All of them stayed completely still. The house looked similar to the Malfoy home, but it was very different indeed. It had two towers on each side. But these towers were dark and foreboding. Even an evil villain wouldn’t lock the princess away in one of those towers. Thorns grew up all around the estate, overtaking the possible beauty hiding within. The marble steps were a grey color and seemed untouched for decades. The front lawn’s grass was horribly overgrown. The trees that once grew in the front lawn now were either dead by lightening, or too tall and forest-like. The back lawn was a forbidden forest. Vines grew up all around the house.
No one said a word. They all were silent. Isobella started to lead the pack into the house, but Henry stood behind with his mouth wide open.
The foyer was big and gorgeous. Cobwebs covered it all, but the golden ceiling was noticed. The ballroom had the grandest piano possible. It looked as though it hadn’t even been played when people lived in the house. It was probably just for show. But Isobella couldn’t help but to wonder if her grandparents had stayed to have Christmas there once.
A dark grandfather clock stood straight and tall. The dining room chairs were lined with velvet, and the silver tableware was set. The kitchen was lined with old appliances. But to show their hatred for all things Muggle, the oven with four little burners was wizard-made. Whenever one flicked his or her wand, it started heating up. And it had been the fastest model for over forty years.
Unlike the Blacks’ home, there were no house elves’ heads on display, to Isobel’s surprise. She wondered if her mother didn’t like the sight of them, just as she didn’t like deer and bears’ heads on Muggle walls.
The marble staircase was the largest one she had ever seen. It went up proudly, and then took a slight turn to end under a large doorway. Into the doorway she went, and found herself in a large hallway. Left and right she turned, finding all sorts of rooms. The two libraries made her tear up. Millions and millions of classic books there probably were! She looked out the window to find an old abandoned greenhouse. Sitting rooms, drawing rooms, bedrooms, bathrooms, a den, a study, a billiard room- The rooms seemed to go on and on.
There was a room that was entirely empty except for the walls. There was painting on the left side of the room of the Lestrange family tree. To the right, the Black family tree was painted. Isobella decided to paint her name in when she got the chance.
There was another room which turned out to be another hallway. But this hallway was ended without any other doors. Pictures and pictures of people hung on the walls. When she walked by the pictures some of the people screamed, some looked at her in horror, another smiled, and some old lady wrinkled her nose in distaste. She stopped halfway down the hallway, deciding not to venture forward. If her parents were in there, she’d rather see them last.
She looked behind her to see her friends were no longer behind her. They must’ve got lost. Finally, at a dead end, she found two large rooms. She walked into the first to see what she was to find.
It was covered in olive green and black covers. Large drapes blocked the sunlight. A dusty picture of two people sat on a black dresser.
In the picture two young people stood with small smiles on their faces. Isobella was unsure if the smiles were forced, fake, or real. The woman in the picture had curly brown hair that came well past her shoulders. Isobella’s hair was just a little bit lighter. Her hair was a dark dirty blonde. The man looked way more serious. He had black hair with dark eyes. They seemed to be standing in front of an oak tree.
She noticed the room quickly after seeing the picture. It was her father’s! She spotted a pocket watch next to the picture. Isobella picked up the silver pocket watch covered in dust. It seemed to still be working. She carefully placed it into her purse without thinking twice. She then had to remind herself that it was okay, because everything was hers now.
She went through her father’s desk to find drawings. There were lots and lots of drawings! And they weren’t half bad either. But everyone of them had a dark meaning to it. Most of the pictures put Muggles “in their rightful place.” As so, one of the pictures was titled just that. But Rodolphus’ artwork skills were so good. She could almost imagine herself saying, “Look what my daddy drew!” and hanging the artwork around her room.
Isobel wandered into the room across the hall. She never really understood how old-fashioned her parents truly were until she noticed they had separate bedrooms. Isobella observed that this room seemed to have a deep red shade to it. But it wasn’t a Gryffindor red. Instead the red shade reminded her more of dark blood.
She looked over towards Bellatrix’s dresser to find the same picture. Perhaps they had been given the pictures as gifts. She did note that Bellatrix’s picture had much more dust on it.
She opened the blinds and soon became aware of how dirty the room was. Everything seemed to be layered in at least five layers of fine dust.
Isobella looked around for writings, a dairy perhaps. But she found nothing. Apparently, her mother wasn’t much of a writer. Instead, she found a very detailed log of spells, that she had tried to cast non-verbally, and their turnouts. It seemed to her that her mother was a very competitive duelist.
She wandered into the private bathroom of the room. Isobella opened the closet, expecting a whole bunch of black dresses. Instead she was shocked to find that Bellatrix used to have color in her wardrobe. Every color was in the darkest shade though. She didn’t wear any bright colors whatsoever.
She picked up a navy dress with black lace on the bottom, noticing it had become a tad bit nibbled on by a moth. She tapped her wand to the dress and whispered, “Reparo!’ The dress soon became its old delicate self. She could almost see herself, trying on Mummy Bellatrix’s big dresses. She would have spun around and cried, “Look at me, Mummy!”
She turned to see the porcelain sink. She clutched the gold sink handles and stared into the mirror. Who was she?
