Fic: Parity Transformations - Harry/Draco - 1/? - NC-17 overall
Title: Parity Transformations
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17 overall
Summary: Eleven years since he ran from Hogwarts and seven years since the end of the war, Draco has moved on. Now in his late twenties, Draco lives a reclusive life in a tiny village in Hampshire. Never in a million years does he expect to cross paths with Harry Potter again. But he does, and there are two, rather small and rather excitable, complications.
Beta done by amejisuto. Thank you, darling.
A/N: Compliant with all canon up to HBP so there may be spoilers for any of the six books. As this fic is already planned out in full, it will not be compliant with book 7. Apologies for my bad timing.
Previous Chapter: HERE
Draco Malfoy loved to walk. There was something about putting one foot in front of the other, no plans and no intentions, and seeing where you would end up.
As a boy he’d dreamed of gazing over hills and valleys, and running as far and fast as his legs would take him just for the hell of it, just because it was fun. Freedom. But that was before he discovered power and self restraint, and before the Dark Arts became more interesting that the limitless sky above. That was before the power to hurt became preferable to jumping in puddles.
It seemed fitting that Draco Malfoy would one day come full circle.
The ground was firm and dry today, a sunny contrast to the previous week when the grass beneath his feet had been drowned by a continuous four-day downpour. That week, Draco had truly needed his two hundred pound walking boots. This week, though, the sun had been shining just as it should in June, and the grassland was to be easily negotiated.
Draco left the light shadows of the oak trees and took slow steps uphill towards the next patch of forest. Farley Mount was extensive, miles of chalk down grassland and woodland. There were an almost unlimited number of routes to take and parts of the county park to see, but even though Draco had been walking here every Sunday for the past three years, he had yet to see it all.
Draco Malfoy was a creature of habit. He liked his ordered life, his porridge for breakfast everyday, and his walk through Farley Mount County Park every Sunday. He got up at six o’clock sharp every day courtesy of his very accurate body clock, liked to read The Daily Prophet and The Times, in that order, with a mug of strong Twinings Breakfast Tea, everyday. He got his hair trimmed every six weeks, his nails done every two weeks and settled his bills the moment they came by Muggle post.
There was only one thing in Draco’s life that disrupted this order: a person: a very small person who invited chaos, dirt, non-stop chatter, and a life of happiness that Draco treasured far beyond any expanse of power or abundance of riches: a son.
‘Not too far!’ Draco called into the distance at the disappearing speck that was his child. Immediately, the faraway speck stopped, then became larger and larger as it closed in, forming the vision of a small boy of four, with a slightly pointy face, floppy flaxen hair and a Cheshire Cat grin.
‘Come on! Too slow!’ the boy bellowed back, stopping and jumping up and down.
‘Have pity on your old father,’ Draco said with mock weakness.
‘I’ll help you, Daddy!’ The little boy rushed to his father and took his hand, to all intents and purposes dragging him up the steep embankment.
‘You’re supposed to tell me I’m not old, not rush to my aid,’ Draco said with an exasperated chuckle. He let himself be lead up to the top of the bank where the grassland suddenly dipped again. His son let go of his hand, got down on his side, and rolled all the way down the little hill.
Draco chose a more sensible route, detouring to the left and following a thin, windy, whitish-coloured path that took much more time to get down than the roly-poly method.
Kasen Miles Narciso Malfoy stood bouncing while he waited, clearly impatient and desperate to be on his little way.
‘Go on, then,’ Draco said, waving him away. But stay where I can see you, or I’ll Accio you right back.'
There was mischief written all over Kasen’s face. Draco looked around him - no Muggles in sight - and grinned back at his son.
Kasen took off with surprising speed for one with such small legs. He laughed joyfully as he ran, speeding in the direction of the woodland and the boggy track and bridleway beyond, the last place Draco wanted him to go. Even in the summer months, that track - an access road for forestry vehicles, although Draco had never once seen so much as a Land Rover go down it - never fully dried up, and the mud could easily reach the top of and then fill Kasen’s Wellington boots.
Draco gave him a three second start, which was as much as he dared, and then he took off after his son, his long strides quickly making up the distance. He stopped dead, pulled out his wand, and shouted, ‘ACCIO KASEN MILES NARCISO MALFOY!’
Kasen flew backwards through the air, laughing, squealing and kicking, and landed comfortably and securely in his father’s arms. He wiggled until Draco put him down, then he went charging off again, obviously hoping for a repeat performance. He stopped suddenly when a small, dark-haired boy, out of breath and grinning from ear to ear, emerged from the trees.
Kasen stared at him, wariness creeping over his face, and Draco cursed himself for installing such suspicion in his own son.
‘Who are you?’ Kasen asked, his chin rising and his back straightening.
His tone was polite enough, but Draco recognised it as Kasen’s formal voice, a voice just like his own, reserved for strangers, people that he didn’t know, people that might be bad.
