leader. This man – no, by this time he was no longer a man – called himself Voldemort.”
“Voldemort,” I say, “He was an evil man, who had gone to every extent to prevent himself from dying, because he believed that nothing in the world was worse than death.”
“That’s right,” Mum says, looking back at me, “What you must understand, darling, is that you didn’t know who you could trust. You didn’t know who was actually an enemy. You couldn’t believe that just because someone was Pureblood that they were on Voldemort’s side.”
“You weren’t, and you’re a Pureblood.”
“Perfect example. And, Voldemort himself was only Half-Blood. But not even that – people you thought were your friends weren’t. You had to battle amongst people you didn’t necessarily like.”
“The war ended,” I say, “And at the time, you were dating an incredible boy.”
“Secretly dating, for four years. I wasn’t supposed to be dating him, so I was always sneaking out in the middle of the night. When the end came, we wanted to celebrate. He wanted me to have the best, most memorable night of my life.” She closes her eyes, smiling dreamily.
“He’s my daddy,” I say, beaming.
“Yes, he is… a very fanciable man, beautiful, with an angel’s smile. A real gentlemen. They don’t make them like him much. That night was the most memorable I’ve ever had. It was filled with rejoice and happiness, because we could finally be together openly, and kisses--”
“Tell me about his kisses,” I beg.
She smiles at me, sighing dreamily, “His kisses were filled with love and caring, strong, yet gentle. Soft and warm, just like his touch.” Mum’s hand it gone from my hair and touches her lips softly. “I can still feel them,” her voice is now barely a whisper, her eyes closed as if she’s trying to picture him right there. “I’ve never been so madly in love with someone in my life. It was heaven.”
“But heaven on earth can never actually exist, can it, Mum?”
She chuckles softly, “No, sweetheart. It can’t. The next morning, I woke up, and he was gone.”
“Were you mad at him?”
She pauses for a moment, and then shakes her head, looking down at me, “No, I wasn’t. Your grandma and your uncles were – and still are – members of the Order, and he was scared that they wouldn’t accept him as changed. It was in fear that he fled.”
“He wasn’t brave enough to stand up to them?”
Mum frowns at me, “Bravery comes in different forms, love… he didn’t want anything to happen to me. There’s no doubt that if someone knew I had ties with him, I would be a suspect. He had ties with Voldemort.”
“It wasn’t him, though, it was his family.”
“And him,” Mum says softly, “He was. But he kind of disappeared. The Death Eaters didn’t know where he was and neither did the Order. Only I did. It was a headline in the news – ‘Son of Death Eater gone missing – hasn’t been seen for four years.’ That was right around the time the war ended.”
“So he left you,” I say sadly.
“He did, but to protect me.”
“And a little while later, I was born!”
She smiles at me, giggling. “That’s right. You were born. And I named you after his mother, who--”
“Was killed by Voldemort, cause she tried to protect him.” I smile. “And that’s the end.”
“It is.” She kisses my forehead and stands up. “Goodnight, love.”
To me this has always just been a story, one of my bedtime favourites. I’ve always assumed it was fake, like a story made up, no matter how many times Mummy insists it happened. I hate the ending, though. It would be better if he heroically came back, sweeping the fair maiden off her feet. Of course, Mummy just laughs and says it’s never going to happen. I dream about a very handsome man one day knocking on the door, Mummy opening it and screaming in joy, flinging her arms around him. I imagine him coming up to me, smiling his angel’s smile, ruffling my hair, saying, “How’re you doing, kiddo?” I imagine him picking me up and twirling me around in a circle. I can imagine his grey eyes, the eyes I inherited. I look at Mum, tilting my head to the side. “Mummy?” I call after her.
“Yes?”
“Is he ever coming back?” I ask for the hundredth time.
“No.”
“Can I ever meet him?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Goodnight,” she turns off the light.
“Mummy?” This is a new question.
“Yes?” She is agitated now.
“Do you still love him?”
There is a pause. I hear crickets outside.
“Yes.”
“I knew that, Mum. Can you guess how?”
“How?”
“The way you talk about him.” I can’t see her, but I know she’s smiling. “G’night, Mum.”
“Goodnight, Narcissa.”
Mother looks down at me, her wide brown eyes dull from the exhaust of the day. Her fiery red hair is tied in a knot at the back of her head, yet some pieces in the front have fallen out and tumble into her eyes elegantly. Her hands holds mine and she strokes my palm with her thumb. It tickles a little, but I love it when she does it so I don’t complain. “I just told you one!” she says, protesting against my request. I nod sadly, and she can’t help but give in to me, “Alright, alright. Which one?”
It doesn’t take me long to pick the story I want to hear, “Your story.”
