The end XD
Standstill: Part 3/3
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Draco with the slightest mention of Harry/Ginny
Warnings: Hint of mpreg at the end.
Betaed by lizzilupin
Spoilers for Deathly Hallows through one sentence and a couple implications. It ignores the epilogue, though.
I, of course, do not own Harry Potter ;D.
Feedback: Of course!
Summary: Harry's history with Malfoy has hardly been anything but tumultuous, but when Malfoy comes to him for help, Harry doesn't anticipate just how much things have changed and just how much they've stayed the same.
June 11, 2004: 8:15am
Harry didn’t have to roll over to know Malfoy was gone; he knew as soon as Malfoy had stumbled into Harry’s bedroom and stole half the covers that he wouldn’t stay long enough for Harry to acknowledge his presence in the morning. Harry just didn’t understand why he hadn’t been prepared for the gnawing, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he thought of how he’d allowed it to get this far.
When Malfoy had approached him in that party, Harry had told himself that doing anything besides arguing was a bad idea. Harry had told himself not to respond to the innuendo. Harry was good at lying to himself, too, because he’d wanted to have Malfoy for so long that it would have been nearly impossible to deny himself anything Malfoy was willing to give.
And the worst part was that Harry hated himself for it. He wanted his fantasy back, the one where he would marry Ginny and finally become an official member of her family. He’d been living an extraordinary life for so long he wished he could hold on to that last bit of normalcy. Instead, he’d forced Ginny to see through the illusion they were both striving to create about their relationship. He had thrown himself into his work, ignoring how Ron and Hermione kept pressing him for answers, and one night, when he’d fallen so far into self-pity that he’d drunk himself nearly to liver-failure, he’d made a pass at a slight, blonde man that had been loitering around the bar.Harry never knew who had been the first man he kissed, or whether this man had only responded to Harry’s sub-par pick-up lines because he had propositioned by Harry Potter. Ironically, all the papers knew Harry’s mystery man by face from the picture that had leaked onto the front page of the Daily Prophet. Ron and Hermione were slightly uncomfortable around him now, Ginny had stopped talking to him, and Harry wished, for the first, fleeting time, that he’d stayed dead when Voldemort had aimed his Avada Kedavra
If Harry had to pinpoint the exact time where everything had gone to Hell and back, he wouldn’t have very much trouble. When the dust had settled from Voldemort’s death and the remaining Aurors had begun to sort through the aftermath, most every Death Eater, barring special exceptions, went to Azkaban for a length of time. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, their home having been a haven for the Dark Lord for the greater part of a year, had not escaped prison-time. Their son, on the other hand, had managed to avoid heavy punishment and instead was placed on a year-long probationary period, effective only if he stayed under the guardianship of his closest relative not behind bars. If Andromeda Tonks hadn’t been Malfoy’s aunt and Teddy’s grandmother, this wouldn’t have been a problem. Unfortunately, life didn’t work that way for Harry.
After he had tricked Voldemort into killing himself, Harry entered the Auror division under specific stipulations. Auror training, which ordinarily took only three years, was extended to four for Harry’s case, seeing as he’d missed his seventh year at Hogwarts to camp on most of Britain’s countryside. Between the extensive studies, taxing physical training, and exhaustive mental evaluation, Harry had taken his limited time off to visit his godson. Andromeda, who had wilted from the loss of her family, always welcomed the company, as long as it took her grandson off her hands for a measure of time. Harry didn’t think she got much of a break between the newborn and her stubborn, ex-Death Eater of a nephew, and every time he visited, he noticed that the circles under her eyes had deepened.
Teddy wasn’t anything like how Harry had imagined a baby. Mostly, he cried until his face was so red, it was almost purple, and was only partially consoled by bottles or diaper-changes. Harry often didn’t know what to do and sat awkwardly in Andromeda’s sitting room, holding his wriggling, upset godson while making the most ludicrous shushing noises.
At the time, the only good part about his visits with Teddy was that Malfoy stayed away. Even the rare times when Harry stayed the night, Malfoy would turn around, pink-faced, uncharacteristically silent whenever he saw Harry. Harry couldn’t figure out if this was gratitude that Harry had testified in his family’s defense or embarrassment that Harry had saved his life twice during the last battle, but it became a nice change to not have to be on guard whenever Malfoy was around.
Harry had often wondered when Malfoy would start talking to him again, because the silence, although appreciated, had started to become unnerving. Harry concocted plans to antagonize Malfoy so much that he would have no choice but to break his vow of silence. He plotted everything from flobberworm mucous in Malfoy’s morning tea to ordering Kreacher to serve as Malfoy’s bed-warmer, but in the end, Harry didn’t have to put anything in motion.
