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Title: Dancing Through Life with Strangers
Author: crazyparakiss
Pairing: Harry/Draco, minimal Harry/Ginny, and very minimal Harry/OFC, more pairings to come later.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings:Girl Draco though "she" isn't a Mary Sue with flowing long blond hair and gigantic tits. Quite the opposite actually. First person POV, angst, infidelity, swearing, baby making, Het sex, quite graphic het sex.
Word count: 14,304
Summary: The baby comes one hot June day, the fifth.
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Author's Note: I've got an update about this chapter HERE answering some questions people might have come the end, about things that won't be answered yet. If you still have questions leave them in a comment or PM me if it is long and drawn out. That way I won't give it all away for those who don't want to know yet. :)
Chapter One
It is like waking from a horrible nightmare. Coming to, staring down at the cold lifeless body of a monster that had haunted my days for years; my entirety of life it seems. My wand, Malfoy’s wand, almost falling in my slackened grip; in near hysteria I want to laugh, but even more cry, however all I do is stare, numb. The only thing I can think to do is take the wand he’d tried to use against me. The wand that was meant to only bend to my will. A symbol of devastation and power, a flowing stream of energy through my fingertips as I clutch it with my muddied hand. It is the epitome of my existence, the essence of life, loss, and loneliness.
I’d be lying if I said I’d dreamed of life after Voldemort’s end. Since watching Cedric die, I’ve slowly, if not purposely, prepared myself for death. With falsely cheery smiles, and assuring words, I hid the fear of facing my demise. Pretending, a performer in front of an audience, that I’d live to know a life filled with a family: a wife and lots of tots.
So as I look down at the wand, the one that became Voldemort’s greatest miscalculation, I decide that I deserve to exist outside of my own miserable expectations. I’d lived after all, not getting the death I’d long ago settled for, and so now I will not settle for the boring white pickets, the wife with predictable shags, and the children who require attention I’m not ready to give.
+++
“You’re leaving,” Ron asks, he gives me a tired look. These past two months have been hard for him. I was surprised when he made it through Fred’s funeral without a tear. Molly’s been a mess and Arthur walks the halls like a ghost, pale and stricken with no words leaving his slack lips. Ron’s been left to the clean-up of his parents’ grief. Bill’s busy with his pregnant wife, the sole reason for a small (very small) celebration. Charlie is helping George cope, keeping him entertained in Romania while constantly watching him for suicide attempts. Percy’s holed himself up at the Ministry, guilt fuelling his help with rounding up remaining Death Eaters. And Ginny’s off, shacked up with Dean the minute I told her I wasn’t ready to pick up where we’d left things. She needs an emotional support, and I can’t give it; I don’t fault her for being needy.
If anything I’m relieved.
Silence stretches between us, I watch Ron, and think of all the things we’ve done together. Those times he abandoned me, and those times I’ve left him in the dust, but we’ll always be mates. As close as brothers without sharing blood. “You forgive me,” I ask, knowing he will even if he’s bitter at me in this moment. I don’t much care that I’m hurting him, but I need his forgiveness. What a warped and selfish sod I’ve become.
“I always forgive you Harry, we’re mates,” he looks back at the leaning house, held together by so many magical charms. Molly’s in the window, weeping as she stares into the garden. “It’s just going to be hard,” Ron adds with a sigh, noticing his mum as I have, “Hermione’s not here, Ginny’s gone, and now you’re going,” he smiles, but it is a grimacing twist of his thin lips, “I just feel lost.” His freckly fingers toy with the silver lighter like object, the Deluminator, Dumbledore left and I hope that holding it gives him peace. The snitch in my neck pouch, constantly thumping against my bare chest, under my clothes, reminds me of why I want to leave. Heroism, constant reminders of those who’ve gone, and the sheer cloud of imposing redundancy are all the things I’ve known in this world. In my future I see a parade of memorials, kissing babies, Auror work, and plastering my mug on ever political campaign that promises change. It shouldn’t be me, I’m no hero. I’m just a boy, a boy who has reached the cusp of manhood and didn’t get pleasure of playing revolting youth. I’m just a boy who got damn lucky, playing a game of life and death that was thrust upon me because I was born a Mudblood. In a way it’s funny, in a very ironic sense; the bastard tried my whole life to kill me, wanting to remain immortal, only to die trying to accomplish a feat that should have been simple in the beginning. Evil never pays I suppose.
“Yeah,” I say lamely, finally coming out of my thoughts, not really knowing how to comfort Ron. Wishing Hermione wasn’t in Australia, rescuing the parents she hid, if she was here she could comfort Ron. Yet, I suppose she has her own healing to do.
“What about Teddy,” Ron asks kicking at the ground, sending a rock rolling against the uneven spots covered in grass.
Leaning against the porch’s railing I rub my hand up and down my neck, there’s a spot forming just below my hairline. I pick at it; it stings, and I try to avoid thinking about Teddy for as long as possible. He’s just a baby, an innocent that came at the end of a horrible time, and he’s the embodiment of two people who were cut down for doing what was right. Two people I knew well enough, and they’re two people I don’t want to see in his fat little face.
“Andromeda is taking care of him,” a light drizzle starts and the humidity is stifling in this heat. “She says I’m welcome round anytime, I just don’t think I’m ready yet.” Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.
Ron shrugs, his wide shoulders stretching out his old T-shirt, “If you want to leave, go for it, just don’t regret missing out later in life.”
I say I won’t, but I don’t quite know if that’s true.
+++
I’ve one stop on the way out of this dreadful country, and it’s one of the last places I want to be, The Ministry of Magic. It’s a lot more shabby than it was the last time I walked these halls. Proof that there was an outbreak of war, the fissures are still not repaired in the plastered walls and marble floors have magic scars. A cold chill runs down my spine, when I enter the atrium. I almost expect Dumbledore to step off a lift, with a welcoming smile. That’s never going to happen, I tell myself and hurry along toward the Minister’s office. Cameras flash and the many reporters that practically live here flock to me. I remain silent.
+++
Kingsley welcomes me with a firm shake of the hand, “Harry, what can I do for you?” His voice the deep booming sound that I remember from Bill’s wedding, warning that the Ministry had fallen. Now it is here, cheerier, coming from the man who will bring the people out of dark times. At least that’s how the papers play him up, for their sake I hope they’re right.
“I’ve to talk to you before I leave.” He looks a lot less cheery now, as he leans forward, his elbows resting on his desk, giving me a serious look. With a gesture he waves me towards a seat. I sit toying with the wand in my pocket while looking him in the eye.
“What’s this about Harry,” his dark eyes dart the length of my face, I know he can read me easily. According to Hermione, most people can.
“I’m here to talk about the Malfoys.” He reclines in his high-backed office chair, toying with his chin, looking at me as if he expected as much. So I reach into my pocket, pulling out the hawthorn, tossing the wand onto his desk as if it is little more than a piece of driftwood. I should regard it with more kindness. It proved friendly, warm, and familiar in my palm, but I can’t look at it now with anything short of disgust. “That’s Draco’s.”
“Why did you give this to me?” He lifts the wand, gently, running his hands along the length. Admiring the gloss of a wooden piece of history; the wand that Harry Potter used when defeating Voldemort. I’ve had over half the British populace begging to have it photographed. Truly, it’s just a simple wand, but they hold so much hope in that knowledge. As if even ordinary wands can do extraordinary things, as in bringing down mad men, and maybe in some twisted fantasy they believe that it could have been them. I often wish that it would have been anyone else.
“What kind of punishments are you talking about,” I ask, knowing full well that the decision is made long before they enter the Wizengamot chambers. At least in regards to Death Eaters and those who sympathised with their cause. Kingsley stares at me for a long, unwavering, moment before he finally responds.
“Azkaban for father and son, a year community service for the missus.” Finally, he returns Malfoy’s wand to the desk, leaning closer, regarding me with heightened interest.
“I want life for Lucius, Narcissa should get nothing, and Draco I want to suffer but not as a rotting corpse in Azkaban prison.” He looks a little surprised, most people don’t understand why I defend Narcissa. She’s a mum, and like my own she’d do anything for her son. She’s being punished enough by having the two loves of her life suffer. For me that’s enough.
“What do you suggest for the young Malfoy then?”
“Lock away his wand,” I nod toward it, “Freeze his assets, make him work and live as a Muggle.”
Kingsley shakes his head with a bemused expression, “He’s no education and sticks out like a sore thumb, how do you propose we do this?” Apparently the man thinks me naive and that irritates me more than he will ever know. I won a war, if there is one thing that pisses me off it is being treated like a child.
“Falsify documentation, modify memories; you have the power,” I nearly shiver on the last word. Playing with power isn’t my goal, but I’m not above using it to get what I think is right. Not anymore at least. When I talk along these lines to Hermione she wears a disturbed expression. I think I’m part of the reason she’s left for a while. I’m dangerous right now. I know that, and it’s another reason I’m leaving.
“Where will Draco live,” he snorts breaking me out of those dangerous lines of thought,
“Certainly not with Muggles.” Certainly not, I silently agree, it won’t do to have him strangle them in their sleep. Though the thought of Malfoy strangling anything is amusing.
He doesn’t have it in him. Malfoy’s a sharp tongue yes, but possesses the killing instincts of a mouse.
With a smile I say, “Of course not, keep him in his house, but take away every hint of magic. Remind him daily of what he is, what he can no longer be, and charge him for lighting spells, Agumenti spells, protective wards, and heating charms; surely you can see where I am going with this?” I give a flippant wave.
