This may, or may not, be new to you. I finished it the Night the Lights Went Out in FanFiction.net. Since then, I posted it to my list (DracoGinnyFanFic, plug, plug) and the archive site of that same list. Thanks to all my listees who reviewed, you all are the best list ever! I apologize to those of you who thought it was a disappointment. Though, all my work is a disappointment to me so I know how you feel.
DISCLAIMER: All these characters (With the exception of the baby, or “Draco Jr.” as my reviewers call it. ^_^) belong to the incomparable JK Rowling. I’m sorry I stole them and did such horrible things to them. Please don’t sue. I have no money as is.
NOTES: As always, big thank yous to Amy and Tessie my beta readers, especially Tessie because she pointed out a major error in this chapter that Amy and I missed. And to my loyal readers because anyone who takes the time to read my fics rocks beyond all measure in my opinion.
* * *
Malfoy Manor was decorated more spectacularly than Draco could ever remember it. Narcissa was giving some sort of party but he couldn’t remember what it was for. He knew it wasn’t a holiday because there weren’t any gala worthy holidays in the middle of April. He imagined she was only giving it so she’d have someone to talk to who wasn’t a Death Eater. She had spent weeks planning every last detail so Draco pretended like he remembered what it was for just to keep her happy. He had been preoccupied with other situations.
Thousands of guests had been invited; they all chatted, danced and ate the delicious food with blissful smiles on their faces. Draco, on the other hand, stood off to the side yawning. He was tired from staying up late every night for the past two weeks. Ginny was just about due and he didn’t want to miss anything. He certainly didn’t what to have to tell his child that he missed his birth because he was dancing. Also, he found this type of party extremely tiresome.
He was sick of putting on a fake smile and shaking everyone’s hand. It seemed like every other person had known him when he was little and felt it necessary to tell him so based on how tall he had been last time they had seen each other. The only thing he hated more was when people would say, “Oh, hello, Draco. You remember me don’t you? You went to Hogwarts with my son, so-and-so.”
Then he’d have to force a smile and fight the urge to say, “Yes. I knew him. God, what an idiot you have for a kid. Hope you didn’t spend too much on his education. You could’ve gotten the same result if you had left him on a mountain somewhere to be raised by wolves.”
For whatever reason, they were always offended after he said things like that. People were very touchy when it came to their children.
Draco scowled darkly. Over the music he couldn’t hear what was going on upstairs. For all he knew, Ginny could be pumping out his child right then. He glanced at the clock impatiently. Five hours. He had been sitting through this hell for five hours. He sighed. Narcissa was still cheerfully playing the role of hostess. She was in her element; she was actually shining. She never got sick of people telling her how lovely she looked, how beautiful the house was and what a great party it was.
He yawned again. Everyone blurred together, literally. His vision was clouding due to the sleep deprivation. Either that, or the pâté was bad.
“Draco? You don’t look well.” Narcissa’s voice made Draco jump. He didn’t remember her walking over to him. He must have dozed off.
“I’m fine,” he replied as he swayed unsteadily on his feet.
She looked at him quizzically. “Perhaps you should retire.”
Draco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was like his birthday had come early. She normally made him suffer all the way through her parties no matter what. One year he had broken four fingers in a Quidditch accident and she had not only refused to heal it but still made him give every guest a hearty handshake.
He gave her a long searching look. She nodded wearily. “Go on.”
He grinned. “Goodnight, Mum,” he said as he kissed her affectionately on the cheek.
The music got fainter and fainter as he ascended the stairs until he could only hear the beat of the drum shaking the floor beneath him. He paused at the top of the stairs. Ginny’s room was silent still. The Death Eater didn’t look up at Draco. He was slumped against the door as if it were the only thing holding him up. He looked just as tired as Draco felt.
Draco sighed. She was over due; he was sure of it now. It was at least a week, maybe two. He had never known Ginny to be late before. Why was it that now she was late for the most important event in of both of their lives? He scolded himself for thinking that way. It wasn’t like Ginny had planned to keep them all waiting. She was probably as anxious as he was.
A watched pot never boils, a voice in the back of his head sang out.
That statement had never made any sense to Draco. Of course it would boil. And if it didn't, then you should do that spell to make water boil. He didn’t know it because he never prepared his own food, but he was sure there was one. He had seen the house elves do it.
As soon as his eyes met his large, four poster bed, Draco fell upon it. He didn’t bother to remove his expensive dress robes. He was just too tired. His mother would surely have it out with him over the wrinkled fabric but he just didn’t care. Sleep was too overpowering. He found himself drifting off as soon as his head hit the over-stuffed pillow.
He felt like he was only asleep for seconds when he was abruptly awoken by a scream that ripped through the night. For a moment, Draco didn’t know who or where he was. Then the scream came again, louder and unmistakably female. He glanced at the clock. 12:03. He had been out for almost two hours.
Ginny screamed again. He muffled heard voices. Someone yelling at her. Draco kicked himself as he scrambled out of bed. How long had she been in labor? What had he missed?
That reasonable part of his head told him not to worry. He couldn’t have missed that much since he hadn’t heard her until now and because she had been quiet two hours ago. Which meant she hadn’t been in pain.
He reached the door of his room and paused. There were more voices now. That meant a bunch of Death Eaters were out there with her. They probably had orders not to let him around Ginny. Draco felt all his muscles clench involuntarily. He didn’t care if they didn’t want him to see. It was his kid for Merlin’s sake! He wasn’t going to miss this. He grabbed the doorknob and prepared to fling the door open.
Then something happened that made his stomach drop into the floor below him. It didn’t open. He pulled on it again, this time more roughly. Still, it didn’t give way. Someone had locked it from the outside. Frantic, he grabbed it with both hands and put all his weight into prying the door open. Nothing.
Draco growled in frustration. He kicked at the door so harshly that the dresser next to it shook with the force. But the door didn’t budge. Hurling every spell he could think of at the offending door, all the while, Ginny was screaming intermittently from the other room. Her shouts only made him more desperate to get to her. He threw his entire body against the wood, which only served to give him terrific pain in his shoulder.
Dejectedly, he sank to the floor still clutching his arm, which would surely be bruised in the morning. He was sweating and breathing ragged breaths. It occurred to him that he had probably never worked so hard before in his life. Fitting that it wouldn’t do any good at all. He leaned back against the stubborn door as Ginny cried out again.
He could imagine her lying there with a horde of strange Death Eaters surrounding her. She was red faced and her hair clung to her face with sweat. Every now and then there was a low whimpering moan to accompany her painful shrieks. He bet she was crying. The tears probably mingled with her sweat as they dripped down her face.
The Death Eaters probably didn’t care that she was crying. They were staring at her with stony expressions, the fact that a miracle was being performed before their very eyes completely lost on them. He wanted to push through the wall to her, like a ghost, and let her know that she wasn’t alone and that it would be all right.
The hands of the clock slowly moved around its face. Draco never wavered; he spent the entire night with his ear pressed firmly against the door listening for every scream and muffled word. Despite the sleep that had been overpowering only hours ago, he was completely awake through the entire ordeal. Before he knew it, five hours had passed and the sun was peaking out ever so slightly from its hiding place in the mountains.
It was that eerie time before dawn, when it was not quite night anymore but not yet morning, when her shouts started to come even closer together. He, and everyone else, knew the moment was approaching. There seemed to be an charge in the air, a note of urgency. It was as if the entire world were waiting for the baby to pop out and then the day could truly start. He had constantly remind himself to breath because he was so focused on what was happening outside he wasn’t paying attention to himself.
Ginny was screaming louder and more often now. His heart started to race in his chest, as the voice in the back of his head whispered “You’re about to be a father.” It didn’t matter if he would be like Lucius or worse. The baby was coming no matter what; he had absolutely no control over it. It was kind of like flying on a broomstick. He vividly recalled a time when Potter had shot off into the night after the Snitch. Draco, of course, had taken off after him. Potter had always been a better flier, one of the things that annoyed Draco most about him. For Harry it had been effortless to streak, to snatch the Snitch out of the air and pulled out of the dive. But for Draco, it was like being hurled at top speed toward the ground with no brakes. He knew he was going to smack into the Earth, it would probably even hurt a great deal but there was nothing he could do about it.
Soon his pounding heart was silenced by the sound of Ginny’s yells. He listened intently. He couldn’t explain it but they were different now, more guttural. And if he wasn’t mistaken there was a note of fear in her voice.
He raised to his feet and began pacing around the room in tune the voice in the back of his head saying “Something’s wrong... Something’s wrong... Something’s wrong...” He chewed nervously on his thumbnail. He wanted so badly to see what was happening. Why wouldn’t anyone tell him anything?
“Ginny!” he yelled at the top of his lungs hoping someone, anyone would answer. He didn’t care that he was supposed to be asleep or that they didn’t want him hanging around. He needed to know. He felt like he would die if he didn’t.
Ginny screamed again. This time, Draco screamed with her. She didn’t sound any better. If anything, she sounded worse. It made a painful knot in his chest, like someone had punched him repeatedly. All he wanted was for her to be all right, but there was nothing to be done. All he could do was pace around the room listening to her pained cries.
He picked up a knick-knack off the dresser, a ridiculously expensive paperweight made of crystal, and hurled it at the wall. The ornament shattered into thousands of pieces just as Ginny cried out again. The bits ricocheted off the wall sending them all across the floor. They made a sort of dusty covering over the glossy, hard-wood floor the kind that the house elves had tired so long and hard to avoid.
“Was that really necessary?” his mirror asked angrily, obviously very perturbed at having been awakened in the middle of the night.
Draco didn’t answer. He didn’t hear. He sunk to the ground as all his anger left him only to be replaced by powerful fear. He knew in his heart that he was the only one who cared if Ginny came out of this alive. The Death Eaters didn’t give a damn about her or the baby; they only feared Voldemort’s wrath. He also knew that if his hunches were right and that something really was wrong then there wasn’t anyone to help her. They couldn’t go to a mediwizard since it was supposed to be a secret that she was there and the Death Eaters knew nothing of birth, only death.
He felt the shattered glass cut into his legs and hands as he sunk to his knees. He had tried everything possible to get out of his prison to her but he had failed. If he couldn’t do anything for her, then who would?
Draco looked down at the floor. There was nothing he could do. He ran his hands, his useless hands, over the shards. He didn’t flinch when the pieces cut into him, drawing droplets of mortal blood. His hands had always been so smooth with the lack of work. He never remembered seeing them as bloody as they were today. He breathed out an unsteady breath as he slowly looked up.
The vaulted ceiling stretched out above him. There were intricate carvings in the marble and panting, hand done by famous artists, on the plaster. People always commented on it when they saw his room. He didn’t see it. He was trying to see beyond it.
He spoke with a trembling voice. “Uh...God?” he asked, unsure of how this was done as he had never prayed before in his life. “Er, hi,” he whispered, still unsure of himself. “I know you and I haven’t been on speaking terms, you know, ever. That was, uh, all my fault. See, I was an ass,” he paused, realizing he probably shouldn’t swear in front of a deity. “I mean a git. I was a git,” he corrected himself. “Anyway, you shouldn’t take my mistakes out on Ginny and the baby.” He stopped again. “Well you’re God and you can do whatever you want... But you shouldn’t let Ginny suffer like this. She’s a good person. I know because whenever I did mean stuff to her in school, she’d never call me names or,” he swallowed hard, “sink to my level.”
He must have been quite the sight. The sun was only filling the part of the room closest to the window while the majority was still cloaked in darkness, and in the middle of the room Draco, who was still dressed in the very finest dress robes that were now ripped, wrinkled and covered in blood, knelt with his face turned to the Heavens while the agonized cries of Ginny Weasley, a girl he once hated, drifted through the locked door to his ears.
“I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry. I can’t fix it and I’ll probably never be as good of a person as Ginny is. So if you’re going to save anyone it should be her. If you could just make sure that she and the baby are okay, then I’d really appreciate it. Thanks.”
Suddenly everything was still.
Draco felt a great weight lift from his chest. The days when he had despised everything with red hair and freckles seemed a distant memory. Some things were more important than age old vendettas, and this little baby was one of them.