It was early morning, on a Sunday, and Harry had reluctantly stayed the night at Andromeda’s; apparently, she had a need to run errands and had no one to look after Teddy. Harry wanted to protest-this was the first time he’d be alone with Teddy and Harry was dreading the crying-but, honestly, she had no choice. Who would leave in infant in Malfoy’s hands, after all? Harry had just brushed his teeth, when he heard the whehing noises that were a prelude to a very loud, very wet protest from Teddy. Harry stumbled out of the bathroom and put on a shirt as the whimpers became full out screams. Harry had just appeared in the doorway to the nursery when he saw the strangest sight since Xenophilius Lovegood’s house.
“What do you want, brat?” Malfoy said, holding Teddy at arm’s length away. He looked every bit as awkward as Harry felt around the baby, and if Malfoy hadn’t put Teddy down to pull out his wand, Harry might’ve stood there and stared at Malfoy’s bare stomach until he was noticed.
“Malfoy-what are you doing?” Harry cried, as Malfoy aimed the wand towards the crib.
“Christ!” Malfoy exclaimed as he nearly fell over his own feet. “Would you warn a person before you shriek? Honestly, Potter.” Malfoy’s hand flew halfway to his mouth as soon as he realized that he’d actually said something to Harry.
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t been pointing your wand at him!”
“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Malfoy said hastily. “It was just-there’s this charm-”
“What, Silencio?” Harry asked sarcastically.
“No. It was just…a lullaby charm, if you must know,” Malfoy finished defiantly. “It doesn’t matter now, anyways. You’re here-you take care of him.” Malfoy stalked out of the room, as Harry stared stupidly after him.
Things changed after that. Malfoy was no longer afraid to speak to Harry, and Harry couldn’t seem to get the image of Malfoy’s bare stomach out of his head. Every time he saw Malfoy, he’d inevitably picture the pale contours of Malfoy’s skin and the trail of fine, nearly invisible hair that had led into Malfoy’s pajama bottoms. Harry tried to tell himself that Malfoy was a bloke, and a git to boot, but it didn’t stop Harry from visiting Andromeda’s more frequently during that year, hoping to glance Malfoy in passing.
Andromeda, hardly stupid, pulled him aside one day. All haughtiness gone from her voice, she told him seriously, “Don’t mess around with Narcissa’s son. He’s as bad as his father-he’ll jerk you around and around till he’s satisfied and you’re miserable.” Harry believed her words, but they didn’t help him at all. He still thought about Malfoy all the time, his situation parodying the sick obsession he’d had with Malfoy during their sixth year. He always thought of Malfoy and his pink mouth and his flat stomach whenever his hand would stray downwards. He broke up with Ginny over it, over this guilt and uncertainty, and even as the years passed, and he began to think less of Malfoy, something would inevitably happen. Malfoy would pop up again, somewhere within the Ministry, maybe, or at a party, and Harry would begin the whole cycle over again, wishing he could find the courage to perform a quick, sweeping Obliviate. And when he failed to convince himself to do that, he would sit and wonder why Malfoy and his awkwardness and his stomach and his sharp tongue made Harry ache with indescribable want.
**
May 27, 2005: 8:13 pm
Nine days after Malfoy had so frantically pounded Harry’s door down, Harry found himself in a small hamlet three hours outside London, waiting patiently as Ingrid Malfoy-soon-to-be-Beauvais-again to answer her door. Harry had finally decided to question Malfoy’s almost-ex again after much deliberation. Anyways, it was the only lead he had, and if he found out later that it could have let him to a definite location for Malfoy’s daughter, the hindsight might kill him. Literally-Malfoy was good with his curses.
After two minutes, Ingrid opened the door and looked at Harry as if he were a small, distasteful rodent. She made a nasally sound of disgust and looked at him beadily. “What do you want? How did you find me?”
Harry shrugged. “Malfoy remembered that you had property out here. I asked around the village and they said they’d seen you around.”
“It does not matter,” Ingrid scoffed. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“I won’t take much of your time,” Harry promised. “I just have a few more questions.”
“And I ‘ave no inclination to answer them.”
“You’d rather I take you down to headquarters?” Harry questioned mildly.
“You wouldn’t,” Ingrid said, but she opened the door and stepped backwards so Harry could enter.
“Thank you.” Ingrid walked a few paces into the hall, and Harry shut the door behind him. She stopped abruptly next to a portrait of a man who was gazing at Harry with an indiscernible expression.
“You are not worth a chair,” Ingrid said loftily. “Ask me here and I shall answer. And make it fast.”
