The Slytherin Redemption: Now Complete

Salvation

Chapter 7

The doors to the Infirmary flew open before them as Fleur Weasley fled, in uncharacteristic haste. Once in the room, Draco heard, “I-Don't-Give-A-Flying-Fuck-What-You-Said-You-Dog-Sucking-Swiver. If you think I'm leaving my Toby here another minute you can shove it up yer ringhole. And you, you old hag, if you point that stick at me one more time I'll shove it up yer arse so far you'll spit splinters for the next week. Le' go of me!”

A sharp smack! spurred Draco into action. He came around the corner of the curtained partition to see his friend striking Blaise Zabini across the face several times, the sweet smell of freshly spilled Calming Draught filled the air around them. The Professor appeared to be speaking softly and intently. He finally grabbed her in a bear-like hold around the upper arms and restrained her. The men in the room all sucked in a collective gasp as Liz's knee made contact with his groin. To his credit, he retained hold of her, but a great deal more breathlessly than he had been before the contact. Zabini was muttering words in her ear and slowly she relaxed against him, her eyes still bright with angry tears, but without the maddened look. The Professor smoothed his hand over her arm, assisting her to a seat beside her sleeping son's bed.

She was sobbing softly as Draco approached. He sat on the arm of the chair, and drew her to him, thankful that the boy slept still. “What is it, kid?”

Liz snuffled loudly and ran her sleeve under her nose. There was the East End beauty he knew. He handed her a fresh square of cotton, with a grimace. “You know what they said to 'im? Those awful boys who attacked 'im?”

Draco slipped with unsettling ease into the role of her comforter after so many weeks of distance. He kissed her hair, reveling in the softness of it against his lips. “What did they say?”

“They called us whores and practically said... we wanted...” She dissolved into incoherency as Draco clutched for his wand spasmodically. Zabini stepped forward to place a restraining hand on Draco as Longbottom stormed from the room in a swirl of robes that would have done Snape proud. Bill Weasley, Potter and Finnegan followed him. Draco was glad of the Gryffindors' exit. The room fell into an oppressive silence, punctuated by Liz's slowing sniffs. Finally she spoke, her voice conveying her defeat, “You know I never did want him to know I was... you know. I wanted him to know I loved him and not blame his’self. Now I got no choice but to tell him, or he'll think I'm a slut.” She whispered the last sentence.

Professor Lepidus stepped forward, his brown eyes troubled. “Ms. Cowell, I cannot say how profoundly sorry I am for the actions of the students in my care. Please, don't make any decisions in haste. I have arranged for you and Mr. Malfoy to stay the night so that you might speak to Mr. Cowell when he awakens, if that would be acceptable to you?”

Liz nodded tiredly against Draco's chest. “I am sorry. About everything. I suppose I overreacted.”

Zabini smiled broadly. “No, you were magnificent.”

&*&*&

Liz stayed with Toby while Draco and Zabini went off to the Professor's rooms, ostensibly to discuss the state of Hogwarts. On their way, Draco found Potter and asked him to inform Father Cavanaugh of the change in plans, seeing as there were no phones at Hogwarts. Potter, looking terribly aggrieved, agreed. “Please tell Liz... You know.”

Draco nodded. “Thanks, Potty.”

“You too, ferret,” answered Potter. Draco answered Potter's smile. He recognised, in the strange alchemy of being male, that the insults were the first indication of a change in their politely strained friendship.

Down in the dungeons, Draco paused at the door leading to Snape's quarters. Zabini waved him on. “No, I live a little further on. Snape's rooms are warded, and no one's been able to break them.”

“Surely they fell once he died,” Draco gave the door a considering look. “I mean, Dumbledore's wards fell to his office, right?”

Zabini shot a sharp look at his friend. A fleeting expression Draco could not read passed over the dark man's features and then was gone, replaced by the same impassive expression the blond had seen on Snape in his schooldays. “What, do they teach you that look when you take over the Head duties?”