Kingsley seems hesitant, “Harry I know that you harbour an anger for him, but I think a brief stint in Azkaban is fair,” his reasonable tone is nerve grating.
“No, it’s not.” Whispering I lean closer, palms flat on his desk, “I want him to know what it’s like to exist in a world where he doesn’t belong.” He looks disturbed and I make him more so when I add, “And I want to own him, that way I know what I’m demanding gets done.”
“What?” He looks disbelieving, smiling in an awkward ‘tell me you’re joking’ kind of way. Only I don’t bother to say that it’s a joke, because it isn’t. Slavery isn’t practised, it is more of a social faux-paux. The lowest degrading a wizard can have, to have one’s powers controlled by another, to be lower than the common house-elf; I nearly laugh at the thought of Malfoy ironing his hands. Berk deservers this. Kingsley doesn’t seem to agree, “Harry, what you’re asking for is monumental. There hasn’t been a Wizard slave since shortly after Merlin.”
“I know,” our eyes meet when I speak.
I’ve read enough Magical history texts in the past month to last me a lifetime. While the world sat banging at the door to Grimmauld, I hid myself in the Black’s library. Hermione’s always tried to pull me into dusty volumes in times of despair, and this time they helped. Malfoy’s part in this war was minimal, I’ll admit, for he’s a ruddy coward who has always been more bark than bite. Yet, I hate the thought of him strolling out of Azkaban after a short stay. Disliked but still rich? No I can’t have that, he deserves something longer and more humiliating. If not for me then for the scars on Bill’s face and Dobby’s sacrifice. Malfoy owes them his servitude.
“When I died for you lot I selflessly faced death to protect you. Anyone of you I’ve the right to according to ancient codes,” I stand, leaning over his desk with intent, “I don’t want any of you, but I want Malfoy.”
Kingsley doesn’t say anything, sitting in his leather wingback with a harrowed look on his aging face as he says, “Alright Harry, I’ll see what I can do.” After a pause he asks, “But do you mind if I keep it between us for now? I don’t want to add more worries to that kid’s plate.”
I snort and Kingsley adds, “He’s not much different than you. He’s still a kid and still plenty broken.” His dark eyes glance up where I tower and with a rueful smile he says, “Just be sure you don’t turn into something you don’t want to become. This isn’t you Harry.”
“I won’t change my mind Kingsley.”
+++
When I leave I put the conversation to the back of my mind.
At the Travel Port a young woman recommends Hawaii, and I tell her I want a one way portkey. I have it in less than twenty, and I don’t glance back when the yanking behind my navel drags me off to a new world.
+++
Life is stunning when not being oppressive with constant landmarks of death and failures. I enjoy the blue green waves in the lagoons of secluded Hawaiian beaches. No one recognises me here, and I am allowed to bask in the warmth of the sun, undisturbed, on fine sands; my favourites being the volcanic sands. I’ve taken to surfing, and the pleasure of it keeps me from missing my broom to awful bad. This is a different kind of flying a nearly magical ride for Muggles. Gliding within illuminated tubes of ocean is thrilling in its own right.
There are three birds here who entertain me, on the evenings when surfing the darkened ocean waters cannot calm my restless body.
Veronica is the one who wants to go for hours, and she is generally the most available. By the time we fall asleep it is from exhaustion and we’re always sticky with the usual fluids: lube, come, and sweat. She’s the type who says she doesn’t want love, but the more she spends time with me the more she acts in an opposite manner. Putting her skimpy knickers in my drawers and leaving a toothbrush in the medicine cupboard above my bathroom sink. Then there are the times she spends the night and insists of making my breakfast. The food is wonderful but the loaded meanings behind the gesture makes the food unappetizing. Now it happens so often that it’s becoming unnerving. She’s a brilliant shag and it’s a pity that I might have to cut her loose soon.
One morning she wakes before me, languidly running her dark fingers against my tan stomach. I open my eyes; her dark features blurry from my lack of glasses, but that doesn’t matter when her mouth covers my stirring cock. Damn but she’s skilled with that tongue, up and down she swipes, jabbing the moist point into my slit. Tasting and moaning when she samples the flavour she claims to love, but my favourite part is when she swirls her tongue around the tight pull of my tip; sucking on it with an almost brutal force. It feels as if she’s drawing my will out through my prick, and I’d let her if she could.
When I release my load, I feel the back of her throat as she draws me in, bollocks deep; swallowing everything I’ve to offer.
She sits up to kiss me, but I turn away; fetching my glasses in favour of tasting cock snot on her tongue. With a huff she sits back against the headboard, “You never let me kiss you after I give you head.”
“I got what I wanted so why bother with snogging,” I ask with complete honesty. I don’t let her know that I find the thought of having her dirty tongue in my mouth disgusting. Never do I want to taste my spunk. Or hers for that matter.
She rolls her eyes, obviously still annoyed, even as a small smile twitches at her lips, “Well I suppose one day you’ll love someone enough not to care.” She seems upset by the notion, maybe she’s finally figuring out that I’m not boyfriend material. God, I hope that’s the case.
I laugh at her words knowing full well that will never happen.
+++
She leaves before I make a small bowl of cereal, and as soon as I flop against the sofa to eat my breakfast an owl flies through the open kitchen window.
I think that perhaps it is Andromeda sending me an owl to remind me of Teddy’s birthday, she always starts nagging around the beginning of April. Though, his birthday isn’t until the seventeenth. Looking to the calendar I make sure that I haven’t somehow forgotten to take my annual, International portkey to England. No, still twelve days before I leave.
I open the thick envelope and a small, ripped piece of parchment falls out, Hermione’s neat scrawl thrown against the glossy surface of the paper messily.
Andromeda is dying A stone drops into my stomach as I let the paper fall.
Breakfast forgotten I summon a bag, throw in all my clothes and leave as swiftly as I came years before. When I turn in my key I wonder if perhaps it was callous of me to leave my flat without, at the very least, a letter of goodbye to Veronica. Really she was my only sort of friend in this place. Oh well...
+++
Procuring an international portkey takes a little over an hour when you’ve galleons to spare, and so I am off to England in under five hours.
A quick stop at the Leaky and I’ve a bed for the night, then I pop over to Ron and Hermione’s.
“Oh Harry,” she wails, throwing her arms around my neck the minute she opens the door to spy me on the front step.
Ron stands behind her looking upset as well, and I just feel tired. Another death, another stain upon this place, and I wish I didn’t have to witness its birth.
+++
Their home is warm, welcoming, and so full of love. It speaks volumes about them as a couple, and I am almost envious. Ron and Hermione have always had the sort of love that is poured over the pages of storybooks. Or at the very least the sort of trite that Luna writes in her lovey-dovey comics, geared at girls who are Hogwarts age. It is disgustingly sweet. When I sit on their plush sofa I hear the gentle wailing of a small being, “Is that Teddy?” I hope not, at this moment I don’t think I am strong or rested enough to face him.
“No, it’s Rose,” Ron says before standing, summoning a bottle on his way out of the room.
“I thought you were still pregnant,” I state, in confusion, looking at Hermione.
“I gave birth awhile ago,” There is a hard edge in her voice, but it and her slight glare leave as quickly as they come. “I sent you a letter.” That’s the only chastising remark I receive.
“Ah,” I haven’t a good response. I should, and know that I ought feel guilty but I don’t, not really. They were never promised anything, and so I’ve never felt obligated. Not really. The current pang in my chest is heartburn, from the greasy chips the Leaky offers, not regret.
“She’s just three months,” Hermione says, eyes on a small photo off to the left of her, and not a minute later Ron joins us with a little bundle of pink. A small head poking out, covered in fuzzy light red hair. He hands the small person to Hermione. There is a mother’s glow in her cheeks as she takes the little girl, Rose, and hugs her closer to her body. Motherhood makes her lovely, and I am more surprised than I should feel.
“She’s crapped,” Ron’s noses wrinkles with his words, and Hermione rolls her eyes.
“Forgive me Harry, duty calls,” she whispers over her shoulder as she walks back toward the baby’s room. I feel a half smile pull across my face. When I glance back at Ron, he’s staring at me with a strange look. He appears older, and wiser than I remember. He seems better than me, for a moment, the realisation is frightening. We were always on the same level of stupidity and childishness. If he’s grown then why haven’t I?
“If Andromeda dies, Harry, we’re going to have a problem,” his words are soft, eyes dark with worry and something I cannot place. An expression I don’t recognise and don’t understand, again I find it rather unnerving.
“I’ll take him,” I sigh, “I know my duty.” Much as it pains me to say, and much as it disgusts me to know that my freedom is now over. It’s not Teddy’s fault, Andromeda’s, Ron’s, nor Hermione’s. It’s not mine and I want to blame someone but I know that’s not possible, or right.
“That’s not the problem,” Ron stands and motions for me to follow. I do without hesitation. At the icebox he pulls out a bottled beer, “Want a drink,” he asks. I nod, and he grabs another. White smoke comes out of the long necks when the caps come off and the smell of it enters my nose.
“So what’s the problem with Teddy,” I ask after my first deep pull. Ron runs his hand through his hair, making it appear windblown, as he had when we still played sport at school. It’s familiar and makes me a little more comfortable. Too much seriousness makes my stomach ache.
