“Mommy, tell me another story.”

Mother looks down at me, her wide brown eyes dull from the exhaust of the day. Her fiery red hair is tied in a knot at the back of her head, yet some pieces in the front have fallen out and tumble into her eyes elegantly. Her hands holds mine and she strokes my palm with her thumb. It tickles a little, but I love it when she does it so I don’t complain. “I just told you one!” she says, protesting against my request. I nod sadly, and she can’t help but give in to me, “Alright, alright. Which one?”

It doesn’t take me long to pick the story I want to hear, “Your story.”

Mum tucks a piece of her hair that had gone astray behind her ear, looking down at me with a small smile. “You win – one more story. Mine. Okay. But then, it’s bedtime, missy!” I nod. With her other hand, she plays with my hair, the colour matching hers, looks up at the ceiling, and begins to tell the story I’ve heard so many times.

“Seven years ago, a war was going on. Wizards who believed that wizarding learning should be permitted to only completely wizarding families, no Muggle-borns, or with a Muggle parent had a leader. This man – no, by this time he was no longer a man – called himself Voldemort.”

“Voldemort,” I say, “He was an evil man, who had gone to every extent to prevent himself from dying, because he believed that nothing in the world was worse than death.”

“That’s right,” Mum says, looking back at me, “What you must understand, darling, is that you didn’t know who you could trust. You didn’t know who was actually an enemy. You couldn’t believe that just because someone was Pureblood that they were on Voldemort’s side.”

“You weren’t, and you’re a Pureblood.”

“Perfect example. And, Voldemort himself was only Half-Blood. But not even that – people you thought were your friends weren’t. You had to battle amongst people you didn’t necessarily like.”

“The war ended,” I say, “And at the time, you were dating an incredible boy.”

“Secretly dating, for four years. I wasn’t supposed to be dating him, so I was always sneaking out in the middle of the night. When the end came, we wanted to celebrate. He wanted me to have the best, most memorable night of my life.” She closes her eyes, smiling dreamily.

“He’s my daddy,” I say, beaming.

“Yes, he is… a very fanciable man, beautiful, with an angel’s smile. A real gentlemen. They don’t make them like him much. That night was the most memorable I’ve ever had. It was filled with rejoice and happiness, because we could finally be together openly, and kisses--”

“Tell me about his kisses,” I beg.

She smiles at me, sighing dreamily, “His kisses were filled with love and caring, strong, yet gentle. Soft and warm, just like his touch.” Mum’s hand it gone from my hair and touches her lips softly. “I can still feel them,” her voice is now barely a whisper, her eyes closed as if she’s trying to picture him right there. “I’ve never been so madly in love with someone in my life. It was heaven.”

“But heaven on earth can never actually exist, can it, Mum?”
She chuckles softly, “No, sweetheart. It can’t. The next morning, I woke up, and he was gone.”

“Were you mad at him?”

She pauses for a moment, and then shakes her head, looking down at me, “No, I wasn’t. Your grandma and your uncles were – and still are – members of the Order, and he was scared that they wouldn’t accept him as changed. It was in fear that he fled.”

“He wasn’t brave enough to stand up to them?”

Mum frowns at me, “Bravery comes in different forms, love… he didn’t want anything to happen to me. There’s no doubt that if someone knew I had ties with him, I would be a suspect. He had ties with Voldemort.”

“It wasn’t him, though, it was his family.”

“And him,” Mum says softly, “He was. But he kind of disappeared. The Death Eaters didn’t know where he was and neither did the Order. Only I did. It was a headline in the news – ‘Son of Death Eater gone missing – hasn’t been seen for four years.’ That was right around the time the war ended.”

“So he left you,” I say sadly.

“He did, but to protect me.”

“And a little while later, I was born!”

She smiles at me, giggling. “That’s right. You were born. And I named you after his mother, who--”

“Was killed by Voldemort, cause she tried to protect him.” I smile. “And that’s the end.”

“It is.” She kisses my forehead and stands up. “Goodnight, love.”

To me this has always just been a story, one of my bedtime favourites. I’ve always assumed it was fake, like a story made up, no matter how many times Mummy insists it happened. I hate the ending, though. It would be better if he heroically came back, sweeping the fair maiden off her feet. Of course, Mummy just laughs and says it’s never going to happen. I dream about a very handsome man one day knocking on the door, Mummy opening it and screaming in joy, flinging her arms around him. I imagine him coming up to me, smiling his angel’s smile, ruffling my hair, saying, “How’re you doing, kiddo?” I imagine him picking me up and twirling me around in a circle. I can imagine his grey eyes, the eyes I inherited. I look at Mum, tilting my head to the side. “Mummy?” I call after her.

“Yes?”

“Is he ever coming back?” I ask for the hundredth time.

“No.”

“Can I ever meet him?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Goodnight,” she turns off the light.

“Mummy?” This is a new question.

“Yes?” She is agitated now.

“Do you still love him?”

There is a pause. I hear crickets outside.

“Yes.”

“I knew that, Mum. Can you guess how?”

“How?”

“The way you talk about him.” I can’t see her, but I know she’s smiling. “G’night, Mum.”

“Goodnight, Narcissa.”

I wake up early one Saturday morning. I decide to go surprise my mother in her room, because she always sleeps in on Saturday, with a breakfast. I make her some toast and pour her a bowl of cereal, because that's all I know what to make. I pour her a glass of orange juice. She always tells me how important it is to drink a lot of orange juice so you can stay nice and healthy.

I bring the tray of breakfast up to her room, pushing open the door with my foot and entering. But Mummy isn't sleeping, like I expect her to be. She's awake, and looks like she has been for a while. She is looking through newspaper clippings in a box. Her bright red hair is tied back in a loose braid, a hairstyle I’ve tried loads of times but it never seems to work.

"Mummy?"

She turns to me, and quickly puts the lid on the box. "Hello, Cissa,” she says. I don’t like it how her deep brown eyes are filled with sorrow… I wonder what’s wrong?

"I made you breakfast."

She puts the box under her bed and I eye it curiously. She motions me over. "This looks delicious," she says with a smile as I put the tray on her bed.

"What was in that box?"

"Noting, dear, nothing. I was just going through some old things."

I nod, and though not entirely convinced, I turn to leave the room. But as I get to the door, I turn around and look at her, frowning.

“Mummy?”

“Yes?”

“What was his name?”

She pauses, and I can’t help but notice her lips purse in slightly. “Who’s name?” she says. But I know she knows who I’m thinking of.

“My father’s.”

“I’ve told you that I can’t tell you that.”

I frown. I know she thinks I can’t keep it a secret, or that someone will slip it out of me. “It’s not fair,” I say, a whine in my voice.

“Don’t whine, Cissa, it’s not attractive,” she snaps, “I know it’s not fair. And I know it’s not easy. It’s not easy for me, either.”

“Everyone else gets to have two parents, and I only get one, and I don’t even get to know his name, or anything about him, and I want to know!” I complain miserably, folding my arms across my chest, the anger beginning to build up inside of me.

“I can’t tell you! We’ve had this discussion, don’t you remember? Would you like to put our lives and his in danger?”

“I want to know who my father is! You told your friends!” I’m even angrier now, so angry that I’m sure I’m flushed bright red.

She just presses her lips together.

“This is bloody ridiculous!” I yell, my eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“Narcissa Rose! Don’t let me hear a word like that out of your mouth again!”

“You don’t get it! You grew up in a huge family, and you knew all of them! You almost never take me to go see them, because you don’t want to let it slip who my daddy is, and I barely know any of my uncles, and I don’t even know my father, and--”

“Oh, Narcissa--”

“And I hate you!”

Those words sting at her – I can see it in her eyes. She bites her lower lip and I turn out of her room, bolting down the hallway to my room and slamming my door. I hear her footsteps coming towards me. She knocks, and says, “Narcissa?” very quietly, so quiet that I almost don’t hear. She says more, though, “Cissa, please, don’t be mad. It’s just… you wouldn’t understand it – it’s too complicated. Honey, I’ll explain it to you when you’re older. Okay? Narcissa?”

I don’t say anything. I bury my head into my pillow and cry.

***

A little while later, I’m still lying in my bed crying, but now I’m getting hungry. I’ve got what Mummy calls ‘pride’, though, so I don’t go get food. There is a knock on my door. I don’t answer. The door opens.

"Mummy's got to go out for a little while, okay, darling?"

I look up at Mummy as she comes to me. Her fiery hair is tied up neatly (I don’t like that neat bun as much as her braid. I make a mental note to tell her that later), she is wearing high-heels and a nice pair of robes, and has even put on a little bit of lipstick. I nod slightly, brushing away a tear off my face.

"Luna's going to come watch you,” she tells me.

I nod again. I like Luna, even though she's a little weird, and even though she says a lot of weird things.

I can see that Mummy feels bad, seeing me all upset, and I’m not so mad at her anymore. “Mummy? I don’t actually hate you.”

A faint smile takes her lips. “I know,” she says, and I giggle slightly.

Just then Luna popped in, her usual dazed-out expression on. She turns to me, a small, dreamy smile on her pale lips.

“Hello, Ginny.”

"I won't be long," Mummy tells Luna as Luna, her, and I walk out of my room and to the main sitting room. Luna smiles, sits on the couch and puts a stack of papers beside her.

"Don't you worry about time! I have lots I can do. And Narcissa Rose and I will have fun together. Won't we?"

I nod. I know that Luna is one of the only people who know my real name and my real father, because Mummy trusts her. Mummy told her, and one other person, because that person figured it out of her own. Hermione, Mummy's best friend and her sister-in-law, says that the moment she first saw me she recognized my eyes - my father's eyes. Mummy didn't tell her brothers or her parents, though, afraid that someone will suspect that she worked for Voldemort. So, to my relatives, I am "Rose", Mummy's daughter. Mummy doesn't tell them who my father is, although Uncle Ron and Harry Potter, the one who defeated Lord Voldemort, have tried numerous times to figure it out. My middle name is Rose, though, so I don't mind them calling me that. Besides, Mummy tells me that when she and Daddy spoke once, years and years ago, he said he liked the name Rose. She hasn’t forgotten that.

Mummy nods her head slowly, and then Apparates away. Luna turns to me. “I’m going to get started on this.”

“More Quibbler work?” I ask.

Luna is the editor for “The Quibbler”. She took over the company when her father was killed in the War, using the magazine to send secret messages out (the secret messages in the magazine are hard to find, but if you know what you’re looking for, you can find it. Mummy showed me one once and explained it to me) and, as always, reveal the truth. Of course, although this truth is really crazy stuff, Luna believes it’s true. Mummy tells me never to tell Luna that something doesn’t exist, because, if Luna thinks it’s true, it might well be.

“Yes, I’ve got lots of interesting stories to look over. This one talks about Findleminnies. Do you know what Findleminnies are?”

“No.”

“Findleminnies are in your water. You can’t see them, because they’re so microscopic, but…” as she talks on, I tune her out, getting a surge of excitement suddenly. Mummy was gone. I could go look in those boxes. I could go look in them and find out what’s inside and what Mummy was looking at. It’s probably nothing that important, but why wouldn’t she let me see? And even if she comes home early and sees me in the boxes, I know she won’t be mad, because we just had an argument, and Mummy hates it when we have arguments, so she won’t want to start another one. “…and so, if you know the spell, you can make sure there aren’t any in your water.”

“That’s very interesting,” I tell Luna, smiling slightly and turning to bolt up the stairs.

