HP Dawn Night

I don't like Parkinson Manor.

Always.

My birth meant an heir to the Parkinson family, a name that brought me both grandeur and cynicism.

After that dark period, a series of actions by the Parkinsons brought the reputation of this declining pure-blood family into question.Among them, Mrs. Parkinson's demandingness on the scene was particularly prominent, and it became a joke widely circulated in private for a while, while I attracted everyone's attention from the moment I stepped into the "social circle".

They wanted to know what Parkinson's heir was like, and what kind of daughter the face-saving Mrs. Parkinson would teach.

Smile, curtsey, say hello to Mr and Mrs.

Smile, nod, chin up.

With a blank face, staring into the distance, he walked away without saying a word.

For as long as I can remember, my mother has demanded that I treat pure-blood, half-blood, and hemp-born wizards in this manner.

Since I was sensible, I couldn't understand why my mother imposed so many constraints on me.Obviously Parkinson is no longer noble, obviously the pure-blood family has begun to wither, and obviously has been ridiculed so much overtly and secretly.I think no matter how hard my mother tries, it's just adding more jokes

—Look, that's Parkinson's.

What a ludicrous attempt to disguise a broken skeleton with a final touch of grace and nobility.

When I was very young, a woman from a mixed-race family accidentally said this at a dinner party hosted by the Parkinson's family:

"I think there are certain similarities between the pure-blood families of wizards and the nobility of Muggles. They both retain their reputation or a sense of superiority in a certain class, but they both tend to decline."

This sentence was heard by the mother, and Mrs. Parkinson did not change her face, but walked away with a decent polite smile.

But the woman has never been on the Parkinson's guest list since.

As I got older, I did become what my mother wanted me to be.I have also become more mature than children of the same age, and I gradually feel that what the lady said is not completely unreasonable.

This is something later.

As a child, I had very few playmates, the only ones I used to hang out with were Draco Malfoy and Violet Watson.

This is not because of anything else, just because of their noble blood.

Malfoy and Watson, my trick-or-treating father never gave up any chance of becoming a dragon or a phoenix.And diplomacy between children is undoubtedly a shortcut worth considering.

Both Draco and Vio are good friends with me.

But I can't communicate with any of them.

As Malfoy's heir, Draco has been loved and received a perfect education since he was a child, and Malfoy Manor is his eternal home.As for Vio, although her life experience is complicated and confusing, Miss Watson with a distinctive personality gives her a moderate amount of freedom.

Only I was desperate to escape this suffocating, uninteresting estate.Although it is exquisite and luxurious, in my opinion, the Parkinson Manor after the banquet has a cold and cold feeling, like a beast dormant in the night, or like a gorgeous prison.

From a very young age, I knew my future destiny: to graduate from Hogwarts, and then marry the heir of a noble pure-blood family.

This manor is going to make me like that—like the portraits of Parkinson's house mistresses, well-dressed, with the same smile, stiff, stiff, and unassertive.

Now, the best example in sight is my mother, Hyacinth Parkinson.

I inherited my mother's flaxen hair, but not her temperament.The mother is not a typical beauty, but she has a cold and repulsive temperament, which makes her always have a sense of erratic, as if she is not close to the fireworks of the world.

I also don't understand why she would end up with her snobby father, even though my parents were pretty much saving face in a sense.

As far as I can remember, my mother has never been intimate with me.She liked to be alone and was not close to her father.At least they have always lived in separate rooms, and it is rare to see intimate conversations between them.

They never quarreled, they just got along like ice all the time.

Sometimes, I feel that Parkinson's Manor is full of secrets.

I grew up with this curiosity.From baby to toddler to child, then to Hogwarts, and then into Slytherin.

I went home over Christmas, but my mother was not particularly warm to me just because it had been so long.And father...he was still the same, only knew how to gain power.

They don't value my studies or my grades in Charms.

In their eyes, that doesn't matter.

One day during the summer vacation, Parkinson Manor held a grand banquet.There was no one I was familiar with at the table, so after dealing with the situation, I hid upstairs, trying to find a quiet place to stay.

Before I knew it, I walked into a living room.There are many rooms in Parkinson's Manor, who knows who they belong to and what they are used for.

Do extra empty rooms represent wealth and status?

It's ridiculous.

Unexpectedly, there was an open Muggle book on the triangular table in the lounge.

old paper.

I reached out to get it

——“At that time he was too young to know that memory erases the bad and exaggerates the good. It is because of this mystery that we can bear the burden of the past.”

I chewed this sentence over and over again, not quite understanding.

"You should attend the banquet downstairs." A cold voice came from behind.My hand trembled, and my mother had already stepped forward and took the book from my hand.

I don't understand why my mother would read Muggle books.

García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera?

I don't think pure-bloods should read Muggle love stories, so I rarely stood still and disobeyed my mother.With the joy of revealing the secret and a strange feeling, it seems that there is a crack in the iceberg beauty who has been rejecting people for thousands of miles.

My mother still closed the book and put it where it was. Her fingers rubbed the spine of the book, her eyes seemed to be without me, and she could see the fear and tension that should come from being peeked into the secret.She acted frankly as if nothing had happened, and she just left the dinner for a while.

"But you should be downstairs too. You are the mistress of Parkinson's Manor!" I was irritated by her indifference and calmness, and said indiscriminately.

My mother gave me a dispassionate look, a smile that was more contemptuous than sarcasm, and she walked to the window.

The breeze lifted the white gauze curtains, and the champagne on the window sill reminded us that the mistress and heir of the Parkinson estate were both absent from the feast.But outside the window, there were only a few dim stars on the clear and cloudless night. It was a moonless night.

My mother stood quietly at the window, and after a long time, I heard her indifferent and hoarse voice:

"Oh, mistress."

The author has something to say:

I didn't update the article today, so let's add a side story.

In the future, I should add some side stories from time to time~ Characters, not sure~

Let me know if you want~