“He’s going to need a magical bond,” he toys with his simple wedding band as he speaks. I remember their wedding, little over a year back. I spent the reception with Luna, behind the chapel, hands up her long lavender skirt. Biting at her neck while I pulled her strapless top down to play with her white tits. I shouldn’t have, but I’d always had a secret penchant for blondes. She was typical Luna, an offering of fun with a dazed smile, and not long after I found myself getting randy at church. Ron didn’t notice, thankfully, nor did anyone else, everyone was too arse over tip to realise I was gone. Hermione caught me though, on her way to collect her cosmetic bag, said she’d take it to her grave. I wonder now, looking at the golden metal, if she’s kept that promise. He doesn’t look at me with a veil of disgust so I am sure he doesn’t know.
When I notice him watching me I finally speak, “I can do that, I planned on adopting him.” It’s true, I had planned on adoption the minute I read the letter. Time to fall in line Potter, that’s what I told myself. Time for the kid, wife, and picket fence. My days of lying in and my nights of surfing, or shagging, until exhaustion takes hold are long gone.
“It’s a little more complicated than that, mate,” he says with a large exhale. I look a bit sceptical and he starts after a short glance at my face, “Things have changed since you’ve been gone.” I want to snort, it’s been five years of course things change, but what’s that got to do with Teddy; Ron tells me. “We’ve been profiling the mentality of known Dark Lords,” on his hands he ticks some off, “Voldemort, of course, Grindlewald, Johnny Strunisky, a small issue snuffed out early in the south part of the States, and Vladimir Karkaroff of Northern Russia. They’ve all one thing in common,” he gives me a look.
I stand, waiting expectantly. Too tired, really, for his dramatic pauses.
“They’ve all lacked a maternal connection. All four have not been raised with a blood relative, most specifically, a female blood relative. When their parents died they were placed within orphanages or with random friends of family.”
“I lacked a maternal connection.” Cold beer slithers down my throat and I lean against his counter with an ease I don’t feel.
“You had Petunia,” at my scoff Ron hastily continues, “her blood was your mothers and your blood, your magic, identified with her even if you didn’t. It’s fairly new and fascinating, but we’ve discovered that our theories are quite spot on.” I’m not buying it and Ron can tell, “I’ve done the research Harry, been in practical theory with the best in the field.”
“You,” I ask and my scepticism offends him, if the twitching in his jaw is anything to go by. I nearly smile, it’s good to see that some things about Ron have not changed.
“Yes, me; Hermione helped with some of the research, if that’s what you’re thinking,” My smile finally blossoms, of course she did. “Her work is mainly in paediatrics, and so she was able to observe certain characteristics of orphans. There are a lot without blood relatives, and we have been monitoring the radical spikes and drops in their magical signatures. She’s been comparing them with children who’ve been placed with a female blood relative, and for these past few years we’ve been collecting data.”
“Fascinating,” I say without meaning it, and watch as Ron’s jaw clenches again.
“The point is,” he continues with a deep, patience summoning sigh, “Teddy’s going to fall into the unstable spikes and drops if he doesn’t have, well, a blood replacement for a mum.”
“Narcissa Malfoy,” I say without a moment’s pause. Ron raises a surprised brow and shakes his head. Suddenly, I am hit with a wave of discomfort.
“I’ve been looking into female relatives Harry,” Ron takes a deep pull from his beer, “The moment we heard Andromeda’s diagnosis from Healer Morgan, and I found out from Kingsley that Narcissa’s been dead since shortly before Malfoy’s trial.”
I feel a headache coming, “Fuck. What do you propose then?”
Ron hesitates for a moment, “It’s fairly new, and it hasn’t been ran in an actual trial. Not in England anyway. However, Healer Prelle has been researching the physiological and psychological pros and cons of theoretical sex change operations.”
Suddenly my head hurts more, “Mate, you sound like your wife and this is too much for me. I’m jet lagged.” He doesn’t laugh, the situation is too serious for that and at his hard stare I add, “Just tell me what I need to do.”
With a humourless smile he says, “Convince Draco Malfoy he’s got to change sex and bond with Teddy,” he gives a little snort, “And while you’re at it teach Filch to fly.”
I cross my arms, frowning while I fall deeply into thought, and Ron takes this as a sign of defeat. “Don’t worry Harry, there will be another way, if we can’t find it Hermione will.” I already have the solution. I know the answer and feel a little sick at the thought that I might have to resort to Floo calling Malfoy, and Kingsley.
+++
I get a little flat not far from St. Mungo’s two days later. Teddy comes to stay with me there, once I collect him from a tearful Molly.
“I am so sorry,” she whispers, and grips my arm. I pat her, and then pull her into a proper hug, and she clings harder, “I wish the death would stop.” I agree with her passionate murmur.
The closest and fastest to procure was a one roomed flat, but Teddy doesn’t seem to mind. He’s a shadow I can’t shake, following me from room to room with little hands that won’t let go of my leg. It’s irritating and I suddenly can relate to my aunt. I’ve got a boy, no mum, no dad, no relatives, and I am much too selfish to play parent.
I snap a couple of times, yell a bit and his tears make my yelling worse. When I storm away from him after one such event I fall onto the couch. Tears burning my eyes while I shake, hating myself for being terrible to an orphan. The very boy whose father I screamed at for wanting to abandon him, and now, now I am doing basically the same thing. “Fanfuckingtastic job Potter,” I murmur at my hands.
He’s hiding in the corner when I go back to the bedroom to check on him. His eyes are still wet and he’s toying with a small stuffed owl that’s seen better days. How many times did I cry alone in a corner, only to never have someone come make things right? I deflate , this little boy is me. He’s everything I was and will hopefully become nothing that I am. Selfishness, bitterness, and perpetually lonely; I want none of this for him.“M sorry,” I mumble, feeling as awkward and stubborn as I’ve always been.
Little brown eyes look up at me and I feel like shit when more tears leak from them. “S’okay.”
I drop down next to him and my arm snakes out, reaching timidly to pull him closer. He is stiff, but at five it only takes him a moment to get over his previous betrayal, and finally he melts into my side. The heart I’d forgotten swells a tad within my chest, and I promise, in this moment, that I will give him everything I never had. Even if it kills me he will have a close to perfect life. A family. Hopefully Andromeda can stay in the hospital, alive, monitored to stabilize her magicks; just long enough for Teddy to go to school. Then I won’t have to become more of a monster than I already am. I don’t want to turn back into that person I nearly became after the war.
+++
Teddy is sleeping soundly on my bed, in the single room, when Ginny arrives. She still looks as she had, all those years ago when I kissed her goodbye. Told her that I wasn’t going to stay and that she’d better not wait. I wouldn’t respect her if she’d stayed some pining slag. She didn’t, she jumped ship, found a new vessel, and loved a different captain.
“Hey,” I say. Elbows resting on my knees, hunched over, looking up at her through the too long pieces of my bangs. Her smile is still brilliant and she is still beautiful. I can do this, I think, and pretend to love her. She steps forward, hand extending and I take it in my own.
“Hey,” she replies as I pull her into my lap. The kiss is easy. A simple press of lips, with knowing tongues that taste what we’ve had before. It is predictable, the same kiss she gave me when she was fifteen and I was sixteen. Yet, I can still get hard, and I do. It’s been a couple weeks and I need a release for all the stress.
She is more vocal than I, generally I don’t need to speak. But Ginny, she’s got this need to tell me everything I do to her. It’d be hot if I hadn’t heard it all before, and she’s easy enough to quiet with kisses. I am careful with her, and we are hushed in consideration of Teddy. I’m quick and come much faster than normal, but she doesn’t take the Mickey, Ginny smiles and I feel ill. Yet I carry on, smile back and kiss her sweating brow as if I love her. Giving the illusion that I couldn’t forget her. “I love you,” the lie is sour in my mouth, but it’s not unfamiliar.
When she sleeps on me, her breasts pressed to my chest and her body curved along the length of mine, I pray that Andromeda makes it through the week. Then I ask to let her make it through the year, anything to put off seeing Malfoy. If she could last until Teddy’s eleven, I wish silently. I know I could do this with Gin, Ted, and everyone. I’ve starred in this play before, but Malfoy is an unknown factor. If he’s with me, if he’s near me, and if he’s working toward a common goal then we will stand on unfamiliar ground. I don’t like not knowing how things will turn out. I don’t enjoy lacking control. It’s too much now as it was when I was a young boy, a boy with a destiny he didn’t want. I want to call the shots and with Malfoy I know I can, but I am not sure how he will affect me. He’s never been easy to deal with after all.
+++
As it is I’ve never had much luck with prayer, and Andromeda lasts three days before she finally takes her last breath.
Teddy cries but not as much as he did when he first left her house, or so I am told by Molly. Andromeda hasn’t seen him in weeks, and he’s probably used to the shock of not having her around. Neither of us enjoy the hospital so I try not to take him there too often.
Ginny comes round almost every night and Teddy glares daggers at her when she tries to hold him, comfort him, or act in a maternal way. Part of me loves how resistant he is toward her, in a way, he’s pushing her out like I want. Then the other part of me wants to hit him, tell him to mind, and get on with the act. This is hard enough without him being so damn defiant.
+++
A week after the funeral Ron keeps pestering me to go see Malfoy, and I finally do. Teddy’s become ashen and has been hospitalised for a radical drop in health and magic. I can’t put the inevitable off any longer.