“Just so,” Zabini smiled. “You can bunk in my quarters, if you want. I'm not sure Lepidus knows the nature of your relationship to Ms. Cowell.” He waited a heartbeat. “Do you?”

“Do I what? Know what my relationship is to Liz?” Draco felt his shoulders hunch. Did he? “Don't be disgusting, she's my friend and has helped me through some hard times. That's all.”

Zabini smirked as he came to his own quarters and opened the doors. “It's not much, but it's home.”

Draco stepped into the room and was surprised to see his old friend's description was accurate. The furniture was threadbare Hogwarts' issue; a few tatty pictures adorned the walls. The only sumptuous thing in the room was a rosewood shrine with a large, porcelain Buddha and two other Asian statues with which Draco was not familiar. A bowl of fruit and a lotus-shaped holder for incense sat before the serene central statue. Zabini closed a curtain to the shrine, then drew off his teaching robes and headed for a small bar. “Firewhisky?”

Draco demurred. “No, I don't indulge any longer.”

“Oh, yes, something to do with poisoning by a Muggle?” Blaise nodded, sloshing two fingers of the whisky in a glass.

“Something like that, but it was really by my own hand, and it was a Muggle poison I chose.” Draco sat in one of the armchairs, feeling the horsehair dig through his robes and shirt. He shifted uncomfortably as he withdrew his wand and transfigured the cloth to a nice Italian silk Moire. “Merlin, did you fail Transfiguration?”

“That, my dear Draco, is my chair for unwanted visitors. You may Transfigure it if you wish, but at least change it back when you leave.” Zabini flopped gracelessly onto a small, equally uncomfortably appointed divan. He sipped the Firewhisky. “Ms. Cowell certainly is a vision.”

“Interested?” Draco drawled past the sudden constriction in his chest. Zabini was too charming by far for Draco to want to compete with him. He was jolted by the thought and sat forward suddenly, clutching the chair’s arms.

As usual, nothing escaped Blaise's attention. He smiled, the lazy one that had caused Millie Bulstrode to consider switching teams. Draco fought the urge to gnash his teeth in frustration. Finally Blaise shook his head. “No, I'm a married man with a daughter on the way.”

Draco looked around the shabby room doubtfully. “Really? And who is the girl who was finally good enough for your mother?”

“The one who was good enough for yours.” Blaise took another sip with a cat that ate the cream smile, but the humourous expression did not reach his eyes.

“Parkinson?” Draco laughed. “I'd love to see her. Is she about?”

The playfulness fell from Blaise's face. “No, she currently resides at St. Mungo's. She took one too many Crucios during the war.”

“But, she never fought... she never was a Death Eater.” Draco's voice was strident in its denial.

“Yes,” Zabini said through another sip of whisky. “But her father thought she should have been.”

“Christ.” Draco remembered the sweetly pretty girl laughing as he made a wry comment, the girl who commiserated with him about Potter and his ilk, the girl to whom he was unofficially betrothed until his fateful sixth year. “What happened, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Oh, you know the usual. Death Eaters want something; I decide they can't have it. Lucius and Severus help us make our escape to Beauxbatons. My father-in-law and Nott find us a few months before the final battle... Blah, blah, blah.”

Zabini's eyes swept shut, his lashes glistening suspiciously. “She was acting normally for the first months after, but when we returned to England I noticed a change. She seemed less able to concentrate, more volatile. After a few months, we left again, and it helped for a while, then it got worse. I spent years travelling the world trying to find a cure for her, but then... her condition became unmanageable during her pregnancy. So, we returned and I took the first post I could find that would allow me to support her and conduct my research.”

He sighed and knocked back the rest of the amber liquid. “The baby is due in February and I'm hoping to resume her Muggle potions then. She's done the best with those, although I'm working with a promising Potions Master from the States on a more permanent solution.”

“I think I'll take that drink now.” Draco stood abruptly. He returned, sniffing the whisky, but not drinking. “You mentioned my father helped you.”

