You are viewing a story from harrypotterfanfiction.com


Follow Your Heart by marygold

Format: Novella
Chapters: 28
Word Count: 37,064
Status: COMPLETED

Rating: Mature
Warnings: Mild Language, Scenes of a Sexual Nature

Genres: Drama, Romance, AU
Characters: Harry, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, Neville, Draco, Ginny, OC
Pairings: Draco/OC

First Published: 02/09/2006
Last Chapter: 07/24/2011
Last Updated: 07/24/2011

Summary:


Thanks to Fantasy Dreamer for my great banner! Isabella left with her father after her mother's death. Now she's sixteen her father is also gone and she is forced to move back to England. What else will she be forced to change?


Chapter 2: Coming Home

Chapter 2

After a three hour flight to New York I was ready to at least take a walk around the terminal and stretch my legs. More room in coach, yeah right! Fifteen minutes that was all I had.

“Excuse me, are you traveling to London?” A young man, no older than seventeen, was standing next to me.

I didn’t feel like pleasantries so I nodded, “Yes.” and kept walking.

But, he didn’t seem to take the hint; because he sped up and kept talking. “This your first time?”

I moved my head slowly from side to side, maybe he was slow. “No” I tried to speed up my pace a little. But, he kept up.

He then said, “I’m from England.”

Great! I thought. “So am I.”

“Funny you don’t sound British.” He said

I then stopped; it seemed that there was no way I was getting rid of him. “Funny you don’t look British.” Untrue, but I wanted to be rude.

Still he didn’t take the hint. “I only meant that you don’t have an accent.”

What was he trying to do? Apologizing? God was he a masochist or something of the sort. So I stopped, better be direct. “Look here. I’m not in the mood for socializing. You want to know my story, I’ll tell it briefly. I was born in England, lovely family. Mom died when I was six. I moved to the Caribbean. I’ve been living there for the past ten years. During which time I’ve also been abroad, as a student, in France. My father just died three months ago. And now, I’m traveling back to England where I will stay with my mother’s best friend until I have to go back to school. So, as you can see, right now I would rather hook myself to my Ipod than talk to you. It’s been a pleasure I’m sure.” With that I gave him the rudest cut in my short lived live.

And then I heard him call out. “What’s your name?”

I turned around. He started walking towards me, all dressed in black, my friends would definitely consider him handsome. To bad, he wasn’t my type, being all blonde and all. When he reached me he asked once more, “What’s your name?”

“Bella.” And with that I walked back to the plane. Took my seat and went to sleep.

***

It’s funny how after the death of someone close people start treating you differently, strange, like if you just might break. Hannah picked me up at the airport. After a very very long and very awkward silence, she told me that she was glad to see me. She hated the circumstances, but she was glad to see me. She had made arrangements so that the old house at Wiltshire would be opened and ready for our arrival. Funny, I thought we would go to her flat.

But, here I was in her car and en route to Wiltshire. Not sure if I was ready to go there. I stared out the window the whole way, trying to see if there was anything I remembered. But no, nothing jugged my memory.

When we got there I saw the old house. I remembered it as imposing, and it still was. Mom always said it was too big, too many rooms, too many dining rooms. “Why do you need four? When one would perfectly do.” She used to say that to Papa all the time. He would just laugh and tell her that it was one of the down falls of having married a Townsend. She would then smile and say that she could live with it. This house had too many memories. Too many stories had unfolded between these four walls.

Hannah pulled into the garage and I got out of the car. I then made my way to the backyard, if it could be called that. There were four gardens, if I remember correctly. One of them my father had labeled it the forbidden garden. Like any five year old on the verge of turning six, that had been my favorite. That, was where I used to go to play with my friend. I would meet him there. We used to play there until our nannies noticed we were missing and would call us back.

I remember one day, he taught me my first spell. It was one his mother used to do, he had seen her do it. She would sit in a chair and start reading a book, then she would say the spell and step up from the chair. When she looked back there was a clone of herself reading, just as she had been. Anyone who came in would think that was she. We started doing it and thus were able to play more.

But then my mother died. That day I remember I wanted so much to come to this garden. I wanted to see him, tell him what had happened. Vent and rage all my anger, until I felt empty. But, it never happened. The next day my father had closed the house and we were moving to the Caribbean.

I opened the gate to the garden. Don’t know if I was expecting him to appear or not. I started to make my way through the maze that was it’s beginning. One left, two rights. Stop at the sun watch and set the dial to five. Then another door would open, and you’d be in the garden.

It was still as I remembered it. Flowers everywhere, a little pond in the middle and to its left a gazebo. How many hours I had spent there? I looked towards the opposite side of which I had entered and made my way over. I remembered my friend telling me that he had to pull on the bird dish. There it was right at my side, it was once, twice and then the door would open. I then stepped through it. I kept on walking. The other side didn’t have a maze instead it had a little bridge. I crossed it and then I saw the gate. A big M rested on its middle. I pushed it once, pushed it twice still it didn’t budge. I then looked towards the house. It was big, bigger than ours. And it looked empty, as if no one was living there, not even the staff. I tried once more to push the gate open, but it was a lost cause. I looked around trying to see if anyone was in sight, but there was no one. So I pulled my wand from my coat, stepped back and “Alohomora” tried to push the gate once more, still it was closed. Whatever had closed it was more powerful than any spell that I knew.

So I walked back to the garden and closed the door. “Colloportus” If magic had sealed the gate, then this door would also be closed by magic. And better yet, “Evanesco” if they couldn’t find it.


http://www.harrypotterfanfiction.com