Stopping, briefly, by Shacklebolt’s office before I face my new destiny with Malfoy. He hands me a light scroll, and I feel sick coil in my stomach as I look at the black velvet that holds it closed. “This is what you wanted,” Kingsley says and his tone reminds me of Dumbledore, when he’d say something I didn’t want to acknowledge.
“I know,” I whisper back. Surprising myself, because when I was a boy I’d have denied the truth vehemently for as long as I could. Maybe I’m growing up. I give a small chuckle and Kingsley looks at me, unsure. Flashing him a smile while clutching this damning scroll I think that perhaps I haven’t really grown at all. Just become older and more self despising.
+++
The day after the paper releases their bullshit story of me being in turmoil, an unlocked Floo grants me easy access into Malfoy Manor. When I step from the ornate hearth I see Malfoy. Looking as he had that night in Myrtle’s loo. Lost, broken, and about to lose his mind; he appears to have given up. Waiting for death in defeat, and I cough if only to break him from his trance.
“Potter,” he still doesn’t look at me, he just knows. The heat in his home is stifling, a rare wash of guilt rises up and hits me. I did this; this punishment was my own. Then Malfoy is speaking, “I figured I’d have at least three more days. Little Miss Muddy certainly works fast doesn’t she?”
I feel annoyed and squash the feeling of fault, with a dark scowl I reply, “Don’t call Hermione that Malfoy.”
“Certainly Master,” there is a hard edge in his tone that he tries to hide with nonchalance, but I can see the tense line of his body. The way he is drawn taut, as if ready to snap at any moment. I nearly deflate in his presence, and his term Master nearly kills my will to continue. Yet, a face with fat cheeks and brown eyes steels my resolve. Teddy needs this man. And in a way I need him too.
“I am here for Teddy.” Malfoy doesn’t look surprised, he just swings around, and faces me, hands on his knees.
“Of course you are, why else would you be here; certainly not for tea,” his sneer makes me clench my jaw and cross my arms. “I haven’t got any, can’t afford to drink tea I’m afraid, so you’ll just have to do without Potter.”
I frown, and my arms drop from their defensive position, “You haven’t any tea, what about food?”
His smile would be nice if it weren’t attached to the world’s largest arsehole, his face would also be attractive if he didn’t use such a biting tone when he spoke, “Potter, look around you, feel the air with your great powerful self, and tell me what’s missing from my home.”
I know in an instant to what he’s referring, but I take a long minute to “figure it out”. The vacant portraits are the worst to look at, the pain is nearly physical, and I feel just as sorry for Malfoy as I feel he strongly deserves this punishment. “Magic,” I whisper at last.
Brokenly Malfoy says, “Yes Magic, the little bit cooling my bedroom is something I’ve to pay for...not much left for food after that I’m afraid, what with my frozen assets and all.” Then he sighs, looking up at me from his miserable position on the sofa, “So spit it out already Potter, tell me what I have to do.”
On an exhale I say, “Become a woman.”
There is a twitching muscle in his jaw when he snaps him mouth shut, and I pretend not to notice the glassy glaze of his eyes. They dart the length of the room, focusing on some dusty vase as he takes a moment to deliberate. “And if I refuse,” he asks finally; I step forward placing the scroll on the table in front of his sofa. Long white fingers snatch it up, opening it quickly; I watch as wide grey eyes scan the length of the scroll’s contents. His eyes grow wider at the end, they dull with more defeat and I know what he’s reading. Those two lines that sum it all up, neatly, and officially it says, “In accordance to Mr Harry James Potter’s request, Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy is hereby placed as a serving member of the Potter family. To serve the House of Potter until either his death or the Potter family relinquishes Mr Malfoy back to freedom.”
“What, when,” he whispers as the scroll, with its lovely gold calligraphy, falls from his limp grasp, “Why,” suddenly he’s looking up and he’s angry. This is familiar ground. I welcome his fiery eyes. “Why the fuck would you do this Potter?” His hands are in my shirt, twisting, violent. I grin wickedly as I shove him while fisting my hand in his blond hair.
“Why the hell did you do all the nasty little things you used to do Malfoy,” I trip him and he falls to his knees, looking almost beaten. I wonder if there is an automatic obedience in him now, I’m not sure how the bonds of slavery work. If so it’s a pity. I like him aggressive.
“Fuck you Potter,” he says and twists out of my grasp, rolling onto his back, looking up at me with the same hatred I remember from school, “I never took your life from you.”
“Tried damn hard though didn’t you?” He narrows his eyes at my snort and moves to stand. “If our positions were reversed, you’d own me in an instant, wouldn’t you?”
He never answers the questions, choosing to pick at the lint on his shabby shirt.“Will I at least get a wand,” it is sobering to hear Malfoy nearly begging. His tone and body conquered as if all he can do is play the needy victim.
Pity is an emotion I’ve never been able to suppress completely, much as I’ve tried. Damning my need to help I sigh and say, “Yes, but I will restrict it.” He nods; his shoulders seem to sag more, as if he has just felt the oppressive weight of being magicless lifting. I feel a giant tug of regret and with a mental sigh I add, “I’ll also free you after you’ve served your purpose. You won’t be here to play mum, Ginny will be Teddy’s mum, and I’ll be his dad...you’ll just be here to stabilize him.”
“Can I grab a few things then,” I nod when he turns to look at me and not a moment later he disappears from my sight.
+++
It takes Malfoy a very short time and I wonder at his lack of bags. In his hand I see a small pouch and I assume that holds what he wants. Weird, I think, because I saw him as fighting this more, wanting to hold onto everything within this dark and decrepit place. He never even asks why it has to be him, nor why he’s got to be a mum, and I wonder at Malfoy’s compliance.
+++
I block most of the visit to St. Mungo’s out. I don’t want to deal with all the tireless crap, and this hell that I’ve been in for these past three days isn’t worth the trouble. At least I think that until I see Teddy looking healthier, giving me reason to feel relieved. Yes it is worth Malfoy, I suppose.
+++
Ron invites us to Molly’s and Arthur’s the day we’re released. Malfoy hasn’t seen Ron so I pull him aside; ducking into an empty room with him when he pops round my home, “I’m not sure.” Ron frowns.
“You are not getting out of this one Harry. Mum’s orders.” I sigh for what feels like the billionth time this month and Ron grabs my shoulder, “Look Harry, we’re all going to have to get used to Malfoy. He’s, I mean, she’s going to be around Teddy, be a part of his and your life.” He grimaces as he says, “She’s like family now.”
With a horrified look I say, “No, absolutely not. You are not to be nice to him.” He corrects me and says ‘her’, I wave the amendment off. Furiously I hiss at him to comply with my demands.
Ron looks taken aback and steps away from me, a frown drawing his reddish eyebrows together, “Why?”
“I just don’t want things to change, yeah?” Ron appears doubtful so I rush to add, “Look mate, when Teddy’s eleven Malfoy is gone, can we try to keep things as hostile as they’ve always been? He’s, okay she’s, not family, not now, not ever.”
He still appears wary, but finally after looking me in the eye for a long minute, he says, “Alright, if that’s how you want to play it then sure.”
I release a relieved breath, “Thanks mate.”
“Just don’t regret this.”
I say I won’t, and in a sense of déjà vu I wonder if I really mean that.
+++
Hermione adamantly refuses to be mean to Malfoy, but Ginny jumps right on the wagon.
When Ron gets chastised from Hermione for calling Malfoy a freak of a woman I know why he’s pinked at the ears. It’s not because she’s got onto him, it’s because he’s really sorry that he has to act the arse. Ron’s always had decent values, kicking the down and out isn’t usually his style. He even felt terrible for that punch he landed on Malfoy the night of the final battle, though the bastard deserved it then just as much as he...she does now.
+++
Teddy and Malfoy get along splendidly.
At first I don’t like it, and keep trying to pull Ginny deeper into the fold. She in turn resents me for this, “What if I don’t want to be a mum? I mean Harry he’s got Malfoy,” she says over lunch one day. I’ve just started at the Auror department and am grateful that they gave me a Senior Auror badge instead of a Junior badge. Grunt work is terribly boring. Killing a Dark Lord gets you out of that sort of toil, thankfully. “Besides I’d rather join the Harpies, they’ve been scouting recently and I’ve been practicing for their upcoming tryouts,” Ginny continues, a tone of joy touching her words in a way I’ve never thought possible. I brush the crumbs from my sandwich off my scarlet robes as I listen.
“Why would you want to do that,” giving her a truly puzzled look, “I thought you wanted to be a mum, stay home, bake cakes and all that?” With a frown I also add, “Besides Malfoy is not Ted’s mum.”
It’s the wrong thing to ask, she turns a very dark look on me, “I’m not going to get put into the kitchen because you want me to.” There is a sneer on her face, “You think because my mum’s domesticated that I’m that way, I don’t need you to tell me how I should be,” Ginny takes a drink of her tea, “Look Harry I love you, but I don’t want to be here if I can’t be who I’ve always wanted to become.” I really want to feel for her, want to encourage her to be a person who can appreciate who they are, but that just doesn’t suit my plans. That’s not what I’ve decided, and I don’t love her like that. I can pretend to love her, as long as she is who I want her to be. Is that messed up, horribly so, yes, but I’ve my own plans and desires.
“Well then be off,” I say, and I’m a bit of an arse with my tone. Which serves to make her angrier. Ginny stands, throwing down a couple silver sickles for her food before she storms out.
It is the beginning of an unravelling relationship.