Zabini's composure rocked for a moment. “I think that is something you need to speak to him about, Malfoy. Now, give me the whisky. I don't want you to ruin five years of sobriety over me.”

It was in Draco's mind to slide back into his schooldays persona and whinge about his friend's comment, when Zabini asked, “So, nice choice of Godfather for your son. Very Slytherin, I might add.”

“Circe, isn't there anything about my life that's not fodder for gossip?” Draco handed the glass to his friend. “Where did you hear it from?”

“Longbottom,” Blaise answered, peering over the edge of the tumbler that Draco had just handed him. “He's not a bad sort, just loquacious when he's in his cups.”

“Ah, Blaise, you always make me hot when you use big words. Loquacious. Sounds like you've been hanging with Granger.” Draco was enjoying himself for the first time in years. It almost seemed as if the two men had never parted.

Zabini's smirk returned along with a very Slytherin quirk to the brow. “It seems that I'm not the one with unrequited love for the Mudblood. How did you ever get over your crush?”

“Shut it. I only told you that because she drove me mad.”

“She drove all of us mad,” Zabini said. “Just not in the ‘wanking off’ kind of way.”

“You know, she's why I asked Potter to be my son's Godfather,” Draco volunteered. “I reckoned that if such a good person could be friends with him, he must not be too bad. That and I bloody well don't want a Weasley male raising Scorpius.”

Zabini laughed. “You utter sod, you still want her.”

Draco ducked his head, admitting softly, “Only a little.”

&*&*&

Liz made her way unsteadily to the room provided by the Headmaster. She followed something called a house elf, which looked like nothing more than a collection of leathery sticks, bat wings and tennis balls, all covered indecorously in a tea towel. She was shocked when it spoke to her in a whispery high voice, bidding her to follow and solicitously getting her tea. She wanted to like the thing that called itself Zippi, but did not know if she should trust it. Fairy stories were full of things that were described like this creature, but were evil. Look at Rumplestiltskin. She felt entirely more at ease when the thing popped out of her room after bidding her a goodnight.

She finished her tea and lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling. She had never slept in a real castle before. Sure, she had visited the Tower of London and other sites around the epicenter of her life, but a real, lived-in castle was so far outside her realm of experience that she just could not credit what she was seeing. She wished that Drake had stayed with her. He would make her feel more normal.

The pain of the day threatened to well up again. The witch in hospital had given her something called a Calming Draught, and it had worked to a certain extent, but her feelings were so roiled right now, they were just boiling below the surface.

A soft knock sounded on the door. Liz fuzzily got up and weaved her way to the door. “Yes?”

“Ms. Cowell? It's Neville Longbottom, I'd like a word with you if I might have one?” His voice sounded muffled and distant. Liz was not sure if it was the wood door that separated them which made him sound like that, or the cotton wool in her head from the drugs the nurse had given her.

She opened the door. “Come in, please. You'll have to pardon me, I'm a little... I know you now. You’re the bloke from the Alley. The one who trod on my foot.”

If it could be said that a man coloured prettily, Liz thought the Professor's reddened face might be the instance. “I do apologise. I dance quite well, if that helps.”

His round cheeks flushed even more and Liz laughed giddily. “Come in, Professor.”

She sat heavily in a chair by the fire, her legs splayed before her. The Professor waited for an invitation to be seated and she waved him over. “I'm so sorry, I seem to be a little drugged right now. I don't know what that woman gave me.”

“Oh, I didn't realise. Maybe I should come back tomorrow.” The round-faced man attempted to stand and Liz stopped him with a low whistle. He paused, staring hungrily at her puckered lips. He looked almost as if he might devour her where she sat.

She smiled, and knew the look was heavy-lidded and wicked. When she was younger, she practiced it. “Professor, why are you here?”

“I just came to offer my apologies and to ask a favour.” He licked his lips, reminding Liz of Draco. Her breathing became shallow at the thought of her friend. She did not know when she had begun to want him, just that at this moment, if he were here, she would have had him.