I hear her humming lightly as I turn down the hall and hurry over to Mummy’s room. As I open her door, my heart pounds fast. I walk over to her bed and look under. There is one box, which I pull out and put beside me on the bed. Mummy put it there freely, trusting me. This is betraying her trust, I think with a frown. But I won’t tell her. If she can keep secrets from me, I can keep secrets from her.

I, taking in a deep breath, open the box. On the top is a newspaper clipping:

“SON OF LUCIUS MALFOY MISSING
Draco Malfoy, 17, son of the Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, went missing recently. There has been no sign of him since the end of his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In that year, Harry Potter discovered that he was, indeed, a Death Eater, like his father…”

I furrow my brows curiously. Could he be it? This – Draco Malfoy? There’s no picture on it. Mummy said that he had once been involved with Voldemort.

I pull out the next newspaper clipping.

“THE WAR OVER – WHERE ARE THE MISSING DEATH EATERS?
The great defeat over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named by Harry Potter has left us in slight worry. Although he is now gone, follows still roam…”

I skim further down the article.

“Draco Malfoy, 21.”

I put the article back, picking out another.

“SOME MISSING DEATH EATERS FOUND
Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, both 24, have been found. Even though their leader perished three years ago, they remained, and Harry Potter, who went to school with them, found them and now they are in Azkaban Prison. There is still no sign of Draco Malfoy, who, according to Harry Potter is “the leader of the three of them, he always had been in school.” Harry Potter also tells us that he would like to see Draco Malfoy locked up…”

Another article reads:

“FATHER OF MISSING DEATH EATER KILLED
Lucius Malfoy was killed earlier this week by seven Aurors, although there still is no sign of his son, Draco Malfoy. How this death will affect the boy, we do not know. Perhaps he will turn up…”

And another:

“NARCISSA MALFOY, DEAD
Draco Malfoy, still missing, has now lost his mother, as well. These tragic events lead one to believe that Draco Malfoy himself may be dead, as well. We do not know the cause of her death. No one seems to know how she died…”

As I fish through the articles, I find that they are all very similar. But, at the bottom of the pile of clippings is a letter in a small, white envelope. There is no return address on it. On the front, it says, simply:

“Ginny Weasley.”

“To my dearest Ginny,

I am sorry I left with so little notice. I don’t think there is a way I could further express how much it pained me to leave, but it’s for your own safety. We cannot tell anyone we were ever together, because then they will suspect you. And, right now, anyone they suspect is considered guilty. Clearly the old phrase “innocent until proven guilty” has worn out. But, my darling, please don’t be upset. Please, don’t worry about me. Please, don’t be mad at me. And please, don’t come looking for me. This owl will not return to me, and any other owl will fail in trying to track me down. For your own safety – since that is what I care most about – move on, and help fix up the wizarding world now that the Dark Lord is gone. Be happy, and do not worry.

I would also like to tell you how these past four years have impacted on me. You have made me who I am, Ginny, and for that, I thank you. We hid our love, but it is there, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. You will always be in my heart, and I will always be thinking about you. Thank you for being who you are, and never change yourself.

Enclosed I have left the money I kept with me during times of the war – my ‘just in case’. I hope that it will help you, since I know times will get more difficult. Please, keep it, and please, spend it, because I have little use for it, and the death of my father has left me with everything he has. I have left what he left me in the bank. I wish I could give it all to you, although it does looks suspicious to take out from it, and since it is his account, and he is dead, that would seem a little strange – also considering I’m missing and presumed dead as well.

I also would like to let you know how my mother died. My mother cared for me – she loved me, and was the only person I had ever felt love from before you. She did everything in her power to try to get the Dark Lord to not kill me for not doing my assigned task and that resulted in her death. She died trying to save me, Ginny, and I can’t let that happen to you. I know you want to help me, and I hereby forbid you. If it is ever safe again, I will contact you.

Please, never forget me, as I will never forget you.

I love you.”

No name is signed.

There is another, smaller envelope inside of it titled “Just in Case”. It is empty.

What is funny is how this letter matches the articles. I know, suddenly, who the letter is from. It must be from that Draco Malfoy. Was he my father? On one hand, I’m furious at him. How could he leave a ninteen-year-old pregnant woman, whom he loves, on her own like that? Although, he didn’t know she was pregnant, did he? He did give her some money, which is generous, I suppose (I can’t help but wonder how much money he gave her). Clearly the Malfoy family is very, very rich, if he can just give her a whole lot of money (Well, I’m assuming it’s a whole lot of money. It wouldn’t be very helpful if he just left her with two Sickles, now would it?). Or – was. But my spirits lift slightly, because my father isn’t dead. And if he is dead, he didn’t die when all the articles said he did. I put the letter back in, close the box, smiling slightly, and go to put it under the bed when I spot a loose clipping from a newspaper on the floor. It must’ve fallen out of the box. It is a picture. A picture of a blonde-haired boy in his late-teens, with eyes that - I think with a small, affectionate smile – look just like mine. The picture wasn’t taken when he was looking, it seemed, and although the boy is young and is good-looking, his pale, pointed face shows signs of worry, and there are bags under his eyes. Signs of exhaustion are on his face, and I can’t help but look at him and feel a pang of pity. The moving wizard picture is of him looking around in worry. The picture looked crumbled, and the magic in the picture is fading slightly, as if it was held and admired many times. There are even a few tear stains, which, I assume from who the box belongs to, are my mother’s.

I put the picture into the box, and tuck it away under the bed. I feel as if I can breathe again.

I know my father’s name.

His name was Draco Malfoy.

His father – my grandfather - was killed by Aurors. His mother was killed because she tried to save him. My grandmother gave her life to save her son, who is my father. He has inherited a lot of money. He loves my mother, and it pained him to leave her.

The man who I had always imagined would come back, a knight in shining armour, a hero, I notice now won’t come back at all. His letter clearly states that. I remember that when Mummy tells me her story, I always make a comment that he is a coward. And I can see Mummy doesn’t like it when I say that, since she feels he is braver than she by leaving. She told me once that if she was truly brave, she would go find her. Yet she fears for her and his life and doesn’t. So I told her, “But you’re never afraid of nothing.”

“Of anything, Narcissa,” she had corrected me with a small smile on her face, “And I am very frightened. I am frightened someone will find him, and kill him. I am frightened someone will try to hurt you. Because I love you, and if anything ever happened to you, I don’t know what I would do.”

I need him to come back. I need him to make Mummy happy. She deserves to be happy more than anyone I know. But he won’t come back, whether he is brave or not. So…

The only way for me to ever meet my father is – to go find him myself. I have no clues of where he is. The only sign I have of him even existing anymore is this letter. And there isn’t even proof that it is him. It doesn’t have a name.

I let out a sigh of resignation, and come down the stairs to sit beside Luna as she edits pages for her magazine.

“Luna, where did my mother go?”

“She went to go meet with some people.”

“Where?”

“Knockturn Alley.”

“What?” I cry, unable to believe it. A good, respectable woman like Mummy would never be seen in such a place.

“There’s just a few people she needs to see,” Luna says, turning to me. Her wide, pale eyes stare at me for a moment, before she says, “Why were you going through your mother’s stuff?” And she turns back to her papers.

“I, well, I – wait, how did you know?” I say, stunned.

“Do not go looking for your father, Narcissa Rose. It is better if he is left unfound. For your and your mother’s safety.”

“You went to school with him, too, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like him?”

“We never spoke. But, I do remember that he always had an aura around him that made me think he was infested with Pheeops. Pheeops are not good to have around you, you know.”

“I know,” I say, even though I don’t know. She meets my eyes for a second and smile slightly, before turning back to her work.

“Harry and Ronald never liked him much, so I just assumed he was a rotten boy,” she added.

“But he changed. He must’ve changed, if he fell in love with Mummy. He changed for her, the letter said so, he--” I cover my mouth. No wonder Mummy didn’t want me to know my father’s name! Apparently I can’t keep my mouth closed.

“I know about the letter. He might’ve changed. I wonder if he’s still infested with Pheeops, though. Hmm,” she says thoughtfully, “But don’t you worry about it. And don’t keep it from your mother than you know, because she’ll find out.”

Just that second Mummy Apparated in. I look at her. “Why were you in Knockturn Alley?”

She raises an eyebrow, looking at Luna, who is back at her papers. She looks back at me, and a small grin creeps onto her face. “Why were you looking in my box?”

“I know who my father is.”

She lets out a sigh, “I knew this day would come.” Examining me for a second, she nods, “Okay. But you can’t tell anyone, that is very important. For your own safety--”

“And yours, and his,” I say with a small nod, “I get it. I’ll stay quiet.”

Luna smiles faintly, “She’s so mature for a seven-year-old. Perhaps she has a case of--”

“She doesn’t have a case of anything,” says Mummy, looking at me with a laugh. I giggle, too. She reaches into her pocket. “How much do you want, Luna?”

“Oh, I don’t want anything. I’ve gotten plenty more work done here than I ever do in my house.”

“Why is that?” I ask curiously.

“Because my attic is infested with Zyttos. They’re nasty little buggers who make an awful lot of racket. In fact, I might just stay here. Would you mind?”

Mummy smiles at Luna, shaking her head, and then turns back to me, “Cissa, dear, I know you have a lot of questions… and I do want to answer them, but I think we’ve learned enough for today. Don’t you?” I nod. “Good. So, let’s go visit the Ministry of Magic.”

---

I grip Mummy’s arm tightly as I Side-Apparate with her to the Ministry. The moment we arrive there everyone greets her and me warmly.

“Hello, Ginny! How’re you doing, Rose?”

“Blimey, Rose, you’re getting big!”

“Ginny! It’s been too long. We should do lunch. Hi, Rose! Oh, Ginny, she’s so beautiful.”

I blush slightly, staring at the ground, as Mummy weaves through the crowds and heads directly to one place. The Auror offices. I know we’re going to go there before Mummy even heads in that direction, because that’s the only place we ever go to. Since Mummy has a brother and a good friend who work there, it’s the only place we ever go to when we’re at the Ministry.

“Ginny!” exclaims a girl as we arrive at an office. The office door has a sign that says “Ronald Weasley, Auror.”

She flings her arms around Mummy, her wild brown curls flying everywhere. As she takes a step back, she smiles fondly at Mummy and then looks down at me, “Hello, Rose.” She bends down to be at my height. I take Mummy’s hand, moving a little bit behind her, trying to remember who this woman is.

“Rosie, you know Hermione, don’t you?”

I look at Hermione. She smiles slightly, her large, brown eyes containing a hint of friendliness that I can’t help but admire. I glance down at her left hand and see a golden ring on her ring finger. Uncle Ron’s wife. Yes, Mummy, I remember, I think to myself, but I don’t say anything.

Speaking of my uncle, he comes out of his office and greets me with a wide smile. Hermione stands up and moves aside, letting him greet Mummy and me. He gives Mummy and hug and lifts his hand for a high-five, “How’re you doing, Rose?”

I just glance at his hand as if he’s crazy, giving him a ‘what I supposed to do with that?’ look.

He laughs lightly, turning around and calling, “Oi! Harry! Ginny’s here!”

In a second, a group of people, most of which with bright red hair, walk over. My grandmother, Molly Weasley, a short, plump woman, who although shows signs of being old enough to have a son as old as my uncle has not lost a spark of colour in her fiery red locks. My grandfather, Arthur Weasley, on the other hand, is balding slightly. My uncles Fred and George come over and grin at me. They work at a joke shop, I know, making some of the best and coolest things I’ve ever seen. Every year on my birthday, they send me their newest invention. Mummy’s not always so happy with that.

