Davina | hp. ✓

50 | The Fall of Those Who Wronged Her

THE STUDY OF Peverell Manor danced with the ghosts of the miserable past, haunting William Peverell as he lounged in the armchair behind his desk and wallowed in it. It had been nearly two years since the death of his daughter, and nine months since his wife passed away -- her heart simply could not handle the stress and horrors, knowing that her son and husband were diving into danger every day. She fell ill one day and withered away within a matter of mere weeks. They all knew it was coming, but it didn't mean it hurt any less.  

With his wife, at least, William was able to say a proper goodbye. He sat by her bedside and held her hand, with Gideon at his side, as she passed peacefully into the peaceful. afterlife he hoped was out there somewhere. She was a pleasant, bittersweet memory now. 

His daughter haunted him. 

When he was sober -- a rarity these days -- he knew that it was because he never got to say goodbye. Hell, he never got to properly earn a place in her life, and the end of it came too soon. The blinding light, the explosion of colors, flashed behind his eyelids every time he shut his eyes. When his stomach was filled with bourbon or scotch of his choice, he could swear that she was haunting him as penance for his sins. He was never there for her. Even when the truth about his paternity was discovered, he didn't do enough -- his best wouldn't have ever been good enough to fill the chasm built by two terrible fathers. 

He sat in his chair, gripping his tumbler of scotch in one hand and resting his head on his other fist, and stared at the armchair across from him that she always gravitated to when she visited. His mind got lost within itself, and tears cascaded down his hallowed face as he recalled the first time he laid eyes on her, the first time when he simply knew. 

"Davina?" He echoed as his gaze flickered to the teenager. Her hair was a wild mane of blonde, and her eyes were as piercing as sharp glaciers of ice. She turned them on him. "As in Davina Malfoy? Narcissa's eldest?"

She didn't seem the least bit fazed by his recognition of her. Her expression of impassivity was broken by the ghost of a sarcastic, charming smile. "Yes. I'm the crazy daughter of a renowned deatheather. Pleasure to meet you."

His entire body tensed, and all of the colors drained from his face. He couldn't focus on the questioning gazes his wife and son were directing toward him, because the only thing he could see was the way in which this strange, charming girl held herself in a room full of people who were clearly uncomfortable with her presence. She didn't play off of it or cower from the attention, but rather took it in stride -- absorbing it and projecting an air of ease in return. He'd heard stories about the Malfoy girl who was imprisoned in St. Mungo's Psychiatric branch, but he never even fathomed... Her gaze flickered back to him as he began to recover his bearings, and he knew -- those eyes that pierced straight through his heart. They weren't her mothers. They sure as hell weren't her fathers. 

Did William ever have a right to say that she had his eyes when her eyes held more wisdom, courage, and cunning than his ever did? For fuck's sake, he was a bigger coward than Lucius ever was. Where Lucius cowered from true villainy and danger, William cowered from what was supposed to be the best thing in his life -- a relationship with his daughter. He knew. That was the worst fuckin part. Some conscious part of him knew that she was his from the moment he laid eyes on her, but he refused to admit it to himself. He waited and waited for more proof, and in the meanwhile she was suffering through some of the worst struggles of her life -- adapting to the real world after being locked away, trauma from the psych ward, dealing with the fact that Lucius had a bounty on her head, not being able to return to Hogwarts, being thrust into this war as a secret weapon...