The sun was rising. The same moment he felt the warmth hit the back of his neck, a faint whimper from the other room made the tears that he hadn’t known were threatening to come down his face come. It was a baby’s cry. It was dull at first then got progressively louder until it was filling up the entire manor.
A smile slowly spread across Draco’s face until he was laughing uncontrollably. “I’m a father,” he chuckled in a mix of nerves and joy. He felt like running around the entire room shrieking at the top of his lungs. Now he knew why some men went about giving every person they saw a cigar. He wanted to tell everyone. “I’m a father.”
The baby wailed loudly. He could hear the Death Eaters trying to shut it up to no avail. The baby wouldn’t quiet until Ginny got to hold it protectively in her arms. “Shh.” Draco could barely make out the sound of her voice as she hushed the screaming child. “Don’t mind them, baby. They may be big and ugly but I won’t let them hurt you.”
He grinned stupidly. That’s right, he thought. He wanted to go in there and add his voice to the chorus. “We won’ let them hurt you.”
A commotion in the hallway brought Draco back to his senses. He scrambled, on all fours, back to the door and pressed his ear against it. Footsteps grew louder and louder as did the voices of the people they belonged to. They were coming to see the baby. Without even hearing them speak, Draco knew who one of the men was. He had a distinctive walk. It was almost as if he were slithering instead of taking human steps.
Voldemort didn’t sound pleased.
“Idiots,” he hissed. “Can you do nothing right?”
If possible, Draco pressed his head closer to the door. Was something wrong with his baby?
“But, Sir...,” the other voice protested. It was high pitched and sniveling. “This is not our fault... it was always a possibility... there was no way of knowing...”
“Silence, Wormtail! I don’t want to hear any more of your whimpering.” The Dark Lord only sounded angrier that Wormtail dare suggest that it wasn’t the Death Eaters’ fault. “I was very clear about what I wanted this baby to be, but still you have brought me this,” he scoffed disgustedly, “this, girl.”
It took a moment for Draco to register what he had just heard. Then like a whip crack, he started bouncing excitedly, which hurt a great deal as he was still on his knees. “It’s a girl! It’s a girl!” he cheered proudly but quietly to no one in particular.
The mirror rolled its eyes at Draco‘s uncharacteristic antics. Draco stuck his tongue out at it and continued his chanting. “It’s a girl! It’s a girl! I have a baby girl!”
His mind was flooded with images of him holding a pretty, little girl in frilly robes in his arms. She hugged him lovingly.
“My heir was to be male!” Voldemort bellowed furiously on the other side of the door.
A triumphant grin spread across Draco’s face. The Dark Lord’s anger only served to make him happier. Most of his trusty book had been confusing, but he had learned one thing and that was that the father determined the sex of a baby. That could only mean one thing. “She’s not your heir, Voldemort.”
* * *
The baby remained with Ginny for many weeks. The Death Eaters had been advised that it was best to keep a newborn with its mother while she was nursing. Sometimes Draco could hear the baby gurgling. He got the strangest sensation when he thought that those sounds were coming from his daughter. She didn’t cry often. Generally, she was quite an easy-going, even tempered child. Draco assumed she got that from Ginny because ‘even’ and ‘tempered’ were words that were never used to describe a Malfoy.
The Dark Lord only came to see her once, just after her birth. He had made a little speech about the child marking the dawn of a new era. Then he had, apparently, tried to take her from Ginny. The child had cried something awful when he touched her, which made Draco smile in a proud sort of way. He wasn’t the most attractive man and probably scared the wits out of her but Draco chalked it up to intelligence.
Draco was still banned from seeing Ginny or the baby. He had thought it was torture not getting to see her when she was pregnant but he was wrong. That was a champagne breakfast compared to not being able to see his daughter. He felt like he was being punched in the chest whenever he heard her cry, even though it was 100 times better than not hearing her at all.
The first time he got to see her was rather unexpected. The Malfoy Family was quietly eating dinner in the dining room. Narcissa was angry with Lucius over something but Lucius didn’t notice. Draco was anxious to go back up to his room and try to find out what Ginny was doing. He barely ate anything, only pushed it around on his plate and tried to transfigure it into smaller portions. He was trying to make it look as though he had finished his dessert, when the all the house elves came rushing out into the dining room as they would have if there had been a stampede of Hippogriffs in the kitchens.
The Malfoys all rose to their feet. Narcissa and Lucius were sputtering, utterly furious that the elves had interrupted dinner. Their protests were lost in the sea of screams coming from the elves. Draco couldn’t help but notice the terrified expressions that the elves wore. One elf even hid behind his legs for protection. He was going to kick the wretched creature and tell it to get off him when he noticed it was a particularly small, young female, probably a baby. She looked up at him with the roundest, watery eyes he had ever seen. Draco sighed and kicked himself for allowing an elf to grab hold of his robes but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her off.
“What is going on?” Narcissa demanded of the elf in charge when they finally quieted down.
“We is begging your pardon, ma’am,” he said in a high-pitched, fearful voice as he twisted his ears to punish himself. “Foppy is lighting the fire in the ballroom when he is seeing a head in the fireplace.” He started to bang his head against the wall to prevent himself from saying anything that would anger the Malfoys. “He is scaring the other elves, ma’am.”
Lucius brushed past the elves wearing a disgusted statement. He disappeared into the large, empty ballroom. His voice drifted in to the occupants of the dining room. “My Lord,” he said politely. Narcissa scowled darkly at his words. Her anger with the elves was completely forgotten.
“Come along now.” She ushered the elves back into the kitchen. “Just stay out of the library for tonight. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said in a tone that betrayed the truth. There were lots of things to be afraid of when Lord Voldemort was in the house.
Once the elves were safely packed away, she turned to her son exasperatedly. “I don’t know...” her voice trailed off as her eyes settled on something behind Draco. He spun around to find Lucius standing in the doorway.
She pursed her lips. Draco knew she was dying to say something but was holding her tongue. “More guests tonight, dear?” she asked with a sour smile and obvious distaste for the endearment.
Lucius nodded curtly. “The Death Eaters will be apparating shortly.” He turned to Draco. “You might as well come.” He didn’t sound happy about it. If Draco wasn’t mistaken, Lucius was a tad distrustful of his own offspring.
If possible, Narcissa scowled even more at her husband’s words. She looked from Lucius to Draco with a warning sort of look but she said nothing. She left with her head held high and her nose in the air. “I’m going to bed,” she called in a haughty tone once she was halfway out the door as if it were just a second thought that she should tell them where she was going.
Lucius turned back to Draco with narrowed eyes. “Do not anger the Dark Lord.” He said each word as if it were its own sentence.
Lucius turned on his heel and marched out of the dining room without another word. Draco shrugged and followed after him. He hoped he wouldn’t be taking the Dark Mark this evening. That wasn’t something he looked forward too. In fact, that was something he rather hoped he could avoid all together. He was busy thinking of excuses to get himself out of it when the other Death Eaters started to appear.
Soon the ballroom, which was usually vacant save a few chairs stacked in the corner, filled with men in hooded robes. They all took their place in a circle. Draco didn’t know where to stand. He decided to stand next to Lucius, even though he didn’t much feel like being around the man at the moment. They left a space so everyone could see Voldemort’s head bobbing in the flames of the fireplace. He had always had a demonic appearance, but the addition of the fire dancing behind him made him look like the devil himself. Draco once again felt an intense urge to flee, but he stood his ground trying to focus his mind on other things like his baby.
Besides, Draco reminded himself, Voldemort wasn’t actually in the room. He was just speaking to them from the fireplace. There wasn’t much he could do from there. This brought him a little comfort. How could Voldemort give him the Dark Mark if he didn’t have any hands? No, whatever they were all doing there that evening it obviously wasn’t important enough for Voldemort to actually be present. He doubted he was about to be initiated.
Once they were all in place, the Dark Lord nodded his head at a particularly large and ugly Death Eater. The man bowed as he backed out of the room. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his spot. Everyone else was waiting for the Death Eater to return. He wished he knew what he had gone to get. Then he could prepare himself for what was about to come.
He braced himself for unspeakable horrors. He constantly reminded himself why he was there; why he was putting up with this: his baby. That thought made him feel all warm inside, like he could face anything. He was dumbfounded, then, when the Death Eater returned not with something gruesome or evil, but with a tiny lump of blankets which he held awkwardly in his arms.
For a moment, Draco didn’t know what it was. He wondered what Voldemort could possibly want that was wrapped in fluffy, pink stuff. It was so unlike him. It wasn’t until the child inside started to cry that he realized his daughter was in those blankets.
He had to restrain himself from running over to the baby and scooping her up into his arms. He had never seen her before, and he wanted to get a better look. Was she all right? Was everything in the right place? Did she have all her fingers and toes? He stood on his tiptoes trying to catch a glimpse of her. All he could see was blankets. He wished she would stop crying. It bothered him to no end that his baby wasn’t happy. She had been quiet in Ginny’s room. Anger flooded him. Had the Death Eater done something to make her cry? He felt an inexplicable need to go punch him in the nose.
“Ugh,” complained Avery as he put his hands over his ears. “Why is she wailing like that?”
Draco growled low in his throat. No one heard. All most of the men cared about was that her crying was displeasing to them. It was obvious to him that something was bothering her. They should be trying to comfort her. Yet, none of them made a move to do anything.
The first Death Eater pulled the tiny baby out of her blankets. “Here she is, my Lord,” he said as he held her up like a trophy.
Draco clenched his fists. It was the first time he ever laid eyes on his daughter. He wished he had their first encounter hadn’t been while she was crying incessantly with dozens of evil men looking on. He wanted some time alone with her, just to look at her and hold her. He needed to think. There were so many conflicting emotions coursing through his body at that moment. He was angry. He was afraid he’d be a bad father. Most of all, he was so in love with her he didn’t know what to do with himself. She was so beautiful. She was small but everything looked to be in the right place. To him, she was perfect.
The others didn’t share his sentiments. “Someone shut her up!” yelled another Death Eater.
“What the heck is wrong with her?” someone else screeched irritably.
Draco looked long and hard at the child. “She’s cold,” he said without realizing he had spoken aloud. Everyone turned to look at him. His father looked angry that he had said anything. He didn’t know how he knew. He just did. It was drafty on the first floor and she was used to being in Ginny’s warm arms. That mean, old Death Eater had come, ripped her from her comfortable spot and brought her down her where lots of scary men leered at her. No wonder the poor thing was crying.
“Give her to the boy,” Voldemort commanded from the fireplace. Draco had never heard him give an order he liked so much.
He held his arms out ready to accept her. The Death Eater warily placed the child in his outstretched arms. He felt warmth spread through his body the moment she touched him. His nose filled with the distinctive baby smell coming off her. It was fresh and clean: the smell of innocence, something that wasn’t often found in Malfoy Manor. The girl looked up and their eyes met. Draco would’ve sworn that she recognized him. She smiled a childish smile and shrieked happily, kicking her little legs and flailing her arms. He knew the feeling.
“Huh? You cold?” he asked her in a gentle tone as he conjured another blanket to wrap around her. Instinctively she snuggled against him toward the warmth. A content grin formed on her chubby cheeks. He reached out to touch them. He couldn’t really believe that he was holding her after waiting so long. She giggled at his touch. Her tiny fingers caught his thumb. Her hands were so small that‘s all they could grab.
His father was looking daggers at him, but he couldn’t seem to care. All of his problems and fears disappeared the moment her skin touched his. The other Death Eaters had turned to Voldemort expectantly. Draco didn’t notice. He was so wrapped up in his daughter. They could’ve held the Quidditch World Cup in that room and he wouldn’t have paid it no mind. Some things were just more important.
“Give the child the wand,” Voldemort instructed causing Draco to look up for the first time. The others were milling about importantly. They drew a circle on the floor and stood inside it’s edges. He found himself hustled into the middle of the circle.
The baby whimpered when they started chanting something. “Shh,” he tried to soothe her. It hurt him when she cried. He had to stop her. “It’s ok. It’s ok.” He bounced her up and down playfully. “You’re all right.”