“Okay,” Harry said. “Er-has Malfoy ever done anything to you that made you fear your life?”
“He doesn’t ‘ave the courage or the ability.”
“Has he ever made threatening gestures towards your daughter?”
“No. ‘E adores ‘er. It is sickening.” Ingrid made a face.
“Is there any specific reason to why you suddenly decided to divorce your husband?”
“”E is repulsive. We only married because ‘e ‘ad money and I ‘ad pure blood. I didn’t want to live like zat any longer.”
Harry looked at her long and hard. “Did you have anything to do with the disappearance of his daughter?”
Ingrid looked bored. “No. If zat is all, I’m afraid I am rather busy.”
“Er-”
“Excellent. You may show yourself to ze door, yes?” She turned away and walked down the hall, leaving Harry standing foolishly alone next to the portrait, wishing that he’d had a larger, more impressive list of questions.
**
Harry had left, but using a little technique that mostly involved Apparating out of the village so he could walk back in under his Invisibility Cloak, he ended up back where he had started: right outside Ingrid’s front door. This time, however, Harry wasn’t going to knock; obviously, that strategy yielded no answers, as Ingrid obviously wanted to wrap Harry’s intestines around his neck. He ducked outside her window, making sure his trainers made no sound on the dry grass, and looked into the empty room. The fireplace was still smoldering but Ingrid had apparently retired upstairs.
Twenty minutes later, Harry was about to leave for good and declare that his instincts had finally gone loopy. Of course, just as Harry was leaving the premises, he heard the crack of Apparition and turned around to see a cloaked figure ring Ingrid’s doorbell. Ingrid opened the door and let the stranger in with no words, and Harry returned to his vigil outside her window. Thankfully, Ingrid actually led the man into the sitting room, and Harry started as the figure turned and he saw that Ingrid had allowed a masked Death Eater into her house without any hesitation. They were arguing furiously, but Harry couldn’t do anything that would allow him to hear them without alerting them to his presence. All of a sudden, they Disapparated together, and Harry was extremely glad that Ingrid hadn’t noticed that Harry’d put a tracking spell on her when she’d turned away from him-thankfully, Harry’s instincts hadn’t checked into St. Mungo’s psych ward just yet. He was going to need them if Ingrid had gone where he thought she’d gone.
Harry followed the spell to a remote house that was partially hidden within the trees. He almost wanted to roll his eyes at how clichéd the whole situation was-estranged wife helping Death Eaters to kill a child in a remote area-until he realized that he was alone, in a remote area, ten feet away from a house that was likely full of Death Eaters. He had no definite way of reaching Robards or even Ron for back up, but Harry knew that the tracing spell would begin to weaken and without it, it would be difficult to find the house again, if not impossible, as someone had been smart enough to place an Unplottable ward on it. Harry scowled and spent a few minutes trying to decide what to do.
Finally, after some deliberation, Harry took careful aim at a tree branch, and spelled it to fall, hoping that no one would catch the quick dash of white light. Sure enough, a stocky man came charging out of the front door to investigate, and Harry, not wishing to take the same chance now that everyone was on their guard, hoisted the branch he had just broken, snuck up behind the blustering Death Eater and knocked him over the head. Harry caught the man before he could fall, and, staggering under the weight, slowly let him down onto the ground. Harry had a little Polyjuice potion within his little rucksack that Aurors were required to take around, but he’d used most of it on a raid and hadn’t bothered to replenish it; with what he had, it was doubtful he’d remain disguised for more than twenty minutes. Harry grimaced at the odds but pulled out a number of thick, brown hairs, pulled out the potion, and took both of them down in one straight shot. Two painful minutes later, Harry was trudging towards the door, unsteady in the slightly bigger body. He entered the house and followed the door to a well-lit room, and his stomach dropped as his eyes found the ring-leader of this covert Death Eater operation. It wasn’t Mulciber, of course, but Rookwood, with his deranged, black eyes staring at his tiny group of underground Death Eaters. The room was dirty and the Death Eaters were standing in a semi-circle with Rookwood in front of them, almost in a grotesque parody of a symphony waiting for their conductor to give them instructions
“Well?” he demanded as Harry came into view. “What was it, then?”
“A branch,” Harry grunted, sidling into place beside a small, peaky looking young man. If Rookwood noticed anything different about his Death Eater cum Harry, he didn’t give any notice to it.
“Are you sure? No one there?” Rookwood looked highly menacing as he stroked the sleek black wood of his wand.
“Yes.”
“There’s no one out there, Rookwood,” Ingrid snapped suddenly from the corner. “’Ave you ‘eard what I said, or not? Potter’s suspicious.”