They all greet me with hugs and kisses and although I’m happy to see them, I can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable. One person – the only one without red hair – smiles at me slightly. His black, untidy hair and bright green eyes, round glasses and lightning-bolt scar are features I’ve seen so many times in the newspaper that I’ve lost count. He greets Mummy with a hug and his waves at me with a friendly smile, trying to, I know, determine again who my father is. I know he does every time I see him. I even know what he’s going to say next:

“I know I’ve seen those eyes before.”

Sure enough, he does, and as he lifts his head to talk to Mummy, I slip away, hearing only one of the twins saying, “Come on, Ginny, who’s her father?” and Mummy’s exhausted, “When the time is right, I’ll tell you,” before I’m far away from them.

I admire the fake scenic window, before almost crashing into a wall. I gasp as I back up, looking at it. There is a picture and description of every “Wanted” wizard who’s ever existed. The ones who are in Azkaban or dead had the word “FOUND” stamped across their faces. Then there are the few ones who have just plain pictures and a description beside them who are still, as the sign on the top of the wall says, “WANTED”.

I look at them all in awe, spotting a few familiar names.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort” “FOUND”

“Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater” “FOUND”

“Narcissa Malfoy, Death Eater” “FOUND”

“Gregory Goyle, Death Eater” “FOUND”

“Vincent Crabbe, Death Eater” “FOUND”

“Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, Death Eater” “FOUND”

Along with some other familiar names from the articles I had read earlier that day. I suddenly realise that my father must be up here, too. My eyes skim the ones that haven’t been found yet, stopping as I spotted the familiar picture, the same one I found in Mummy’s room, yet a lot clearer and in better condition. Beside his picture is his criminal record.

“Draco Malfoy, born June 5, 1980.
Wanted for assistance in the murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore in June of 1997, for letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the same day, and for…”

And that’s the way the list goes on. Most of them are “attempted” or “assistance”, or “claimed to have”. Which makes me believe even more that he’s not all that bad, because he never actually did any of that stuff – well, maybe. But one sentence makes me wonder…

“Wanted for assisting in the murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Brain Dumbledore.”

Albus Dumbledore was a great wizard, I know because he’s a Chocolate Frog card and Mummy always tells me about him. She always gets very teary-eyed when she talks about how he was viciously murdered by a man who once taught her Potions in school, someone who Dumbledore truly trusted. She never said anything about a Draco Malfoy. Of course, she’d probably not want to mention my father at all, seeing as she didn’t want me to know he existed.

“There you are, Rose!” exclaims Grandmother, running over to me. “Why are you looking at these? Oh, you needn’t worry, dear. Our Aurors will find them.” She takes me hand and pulls me back to the group. I take one last look at Draco Malfoy’s worried, pale expression before I’m back with my family.

“Mummy,” I ask when I come back, “Who was the man who killed Albus Dumbledore?”

“I told you this already,” Mummy mutters, avoiding my eye.

“Yes, but I want to see if he’s on the wall--”

“We haven’t found him yet,” says Harry Potter regrettably.

“But when we do…” says Uncle Ron a little scarily, and as I give him a frightened look Hermione snaps, “Ronald!”

“Oh.” There is a pause, “Shouldn’t we be worried? I mean, you said that Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of all time--”

“That’s enough,” snaps Mummy, though her voice is kind of shaky, taking my hand. “I’ll see you all later,” She nods to her family. “Come, Rose.”

And with that, she Apparates away, me tight beside her, getting a last look at the wall in the distance before we’re back home.

It’s a lot later when Pigwidgeon, Uncle Ron’s owl, flies into the kitchen in the middle of supper. Mummy and I are eating, though rather quietly. There is something on Mummy’s mind, but I decide that if I don’t say anything, maybe she will tell me on her own. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, too, on how I could possibly find my father. I haven’t gotten any good ideas.

Mummy looks over at the owl and takes the letter from its sharp beak. It flies off.

“I guess Ron’s not expecting an answer,” Mummy mumbles to herself as she peels open the letter. There is complete silence as she reads through it, me sitting on the edge of my chair in anxiety. Finally she gasps slightly, “I completely forgot.”

“Forgot what, Mummy?”

She just smiles at me lightly, “It’s Harry’s birthday soon. They’re throwing him a surprise party at Ron’s house. Though I suppose he’ll know about it, it’s the sixth one they’ve thrown for him.”

“Do I get to come?” I ask. I know I’m lucky to be so close to Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, who defeated Lord Voldemort. A lot of people we see in stores ask Mummy how Harry is, and if everything is alright with him. I know it’s an honour that we’re invited to his birthday party, and that Mummy’s brother and sister-in-law are his very, very, very bestest friends.

“Yes, you get to come. Go try on your dress robes – we might need to buy you new ones. We’ll need to go to Diagon Alley anyhow to buy Harry a present.”

---

Sure enough my dress robes are too small so the next day Mummy and I are going to Diagon Alley. We go straight to “Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.” Mummy and Madam Malkin dress me in a pair of olive green dress robes, and as Madam Malkin fits the dress on me, Mummy is talking with her.

“If you could make them a little loose, because Rose is growing like there’s no tomorrow,” Mummy says.

“Perfectly capable of doing that, Miss Weasley,” says Madam Malkin, loosening a section of the robes, “So what’s the occasion?”

“A surprise party,” Mummy tells her.

“Harry’s again?”

“Yes.”

“Do they honestly think that for the sixth year in a row he won’t have some clue?” asks Madam Malkin with a light chuckle, “You’re family is certainly one of a kind.”

“I think he pretended to be surprised last year.”

“Ginny, I think he pretended to be surprised the second time they did and ever since then,” says the woman with a small chuckle. “Well, if it makes them happy.”

“They just want him to see how important he is to them, and how much they care about him,” Mummy defends, but she laughs lightly, too.

“Speaking of caring for people,” says Madam Malkin, eyeing Mummy suggestively, “How is your situation with him?”

I furrow my brows, turning my head to Mummy, “What situation?” I ask.

“Hush, Rose,” Mummy says.

“Oh, you should feel lucky that he fancies you, Miss Weasley. Every woman who knows about You-Know-Who would love to be in your shoes.”

Fancies her? Personally, I don't like boys. They're gross. But Mommy does deserve the bestest boy around, doesn't she? And who better than the Chosen One himself?

“You shouldn’t be afraid of calling him Voldemort, Madam Malkin,” says Mummy, adverting her glance to play with a fabric nearby.

But Madam Malkin just grins slightly, “Old habits die hard.”

There’s a look in Mummy’s eye that makes me think she doesn’t really care what Madam Malkin calls Voldemort. I think she’s still stuck on the whole Harry fancying her thing. Of course, I’d be surprised, too, if someone told me the hero of the Wizarding World fancied me. But I don’t think that’s what’s bothering her. In fact, I thing she already knows he fancies her.

After a little while, Mummy pays for the robes and is carrying a box with them outside the store. We are going to go find a present for Harry now. Mummy has no idea what to get him, so she says that we’re going to go to as many stores as we can to find the perfect gift. Our first stop is Flourish and Blott’s.

As we walk in, we’re greeted by an old school friend of Mummy’s, who insists on talking to her for what feels like an hour. She, too, brings up the topic of Harry.

“His birthday is soon,” she says.

“I know. Rose and I are looking for a gift.”

“Oh,” she looks down at me. “And who is the girl’s father, again? Can’t be a very decent man, leaving you and a baby all alone.” I quickly look away, down at the ground.

“He was a very decent man,” Mummy defends, taking my hand. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Very well, goodbye.”

Mummy mutters something about “rude people, sticking their noses into my business” as we go to wander around.

“Mummy, I’m going to go look at books over there,” I say, pointing to a colourful display by the window.

She nods, not looking at me, and I hurry over to the display. I don’t even register what book it is, because I see a sign in the distance that, quite frankly, is more exciting than any book.

“Knockturn Alley.”

Now, I’ve been very, very good about not butting into Mummy’s business. I haven’t asked anything about Daddy, or the box, and even though I’m still confused and I want to do what I’m told, I can’t help but wonder if my answers lay somewhere down there. So when I’m sure Mummy’s looking away, I sneak out the door, put my hood over my head to shield my hair and face, and slink down to Knockturn Alley.

It’s quite a dodgy place. I don’t like it one bit. And there are a whole bunch of stores, and I don’t know which one Mummy went to that time Luna watched over me. I look around, and decide that one store – the sign said “Borgin and Burke’s” – was the biggest. I take a chance and guess that she went here, and I open the door.

The store is pretty much empty except for a lot of weird looking stuff that I’m certain Mummy wouldn’t want me playing with. I walk over to the desk, and poke my head up over the top to see if anything is there. Nothing. I call out, “Excuse me? Anyone here?”

An old, rugged looking man stumbles out, glancing curiously at me. I pull my hood tighter around my head. He is scary, with a wrinkled, scarred face and a balding head. Suddenly I realise... what exactly am I going to ask him? I come into this place right out of my scary books and don't even know what to say.

“Can I help you, lil’ missy?”

“Er, I was just wondering… um, did Ginevra Weasley come in here at all?”

He narrows his eyes at me, examining me closer. “And how old’re you?”

“I’m – uh, twenty-four.”

He snorts. “Hah, right. Yeah, s’matter of fact, she did. A while back. What’s it to you?”

“I – uh – what did she come for?”

“You’re her daughter, right? Whatserface… Rose.” He chuckles. “Rose, right?”

“How did you know?”

“There’s a lot of stuff I know about you. I know things about you that you don't even know.” What’s that supposed to mean? I frown. He smiles fondly. “Your father’s a good man.”

“You knew my father?”

“I know your father, Rose. Yeh know he’s alive.” Pause. “Yeh’ve got his eyes.”

“Mister, who are you?”

“S’nothing to you, lil’ missy. Now, why’re you down here?”

“I told you, I want to know why my mother was here,” I say impatiently. I know Mummy wouldn’t want me to swear, but I want to call him stupid. Cause he is!! And scary.... well, at least he’s not mean. That mean.

“Why are you nosing into your mother’s business?” he asks with a raise of his bushy, grey eyebrow.

“I – I want to know. She doesn’t tell me anything.”

“I admire that. Yeh’ve got a fair deal of perseverance. You know what that is?” I shake my head. “How old are you again?”

“Seven.”

“Alright, I’ll let you in on a few secrets. But dontchya go wandering around the likes of here again, do yah hear?” I nod, and he motions me to come closer. “Your mother is trailing your father. He don’t know, so if you find him first, you should warn him. Your mother’s a clever lady.”

“Warn him?”

“Just so’s he knows it’s coming.”

“Why will I find him first?”

“You’re also pretty clever,” he says with a grin, “I kin tell. Trust me, by the time yeh find him he’ll know yer looking for him.” His voice becomes quieter. “And I know cause I’ll give yeh a few hints as to his wherabouts, that yer Mamma don’t know, but you got to promise to keep it a secret.” I nod eagerly. “Alrighty. First off, he’s closer than yeh’d think. Second, his old girlfriend. Third, Albus Dumbledore Chocolate Frog Card.”

I ponder these three clues for a second, and am left totally baffled. I look up quizzically at him.

“Don’t give me that look. Figure it out yourself.” He seems to be enjoying my confusion.

“Well, thanks, Mister. I guess.” I turn to walk away. But something is bothering me. I turn around. “Mister?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you tell me that?”

“I want your father out of hiding almost as much as you do,” he says with a smile, which turns into a laugh. Slight scared, I hurry out of the store and run back the way I came, the Mister’s amused laughter ringing in my ears.

“Where have you been?” Mummy asks frantically as I slink back into the bookstore.