Mum tucks a piece of her hair that had gone astray behind her ear, looking down at me with a small smile. “You win – one more story. Mine. Okay. But then, it’s bedtime, missy!” I nod. With her other hand, she plays with my hair, the colour matching hers, looks up at the ceiling, and begins to tell the story I’ve heard so many times.
“Seven years ago, a war was going on. Wizards who believed that wizarding learning should be permitted to only completely wizarding families, no Muggle-borns, or with a Muggle parent had a leader. This man – no, by this time he was no longer a man – called himself Voldemort.”
“Voldemort,” I say, “He was an evil man, who had gone to every extent to prevent himself from dying, because he believed that nothing in the world was worse than death.”
“That’s right,” Mum says, looking back at me, “What you must understand, darling, is that you didn’t know who you could trust. You didn’t know who was actually an enemy. You couldn’t believe that just because someone was Pureblood that they were on Voldemort’s side.”
“You weren’t, and you’re a Pureblood.”
“Perfect example. And, Voldemort himself was only Half-Blood. But not even that – people you thought were your friends weren’t. You had to battle amongst people you didn’t necessarily like.”
“The war ended,” I say, “And at the time, you were dating an incredible boy.”
“Secretly dating, for four years. I wasn’t supposed to be dating him, so I was always sneaking out in the middle of the night. When the end came, we wanted to celebrate. He wanted me to have the best, most memorable night of my life.” She closes her eyes, smiling dreamily.
“He’s my daddy,” I say, beaming.
“Yes, he is… a very fanciable man, beautiful, with an angel’s smile. A real gentlemen. They don’t make them like him much. That night was the most memorable I’ve ever had. It was filled with rejoice and happiness, because we could finally be together openly, and kisses--”
“Tell me about his kisses,” I beg.
She smiles at me, sighing dreamily, “His kisses were filled with love and caring, strong, yet gentle. Soft and warm, just like his touch.” Mum’s hand it gone from my hair and touches her lips softly. “I can still feel them,” her voice is now barely a whisper, her eyes closed as if she’s trying to picture him right there. “I’ve never been so madly in love with someone in my life. It was heaven.”
“But heaven on earth can never actually exist, can it, Mum?”
She chuckles softly, “No, sweetheart. It can’t. The next morning, I woke up, and he was gone.”
“Were you mad at him?”
She pauses for a moment, and then shakes her head, looking down at me, “No, I wasn’t. Your grandma and your uncles were – and still are – members of the Order, and he was scared that they wouldn’t accept him as changed. It was in fear that he fled.”
“He wasn’t brave enough to stand up to them?”
Mum frowns at me, “Bravery comes in different forms, love… he didn’t want anything to happen to me. There’s no doubt that if someone knew I had ties with him, I would be a suspect. He had ties with Voldemort.”
“It wasn’t him, though, it was his family.”
“And him,” Mum says softly, “He was. But he kind of disappeared. The Death Eaters didn’t know where he was and neither did the Order. Only I did. It was a headline in the news – ‘Son of Death Eater gone missing – hasn’t been seen for four years.’ That was right around the time the war ended.”
“So he left you,” I say sadly.
“He did, but to protect me.”
“And a little while later, I was born!”
She smiles at me, giggling. “That’s right. You were born. And I named you after his mother, who--”
“Was killed by Voldemort, cause she tried to protect him.” I smile. “And that’s the end.”
“It is.” She kisses my forehead and stands up. “Goodnight, love.”
To me this has always just been a story, one of my bedtime favourites. I’ve always assumed it was fake, like a story made up, no matter how many times Mummy insists it happened. I hate the ending, though. It would be better if he heroically came back, sweeping the fair maiden off her feet. Of course, Mummy just laughs and says it’s never going to happen. I dream about a very handsome man one day knocking on the door, Mummy opening it and screaming in joy, flinging her arms around him. I imagine him coming up to me, smiling his angel’s smile, ruffling my hair, saying, “How’re you doing, kiddo?” I imagine him picking me up and twirling me around in a circle. I can imagine his grey eyes, the eyes I inherited. I look at Mum, tilting my head to the side. “Mummy?” I call after her.
“Yes?”
“Is he ever coming back?” I ask for the hundredth time.
“No.”
“Can I ever meet him?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Goodnight,” she turns off the light.
“Mummy?” This is a new question.
“Yes?” She is agitated now.
“Do you still love him?”
There is a pause. I hear crickets outside.
“Yes.”
“I knew that, Mum. Can you guess how?”
“How?”
“The way you talk about him.” I can’t see her, but I know she’s smiling. “G’night, Mum.”
“Goodnight, Narcissa.”
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