“Oh, come on,” scoffed a nondescript man from Harry’s right. “Potter’s completely oblivious. He’s just running in circles.”
“And what if ‘e isn’t?” Ingrid demanded. “You said in zat letter zat you’d kill the girl if Aurors got involved. Potter’s been snooping around for nine days. It’s time. I want to send Draco her dismembered body.” Harry shivered to himself as the Death Eaters burst into jeering laughter.
“The Malfoy brat did something wrong when he messed around with you,” said the same Death Eater as before. Ingrid just glared at him.
“Very well, I guess you’re right,” said Rookwood tonelessly. “Though I do wish I’d be there to see the look on Malfoy’s eyes when he finds his daughter’s head in the post. Someone get him.”
“I’ll do it,” Harry volunteered, almost too quickly, and Rookwood gave him a suspicious glance before inclining his head slightly. Harry backed into the hall and as soon as he’d gone from view, he broke into a brisk stride. He’d made his decision-there was no way he’d be able to fight off eight Death Eaters and Rookwood at the same time. He was going for Malfoy’s daughter. It took him three doors to find the right one, and when he walked in, he saw her on the bad, making desperate whimpers, something black trickling out of both her ears. Hoping desperately that she was safe to move, he picked her up and Disapparated to St. Mungo’s.
**
Two hours later, after a briefing from a Healer and a very terse telling-off from Robards, Harry was approaching a pale, shaking Malfoy in the waiting room of St. Mungo’s. “Well!” Draco demanded. “Don’t just stand there like a useless lump! Tell me she’s okay.”
Harry wanted so much to look into Malfoy’s silver eyes and lie to him, tell him that his daughter came out of this just as she’d been in the beginning-a normal two-month old. Malfoy needed that news, that good news to offset the nine days of hell he’d been through, but Harry couldn’t give it to him. “She’s lost a lot of weight, Malfoy, and one of her arms was badly broken.” Malfoy buried his head in his hands for few seconds, but when he looked up, his eyes were still dry, as if he’d hardened himself while hidden within his fingers.
“Is that all?” Malfoy said softly.
“No,” Harry said. “The Death Eaters-well, they used some sort of spell-the Healers don’t know what it was yet-and…she’s deaf.” Malfoy started trembling severely, and a flash of pain so immense that it twisted Harry’s gut came across Malfoy’s face, and Harry was watching Malfoy crumble before his eyes.
“Will she live?” Malfoy said, his voice hitching.
“They don’t know yet,” Harry said steadily, tentatively placing his hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. Malfoy shook it off.
“I don’t need your pity, Potter,” he snarled. “Who did it? Was it Mulciber.”
“I followed your wife to a house. Rookwood was there.” Malfoy’s eyes darkened, and Harry could see the rage through the pain, and Harry felt like he was intruding, but there was one thing-one question-and it ripped through Harry’s mouth before he could prevent it.
“I didn’t know green eyes ran through your family.” Harry wanted to steal the words from the air as soon as he uttered them so tactlessly, but they hung heavily between him and Malfoy.
Malfoy inhaled shakily. “How did--?”
“The Healers found the disguising charm you put on her,” Harry said haltingly. “They-they wanted to know-why did you do it?”
“Why?” Malfoy said through gritted teeth, the rage overtaking the pain as he met Harry’s eyes. “Why? You knew why as soon as you saw it, didn’t you? You knew as soon as you saw her eyes that you’d gotten me pregnant. And after all that trouble I went through to hide her, my wife turns around and it’s all for nothing, because here you are, asking me about it.”
“Malfoy-how-is-that-possible?” Harry said, stumbling around the words, his mind reeling.
”God, it’s always so easy to tell you’d been brought up by Muggles,” Malfoy said, indirectly avoiding the question. “I can’t talk to you anymore, Potter. You need to leave now.” Harry didn’t press, because he was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had a daughter with Malfoy and how it was impossible and how dare Malfoy not tell him, and what was going to happen now? He was so distracted, Robards nearly hexed him when he couldn’t sufficiently explain how he’d allowed nine Death Eaters to get away in lieu of rescuing a baby.
**
Ten days later, Harry found Malfoy at his house. “I’m not going to pretend like she doesn’t exist,” he said. “And I’m not going to settle for seeing her on the weekends. You bring her and come live with me, or I’ll take her without you. I’m sick of living without a family.” Malfoy didn’t nod or shake his head or react at first; he only opened the door wider, and despite the fact that Harry knew his life was going to get a lot more difficult in the shortest span of time, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the tiny curl of hope that had finally unearthed itself.