“Just walking around.”

“Never leave my sight again! You just took twenty years off of my life!”

I don't really know what that's supposed to mean, so I just give her an apologetic look and she sighs, shaking her head. I take her hand and don’t leave her side the rest of the trip.

---

“Hello Rose! Boy, don’t you look pretty!”

“What an adorable dress, Rose!”

“Rose, you’re growing up so fast!”

I just smile in response to each person who pulls me aside to tell me how lovely I am, or how big I’m getting. It’s quite annoying, actually. Mummy and I have just arrived at Ron and Hermione’s house for Harry’s surprise party. Hermione is standing near the door, trying to keep everything neat and everyone quiet. Uncle Ron is out with Harry. Old friends of Harry’s and the Weasley family are mostly the only people here, and I don't recognize anyone, it's awful.

Someone looks out the window and calls, “They’re coming, see? There, in the distance!”

Mummy and Hermione shuffle everyone into their hiding positions. I manage to sneak away, up the stairs of the house and out of the main entrance area. It is a warm enough day as it is, and all the older people crowding around me makes it hard to breath. But upstairs it is cooler and less crowded and I like it better.

Downstairs I hear the door open and people calling out, “Surprise!” And Harry only pretends to be surprised, but I bet he fooled everyone.

I decide I don't want to be in the party and I'm going to play hide and seek with myself. I decide to pick a room to hide in. I find one, but the door is locked. I find another room, and it is just a plain bedroom, but the door is wide open and can see downstairs so people will see me and that's no good, so I find another room. The door is closed, so I guess that no one plans to come here and it’s way out of view from the stairs. I push open the door and come in.

At first I think it’s almost empty except for some boxes and old school things lying about. And then I see a big, stone Pensieve in the middle of the room. It’s so pretty and unlike anything I’ve seen before. Well, yes, I’ve seen a Pensieve before, in the books I read (well, look at pictures of, and Mummy reads to me… sometimes I read, sometimes it is too hard for me!), but never a real one. I guess Mummy has one somewhere, but I’ve never seen it, so this is something completely new to me, and I walk over, almost hypnotised. Who does it belong to? I wonder...

Well, I can’t help it that I get curious real easy! I hop onto my tip-toes, poke my head over the side, and lean in, and the world around me spins, and all of a sudden I’m not in Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione’s house anymore… uh oh!

It’s my house! But the old wallpaper is still up, and a lot of our stuff isn’t there. Grandpa and Grandma Weasley with lots more hair than they have now are there, and my uncles Fred, George, and Ron, and Hermione are, too. They are all standing around Mummy holding a baby in her arms – me!

Enter the Pensieve…

“Ginny, I cannot believe you! Going around having – doing – and you won’t even tell us who!” said Ron, his face flushed with anger.

“I can’t tell you who,” said Ginny with agitation.

“Sure you can, Gin. We won’t hold it against you,” Harry said, trying to convince her. Ginny looked away, moving her glance down to the baby in her arms.

“Ginevra Weasley, you will tell me at once who the father of your baby is,” said Mr. Weasley in a tone very unlike Mr. Weasley – very demanding, cruel, and it caused his daughter to look at him as if she’d never met him before.

“She can’t,” said Fred, apparently amused by all this.

“It’s a secret,” added George, just as amused.

“Just like the boys were at school--”

“Dean Thomas, for example--”

“Oh, shut up, you two. Will you ever grow up?” snapped Hermione. (If one was listening very closely, they might have heard the twins mutter, “Nope.”) She turned to the rest of the family, letting out a deep sigh, “I want to know just as much as you do. But if Ginny’s not telling us, it’s for a reason.”

They all turned expectantly to Ginny.

“Is he a follower of You-Know-Who?” asked Mrs. Weasley in a harsh voice.

“No!” said Ginny, shaking her head, refusing to meet any of their eyes. “He’s completely good, I know it! He’s just – well, kind of in some trouble right now. Look, when the time is right, you’ll know who he is. I promise.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Well,” said Ron, breaking the awkward silence, “What’s her name? She’s so adorable.”

“Her name is--” Ginny froze, and the entire room looked expectantly at her. She turned the silence into a cough, “Oh, excuse me. Rose. Her name is Rose.”

“Rose,” awed Ron. He eyed the baby, “I like her eyes – I know I’ve seen them somewhere…”

Ginny smiled slightly. Ron took the baby, admiring his niece with a small smile on his face.

“Are they her father’s eyes?”

Ginny’s gaze softened considerably, looking down lovingly at her baby.

“Wow, Gin. You really loved him, then?”

Ginny just took the baby from Ron’s arms, pulling young Rose into a tight embrace.

Mrs. Weasley suddenly let out a sob, “Oh, and he’s probably a Death Eater, I just wish I could know who-”

“He’s not a Death Eater!” Ginny said automatically in defense.

“Then why can’t we know who he is?” begged Ron, and the yelling began. The whole room began protesting. The twins were laughing rather obnoxiously, imitating each family, replicating the entire fight as it went on. Ron was begging Ginny for a name, who was ignoring him completely. Mr. Weasley was trying to calm down Mrs. Weasley, who was hyperventilating, and Hermione was yelling at Ron that it was none of his business. Suddenly Mrs. Weasley ran out of the room, followed by Mr. Weasley, but no one seemed to notice, in their own frenzies.

“Quiet!” yelled Hermione.

Silence.

“Mrs. Weasley just ran out of the room,” Hermione added quietly, pointing to the door.

“We better go make sure she’s alright,” said the twins, following the way their parents had just gone.

Hermione glared at Ron.

Ron said, “I should go with them.”

Ron exited as well, leaving Hermione and Ginny alone. Ginny walked away, to the couch, sitting down, looking down at her baby lovingly.

Hermione followed her. “Oh, Ginny – it’s really their business, too, they just want to know…”

Ginny didn’t answer.

Hermione sat down close to Ginny, taking the younger girl in her arms, and speaking in a tone so quiet that only their viewer -- the seven-year-old Cissa -- and Ginny could hear. She spoke in a very soft, comforting tone, and then it changed. It was almost bitter, as if it pained her to admit what she was about to say, “It’s Malfoy?” Though, it seemed as if it was more a statement than a question.

Not even asking how Hermione knew, Ginny suddenly let out a sob, burying her head in Hermione’s shoulders.

“Have you tried to find him?” she added, quietly, the bitter tone replaced with a soft, caring, and maternal whisper.

“That’s what I spend all my time doing. But he told me not to look for him, in a – a letter,” Ginny managed to choke, recollecting herself.

“I’m sure he’s safe,” Hermione said soothingly. There was a pause, and then Hermione whispered, looking at Ginny as if she couldn’t believe the younger girl, “You know he let those Death Eaters into Hogwarts in my sixth year, right? And that he almost killed Dumbledore--”

“Yes, but he didn’t mean it!”

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“He was trying to please his father, but he realised that night that he didn’t want to be like his father at all. And we – we started talking, you should have seen him after he got away from the Death Eaters and one thing led to another, and, well.”

“Wait, after he got away from the Death Eaters?”

“They were rather angry at him for failing--”

“You’ve been hiding a secret relationship with Draco Malfoy for four years?” asked Hermione in a hissed, shocked voice.

“Well – yes, kind of… He’s not evil, not at all. He didn’t do or help in half the things he’s accused of. Someone has it in for him. I mean, at least… well, one of the things they accused him of isn’t true. At least! I know because the time in question he was with me. And the other times, he was probably with me too, I mean, the Prophet never writes the time of day these things happen in, if they did, I could tell you for sure, but he probably was with me!” Ginny said, biting her lip and looking away.

“Slow down, Gin, it’s hard to follow you,” said Hermione with an amused grin, but at Ginny’s distraught expression, the grin faded. “But – why did they think it was him, then?”

“Someone’s out to get him, I suppose. Whatever they did, this person must be accusing him. It’s an easy way out, isn’t it? Draco Malfoy, the unknown, missing, conveniently disappeared Death Eater must’ve done it.”

“And you’ve looked everywhere.”

Ginny sighed, “Everywhere. I talk to the man at Borgin and Burke’s all the time – he seems to know something, but he won’t tell me.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but have you tried Pansy?”

“Parkinson? Why?”

“She’s his old girlfriend. She was never a Death Eater – that we know of, you have no clue how hard we’re trying to prove that she’s not on our side – but, you never know. She was so fond of him.”

“Well – no, I haven’t. But I will,” the redhead bit her lip thoughtfully, before turning a soft smile to Hermione, “Thank you, Hermione.” Ginny let a weak smile cross her features. The two girls hugged, young Narcissa in the middle, the baby’s big blue eyes looking up blankly, and then stood.

“We’ll find him. And if we don’t, maybe it was for the better. After all, you realise that if he comes out of hiding, he’ll be put in Azkaban, and you’ll be suspected of working for Voldemort, right?”

“I know,” Ginny said quietly. “But I believe we can change their opinion. When he was there – that day with the Death Eaters – he told me that he almost put down his wand. He almost turned good, right there. If the Death Eaters had come in one minute later he would’ve helped Dumbledore. He has that influence on people, Dumbledore does,” she chuckled lightly, and then added, defensively, “Harry was there with him, he saw the whole thing – he can back me up.”

“Harry doesn’t want you and him to get together, Ginny,” said Hermione with a light, nervous laugh, “But I suppose, as a friend, he would do you that favour. And for little Rose.”

“Oh – Rose is only her middle name,” admitted Ginny. “I named her Narcissa, after his mother…” Hermione’s laugh fades slightly as another voice in my ear, very different from the film-like one in the scene I’m watching, replaces what’s going on around me.

“You know, Narcissa, this is becoming a terrible habit.”

I swing my head around, meeting the normally warm, but this time (pathetically, not the first time... I'm an awful daughter, I think to myself) disappointed eyes of my mother. “Come with me,” she says, taking my arm and pulling us out of the memory. I get a final glance at Mummy holding baby me and laughing mutely at something Hermione said with tears on her face, before I’m back in the present.

Mummy’s hand is tight on my wrist. She pulls me down the stairs, muttering something along the lines of, “What am I going to do with you?” Until we’re finally with everyone else. We mingle right back into the crowds as if we were never gone.

Mummy’s hand comes loose and I slip away. She eyes me, and I give her an innocent smile and hurry over to sit by the window. Pulling a chair close to it, I prop my elbow up on the windowsill, resting my head in my hand, looking out at the street.

But – wait – what’s this?

There are two women talking shrilly to each other. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but one of them is Hermione, and the other is someone I don’t recognize. I glance behind me. Mummy is not looking at me anymore. I leave my seat, biting my lip, before reaching for the door. As I do, Hermione walks back in. I jump back a few feet, and she turns to me, forcing on a bright smile and saying, “Hello, Rose.”

As she walks away, I hurry outside, trying to get a better look at the other woman. As I slink closer towards her, she hears me behind her, and flings around, eyeing me. “What?”

“I – er—who are you?”

She is certainly not the prettiest of women, with a pug-like face and hair cut below her ears. Her hair is a dark, almost black color, with thick bangs. I don't recognize her, and she's not very pleasant looking, and I immediately wish I was back inside, under the watchful eyes of many nice adults. She narrows her eyes at me, taking a few steps closer, and stops suddenly, recognizing me. “You’re Rose.”

“Yeah. And who are you?”

A small, faint, almost smile took her face. She stepped forward, looking down at me, “You have his eyes.”

I blink at her, waiting for a moment before saying, “Did you know him?”