“Favour? Hmm. I think I'm fresh out of those right now.” Liz straightened in her seat, gathering her foggy wits. At his obvious look of disappointment, she relented. “What is it?”

“I've spoken with the Headmaster, and we would like you to share your experiences with the older students.” He winced as she stood. Heat suffused her face. “I don't mean the more personal acts, just the other aspects of the Muggle-baiting and then your rescue. Not many students know of Severus Snape's role in that aspect of his service, and we feel your story might help them be a little more sympathetic to other students in your son's situation as well as bolster the Slytherins’ position.”

“I think it's time you left, Professor.” She held herself stiffly. “I'll think about it, but I haven't even decided if my son is staying yet.”

&*&*&

Draco found Liz sitting on the Davenport before the fire in the small suite provided for them. She had been crying again. Draco slid onto the couch beside her, taking her in his arms. The noise of the fire crackling merrily was punctuated by Liz's erratic sniffs. Drowsily Liz said, “I've missed you.”

He knew he should plead ignorance, ask her what she meant; but he did know. Instead, he kissed her eyelids, tasting the bitter saltiness of her tears, the citrus tang of her flesh. She sighed, lifting her face to his, her eyes dark and heavy-lidded. He continued kissing her, telling himself he used to kiss her all the time without meaning behind the action, but the rapid, tandem beating of their pulses made a lie of that. Desire pooled in the pit of his stomach, sending sharp arcs lower as he drew his lips across her dusky cheeks, down to her mouth. The kiss was chaste and undeniably erotic. She drew away, her expression blank. “Good night, Drake. It's been a long day.”

He stayed on the couch as she made her way to the bed. It had been a long day.

Salvation

Chapter 8

Draco woke with a stiff neck from falling asleep on the couch. A blanket was draped over him, which he thrust back over the back of the divan. Liz must have gotten up sometime last night and tucked him in. The thought made him smile.

Liz was already in the bathroom, so he took a few moments to gather himself before he faced her. He did not want to read anything into their kiss last night, but to him, it had felt right. He stretched, easing the kinks out of his shoulders. A soft knock sounded on the door and Draco went to it, hobbling a little as his legs spasmed. He drew it open to see Zabini's sheepish smile. “I took the liberty of bringing some clothes for Ms. Cowell. The robes are Pansy’s; they seem to be of like size. I also sent a house elf to Hogsmeade to get some smalls for the both of you.”

Draco took the pile of clothes from his blushing friend. “You're so attractive when you're thoughtful, Zabini. Come in, and I'll get Liz.”

“No, I've got to escort Mr. Cowell from the Infirmary. I thought you might like to join us in the Great Hall when you're ready,” the Professor demurred, and then cast a meaningful look at the couch, expressing curiosity and interest equally. Draco thumped the Professor on the arm with his fist, letting the nosy git know it was none of his concern.

“I think I'll just have the house elves bring me something, but I'll send Liz,” Draco replied.

Zabini snorted in response. “Are you afraid of children?”

“No. I just don't think it would strengthen Toby's position if he were seen eating breakfast with his Death Eater Godfather.” Draco's stomach rolled uncomfortably at the thought of so many accusing eyes on him.

“Don't be ridiculous, Drake,” Liz said, entering the room with a brief nod to Blaise. “You're almost tame now.”

Zabini chuckled. “I'll leave you to convince him, Ms. Cowell. I am well aware how powerful your brand of persuasion can be. I'll see you both in the Great Hall, or the Infirmary, whichever option you take, Draco.”

“I do apologise for that, Professor.” Liz blushed. “I hope your bits are fine.”

Zabini just laughed and stalked away, his colour high. Draco shook his head as he shut the door and turned to his friend. “Liz, about last night... ”

“Drake, we don't need to talk about it. Okay?” Liz sighed. “We were both upset. Now, what's that you're holding?”