Lucius, acting like his job was a crucial one, stepped over to the fireplace. He said something in hushed tones to the Dark Lord. Draco couldn’t make it out. When he turned around again, he had a wand in his hand. It was made of yew and rather long. A little over 13 inches, Draco would guess. As Lucius advanced on his son with the wand held tightly in his hand, flashes of memories swirled in his mind. His father, with his wand outstretched, advancing on him from the door to his bedroom in the middle of the night. Draco didn’t want to remember that night he had first been forced under the spell that would end with the conception of his daughter.
The child in his arms squirmed as Lucius approached. The simple action managed to break the hold he had over Draco. He looked down at his daughter. She was waving her arms about, like she was trying to get his attention. He smiled at the irony of it all. She was right of course. He should be looking at her, not Lucius, he wasn’t worth his son’s time.
His father was upon them now. He looked down at his son and granddaughter with little or no emotion at all. It was similar to standing in front of a block of ice. Draco pulled the blankets tighter around the girl. She twisted in her father’s arms again trying to get her grandfather to play with her too. She cooed and smiled proudly as she blew a spit bubble. Lucius observed her expressionlessly.
Following Voldemort’s orders, he tried to stuff the wand into the girl's tiny fist. Knowing nothing about babies, Lucius was unaware she was too young to hold a wand. Draco rolled his eyes. He was not surprised when the wand fell from her fist. The girl turned her eyes to her father, disinterested in the wand, since it was just a big stick to her. "How old do you think she is father? She can't hold a wand yet," Draco hissed under his breath so the other Death Eaters couldn’t hear. Lucius didn’t respond.
Draco knew what they were testing for. When wizards and witches went to buy wands they tested them by seeing which wand they could make sparks fly from. This proved, not only that the wand was a correct fit, but that there was magic in the wizards blood. Most wizards couldn’t work a wand properly until they were older, which is why schools started when they were adolescents. Of course, Voldemort’s heir should be superior and, therefore, able to do it at birth. The wand they expected her to use was obviously Voldemort’s. They wanted to see if had powers like his.
“My Lord,” said one of the Death Eaters in a lofty tone. “One cannot expect a child this young to work a wand. That is why wizard children only go off to school when they’re eleven --”
His syrupy voice was silenced immediately by the sound of Voldemort’s wrath. “Silence!” he roared. “She is my heir. She is not some common child. If your,” he drawled the last word, making it clear he blamed the Death Eaters, “spell had worked then she would be powerful enough to do many spells by now.”
Draco tried hard not to laugh. He was expecting an awful lot from her. How exactly would she perform these spells having not yet mastered the ability to speak or even sit upright? Hell she was a few weeks old, she couldn't even hold the wand by herself. Still, he had faith that his child was a cut above the rest. He didn’t care about what Voldemort had done to her, his child wasn’t an ordinary witch. She could do this; she just needed a little help.
Voldemort was incensed that she would be so careless with his wand. The Death Eaters were in a tizzy. They were all apologizing for the girls inability to do the task. None of them thought that they should have tested her so early. “She’s just a baby,” they kept saying over and over again. Draco frowned. They didn’t think she could do it.
Draco, wanting to prove that his child was special, decided that he would have to help her. He bent down, carefully so the baby didn’t slip from his arms, and retrieved the discarded wand. She giggled, thinking it was some sort of ride. “That’s a good girl,” he whispered soothingly. The Death Eaters were so busy falling all over themselves, contemplating Voldemort's wrath that none of them heard his voice. “We can do this, right? Show them your stuff, little one.”
Draco put the wand in her tiny hand by gently wrapping his large one around hers. “Ready?” he cooed. She didn’t respond. She was, after all, an infant and didn’t understand what he was saying. Draco smiled tenderly at his daughter as he started moving her wrist, and in the process, waving the wand.
A brilliant display of sparks gushed from the wand in amounts Draco had never seen before. They were all a shocking pink color that contrasted sharply with the dark ballroom. Their light filled the entire ballroom, which fit several hundred people for Narcissa’s parties. All the Death Eaters turned around to see what was happening. For once, they were all silent. The sparks, like tiny, pink stars in the sky, danced around the room like a fireworks display. It was a good ten minutes before the shower of pink died down. When it did, Draco was grinning broadly.
He didn’t notice Voldemort eying him suspiciously.
Soon, a rude Death Eater came and ripped his daughter from his arms, which felt oddly cold without her presence. That night, he heard her gurgling in Ginny’s room. “Don’t worry, baby,” she said loudly so the Death Eater outside could hear. “Those mean, ugly Death Eaters are gone now. You’re safe with me.”
* * *
Draco wasn’t keen on attending anymore clandestine Death Eater meetings. He had gotten to see his daughter, that was all he wanted out of them. He had been tempted to take the girl and run off with her in his arms. He had decided not to because he didn’t want to leave Ginny behind, nor did he think he had a icecube’s chance in hell to escape with so many Death Eaters standing around watching him.
Since that night he had been planning two things. The first, and most important, was how he was going to get Ginny, the baby and get out of Malfoy Manor without being caught. That alone would take all his cunning and lying but he was confident that he could pull it off. After all, he was a Malfoy. The second thing would be a little easier but no less dangerous. He had to think of a reason he couldn’t join the Death Eaters.
A few weeks after that night in the ballroom, his father had announced that Draco was to attend an early morning meeting the next day. He stayed up all night thinking of a good lie. He had a feeling that faking a cold wouldn’t cut it. Even Narcissa didn’t always believe him when he pulled that one. And he got the feeling that ‘true Death Eaters’ would do whatever their Lord asked of them even on their death bed. Draco couldn’t imagine that kind of devotion to the wretched, old bastard.
He glanced at the clock. It was almost time. He hadn’t slept at all but he hadn’t thought of anything either. He cursed. He used to be so good at thinking up sneaky plans to get himself out of trouble, or more accurately, sneaky plans to get other people in trouble. Now, he had nothing. He was seriously considering breaking a bone or possibly several.
The clock outside ticked off the hour in strong, even tones. Draco groaned audibly. He could hear cloaks sweeping across the floor as the Death Eaters passed his door. He resigned himself to the fact that he would have to attend this meeting and got ready as slowly as he could. His mirror just stared blearily back at him, silently wondering what Draco was doing up at that hour. Draco tried to screw up his face. It looked like he was in for another day of pretending to be mini-Lucius.
They would meet in the ballroom, like before. Draco shuffled his feet as he walked, delaying the inevitable until the last possible moment. The first thing that met his ears as he descended the stairs was yelling. The Death Eaters were bickering amongst themselves. Voldemort had not yet arrived. Draco stepped back. He didn’t enter the room. He stood a few feet away from the door, watching them.
The only men not partaking in the brawl were his father, who was glaring at the others distastefully, and Professor Snape, who was standing off away from the others staring off into the night as if he weren’t part of the group.
“It’s time!” cried Macnair angrily. He gestured his hands emphatically so that his hood fell of his head. “She’s of no use anymore.”
Draco scowled his patented scowl. He knew they must be talking about Ginny. Many of the Death Eaters were of the opinion that all they needed her for was to have the baby. Now, she had done that and they wanted to get rid of her. Draco was sure “getting rid of her” didn’t mean sending her on vacation to someplace sunny either.
“The Dark Lord hasn’t given us any orders,” stammered Wormtail who didn’t have enough courage to take one side or the other. “We should wait for his word.” No one appeared to hear him.
“She’s a liability...” Macnair muttered obviously put off.
Suddenly from across the room, a harsh voice spoke up to shut him up. “And who is going to take care of the child if you kill her?“ Snape asked sharply in the same tone Draco had heard him use when Neville Longbottom didn’t know the difference between eye of newt and eye of salamander. “You, Macnair?” he scoffed. Macnair avoided his probing gaze. “You just want to kill everything that moves,” he concluded. “Lucky you got that job as executioner or you’d be in Azkaban for sure. No brains.”
Macnair was livid. He was so angry that he was at a loss for words. Snape continued to stare at him menacingly, daring him to say something. Even the hardened executioner seemed to crumbled under Snape’s death glare. If there was one thing Severus Snape was good at it was telling people off. When he gave you that look, you shut up and fast.
Out in the hall, Draco offered up a small thanks and cheers for his former Potions professor. Everyone else was either too cowardly to stand up to Macnair or didn’t care one way or another if Ginny died. He wondered briefly why Snape did. He had never liked the Weasleys, or anyone for that matter. But then again, Draco had never liked Ginny either and he would’ve blocked the door to her room with his own body if it had come to that.
“Perhaps we should take the child away from the girl,” Lucius spoke up thoughtfully. “Then she won’t get so attached.”
Draco snorted. He had only seen the kid once and he was already more attached than he could’ve dreamed possible. He doubted Ginny was any different. Taking her away a few hours out of the day wouldn’t make any difference. Of course, his father didn’t know much about attachment to his children so one couldn’t blame him for making such an asinine comment.
Macnair brushed passed the others. “I’ll go get the child,” he announced. Before he could exit the dusty ballroom, Snape held up a stiff hand to block him.
The Professor glared so that one would think he was the killer. “If you kill her, Macnair, the Dark Lord will not be pleased,” he said warningly.
Macnair shook him off irritably. He didn’t respond with a snappy comment, which lead Draco to believe that he was going to be a good boy. He was probably scared witless of Snape, he reasoned.
When Macnair entered the hallway, Draco pretended that he had just arrived for the meeting not wanting him to know he had been standing outside eavesdropping. Macnair, however, didn’t notice him at all. He stalked past muttering under his breath. Draco had a feeling he didn’t like being told what to do. His stomach lurched in his body as he watched the older man disappear up the stairs. Perhaps, they shouldn’t let Macnair go up there alone. He might do things that Draco would regret.
He was about to go after the Death Eater when he heard his father call from inside the ballroom. “Draco! Get in here!” He looked longingly in the direction Macnair had just gone, wishing he had been a bit sneakier and that his father didn’t have such an eagle eye.
All the Death Eaters turned to watch him enter the room. Some wore expressions of distrust; others of out right loathing. He heard some whisperings about what had happened last time they had met. Draco wasn’t supposed to have shown any affection for his daughter. He wasn’t even supposed to think of her as his daughter.
Draco held his head high and looked them all in the face. They could all go jump off a turret for all he cared. He had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Draco,” his father said frostily, “we have much to discuss.”
He couldn’t help but smirk. He wasn’t sure his father knew the meaning of the word ‘discuss.’ He usually just did whatever he wanted. Lucius didn’t see what was funny. His face turned from even and unfeeling into a frown. “Yes, Father?” he chirped, his voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.
Lucius furrowed his brow. He wouldn’t stand for his only son being insolent in front of his peers. But he continued despite himself, not wanting to make a scene. “The Dark Lord wishes --”
A din in the hallway cut Lucius off. He closed his mouth rapidly. Everyone turned to see Macnair fling open the doors to the ballroom again. He was flushed from running down the stairs. Veins were popping out of his forehead from anger. He looked left and right suspiciously at ever person in the room. His eyes lingered over Draco and Snape a bit longer than anyone else.
“Walden?” Lucius sputtered curiously. “What --?”
For a second time, the executioner cut Draco’s father off. “She’s gone!” he cried irately. “The Weasley girl is gone! And she’s taken our Lord’s heir!”
Draco staggered as if someone had hit him. Ginny had escaped? But how? He was torn between being joyous and frightened. She had escaped that meant she and the baby were safe. But she had escaped without him. She would go into hiding now. No one would be able to find her, especially not him. He might never see his child again!
The other Death Eaters began shouting questions at Macnair and shouting at each other. There was generally a lot of shouting. They were more frightened at what the Dark Lord would do to them when he found out the baby was missing than anything. None of them cared for her safety.
Macnair held up his hand so he could continue his tirade. “I found Mulciber on the floor of her room. She took his wand and knocked him unconscious.” Inwardly, Draco cheered Ginny. If she had a wand then she’d be more likely to survive her flight and because he had always wanted to give that goon a good whack.
Mass confusion ensued. They all started accusing each other of helping Ginny escape. No one but Draco was willing to believe that she was capable of sneaking out herself. He thought it rather funny that the idea had never occurred to them. She had been locked away in the same place for nearly eleven months now. Surely she would’ve come up with some idea as how to get out. Her twin brothers had been masters of sneaking around Hogwarts, they had probably taught her a thing or two. Draco was also completely confident that he was the only one who had given thought to helping her escape and that meant that she had done it on her own.