“Yes,” she whispers, looking at me in a kind of awe. She says the next sentence a little bitterly, “We were together long before your mother even looked at him like that.” I glance down at my party shoes.

…His old girlfriend.

I shoot my glance back up to her, eyes widening, “The man—at that store—he said--”

“Branxton,” whispers the woman.

"Have you tried Pansy?"

“Parkinson? Why?”

“She’s his old girlfriend."

I tilt my head to the side. “Are you Pansy?” I ask.

She nods her head slowly.

“You know where my father is!” I exclaim.

A look of horror crosses her face. I can’t decide whether she seems shocked to hear such an accusation or is scared that someone else knows. “No, I don’t,” she said suddenly, reaching into the pocket of her robes and pulling out something -- a handkerchief, I think, but she stuffs a handkerchief back in her pocket and there's still something in her hand. Will it hurt me? I don't care; my mind stopped thinking logically. She was one of my clues! One of my clues to my daddy!

“Tell me where he is!”

“You must’ve worked hard to figure out I know,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “Unless… Branxton told you. Aha. What else did he tell you?”

“It doesn’t matter!” I exclaim, my heart racing. “’Cause you know where he is – I don’t need any other hint, cause I have you--”

“You shouldn’t be snooping around in things that have nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me!” I exclaim, “It’s my daddy!”

That seems to hit her. There is quiet for a minute, and I get even more scared (or scareder, I can never remember which one it is), and then, she says quietly, “Lower your voice. It’s rude to yell."

“Please, Miss – please let me meet him. My Mummy--”

“Your mother,” she repeats, furrowing her brows in a kind of dislike. She fiddles with the thing she pulled out of her pocket earlier.

“She deserves to be with the man she loves, and you know where he is!”

There is a flash of something in her eyes, and she says, the bitter tone back in her voice, “So do I.”

“You – what?”

She glances down at the ground, letting out a small sigh, before biting her lip and looking back at me. “For future reference, you should be careful what you say. You never know who’s listening.”

I look around. “There’s no one here--”

“Hush, child. Here – have a Chocolate Frog Card, for your troubles. But I advise you stay away from me and stop looking for your father.” She hands me the card – that must be what she had been holding before (I don’t even glance at it) -- and turns and walks away.

“Wait!” I cry. “Please, don’t go!”

But she doesn’t listen. She looks back at me, something unreadable in her eyes, and then Apparates away.

I miserably shove the card into my dress pocket, hurry back inside the house and sit on the chair, and I fold my arms across my chest. She knows. I know she knows where he is, and I know that she can take me to my Daddy. She’s being selfish, because she’s jealous that he loves Mummy and not her. It’s not my fault that Daddy has good taste in women. From what I can tell, Pansy’s not very pretty, and not very nice. If I had a boyfriend who broke up with me and then had a little girl with another woman I’d tell the girl where he was, if I knew! Well, I think I would.

A few moments later, Mummy walks over.

“Honey, it’s time to go. What’s wrong?”

I don’t meet her eyes. “I’m tired, and I’m sick of this party.”

She smiles. “We’re going to go home now. Will you come at least say goodbye to the others?”

I shake my head, still looking away. She takes my wrist, waves to someone behind her, and in a second, we’re gone. Finally.

Chapter 8: Draco’s Escape [flashback part 1]

“Crucio.”

The all-too-familiar word stung Draco Malfoy’s ears almost as strongly as the curse that hit him. Falling to the ground, he clenched his teeth, eyes closed tightly. He was gasping for breath as he writhed under the curse, the shriek-like laugh from the Death Eaters surrounding him paining him in a way almost as bad as the curse itself – embarrassment. Here he was, a failure, being punished for all he did that was wrong. Here he was -- a letdown to the Cause. The curse was lifted in a matter of seconds, and the boy’s emotionless grey eyes refused to look up, into the eyes of the master he failed, into the eyes of the people who had expected more from him. But no, they hadn’t expected more. They knew Draco was going to fail. Breathing heavily, he didn’t let out that it had hurt him. Or, tried to. It was hard to pretend like the Cruciatus Curse didn't hurt. But this -- this was his punishment. He deserved it. He had failed. Fail – what an awful word, yet it rang through his ears non-stop in a way that made him clench his teeth even more. He had to get his mind off of this, or he was afraid he would shed a tear – talk about embarrassment. Now, he, Draco Malfoy, was nothing. Not only had he failed, but his father was in Azkaban. He had no father. His mother was – where was she? She was the only person he had left on this planet, he needed her. But, no -- Think of anything else, Draco, anything. Be strong. His blond hair hung in his eyes, and he examined the patterns of the wooden ground from behind the shelter of his hair, anything to take his mind off of his aching body, to take his mind off what was to happen to him.

“You failed in your task, Draco,” seethed the Dark Lord.

Draco didn’t say anything. Breathing heavily, he stared at the ground, following the ground's pattern. He tried to steady his breathing and his pounding heart, but he was not succeeding.

“I had hoped that you would prove me wrong. I had hoped that the Malfoys were still loyal to me. Was I wrong, Draco? Tell me I wasn’t wrong.”

But Draco couldn’t tell him that.

“Your father is a fool, boy. He disappointed me. And so did you.” The Dark Lord glared down at the boy, who seemed unmoved. “Why don’t you care? I’m going to kill you, unless you can prove that you are truly loyal to the Cause.”

Closing his eyes, Draco felt something in his stomach that made him think he was going to be sick. Coughing slightly, he pressed his lips tight together, balling his hands into fists, gasping for air. The Dark Lord spoke some more, but it barely registered in Draco’s head.

“So, Draco, tell me. Is it worth it to give you a second chance?”

“I need… air…” Draco choked out, closing his eyes tightly.

“Is he going to be sick?” said one of the Death Eaters, a hint of disgust in his voice, and Draco nodded.

“Bella,” said the Dark Lord calmly, “take your nephew outside for a bit of fresh air, to clear his head. Maybe you can…yes, I believe you can convince him that he’s on the right side, for I sense doubt in his mind.”

Draco mumbled a thank you, standing up and hurrying to the door, followed by Bellatrix Lestrange. Her thin lips spread into a sneer, as the heavy-lidded, dark-haired female led Draco to the front door.

“Nephew, nephew, nephew,” cooed Bellatrix as they arrived outside. “You foolish child. You’re as foolish as my sister.”

Draco looked around. “Little Hangleton,” said a sign a while away. He looked behind him – a Muggle Town.

“We’re in the Dark Lord’s disgusting Muggle father’s old house,” said Bellatrix, as if knowing exactly what Draco was thinking. “But we have a more important matter at hand. You see… the Dark Lord doubts the loyalty of the Malfoy family, and therefore doubts the loyalty of my sister. Your mother.”

He could run. The Muggles would help him. He would look questionable, in Hogwarts robes, and clearly distraught, but surely they would help a teenager who looked as if he had just witnessed death... but, no. Let’s rephrase that. Surely they would help a teenager who had just witnessed death.

“But you know the way the mind works, Draco. You know that if he doubts my sister, he’ll begin to doubt me? And I’ve done nothing worth doubting. Are you listening, boy? Crucio!”

Draco felt the familiar surge of pain as he fell to his knees. Once again the curse was lifted and he stumbled up, shakily moving foreward and grabbing the grass in front of him tightly.

“Draco, Draco, Draco…” she said softly, leaning foreword, embracing him. She stroked the side of his face, and then his hair as she spoke, “We love you – don’t you know that? Well, used to.” The hand stroking his hair grabbed onto it tightly, yanking it harshly. “What happened to that boy we used to love?” she hissed. “Where did he go?”

Draco didn’t answer. His teeth were clenched as tightly as the strong grip of her hand.

“I always liked your father,” she said softly, releasing Draco and standing, taking a few steps away. “But I must say you’re a lot better looking,” she added, chuckling lightly. He stumbled up, looking at her icily.

“Why are you looking at me like that, boy? It’s a compliment. You’re a good looking boy, and you never know how that could help, yet…” She trailed off when she saw that Draco had looked away. “Please, don’t turn against us,” she whispered. “He’ll kill my sister… she has done nothing worth being killed for, except beg for Severus’s help… of course, she might’ve just done that to be sure the task would be completed.”

So that was the reason Narcissa had gone to Snape? Snape had told Draco, while dragging him back to the Dark Lord, that his mother had doubted his ability and, wanting to help him, had come to Snape. Draco, though, listening to Bellatrix, felt a stab of pain. But, no. Narcissa had gone because the job needed to be done and she wanted to secure it. Draco didn’t know which story he appreciated. He had to go to his mother. He had to find out if she loved him. His eyes fluttered back to the town sign. He pressed his lips tight together, focusing back on the ground. How would he get away from his aunt?

“Are you listening, boy? Your mother doesn’t care about you,” hissed Bellatrix.

He wasn’t listening – he was still staring at the ground. He looked back at the town. The people there would surely help him…

“Draco! Your mother doesn’t love you! Don’t you care?” she cried, desperate to make an impact on the boy.

When Draco didn’t flinch, she exploded.

“You idiot! You aren’t listening to a word I’m saying!” screeched Bellatrix.

He knew what he had to do.

“Stupefy!” he cried, in an instant pointing his wand directly at her. Not expecting her only nephew to attack, the spell hit her, and though it barely had an impact on her, she stumbled backwards, tripping and falling to the ground. Stunned, he stood there, panting, staring down at her. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone realised what he did. And suddenly he realised she had let out a shriek of anger, and yells began to be heard from the house. Horrified, he turned and bolted to the town. To Little Hangleton – to freedom.

When we get home, I put the chocolate frog card on the desk in room and look down at it. It’s an Albus Dumbledore one. I have a million of him. But this card is special, because the person who gave it to me knows where my Daddy is. I think so, at least, even though she told me she didn’t. I leave it on my desk and go lie down in my bed to ponder. Then I get tired and change into my pyjamas and brush my teeth and go and don't even bother tucking myself in, I just lie on my bed. Mummy comes in at one point.

"Do you want to be tucked in, love?" she says with a laugh.

"No thank you, Mummy."

"Well, goodnight, Narcissa."

"Goodnight, Mummy."

I try really hard to think about how I can get to Pansy again, maybe this time I can convince her to help me find Daddy. But it's already late and I quickly fall asleep.

But you can't go to sleep in just your pyjamas and without being tucked in 'cause you're bound to get cold! And sure enough, I wake up in the middle of the night 'cause I'm cold. I tuck myself in and reach for my stuffed Kneazle but I can't seem to find it, and then I realise that I must've left it downstairs this morning or something. So I slide myself out of bed and walk out of my room and reach blindly in front of me for the railing to help me walk down the stairs, 'cause I can't see anything. Just as I reach the stairs, I hear Mummy's voice.

"Close... so close.."

"Mummy?" I whisper, turning around to look behind me at Mummy's door.

"Almost there... I'm missing something..."

I creep into her room. She's fast asleep, I can see that, which means she must be talking in her sleep! "Mummy?" I should probably wake her up.

"I'm getting closer... so close. Closer, closer..."

"Mummy, wake up," I say, no longer whispering.

"I can't... I can't... reach you, I can't reach you. Missing... something..."

I walk over and shake her, saying, "Mummy, wake up! Wake up, Mummy, you're just dreaming!"

She wakes up, and looks at me a little confused. "Honey, what are you doing?"

"You were talking, but you were sleeping."

"Oh."

"You were getting closer to something, but something was missing. In case you wanted to know. Have you seen my dolly?"

Mummy nods, getting out of bed and taking my hand. Together, we get my dolly and put me back to bed.