Chapter Two Part Two
Author: crazyparakiss
Pairing: Harry/Draco, minimal Harry/Ginny, and very minimal Harry/OFC, more pairings to come later.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings:Girl Draco though "she" isn't a Mary Sue with flowing long blond hair and gigantic tits. Quite the opposite actually. First person POV, angst, infidelity, swearing, baby making, Het sex, quite graphic het sex.
Word count: 14,304
Summary: The baby comes one hot June day, the fifth.
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Author's Note: I've got an update about this chapter HERE answering some questions people might have come the end, about things that won't be answered yet. If you still have questions leave them in a comment or PM me if it is long and drawn out. That way I won't give it all away for those who don't want to know yet. :)
Chapter One
It is like waking from a horrible nightmare. Coming to, staring down at the cold lifeless body of a monster that had haunted my days for years; my entirety of life it seems. My wand, Malfoy’s wand, almost falling in my slackened grip; in near hysteria I want to laugh, but even more cry, however all I do is stare, numb. The only thing I can think to do is take the wand he’d tried to use against me. The wand that was meant to only bend to my will. A symbol of devastation and power, a flowing stream of energy through my fingertips as I clutch it with my muddied hand. It is the epitome of my existence, the essence of life, loss, and loneliness.
I’d be lying if I said I’d dreamed of life after Voldemort’s end. Since watching Cedric die, I’ve slowly, if not purposely, prepared myself for death. With falsely cheery smiles, and assuring words, I hid the fear of facing my demise. Pretending, a performer in front of an audience, that I’d live to know a life filled with a family: a wife and lots of tots.
So as I look down at the wand, the one that became Voldemort’s greatest miscalculation, I decide that I deserve to exist outside of my own miserable expectations. I’d lived after all, not getting the death I’d long ago settled for, and so now I will not settle for the boring white pickets, the wife with predictable shags, and the children who require attention I’m not ready to give.
“You’re leaving,” Ron asks, he gives me a tired look. These past two months have been hard for him. I was surprised when he made it through Fred’s funeral without a tear. Molly’s been a mess and Arthur walks the halls like a ghost, pale and stricken with no words leaving his slack lips. Ron’s been left to the clean-up of his parents’ grief. Bill’s busy with his pregnant wife, the sole reason for a small (very small) celebration. Charlie is helping George cope, keeping him entertained in Romania while constantly watching him for suicide attempts. Percy’s holed himself up at the Ministry, guilt fuelling his help with rounding up remaining Death Eaters. And Ginny’s off, shacked up with Dean the minute I told her I wasn’t ready to pick up where we’d left things. She needs an emotional support, and I can’t give it; I don’t fault her for being needy.
If anything I’m relieved.
Silence stretches between us, I watch Ron, and think of all the things we’ve done together. Those times he abandoned me, and those times I’ve left him in the dust, but we’ll always be mates. As close as brothers without sharing blood. “You forgive me,” I ask, knowing he will even if he’s bitter at me in this moment. I don’t much care that I’m hurting him, but I need his forgiveness. What a warped and selfish sod I’ve become.
“I always forgive you Harry, we’re mates,” he looks back at the leaning house, held together by so many magical charms. Molly’s in the window, weeping as she stares into the garden. “It’s just going to be hard,” Ron adds with a sigh, noticing his mum as I have, “Hermione’s not here, Ginny’s gone, and now you’re going,” he smiles, but it is a grimacing twist of his thin lips, “I just feel lost.” His freckly fingers toy with the silver lighter like object, the Deluminator, Dumbledore left and I hope that holding it gives him peace. The snitch in my neck pouch, constantly thumping against my bare chest, under my clothes, reminds me of why I want to leave. Heroism, constant reminders of those who’ve gone, and the sheer cloud of imposing redundancy are all the things I’ve known in this world. In my future I see a parade of memorials, kissing babies, Auror work, and plastering my mug on ever political campaign that promises change. It shouldn’t be me, I’m no hero. I’m just a boy, a boy who has reached the cusp of manhood and didn’t get pleasure of playing revolting youth. I’m just a boy who got damn lucky, playing a game of life and death that was thrust upon me because I was born a Mudblood. In a way it’s funny, in a very ironic sense; the bastard tried my whole life to kill me, wanting to remain immortal, only to die trying to accomplish a feat that should have been simple in the beginning. Evil never pays I suppose.
“Yeah,” I say lamely, finally coming out of my thoughts, not really knowing how to comfort Ron. Wishing Hermione wasn’t in Australia, rescuing the parents she hid, if she was here she could comfort Ron. Yet, I suppose she has her own healing to do.
“What about Teddy,” Ron asks kicking at the ground, sending a rock rolling against the uneven spots covered in grass.
Leaning against the porch’s railing I rub my hand up and down my neck, there’s a spot forming just below my hairline. I pick at it; it stings, and I try to avoid thinking about Teddy for as long as possible. He’s just a baby, an innocent that came at the end of a horrible time, and he’s the embodiment of two people who were cut down for doing what was right. Two people I knew well enough, and they’re two people I don’t want to see in his fat little face.
“Andromeda is taking care of him,” a light drizzle starts and the humidity is stifling in this heat. “She says I’m welcome round anytime, I just don’t think I’m ready yet.” Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.
Ron shrugs, his wide shoulders stretching out his old T-shirt, “If you want to leave, go for it, just don’t regret missing out later in life.”
I say I won’t, but I don’t quite know if that’s true.
I’ve one stop on the way out of this dreadful country, and it’s one of the last places I want to be, The Ministry of Magic. It’s a lot more shabby than it was the last time I walked these halls. Proof that there was an outbreak of war, the fissures are still not repaired in the plastered walls and marble floors have magic scars. A cold chill runs down my spine, when I enter the atrium. I almost expect Dumbledore to step off a lift, with a welcoming smile. That’s never going to happen, I tell myself and hurry along toward the Minister’s office. Cameras flash and the many reporters that practically live here flock to me. I remain silent.
Kingsley welcomes me with a firm shake of the hand, “Harry, what can I do for you?” His voice the deep booming sound that I remember from Bill’s wedding, warning that the Ministry had fallen. Now it is here, cheerier, coming from the man who will bring the people out of dark times. At least that’s how the papers play him up, for their sake I hope they’re right.
“I’ve to talk to you before I leave.” He looks a lot less cheery now, as he leans forward, his elbows resting on his desk, giving me a serious look. With a gesture he waves me towards a seat. I sit toying with the wand in my pocket while looking him in the eye.
“What’s this about Harry,” his dark eyes dart the length of my face, I know he can read me easily. According to Hermione, most people can.
“I’m here to talk about the Malfoys.” He reclines in his high-backed office chair, toying with his chin, looking at me as if he expected as much. So I reach into my pocket, pulling out the hawthorn, tossing the wand onto his desk as if it is little more than a piece of driftwood. I should regard it with more kindness. It proved friendly, warm, and familiar in my palm, but I can’t look at it now with anything short of disgust. “That’s Draco’s.”
“Why did you give this to me?” He lifts the wand, gently, running his hands along the length. Admiring the gloss of a wooden piece of history; the wand that Harry Potter used when defeating Voldemort. I’ve had over half the British populace begging to have it photographed. Truly, it’s just a simple wand, but they hold so much hope in that knowledge. As if even ordinary wands can do extraordinary things, as in bringing down mad men, and maybe in some twisted fantasy they believe that it could have been them. I often wish that it would have been anyone else.
“What kind of punishments are you talking about,” I ask, knowing full well that the decision is made long before they enter the Wizengamot chambers. At least in regards to Death Eaters and those who sympathised with their cause. Kingsley stares at me for a long, unwavering, moment before he finally responds.
“Azkaban for father and son, a year community service for the missus.” Finally, he returns Malfoy’s wand to the desk, leaning closer, regarding me with heightened interest.
“I want life for Lucius, Narcissa should get nothing, and Draco I want to suffer but not as a rotting corpse in Azkaban prison.” He looks a little surprised, most people don’t understand why I defend Narcissa. She’s a mum, and like my own she’d do anything for her son. She’s being punished enough by having the two loves of her life suffer. For me that’s enough.
“What do you suggest for the young Malfoy then?”
“Lock away his wand,” I nod toward it, “Freeze his assets, make him work and live as a Muggle.”
Kingsley shakes his head with a bemused expression, “He’s no education and sticks out like a sore thumb, how do you propose we do this?” Apparently the man thinks me naive and that irritates me more than he will ever know. I won a war, if there is one thing that pisses me off it is being treated like a child.
“Falsify documentation, modify memories; you have the power,” I nearly shiver on the last word. Playing with power isn’t my goal, but I’m not above using it to get what I think is right. Not anymore at least. When I talk along these lines to Hermione she wears a disturbed expression. I think I’m part of the reason she’s left for a while. I’m dangerous right now. I know that, and it’s another reason I’m leaving.
“Where will Draco live,” he snorts breaking me out of those dangerous lines of thought,
“Certainly not with Muggles.” Certainly not, I silently agree, it won’t do to have him strangle them in their sleep. Though the thought of Malfoy strangling anything is amusing.
He doesn’t have it in him. Malfoy’s a sharp tongue yes, but possesses the killing instincts of a mouse.
With a smile I say, “Of course not, keep him in his house, but take away every hint of magic. Remind him daily of what he is, what he can no longer be, and charge him for lighting spells, Agumenti spells, protective wards, and heating charms; surely you can see where I am going with this?” I give a flippant wave.