The Death Eaters continued yelling unintelligibly until a sharp call from Lucius Malfoy quieted them all down. He was never one to let confusion reign in his house. He liked things ordered and planned. He also liked taking charge and didn‘t waste anytime doing just that. “Don’t just stand there bickering with one another. FIND HER!”
Pop! Pop! Pop! The Death Eaters disapparted in groups vowing to search the grounds of Malfoy manor and the surrounding areas for Ginny. She couldn’t apparate yet so she couldn’t have gotten far, they reasoned. Draco hoped the Malfoy’s large, guard dogs had large, Death Eater-sized meals that morning.
Draco felt a firm hand on his shoulder. His father was looking down at him with an unreadable statement. “I didn’t help her,” he said truthfully. He left out the part where he wished he had. There were some things his father needn’t know. His father searched his face. Then, finding no trace of deception, nodded his head grimly.
About a half an hour later, Draco and Lucius were still standing silently in the ballroom. Draco didn’t want to talk to his father at a time like this. He didn’t even want to look at him but he had to stay in the ballroom in case there was any news. Lucius was busying himself by looking important and ordering around any Death Eater he could find. It occurred to Draco, that his father fancied himself Voldemort’s second in command. He probably wasn’t too keen to be knocked out of that prized spot by a baby who was only weeks old. This made Draco smile.
While Draco was gloating, Macnair reappeared in the ballroom. He had a tattered piece of cloth in his hands and he wore an statement that Draco couldn’t make out. It was part fear, part anger and part disbelief. He swallowed hard when he looked at Draco and Lucius. Draco got the impression that he didn’t want to say whatever it was he had to say.
Slowly, he raised the cloth in his hand. Draco grabbed the fireplace for support. Now he recognized it. It was the pink blanket that his daughter had been wrapped in. Now it was caked in blood and dirty and had been ripped to shreds.
“They’re dead,” whispered Macnair hoarsely.
* * *
Draco slammed the door of his bedroom so hard the painting of Malfoy Manor circa 1500 fell hard from its spot on the wall, shattering its frame. At first he couldn’t believe it. Ginny dead? Never. Then he had been despondent. His daughter was dead! All it had taken was one look at the spotless room to throw him into a frenzy.
There were expensive clothes in the closet. The furniture was top quality. It had all been in his family for centuries. The ornaments that adorned the dresser were priceless. The four-poster bed had once belonged to the King of England. The room itself was worth more money than Ginny Weasley had ever seen in her life. It was the kind of place most people could only dream of and work tirelessly for years hoping that one day they could live amongst these objects.
But Draco didn’t want any of them.
There was only one thing he wanted. There was only one thing he had ever wanted. He would give all these things up if he could just have his daughter back; if he could just hold her one more time. He had never even known her name, but still she was the one person he had truly loved in his life. He hadn’t known it until he had looked into her eyes. At that moment it had been perfectly clear: his heart belonged with that little girl.
“Rough day?” his mirror asked sleepily noticing his red face.
It was that moment that Draco snapped. He turned to the mirror with utter contempt. None of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t be so unfortunate to have been born a Malfoy. He would probably be at his job somewhere, maybe out with his girlfriend. One day, he’d have a child. That child’s mother would never feel the need to flee at dawn only to meet her death with men in hoods chasing after her. If he weren’t Draco Malfoy then his daughter would still be alive.
With an enraged cry, Draco lashed out. His arm struck one of the posters of his bed. His hand went clear through the wood causing it to break in two under the force. Without the support, the canopy crashed onto the mattress.
“Er, you really enjoy breaking things, don’t you?” his mirror observed nervously.
In response, Draco picked a long piece of broken wood. Twirling it in his hands like a baton, he approached the mirror who was looking for a way out to no avail. Draco’s first swing landed precisely in the center of the mirror. It shattered into hundreds of pieces that fell across the floor. He didn’t stop there, still wielding his mighty stick, he broke every single ornament and knick-knack on his dresser. He pulled out all the drawers and flung their contents out the window, which was still closed. There was a loud shattering sound as the first drawer hit the glass then a weak thud when it landed.
He ripped through the room. He had lots of things. Nothing was important. It was all just stuff that didn’t matter in the least to him. Most of it he only got because it was the best of the things he didn’t really want. His mind kept flashing back to his daughter. He imagined her crying because she was frightened as Ginny screamed before their lives were snuffed out.
Every time he saw her little face, his mind filled with more anger. As a result, he pounded his stick harder and harder trying to beat it out of himself. The wall had a large hole in it now. He didn’t really remember how it got there. His mind was such a haze of fury and pain. He didn’t even notice the tears streaming down his face or that he had been cut with some shards from the mirror and blood was dripping down his arm.
It felt like fire within him. He was just trying to put it out. Nothing helped. Every time he swung his stick he just got madder and madder. The flames kept licking at his heels. He couldn’t escape them. They were eating away at his insides, consuming him whole. He couldn’t think rationally anymore. There was only stuff that was broken and stuff to be broken to him. Maybe he just wanted to make it feel the same hurt he was.
Say, there was an idea. He reached into his pockets and pulled out his wand. “Incendio,” he whispered malevolently. Bright orange flames erupted from his wand tip. Draco basked in the glow of the fire smiling wickedly. He pulled open the door to his closet getting more pleasure from the act than he should have.
He was about to send all of his nice, dress robes up in smoke when his eyes fell on something lying forgotten in the back of the closet. It was his old Nimbus 2001 broomstick. It silently offered him escape. There really wasn’t any reason to stay anymore. Since he had arrived he had wanted nothing more than to leave. He had only remained the last few months because of Ginny and the baby.
With his heart hammering in his chest, Draco put out the fire in his wand and at the same time, the fire in his soul. He could get out. He shoved his wand back into his pockets and grabbed only the few items he wanted: the key to his own personal vault at Gringotts, a few old Hogwarts robes and the blanket he had bought his daughter for Christmas, which he couldn’t bring himself to leave behind. It was the only thing he had of hers.
He never looked back as he flew out the broken window.
* * *
“Where is Draco?” Narcissa asked her husband pleasantly at breakfast. She was completely unaware that today was anything but a normal morning.
Lucius swallowed a bit of fruit. “In his room,” he answered without looking up. He wasn’t much in the mood for chit chat due to the day’s earlier events. Voldemort would have somebody’s head for this and he was trying to think of a way to make sure it wouldn’t be his.
“Oh.” Narcissa turned to look at the doorway again as if she were expecting her son to appear any moment. When he didn’t, she returned to her food which she picked at unhappily.
“Have you seen him today?” she asked still worried. She looked up at her husband waiting for his response. Her eyes didn’t meet the same scene as before. She shrieked and nearly fell over in surprise. They weren’t alone anymore. There was a man, and horrible, disfigured man who looked more like a snake than anything else standing at Lucius’ end of the table. She hadn’t heard him apparate.
Voldemort turned to look at her curiously. He had never met Lucius’s wife. She was pretty, no, gorgeous and she obviously didn’t think the same thing about him. She was leaning backwards in her chair trying to get as far away from him without standing up and running from the room. A woman like her was too well disciplined for a display like that. She found him repulsive but still refused to be frightened.
“My Lord!” Lucius stood up respectfully.
“Lucius.” Voldemort greeted him coolly, his red eyes still turned in the direction of Narcissa. “We have a problem.”
“Yes, yes,” he sputtered. “I’m well aware of the situation. I, of course, had nothing to do with her escape, my lord. Macnair only informed me after she was already dead.”
Dead? Narcissa mouthed the word. Who was dead?
To both Malfoys’ complete surprise, Voldemort started to laugh his high, cruel laugh. For the first time he turned to his Death Eater. “No. She’s not dead.” He laughed again. “She’s clever; thought she could fool me. I was, for a little while,” he admitted sounding rather impressed with Ginny more than anything else. “Then I felt it, just as strong as it was the day she was born. The child has power, Lucius and I can sense it. She’s alive. And if the child is alive then the mother must be too.”
Lucius looked nothing short of astonished. For once in his life, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t even act superior or blame it on someone else. Narcissa, who was just regaining her voice, spoke up for him.
“The child?” she asked meekly. Voldemort looked at her again. She was completely in the dark.
“You don’t know?” he asked the bewildered woman. Narcissa gave no reply. “She doesn’t know?” he asked Lucius. Surely Narcissa would’ve figured something was going on. It had, after all, all happened in her home.
“My wife and I have an, er, arrangement,” he said sheepishly. “I don’t involve her in my business then should anything happen to me she can honestly say she didn’t know a thing about it. It’s best that way; she can’t reveal my secrets.”
Voldemort nodded. He agreed. Aurors often used truth potions or other means on friends and family of suspected Death Eaters to find out information. The less people that knew, the better. Malfoy was the most slippery of the Death Eaters. He took every precaution necessary to make sure he was never caught. He’d rather die that be put to shame.
“Well,” he said in a pleased sort of way. Now that Narcissa knew part of the plan, she might as well know it all. “You husband has been aiding me in a particularly important task.” Her face still registered no understanding, so the Dark Lord continued. “He kidnapped Ginny Weasley and imprisoned her in your old guest room. Then we impregnated her with my heir.” he said bluntly as if Lucius had just gone to the market and picked up some bread. Narcissa covered in her mouth in horror. “Unfortunately, she escaped with the baby this morning. She faked her own death in order to evade the Death Eaters.”
He returned his attention to Lucius. “Which leads me to you, old friend,” he said in a manner that let it be known that they weren’t ‘friends’ but that Lucius would do his bidding. “The girl must be found. I need that heir. The other Death Eaters let her get away once and I would like someone,” he searched for the right word, “a bit more intelligent heading up the effort.”
Lucius beamed. Narcissa found him to look like a dog basking in the praise of his master. It was revolting. “Of course, my Lord,” he exclaimed. “I will retrieve the girl for you.”
“You can employ any Death Eater you wish,” Voldemort said lazily. He was counting on Lucius to perform this task for him, as he had bigger plans to deal with.
“Thank you, my Lord,” he said thinking of which Death Eaters would aid him in the search for Ginny. The Dark Lord obviously wanted this to be done quietly which meant he would have to be sneaky. Then a thought struck him. “Draco!” Who was more sneaky than his own son? “Draco will help me.”
Narcissa frowned. Lucius didn’t notice. Voldemort laughed.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” he said still chuckling.
Malfoy bristled. “Why not?”
“I’m afraid to say, he’s not the credit to the Cause you think he is, Lucius.” Behind both of the men’s backs, Narcissa grinned. Lucius looked crestfallen. He had hoped his son would take his spot in the circle when he was not around. Nonplussed, Voldemort continued. “And he has formed an unfortunate attachment to the child.”
Narcissa opened her mouth to speak again. How had her son gotten attached to this child? She hadn’t even known it existed.
The Dark Lord answered her before the words left her lips. “You didn’t know about that either, did you?” he asked but didn’t wait for an answer. “Lucius used his own spell, a mix of the Imperius Curse and Passion Potion if I’m not mistaken, and used your son to father the child,” he said almost gleefully, but Lord Voldemort is not gleeful.
Narcissa gasped. She looked as though she were about to throw up. “Lucius...” she breathed in disbelief and horror.
Her husband either didn’t notice her distress or didn’t care. He resumed his conversation with Voldemort. “Yes, I’ve seen that he has feelings for the child. But, my Lord, I will make him see that he’s not his child. Draco is a very bright boy, he’ll be of use to me.”
The Dark Lord shook his head. “He isn’t devoted to me, Lucius. He’s too proud and he cares too much for his line. It’s a flaw of character that I believe can be attributed to how he was raised,” he glanced surreptitiously at Narcissa. “No fault of your own of course. He’s protective of the family name. He wouldn’t have handed the child over to me. It’s better this way.”
“What way?” Lucius did not understand what his Master was getting at.
“Your son decided there isn’t any reason for him to stay here. He ruined all his things and run away,” Voldemort explained calmly.
There was a sharp intake of breath and a loud thud as Narcissa fainted dead away. Both men turned to look at her, but neither made a move to help her up.