---

The next morning, my thoughts were clear. I suddenly realised something, something big I should have figured out before. How was I supposed to find Daddy on my own? I don't know how to get anywhere, ever, I can't go by myself, anyway. I need someone's help. Someone who knows what they're doing. I think about this as I get dressed. I need somebody who won't think I'm crazy, trying to find Daddy all by myself, who won't tell me to mind my own business. I eat breakfast by myself that morning cause Mummy is talking to someone who's in the fireplace, I don't really see who until I'm about to go back upstairs. It's my Grandpa.

"So you'll come?"

"Fine, fine, I'll come. Bloody hell, I move out and you're in my hair more than you've ever been."

"That's because you're a single mother. That's even worse than being a teenager. Oh, Rose! Hello!"

I wave at Grandpa and hurry up the stairs, to think some more. But I get distracted easily and start playing with my toys instead. That happens to little girls, you know. Anyway, by the time I was done playing it was lunch so I went downstairs to make a sandwich, or have Mummy make me a sandwich, 'cause I really don't know how to make one myself. They never turn out right.

"Mummy?" I call as I walk down the stairs. "Can you help me make a sandwich?"

"Of course," Mummy says as I come into the kitchen. "Luna's coming over for dinner tonight, would you like to help me cook?"

And suddenly I have an idea. Luna! Of course, she would help me! "Sure, Mummy!"

So we -- well, it was her, mostly -- make a sandwich and I eat it, and Mummy makes one for herself, too. Then we read a book, about a Hippogriff who escapes being killed. And then Mummy and I make all kinds of food for our dinner with Luna tonight. But I don't really know how to cook so Mummy sends me into the dining room to set up the table, because that way I can't make the food wrong, and you can't make a mistake when setting up the table, right? Anyway, soon Luna is here, and Mummy and I go to greet her.

"Come in, Luna, take a seat. I've got to go take something out of the oven, give me just a minute," says Mummy, leading her to the couch and disappearing back into the kitchen.

I sit down beside Luna, and she smiles at me, "Hello, Narcissa Rose."

I smile back. "Luna... I need your help."

---

Dinner flies by. Knowing that someone is going to help me makes me much happier and I eat very happily. Dinner ends, though, and I hear Mummy and Luna talk as we all clear the table.

"I'm so sorry to put this on you last minute, Luna," says Mummy. "Dad Floo'd me this morning to ask me to drop by at the Ministry."

"You know I'll watch over Rose any day, Ginny," says Luna with a small smile.

"Thank you, so much."

"You're going to the Ministry?" I ask Mummy.

"Yes, dear."

"Can I come?"

Mummy sighs, and stops what she was doing to look at me. I look up at her, making the cutest puppy-dog face I can muster and she laughs at me, nodding. "Fine, you can come."

"I knew that was coming," says Luna brightly as she clears the last of the food off of the table.

"Would you like to come, too, Luna? I have a hunch of what's going to happen, I reckon you'd like to be there," Mummy says with a faint smile.

"Of course! Family reunions are my favourite. That's when the Twiddilettes show up."

Mummy and I laugh, and before I know it, we're at the Ministry.

---

We get there. Grandma and Grandpa are there, and my Uncle Ron and his wife Hermione and Harry Potter are there.

"Ginny!" exclaims Grandma, pulling her into a tight embrace.

After about five minutes of everybody greeting each other, conversation begins.

"It's so nice to see you, Ginny," says Grandpa. "We don't see you enough."

"We heard from Bill and Fleur, they're in Paris, you know," Grandma says.

"Fred and George's store was rated higher than Zonko's in the Prophet," Ron told us.

"I read that," beamed Mummy. "I always knew they'd do well."

"And Charlie? Have you heard from him?" asks Mummy.

"We haven't," says Grandma.

Conversation continues but I'm distracted 'cause Grandpa taps my shoulder. "Rose, could we talk for a minute?"

I look up at Mummy, who nods. I nod at Grandpa. He takes my hand and pulls me to the side, going down to his knees so he's my height.

"If you know anything you think I should know... you know you can tell me, right?" he says, a warm smile on his face.

I get a little angry. I know exactly what he wants to know.

"Is there something, Rose? Something I should know?"

"You're balding," I say, touching my index finger to the tip of his head.

He laughs, "Yes, you're right. Anything else?"

"Twiddilettes," I say, nodding seriously.

"Excuse me?"

"Twiddilettes always show up at family reunions," I say solemnly.

He laughs again. "Quite the sense of humour you have!"

I'm distracted, though, because over at the conversation I'm not a part of I hear my name.

"--Rose's father--"

"Once again, Ron, I'm not going to tell you!" says Mummy.

"Oh, Ginny, be reasonable," says Grandpa, standing up and walking over.

I follow. Mummy is talking to her parents and Harry, Hermione, and Ron are just listening, but then Harry turns to Ron. I take a step closer so I can hear.

“You know, Muggles do this thing called blood testing,” says Harry slowly to Ron, “I didn’t want to have to stoop to this, hoping that Ginny would just tell us.”

“Blood testing?” Ron makes a face, “Sounds painful.”

“Not really. It’s something about DNA… I don’t know, really, but I’m sure they could find out.”

Ron nods slowly, and then glances at me.

Harry turns to me as well, “Or you could just tell us, and save us the trouble--”

But Mummy had slapped Harry Potter straight across the face. I didn't even know she was paying attention to this conversation. Uncle Ron looked startled. He took a few steps back. Harry’s eyes widened and he put his hand on his cheek, looking horrified at Mummy.

“And you wonder why I don’t return your owls!” Mummy hisses.

“Ginny, I--”

“You know, defeating Voldemort did a lot to your ego, you self-centered jerk!”

“Self centered!” he bellows, fury filling his eyes, “I don’t care who the father is for me, I want to know for you! To protect you! He left you with a baby--”

“No, you just want to go murder him so there will be no competition for me! Harry, when you broke up with me in your sixth year, you lost a lot. I’ve moved on. I moved on when I was 16. You regret your mistake, and you want to make everything better. So you think killing the father of my daughter will fix things?”

I’ve never seen Mummy like this before. I stare at her, horrified. I didn’t even notice that Hermione had come up behind me and placed her hand maternally on my shoulders, holding me away from the yelling.

"Of course not," mutters Harry.

“And you can’t even tell us who he is!” Ron pointed out, “So you must know he’s a rotten prat, and that we hate him. We’ve guessed and guessed, and you just won’t tell us. Gin, we’re going to find out sooner or later, you know that you could just spare us the effort.”

Mummy is fuming. She can’t even talk.

“Ron, hush,” says Hermione from behind me, “It’s none of your business.”

“You know who it is, this doesn’t matter to you,” Ron mumbles.

I can't stand it here. The yelling goes on. Hermione lets me go, she smiles and nods, seeing I don't want to be there. I go to a place that's not much happier but maybe can answer some of my questions. I go back to the WANTED wall. I read the names over that I already recognize.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort” “FOUND”

“Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater” “FOUND”

“Narcissa Malfoy, Death Eater” “FOUND”

“Gregory Goyle, Death Eater” “FOUND”

“Vincent Crabbe, Death Eater” “FOUND”

“Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, Death Eater” “FOUND”

And then I look at some other Death Eaters that were found.

"Rodolphus Lestrange, Death Eater" "FOUND"

"Quirinus Quirrell, Death Eater" "FOUND"

"Alecto Carrow, Death Eater" "FOUND"

"Phyllis Reidel, Death Eater" "FOUND"

"Nigel Wilkens, Death Eater" "FOUND"

Just as many FOUND names are ones that haven't been found yet at all. A lot of them have pictures, like "Peter Pettigrew", "Amycus Carrow", "Beth Buffler", and "Severus Snape". But some of them don't. I read some of their information instead.

"Giondello Gibbs, born April 8, 1969
Wanted for the murder of Tim and Rhonda Blyke and two Muggles."

In total, that's four people Giondello Gibbs killed. I don't know who he is, and I don't even know what he looks like 'cause he doesn't have a picture, but I hope they find him.

I get bored easily, though, and I just started reading the names instead. These guys haven't been found, but they did lots wrong, and that makes me upset. "Steven Stiles", "Conor Branxton", "Lydia Timmons", "Marc Russell" -- they're all awful people who I hope the Ministry can find and put in Azkaban.

One of these guys is at blame. I saw in Hermione and Ron's Pensieve that Mummy said that some guy is blaming everything on Daddy. I just gotsta figure out who. I don't even have the slightest hunch of who it could be.

Well, all this is doing is making me angrier than the fight so I leave the WANTED board and go back.

"Ginny, we just care about you!" Ron is saying.

"Why do you think that the more times you ask me the more likely you are to get an answer?" snaps Mummy.

Ron opens his mouth to respond, but doesn't. "I don't know. I really don't know. You know what? Fine, I don't even care."

For some reason this seems to really bother Mummy. She knows he does care, so why is she so upset?

"Go, sleep around, have all the babies you want with all the hooligans you want," snaps Ron. "I don't care."

I don't really get it, so I just look at Hermione with confusion, but she's too busy staring in shock at Ron, her hands over her mouth. "Ron!" she hisses.

"You want to know? Fine," she says, looking around the Ministry (I suddenly realise it is empty and make a mental note to ask someone later). "Fine, I'll tell you. You're right. You'll be upset, that's why I didn't want to tell you. Your reactions will be that you want to kill him, right now, more so than you did before."

"Bloody hell, Ginny, just tell us already," groans Ron.

"I would appreciate it if you watched your language around my daughter," snaps Mummy.

"Sorry."

It's silent for a minute.

"She's not going to tell us. I can't believe it, she got us all worked up and she's not even going to tell us," says Ron suddenly, and everyone starts to talk again.

"Draco Malfoy," says Mummy, and everyone stops talking.

"What?" says Harry, stunned.

"Rose's father is Draco Malfoy."

It is so quiet that you can probably hear a pin drop if someone dropped one. I never got that saying, anyway. No one's going to drop a pin, who cares if you can hear it? But even though it's quiet, as in no one is talking, I know that everyone's minds are racing, kind of like mine was when I found out. But their minds were probably even more so because they actually know who he is.

The silence is deadly. I look around at each of the people, as they stay silent in their own thoughts. It is quiet for what seems to be forever, but it might have just been seconds.

"I'm having a baby," says Hermione suddenly. "I'm pregnant. Ron and I are going to have a baby!"

I know that everyone is probably still thinking about Draco being my daddy but suddenly everyone's smiling and congratulating each other and Hermione and Ron. Mummy pulls Harry aside. I scoot over, kind of out of the way, but enough in the way that it looks like I'm part of the congratulating crowd, so I can hear Mummy and Harry talk.

"I'm sorry, Harry, for hitting you before. And for not telling you sooner," says Mummy.

"And for doing -- well, you know! -- with Draco Malfoy?" says Harry, but he smiles slightly. They hug. "Hey, Gin... have you been thinking?"

"I have," Mummy says quietly.

"And?"

"I don't know."

"Oh."

"A little longer, okay?"

"...I guess."

"Thank you."

Harry turns to go back to the crowd.

"Harry? One more thing," Mummy says, and he turns back around.

"Yes?"

"I... well... I really need your help."

"My help."

"Yes, your help. I found somebody! Somebody who thinks they can find Draco. But... he's made a condition."

"Oh, bloody hell."

"If you pardon him, completely and totally, he'll help."

"What did he do? Who is it?"

"For me, Harry. For me and Rose, will you do this? Listen to what he has to say, and consider it?"

Harry is quiet for a minute. "Fine, I'll talk to him. Floo me when you need me, okay?"