END
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Draco with the slightest mention of Harry/Ginny
Warnings: Hint of mpreg at the end.
Betaed by lizzilupin
Spoilers for Deathly Hallows through one sentence and a couple implications. It ignores the epilogue, though.
I, of course, do not own Harry Potter ;D.
Feedback: Of course!
Summary: Harry's history with Malfoy has hardly been anything but tumultuous, but when Malfoy comes to him for help, Harry doesn't anticipate just how much things have changed and just how much they've stayed the same.
June 11, 2004: 8:15am
Harry didn’t have to roll over to know Malfoy was gone; he knew as soon as Malfoy had stumbled into Harry’s bedroom and stole half the covers that he wouldn’t stay long enough for Harry to acknowledge his presence in the morning. Harry just didn’t understand why he hadn’t been prepared for the gnawing, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he thought of how he’d allowed it to get this far.
When Malfoy had approached him in that party, Harry had told himself that doing anything besides arguing was a bad idea. Harry had told himself not to respond to the innuendo. Harry was good at lying to himself, too, because he’d wanted to have Malfoy for so long that it would have been nearly impossible to deny himself anything Malfoy was willing to give.
And the worst part was that Harry hated himself for it. He wanted his fantasy back, the one where he would marry Ginny and finally become an official member of her family. He’d been living an extraordinary life for so long he wished he could hold on to that last bit of normalcy. Instead, he’d forced Ginny to see through the illusion they were both striving to create about their relationship. He had thrown himself into his work, ignoring how Ron and Hermione kept pressing him for answers, and one night, when he’d fallen so far into self-pity that he’d drunk himself nearly to liver-failure, he’d made a pass at a slight, blonde man that had been loitering around the bar.Harry never knew who had been the first man he kissed, or whether this man had only responded to Harry’s sub-par pick-up lines because he had propositioned by Harry Potter. Ironically, all the papers knew Harry’s mystery man by face from the picture that had leaked onto the front page of the Daily Prophet. Ron and Hermione were slightly uncomfortable around him now, Ginny had stopped talking to him, and Harry wished, for the first, fleeting time, that he’d stayed dead when Voldemort had aimed his Avada Kedavra
If Harry had to pinpoint the exact time where everything had gone to Hell and back, he wouldn’t have very much trouble. When the dust had settled from Voldemort’s death and the remaining Aurors had begun to sort through the aftermath, most every Death Eater, barring special exceptions, went to Azkaban for a length of time. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, their home having been a haven for the Dark Lord for the greater part of a year, had not escaped prison-time. Their son, on the other hand, had managed to avoid heavy punishment and instead was placed on a year-long probationary period, effective only if he stayed under the guardianship of his closest relative not behind bars. If Andromeda Tonks hadn’t been Malfoy’s aunt and Teddy’s grandmother, this wouldn’t have been a problem. Unfortunately, life didn’t work that way for Harry.
After he had tricked Voldemort into killing himself, Harry entered the Auror division under specific stipulations. Auror training, which ordinarily took only three years, was extended to four for Harry’s case, seeing as he’d missed his seventh year at Hogwarts to camp on most of Britain’s countryside. Between the extensive studies, taxing physical training, and exhaustive mental evaluation, Harry had taken his limited time off to visit his godson. Andromeda, who had wilted from the loss of her family, always welcomed the company, as long as it took her grandson off her hands for a measure of time. Harry didn’t think she got much of a break between the newborn and her stubborn, ex-Death Eater of a nephew, and every time he visited, he noticed that the circles under her eyes had deepened.
Teddy wasn’t anything like how Harry had imagined a baby. Mostly, he cried until his face was so red, it was almost purple, and was only partially consoled by bottles or diaper-changes. Harry often didn’t know what to do and sat awkwardly in Andromeda’s sitting room, holding his wriggling, upset godson while making the most ludicrous shushing noises.
At the time, the only good part about his visits with Teddy was that Malfoy stayed away. Even the rare times when Harry stayed the night, Malfoy would turn around, pink-faced, uncharacteristically silent whenever he saw Harry. Harry couldn’t figure out if this was gratitude that Harry had testified in his family’s defense or embarrassment that Harry had saved his life twice during the last battle, but it became a nice change to not have to be on guard whenever Malfoy was around.
Harry had often wondered when Malfoy would start talking to him again, because the silence, although appreciated, had started to become unnerving. Harry concocted plans to antagonize Malfoy so much that he would have no choice but to break his vow of silence. He plotted everything from flobberworm mucous in Malfoy’s morning tea to ordering Kreacher to serve as Malfoy’s bed-warmer, but in the end, Harry didn’t have to put anything in motion.