* * *
STILL MORE NOTES: Wasn’t that fun? Heh. This is the part where I congratulate myself for getting through it all. The first three chapters are one part of the fic, and after this it goes into another part. Get ready for a gear shift.
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DISCLAIMER: All these characters (With the exception of the baby, or “Draco Jr.” as my reviewers call it. ^_^) belong to the incomparable JK Rowling. I’m sorry I stole them and did such horrible things to them. Please don’t sue. I have no money as is.
NOTES: As always, big thank yous to Amy and Tessie my beta readers, especially Tessie because she pointed out a major error in this chapter that Amy and I missed. And to my loyal readers because anyone who takes the time to read my fics rocks beyond all measure in my opinion.
* * *
Malfoy Manor was decorated more spectacularly than Draco could ever remember it. Narcissa was giving some sort of party but he couldn’t remember what it was for. He knew it wasn’t a holiday because there weren’t any gala worthy holidays in the middle of April. He imagined she was only giving it so she’d have someone to talk to who wasn’t a Death Eater. She had spent weeks planning every last detail so Draco pretended like he remembered what it was for just to keep her happy. He had been preoccupied with other situations.
Thousands of guests had been invited; they all chatted, danced and ate the delicious food with blissful smiles on their faces. Draco, on the other hand, stood off to the side yawning. He was tired from staying up late every night for the past two weeks. Ginny was just about due and he didn’t want to miss anything. He certainly didn’t what to have to tell his child that he missed his birth because he was dancing. Also, he found this type of party extremely tiresome.
He was sick of putting on a fake smile and shaking everyone’s hand. It seemed like every other person had known him when he was little and felt it necessary to tell him so based on how tall he had been last time they had seen each other. The only thing he hated more was when people would say, “Oh, hello, Draco. You remember me don’t you? You went to Hogwarts with my son, so-and-so.”
Then he’d have to force a smile and fight the urge to say, “Yes. I knew him. God, what an idiot you have for a kid. Hope you didn’t spend too much on his education. You could’ve gotten the same result if you had left him on a mountain somewhere to be raised by wolves.”
For whatever reason, they were always offended after he said things like that. People were very touchy when it came to their children.
Draco scowled darkly. Over the music he couldn’t hear what was going on upstairs. For all he knew, Ginny could be pumping out his child right then. He glanced at the clock impatiently. Five hours. He had been sitting through this hell for five hours. He sighed. Narcissa was still cheerfully playing the role of hostess. She was in her element; she was actually shining. She never got sick of people telling her how lovely she looked, how beautiful the house was and what a great party it was.
He yawned again. Everyone blurred together, literally. His vision was clouding due to the sleep deprivation. Either that, or the pâté was bad.
“Draco? You don’t look well.” Narcissa’s voice made Draco jump. He didn’t remember her walking over to him. He must have dozed off.
“I’m fine,” he replied as he swayed unsteadily on his feet.
She looked at him quizzically. “Perhaps you should retire.”
Draco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was like his birthday had come early. She normally made him suffer all the way through her parties no matter what. One year he had broken four fingers in a Quidditch accident and she had not only refused to heal it but still made him give every guest a hearty handshake.
He gave her a long searching look. She nodded wearily. “Go on.”
He grinned. “Goodnight, Mum,” he said as he kissed her affectionately on the cheek.
The music got fainter and fainter as he ascended the stairs until he could only hear the beat of the drum shaking the floor beneath him. He paused at the top of the stairs. Ginny’s room was silent still. The Death Eater didn’t look up at Draco. He was slumped against the door as if it were the only thing holding him up. He looked just as tired as Draco felt.
Draco sighed. She was over due; he was sure of it now. It was at least a week, maybe two. He had never known Ginny to be late before. Why was it that now she was late for the most important event in of both of their lives? He scolded himself for thinking that way. It wasn’t like Ginny had planned to keep them all waiting. She was probably as anxious as he was.
A watched pot never boils, a voice in the back of his head sang out.
That statement had never made any sense to Draco. Of course it would boil. And if it didn't, then you should do that spell to make water boil. He didn’t know it because he never prepared his own food, but he was sure there was one. He had seen the house elves do it.
As soon as his eyes met his large, four poster bed, Draco fell upon it. He didn’t bother to remove his expensive dress robes. He was just too tired. His mother would surely have it out with him over the wrinkled fabric but he just didn’t care. Sleep was too overpowering. He found himself drifting off as soon as his head hit the over-stuffed pillow.
He felt like he was only asleep for seconds when he was abruptly awoken by a scream that ripped through the night. For a moment, Draco didn’t know who or where he was. Then the scream came again, louder and unmistakably female. He glanced at the clock. 12:03. He had been out for almost two hours.
Ginny screamed again. He muffled heard voices. Someone yelling at her. Draco kicked himself as he scrambled out of bed. How long had she been in labor? What had he missed?
That reasonable part of his head told him not to worry. He couldn’t have missed that much since he hadn’t heard her until now and because she had been quiet two hours ago. Which meant she hadn’t been in pain.
He reached the door of his room and paused. There were more voices now. That meant a bunch of Death Eaters were out there with her. They probably had orders not to let him around Ginny. Draco felt all his muscles clench involuntarily. He didn’t care if they didn’t want him to see. It was his kid for Merlin’s sake! He wasn’t going to miss this. He grabbed the doorknob and prepared to fling the door open.
Then something happened that made his stomach drop into the floor below him. It didn’t open. He pulled on it again, this time more roughly. Still, it didn’t give way. Someone had locked it from the outside. Frantic, he grabbed it with both hands and put all his weight into prying the door open. Nothing.
Draco growled in frustration. He kicked at the door so harshly that the dresser next to it shook with the force. But the door didn’t budge. Hurling every spell he could think of at the offending door, all the while, Ginny was screaming intermittently from the other room. Her shouts only made him more desperate to get to her. He threw his entire body against the wood, which only served to give him terrific pain in his shoulder.
Dejectedly, he sank to the floor still clutching his arm, which would surely be bruised in the morning. He was sweating and breathing ragged breaths. It occurred to him that he had probably never worked so hard before in his life. Fitting that it wouldn’t do any good at all. He leaned back against the stubborn door as Ginny cried out again.
He could imagine her lying there with a horde of strange Death Eaters surrounding her. She was red faced and her hair clung to her face with sweat. Every now and then there was a low whimpering moan to accompany her painful shrieks. He bet she was crying. The tears probably mingled with her sweat as they dripped down her face.
The Death Eaters probably didn’t care that she was crying. They were staring at her with stony expressions, the fact that a miracle was being performed before their very eyes completely lost on them. He wanted to push through the wall to her, like a ghost, and let her know that she wasn’t alone and that it would be all right.
The hands of the clock slowly moved around its face. Draco never wavered; he spent the entire night with his ear pressed firmly against the door listening for every scream and muffled word. Despite the sleep that had been overpowering only hours ago, he was completely awake through the entire ordeal. Before he knew it, five hours had passed and the sun was peaking out ever so slightly from its hiding place in the mountains.
It was that eerie time before dawn, when it was not quite night anymore but not yet morning, when her shouts started to come even closer together. He, and everyone else, knew the moment was approaching. There seemed to be an charge in the air, a note of urgency. It was as if the entire world were waiting for the baby to pop out and then the day could truly start. He had constantly remind himself to breath because he was so focused on what was happening outside he wasn’t paying attention to himself.
Ginny was screaming louder and more often now. His heart started to race in his chest, as the voice in the back of his head whispered “You’re about to be a father.” It didn’t matter if he would be like Lucius or worse. The baby was coming no matter what; he had absolutely no control over it. It was kind of like flying on a broomstick. He vividly recalled a time when Potter had shot off into the night after the Snitch. Draco, of course, had taken off after him. Potter had always been a better flier, one of the things that annoyed Draco most about him. For Harry it had been effortless to streak, to snatch the Snitch out of the air and pulled out of the dive. But for Draco, it was like being hurled at top speed toward the ground with no brakes. He knew he was going to smack into the Earth, it would probably even hurt a great deal but there was nothing he could do about it.
Soon his pounding heart was silenced by the sound of Ginny’s yells. He listened intently. He couldn’t explain it but they were different now, more guttural. And if he wasn’t mistaken there was a note of fear in her voice.
He raised to his feet and began pacing around the room in tune the voice in the back of his head saying “Something’s wrong... Something’s wrong... Something’s wrong...” He chewed nervously on his thumbnail. He wanted so badly to see what was happening. Why wouldn’t anyone tell him anything?
“Ginny!” he yelled at the top of his lungs hoping someone, anyone would answer. He didn’t care that he was supposed to be asleep or that they didn’t want him hanging around. He needed to know. He felt like he would die if he didn’t.
Ginny screamed again. This time, Draco screamed with her. She didn’t sound any better. If anything, she sounded worse. It made a painful knot in his chest, like someone had punched him repeatedly. All he wanted was for her to be all right, but there was nothing to be done. All he could do was pace around the room listening to her pained cries.
He picked up a knick-knack off the dresser, a ridiculously expensive paperweight made of crystal, and hurled it at the wall. The ornament shattered into thousands of pieces just as Ginny cried out again. The bits ricocheted off the wall sending them all across the floor. They made a sort of dusty covering over the glossy, hard-wood floor the kind that the house elves had tired so long and hard to avoid.
“Was that really necessary?” his mirror asked angrily, obviously very perturbed at having been awakened in the middle of the night.
Draco didn’t answer. He didn’t hear. He sunk to the ground as all his anger left him only to be replaced by powerful fear. He knew in his heart that he was the only one who cared if Ginny came out of this alive. The Death Eaters didn’t give a damn about her or the baby; they only feared Voldemort’s wrath. He also knew that if his hunches were right and that something really was wrong then there wasn’t anyone to help her. They couldn’t go to a mediwizard since it was supposed to be a secret that she was there and the Death Eaters knew nothing of birth, only death.
He felt the shattered glass cut into his legs and hands as he sunk to his knees. He had tried everything possible to get out of his prison to her but he had failed. If he couldn’t do anything for her, then who would?
Draco looked down at the floor. There was nothing he could do. He ran his hands, his useless hands, over the shards. He didn’t flinch when the pieces cut into him, drawing droplets of mortal blood. His hands had always been so smooth with the lack of work. He never remembered seeing them as bloody as they were today. He breathed out an unsteady breath as he slowly looked up.
The vaulted ceiling stretched out above him. There were intricate carvings in the marble and panting, hand done by famous artists, on the plaster. People always commented on it when they saw his room. He didn’t see it. He was trying to see beyond it.
He spoke with a trembling voice. “Uh...God?” he asked, unsure of how this was done as he had never prayed before in his life. “Er, hi,” he whispered, still unsure of himself. “I know you and I haven’t been on speaking terms, you know, ever. That was, uh, all my fault. See, I was an ass,” he paused, realizing he probably shouldn’t swear in front of a deity. “I mean a git. I was a git,” he corrected himself. “Anyway, you shouldn’t take my mistakes out on Ginny and the baby.” He stopped again. “Well you’re God and you can do whatever you want... But you shouldn’t let Ginny suffer like this. She’s a good person. I know because whenever I did mean stuff to her in school, she’d never call me names or,” he swallowed hard, “sink to my level.”
He must have been quite the sight. The sun was only filling the part of the room closest to the window while the majority was still cloaked in darkness, and in the middle of the room Draco, who was still dressed in the very finest dress robes that were now ripped, wrinkled and covered in blood, knelt with his face turned to the Heavens while the agonized cries of Ginny Weasley, a girl he once hated, drifted through the locked door to his ears.
“I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry. I can’t fix it and I’ll probably never be as good of a person as Ginny is. So if you’re going to save anyone it should be her. If you could just make sure that she and the baby are okay, then I’d really appreciate it. Thanks.”
Suddenly everything was still.
Draco felt a great weight lift from his chest. The days when he had despised everything with red hair and freckles seemed a distant memory. Some things were more important than age old vendettas, and this little baby was one of them.
The sun was rising. The same moment he felt the warmth hit the back of his neck, a faint whimper from the other room made the tears that he hadn’t known were threatening to come down his face come. It was a baby’s cry. It was dull at first then got progressively louder until it was filling up the entire manor.