Kingsley seems hesitant, “Harry I know that you harbour an anger for him, but I think a brief stint in Azkaban is fair,” his reasonable tone is nerve grating.
“No, it’s not.” Whispering I lean closer, palms flat on his desk, “I want him to know what it’s like to exist in a world where he doesn’t belong.” He looks disturbed and I make him more so when I add, “And I want to own him, that way I know what I’m demanding gets done.”
“What?” He looks disbelieving, smiling in an awkward ‘tell me you’re joking’ kind of way. Only I don’t bother to say that it’s a joke, because it isn’t. Slavery isn’t practised, it is more of a social faux-paux. The lowest degrading a wizard can have, to have one’s powers controlled by another, to be lower than the common house-elf; I nearly laugh at the thought of Malfoy ironing his hands. Berk deservers this. Kingsley doesn’t seem to agree, “Harry, what you’re asking for is monumental. There hasn’t been a Wizard slave since shortly after Merlin.”
“I know,” our eyes meet when I speak.
I’ve read enough Magical history texts in the past month to last me a lifetime. While the world sat banging at the door to Grimmauld, I hid myself in the Black’s library. Hermione’s always tried to pull me into dusty volumes in times of despair, and this time they helped. Malfoy’s part in this war was minimal, I’ll admit, for he’s a ruddy coward who has always been more bark than bite. Yet, I hate the thought of him strolling out of Azkaban after a short stay. Disliked but still rich? No I can’t have that, he deserves something longer and more humiliating. If not for me then for the scars on Bill’s face and Dobby’s sacrifice. Malfoy owes them his servitude.
“When I died for you lot I selflessly faced death to protect you. Anyone of you I’ve the right to according to ancient codes,” I stand, leaning over his desk with intent, “I don’t want any of you, but I want Malfoy.”
Kingsley doesn’t say anything, sitting in his leather wingback with a harrowed look on his aging face as he says, “Alright Harry, I’ll see what I can do.” After a pause he asks, “But do you mind if I keep it between us for now? I don’t want to add more worries to that kid’s plate.”
I snort and Kingsley adds, “He’s not much different than you. He’s still a kid and still plenty broken.” His dark eyes glance up where I tower and with a rueful smile he says, “Just be sure you don’t turn into something you don’t want to become. This isn’t you Harry.”
“I won’t change my mind Kingsley.”
When I leave I put the conversation to the back of my mind.
At the Travel Port a young woman recommends Hawaii, and I tell her I want a one way portkey. I have it in less than twenty, and I don’t glance back when the yanking behind my navel drags me off to a new world.
Life is stunning when not being oppressive with constant landmarks of death and failures. I enjoy the blue green waves in the lagoons of secluded Hawaiian beaches. No one recognises me here, and I am allowed to bask in the warmth of the sun, undisturbed, on fine sands; my favourites being the volcanic sands. I’ve taken to surfing, and the pleasure of it keeps me from missing my broom to awful bad. This is a different kind of flying a nearly magical ride for Muggles. Gliding within illuminated tubes of ocean is thrilling in its own right.
There are three birds here who entertain me, on the evenings when surfing the darkened ocean waters cannot calm my restless body.
Veronica is the one who wants to go for hours, and she is generally the most available. By the time we fall asleep it is from exhaustion and we’re always sticky with the usual fluids: lube, come, and sweat. She’s the type who says she doesn’t want love, but the more she spends time with me the more she acts in an opposite manner. Putting her skimpy knickers in my drawers and leaving a toothbrush in the medicine cupboard above my bathroom sink. Then there are the times she spends the night and insists of making my breakfast. The food is wonderful but the loaded meanings behind the gesture makes the food unappetizing. Now it happens so often that it’s becoming unnerving. She’s a brilliant shag and it’s a pity that I might have to cut her loose soon.
One morning she wakes before me, languidly running her dark fingers against my tan stomach. I open my eyes; her dark features blurry from my lack of glasses, but that doesn’t matter when her mouth covers my stirring cock. Damn but she’s skilled with that tongue, up and down she swipes, jabbing the moist point into my slit. Tasting and moaning when she samples the flavour she claims to love, but my favourite part is when she swirls her tongue around the tight pull of my tip; sucking on it with an almost brutal force. It feels as if she’s drawing my will out through my prick, and I’d let her if she could.
When I release my load, I feel the back of her throat as she draws me in, bollocks deep; swallowing everything I’ve to offer.
She sits up to kiss me, but I turn away; fetching my glasses in favour of tasting cock snot on her tongue. With a huff she sits back against the headboard, “You never let me kiss you after I give you head.”
“I got what I wanted so why bother with snogging,” I ask with complete honesty. I don’t let her know that I find the thought of having her dirty tongue in my mouth disgusting. Never do I want to taste my spunk. Or hers for that matter.
She rolls her eyes, obviously still annoyed, even as a small smile twitches at her lips, “Well I suppose one day you’ll love someone enough not to care.” She seems upset by the notion, maybe she’s finally figuring out that I’m not boyfriend material. God, I hope that’s the case.
I laugh at her words knowing full well that will never happen.
She leaves before I make a small bowl of cereal, and as soon as I flop against the sofa to eat my breakfast an owl flies through the open kitchen window.
I think that perhaps it is Andromeda sending me an owl to remind me of Teddy’s birthday, she always starts nagging around the beginning of April. Though, his birthday isn’t until the seventeenth. Looking to the calendar I make sure that I haven’t somehow forgotten to take my annual, International portkey to England. No, still twelve days before I leave.
I open the thick envelope and a small, ripped piece of parchment falls out, Hermione’s neat scrawl thrown against the glossy surface of the paper messily.
Andromeda is dying A stone drops into my stomach as I let the paper fall.
Breakfast forgotten I summon a bag, throw in all my clothes and leave as swiftly as I came years before. When I turn in my key I wonder if perhaps it was callous of me to leave my flat without, at the very least, a letter of goodbye to Veronica. Really she was my only sort of friend in this place. Oh well...
Procuring an international portkey takes a little over an hour when you’ve galleons to spare, and so I am off to England in under five hours.
A quick stop at the Leaky and I’ve a bed for the night, then I pop over to Ron and Hermione’s.
“Oh Harry,” she wails, throwing her arms around my neck the minute she opens the door to spy me on the front step.
Ron stands behind her looking upset as well, and I just feel tired. Another death, another stain upon this place, and I wish I didn’t have to witness its birth.
Their home is warm, welcoming, and so full of love. It speaks volumes about them as a couple, and I am almost envious. Ron and Hermione have always had the sort of love that is poured over the pages of storybooks. Or at the very least the sort of trite that Luna writes in her lovey-dovey comics, geared at girls who are Hogwarts age. It is disgustingly sweet. When I sit on their plush sofa I hear the gentle wailing of a small being, “Is that Teddy?” I hope not, at this moment I don’t think I am strong or rested enough to face him.
“No, it’s Rose,” Ron says before standing, summoning a bottle on his way out of the room.
“I thought you were still pregnant,” I state, in confusion, looking at Hermione.
“I gave birth awhile ago,” There is a hard edge in her voice, but it and her slight glare leave as quickly as they come. “I sent you a letter.” That’s the only chastising remark I receive.
“Ah,” I haven’t a good response. I should, and know that I ought feel guilty but I don’t, not really. They were never promised anything, and so I’ve never felt obligated. Not really. The current pang in my chest is heartburn, from the greasy chips the Leaky offers, not regret.
“She’s just three months,” Hermione says, eyes on a small photo off to the left of her, and not a minute later Ron joins us with a little bundle of pink. A small head poking out, covered in fuzzy light red hair. He hands the small person to Hermione. There is a mother’s glow in her cheeks as she takes the little girl, Rose, and hugs her closer to her body. Motherhood makes her lovely, and I am more surprised than I should feel.
“She’s crapped,” Ron’s noses wrinkles with his words, and Hermione rolls her eyes.
“Forgive me Harry, duty calls,” she whispers over her shoulder as she walks back toward the baby’s room. I feel a half smile pull across my face. When I glance back at Ron, he’s staring at me with a strange look. He appears older, and wiser than I remember. He seems better than me, for a moment, the realisation is frightening. We were always on the same level of stupidity and childishness. If he’s grown then why haven’t I?
“If Andromeda dies, Harry, we’re going to have a problem,” his words are soft, eyes dark with worry and something I cannot place. An expression I don’t recognise and don’t understand, again I find it rather unnerving.
“I’ll take him,” I sigh, “I know my duty.” Much as it pains me to say, and much as it disgusts me to know that my freedom is now over. It’s not Teddy’s fault, Andromeda’s, Ron’s, nor Hermione’s. It’s not mine and I want to blame someone but I know that’s not possible, or right.
“That’s not the problem,” Ron stands and motions for me to follow. I do without hesitation. At the icebox he pulls out a bottled beer, “Want a drink,” he asks. I nod, and he grabs another. White smoke comes out of the long necks when the caps come off and the smell of it enters my nose.
“So what’s the problem with Teddy,” I ask after my first deep pull. Ron runs his hand through his hair, making it appear windblown, as he had when we still played sport at school. It’s familiar and makes me a little more comfortable. Too much seriousness makes my stomach ache.