The dark-haired boy seemed to be considering Kasen, and Draco moved closer to ensure his son behaved and inflicted no rudeness upon the small stranger.
‘I’m James. Do you want to play?’
It saddened Draco that instead of turning excitedly to ask permission, his son instead narrowed his eyes and asked guardedly, ‘What sort of game?’
As it turned out, the answer to that question was not one that needed words. The little boy pulled back his arm and lobbed a great fist-full of mud, splattering a shocked Kasen.
‘Now you have to get me!’
The little boy turned tail and ran, leaving a stunned Kasen blinking up at his equally stunned father.
‘Well,’ Draco said, a little lost for words, ‘I’m not sure that was altogether appropriate behaviour.’
Kasen’s jaw snapped shut and his bewildered expression turned to one of determined revenge. He turned and charged into the woods.
‘Oh, erm, Kasen, I don’t think … Oh bugger.’ Draco pocketed his wand and ran after his son, following a four-year-old’s version of a war cry.
He weaved in and out of the trees, stumbling over fallen branches and annoyingly random humps of raised ground. Draco tried to increase his speed, but it wasn’t easy considering his height and the way the tree branches hung just where he didn’t want them to be.
Kasen’s war-cry carried through the woods. To be honest, it was more like listening to a bad opera than a charging warrior. Draco followed the sound, wondering how his son had gotten so far away from him so quickly.
A bubble of panic formed in Draco’s gut as he closed in on where he knew the old track to be. He sped up, ignoring the thin wisp-like branches that tried to tangle in his long hair. He had a terrible feeling.
‘Kasen, come back here! Don’t you dare cross that track!’
Kasen’s call to arms ceased and Draco stopped, desperately looking around him to try to get his bearings back. Each direction looked exactly the same and Draco wasn’t entirely sure that he hadn’t turned himself all the way around.
There was a rumble in the distance and, for a moment, Draco mistook it for the sound of thunder, a familiar noise from just a week ago when Hampshire was blanketed in a cascade of rain that flooded roads, schools, homes and made even a small shopping trip into Winchester Town Centre into an absolute nightmare.
The noise grew louder and horror dawned on Draco as he recognised the sound of a tractor close by. The squeals of his son rose into the air again and Draco’s head snapped in its direction, and he took off at a dead run.
Of all the moments for a bloody tractor to actually use that damnable, poor excuse for a road, it had to be now. Draco was very aware that the boggy track was well in use, the deep tire tracks a dead giveaway, but never had he seen a vehicle pass down it.
The noise of the tractor was loud now, uncomfortable to Draco’s ears, and he struggled to hear any sound beyond it. Where was Kasen? Had he gone the other way? Was he in front? Was he on the road?
Draco’s chest constricted painfully. This was all his fault. He hadn’t been strict enough with Kasen. This would never have happened if he’d been more like his father. Lucius Malfoy would never have permitted his son to run amuck in such a fashion.
Totally panic-stricken and the track now in sight, Draco burst from the undergrowth. And nearly collided with the tractor. He staggered back and clutched at his frantically beating heart.
‘Daddy!’
Draco looked anxiously around him as the tractor passed, a wave of sheer relief settling over him at the sight of his son, safe and sound and holding hands with ... Harry Potter.
The tractor passed and Potter made his way over, releasing the children to make their own way.
‘Christ, are you alright?’
Draco wasn’t sure that he was, but he nodded a brief affirmative anyway.
‘Are you sure?’ Potter persisted. ‘You’re white as a ... Malfoy?’
Draco laughed. It was sudden and loud and tinged with hysteria. Harry Potter looked a little bit taken aback.
‘White as a Malfoy?’ Draco repeated. ‘That’s a new one.’
Kasen launched himself at Draco, wrapping his small arms around his father’s legs and nearly knocking him over.
‘Sorry, that was supposed to be two sentences. Your son?’ Potter asked, looking down at where Draco’s hand was stroking Kasen’s now mud-soaked hair.
‘Very perceptive.’
Potter shrugged. ‘I still read The Prophet. It was a pretty big rumour once.’
‘Indeed,’ Draco said, his one-word answer laced with an unhealthy amount of bitterness. ‘And this is yours, I assume? This is the newest Potter hooligan?’
‘Hey …’
Draco continued, old grievances coming to the surface along with stone-cold anger that he could have lost his son today, the only person who meant anything and everything to him, the person who had saved him. ‘Your foolhardy son nearly cost mine his life.’
Potter looked incredulously at him. ‘How do you work that out?’
‘My son could have been run over!’
‘Don’t be daft, Malfoy. The only one of us not looking where they were going was you.’
‘How dare you! Perhaps you should consider training your offspring a little better before you pass judgment on other people. Actually, forget it. I should have known you’d someday spawn a thoughtless, selfish, jumped up little twit like yourself. I should have prepared myself for his inevitable arrival.’
