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He stood at the end of the walkway, his broad shoulders straight and stiff as he stared up at the grand house in front of him. How it had still been standing, he didn't know, but here he was, and here it stood, and now it was his. Part of him was wishing that he didn't have to enter the building again. While his first ten years had been all right, the following three hadn't exactly been very memorable. They had abandoned him, and when Hogwarts let out for summer breaks he was resigned to go visit the local orphanage, for there had been no family that would take him in. His parents weren't exactly known for being the most trustworthy and honest, how could anyone think different of their son?
A sigh escaped his dry, cracked lips, and he let thin eyelids fall over dark blue eyes, remembering back to the day when he'd received the letter. He had feared the rest of his house finding out, wondering if they would laugh at him and ostracise him for not having a family unit anymore. To his amazement, they--well, the three girls--had taken him in and made him feel welcome in their circle after that. Though, at first it didn't seem like it, because they had always teased him and used every opportunity to laugh at him, but later he had found that they were doing it because they thought he was cute. And it wasn't that girly crush type of cute that they saw in him, but the adorable youthfulness of a cute little boy, even though he had been thirteen. Still, it had given him a sense of family again, and he developed a certain loyalty to them all.
His main loyalty, however, had been to the boy who was now no longer alive. There had been rumours that he had been killed shortly after failing to kill Albus Dumbledore, though somehow the old coot had ended up dead anyway. He honestly couldn't care less. At first, he had rejoiced with the rest of the Slytherins, his apparent alignment with the Darkest Wizard of them all causing the bond between them all to strengthen. But then things started falling apart. All the girls had disappeared, and he had been left alone, until the boy he'd been loyal to all along came around, telling him that it wasn't safe, that he would die unless he hid. And so he did, watching the war from a secluded spot in the country, untouched and unmarred by it all. Draco Malfoy had saved his life.
The war ended quicker than most though it would have. People he had known and loved were now dead. Others were missing. His parents had been killed for turning traitor. After all the boasting and dark deeds they had admitted to doing, they had turned tail and run for it in the end. And they had paid dearly for it. Still, he hadn't wanted to deal with any of it, and so he had gone abroad, spending time in America, where people had still been affected by the war, but not been touched by it so closely as those across the sea.
It had been ten long years that he had stayed there, and then he had received a letter. There had been no will from his parents, and so the house and the small fortune they hadn't squandered was his. Having spent ten years away, it now called to him, calling him back to the life he had walked away from. And so, he found himself at the foot of the path, looking up at the great house he used to call home. It felt good. Graham Pritchard was home.
A sigh escaped his dry, cracked lips, and he let thin eyelids fall over dark blue eyes, remembering back to the day when he'd received the letter. He had feared the rest of his house finding out, wondering if they would laugh at him and ostracise him for not having a family unit anymore. To his amazement, they--well, the three girls--had taken him in and made him feel welcome in their circle after that. Though, at first it didn't seem like it, because they had always teased him and used every opportunity to laugh at him, but later he had found that they were doing it because they thought he was cute. And it wasn't that girly crush type of cute that they saw in him, but the adorable youthfulness of a cute little boy, even though he had been thirteen. Still, it had given him a sense of family again, and he developed a certain loyalty to them all.
His main loyalty, however, had been to the boy who was now no longer alive. There had been rumours that he had been killed shortly after failing to kill Albus Dumbledore, though somehow the old coot had ended up dead anyway. He honestly couldn't care less. At first, he had rejoiced with the rest of the Slytherins, his apparent alignment with the Darkest Wizard of them all causing the bond between them all to strengthen. But then things started falling apart. All the girls had disappeared, and he had been left alone, until the boy he'd been loyal to all along came around, telling him that it wasn't safe, that he would die unless he hid. And so he did, watching the war from a secluded spot in the country, untouched and unmarred by it all. Draco Malfoy had saved his life.
The war ended quicker than most though it would have. People he had known and loved were now dead. Others were missing. His parents had been killed for turning traitor. After all the boasting and dark deeds they had admitted to doing, they had turned tail and run for it in the end. And they had paid dearly for it. Still, he hadn't wanted to deal with any of it, and so he had gone abroad, spending time in America, where people had still been affected by the war, but not been touched by it so closely as those across the sea.
It had been ten long years that he had stayed there, and then he had received a letter. There had been no will from his parents, and so the house and the small fortune they hadn't squandered was his. Having spent ten years away, it now called to him, calling him back to the life he had walked away from. And so, he found himself at the foot of the path, looking up at the great house he used to call home. It felt good. Graham Pritchard was home.
