A witch's heart [Draco Malfoy x oc]

Intro

+ Author's note +
Disclaimer: I am not the creator of the world(s) this story is set in; the (marvelous) world of Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling, and the (fabulous) world of Camp half blood belongs to Rick Riordan. I have only created my own characters and story line.
Feel free to point out mistakes in the comments, I appreciate it a lot :)

That being said, I hope you enjoy the story ^^
- CherryBlossomBird

+

Being called 'freak' when walking through the school halls was something I was very used to. At times even I thought of myself as 'the freak', though some healthy part of my brain always reassured me that I was somewhat normal.

It all started when I was little, in the beginning of the third year in elementary school. Everything went smoothly and I actually had friends.

Well, that was, until I accidentally made a girl break her leg. Her name was Alicia and she somehow managed to be as troublesome as me, hence we always got expelled - unfortunately to the same schools, which was one of the (countless) reasons school sucked - Alicia was always there.

That year in third grade, she was bullying me. Funny how much children can hurt each other - it does seem like they are only innocent the moment they are born and know nothing. People who say eight year olds aren't capable of being assholes are straight up liars - or very, very naiive. She would push me whenever I walked pass her, then tell me to watch where I go, and push me again. She insulted my parents, knowing that my mother was dead.
One day, she told me how my mother died because of my uglyness and probably killed herself. She insulted my father, calling him crazy and mad, though he actually was a genius. People just didn't get it.

That day, instead of crying, like I normally would, I just lost control. I felt how shadows were sourrounding me and as she punched me, she flew over to a tree and broke her leg. I told myself that it wasn't my fault and started crying. The teachers said that it was only a little bit of wind, nothing else. Looking back at that memory, I would've alsmost laughed. As if a little bit of wind made a girl break her leg.

Two days after that, we were both expelled, Alicia, because of constant bullying and I - well, I wasn't actually really expelled. They just politeley explained to my father that a different school might be better for me.

Unfoutunateley, it was the same school Alicias parents decided were best for her. And so it went on - strange things were happening, Alicia bullied me, we got expelled and went to the same schools - again.

We were now in High School where I was known as the freak and Alicia as that one popular, intimidating person nobody wanted to mess with.

Without Alicia nobody would know abou my little, uhm, accidents throughout school, but she just couldn't keep her mouth shut and told everyone what had happened in third grade, how a tablet thrown at me stood still in the air (sixth grade), then about my accident with the Voodoo puppets that Alicia and I made for a project - I accidentally broke one of them in half (it was made out of a few sticks !), and my least favourite teacher died the next week (eight grade), and many other things that happend over the years... It would take too long to list them all. The fact, that my favourite coulours were a dark shade of violet and black (black is not actually a colour, I know), probaly didn't help my image.

Fridays were the best, since on Fridays, we had history in the last lesson and the most of amazing of all - I wouldn't be in school for two days.

No Alicia, no teachers, no freak, jut dad, me, chocolate, my books and my art. So on Fridays all the 'freak ' whispers bothered me even less than they normally did (at one point you just get used to it).

When I came home, I hugged Dad, and asked how he was doing. My father was sick - an illnes not one of the doctors we went to could cure, nor identify.

Dad had always been different - he'd invented many amazing things and medicine to help people. He also was a doctor. It selled  well, until he had to give Interviews. He got nervous, couldn't talk in front of the press and started getting Hallucinations.

After consulting a psychologist, we found out that he had a serious case of selective mutism and social anxiety.

Then, when I was in sixth grade, he got ill after a business trip. He just got weak for some undefinable reason, and wasn't able to stand up anymore. His body temperature was unnaturally cold and every move he made hurt. The doctors considered Rheuma even though it wasn't very common to get it at the age of thirty-five, though it turned out to be wrong in the end. He saw more and more illusions, and his body hurted everywhere. The doctors said that there shouldn't be anything wrong with him. He ate well and slept enough. He wasn't much in public. His body should be alright, because they weren't able to find any signs of abnormalities in his body - apart from his extremely low temperatures. To be very honest, I did not think Dad was crazy or mad. Maybe he did see things that we weren't able to see - and we were blind fools not to believe what he said.

"Dad, I'm home!", I shouted, when I closed the door behind me. Eventhough he was ill, he still invented different things for his company and searched for new and better ways to cure for example cancer. While doing all of that, he never thought of looking up somthing for himself. He only cared about others. He'd be the type of hero in a book that would sacrifice himself for the world.

"Niela! how was school?", he asked, after hugging me. I snorted. "Just as bad as always- but today is Friday, which means no school for two days!", I said with a wide grin.

Dad sighed. "I wish you wouldn't-" "Hate school so much. I know, Dad. But you hated it, too."
Dad grimassed. "I don't want you to be like me - I want you to be better than me."

I snorted a second time.

"Dad, you're a way too good person for this world, and I'd be honoured to be like you. You know that.", I said.

Dad sighed again. "Niela... Please don't think of yourself like that. You're amazing, and I told you often, but you never listen to me." I smiled at him.
"Thank you, Dad. Speaking of you... did you sleep already?"

"Niela..."

"Go to bed, Dad. You overworked yourself once again."

"Niela-"

"I'll make you some tea when you wake up."

Dad sighed - I felt like he was never going to stop doing that - and left to his room. I took my bag, went to my room and continued my sketch of the Olympian gods and goddesses.