Both children were in shock by the time Draco had finished his tirade. Kasen’s eyes were wide and his mouth was open again. James’ bottom lip was trembling.
‘You know what,’ Potter sneered, stepping into Draco’s personal space. ‘I put up with you for years. Six long years, Malfoy. I let you stay at Grimmauld Place, even after what you’d done. I offered you sanctuary when no one else would even look at you. You’d have gone to Azkaban if it wasn’t for me! I’m sure Lucius would have loved to see you.’
‘Potter. Shut. Up.’ Rage filled him, total and utter fury. He’d never hated anyone more in his entire life.
‘Why? Why should I? It’s alright for you to say crappy things, but for some reason I can’t? Why is that Malfoy? Some kind of superiority thing? Because I think the mighty fell a long time ago.’
'Yes,' Draco said softly but threateningly. ‘That we did.’ He glared at Potter, his lips pressed together to form a thin line of utter hatred. ‘Thank you for the history lesson.’
‘Daddy? Daddy? Father!’ Kasen tugged insistently on his father’s sleeve. ‘What’s Azkabran? Is Grandfather Lucius really there?’
Draco’s hand gently touched his son’s head again, but his eyes were firmly locked onto Potter’s. He got no satisfaction at the look of absolute horror that crossed Potter’s face.
‘Shit, Malfoy, I’m -’
‘Come, Kasen. I think it’s time we left.’
He walked away with his son, vibrating with anger and with no outlet for it. Kasen would ask questions; he was that type of boy. But although Draco had had four years to come up with answers, he had absolutely no clue what he would say.
How do you tell your child his daddy was the bad guy?
**
‘Well done, Draco. Well done. I didn’t honestly think you had it in you.’
A cold, wretched hand touched his chin and caressed his cheek. Draco closed his eyes and tried to hear only the sound of celebrating around him instead of the thundering of his own heart and his mother’s tearful breathing.
‘Dumbledore finally dead. And it was all down to you. Such loyalty.’
Draco shook his head and opened his eyes. He knew; somehow the Dark Lord knew. ‘I didn’t … I couldn’t … Severus did it for me.’
The hand held his chin high and squeezed.
‘My Lord,' Severus interrupted, ‘it was a matter of time. The Order were present and we had to make a quick escape. Draco hesitated. No doubt the old fool had been trying to talk his way out of his … predicament. I finished Draco’s task only to save time. I have no doubts he would have finished Dumbledore himself under better circumstances.’
Draco held his breath and the Dark Lord’s penetrating gaze. He felt a coldness press and push inside his head and Draco started to shake at the effort of concealment.
The Dark Lord smiled.
**
Otterbourne was a quiet village. Six miles South of Winchester, it was just far enough away to leave behind the hustle and bustle of a city. Not that Winchester was much of a city, not in the modern sense of the word. There was something about it that reminded Draco of Diagon Alley, with its old fashioned buildings and uneven streets.
Otterbourne itself was relatively isolated and it gave Draco a much needed sense of peace and contentment. Open countryside dominated the small village, and scattered in between were four pubs, a school, a parish church, a post office and a village shop. It was a simple place, unremarkable, just how Draco liked it.
He and Kasen lived in what was once an old farmhouse. The farm had long since closed down and its occupants moved on. The house had switched owners five times in ten years by the time Draco came to view it. It had been fixed up, sold on, updated, sold on again, until the simple property in the centre of the village had become highly sought after and terribly expensive.
Three years ago, Draco bought it without a second thought. It was the only property he’d seen. It was his first time around proper Muggles, he was tired, impatient, he had a screaming baby in his arms, and he just wanted to get on with it all before he changed his mind. The decision to leave his world hadn’t been an easy one, even if it had been the only one.
Draco and Kasen toed off their walking boots and Draco lined them up next to the front door. He hung up their coats while Kasen stood and watched him.
‘What?’ he asked, feeling his son’s stares from behind him.
‘Who was that man?’
Draco smoothed out non-existent creases from his coat, delaying his answer. He really didn’t want to answer that question, or any question, in fact.
One query lead to another and another and then another. But he’d promised himself when he demanded to take Kasen that he would never lie to him, never deceive him, never pretend to be someone he wasn’t.
‘That was Harry Potter.’ Draco waited and watched expressions of thought flit over Kasen’s little face, waiting for the moment the name would click into place. And sure enough, it did.
Kasen’s eyes widened to a comical size and his mouth dropped open. ‘Harry Potter won the war!’
Draco took his son’s hand and together they walked through the front room, dining room and into the kitchen where he pulled a small stool over to the sink. ‘Yes, he did. Wash your hands.’
Draco had told Kasen only the basics so far, and he didn’t feel guilty about that at all. Kasen was far too young for all the gruesome details of such an ugly event. All he needed to know was that a bad man had forced a division within the wizarding world, one side against the other. Harry Potter had been the Leader of the Light and he had saved entire world.