A smile slowly spread across Draco’s face until he was laughing uncontrollably. “I’m a father,” he chuckled in a mix of nerves and joy. He felt like running around the entire room shrieking at the top of his lungs. Now he knew why some men went about giving every person they saw a cigar. He wanted to tell everyone. “I’m a father.”
The baby wailed loudly. He could hear the Death Eaters trying to shut it up to no avail. The baby wouldn’t quiet until Ginny got to hold it protectively in her arms. “Shh.” Draco could barely make out the sound of her voice as she hushed the screaming child. “Don’t mind them, baby. They may be big and ugly but I won’t let them hurt you.”
He grinned stupidly. That’s right, he thought. He wanted to go in there and add his voice to the chorus. “We won’ let them hurt you.”
A commotion in the hallway brought Draco back to his senses. He scrambled, on all fours, back to the door and pressed his ear against it. Footsteps grew louder and louder as did the voices of the people they belonged to. They were coming to see the baby. Without even hearing them speak, Draco knew who one of the men was. He had a distinctive walk. It was almost as if he were slithering instead of taking human steps.
Voldemort didn’t sound pleased.
“Idiots,” he hissed. “Can you do nothing right?”
If possible, Draco pressed his head closer to the door. Was something wrong with his baby?
“But, Sir...,” the other voice protested. It was high pitched and sniveling. “This is not our fault... it was always a possibility... there was no way of knowing...”
“Silence, Wormtail! I don’t want to hear any more of your whimpering.” The Dark Lord only sounded angrier that Wormtail dare suggest that it wasn’t the Death Eaters’ fault. “I was very clear about what I wanted this baby to be, but still you have brought me this,” he scoffed disgustedly, “this, girl.”
It took a moment for Draco to register what he had just heard. Then like a whip crack, he started bouncing excitedly, which hurt a great deal as he was still on his knees. “It’s a girl! It’s a girl!” he cheered proudly but quietly to no one in particular.
The mirror rolled its eyes at Draco‘s uncharacteristic antics. Draco stuck his tongue out at it and continued his chanting. “It’s a girl! It’s a girl! I have a baby girl!”
His mind was flooded with images of him holding a pretty, little girl in frilly robes in his arms. She hugged him lovingly.
“My heir was to be male!” Voldemort bellowed furiously on the other side of the door.
A triumphant grin spread across Draco’s face. The Dark Lord’s anger only served to make him happier. Most of his trusty book had been confusing, but he had learned one thing and that was that the father determined the sex of a baby. That could only mean one thing. “She’s not your heir, Voldemort.”
* * *
The baby remained with Ginny for many weeks. The Death Eaters had been advised that it was best to keep a newborn with its mother while she was nursing. Sometimes Draco could hear the baby gurgling. He got the strangest sensation when he thought that those sounds were coming from his daughter. She didn’t cry often. Generally, she was quite an easy-going, even tempered child. Draco assumed she got that from Ginny because ‘even’ and ‘tempered’ were words that were never used to describe a Malfoy.
The Dark Lord only came to see her once, just after her birth. He had made a little speech about the child marking the dawn of a new era. Then he had, apparently, tried to take her from Ginny. The child had cried something awful when he touched her, which made Draco smile in a proud sort of way. He wasn’t the most attractive man and probably scared the wits out of her but Draco chalked it up to intelligence.
Draco was still banned from seeing Ginny or the baby. He had thought it was torture not getting to see her when she was pregnant but he was wrong. That was a champagne breakfast compared to not being able to see his daughter. He felt like he was being punched in the chest whenever he heard her cry, even though it was 100 times better than not hearing her at all.
The first time he got to see her was rather unexpected. The Malfoy Family was quietly eating dinner in the dining room. Narcissa was angry with Lucius over something but Lucius didn’t notice. Draco was anxious to go back up to his room and try to find out what Ginny was doing. He barely ate anything, only pushed it around on his plate and tried to transfigure it into smaller portions. He was trying to make it look as though he had finished his dessert, when the all the house elves came rushing out into the dining room as they would have if there had been a stampede of Hippogriffs in the kitchens.
The Malfoys all rose to their feet. Narcissa and Lucius were sputtering, utterly furious that the elves had interrupted dinner. Their protests were lost in the sea of screams coming from the elves. Draco couldn’t help but notice the terrified expressions that the elves wore. One elf even hid behind his legs for protection. He was going to kick the wretched creature and tell it to get off him when he noticed it was a particularly small, young female, probably a baby. She looked up at him with the roundest, watery eyes he had ever seen. Draco sighed and kicked himself for allowing an elf to grab hold of his robes but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her off.
“What is going on?” Narcissa demanded of the elf in charge when they finally quieted down.
“We is begging your pardon, ma’am,” he said in a high-pitched, fearful voice as he twisted his ears to punish himself. “Foppy is lighting the fire in the ballroom when he is seeing a head in the fireplace.” He started to bang his head against the wall to prevent himself from saying anything that would anger the Malfoys. “He is scaring the other elves, ma’am.”
Lucius brushed past the elves wearing a disgusted statement. He disappeared into the large, empty ballroom. His voice drifted in to the occupants of the dining room. “My Lord,” he said politely. Narcissa scowled darkly at his words. Her anger with the elves was completely forgotten.
“Come along now.” She ushered the elves back into the kitchen. “Just stay out of the library for tonight. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said in a tone that betrayed the truth. There were lots of things to be afraid of when Lord Voldemort was in the house.
Once the elves were safely packed away, she turned to her son exasperatedly. “I don’t know...” her voice trailed off as her eyes settled on something behind Draco. He spun around to find Lucius standing in the doorway.
She pursed her lips. Draco knew she was dying to say something but was holding her tongue. “More guests tonight, dear?” she asked with a sour smile and obvious distaste for the endearment.
Lucius nodded curtly. “The Death Eaters will be apparating shortly.” He turned to Draco. “You might as well come.” He didn’t sound happy about it. If Draco wasn’t mistaken, Lucius was a tad distrustful of his own offspring.
If possible, Narcissa scowled even more at her husband’s words. She looked from Lucius to Draco with a warning sort of look but she said nothing. She left with her head held high and her nose in the air. “I’m going to bed,” she called in a haughty tone once she was halfway out the door as if it were just a second thought that she should tell them where she was going.
Lucius turned back to Draco with narrowed eyes. “Do not anger the Dark Lord.” He said each word as if it were its own sentence.
Lucius turned on his heel and marched out of the dining room without another word. Draco shrugged and followed after him. He hoped he wouldn’t be taking the Dark Mark this evening. That wasn’t something he looked forward too. In fact, that was something he rather hoped he could avoid all together. He was busy thinking of excuses to get himself out of it when the other Death Eaters started to appear.
Soon the ballroom, which was usually vacant save a few chairs stacked in the corner, filled with men in hooded robes. They all took their place in a circle. Draco didn’t know where to stand. He decided to stand next to Lucius, even though he didn’t much feel like being around the man at the moment. They left a space so everyone could see Voldemort’s head bobbing in the flames of the fireplace. He had always had a demonic appearance, but the addition of the fire dancing behind him made him look like the devil himself. Draco once again felt an intense urge to flee, but he stood his ground trying to focus his mind on other things like his baby.
Besides, Draco reminded himself, Voldemort wasn’t actually in the room. He was just speaking to them from the fireplace. There wasn’t much he could do from there. This brought him a little comfort. How could Voldemort give him the Dark Mark if he didn’t have any hands? No, whatever they were all doing there that evening it obviously wasn’t important enough for Voldemort to actually be present. He doubted he was about to be initiated.
Once they were all in place, the Dark Lord nodded his head at a particularly large and ugly Death Eater. The man bowed as he backed out of the room. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his spot. Everyone else was waiting for the Death Eater to return. He wished he knew what he had gone to get. Then he could prepare himself for what was about to come.
He braced himself for unspeakable horrors. He constantly reminded himself why he was there; why he was putting up with this: his baby. That thought made him feel all warm inside, like he could face anything. He was dumbfounded, then, when the Death Eater returned not with something gruesome or evil, but with a tiny lump of blankets which he held awkwardly in his arms.
For a moment, Draco didn’t know what it was. He wondered what Voldemort could possibly want that was wrapped in fluffy, pink stuff. It was so unlike him. It wasn’t until the child inside started to cry that he realized his daughter was in those blankets.
He had to restrain himself from running over to the baby and scooping her up into his arms. He had never seen her before, and he wanted to get a better look. Was she all right? Was everything in the right place? Did she have all her fingers and toes? He stood on his tiptoes trying to catch a glimpse of her. All he could see was blankets. He wished she would stop crying. It bothered him to no end that his baby wasn’t happy. She had been quiet in Ginny’s room. Anger flooded him. Had the Death Eater done something to make her cry? He felt an inexplicable need to go punch him in the nose.
“Ugh,” complained Avery as he put his hands over his ears. “Why is she wailing like that?”
Draco growled low in his throat. No one heard. All most of the men cared about was that her crying was displeasing to them. It was obvious to him that something was bothering her. They should be trying to comfort her. Yet, none of them made a move to do anything.
The first Death Eater pulled the tiny baby out of her blankets. “Here she is, my Lord,” he said as he held her up like a trophy.
Draco clenched his fists. It was the first time he ever laid eyes on his daughter. He wished he had their first encounter hadn’t been while she was crying incessantly with dozens of evil men looking on. He wanted some time alone with her, just to look at her and hold her. He needed to think. There were so many conflicting emotions coursing through his body at that moment. He was angry. He was afraid he’d be a bad father. Most of all, he was so in love with her he didn’t know what to do with himself. She was so beautiful. She was small but everything looked to be in the right place. To him, she was perfect.
The others didn’t share his sentiments. “Someone shut her up!” yelled another Death Eater.
“What the heck is wrong with her?” someone else screeched irritably.
Draco looked long and hard at the child. “She’s cold,” he said without realizing he had spoken aloud. Everyone turned to look at him. His father looked angry that he had said anything. He didn’t know how he knew. He just did. It was drafty on the first floor and she was used to being in Ginny’s warm arms. That mean, old Death Eater had come, ripped her from her comfortable spot and brought her down her where lots of scary men leered at her. No wonder the poor thing was crying.
“Give her to the boy,” Voldemort commanded from the fireplace. Draco had never heard him give an order he liked so much.
He held his arms out ready to accept her. The Death Eater warily placed the child in his outstretched arms. He felt warmth spread through his body the moment she touched him. His nose filled with the distinctive baby smell coming off her. It was fresh and clean: the smell of innocence, something that wasn’t often found in Malfoy Manor. The girl looked up and their eyes met. Draco would’ve sworn that she recognized him. She smiled a childish smile and shrieked happily, kicking her little legs and flailing her arms. He knew the feeling.
“Huh? You cold?” he asked her in a gentle tone as he conjured another blanket to wrap around her. Instinctively she snuggled against him toward the warmth. A content grin formed on her chubby cheeks. He reached out to touch them. He couldn’t really believe that he was holding her after waiting so long. She giggled at his touch. Her tiny fingers caught his thumb. Her hands were so small that‘s all they could grab.
His father was looking daggers at him, but he couldn’t seem to care. All of his problems and fears disappeared the moment her skin touched his. The other Death Eaters had turned to Voldemort expectantly. Draco didn’t notice. He was so wrapped up in his daughter. They could’ve held the Quidditch World Cup in that room and he wouldn’t have paid it no mind. Some things were just more important.
“Give the child the wand,” Voldemort instructed causing Draco to look up for the first time. The others were milling about importantly. They drew a circle on the floor and stood inside it’s edges. He found himself hustled into the middle of the circle.
The baby whimpered when they started chanting something. “Shh,” he tried to soothe her. It hurt him when she cried. He had to stop her. “It’s ok. It’s ok.” He bounced her up and down playfully. “You’re all right.”
Lucius, acting like his job was a crucial one, stepped over to the fireplace. He said something in hushed tones to the Dark Lord. Draco couldn’t make it out. When he turned around again, he had a wand in his hand. It was made of yew and rather long. A little over 13 inches, Draco would guess. As Lucius advanced on his son with the wand held tightly in his hand, flashes of memories swirled in his mind. His father, with his wand outstretched, advancing on him from the door to his bedroom in the middle of the night. Draco didn’t want to remember that night he had first been forced under the spell that would end with the conception of his daughter.