“He’s going to need a magical bond,” he toys with his simple wedding band as he speaks. I remember their wedding, little over a year back. I spent the reception with Luna, behind the chapel, hands up her long lavender skirt. Biting at her neck while I pulled her strapless top down to play with her white tits. I shouldn’t have, but I’d always had a secret penchant for blondes. She was typical Luna, an offering of fun with a dazed smile, and not long after I found myself getting randy at church. Ron didn’t notice, thankfully, nor did anyone else, everyone was too arse over tip to realise I was gone. Hermione caught me though, on her way to collect her cosmetic bag, said she’d take it to her grave. I wonder now, looking at the golden metal, if she’s kept that promise. He doesn’t look at me with a veil of disgust so I am sure he doesn’t know.
When I notice him watching me I finally speak, “I can do that, I planned on adopting him.” It’s true, I had planned on adoption the minute I read the letter. Time to fall in line Potter, that’s what I told myself. Time for the kid, wife, and picket fence. My days of lying in and my nights of surfing, or shagging, until exhaustion takes hold are long gone.
“It’s a little more complicated than that, mate,” he says with a large exhale. I look a bit sceptical and he starts after a short glance at my face, “Things have changed since you’ve been gone.” I want to snort, it’s been five years of course things change, but what’s that got to do with Teddy; Ron tells me. “We’ve been profiling the mentality of known Dark Lords,” on his hands he ticks some off, “Voldemort, of course, Grindlewald, Johnny Strunisky, a small issue snuffed out early in the south part of the States, and Vladimir Karkaroff of Northern Russia. They’ve all one thing in common,” he gives me a look.
I stand, waiting expectantly. Too tired, really, for his dramatic pauses.
“They’ve all lacked a maternal connection. All four have not been raised with a blood relative, most specifically, a female blood relative. When their parents died they were placed within orphanages or with random friends of family.”
“I lacked a maternal connection.” Cold beer slithers down my throat and I lean against his counter with an ease I don’t feel.
“You had Petunia,” at my scoff Ron hastily continues, “her blood was your mothers and your blood, your magic, identified with her even if you didn’t. It’s fairly new and fascinating, but we’ve discovered that our theories are quite spot on.” I’m not buying it and Ron can tell, “I’ve done the research Harry, been in practical theory with the best in the field.”
“You,” I ask and my scepticism offends him, if the twitching in his jaw is anything to go by. I nearly smile, it’s good to see that some things about Ron have not changed.
“Yes, me; Hermione helped with some of the research, if that’s what you’re thinking,” My smile finally blossoms, of course she did. “Her work is mainly in paediatrics, and so she was able to observe certain characteristics of orphans. There are a lot without blood relatives, and we have been monitoring the radical spikes and drops in their magical signatures. She’s been comparing them with children who’ve been placed with a female blood relative, and for these past few years we’ve been collecting data.”
“Fascinating,” I say without meaning it, and watch as Ron’s jaw clenches again.
“The point is,” he continues with a deep, patience summoning sigh, “Teddy’s going to fall into the unstable spikes and drops if he doesn’t have, well, a blood replacement for a mum.”
“Narcissa Malfoy,” I say without a moment’s pause. Ron raises a surprised brow and shakes his head. Suddenly, I am hit with a wave of discomfort.
“I’ve been looking into female relatives Harry,” Ron takes a deep pull from his beer, “The moment we heard Andromeda’s diagnosis from Healer Morgan, and I found out from Kingsley that Narcissa’s been dead since shortly before Malfoy’s trial.”
I feel a headache coming, “Fuck. What do you propose then?”
Ron hesitates for a moment, “It’s fairly new, and it hasn’t been ran in an actual trial. Not in England anyway. However, Healer Prelle has been researching the physiological and psychological pros and cons of theoretical sex change operations.”
Suddenly my head hurts more, “Mate, you sound like your wife and this is too much for me. I’m jet lagged.” He doesn’t laugh, the situation is too serious for that and at his hard stare I add, “Just tell me what I need to do.”
With a humourless smile he says, “Convince Draco Malfoy he’s got to change sex and bond with Teddy,” he gives a little snort, “And while you’re at it teach Filch to fly.”
I cross my arms, frowning while I fall deeply into thought, and Ron takes this as a sign of defeat. “Don’t worry Harry, there will be another way, if we can’t find it Hermione will.” I already have the solution. I know the answer and feel a little sick at the thought that I might have to resort to Floo calling Malfoy, and Kingsley.
I get a little flat not far from St. Mungo’s two days later. Teddy comes to stay with me there, once I collect him from a tearful Molly.
“I am so sorry,” she whispers, and grips my arm. I pat her, and then pull her into a proper hug, and she clings harder, “I wish the death would stop.” I agree with her passionate murmur.
The closest and fastest to procure was a one roomed flat, but Teddy doesn’t seem to mind. He’s a shadow I can’t shake, following me from room to room with little hands that won’t let go of my leg. It’s irritating and I suddenly can relate to my aunt. I’ve got a boy, no mum, no dad, no relatives, and I am much too selfish to play parent.
I snap a couple of times, yell a bit and his tears make my yelling worse. When I storm away from him after one such event I fall onto the couch. Tears burning my eyes while I shake, hating myself for being terrible to an orphan. The very boy whose father I screamed at for wanting to abandon him, and now, now I am doing basically the same thing. “Fanfuckingtastic job Potter,” I murmur at my hands.
He’s hiding in the corner when I go back to the bedroom to check on him. His eyes are still wet and he’s toying with a small stuffed owl that’s seen better days. How many times did I cry alone in a corner, only to never have someone come make things right? I deflate , this little boy is me. He’s everything I was and will hopefully become nothing that I am. Selfishness, bitterness, and perpetually lonely; I want none of this for him.“M sorry,” I mumble, feeling as awkward and stubborn as I’ve always been.
Little brown eyes look up at me and I feel like shit when more tears leak from them. “S’okay.”
I drop down next to him and my arm snakes out, reaching timidly to pull him closer. He is stiff, but at five it only takes him a moment to get over his previous betrayal, and finally he melts into my side. The heart I’d forgotten swells a tad within my chest, and I promise, in this moment, that I will give him everything I never had. Even if it kills me he will have a close to perfect life. A family. Hopefully Andromeda can stay in the hospital, alive, monitored to stabilize her magicks; just long enough for Teddy to go to school. Then I won’t have to become more of a monster than I already am. I don’t want to turn back into that person I nearly became after the war.
Teddy is sleeping soundly on my bed, in the single room, when Ginny arrives. She still looks as she had, all those years ago when I kissed her goodbye. Told her that I wasn’t going to stay and that she’d better not wait. I wouldn’t respect her if she’d stayed some pining slag. She didn’t, she jumped ship, found a new vessel, and loved a different captain.
“Hey,” I say. Elbows resting on my knees, hunched over, looking up at her through the too long pieces of my bangs. Her smile is still brilliant and she is still beautiful. I can do this, I think, and pretend to love her. She steps forward, hand extending and I take it in my own.
“Hey,” she replies as I pull her into my lap. The kiss is easy. A simple press of lips, with knowing tongues that taste what we’ve had before. It is predictable, the same kiss she gave me when she was fifteen and I was sixteen. Yet, I can still get hard, and I do. It’s been a couple weeks and I need a release for all the stress.
She is more vocal than I, generally I don’t need to speak. But Ginny, she’s got this need to tell me everything I do to her. It’d be hot if I hadn’t heard it all before, and she’s easy enough to quiet with kisses. I am careful with her, and we are hushed in consideration of Teddy. I’m quick and come much faster than normal, but she doesn’t take the Mickey, Ginny smiles and I feel ill. Yet I carry on, smile back and kiss her sweating brow as if I love her. Giving the illusion that I couldn’t forget her. “I love you,” the lie is sour in my mouth, but it’s not unfamiliar.
When she sleeps on me, her breasts pressed to my chest and her body curved along the length of mine, I pray that Andromeda makes it through the week. Then I ask to let her make it through the year, anything to put off seeing Malfoy. If she could last until Teddy’s eleven, I wish silently. I know I could do this with Gin, Ted, and everyone. I’ve starred in this play before, but Malfoy is an unknown factor. If he’s with me, if he’s near me, and if he’s working toward a common goal then we will stand on unfamiliar ground. I don’t like not knowing how things will turn out. I don’t enjoy lacking control. It’s too much now as it was when I was a young boy, a boy with a destiny he didn’t want. I want to call the shots and with Malfoy I know I can, but I am not sure how he will affect me. He’s never been easy to deal with after all.
As it is I’ve never had much luck with prayer, and Andromeda lasts three days before she finally takes her last breath.
Teddy cries but not as much as he did when he first left her house, or so I am told by Molly. Andromeda hasn’t seen him in weeks, and he’s probably used to the shock of not having her around. Neither of us enjoy the hospital so I try not to take him there too often.
Ginny comes round almost every night and Teddy glares daggers at her when she tries to hold him, comfort him, or act in a maternal way. Part of me loves how resistant he is toward her, in a way, he’s pushing her out like I want. Then the other part of me wants to hit him, tell him to mind, and get on with the act. This is hard enough without him being so damn defiant.
A week after the funeral Ron keeps pestering me to go see Malfoy, and I finally do. Teddy’s become ashen and has been hospitalised for a radical drop in health and magic. I can’t put the inevitable off any longer.
Stopping, briefly, by Shacklebolt’s office before I face my new destiny with Malfoy. He hands me a light scroll, and I feel sick coil in my stomach as I look at the black velvet that holds it closed. “This is what you wanted,” Kingsley says and his tone reminds me of Dumbledore, when he’d say something I didn’t want to acknowledge.
