Post by Maria Lestrange on Aug 30, 2009 14:05:24 GMT -7
Maria Isadora Lestrange sat, slouching, on the finely upholstered seat of the Hogwarts Express, staring out the window at all of the students and their parents frantically rushing around on Platform 9 ¾. Daryl was – thank God – somewhere else, and Alistair had told her that he was going to sit with some of his friends, but he’d be around if she needed him for anything. So, the third-year Slytherin sat in a compartment all to herself, her pale fingers stroking the fur of the Bengal cat that had curled up in her lap.
Her slate grey eyes coldly studied the young witches and wizards out on the Platform that were hugging their tearful parents and promising to write often. Get a move on it, she snarled at them, silently, inside her head. They didn’t need any last minute hugs, or words of advice. Trust her. She knew. With her parents – Rabastion Lestrange, and his wife Aulani – there were no goodbye tears or kisses. They brought their children to the Platform, and then left before they had even boarded the train. The only advice that they offered was a chilling, Do not disappoint us, which was more of a threat than advice, anyway.
Maria sighed, taking her eyes off of the window, and to the empty seat opposite of her. So far, no one that she’d known well had arrived – she was rather early – and her cold appearance – not to mention her death-glares at anyone she knew was not a pureblood – had been more than enough to keep anyone she didn’t know from intruding on her privacy.
She wasn’t even entirely sure of why she was glaring at the non-purebloods. Sure, they were diluting the magical race and blah, blah, blah, but, if she was honest with herself, the main reason she was doing so was because it was what her parents had expected of her. What they had taught her to do. Why were they so controlling? And why did she always listen? What was she so afraid of?
She wasn’t sure. So, maybe, just maybe, it was time to start being a little bit rebellious.
Her slate grey eyes coldly studied the young witches and wizards out on the Platform that were hugging their tearful parents and promising to write often. Get a move on it, she snarled at them, silently, inside her head. They didn’t need any last minute hugs, or words of advice. Trust her. She knew. With her parents – Rabastion Lestrange, and his wife Aulani – there were no goodbye tears or kisses. They brought their children to the Platform, and then left before they had even boarded the train. The only advice that they offered was a chilling, Do not disappoint us, which was more of a threat than advice, anyway.
Maria sighed, taking her eyes off of the window, and to the empty seat opposite of her. So far, no one that she’d known well had arrived – she was rather early – and her cold appearance – not to mention her death-glares at anyone she knew was not a pureblood – had been more than enough to keep anyone she didn’t know from intruding on her privacy.
She wasn’t even entirely sure of why she was glaring at the non-purebloods. Sure, they were diluting the magical race and blah, blah, blah, but, if she was honest with herself, the main reason she was doing so was because it was what her parents had expected of her. What they had taught her to do. Why were they so controlling? And why did she always listen? What was she so afraid of?
She wasn’t sure. So, maybe, just maybe, it was time to start being a little bit rebellious.