‘Daddy, you shouted at Harry Potter!'
‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ Draco muttered. ‘Do you want a sandwich?’
‘Spam!’ Kasen yelled. He leapt off the stool, pulled himself onto a chair and waited for his sandwich with his clean palms pressed flat against the table top and his feet swinging in mid-air.
‘Potter and I went to school together. We were in the same year - different Houses, though.’
‘Hogwarts,” Kasen breathed.
Any mention of Hogwarts gave a Kasen a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes. He relished any stories Draco told him of the school, with its ghosts and moving portraits and killer hippogriffs.
‘That’s right.’
‘Were you and Mr Potter friends?’
‘Never,’ said Draco. ‘We were constantly at each other’s throats, loathed the sight of each other. We had quite the reputation, actually. Why the teachers didn’t think to keep us apart more often, I’ll never know.
‘Potter was in Gryffindor. As I’ve told you before, Slytherin and Gryffindor despised each other on principle.’
‘That’s stupid,’ Kasen said.
‘That’s as maybe, but Potter was sort of the leader of his House and I the leader of mine. We fought continuously, both of us as bad as the other at times.’
Kasen let the matter drop when he received his crustless sandwich. Draco made himself a mug of tea and poured Kasen a glass of orange and pineapple squash. When he sat down at the table and took a sip of his tea, Kasen was ready with more questions.
‘What’s Azkabran?’
‘Azkaban,’ Draco corrected. ‘It’s the wizarding prison.’
‘Oh.’ Kasen looked down at his one remaining square of sandwich, his brows furrowing in thought. ‘Is Grandfather really there?’ he asked quietly.
‘Was. He died, remember?’
Kasen nodded. ‘Was he a bad man?’
‘… He was a greedy man. He hungered for power, wealth, influence. The Malfoy’s were a name to be reckoned with and had been for a very long time. Lucius did his very best to keep up a reputation that had been constructed centuries before. But along the way, he fell foul to the Dark Lord and his ways.’
‘Voldewort!’ Kasen gasped after a moment of thought, and Draco nearly choked on his tea.
‘Voldemort,” Draco said, proud of himself for almost not wincing. ‘But we don’t say his name in this house, Kasen. We say “You-Know-Who”.’
Kasen apologised to his father and asked what happened next.
‘He did a bad thing. He hurt people. All at the whim of Him. And he got caught in the act and imprisoned. I was fifteen. He was sent to Azkaban and there he died four years later.’
Draco sipped at his tea and cast a furtive glance at his son. Kasen was staring at him. He knew his story must have sounded cold to such young ears, but Draco only wanted to be clear. He didn’t want to tell this story to anyone, much less his own son, and he only wanted to tell it once.
‘Do you hate Grandfather?’
Draco shook his head and put down his mug. ‘I loved him. Very much. And I know that he loved me and my mother very much, too. He was simply allowed his own way for far too long. He never learned right from wrong, and his wrong-doing escalated until it ultimately destroyed him and our family.’
Kasen met his gaze with such a sudden stare that Draco was momentarily hoisted back twenty-three years and he saw the mirror image of himself glaring accusingly at his own father.
‘Were you bad, too?’
‘Yes,’ Draco said immediately. ‘I behaved in a most appalling way for most of my life. I was a spoiled, self-important brat and I did terrible things.’
‘Did you go to prison?’
‘No. I was ... lucky. I probably should have.’
The accusing expression turned worried. ‘Why?’
‘Before the war started, but after your grandfather was sent to Azkaban, I was given a terrible mission by the Dark Lord. I was to complete this mission or suffer the consequences. It was a punishment meant for my father. The Dark Lord did not expect me to succeed. I was meant to die.’
‘No!’ Kasen sprung up from his chair, knocking the table and slopping the glass of squash over the surface.
‘It’s okay, Kasen. It’s okay,’ Draco said. He opened his arms and accepted Kasen into them, lifting him onto his lap and soothing his sudden tears. ‘Everything is fine now, see? We’ve had a happy ending, haven’t we?’
‘I don’t want you to die. You won’t, will you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘And they won’t take you to Azkaban, will they?’
‘No.’
Not that “they” hadn’t tried, but that wasn’t something Draco wanted to go into right now.
‘Would you like to watch a film with me, Kasen?’ Draco asked. He didn’t want to continue with the story and he was reasonably sure Kasen didn’t want to either. ‘I was thinking Monsters Inc. We haven’t watched that for ages, have we? Why don’t you go and put the DVD in for me. You know I always get it wrong.’
Sniffing, Kasen nodded and jumped down. He stopped before he got to the door way and turned back, his expression resolute. “I’ll always love you, Daddy, even if you do bad things.’