Draco thrust the packet of robes and the knickers purchase for her into her hands, as disappointment knifed through him. “Zabini brought these for you. He thinks they'll fit.”

“I suppose these clothes are a little ripe.” She grimaced. “Once I change, you'll be going to breakfast with me.”

“Since I have no choice in the matter,” Draco groused. “I still don't think it's a good idea for the boy to be seen with me.”

Liz shot back as she re-entered the bathroom, “Don't be such a selfish prat, Draco. You're the closest thing to a father he has. He needs you to be there for him.”

&*&*&

Toby felt funny seeing his Mum and Uncle Drake outside the Great Hall. His Mum wore purply-red wizarding robes, a thing he'd never thought to see her in. She looked like she belonged here, with her hair all one pretty, brown colour and no black junk around her eyes. Somehow, it made her look a little younger than he remembered her. Uncle Drake stood beside her, his arm around her as if he was trying to protect her. Toby had often wished that they would decide to marry each other, and for a moment, they looked like a proper Mum and Dad. His Mum smiled, the weepy one she gave him when she was upset, and he shifted uncomfortably from left to right, wondering if Scorpi were here as well. He hoped so; he missed the little pest.

Professor Zabini propelled him forward with a little pat. The older wizard whispered, “Greet your mother, she's been very worried about you.”

Toby shuffled forward. He hoped his Mum was not too mad at him. He knew how she felt about him being in fights. He had never been in one, because she had said she would skin him alive if he ever was. Toby stopped before her, his eyes downcast. “I'm sorry, Mum.”

She leaned over, saying, “I'm not angry with you, little man, but after we eat, you and me, we need to talk.”

Toby's fears were not allayed. When his Mum said they needed to talk, he had usually done something he was going to get in trouble for. He nodded. “Yes, Mum.”

Toby bowed stiffly in greeting to Uncle Drake, who looked a little out of sorts. Toby had learned from dealing with the other Slytherins, that a direct approach wasn't always best, so he asked, “Uncle, I hope Scorpi is well?'

His Uncle nodded, a small expression of approval at the approach his Godson took lit his eyes. “We were unable to bring him this time. You'll see him during the holidays. He does miss you.”

That made Toby feel much better. He slipped his hand into his mother's, but only for a moment. “Mum, the Hall is through here.”

As they entered the Great Hall, Toby remembered that he had been awed by the magical ceiling on his first visit. He thought his Mum would like it. “Mum, look up.”

She sounded perplexed and excited all at once. “Are we outside?”

Toby looked up at her upturned face. She was having him on, he could tell from the tight little smile that hovered around her lips. He rolled his eyes. “Mum.”

She laughed then and things seemed to shift back to almost normal. Toby noted that several of the older Slytherin boys were looking at his Mum and smiling. He could tell they thought she was pretty. It made him feel squirmy and proud at the same time. Professor Zabini asked them to clear a spot for their little party, and four Seventh-year boys jumped up.

One, a very good-looking boy who had a reputation as a lady's man, simpered, “Please, take my seat, Madam Cowell, I would be honored.”

Toby could see Uncle Drake stifling a laugh behind his hand and his Mum cast his Uncle a sharp look. “How nice. Thank you.”

She flounced down on the chair, reminding Toby of Victoire for a moment. He had never seen his Mum act like such a girl before, and did not think he liked it. As Uncle Drake pushed in her chair for her, Toby noticed his uncle was looking at her differently than he used to. Instead of just glancing at her when they spoke, his uncle's gaze seemed to be lingering on her face, as if he wanted something from her that she was not giving him. His Mum had a different attitude too. She was darting glances at Uncle Drake and alternately blushing or scowling when he spoke to her. Toby was going to have to think about this, he was not sure what was going on between them, and it rather scared him. He hoped, whatever it was, that they would still be friends when it was over.

Toby glanced at Professor Zabini, who was smiling broadly at the two adults. The boy prodded a sausage that had appeared on his plate, feeling out of sorts. He wanted things to go back to what he was used to. He had had enough changes for a while. Somehow, he knew all this new strangeness was his fault.

