Tell Me (A Weasley Twins Story)

Calm Before the Storm

Hi guys! I'm back! I'm sorry it's been a while... but anyways, I've done some re-evaluating of this story and decided what I want the characters to do, and who I want to SURVIVE. DUMDUMDUMMMM.

Happy Reading!

Grace

p.s I'm sorry if this is dark and depressing, I was listening to Nirvana while writing this, so yeah...

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She's in a lavishly furnished room, velvet covers on the four poster bed, mahogany floors, tiger skin rugs.

She's lying under her bed, writing a letter, scribbling the words down, the pen pressing uncomfortably into her palm.

Christina Oliver is a Slytherin. Her parents were death eaters, during Voldemorts revolution, and since he returned at the end of last year, the dark marks had been swelling up more and more frequently.

Christina had supposedly had her chance to be a hero.

"Your mind is strond, you are young and brave. Gryffindor could make you a heroine. Slytherin will make you wealthy, with your wits and your determination. Now, what do you choose?"

Christina remembered looking across from one table to the other. Between the restless students; two faces, sitting side

by side, stood out.

Her older siblings, Yvonne and Hamilton, were glaring at her insistently from their seats at the Slytherin table.

They were almost identical, even though Yvonne was a year older than Hamilton, albino, like their mother. They hardly spoke a word, apart from in classes or if they were insulting someone.

'Slytherin,' she thought, 'I want to be a Slytherin.'

She had acted like a normal Slytherin, sniped comments at the other houses, and eventually she'd pretended to be one of them for so long, she believed that she had never been anything else but Slytherin.

But, she had overheard Malfoy talking about torturing and killing souls, like it was a gleeful subject. Something snapped for Christina Oliver. She had enjoyed insulting people, cheating in Quidditch, all the soft stages of being a bad person, but only the fun stages.

She didn't want to kill people. No, no.

She needed to tell someone.

Dumbledore.

It had taken her weeks to summon the courage to write this letter. But there was no way anybody could see her writing this. They'd kill her.

She was caught up totally in writing the words, writing the words that would make her a good guy. One of them.

She was too engrossed in confession to hear the quiet footsteps that lead up to the door, too occupied in changing the course of her life that she didn't hear the door slowly creak open. She didn't hear the sound of someone looking for her.

She didn't hear anything until it was all too late.

Her mother found her.

She pulled her out by her ankles from under the bed and yanked her up by her wrists.