Draco smiled sadly and hoped it would never ever come to that again. ‘And I you.’
TBC ...
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17 overall
Summary: Eleven years since he ran from Hogwarts and seven years since the end of the war, Draco has moved on. Now in his late twenties, Draco lives a reclusive life in a tiny village in Hampshire. Never in a million years does he expect to cross paths with Harry Potter again. But he does, and there are two, rather small and rather excitable, complications.
Beta done by amejisuto. Thank you, darling.
A/N: Compliant with all canon up to HBP so there may be spoilers for any of the six books. As this fic is already planned out in full, it will not be compliant with book 7. Apologies for my bad timing.
Previous Chapter: HERE
Draco Malfoy loved to walk. There was something about putting one foot in front of the other, no plans and no intentions, and seeing where you would end up.
As a boy he’d dreamed of gazing over hills and valleys, and running as far and fast as his legs would take him just for the hell of it, just because it was fun. Freedom. But that was before he discovered power and self restraint, and before the Dark Arts became more interesting that the limitless sky above. That was before the power to hurt became preferable to jumping in puddles.
It seemed fitting that Draco Malfoy would one day come full circle.
The ground was firm and dry today, a sunny contrast to the previous week when the grass beneath his feet had been drowned by a continuous four-day downpour. That week, Draco had truly needed his two hundred pound walking boots. This week, though, the sun had been shining just as it should in June, and the grassland was to be easily negotiated.
Draco left the light shadows of the oak trees and took slow steps uphill towards the next patch of forest. Farley Mount was extensive, miles of chalk down grassland and woodland. There were an almost unlimited number of routes to take and parts of the county park to see, but even though Draco had been walking here every Sunday for the past three years, he had yet to see it all.
Draco Malfoy was a creature of habit. He liked his ordered life, his porridge for breakfast everyday, and his walk through Farley Mount County Park every Sunday. He got up at six o’clock sharp every day courtesy of his very accurate body clock, liked to read The Daily Prophet and The Times, in that order, with a mug of strong Twinings Breakfast Tea, everyday. He got his hair trimmed every six weeks, his nails done every two weeks and settled his bills the moment they came by Muggle post.
There was only one thing in Draco’s life that disrupted this order: a person: a very small person who invited chaos, dirt, non-stop chatter, and a life of happiness that Draco treasured far beyond any expanse of power or abundance of riches: a son.
‘Not too far!’ Draco called into the distance at the disappearing speck that was his child. Immediately, the faraway speck stopped, then became larger and larger as it closed in, forming the vision of a small boy of four, with a slightly pointy face, floppy flaxen hair and a Cheshire Cat grin.
‘Come on! Too slow!’ the boy bellowed back, stopping and jumping up and down.
‘Have pity on your old father,’ Draco said with mock weakness.
‘I’ll help you, Daddy!’ The little boy rushed to his father and took his hand, to all intents and purposes dragging him up the steep embankment.
‘You’re supposed to tell me I’m not old, not rush to my aid,’ Draco said with an exasperated chuckle. He let himself be lead up to the top of the bank where the grassland suddenly dipped again. His son let go of his hand, got down on his side, and rolled all the way down the little hill.
Draco chose a more sensible route, detouring to the left and following a thin, windy, whitish-coloured path that took much more time to get down than the roly-poly method.
Kasen Miles Narciso Malfoy stood bouncing while he waited, clearly impatient and desperate to be on his little way.
‘Go on, then,’ Draco said, waving him away. But stay where I can see you, or I’ll Accio you right back.'
There was mischief written all over Kasen’s face. Draco looked around him - no Muggles in sight - and grinned back at his son.
Kasen took off with surprising speed for one with such small legs. He laughed joyfully as he ran, speeding in the direction of the woodland and the boggy track and bridleway beyond, the last place Draco wanted him to go. Even in the summer months, that track - an access road for forestry vehicles, although Draco had never once seen so much as a Land Rover go down it - never fully dried up, and the mud could easily reach the top of and then fill Kasen’s Wellington boots.
Draco gave him a three second start, which was as much as he dared, and then he took off after his son, his long strides quickly making up the distance. He stopped dead, pulled out his wand, and shouted, ‘ACCIO KASEN MILES NARCISO MALFOY!’
Kasen flew backwards through the air, laughing, squealing and kicking, and landed comfortably and securely in his father’s arms. He wiggled until Draco put him down, then he went charging off again, obviously hoping for a repeat performance. He stopped suddenly when a small, dark-haired boy, out of breath and grinning from ear to ear, emerged from the trees.
Kasen stared at him, wariness creeping over his face, and Draco cursed himself for installing such suspicion in his own son.
‘Who are you?’ Kasen asked, his chin rising and his back straightening.
His tone was polite enough, but Draco recognised it as Kasen’s formal voice, a voice just like his own, reserved for strangers, people that he didn’t know, people that might be bad.