It was early morning, on a Sunday, and Harry had reluctantly stayed the night at Andromeda’s; apparently, she had a need to run errands and had no one to look after Teddy. Harry wanted to protest-this was the first time he’d be alone with Teddy and Harry was dreading the crying-but, honestly, she had no choice. Who would leave in infant in Malfoy’s hands, after all? Harry had just brushed his teeth, when he heard the whehing noises that were a prelude to a very loud, very wet protest from Teddy. Harry stumbled out of the bathroom and put on a shirt as the whimpers became full out screams. Harry had just appeared in the doorway to the nursery when he saw the strangest sight since Xenophilius Lovegood’s house.
“What do you want, brat?” Malfoy said, holding Teddy at arm’s length away. He looked every bit as awkward as Harry felt around the baby, and if Malfoy hadn’t put Teddy down to pull out his wand, Harry might’ve stood there and stared at Malfoy’s bare stomach until he was noticed.
“Malfoy-what are you doing?” Harry cried, as Malfoy aimed the wand towards the crib.
“Christ!” Malfoy exclaimed as he nearly fell over his own feet. “Would you warn a person before you shriek? Honestly, Potter.” Malfoy’s hand flew halfway to his mouth as soon as he realized that he’d actually said something to Harry.
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t been pointing your wand at him!”
“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Malfoy said hastily. “It was just-there’s this charm-”
“What, Silencio?” Harry asked sarcastically.
“No. It was just…a lullaby charm, if you must know,” Malfoy finished defiantly. “It doesn’t matter now, anyways. You’re here-you take care of him.” Malfoy stalked out of the room, as Harry stared stupidly after him.
Things changed after that. Malfoy was no longer afraid to speak to Harry, and Harry couldn’t seem to get the image of Malfoy’s bare stomach out of his head. Every time he saw Malfoy, he’d inevitably picture the pale contours of Malfoy’s skin and the trail of fine, nearly invisible hair that had led into Malfoy’s pajama bottoms. Harry tried to tell himself that Malfoy was a bloke, and a git to boot, but it didn’t stop Harry from visiting Andromeda’s more frequently during that year, hoping to glance Malfoy in passing.
Andromeda, hardly stupid, pulled him aside one day. All haughtiness gone from her voice, she told him seriously, “Don’t mess around with Narcissa’s son. He’s as bad as his father-he’ll jerk you around and around till he’s satisfied and you’re miserable.” Harry believed her words, but they didn’t help him at all. He still thought about Malfoy all the time, his situation parodying the sick obsession he’d had with Malfoy during their sixth year. He always thought of Malfoy and his pink mouth and his flat stomach whenever his hand would stray downwards. He broke up with Ginny over it, over this guilt and uncertainty, and even as the years passed, and he began to think less of Malfoy, something would inevitably happen. Malfoy would pop up again, somewhere within the Ministry, maybe, or at a party, and Harry would begin the whole cycle over again, wishing he could find the courage to perform a quick, sweeping Obliviate. And when he failed to convince himself to do that, he would sit and wonder why Malfoy and his awkwardness and his stomach and his sharp tongue made Harry ache with indescribable want.
**
May 27, 2005: 8:13 pm
Nine days after Malfoy had so frantically pounded Harry’s door down, Harry found himself in a small hamlet three hours outside London, waiting patiently as Ingrid Malfoy-soon-to-be-Beauvais-again to answer her door. Harry had finally decided to question Malfoy’s almost-ex again after much deliberation. Anyways, it was the only lead he had, and if he found out later that it could have let him to a definite location for Malfoy’s daughter, the hindsight might kill him. Literally-Malfoy was good with his curses.
After two minutes, Ingrid opened the door and looked at Harry as if he were a small, distasteful rodent. She made a nasally sound of disgust and looked at him beadily. “What do you want? How did you find me?”
Harry shrugged. “Malfoy remembered that you had property out here. I asked around the village and they said they’d seen you around.”
“It does not matter,” Ingrid scoffed. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“I won’t take much of your time,” Harry promised. “I just have a few more questions.”
“And I ‘ave no inclination to answer them.”
“You’d rather I take you down to headquarters?” Harry questioned mildly.
“You wouldn’t,” Ingrid said, but she opened the door and stepped backwards so Harry could enter.
“Thank you.” Ingrid walked a few paces into the hall, and Harry shut the door behind him. She stopped abruptly next to a portrait of a man who was gazing at Harry with an indiscernible expression.
“You are not worth a chair,” Ingrid said loftily. “Ask me here and I shall answer. And make it fast.”