&*&*&

Liz wanted to run away when she saw her son. Only Drake's steadying arm kept her from bolting down the hall and out into the meadow she had only glanced at when they entered the grounds the night before. Her heart was racing throughout the ample breakfast, and she still had not decided whether Toby would be leaving with her today, or not. Drake had suggested that she ask what he might like to do, so that would be the first thing she did, but every one of the motherly senses that she had developed over the last eleven years were screaming for her to grab her son and never let him out of her sight.

It did not help her nerves that the Professor she had kicked in the meat and vegetables last night was practically sniggering at Drake and her as they ate. She scowled at her friend as he said something slightly off-colour. She wondered what the two over-grown boys had been talking about last night, and why the Professor was so interested in the two of them this morning. She resolved to have a few words with the blond wanker when they left here.

She looked up at the table at the head of the room and noted with some discomfort the interested looks from Professor Longbottom. She vaguely remembered flirting with him the previous evening, after the nurse had given her the drugs to calm her down. Liz was an outrageous flirt when she drank, one of the reasons she stayed away from all forms of intoxicants around other people. Shite, she must have made an impression on him, and it must have been a very good one, or bad, depending on the perspective. She should probably apologise, but did not know if she had the nerve. Eleven years and she had not had one man interested in her, not that she had wanted one to be most of that time, and now she could not swing a cat and miss them. Not that she was complaining much.

Drake's kiss had kept her awake a long time. She tried not to read anything into it, but it had felt right, somehow. They had been friends so many years, that it was a little surprising to her. Not that she wanted him to think he could go on shagging Her, and then fool around with her, Liz, too. Liz was not a woman-on-the-side kind of girl. If he thought he could pull that, he had another thing coming. Liz Cowell was not her mother, to put up with a cheating dog of a man.

Drake's knee brushed hers and a jolt of awareness went through her, settling in the vicinity of her knickers. She felt herself scowl again. She was such a silly chit, reading so much into a kiss. She needed to speak to Father Cavanaugh about this; both him and the counsellor she had been seeing for the last year. She wanted to cover all the bases before she considered what she would do about her friend or any others that came along.

The nasty little voice in her head said, Yeah right, you’ve been beatin' 'em off with sticks for years. Not bloody likely anyone else will want to kiss you, much less do anything else, you daft cow.

All too soon, breakfast was over and the time Liz had been dreading was upon her.

&*&*&

Draco was surprised when Liz insisted that he join her to her talk with Toby. The last thing he wanted to do was be in on that particular conversation. He thought guiltily that he had seen enough at Malfoy Manor when it had happened. He did not want to see the boy’s secure world shatter when she told him about his father. He followed behind them reluctantly.

The first time he had seen Liz was when Uncle Rodolphus had dragged her into the hall by a tether: she wore the rags he had left her after his weeklong brutalisation of her. He had tried to break her by forcing her to lick his boots. Draco had been nauseous at the reaction of his body to the barely-clothed girl. He attempted to leave, but was forced to stay and act as if he were enjoying the girl's degradation, even as his body betrayed him. Fenrir Greyback held him by the arm, his mouth twisted into a cruel parody of a smile. The werewolf leered, “By that bulge in your pants, I can see you like the show, don't you boy? Maybe next time we'll get you a Muggle whore of your own. Your uncle and I can teach you how to treat them.”

Lucius had stood on to his other side, and Draco had been disgusted by his father's tacit approval of the spectacle and the disgusting creature's words. Draco was aching for release as he shifted uncomfortably, trying to suppress the arousal he felt at seeing his first nearly nude female.

When his uncle failed to achieve the reaction he desired from Liz, he had struck her repeatedly. Her wails fell to an ominous silence, and Lucius grabbed his son in a vice-like grip by the neck, and dragged him to his own luxurious chambers. The elder Malfoy backhanded him, once, across the face, hard enough that Draco had seen stars, and then strode out, locking and warding the door behind him. To this day, Draco did not understand what had prompted that reaction from his father.