It soon hit her that these people were real, not something that she could bend and twist to her will in her imagination. They had lives. They had lived. They had opinions and could walk and talk and think for themselves. They were real, and it scared Isobella. She sat down on the bathroom’s velvet crimson chair and cried. They were real. They weren’t hers to pretend about anymore.
No one said a word. They all were silent. Isobella started to lead the pack into the house, but Henry stood behind with his mouth wide open.
The foyer was big and gorgeous. Cobwebs covered it all, but the golden ceiling was noticed. The ballroom had the grandest piano possible. It looked as though it hadn’t even been played when people lived in the house. It was probably just for show. But Isobella couldn’t help but to wonder if her grandparents had stayed to have Christmas there once.
A dark grandfather clock stood straight and tall. The dining room chairs were lined with velvet, and the silver tableware was set. The kitchen was lined with old appliances. But to show their hatred for all things Muggle, the oven with four little burners was wizard-made. Whenever one flicked his or her wand, it started heating up. And it had been the fastest model for over forty years.
Unlike the Blacks’ home, there were no house elves’ heads on display, to Isobel’s surprise. She wondered if her mother didn’t like the sight of them, just as she didn’t like deer and bears’ heads on Muggle walls.
The marble staircase was the largest one she had ever seen. It went up proudly, and then took a slight turn to end under a large doorway. Into the doorway she went, and found herself in a large hallway. Left and right she turned, finding all sorts of rooms. The two libraries made her tear up. Millions and millions of classic books there probably were! She looked out the window to find an old abandoned greenhouse. Sitting rooms, drawing rooms, bedrooms, bathrooms, a den, a study, a billiard room- The rooms seemed to go on and on.
There was a room that was entirely empty except for the walls. There was painting on the left side of the room of the Lestrange family tree. To the right, the Black family tree was painted. Isobella decided to paint her name in when she got the chance.
There was another room which turned out to be another hallway. But this hallway was ended without any other doors. Pictures and pictures of people hung on the walls. When she walked by the pictures some of the people screamed, some looked at her in horror, another smiled, and some old lady wrinkled her nose in distaste. She stopped halfway down the hallway, deciding not to venture forward. If her parents were in there, she’d rather see them last.
She looked behind her to see her friends were no longer behind her. They must’ve got lost. Finally, at a dead end, she found two large rooms. She walked into the first to see what she was to find.
It was covered in olive green and black covers. Large drapes blocked the sunlight. A dusty picture of two people sat on a black dresser.
In the picture two young people stood with small smiles on their faces. Isobella was unsure if the smiles were forced, fake, or real. The woman in the picture had curly brown hair that came well past her shoulders. Isobella’s hair was just a little bit lighter. Her hair was a dark dirty blonde. The man looked way more serious. He had black hair with dark eyes. They seemed to be standing in front of an oak tree.
She noticed the room quickly after seeing the picture. It was her father’s! She spotted a pocket watch next to the picture. Isobella picked up the silver pocket watch covered in dust. It seemed to still be working. She carefully placed it into her purse without thinking twice. She then had to remind herself that it was okay, because everything was hers now.
She went through her father’s desk to find drawings. There were lots and lots of drawings! And they weren’t half bad either. But everyone of them had a dark meaning to it. Most of the pictures put Muggles “in their rightful place.” As so, one of the pictures was titled just that. But Rodolphus’ artwork skills were so good. She could almost imagine herself saying, “Look what my daddy drew!” and hanging the artwork around her room.
Isobel wandered into the room across the hall. She never really understood how old-fashioned her parents truly were until she noticed they had separate bedrooms. Isobella observed that this room seemed to have a deep red shade to it. But it wasn’t a Gryffindor red. Instead the red shade reminded her more of dark blood.
She looked over towards Bellatrix’s dresser to find the same picture. Perhaps they had been given the pictures as gifts. She did note that Bellatrix’s picture had much more dust on it.
She opened the blinds and soon became aware of how dirty the room was. Everything seemed to be layered in at least five layers of fine dust.
Isobella looked around for writings, a dairy perhaps. But she found nothing. Apparently, her mother wasn’t much of a writer. Instead, she found a very detailed log of spells, that she had tried to cast non-verbally, and their turnouts. It seemed to her that her mother was a very competitive duelist.
She wandered into the private bathroom of the room. Isobella opened the closet, expecting a whole bunch of black dresses. Instead she was shocked to find that Bellatrix used to have color in her wardrobe. Every color was in the darkest shade though. She didn’t wear any bright colors whatsoever.
She picked up a navy dress with black lace on the bottom, noticing it had become a tad bit nibbled on by a moth. She tapped her wand to the dress and whispered, “Reparo!’ The dress soon became its old delicate self. She could almost see herself, trying on Mummy Bellatrix’s big dresses. She would have spun around and cried, “Look at me, Mummy!”
She turned to see the porcelain sink. She clutched the gold sink handles and stared into the mirror. Who was she?
It soon hit her that these people were real, not something that she could bend and twist to her will in her imagination. They had lives. They had lived. They had opinions and could walk and talk and think for themselves. They were real, and it scared Isobella. She sat down on the bathroom’s velvet crimson chair and cried. They were real. They weren’t hers to pretend about anymore.