“Okay,” Harry said. “Er-has Malfoy ever done anything to you that made you fear your life?”
“He doesn’t ‘ave the courage or the ability.”
“Has he ever made threatening gestures towards your daughter?”
“No. ‘E adores ‘er. It is sickening.” Ingrid made a face.
“Is there any specific reason to why you suddenly decided to divorce your husband?”
“”E is repulsive. We only married because ‘e ‘ad money and I ‘ad pure blood. I didn’t want to live like zat any longer.”
Harry looked at her long and hard. “Did you have anything to do with the disappearance of his daughter?”
Ingrid looked bored. “No. If zat is all, I’m afraid I am rather busy.”
“Er-”
“Excellent. You may show yourself to ze door, yes?” She turned away and walked down the hall, leaving Harry standing foolishly alone next to the portrait, wishing that he’d had a larger, more impressive list of questions.
**
Harry had left, but using a little technique that mostly involved Apparating out of the village so he could walk back in under his Invisibility Cloak, he ended up back where he had started: right outside Ingrid’s front door. This time, however, Harry wasn’t going to knock; obviously, that strategy yielded no answers, as Ingrid obviously wanted to wrap Harry’s intestines around his neck. He ducked outside her window, making sure his trainers made no sound on the dry grass, and looked into the empty room. The fireplace was still smoldering but Ingrid had apparently retired upstairs.
Twenty minutes later, Harry was about to leave for good and declare that his instincts had finally gone loopy. Of course, just as Harry was leaving the premises, he heard the crack of Apparition and turned around to see a cloaked figure ring Ingrid’s doorbell. Ingrid opened the door and let the stranger in with no words, and Harry returned to his vigil outside her window. Thankfully, Ingrid actually led the man into the sitting room, and Harry started as the figure turned and he saw that Ingrid had allowed a masked Death Eater into her house without any hesitation. They were arguing furiously, but Harry couldn’t do anything that would allow him to hear them without alerting them to his presence. All of a sudden, they Disapparated together, and Harry was extremely glad that Ingrid hadn’t noticed that Harry’d put a tracking spell on her when she’d turned away from him-thankfully, Harry’s instincts hadn’t checked into St. Mungo’s psych ward just yet. He was going to need them if Ingrid had gone where he thought she’d gone.
Harry followed the spell to a remote house that was partially hidden within the trees. He almost wanted to roll his eyes at how clichéd the whole situation was-estranged wife helping Death Eaters to kill a child in a remote area-until he realized that he was alone, in a remote area, ten feet away from a house that was likely full of Death Eaters. He had no definite way of reaching Robards or even Ron for back up, but Harry knew that the tracing spell would begin to weaken and without it, it would be difficult to find the house again, if not impossible, as someone had been smart enough to place an Unplottable ward on it. Harry scowled and spent a few minutes trying to decide what to do.
Finally, after some deliberation, Harry took careful aim at a tree branch, and spelled it to fall, hoping that no one would catch the quick dash of white light. Sure enough, a stocky man came charging out of the front door to investigate, and Harry, not wishing to take the same chance now that everyone was on their guard, hoisted the branch he had just broken, snuck up behind the blustering Death Eater and knocked him over the head. Harry caught the man before he could fall, and, staggering under the weight, slowly let him down onto the ground. Harry had a little Polyjuice potion within his little rucksack that Aurors were required to take around, but he’d used most of it on a raid and hadn’t bothered to replenish it; with what he had, it was doubtful he’d remain disguised for more than twenty minutes. Harry grimaced at the odds but pulled out a number of thick, brown hairs, pulled out the potion, and took both of them down in one straight shot. Two painful minutes later, Harry was trudging towards the door, unsteady in the slightly bigger body. He entered the house and followed the door to a well-lit room, and his stomach dropped as his eyes found the ring-leader of this covert Death Eater operation. It wasn’t Mulciber, of course, but Rookwood, with his deranged, black eyes staring at his tiny group of underground Death Eaters. The room was dirty and the Death Eaters were standing in a semi-circle with Rookwood in front of them, almost in a grotesque parody of a symphony waiting for their conductor to give them instructions
“Well?” he demanded as Harry came into view. “What was it, then?”
“A branch,” Harry grunted, sidling into place beside a small, peaky looking young man. If Rookwood noticed anything different about his Death Eater cum Harry, he didn’t give any notice to it.
“Are you sure? No one there?” Rookwood looked highly menacing as he stroked the sleek black wood of his wand.
“Yes.”
“There’s no one out there, Rookwood,” Ingrid snapped suddenly from the corner. “’Ave you ‘eard what I said, or not? Potter’s suspicious.”