The child in his arms squirmed as Lucius approached. The simple action managed to break the hold he had over Draco. He looked down at his daughter. She was waving her arms about, like she was trying to get his attention. He smiled at the irony of it all. She was right of course. He should be looking at her, not Lucius, he wasn’t worth his son’s time.
His father was upon them now. He looked down at his son and granddaughter with little or no emotion at all. It was similar to standing in front of a block of ice. Draco pulled the blankets tighter around the girl. She twisted in her father’s arms again trying to get her grandfather to play with her too. She cooed and smiled proudly as she blew a spit bubble. Lucius observed her expressionlessly.
Following Voldemort’s orders, he tried to stuff the wand into the girl's tiny fist. Knowing nothing about babies, Lucius was unaware she was too young to hold a wand. Draco rolled his eyes. He was not surprised when the wand fell from her fist. The girl turned her eyes to her father, disinterested in the wand, since it was just a big stick to her. "How old do you think she is father? She can't hold a wand yet," Draco hissed under his breath so the other Death Eaters couldn’t hear. Lucius didn’t respond.
Draco knew what they were testing for. When wizards and witches went to buy wands they tested them by seeing which wand they could make sparks fly from. This proved, not only that the wand was a correct fit, but that there was magic in the wizards blood. Most wizards couldn’t work a wand properly until they were older, which is why schools started when they were adolescents. Of course, Voldemort’s heir should be superior and, therefore, able to do it at birth. The wand they expected her to use was obviously Voldemort’s. They wanted to see if had powers like his.
“My Lord,” said one of the Death Eaters in a lofty tone. “One cannot expect a child this young to work a wand. That is why wizard children only go off to school when they’re eleven --”
His syrupy voice was silenced immediately by the sound of Voldemort’s wrath. “Silence!” he roared. “She is my heir. She is not some common child. If your,” he drawled the last word, making it clear he blamed the Death Eaters, “spell had worked then she would be powerful enough to do many spells by now.”
Draco tried hard not to laugh. He was expecting an awful lot from her. How exactly would she perform these spells having not yet mastered the ability to speak or even sit upright? Hell she was a few weeks old, she couldn't even hold the wand by herself. Still, he had faith that his child was a cut above the rest. He didn’t care about what Voldemort had done to her, his child wasn’t an ordinary witch. She could do this; she just needed a little help.
Voldemort was incensed that she would be so careless with his wand. The Death Eaters were in a tizzy. They were all apologizing for the girls inability to do the task. None of them thought that they should have tested her so early. “She’s just a baby,” they kept saying over and over again. Draco frowned. They didn’t think she could do it.
Draco, wanting to prove that his child was special, decided that he would have to help her. He bent down, carefully so the baby didn’t slip from his arms, and retrieved the discarded wand. She giggled, thinking it was some sort of ride. “That’s a good girl,” he whispered soothingly. The Death Eaters were so busy falling all over themselves, contemplating Voldemort's wrath that none of them heard his voice. “We can do this, right? Show them your stuff, little one.”
Draco put the wand in her tiny hand by gently wrapping his large one around hers. “Ready?” he cooed. She didn’t respond. She was, after all, an infant and didn’t understand what he was saying. Draco smiled tenderly at his daughter as he started moving her wrist, and in the process, waving the wand.
A brilliant display of sparks gushed from the wand in amounts Draco had never seen before. They were all a shocking pink color that contrasted sharply with the dark ballroom. Their light filled the entire ballroom, which fit several hundred people for Narcissa’s parties. All the Death Eaters turned around to see what was happening. For once, they were all silent. The sparks, like tiny, pink stars in the sky, danced around the room like a fireworks display. It was a good ten minutes before the shower of pink died down. When it did, Draco was grinning broadly.
He didn’t notice Voldemort eying him suspiciously.
Soon, a rude Death Eater came and ripped his daughter from his arms, which felt oddly cold without her presence. That night, he heard her gurgling in Ginny’s room. “Don’t worry, baby,” she said loudly so the Death Eater outside could hear. “Those mean, ugly Death Eaters are gone now. You’re safe with me.”
* * *
Draco wasn’t keen on attending anymore clandestine Death Eater meetings. He had gotten to see his daughter, that was all he wanted out of them. He had been tempted to take the girl and run off with her in his arms. He had decided not to because he didn’t want to leave Ginny behind, nor did he think he had a icecube’s chance in hell to escape with so many Death Eaters standing around watching him.
Since that night he had been planning two things. The first, and most important, was how he was going to get Ginny, the baby and get out of Malfoy Manor without being caught. That alone would take all his cunning and lying but he was confident that he could pull it off. After all, he was a Malfoy. The second thing would be a little easier but no less dangerous. He had to think of a reason he couldn’t join the Death Eaters.
A few weeks after that night in the ballroom, his father had announced that Draco was to attend an early morning meeting the next day. He stayed up all night thinking of a good lie. He had a feeling that faking a cold wouldn’t cut it. Even Narcissa didn’t always believe him when he pulled that one. And he got the feeling that ‘true Death Eaters’ would do whatever their Lord asked of them even on their death bed. Draco couldn’t imagine that kind of devotion to the wretched, old bastard.
He glanced at the clock. It was almost time. He hadn’t slept at all but he hadn’t thought of anything either. He cursed. He used to be so good at thinking up sneaky plans to get himself out of trouble, or more accurately, sneaky plans to get other people in trouble. Now, he had nothing. He was seriously considering breaking a bone or possibly several.
The clock outside ticked off the hour in strong, even tones. Draco groaned audibly. He could hear cloaks sweeping across the floor as the Death Eaters passed his door. He resigned himself to the fact that he would have to attend this meeting and got ready as slowly as he could. His mirror just stared blearily back at him, silently wondering what Draco was doing up at that hour. Draco tried to screw up his face. It looked like he was in for another day of pretending to be mini-Lucius.
They would meet in the ballroom, like before. Draco shuffled his feet as he walked, delaying the inevitable until the last possible moment. The first thing that met his ears as he descended the stairs was yelling. The Death Eaters were bickering amongst themselves. Voldemort had not yet arrived. Draco stepped back. He didn’t enter the room. He stood a few feet away from the door, watching them.
The only men not partaking in the brawl were his father, who was glaring at the others distastefully, and Professor Snape, who was standing off away from the others staring off into the night as if he weren’t part of the group.
“It’s time!” cried Macnair angrily. He gestured his hands emphatically so that his hood fell of his head. “She’s of no use anymore.”
Draco scowled his patented scowl. He knew they must be talking about Ginny. Many of the Death Eaters were of the opinion that all they needed her for was to have the baby. Now, she had done that and they wanted to get rid of her. Draco was sure “getting rid of her” didn’t mean sending her on vacation to someplace sunny either.
“The Dark Lord hasn’t given us any orders,” stammered Wormtail who didn’t have enough courage to take one side or the other. “We should wait for his word.” No one appeared to hear him.
“She’s a liability...” Macnair muttered obviously put off.
Suddenly from across the room, a harsh voice spoke up to shut him up. “And who is going to take care of the child if you kill her?“ Snape asked sharply in the same tone Draco had heard him use when Neville Longbottom didn’t know the difference between eye of newt and eye of salamander. “You, Macnair?” he scoffed. Macnair avoided his probing gaze. “You just want to kill everything that moves,” he concluded. “Lucky you got that job as executioner or you’d be in Azkaban for sure. No brains.”
Macnair was livid. He was so angry that he was at a loss for words. Snape continued to stare at him menacingly, daring him to say something. Even the hardened executioner seemed to crumbled under Snape’s death glare. If there was one thing Severus Snape was good at it was telling people off. When he gave you that look, you shut up and fast.
Out in the hall, Draco offered up a small thanks and cheers for his former Potions professor. Everyone else was either too cowardly to stand up to Macnair or didn’t care one way or another if Ginny died. He wondered briefly why Snape did. He had never liked the Weasleys, or anyone for that matter. But then again, Draco had never liked Ginny either and he would’ve blocked the door to her room with his own body if it had come to that.
“Perhaps we should take the child away from the girl,” Lucius spoke up thoughtfully. “Then she won’t get so attached.”
Draco snorted. He had only seen the kid once and he was already more attached than he could’ve dreamed possible. He doubted Ginny was any different. Taking her away a few hours out of the day wouldn’t make any difference. Of course, his father didn’t know much about attachment to his children so one couldn’t blame him for making such an asinine comment.
Macnair brushed passed the others. “I’ll go get the child,” he announced. Before he could exit the dusty ballroom, Snape held up a stiff hand to block him.
The Professor glared so that one would think he was the killer. “If you kill her, Macnair, the Dark Lord will not be pleased,” he said warningly.
Macnair shook him off irritably. He didn’t respond with a snappy comment, which lead Draco to believe that he was going to be a good boy. He was probably scared witless of Snape, he reasoned.
When Macnair entered the hallway, Draco pretended that he had just arrived for the meeting not wanting him to know he had been standing outside eavesdropping. Macnair, however, didn’t notice him at all. He stalked past muttering under his breath. Draco had a feeling he didn’t like being told what to do. His stomach lurched in his body as he watched the older man disappear up the stairs. Perhaps, they shouldn’t let Macnair go up there alone. He might do things that Draco would regret.
He was about to go after the Death Eater when he heard his father call from inside the ballroom. “Draco! Get in here!” He looked longingly in the direction Macnair had just gone, wishing he had been a bit sneakier and that his father didn’t have such an eagle eye.
All the Death Eaters turned to watch him enter the room. Some wore expressions of distrust; others of out right loathing. He heard some whisperings about what had happened last time they had met. Draco wasn’t supposed to have shown any affection for his daughter. He wasn’t even supposed to think of her as his daughter.
Draco held his head high and looked them all in the face. They could all go jump off a turret for all he cared. He had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Draco,” his father said frostily, “we have much to discuss.”
He couldn’t help but smirk. He wasn’t sure his father knew the meaning of the word ‘discuss.’ He usually just did whatever he wanted. Lucius didn’t see what was funny. His face turned from even and unfeeling into a frown. “Yes, Father?” he chirped, his voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.
Lucius furrowed his brow. He wouldn’t stand for his only son being insolent in front of his peers. But he continued despite himself, not wanting to make a scene. “The Dark Lord wishes --”
A din in the hallway cut Lucius off. He closed his mouth rapidly. Everyone turned to see Macnair fling open the doors to the ballroom again. He was flushed from running down the stairs. Veins were popping out of his forehead from anger. He looked left and right suspiciously at ever person in the room. His eyes lingered over Draco and Snape a bit longer than anyone else.
“Walden?” Lucius sputtered curiously. “What --?”
For a second time, the executioner cut Draco’s father off. “She’s gone!” he cried irately. “The Weasley girl is gone! And she’s taken our Lord’s heir!”
Draco staggered as if someone had hit him. Ginny had escaped? But how? He was torn between being joyous and frightened. She had escaped that meant she and the baby were safe. But she had escaped without him. She would go into hiding now. No one would be able to find her, especially not him. He might never see his child again!
The other Death Eaters began shouting questions at Macnair and shouting at each other. There was generally a lot of shouting. They were more frightened at what the Dark Lord would do to them when he found out the baby was missing than anything. None of them cared for her safety.
Macnair held up his hand so he could continue his tirade. “I found Mulciber on the floor of her room. She took his wand and knocked him unconscious.” Inwardly, Draco cheered Ginny. If she had a wand then she’d be more likely to survive her flight and because he had always wanted to give that goon a good whack.
Mass confusion ensued. They all started accusing each other of helping Ginny escape. No one but Draco was willing to believe that she was capable of sneaking out herself. He thought it rather funny that the idea had never occurred to them. She had been locked away in the same place for nearly eleven months now. Surely she would’ve come up with some idea as how to get out. Her twin brothers had been masters of sneaking around Hogwarts, they had probably taught her a thing or two. Draco was also completely confident that he was the only one who had given thought to helping her escape and that meant that she had done it on her own.