The dark-haired boy seemed to be considering Kasen, and Draco moved closer to ensure his son behaved and inflicted no rudeness upon the small stranger.
‘I’m James. Do you want to play?’
It saddened Draco that instead of turning excitedly to ask permission, his son instead narrowed his eyes and asked guardedly, ‘What sort of game?’
As it turned out, the answer to that question was not one that needed words. The little boy pulled back his arm and lobbed a great fist-full of mud, splattering a shocked Kasen.
‘Now you have to get me!’
The little boy turned tail and ran, leaving a stunned Kasen blinking up at his equally stunned father.
‘Well,’ Draco said, a little lost for words, ‘I’m not sure that was altogether appropriate behaviour.’
Kasen’s jaw snapped shut and his bewildered expression turned to one of determined revenge. He turned and charged into the woods.
‘Oh, erm, Kasen, I don’t think … Oh bugger.’ Draco pocketed his wand and ran after his son, following a four-year-old’s version of a war cry.
He weaved in and out of the trees, stumbling over fallen branches and annoyingly random humps of raised ground. Draco tried to increase his speed, but it wasn’t easy considering his height and the way the tree branches hung just where he didn’t want them to be.
Kasen’s war-cry carried through the woods. To be honest, it was more like listening to a bad opera than a charging warrior. Draco followed the sound, wondering how his son had gotten so far away from him so quickly.
A bubble of panic formed in Draco’s gut as he closed in on where he knew the old track to be. He sped up, ignoring the thin wisp-like branches that tried to tangle in his long hair. He had a terrible feeling.
‘Kasen, come back here! Don’t you dare cross that track!’
Kasen’s call to arms ceased and Draco stopped, desperately looking around him to try to get his bearings back. Each direction looked exactly the same and Draco wasn’t entirely sure that he hadn’t turned himself all the way around.
There was a rumble in the distance and, for a moment, Draco mistook it for the sound of thunder, a familiar noise from just a week ago when Hampshire was blanketed in a cascade of rain that flooded roads, schools, homes and made even a small shopping trip into Winchester Town Centre into an absolute nightmare.
The noise grew louder and horror dawned on Draco as he recognised the sound of a tractor close by. The squeals of his son rose into the air again and Draco’s head snapped in its direction, and he took off at a dead run.
Of all the moments for a bloody tractor to actually use that damnable, poor excuse for a road, it had to be now. Draco was very aware that the boggy track was well in use, the deep tire tracks a dead giveaway, but never had he seen a vehicle pass down it.
The noise of the tractor was loud now, uncomfortable to Draco’s ears, and he struggled to hear any sound beyond it. Where was Kasen? Had he gone the other way? Was he in front? Was he on the road?
Draco’s chest constricted painfully. This was all his fault. He hadn’t been strict enough with Kasen. This would never have happened if he’d been more like his father. Lucius Malfoy would never have permitted his son to run amuck in such a fashion.
Totally panic-stricken and the track now in sight, Draco burst from the undergrowth. And nearly collided with the tractor. He staggered back and clutched at his frantically beating heart.
‘Daddy!’
Draco looked anxiously around him as the tractor passed, a wave of sheer relief settling over him at the sight of his son, safe and sound and holding hands with ... Harry Potter.
The tractor passed and Potter made his way over, releasing the children to make their own way.
‘Christ, are you alright?’
Draco wasn’t sure that he was, but he nodded a brief affirmative anyway.
‘Are you sure?’ Potter persisted. ‘You’re white as a ... Malfoy?’
Draco laughed. It was sudden and loud and tinged with hysteria. Harry Potter looked a little bit taken aback.
‘White as a Malfoy?’ Draco repeated. ‘That’s a new one.’
Kasen launched himself at Draco, wrapping his small arms around his father’s legs and nearly knocking him over.
‘Sorry, that was supposed to be two sentences. Your son?’ Potter asked, looking down at where Draco’s hand was stroking Kasen’s now mud-soaked hair.
‘Very perceptive.’
Potter shrugged. ‘I still read The Prophet. It was a pretty big rumour once.’
‘Indeed,’ Draco said, his one-word answer laced with an unhealthy amount of bitterness. ‘And this is yours, I assume? This is the newest Potter hooligan?’
‘Hey …’
Draco continued, old grievances coming to the surface along with stone-cold anger that he could have lost his son today, the only person who meant anything and everything to him, the person who had saved him. ‘Your foolhardy son nearly cost mine his life.’
Potter looked incredulously at him. ‘How do you work that out?’
‘My son could have been run over!’
‘Don’t be daft, Malfoy. The only one of us not looking where they were going was you.’
‘How dare you! Perhaps you should consider training your offspring a little better before you pass judgment on other people. Actually, forget it. I should have known you’d someday spawn a thoughtless, selfish, jumped up little twit like yourself. I should have prepared myself for his inevitable arrival.’