“I know,” I whisper back. Surprising myself, because when I was a boy I’d have denied the truth vehemently for as long as I could. Maybe I’m growing up. I give a small chuckle and Kingsley looks at me, unsure. Flashing him a smile while clutching this damning scroll I think that perhaps I haven’t really grown at all. Just become older and more self despising.
The day after the paper releases their bullshit story of me being in turmoil, an unlocked Floo grants me easy access into Malfoy Manor. When I step from the ornate hearth I see Malfoy. Looking as he had that night in Myrtle’s loo. Lost, broken, and about to lose his mind; he appears to have given up. Waiting for death in defeat, and I cough if only to break him from his trance.
“Potter,” he still doesn’t look at me, he just knows. The heat in his home is stifling, a rare wash of guilt rises up and hits me. I did this; this punishment was my own. Then Malfoy is speaking, “I figured I’d have at least three more days. Little Miss Muddy certainly works fast doesn’t she?”
I feel annoyed and squash the feeling of fault, with a dark scowl I reply, “Don’t call Hermione that Malfoy.”
“Certainly Master,” there is a hard edge in his tone that he tries to hide with nonchalance, but I can see the tense line of his body. The way he is drawn taut, as if ready to snap at any moment. I nearly deflate in his presence, and his term Master nearly kills my will to continue. Yet, a face with fat cheeks and brown eyes steels my resolve. Teddy needs this man. And in a way I need him too.
“I am here for Teddy.” Malfoy doesn’t look surprised, he just swings around, and faces me, hands on his knees.
“Of course you are, why else would you be here; certainly not for tea,” his sneer makes me clench my jaw and cross my arms. “I haven’t got any, can’t afford to drink tea I’m afraid, so you’ll just have to do without Potter.”
I frown, and my arms drop from their defensive position, “You haven’t any tea, what about food?”
His smile would be nice if it weren’t attached to the world’s largest arsehole, his face would also be attractive if he didn’t use such a biting tone when he spoke, “Potter, look around you, feel the air with your great powerful self, and tell me what’s missing from my home.”
I know in an instant to what he’s referring, but I take a long minute to “figure it out”. The vacant portraits are the worst to look at, the pain is nearly physical, and I feel just as sorry for Malfoy as I feel he strongly deserves this punishment. “Magic,” I whisper at last.
Brokenly Malfoy says, “Yes Magic, the little bit cooling my bedroom is something I’ve to pay for...not much left for food after that I’m afraid, what with my frozen assets and all.” Then he sighs, looking up at me from his miserable position on the sofa, “So spit it out already Potter, tell me what I have to do.”
On an exhale I say, “Become a woman.”
There is a twitching muscle in his jaw when he snaps him mouth shut, and I pretend not to notice the glassy glaze of his eyes. They dart the length of the room, focusing on some dusty vase as he takes a moment to deliberate. “And if I refuse,” he asks finally; I step forward placing the scroll on the table in front of his sofa. Long white fingers snatch it up, opening it quickly; I watch as wide grey eyes scan the length of the scroll’s contents. His eyes grow wider at the end, they dull with more defeat and I know what he’s reading. Those two lines that sum it all up, neatly, and officially it says, “In accordance to Mr Harry James Potter’s request, Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy is hereby placed as a serving member of the Potter family. To serve the House of Potter until either his death or the Potter family relinquishes Mr Malfoy back to freedom.”
“What, when,” he whispers as the scroll, with its lovely gold calligraphy, falls from his limp grasp, “Why,” suddenly he’s looking up and he’s angry. This is familiar ground. I welcome his fiery eyes. “Why the fuck would you do this Potter?” His hands are in my shirt, twisting, violent. I grin wickedly as I shove him while fisting my hand in his blond hair.
“Why the hell did you do all the nasty little things you used to do Malfoy,” I trip him and he falls to his knees, looking almost beaten. I wonder if there is an automatic obedience in him now, I’m not sure how the bonds of slavery work. If so it’s a pity. I like him aggressive.
“Fuck you Potter,” he says and twists out of my grasp, rolling onto his back, looking up at me with the same hatred I remember from school, “I never took your life from you.”
“Tried damn hard though didn’t you?” He narrows his eyes at my snort and moves to stand. “If our positions were reversed, you’d own me in an instant, wouldn’t you?”
He never answers the questions, choosing to pick at the lint on his shabby shirt.“Will I at least get a wand,” it is sobering to hear Malfoy nearly begging. His tone and body conquered as if all he can do is play the needy victim.
Pity is an emotion I’ve never been able to suppress completely, much as I’ve tried. Damning my need to help I sigh and say, “Yes, but I will restrict it.” He nods; his shoulders seem to sag more, as if he has just felt the oppressive weight of being magicless lifting. I feel a giant tug of regret and with a mental sigh I add, “I’ll also free you after you’ve served your purpose. You won’t be here to play mum, Ginny will be Teddy’s mum, and I’ll be his dad...you’ll just be here to stabilize him.”
“Can I grab a few things then,” I nod when he turns to look at me and not a moment later he disappears from my sight.
It takes Malfoy a very short time and I wonder at his lack of bags. In his hand I see a small pouch and I assume that holds what he wants. Weird, I think, because I saw him as fighting this more, wanting to hold onto everything within this dark and decrepit place. He never even asks why it has to be him, nor why he’s got to be a mum, and I wonder at Malfoy’s compliance.
I block most of the visit to St. Mungo’s out. I don’t want to deal with all the tireless crap, and this hell that I’ve been in for these past three days isn’t worth the trouble. At least I think that until I see Teddy looking healthier, giving me reason to feel relieved. Yes it is worth Malfoy, I suppose.
Ron invites us to Molly’s and Arthur’s the day we’re released. Malfoy hasn’t seen Ron so I pull him aside; ducking into an empty room with him when he pops round my home, “I’m not sure.” Ron frowns.
“You are not getting out of this one Harry. Mum’s orders.” I sigh for what feels like the billionth time this month and Ron grabs my shoulder, “Look Harry, we’re all going to have to get used to Malfoy. He’s, I mean, she’s going to be around Teddy, be a part of his and your life.” He grimaces as he says, “She’s like family now.”
With a horrified look I say, “No, absolutely not. You are not to be nice to him.” He corrects me and says ‘her’, I wave the amendment off. Furiously I hiss at him to comply with my demands.
Ron looks taken aback and steps away from me, a frown drawing his reddish eyebrows together, “Why?”
“I just don’t want things to change, yeah?” Ron appears doubtful so I rush to add, “Look mate, when Teddy’s eleven Malfoy is gone, can we try to keep things as hostile as they’ve always been? He’s, okay she’s, not family, not now, not ever.”
He still appears wary, but finally after looking me in the eye for a long minute, he says, “Alright, if that’s how you want to play it then sure.”
I release a relieved breath, “Thanks mate.”
“Just don’t regret this.”
I say I won’t, and in a sense of déjà vu I wonder if I really mean that.
Hermione adamantly refuses to be mean to Malfoy, but Ginny jumps right on the wagon.
When Ron gets chastised from Hermione for calling Malfoy a freak of a woman I know why he’s pinked at the ears. It’s not because she’s got onto him, it’s because he’s really sorry that he has to act the arse. Ron’s always had decent values, kicking the down and out isn’t usually his style. He even felt terrible for that punch he landed on Malfoy the night of the final battle, though the bastard deserved it then just as much as he...she does now.
Teddy and Malfoy get along splendidly.
At first I don’t like it, and keep trying to pull Ginny deeper into the fold. She in turn resents me for this, “What if I don’t want to be a mum? I mean Harry he’s got Malfoy,” she says over lunch one day. I’ve just started at the Auror department and am grateful that they gave me a Senior Auror badge instead of a Junior badge. Grunt work is terribly boring. Killing a Dark Lord gets you out of that sort of toil, thankfully. “Besides I’d rather join the Harpies, they’ve been scouting recently and I’ve been practicing for their upcoming tryouts,” Ginny continues, a tone of joy touching her words in a way I’ve never thought possible. I brush the crumbs from my sandwich off my scarlet robes as I listen.
“Why would you want to do that,” giving her a truly puzzled look, “I thought you wanted to be a mum, stay home, bake cakes and all that?” With a frown I also add, “Besides Malfoy is not Ted’s mum.”
It’s the wrong thing to ask, she turns a very dark look on me, “I’m not going to get put into the kitchen because you want me to.” There is a sneer on her face, “You think because my mum’s domesticated that I’m that way, I don’t need you to tell me how I should be,” Ginny takes a drink of her tea, “Look Harry I love you, but I don’t want to be here if I can’t be who I’ve always wanted to become.” I really want to feel for her, want to encourage her to be a person who can appreciate who they are, but that just doesn’t suit my plans. That’s not what I’ve decided, and I don’t love her like that. I can pretend to love her, as long as she is who I want her to be. Is that messed up, horribly so, yes, but I’ve my own plans and desires.
“Well then be off,” I say, and I’m a bit of an arse with my tone. Which serves to make her angrier. Ginny stands, throwing down a couple silver sickles for her food before she storms out.
It is the beginning of an unravelling relationship.
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Date: 2011-03-28 02:12 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2011-03-28 02:14 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2011-03-28 02:27 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2011-03-28 02:29 am (UTC)From:Hope he doesn't put you completely off. He's got to redeem himself eventually.
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Date: 2011-03-30 07:19 pm (UTC)From:Looking forward to another update
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Date: 2011-03-30 08:03 pm (UTC)From: