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Sweetest Lies by RAB
Chapter 2 : Grey Eyes
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 2

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Hey guys, here is chapter two (Grey Eyes) of my new fic (Sweetest Lies). I really hope you like it and I would also really appreciate it if you would leave me a review to tell me your thoughts on it. I am really excited about writing it. I will probably try to write up a couple of these chapters before switching back and forth between my story Trapped and this story; we'll see how it all goes.


Previous Chapter:

His eyes seem to connect with mine and we stand here staring at each other for what seems like a lifetime. He isn't smiling; he has a look of sadness and pain on his face. It is only then, when our eyes are on one another, that I, Rose D. Weasley, realize his eyes are grey with a few specks of blue.

His eyes are exactly like mine.

And now I present to you the next chapter of my Next Generation fan fic... (Hope you like it and please please please leave me a review. Thanks in advance!)

S w e e t e s t . L i e s

C H A P T E R . T W O : G R E Y . E Y E S


I was five years old. Mum was upstairs putting my three year old brother, Hugo, to bed. The sun was setting outside, a mixture of red, purple, pink, and blue, but it was not dark out yet. The house itself was mostly dark inside, except for a few lights on, scattered about the house. Everything was quiet and peaceful, making me feel at ease and safe. I could smell the chocolate chip cookies my mum had made on a few hours ago after I scraped my knee on the cement walkway outside of our three-story brick house.

Dad and I were in the beige living room, as he began teaching me how to play chess. I was sitting on his lap as I reached forward to pick up one of the white pieces; the queen. He was telling me how the queen was the most powerful piece on the entire board.

"She's more power... powerfu... powerful than the king?" I asked him, confused. My voice struggled with the words slightly as I tried to comprehend what they all meant. My five year old mind had trouble understanding why a queen would be greater and more 'powerful' than a king. Aren't kings supposed to be the one's who rule over everyone else in all of my fairy tales?

"Oh yes," he answered me. His hand stroked my hair, playing with my curls before he continued. "The queen can move as many spaces as she wants to the front, back, right, left, and diagonal, yet the king can only move one space in any of those directions," he explained to me. He continued to play with my hair, combing through my curls with his long freckled fingers. "Your hair looks so much like your mother's, but your hair is lighter," he said, changing the subject completely.

"But it's not red," I stated, turning my head to look at him. My voice said the obvious as my grey eyes met his sparkling hazel ones. For an instant all I could do was stare at the brown, greenish color swirling in his orbs.

"Well no," he looked at me confused. "Your mum doesn't have red hair." He doesn't understand my unhappiness with my lack of red hair and thus my lack of fitting in with the rest of the family.

"But you do and Hugo does and Aunt Ginny does and Uncle Fred does and Uncle Percy does and Uncle Charlie does and Uncle Bill does and Grandmum does and..." my five year old self explained to him, before he cut me off.

"Yes, they all do, but you take after your mum. I imagine you look almost exactly like she did when she was your age." I looked at him, again, confused; I cannot imagine my mum at my age; she seemed so much older than me; perhaps five times my age.

"My eyes don't look like her's," I insist, using my two pointer fingers to point to my two stormy grey eyes.

"No, your eyes are a gorgeous grey."

"My eyes don't look like your's either."

"No Rosie, they don't." My father's voice revealed how confused he is by my statements and my curiosity, though his voice remains kind and humerous.

"But where did they come from?" I asked, my confusion evident in my voice as I reach up to touch his cheek, near his own eyes.

"They come from an angel."

"Rose, you okay?" a questioning voice awakens me from my thoughts. My eyes are still locked with the man's across the room as the male voice interrupts my concentration. I try to make sure I hide my annoyance as I attempt to recall my latest thoughts. Realizing I cannot recall my latest stream of thoughts, I give in to the voice behind me.

I look around me and see that my cousin, Albus, is standing next to me, looking at me with concern very evident on his rectangular face. "I'm fine," I assure him, as I reach up to play with my curly hair, a nervous habit of mine. Of course I'm not fine; I'm at my mother's funeral. Who would be fine in a situation like this? I'm dying inside; I'm dying knowing that I will never be able to run home to my Mum for comfort.

"No you aren't," he argues. He knows me so well that it scares me sometimes. Often times he feels more like my brother, a twin brother, than my cousin. With us being the same age, we were always close. Albus would be the cousin I played with when James had called me a "bookworm"; Albus and I would go swimming, play quidditch, and talk about everything from the weather to the latest Ministry scandal.

I glance back over at the grey eyed man for an instant and see him once again scanning the room, before I move my focus back to Albus. The man has yet to move a single millimeter. "Al..." I begin, unsure of whether or not I should even bother to ask him this. He may not know the answer. He may think it odd that I am asking him this. He may laugh at my silly mistake. He may...

"Yeah Rosie?" he asks, once again interrupting my silly train of thoughts. He takes a small step towards me and ruffles up his already messy midnight black hair that he has clearly inherited from his well known father.

Oh what the heck; I might as well just ask him. What harm could it possibly do? Carefully, I nod my head towards the grey eyed man I had been staring at, my thick hair gently flying around my head. "Who's that?" I ask him. My voice is quiet and curious as a lion.

He looks in the direction of my nod, a sense of unsureness on his lightly tan face, before he looks back over at me. "You don't know who that is?" he says, bluntly, his green eyes alive as he continuously looks back in forth between myself and the person in question.

I shake my head, softly, 'no'. "Should I?" I ask, my fingers still playing with my hair, happy to be thinking about something besides my mum and the quiet funeral taking place around me.

He looks at me strangely, his bold green eyes on my grey ones, though I am not looking at him back. "That's Scorpius Malfoy's dad; Draco I think his name is. He went to school with our parents. They hated each other." His last sentence seems so blunt and cold that it shocks me. The coldness and hate is so unlike my cousin, who typically is filled with humor and kindness.

"Oh," I mutter so quietly that I don't think he hears me. What is a man who hates my father and probably my mother and the rest of the family doing here? Why would he even bother coming to my Mum's funeral? Why would he even care enough to pay respects to her?

"I wonder what he is doing here," Albus voices my thoughts as he glares once again at the grey eyed man I now know as Draco Malfoy. "I can't imagine your dad would be too thrilled if he knew Malfoy was here," Albus states his voice somewhere between coldness and laughing at the thought.

"He seems so lost, like he is looking around for something. I don't think he has moved for at least five minutes," I explain to my cousin. I move my hands to straighten out my dark dress robes, wiping the invisible dirt off of them. Part of me really wants to go over and talk to Mr. Malfoy, find out why he is here at my mum's funeral, find out why my dad hates him so much, and find out why our eyes look exactly the same. Yet the other part of knows that I shouldn't; that if I do, my family, especially my dad, would not be too happy about it.

"Probably trying to find a muggle born or so called 'blood traitor' to go bother," Albus says in a pestered voice. I look over at him and only just realize the height difference between us. His six foot two frame towers over my five foot five self. I knew he was tall, but not THAT tall. Wasn't it only a few years ago that I was taller than him? It must have been third year where he was three whole inches shorter than me.

"Probably," I echo him, though not really listening to him. He's so skinny and has little muscle at all on his slender body, perfect for his quidditch position of seeker. His build reminds me of my father's, making me wonder if he got his build from Aunt Ginny. Then again, probably not; it is much more likely he got it from his father, Uncle Harry, for after all Aunt Ginny is smaller and more muscular.

"We should tell your dad," he remarks, still holding a glare at the man in question, his emerald green eyes filled with a hate that is so unknown to me. Once again I am shocked by the glare on Albus' face and hardly comprehending the soft words coming out of his large mouth.

I look around the room and see my dad has not even noticed the newest visitor in the room as he continues his discussion with Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny. I watch him wipe his hazel eyes as he nods at something my aunt says. Shifting my gaze back to the grey eyed man I observe him staring at the portrait of my mother, his eyes holding a hint of well hidden sadness in them, as he looks at mum's curly dark brown hair and chocolate brown eyes.

"We should tell my... wait! What?" I snap my head away from the direction of Mr. Malfoy and looked over at my cousin.

He looks at me strangely as he realizes I have not been paying much attention to what he is saying. "We should tell your dad," he repeats slowly. He folds his hands across his chest and waits for some kind of reaction from me.

"Why would we do that?" I ask him, my words rushed, my cheeks flushed. My mind wanders back to my mum as I remember why we are all here, to celebrate her life. Mum wouldn't want Dad to get all angry over pretty much nothing; there is no need to tell him about the grey eyed man.

"Why wouldn't we?" he counters, his eyes looking at my pale face; my own eyes watching the man of our conversation.

"Why wouldn't we what?" a voice interrupts our talk. It's a male voice a little deeper than Albus'. The normal fun and laughter of his voice is gone, forcing me to once again think of the purpose of this gathering; my mother is gone. Gone forever. And she is never coming back to us again.

I say nothing, not even bothering to look at the new addition to our group, my older cousin, James. Albus notices my silence and turns his attention to his older brother. "I was asking Rosie why we would not inform her father of Mr. Malfoy's presence here, where he is clearly unwanted," his voice is stronger and more powerful than I have heard him speak in quite some time, especially when he is talking with his older brother.

James furrows his eyebrows as I watch him out of the corner of my grey eyes search for Mr. Malfoy. He eventually follows my gaze to see him near the entrance of the room, still staring at my mother's portrait. "Why is he here?" James asks, his voice matching the coldness of his younger brother's.

Tearing my gaze from Mr. Malfoy, I look over at James. Sensing my eyes, James shifts his own gaze at Mr. Malfoy to my own eyes. His hazel eyes soften as he looks at me, realizing he is no longer staring at a prejudice man, but rather a grieving, young girl who has just lost her mother. He steps closer to me and pulls me into a much needed hug. "Oh Rosie," he mumbles into my curly, light brown hair, his arms wrap around my shoulders as he rubs my upper back, soothingly.

"Shouldn't we go tell..." Albus begins, but quickly stops when he sees my dad look angrily at Mr. Malfoy, before he stomps over to him.

Dad's face is as red as his hair, his fists clenched, and his breathing is hard. His hazel eyes are on fire as he glares at the man who has caused him and his friends so much trouble at school, all of those years ago. All those names Mr. Malfoy called my dad, my mum, my uncle, and everyone they knew come to my father's mind as he approaches the platinum blond with those grey eyes.

The stare at each other, their faces inches from each other. They appear to be about the same height, though Dad might be a half an inch or so taller. Mr. Malfoy looks more muscular, however, as they both say nothing for several, long seconds. Then their lips begin to move and I see my Dad speak, probably asking Mr. Malfoy why on earth he is here at all, though I cannot hear them.

I notice James still has his arm around me, as if he is afraid I will go over and see what is going on between my father and the man he hates. I try to shrug him off, but he won't let me and only tightens his protective grip. Albus stands on the other side of me, his feet frozen in place like someone put a curse on him.

"I DON'T CARE. GET OUT OF HERE," my father all of a sudden shouts, attracting the attention of the entire room of guests. Dad looks shocked by the loudness of his voice, but his gaze of hatred is not fazed as he looks upon Mr. Malfoy with uttermost disgust.

Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry quickly race over to the two older men to act as referees between the two enemies. I can see Uncle Harry's mouth moving, though I cannot hear him speak the words flowing past his teeth and out of his mouth.

All of a sudden I see Mr. Malfoy's grey eyes shift from my father to me. He looks at me, observing, as if he knows me and everything about me, almost like we were old friends from 'way back in the day.' He eyes Albus and James, with is arm tightly around me paralyzing my movement, noting how they look like two body guards.

I notice my father sees that Mr. Malfoy no longer is looking at him and he follows his enemy's gaze until his eyes settle on me. His anger flares up as he steps forward and punches Mr. Malfoy right in the nose.

"RONALD WEASLEY," I hear my Grandmum yell loudly at her youngest son's barbaric behavior.

The entire room is in shock for a mere instant before voices fill up the whole room, no doubt gossiping. I can hear a reporter's camera snap a picture as Uncle Harry pulls my father back away from Mr. Malfoy. Aunt Ginny looks angrier than I have ever seen her before and believe me, I have seen her temper... she does have two trouble making sons after all.

Mr. Malfoy looks enraged as blood drips out of his pale nose. He looks as though he is going to punch my dad, but stops, and lets his clenched hand fall back down to his side. His mouth opens and he speaks a few words, but once again I am too far away to hear them. I try to pull out of James' tight grip to go over to my father, but James only holds me tighter. I have to get to my father; I have to be with him. He needs me now; he needs me more than ever now that... now that mum is... is gone.

"No," James speaks softly to me. Fresh tears roll down my cheeks as I think in horror of how my mum would react to such an event at her own funeral. This all should not be happening; not today, not on this day that we are grieving her death. She doesn't deserve to have some childish fight take places at her funeral.

I know James has heard my tears as he pulls me into another hug, his shoulder blocking my view of the events taking place between Mr. Malfoy and my father. I sob louder as I wonder if he cares how wet I am getting his best, black dress robes.

I doubt he does care; he seems much more occupied with comforting me than caring whether or not some silly clothes get a little wet.

When he finally releases me from the hug and my sobs have stopped, I notice that Mr. Malfoy has gone and the wake is almost back to normal. My father is coming towards me, to offer me more comfort.

"Rosie," he whispers when he reaches me, as he pulls me into a tight hug.

"Daddy," I answer back. "What was... what was going... going on?" My voice is shaky and soft as I pull away from him.

I can tell he doesn't know how to answer me, like he is afraid of telling me the truth. I am sixteen though, doesn't he think I can handle it?

"Nothing Sweetie," he tells me. "That man simply does not belong here."

I nod my head, pretending I actually understand. I don't of course, but now is neither the time nor place to get on my father's case. Besides, I can always ask Aunt Ginny about it all later. Aunt Ginny would tell me what was happening over there between my father and Mr. Malfoy.

Later that night, when I went to sleep, I could not help but envision a certain pair of grey eyes with a few specks of blue in them as I feel asleep.

My eyes. My grey eyes.

And thus the end of chapter two.

I hope you liked the chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Rose is obviously struggling with her mother's death and the mystery behind the eyes. I spent more time writing this chapter then most all other chapters I have ever written, so I hope that shows. The next update shouldn't take too long, but I'm not positive when it will be up. In the next week if I am lucky. I really hope you guys review the story and let me know your thoughts on it. I'll accept anything you tell me; whether you are simply saying "it's okay" or giving me a wonderfully long review telling me everything that is wrong with my story. Any feedback is helpful.

Thanks in advanced (hopefully)

Happy Reading,


Preview of the next chapter:

What can my mum possibly have that she feels the need to lock away in a box? It's fairly heavy, so it's not like it is empty or anything. The only people who would possibly go up here and look in her box would be Hugo, Dad, or I, so she really shouldn't have anything to hide from us. I wonder where she would keep the key for the box. If she didn't want Dad to go through it then she probably wouldn't hide the key in her room.

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