Draco's attention returned to the present as they came to the chambers they had been in the previous evening. Liz led her son to the couch, her emotions betrayed by the blank control she had over her expression. Draco took the seat opposite the two, feeling ill at ease. She took a deep breath and began, “First son, I want you to know that I love you, no matter what anyone says about you, or me, or Uncle Drake.”

Toby paled, but remained silent. Liz put her arm around her son, pulling his small body to her. “You know you've never met your father, and that's why I want to talk to you today. When I was young, some bad men came and took me away from Gran.”

“Death Eaters? That's who those Gryffindors said was my dad.” Toby said, his voice flat. “That's why you got so mad at Uncle Drake that time?”

Liz nodded, casting a pained look at Draco. “Yeah, that's why. One Death Eater forced me to have sex with him, and he made me pregnant with you. We were at Uncle Drake's house when this happened, and a man named Lucius, and a man named Severus Snape rescued me.”

Draco felt his heart racing. Lucius Malfoy had helped a Muggle? His resolve to speak to his father strengthened. He would contact the Ministry for a visitor's pass as early as he could Monday morning.

Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, he wondered if his friend knew Draco, himself, had been present during her ordeal. He thought, guiltily of his reaction again. He closed his eyes against the image, trying to seal it from her knowing gaze. Once under control, he looked back at the two on the couch. Toby asked, his tone flat, “If you were in Uncle Drake's house, was Uncle Drake there?”

“I don't know.” Liz cast an anguished look in her friend's direction. “I believe he was, son, but he was young, like me, then. He couldn't help me.”

“But I should have.” The words came out of Draco's mouth involuntarily; they pulled at his throat like barbed wire through a tight hole. “Toby, I should have been brave enough to rescue your mother, but I wasn't. I was afraid. The man who raped your mother was my Uncle, and he would have killed me in a very horrible way. I was scared of the pain. I'm sorry.”

“I was afraid yesterday.” Toby returned angrily. “I tried to help anyway.”

“Toby,” Liz said sharply, “you will not speak like that to your Uncle. Those boys that hurt you, were only trying to cause you pain. Drake's Uncle was evil. He would have...”

Liz cast about for the magical terms to use, when Draco interjected, “He would have used Unforgivables on me and on my parents before he killed all of us, including your mother.”

The boy frowned. The only noise in the room was the cheery crackling fire. Liz sighed gustily. “I guess I should have told you before you came here. That way, when someone said something, you wouldn't be surprised.”

“I wasn't.” Toby said, finally, his voice soft. “I'm not the only one whose dad was bad. Rose Alston and her brother, they told me what their mother said about their dad. She said they were bad like him, that it was in their blood. It's not true is it? I'm not bad like him, am I?”

Draco moved to his Godson, squatting on the floor by his legs. “Do you think that? Do you think your friend and her brother are bad?”

“N-no sir.” Toby's eyes were bright with unshed tears, and he snuffled into his sleeve. Draco thought that it must be a family trait, handing the cleansed handkerchief from the night before to his Godson.

“Good.” Draco looked at Liz as he said, “Don't let anyone tell you who you are. Don't let anything that happens to you make you think less of yourself.”

“Good advice, Draco Malfoy. Maybe we should all take it,” Liz answered with a flick of her eyes to his face. “So, I guess we need to get you back to your House so you can study. You do want to stay, don't you?”

Toby smiled, “Yes, Mum, I have friends that are like me here. I belong.”

Mother and son stood and walked towards the door. Liz turned around, expectantly. “Drake, are you coming?”

'Yeah, Uncle Drake, I want you to see the castle. I hear it's changed a lot since you were in school all those years ago.”

Draco stood, feeling slightly off-center. “Yes, all those long, ancient years ago.”

Liz took Draco's hand with a soft squeeze, and they left to explore the final resting place of his childhood.


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