December 16, 1991

Medea Malfoy was Dark. She had known that. It was in her very blood –in the nature of her bones. She was never going to be able to find it in herself to be of the kind sort –the sort that acts out of altruism and goodness. Maybe that is why she liked to run –in an attempt to atone for the darkness inside of herself she chose a punishment she could control.

Only, of course, running had never felt like a punishment to her. No. It had felt like an escape from the darkness of her own self. If her mind were a steel trap, running was nitric acid dissolving the horror she was forced to remember. Medea wished it was simply the war of this world. She wished, when she awoke here, that her memories of elsewhere had faded.

They had not.

Thus, she remembers the gruesome fate of her last life. It does not give her nightmares –it does not have to. Even a stray thought can bring forth the blood and death in extreme clarity. The look on her own face reflected in the eyes of her attacker.

She would never call them a murderer. That title was not meant for monsters that stalk the dark. No. A Vampire was not human enough to be a murderer. Medea never wavered in this belief. Not even when she saw the creatures existed in her new life. Being killed by something from the Dark will do that –cloud one’s opinions.

In elsewhere, Medea was still called Medea. But she was not the same. She was far from a princess–there were no Narcissa Malfoy’s to help her braid her hair, or Draco’s to support her. Her own brother, precious as he had been, had died long before her. Her parents, doctors of supernatural renown, had raised her for vengeance. And she had never complained –for Medea was vengeful.

Now, as Yule approaches, she wonders what could have been if the Malfoys had been there for her first life. If she had been magic in that life.

Would she have had to struggle quite so hard? The answer is obvious, of course. Had the Malfoys existed in elsewhere they would have never even bothered with her very existence. Medea was a Hunter. And the Malfoys would have been another monster on her docket. They never would have seen her coming. In a way, it made Medea feel ashamed of her first life.

Of fighting against magic.

But, of course, that had nothing to do with this world, and so the feeling often flitted away as she thought of other things.

Such as her family.

Upon arriving from the train, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been present at Kings Cross. With small, barely noticed smiles the Malfoys had all greeted each other. But the true reunion occurred after flooing into the Manor —where, after about half a breath, Medea wrapped her father in a hug and Draco did the same to their mother.

“Oh, bother, has Hogwarts softened you up, then?” Lucius sighed as he wrapped his arms around his daughter, “Or has my daughter been swapped for a changeling?”

“Oh, Lucius, stop it,” Narcissa had said, fondness coating her voice as she patted Draco’s head.

Medea snorted and released her father, Draco speaking before she could respond, “If Medea’s softened, I’m a goblin. She’s a terror.”

I shot Draco a look of betrayal, “You’re one to talk —at least I wasn’t looking up dark curses with practically no counter spells.”

Draco looked at her in disbelief, “Because you’ve got them all memorized, you swot.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Medea laughed.

-

“Miss Medea is home!” Dobby shouted as soon as Medea was alone in her room, apparating in with a sharp crack. Unlike with the rest of the Malfoys, Dobby was unable to contain himself and tackled Medea —causing her to tumble backwards to the ground. The clothes that were unpacking themselves wobbled in the air before drifting down to sit in a pile.

“Dobby,” Mede smiled, patting the house elf on the back, “did you miss me?”

“More than sweets, Miss Medea!” Dobby cried, a manic grin set into his face, “Dobby did as Dobby was told! Dobby sent the letter, Miss Medea.”

“You did good, Dobs,” Medea seemed to take a moment, before untangling herself, “Were you punished while I was gone?”

At that, Dobby shuffled, “Only because Dobby is incompetent— it was Dobby’s fault! I had to be punished!”

Medea felt a wave of fury run through her, and with all the control she could muster, she kept her voice neutral, “What did you do, Dobby?”

“Dobby spilled Master’s tea! And Dobby also ruined one of Mistresses dresses —and burned the biscuits —and-! Dobby—“

Medea cut him off with a wave of her hand, “Who punished you?”

Dobby was silent and Medea knew why.

“Dobby, you can’t keep doing this.”

Dobby instinctively reached for his ears and began pulling at them, “Dobby has made a mistake, Miss Medea. Miss Medea should punish Dobby.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Whatever softness Medea had projected to protect Dobby vanished in an instant. The words cleared her thoughts. And a memory of the summer filled her head. A memory of her father. Medea’s coldness radiated from her as she strode out of her room, the hard thump of the heel of her boots echoing off the wood flooring as she cleared the hall. The stairwell up was finished in a breath and Mede stood before Lucius Malfoy's office.