“Oh, come on,” scoffed a nondescript man from Harry’s right. “Potter’s completely oblivious. He’s just running in circles.”
“And what if ‘e isn’t?” Ingrid demanded. “You said in zat letter zat you’d kill the girl if Aurors got involved. Potter’s been snooping around for nine days. It’s time. I want to send Draco her dismembered body.” Harry shivered to himself as the Death Eaters burst into jeering laughter.
“The Malfoy brat did something wrong when he messed around with you,” said the same Death Eater as before. Ingrid just glared at him.
“Very well, I guess you’re right,” said Rookwood tonelessly. “Though I do wish I’d be there to see the look on Malfoy’s eyes when he finds his daughter’s head in the post. Someone get him.”
“I’ll do it,” Harry volunteered, almost too quickly, and Rookwood gave him a suspicious glance before inclining his head slightly. Harry backed into the hall and as soon as he’d gone from view, he broke into a brisk stride. He’d made his decision-there was no way he’d be able to fight off eight Death Eaters and Rookwood at the same time. He was going for Malfoy’s daughter. It took him three doors to find the right one, and when he walked in, he saw her on the bad, making desperate whimpers, something black trickling out of both her ears. Hoping desperately that she was safe to move, he picked her up and Disapparated to St. Mungo’s.
**
Two hours later, after a briefing from a Healer and a very terse telling-off from Robards, Harry was approaching a pale, shaking Malfoy in the waiting room of St. Mungo’s. “Well!” Draco demanded. “Don’t just stand there like a useless lump! Tell me she’s okay.”
Harry wanted so much to look into Malfoy’s silver eyes and lie to him, tell him that his daughter came out of this just as she’d been in the beginning-a normal two-month old. Malfoy needed that news, that good news to offset the nine days of hell he’d been through, but Harry couldn’t give it to him. “She’s lost a lot of weight, Malfoy, and one of her arms was badly broken.” Malfoy buried his head in his hands for few seconds, but when he looked up, his eyes were still dry, as if he’d hardened himself while hidden within his fingers.
“Is that all?” Malfoy said softly.
“No,” Harry said. “The Death Eaters-well, they used some sort of spell-the Healers don’t know what it was yet-and…she’s deaf.” Malfoy started trembling severely, and a flash of pain so immense that it twisted Harry’s gut came across Malfoy’s face, and Harry was watching Malfoy crumble before his eyes.
“Will she live?” Malfoy said, his voice hitching.
“They don’t know yet,” Harry said steadily, tentatively placing his hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. Malfoy shook it off.
“I don’t need your pity, Potter,” he snarled. “Who did it? Was it Mulciber.”
“I followed your wife to a house. Rookwood was there.” Malfoy’s eyes darkened, and Harry could see the rage through the pain, and Harry felt like he was intruding, but there was one thing-one question-and it ripped through Harry’s mouth before he could prevent it.
“I didn’t know green eyes ran through your family.” Harry wanted to steal the words from the air as soon as he uttered them so tactlessly, but they hung heavily between him and Malfoy.
Malfoy inhaled shakily. “How did--?”
“The Healers found the disguising charm you put on her,” Harry said haltingly. “They-they wanted to know-why did you do it?”
“Why?” Malfoy said through gritted teeth, the rage overtaking the pain as he met Harry’s eyes. “Why? You knew why as soon as you saw it, didn’t you? You knew as soon as you saw her eyes that you’d gotten me pregnant. And after all that trouble I went through to hide her, my wife turns around and it’s all for nothing, because here you are, asking me about it.”
“Malfoy-how-is-that-possible?” Harry said, stumbling around the words, his mind reeling.
”God, it’s always so easy to tell you’d been brought up by Muggles,” Malfoy said, indirectly avoiding the question. “I can’t talk to you anymore, Potter. You need to leave now.” Harry didn’t press, because he was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had a daughter with Malfoy and how it was impossible and how dare Malfoy not tell him, and what was going to happen now? He was so distracted, Robards nearly hexed him when he couldn’t sufficiently explain how he’d allowed nine Death Eaters to get away in lieu of rescuing a baby.
**
Ten days later, Harry found Malfoy at his house. “I’m not going to pretend like she doesn’t exist,” he said. “And I’m not going to settle for seeing her on the weekends. You bring her and come live with me, or I’ll take her without you. I’m sick of living without a family.” Malfoy didn’t nod or shake his head or react at first; he only opened the door wider, and despite the fact that Harry knew his life was going to get a lot more difficult in the shortest span of time, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the tiny curl of hope that had finally unearthed itself.
END