"Thank you, Harry. You really are the hero of the Wizarding World."

They hug again. And I walk over and join in on the hug.

The narrow alleyway connecting Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley was seldom filled lately. The people who dared enter Knockturn Alley didn’t want to stroll into Diagon Alley, seeing as nine out of ten of people who’d see them walking in said alleyway will suspect them for working for Voldemort. Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, and the alley connecting the two were all pretty much empty, except for the few people who dared stroll into the streets. The shopkeepers sat behind their cash registers staring nervously at the people walking by, as if any could be a Death Eater and would kill them on the spot. Many of the stores had closed down – apparently the shopkeepers decided their lives were worth more than their businesses (or lack of, considering how few people came to shop nowadays anyhow).

One family, however, did risk the “danger” of walking down the Alley, perhaps because of the large number of them. Arthur, Ron, and Ginny Weasley, along with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, had business to attend to. There was a rumour of a Death Eater working at Flourish and Blott’s.

Another person risked the danger, not so much as for a reason, just because he had nothing to lose. The people in Little Hangleton had helped the poor, pale blond boy, not caring for his name or business or what happened. They patched him up, kept him for a night, fed him, and didn’t even ask why he was so torn.

“Looks like he’s had the life sucked out of him, eh, Sally?” asked one very made-up lady to her just as made-up friend.

“That’s a good way to put it,” answered Sally. “Poor boy, wonder what he’s been through.”

But they didn’t ask. They all wondered, but they never asked. Even the little five-year-old who’s house Draco Malfoy spent the week in didn’t ask. Yes, a whole week, he spent a whole week in Little Hangleton, but dared spend no more. He knew that the Death Eaters living in the Dark Lord’s father’s house would figure out he was there sooner or later. For now, though, living in the home of Rona and Will, with their five-year-old daughter Rose and their newborn Gene, was perfectly good, perfectly safe.

After their kind gestures, Rona and Will asked where Draco lived. The boy, deciding he had to find people who would help him, who could understand his scenario, knew exactly where he would find his kind. “London,” he had told them automatically.

So it was early that morning, the morning of the day when the three Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry would be scouting out Death Eaters, that Draco came downstairs as Rona, Will, little Rosie, and baby Gene ate breakfast, and said, “Thank you very much for letting me stay in your home.” And he headed for the door.

“Are you going to walk back to London?” said Rona, amused.

“Er…”

“Of course he won’t,” said Will. “I’ll take him.”

“No, you won’t, you have work, you silly man,” said Rona with a smile. “I’ll drive you to London, m’boy. Come, have something to eat, we’ll go soon.”

So that’s how it all came about, that a kind woman and her two children from Little Hangleton drove the blond boy the distance to London. And she didn’t even question when the boy claimed he would find his way from wherever she dropped him off. Thanking the woman again and again, the opened the car door. “Wait!” said five-year-old Rose, stopping him before he could leave. She took a rope necklace off her neck, that had a green button put on. “I think you need this more than I do.”

“I need a button?” he said, amused.

“It’s good luck. It was on my dad’s jacket the day he met my mum.”

Stunned by the girl, he laughed lightly, and looked at Rona, who smiled. “Okay… thanks, Rosie.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, tying it around his neck. “Will you come and visit us?”

“Maybe some day. I’ve got some things to fix.”

“When they’re all better, will you come?”

Draco nodded.

Little Rosie gave him a look, “D’you promise?”

He laughed, “I promise.”

“Good!” she said, and gave him a hug.

“Thank you, again,” he said, smiling at the family, “for everything.” And the teenager exited the car and hurried away.

“Poor boy,” said the woman when she got back home to her husband, “So lost, so alone. I hope we see him again some day.”

It didn’t take long for the boy in question to find his house. He pounded on the front door of the Malfoy Manor, though not expecting anyone to answer. Narcissa Malfoy rarely answered the door, and Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban prison. Taking out his wand, he muttered “Alohamora,” and the door clicked open. Apparently Narcissa didn’t care about security, either.

Draco Malfoy hurried down the familiar hallway, finding the living room, where he saw his mother talking to someone; however, in his angle, looking in through the double French doors, he couldn’t see the person she was speaking to, but he could hear what his mother was saying. Her voice shrill, she sounded disappointed and angry.

“When I get my hands on that child… Lucius will be terribly furious, his own son unable to do his job! When I found out the Dark Lord was disappointed in Lucius, I swore Draco would not be a disappointment… but I apparently, I gave him the benefit of the doubt when he didn’t deserve it! He has disgraced mine and his father’s name, and I will never let him under my roof again!”

Eyes widening, he took a few steps backwards and then turned, running out the door.

Little did Draco know that Narcissa was putting on an act for Bellatrix Lestrange, her sister.

But, that much was true, that Draco did not know the state in which Narcissa had said what she did; and so he tore out of the house, running. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he had to go. Panting heavily, the boy shakily made his way to the entrance of Diagon Alley, pulling his hood up over his head and, staring at the ground, made his way to a place he knew would be empty. The alleyway between Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley.

Just as he had assumed, it was empty. He slinked into the shadows, dropping down and wrapping his arms tightly around himself, regaining composure. His mother didn’t love him. She didn’t care about him. The Death Eaters would never take him back and the Order would look at him as a murderer. He was alone in this world.

---

Ginny Weasley felt a wave of relief as she managed to slip away from the group around her. The arrest had gone accordingly and now she didn’t want to think about Death Eaters anymore. She longed for someone to hold on to her; but of course, she didn’t know who. All through her schooling career, Ginny went from one boy to another, and they all disappointed her. Why? None of them had her eye the way Harry Potter did. Her school girl crush had grown to much more than just that, she realised.

And finally that day came. Finally he kissed her. Finally he saw her the way she saw him. But just as well he broke up with her. For – what was it again? – her own safety. Right.

Well, Harry Potter could go fight Lord Voldemort all he wanted, without Ginny. Because she, disappointed in him, refused to go crawling back to him.

Depressed and lonely, she found refuge in the dark alleyway between Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley. No one was there, and it was quiet and peaceful. Dark.

But it wasn’t quite as empty as she had hoped – for there, in the shadows – was a heap of a boy, someone she couldn’t quite see in their entirety in the darkness.

“Are you okay?” she gasped, taking a few steps over.

The boy looked up, and moved further into the shadows.

“Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you,” cooed Ginny softly, taking a step closer; and as she did, he moved away. She stopped, sitting down, tilting her head to the side and looking at the poor, frightened boy. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” he said back, in a very small voice, which Ginny vaguely recognised but couldn’t place.

“Ginny Weasley,” she answered, and he flinched. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he muttered.

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

“Did something… did something bad happen?” Brown eyes wide in wonder, she bit her lower lip. He looked up at her, and she wished he would move closer so she could see him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered stubbornly.

There was a pity in her eyes, a pity that Ginny had never felt before. She said, speaking so softly, so gently, she barely recognized her own voice, “If you tell me what happened, I could help you.” She wanted to help him – he was lost, afraid, and alone. No one deserves that… she was going to find out everything.

---

Draco Malfoy didn’t truthfully want to spill his life story to Ginny Weasley, but he found himself doing just that. He launched into an explanation of how he did something horrible, something that, at first, he wanted to do, but as time went on, he began to doubt it. He went on how and then the biggest part of the task came, and he, knowing that it was wrong, was unable to complete it, but he was stuck. Because it was either do the task or have your family killed.

“Was it for Voldemort?”

Trying to suppress a flinch, Draco muttered, “Yes.”

He went on about how the Dark Lord was disappointed in him and his family, because, he admitted, his whole family had been followers of the Dark Lord and they expected the same for him.

“But you can think on your own,” Ginny said with a small smile, “That earns you a lot of respect in this world.”

“But the Dark Lord wasn’t happy with me. I managed to run away, and I went to my mother – who I thought loved me, Death Eater or not…” he trailed off.

Ginny wanted to hear the rest of the story, Draco could see it in her eyes – so he added on, “So I went home, and I overheard her telling someone that she was disappointed in me.”

“Oh, that’s the worst!” gasped Ginny, “When they’re mad, it doesn’t matter. I mean, they yell and scream, but get over it. But disappointed… oh, I’m sorry, keep going.”

“That’s it. I came here. I don’t know what I’m going to do, because no one would believe that I’m innocent from what I just told you and the Death Eaters are never going to take me back.”

“If you don’t mind me asking… what was the whole task?”

Draco wasn’t quite ready to tell her who he was, so he just said, “It ended with me killing somebody.”

“Who?”

Draco looked at her – her eyes were filled with pity. There was a moment of silence in which neither of them said a word as Ginny awaited her answer. She understood, and she felt bad for him, and this wouldn’t change… even if she knew who he was. He felt as if he needed her pity and her understanding more than anyone in the world’s right now.

“I… I was supposed to kill… Albus Dumbledore.”

He gave her a moment to register it, and in fact saw the realization in her eyes. They widened more than they were already. Her lips formed a small ‘o’ as her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes shone with tears as she now knew who was sitting there, who she had just felt strong pity for, he was, in fact, Draco Malfoy. She stood there, her eyes filled with tears, unable to say a thing. Draco looked away.

And suddenly she ran over, bending down beside him, wrapping her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder, letting out the tears that had been hiding in her mind for what seemed to be forever, and he cried, too – it was devastating and depressing, yet so incredibly remarkable. She finally had someone to cry with.

It is late in the evening. I wake up from a bad dream, one where Mummy is sword fighting with Pansy Parkinson over Daddy, who is too busy killing my Albus Dumbledore Chocolate Frog Card to notice, and Harry is crying on the side and Luna is saying, "There, there, I'll help you, don't worry, everything will be fine." Hermione is holding a baby, and it seems to be my reality all packed into one crazy dream. But it was scary, and I don't like scary things.

I hear voices down the hall, distracting me from my dream. I slip on my slippers and leave my room as quietly as I can. The hall is scary and dark. But down the hall, I see the door to Mummy's work room closed almost all the way, yet a strip of light is leaving it. The voices are coming from over there! I go to the door as quietly as I can. When I get there, I realize that I can't look in 'cause the little bit that the door is open isn't enough for me to see, but I can hear. I press my ear against the door and listen to the conversation that's going on inside.

"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. Him?! You're asking me to do him a favor?!" a male voice says.

"It's not for him, it's for me!"

I identify the voices. Harry is the first to talk, and he's talking to Mummy.

"Come on, Harry, you've got to help me!" Mummy begs.

"I don't really 'got' to do anything, do I?" I hear Harry's voice snap back bitterly.

"If it was anybody else, you'd forgive--"

"Exactly! If it was anybody else! But it's not anybody else, is it? It's him."

"Look... Harry... this is for me. I know you can't stand the thought of helping--"

"So stop trying to make me help him! Do you think this is fair for me? Asking me to help one of my worst enemies, and then asking me to help the man who the woman I love loves more than me?"

There is silence for a moment. I press my ear closer to the door, hoping that they're still talking.

"Harry... I'm sorry, I really am, but..." Mummy's voice trails off. There is silence again. And then, she says, "But you're doing it again."

"Doing what?!"

"That 'feel sorry for me' thing. That 'look at me, I've got it so awful' thing."

"What?!"

"You're being self-absorbed, again. Jesus, Harry, we've had this conversation before! If it was the first time you had shown this kind of behavior--"

"Stop treating me like your seven-year-old daughter, Ginny," snaps Harry. "And again, I'm going to say the same thing. You want to repeat this conversation for the eightieth time? Fine. Here is goes."