She didn’t need to knock. He was still in the parlor with Narcissa —where Medea had left them less than an hour ago to freshen up before dinner.

Medea held up her wand to the oversized doorway, a feral grin spreading across her face.

‘Miss Medea should punish Dobby.’

‘Medea, you should punish the elf more.’

‘Punish him, the incompetent deserves it.’

“Bombarda.”

The wood splintered and exploded into the study, sending chunks of three hundred year old wood frame spiraling across the floor.

Medea crossed the threshold of the office, her eyes focused on the thick leather seat behind the desk. She sat in it as if it was her throne.

And she waited.

-

Medea did not wait for long.

“What are you doing Medea?” Came the cold fury of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy.

She eyed him from where she sat spinning her wand across her knuckles.

Her father. Dearly detested. With love and venom. A villain.

Only, she was a villain too.

And the only thing her father respected was power.

“You told me I could trust you with something I valued,” her voice was calm, neutral, but anyone who knew her —and Lucius Malfoy did know his daughter— could see the restraint in her movements, “You lied to me.”

Lucius, who believed first that he was brilliant and second that he was Merlin’s gift to wizards, was not, in fact, brilliant enough to understand what was happening.

“What are you on about, Medea?” He tapped his staff with a rough clack and turned back to the door frame, “And what have you done to my study?”

“Bombarda,” She cast again, flinging the charm at a bookshelf. Dozens of books splintered and shot across the room, “I am redecorating, Father.”

“Stop this,” now his fury matched Medea’s own and her feral smile returned.

“Or what? You’ll punish me as you have Dobby? Will you strike me with your cane? Cast an unforgivable?”

She was goading him, he knew it —but he didn’t know why. He narrowed his eyes, attempting to reign in his anger. Lucius Malfoy was not skilled at controlling his anger.

“You have disappointed me, Medea, with your poor control and even poorer decisions.” He hissed.

At that, a sharp laugh escaped Medea.

“Well, bloody hell. Looks like we match, you incompetent.” Medea had not moved from behind the desk, her legs crossed sharply as she waved her wand across the room, “Did you even consider I would know? That I would ask the bloody house elf?”

A light flashed in Lucius’ eyes, understanding dawning on him, “Is this about that bloody house elf? Again?”

“I told you. I told you I would trust you. You told me I could. I knew you were a liar but I didn’t think you would lie to me.” Now, she stood, wand pointed at her father, “Relinquish him to me. There are several other house elves and I want him to follow me.”

“You are a child! The truth must be shown slowly —you have grown too close to the thing.” Lucius sneered, “It has compromised you.”

Medea loved Lucius, as much as a daughter can love a man who did his best and gave her the world —but above her love was the truth: her father respected power. And power without force is nothing. So, she would use force.

“Diffindo.”

Only, her wand had flicked down to her own arm to slice through her wrist. After a tense second, wherein Lucius gasped and Medea hissed, blood began to flow and drip onto the flood.

Dragging the tip of her wand through her blood she began tracing symbols in the air.

“Recte facit — sanguis est potesta. Ligare!”

“You —You!” Lucius spluttered as her blood rose from where it had fallen and where it still flowed from the open wound. It formed several streams as the blood began rushing towards Lucius.

“Glacius!” He shouted, angling his staff toward the blood, freezing several strands, “Protego.”

The streams of red circled the shield before making a futile attempt to breach it and dripping down the blue shield as if to coat it entirely in blood.

“Medea. That’s enough. Malignus finite incantum.” The blood rolled from the shield as it popped, dropping to the ground in a circle, not a drop on Lucius Malfoy.

“What, exactly, was that display meant to accomplish?” He hissed, lingering forward and ripping her wand from Medea’s hand —a frown on her face.

“To be honest I thought you would be so horrified you wouldn’t be quick enough with a protego.”

“A menace! Get to your room. I need to speak with your mother.”

He held on to her wand, and as she went to shove past him he caught her still bleeding forearm and hissed, “Episky.”

The wound stitched together immediately, and with how much force and horror and magic Lucius pushed into the spell he was shocked it took as long as that, leaving only a thin silver line tracing the track of the spell.

“Out, you crazed child. Dobby!” A crack resounded and Lucius whipped his head around, “You are forbidden from Medea through Yule!”

“Draco —stop eavesdropping on your deranged sister and take her to her room —and if you let her within three feet of your wand I’ll take it from you as well!”

Draco yelped and came out from behind the doorframe, a guilt expression on his face, “Yes, Father.”

Medea did not look even the slightest surprised, and Draco found himself wondering how long she had known he was there.