Both children were in shock by the time Draco had finished his tirade. Kasen’s eyes were wide and his mouth was open again. James’ bottom lip was trembling.
‘You know what,’ Potter sneered, stepping into Draco’s personal space. ‘I put up with you for years. Six long years, Malfoy. I let you stay at Grimmauld Place, even after what you’d done. I offered you sanctuary when no one else would even look at you. You’d have gone to Azkaban if it wasn’t for me! I’m sure Lucius would have loved to see you.’
‘Potter. Shut. Up.’ Rage filled him, total and utter fury. He’d never hated anyone more in his entire life.
‘Why? Why should I? It’s alright for you to say crappy things, but for some reason I can’t? Why is that Malfoy? Some kind of superiority thing? Because I think the mighty fell a long time ago.’
'Yes,' Draco said softly but threateningly. ‘That we did.’ He glared at Potter, his lips pressed together to form a thin line of utter hatred. ‘Thank you for the history lesson.’
‘Daddy? Daddy? Father!’ Kasen tugged insistently on his father’s sleeve. ‘What’s Azkabran? Is Grandfather Lucius really there?’
Draco’s hand gently touched his son’s head again, but his eyes were firmly locked onto Potter’s. He got no satisfaction at the look of absolute horror that crossed Potter’s face.
‘Shit, Malfoy, I’m -’
‘Come, Kasen. I think it’s time we left.’
He walked away with his son, vibrating with anger and with no outlet for it. Kasen would ask questions; he was that type of boy. But although Draco had had four years to come up with answers, he had absolutely no clue what he would say.
How do you tell your child his daddy was the bad guy?
**
‘Well done, Draco. Well done. I didn’t honestly think you had it in you.’
A cold, wretched hand touched his chin and caressed his cheek. Draco closed his eyes and tried to hear only the sound of celebrating around him instead of the thundering of his own heart and his mother’s tearful breathing.
‘Dumbledore finally dead. And it was all down to you. Such loyalty.’
Draco shook his head and opened his eyes. He knew; somehow the Dark Lord knew. ‘I didn’t … I couldn’t … Severus did it for me.’
The hand held his chin high and squeezed.
‘My Lord,' Severus interrupted, ‘it was a matter of time. The Order were present and we had to make a quick escape. Draco hesitated. No doubt the old fool had been trying to talk his way out of his … predicament. I finished Draco’s task only to save time. I have no doubts he would have finished Dumbledore himself under better circumstances.’
Draco held his breath and the Dark Lord’s penetrating gaze. He felt a coldness press and push inside his head and Draco started to shake at the effort of concealment.
The Dark Lord smiled.
**
Otterbourne was a quiet village. Six miles South of Winchester, it was just far enough away to leave behind the hustle and bustle of a city. Not that Winchester was much of a city, not in the modern sense of the word. There was something about it that reminded Draco of Diagon Alley, with its old fashioned buildings and uneven streets.
Otterbourne itself was relatively isolated and it gave Draco a much needed sense of peace and contentment. Open countryside dominated the small village, and scattered in between were four pubs, a school, a parish church, a post office and a village shop. It was a simple place, unremarkable, just how Draco liked it.
He and Kasen lived in what was once an old farmhouse. The farm had long since closed down and its occupants moved on. The house had switched owners five times in ten years by the time Draco came to view it. It had been fixed up, sold on, updated, sold on again, until the simple property in the centre of the village had become highly sought after and terribly expensive.
Three years ago, Draco bought it without a second thought. It was the only property he’d seen. It was his first time around proper Muggles, he was tired, impatient, he had a screaming baby in his arms, and he just wanted to get on with it all before he changed his mind. The decision to leave his world hadn’t been an easy one, even if it had been the only one.
Draco and Kasen toed off their walking boots and Draco lined them up next to the front door. He hung up their coats while Kasen stood and watched him.
‘What?’ he asked, feeling his son’s stares from behind him.
‘Who was that man?’
Draco smoothed out non-existent creases from his coat, delaying his answer. He really didn’t want to answer that question, or any question, in fact.
One query lead to another and another and then another. But he’d promised himself when he demanded to take Kasen that he would never lie to him, never deceive him, never pretend to be someone he wasn’t.
‘That was Harry Potter.’ Draco waited and watched expressions of thought flit over Kasen’s little face, waiting for the moment the name would click into place. And sure enough, it did.
Kasen’s eyes widened to a comical size and his mouth dropped open. ‘Harry Potter won the war!’
Draco took his son’s hand and together they walked through the front room, dining room and into the kitchen where he pulled a small stool over to the sink. ‘Yes, he did. Wash your hands.’
Draco had told Kasen only the basics so far, and he didn’t feel guilty about that at all. Kasen was far too young for all the gruesome details of such an ugly event. All he needed to know was that a bad man had forced a division within the wizarding world, one side against the other. Harry Potter had been the Leader of the Light and he had saved entire world.