The Death Eaters continued yelling unintelligibly until a sharp call from Lucius Malfoy quieted them all down. He was never one to let confusion reign in his house. He liked things ordered and planned. He also liked taking charge and didn‘t waste anytime doing just that. “Don’t just stand there bickering with one another. FIND HER!”
Pop! Pop! Pop! The Death Eaters disapparted in groups vowing to search the grounds of Malfoy manor and the surrounding areas for Ginny. She couldn’t apparate yet so she couldn’t have gotten far, they reasoned. Draco hoped the Malfoy’s large, guard dogs had large, Death Eater-sized meals that morning.
Draco felt a firm hand on his shoulder. His father was looking down at him with an unreadable statement. “I didn’t help her,” he said truthfully. He left out the part where he wished he had. There were some things his father needn’t know. His father searched his face. Then, finding no trace of deception, nodded his head grimly.
About a half an hour later, Draco and Lucius were still standing silently in the ballroom. Draco didn’t want to talk to his father at a time like this. He didn’t even want to look at him but he had to stay in the ballroom in case there was any news. Lucius was busying himself by looking important and ordering around any Death Eater he could find. It occurred to Draco, that his father fancied himself Voldemort’s second in command. He probably wasn’t too keen to be knocked out of that prized spot by a baby who was only weeks old. This made Draco smile.
While Draco was gloating, Macnair reappeared in the ballroom. He had a tattered piece of cloth in his hands and he wore an statement that Draco couldn’t make out. It was part fear, part anger and part disbelief. He swallowed hard when he looked at Draco and Lucius. Draco got the impression that he didn’t want to say whatever it was he had to say.
Slowly, he raised the cloth in his hand. Draco grabbed the fireplace for support. Now he recognized it. It was the pink blanket that his daughter had been wrapped in. Now it was caked in blood and dirty and had been ripped to shreds.
“They’re dead,” whispered Macnair hoarsely.
* * *
Draco slammed the door of his bedroom so hard the painting of Malfoy Manor circa 1500 fell hard from its spot on the wall, shattering its frame. At first he couldn’t believe it. Ginny dead? Never. Then he had been despondent. His daughter was dead! All it had taken was one look at the spotless room to throw him into a frenzy.
There were expensive clothes in the closet. The furniture was top quality. It had all been in his family for centuries. The ornaments that adorned the dresser were priceless. The four-poster bed had once belonged to the King of England. The room itself was worth more money than Ginny Weasley had ever seen in her life. It was the kind of place most people could only dream of and work tirelessly for years hoping that one day they could live amongst these objects.
But Draco didn’t want any of them.
There was only one thing he wanted. There was only one thing he had ever wanted. He would give all these things up if he could just have his daughter back; if he could just hold her one more time. He had never even known her name, but still she was the one person he had truly loved in his life. He hadn’t known it until he had looked into her eyes. At that moment it had been perfectly clear: his heart belonged with that little girl.
“Rough day?” his mirror asked sleepily noticing his red face.
It was that moment that Draco snapped. He turned to the mirror with utter contempt. None of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t be so unfortunate to have been born a Malfoy. He would probably be at his job somewhere, maybe out with his girlfriend. One day, he’d have a child. That child’s mother would never feel the need to flee at dawn only to meet her death with men in hoods chasing after her. If he weren’t Draco Malfoy then his daughter would still be alive.
With an enraged cry, Draco lashed out. His arm struck one of the posters of his bed. His hand went clear through the wood causing it to break in two under the force. Without the support, the canopy crashed onto the mattress.
“Er, you really enjoy breaking things, don’t you?” his mirror observed nervously.
In response, Draco picked a long piece of broken wood. Twirling it in his hands like a baton, he approached the mirror who was looking for a way out to no avail. Draco’s first swing landed precisely in the center of the mirror. It shattered into hundreds of pieces that fell across the floor. He didn’t stop there, still wielding his mighty stick, he broke every single ornament and knick-knack on his dresser. He pulled out all the drawers and flung their contents out the window, which was still closed. There was a loud shattering sound as the first drawer hit the glass then a weak thud when it landed.
He ripped through the room. He had lots of things. Nothing was important. It was all just stuff that didn’t matter in the least to him. Most of it he only got because it was the best of the things he didn’t really want. His mind kept flashing back to his daughter. He imagined her crying because she was frightened as Ginny screamed before their lives were snuffed out.
Every time he saw her little face, his mind filled with more anger. As a result, he pounded his stick harder and harder trying to beat it out of himself. The wall had a large hole in it now. He didn’t really remember how it got there. His mind was such a haze of fury and pain. He didn’t even notice the tears streaming down his face or that he had been cut with some shards from the mirror and blood was dripping down his arm.
It felt like fire within him. He was just trying to put it out. Nothing helped. Every time he swung his stick he just got madder and madder. The flames kept licking at his heels. He couldn’t escape them. They were eating away at his insides, consuming him whole. He couldn’t think rationally anymore. There was only stuff that was broken and stuff to be broken to him. Maybe he just wanted to make it feel the same hurt he was.
Say, there was an idea. He reached into his pockets and pulled out his wand. “Incendio,” he whispered malevolently. Bright orange flames erupted from his wand tip. Draco basked in the glow of the fire smiling wickedly. He pulled open the door to his closet getting more pleasure from the act than he should have.
He was about to send all of his nice, dress robes up in smoke when his eyes fell on something lying forgotten in the back of the closet. It was his old Nimbus 2001 broomstick. It silently offered him escape. There really wasn’t any reason to stay anymore. Since he had arrived he had wanted nothing more than to leave. He had only remained the last few months because of Ginny and the baby.
With his heart hammering in his chest, Draco put out the fire in his wand and at the same time, the fire in his soul. He could get out. He shoved his wand back into his pockets and grabbed only the few items he wanted: the key to his own personal vault at Gringotts, a few old Hogwarts robes and the blanket he had bought his daughter for Christmas, which he couldn’t bring himself to leave behind. It was the only thing he had of hers.
He never looked back as he flew out the broken window.
* * *
“Where is Draco?” Narcissa asked her husband pleasantly at breakfast. She was completely unaware that today was anything but a normal morning.
Lucius swallowed a bit of fruit. “In his room,” he answered without looking up. He wasn’t much in the mood for chit chat due to the day’s earlier events. Voldemort would have somebody’s head for this and he was trying to think of a way to make sure it wouldn’t be his.
“Oh.” Narcissa turned to look at the doorway again as if she were expecting her son to appear any moment. When he didn’t, she returned to her food which she picked at unhappily.
“Have you seen him today?” she asked still worried. She looked up at her husband waiting for his response. Her eyes didn’t meet the same scene as before. She shrieked and nearly fell over in surprise. They weren’t alone anymore. There was a man, and horrible, disfigured man who looked more like a snake than anything else standing at Lucius’ end of the table. She hadn’t heard him apparate.
Voldemort turned to look at her curiously. He had never met Lucius’s wife. She was pretty, no, gorgeous and she obviously didn’t think the same thing about him. She was leaning backwards in her chair trying to get as far away from him without standing up and running from the room. A woman like her was too well disciplined for a display like that. She found him repulsive but still refused to be frightened.
“My Lord!” Lucius stood up respectfully.
“Lucius.” Voldemort greeted him coolly, his red eyes still turned in the direction of Narcissa. “We have a problem.”
“Yes, yes,” he sputtered. “I’m well aware of the situation. I, of course, had nothing to do with her escape, my lord. Macnair only informed me after she was already dead.”
Dead? Narcissa mouthed the word. Who was dead?
To both Malfoys’ complete surprise, Voldemort started to laugh his high, cruel laugh. For the first time he turned to his Death Eater. “No. She’s not dead.” He laughed again. “She’s clever; thought she could fool me. I was, for a little while,” he admitted sounding rather impressed with Ginny more than anything else. “Then I felt it, just as strong as it was the day she was born. The child has power, Lucius and I can sense it. She’s alive. And if the child is alive then the mother must be too.”
Lucius looked nothing short of astonished. For once in his life, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t even act superior or blame it on someone else. Narcissa, who was just regaining her voice, spoke up for him.
“The child?” she asked meekly. Voldemort looked at her again. She was completely in the dark.
“You don’t know?” he asked the bewildered woman. Narcissa gave no reply. “She doesn’t know?” he asked Lucius. Surely Narcissa would’ve figured something was going on. It had, after all, all happened in her home.
“My wife and I have an, er, arrangement,” he said sheepishly. “I don’t involve her in my business then should anything happen to me she can honestly say she didn’t know a thing about it. It’s best that way; she can’t reveal my secrets.”
Voldemort nodded. He agreed. Aurors often used truth potions or other means on friends and family of suspected Death Eaters to find out information. The less people that knew, the better. Malfoy was the most slippery of the Death Eaters. He took every precaution necessary to make sure he was never caught. He’d rather die that be put to shame.
“Well,” he said in a pleased sort of way. Now that Narcissa knew part of the plan, she might as well know it all. “You husband has been aiding me in a particularly important task.” Her face still registered no understanding, so the Dark Lord continued. “He kidnapped Ginny Weasley and imprisoned her in your old guest room. Then we impregnated her with my heir.” he said bluntly as if Lucius had just gone to the market and picked up some bread. Narcissa covered in her mouth in horror. “Unfortunately, she escaped with the baby this morning. She faked her own death in order to evade the Death Eaters.”
He returned his attention to Lucius. “Which leads me to you, old friend,” he said in a manner that let it be known that they weren’t ‘friends’ but that Lucius would do his bidding. “The girl must be found. I need that heir. The other Death Eaters let her get away once and I would like someone,” he searched for the right word, “a bit more intelligent heading up the effort.”
Lucius beamed. Narcissa found him to look like a dog basking in the praise of his master. It was revolting. “Of course, my Lord,” he exclaimed. “I will retrieve the girl for you.”
“You can employ any Death Eater you wish,” Voldemort said lazily. He was counting on Lucius to perform this task for him, as he had bigger plans to deal with.
“Thank you, my Lord,” he said thinking of which Death Eaters would aid him in the search for Ginny. The Dark Lord obviously wanted this to be done quietly which meant he would have to be sneaky. Then a thought struck him. “Draco!” Who was more sneaky than his own son? “Draco will help me.”
Narcissa frowned. Lucius didn’t notice. Voldemort laughed.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” he said still chuckling.
Malfoy bristled. “Why not?”
“I’m afraid to say, he’s not the credit to the Cause you think he is, Lucius.” Behind both of the men’s backs, Narcissa grinned. Lucius looked crestfallen. He had hoped his son would take his spot in the circle when he was not around. Nonplussed, Voldemort continued. “And he has formed an unfortunate attachment to the child.”
Narcissa opened her mouth to speak again. How had her son gotten attached to this child? She hadn’t even known it existed.
The Dark Lord answered her before the words left her lips. “You didn’t know about that either, did you?” he asked but didn’t wait for an answer. “Lucius used his own spell, a mix of the Imperius Curse and Passion Potion if I’m not mistaken, and used your son to father the child,” he said almost gleefully, but Lord Voldemort is not gleeful.
Narcissa gasped. She looked as though she were about to throw up. “Lucius...” she breathed in disbelief and horror.
Her husband either didn’t notice her distress or didn’t care. He resumed his conversation with Voldemort. “Yes, I’ve seen that he has feelings for the child. But, my Lord, I will make him see that he’s not his child. Draco is a very bright boy, he’ll be of use to me.”
The Dark Lord shook his head. “He isn’t devoted to me, Lucius. He’s too proud and he cares too much for his line. It’s a flaw of character that I believe can be attributed to how he was raised,” he glanced surreptitiously at Narcissa. “No fault of your own of course. He’s protective of the family name. He wouldn’t have handed the child over to me. It’s better this way.”
“What way?” Lucius did not understand what his Master was getting at.
“Your son decided there isn’t any reason for him to stay here. He ruined all his things and run away,” Voldemort explained calmly.
There was a sharp intake of breath and a loud thud as Narcissa fainted dead away. Both men turned to look at her, but neither made a move to help her up.
* * *
STILL MORE NOTES: Wasn’t that fun? Heh. This is the part where I congratulate myself for getting through it all. The first three chapters are one part of the fic, and after this it goes into another part. Get ready for a gear shift.
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