"Oh, Harry--"

He explodes, "Self-absorbed? You call risking my life to save the Wizarding World self-absorbed?"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it!"

"You're being incredibly inconsiderate, Ginny, and that's beyond self-absorbed. That's cruel. What you're doing to me is just plain bloody cruel. You really don't get it, do you? Do you?!"

"Stop it!" I yell, entering the room. "Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it! Stop yelling at each other!"

Everyone turns to me. Mummy says, "My God, Rose, you startled me." Harry adjusts his glasses. And the man sitting in Mommy's armchair in the corner smirks.

I don't know who he is, but I don't like him immediately. His face is very pale, and his nose is awkward and slimy looking. His eyes are dark and look like a vampire's, and his hair is long, dark, and greasy, like his voice, which I hear as he says, "Hello there, Rose."

"Rose, this is Severus Snape," says Mummy, motioning to the man. "He's going to... well, I'm hoping that..."

She doesn't finish her sentence, because she can see I'm barely paying attention to her. "I recognize you," I say. "I recognize you from the list of Wizards who are dangerous and wanted for crime, that I saw on a list in the Ministry once."

Harry smirks, and Mr. Snape's lips just curl in amusement. Mummy nods.

"Tell me, girl," says Mr. Snape slowly, motioning me over. I walk over with a little bit of hesitation. "Do you want to meet your father?"

"More than anything in the world," I answer quietly. Up close, I can see dark circles under his eyes, his face so pale I can see his veins... he's not a very nice-looking guy, and I'm pretty scared.

"I rest my case," he says, pulling his slimy hand up and running through my hair (I notice how Mummy flinches when he does that), and then he turns back to Harry and Mummy. "Now, Potter, don't you think that should be enough reason to forgive me? This poor girl has been without a father her entire life. With my help, we can return him to her and she can have a fairytale ending, isn't that what you want for the girl?"

Harry looks down, pushing his glasses down his nose and rubbing his eyes.

"I don't get it," I say. But nobody hears.

"Please, Harry. For Rose," Mummy says quietly. "If you forgive Snape, everyone else will, too, and then he can help us find Draco--" Harry flinches, and Mummy stops. "If not for Rose... then for me. As... as a wedding gift."

"Wedding?!" I exclaim, though once again go unnoticed. Harry is looking startled at Mummy, and Mr. Snape is too busy laughing (rather insanely, if I do say so myself). I notice he let go of my hair (which is now tingling in an odd sort of gross, icky way), and I hurry back over to Mommy and Harry.

"You're accepting my proposal?" Harry says uncertainly.

"What is with Potters and red-haired women?" mutters Mr. Snape, with a hint of amusement at his own joke through his laughter. No one else seems to hear his odd comment, though.

"Proposal? Mummy, you're going to marry Harry?" I say, running over and tugging on Mummy's arm.

"Yes, Harry," Mummy says, a tear streaming down the side of her cheek. "Am I too late?"

"But Mummy, what about Daddy? We're going to find him, aren't we? We're going to find him and live happily ever after!" I might be crying, maybe that's why I'm out of breath and shaking.

"Hush, Rose," Mummy says.

"No, you're not too late," says Harry quietly, looking down. "But I don't want to marry you just because you want my help." He stands, and everyone looks at him. Even Mr. Snape is silent. "I forgive you, Snape," he says, looking at him as he says it. "Go. Find Draco Malfoy." He walks over to Mummy and extends his hand. But she doesn't take it. She stands, hugs him tightly, in tears.

"Thank you, Harry. Thank you, so much," she whispers, kissing his cheek and stepping back. He just nods slowly, and leaves.

Mr. Snape stands, brushing dirt off his robes. "Well, that was amusing."

"Oh, shut up," snaps Mummy, glaring. There is silence for a second, and Mummy breaks under Mr. Snape's cold gaze.

"I'll find the boy, Weasley, and contact you when I do."

"Thank you," Mummy whispers.

Mr. Snape scowls at her. I don't really know why. Maybe he wanted a hug and a kiss, too. But he leaves without a fuss.

"Go to your room, Rose. I want to be alone for a moment."

I nod, and leave her there, suddenly with a lot to think about.

I go back to my bed, lie down, and try to figure this all out, but I just can't. Everyone is always telling me how smart of a little girl I am, but apparently I'm not smart enough to get this. I mean, I can read real good, and I can sometimes know what adults are talking about, but I don't really know that much. I end up falling asleep, 'cause I am kind of tired, and when I wake up, it's already late in the morning. I slip out of bed and look around my room, which is pretty messy. Maybe Mummy and I will clean up later, I think, and I try to forget what happened last night, 'cause Mr. Snape would find Daddy and I don't have to worry about it anymore – even if he did look a little weird and was kind of scary.

And there’s something else I can’t stop thinking about – Mummy said she was going to accept Harry's proposal, but Harry said he didn't want to marry her just because she wants his help. So Mummy is not going to marry Harry, which is good, because she loves Daddy anyway, right?

Later, Mommy and I are picking up my toys and putting them in my toy box and I'm cleaning up my desk with all my colouring books. I get a little distracted because I find my Quidditch colouring books and I start to flip through it and look at the moving pictures, messily coloured in by me and my crayons. Mummy finishes cleaning up my toys, kisses me on the top of my head, and tells me to get some fresh air later today. I nod and continue looking at my colouring book.

After I'm done with it, I put it in the toy box and walk back over to my desk, seeing the Albus Dumbledore Chocolate Frog Card that Pansy Parkinson gave me again. Picking it up, I see Mr. Dumbledore sleeping.

"You're a very special card, did you know that?" I say to it, smiling, and putting it down. I pull my chair over and sit, looking at it.

Mr. Dumbledore's eyes open. He looks at me and his brows furrow inwards in confusion.

"You aren't Pansy," says Dumbledore with a blink of his eyes.

"No, I'm not. Pansy gave this card to me - but - Chocolate Frog Cards don't talk."

"Who are you, then?"

"Err - Rose."

He furrows his eyebrows in, "Full name, please."

"Narcissa Rose Weasley."

"Ah. I see. Pansy warned me."

"What?"

He takes in a deep breath and says, "To get to what you so dearly yearn,
There are a few things that one must learn.
Then down the stairs, look for the second on your right,
A pass that's average to the sight.
Tell what you know about what lies within:
A sinner who truly didn't mean to sin.
Then all hope will appear gone,
But just do what feels so simple and a yawn.
Then in you go, head inside,
Through the door who tried to hide.
In you go; down all the way
To yet another average passageway.
Speak the name of You-Know-Who.
And this is my last, the final clue:
Don't be alarmed when nothing you see
For this poem will set a prisoner free. "

"Mr. Dumbledore, could you repeat that, please?" I say eagerly. And the Dumbledore on the card walks away. I stare blankly at it, turning it around. "Mr. Dumbledore?" I say again, looking back at it. "Come back, please!" And my eyes fill with tears and I begin to cry.

Suddenly Mr. Dumbledore walks back in, looking at me with pity. "Aw, I hate when little girls cry. The poem's written on my back. The back of this card. Look."

I flip the card over and see a poem appear in brilliant, golden letters. Mummy says that when I cry to get my way it is not appealing, but I am very happy with the way this turned out. Brightly, I say, "Thank you! But Mr. Dumbledore, what does it mean?" and flip the card back over, but Mr. Dumbledore is gone.

---

When I walk downstairs, I realize that I don't have a clue where I can even find these clues and passageways and stairs. In my own house? Probably not. I don't think I have any secret passageways in my house.

Mummy is talking in the fireplace, sitting in front of it. I peak around the corner, and I see Mr. Snape's scary face in the fire. He sees me, stares for a minute, and Mummy turns around and motions me to leave the room. I pretend to leave and when she looks away, I come back to listen and watch.

"Anyway, my visit at the Zabini household was more than just to thank him for helping me all these years," says Snape.

"Get to the point, Snape."

"Conor Branxton. He's the one who told the Ministry those lies about Malfoy, and all those assisted murders."

"But are you sure about that?"

"Positive. Zabini told me, and he has no reason to lie to me."

"Where can I find him?"

Mr. Snape looks confused. "Zabini?"

"No, Branxton. Conor Branxton."

"Oh. He still works in Knockturn Alley, but I wouldn't go there if I were you. No one ever goes there." I think that this is very cool, like a spy movie, but Snape sounds very bored.

"So, what? I should just give up?"

"Branxton isn't really necessary for finding Malfoy," says Snape with a sigh. "I'm just telling you who's behind all this. Branxton framed him for years until Potter destroyed the Dark Lord, and then disappeared."

"Why does he hate Draco so much?" wonders Mommy out loud.

"Zabini said that he just hates Malfoys in general, how they both failed at their tasks. May I go now? The Minister wants to personally apologize to me for all those years I've had to hide."

"Wow, all because Harry forgave you?"

A sly grin crosses Snape's face. "Indeed. I'll return when I have more information."

I quickly leave the room as Snape disappears, sitting at the kitchen table. Mummy walks in and I say, "I'm hungry."

She laughs. "Of course you are."

I smile. Conor Branxton, hmmm. He was the one that made all that bad stuff look like Daddy did it. Maybe I need to find Luna again and show her Mr. Dumbledore's poem, maybe she'll get it. Maybe Daddy is hidden in Conor Branxton's house? But how could I find it? I bet Mummy would know, I think to myself, looking at her as she makes me a sandwich. I can’t ask her, though. She would just get mad at me for “prying” – that’s what she calls it when I try to help, “prying” – and if I show her Mr. Dumbledore, she’ll take him away. She gives me my sandwich and I forget about Daddy and eat it instead.

When I finish, Mummy takes me upstairs and I take a bath, and then she braids my hair. Sometimes I don’t like it because it’s so bright and red and Mummy tells me to like it because it’s not very common. She says that she used to hate it too, since everyone knew she was a Weasley with it. But then she realized that that’s not a bad thing. And then she said, “Besides, it’s better than gray,” and she laughed, but I didn’t think it was funny so I didn’t laugh. Now, while she finished off the pretty red braid I smile and say, “I like my hair,” and she kisses my head and we go back downstairs.

Mummy is writing a letter when we hear a knock at the door. She goes to answer it and I go to see what she was writing. It's hard, though, because there's a lot to read and I don't want Mummy to see me reading her letter. It seems like the person at the door and Mummy have a lot to say to each other, so I look down and try to read.

'Mione;
Zabini told Snape that Conor Branxton framed Draco all those years. And Zabini is married to Pansy. I reckon these two know more than they're leading on. I'm going to visit later. And have I mentioned that Snape is a wretched man? I hope you are well and that my little nephew/niece is all cozy inside of you!

That's all she's written. I wonder what 'wretched' means. Meanwhile, there's someone at the door and I go over to see who it is.

It's Uncle Ron!

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I was upset that Rose's father is Malfoy. And if you need me, ever, for anything, know I'm here, okay?" He says this all very fast, and his face is bright red, but when he's done, Mummy throws her arms around him and gives him a tight hug, and when they let go, Uncle Ron looks past Mommy and sees me. "Hello there, you little tyke. Come give your uncle a hug." I go over and hug him tightly. He says, "Now that there's no more secrets to keep, I think I'll get to see you more often. And what with the baby on it's way, you're going to have a cousin! Isn't that exciting?"

I nod, "Yeah, 'specially since we're going to find my Daddy, and then my cousin will also get an uncle."

Mummy laughs, "Your cousin will have plenty uncles, don't you worry."

And I smile, cause I feel like a big happy family, and I like it that we don't have secrets anymore, because families aren't supposed to have secrets.