‘Daddy, you shouted at Harry Potter!'
‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ Draco muttered. ‘Do you want a sandwich?’
‘Spam!’ Kasen yelled. He leapt off the stool, pulled himself onto a chair and waited for his sandwich with his clean palms pressed flat against the table top and his feet swinging in mid-air.
‘Potter and I went to school together. We were in the same year - different Houses, though.’
‘Hogwarts,” Kasen breathed.
Any mention of Hogwarts gave a Kasen a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes. He relished any stories Draco told him of the school, with its ghosts and moving portraits and killer hippogriffs.
‘That’s right.’
‘Were you and Mr Potter friends?’
‘Never,’ said Draco. ‘We were constantly at each other’s throats, loathed the sight of each other. We had quite the reputation, actually. Why the teachers didn’t think to keep us apart more often, I’ll never know.
‘Potter was in Gryffindor. As I’ve told you before, Slytherin and Gryffindor despised each other on principle.’
‘That’s stupid,’ Kasen said.
‘That’s as maybe, but Potter was sort of the leader of his House and I the leader of mine. We fought continuously, both of us as bad as the other at times.’
Kasen let the matter drop when he received his crustless sandwich. Draco made himself a mug of tea and poured Kasen a glass of orange and pineapple squash. When he sat down at the table and took a sip of his tea, Kasen was ready with more questions.
‘What’s Azkabran?’
‘Azkaban,’ Draco corrected. ‘It’s the wizarding prison.’
‘Oh.’ Kasen looked down at his one remaining square of sandwich, his brows furrowing in thought. ‘Is Grandfather really there?’ he asked quietly.
‘Was. He died, remember?’
Kasen nodded. ‘Was he a bad man?’
‘… He was a greedy man. He hungered for power, wealth, influence. The Malfoy’s were a name to be reckoned with and had been for a very long time. Lucius did his very best to keep up a reputation that had been constructed centuries before. But along the way, he fell foul to the Dark Lord and his ways.’
‘Voldewort!’ Kasen gasped after a moment of thought, and Draco nearly choked on his tea.
‘Voldemort,” Draco said, proud of himself for almost not wincing. ‘But we don’t say his name in this house, Kasen. We say “You-Know-Who”.’
Kasen apologised to his father and asked what happened next.
‘He did a bad thing. He hurt people. All at the whim of Him. And he got caught in the act and imprisoned. I was fifteen. He was sent to Azkaban and there he died four years later.’
Draco sipped at his tea and cast a furtive glance at his son. Kasen was staring at him. He knew his story must have sounded cold to such young ears, but Draco only wanted to be clear. He didn’t want to tell this story to anyone, much less his own son, and he only wanted to tell it once.
‘Do you hate Grandfather?’
Draco shook his head and put down his mug. ‘I loved him. Very much. And I know that he loved me and my mother very much, too. He was simply allowed his own way for far too long. He never learned right from wrong, and his wrong-doing escalated until it ultimately destroyed him and our family.’
Kasen met his gaze with such a sudden stare that Draco was momentarily hoisted back twenty-three years and he saw the mirror image of himself glaring accusingly at his own father.
‘Were you bad, too?’
‘Yes,’ Draco said immediately. ‘I behaved in a most appalling way for most of my life. I was a spoiled, self-important brat and I did terrible things.’
‘Did you go to prison?’
‘No. I was ... lucky. I probably should have.’
The accusing expression turned worried. ‘Why?’
‘Before the war started, but after your grandfather was sent to Azkaban, I was given a terrible mission by the Dark Lord. I was to complete this mission or suffer the consequences. It was a punishment meant for my father. The Dark Lord did not expect me to succeed. I was meant to die.’
‘No!’ Kasen sprung up from his chair, knocking the table and slopping the glass of squash over the surface.
‘It’s okay, Kasen. It’s okay,’ Draco said. He opened his arms and accepted Kasen into them, lifting him onto his lap and soothing his sudden tears. ‘Everything is fine now, see? We’ve had a happy ending, haven’t we?’
‘I don’t want you to die. You won’t, will you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘And they won’t take you to Azkaban, will they?’
‘No.’
Not that “they” hadn’t tried, but that wasn’t something Draco wanted to go into right now.
‘Would you like to watch a film with me, Kasen?’ Draco asked. He didn’t want to continue with the story and he was reasonably sure Kasen didn’t want to either. ‘I was thinking Monsters Inc. We haven’t watched that for ages, have we? Why don’t you go and put the DVD in for me. You know I always get it wrong.’
Sniffing, Kasen nodded and jumped down. He stopped before he got to the door way and turned back, his expression resolute. “I’ll always love you, Daddy, even if you do bad things.’
Draco smiled sadly and hoped it would never ever come to that again. ‘And I you.’
TBC ...