The Slytherin Redemption: Now Complete

Chapters 22 and 23 were beta'ed by Drusilla of Perfect Imagination.

Thanks to my lone reviewer for the last chapter: Jilliane.

I have uploaded the sequel to this. It is a story about Snape in America. As lame as it sounds, it is just as intensely magical and emotional as this story. Please check it out. I would appreciate some reviews. The title is Forgiveness and the link can be found on my profile page. Thanks.T

Since AFF won't load my last chapter correctly, here is the end to the last chapter:


“I've decided to take the case, Malfoy, there will be no argument.” Hermione uttered the pronouncement as if there were anyone else that would take it. Draco sat back in the booth, glaring at her.

“You say that as if you were the only party involved in the matter.” Draco began, covering his elation at her willingness to help. “My father has his reason for not wanting the matter investigated.”

Liz curled her fingers around his hand. “Drake, let her talk.”

“You're correct. His original deal with the Order was made to protect you only.” the Know-It-All replied, as she fussed with the rim of her water bottle. “That deal, however, was no longer binding, once you were convicted of using an Unforgivable on Madam Rosemerta. It, in fact, was nullified. I think I can argue that your entire family was wrongfully convicted for war crimes. The acts, themselves, would be deemed necessary actions to preserve your family's cover as spies.”

Draco snorted. “Sure.”

“I'm serious. If your family had access to even moderately adequate counsel, you would have gotten off with a fine.” The bushy-haired brunette said. “Draco, I might even be able to get your possessions returned to you, along with reparations.”

It was that moment that an Owl found them, a Howler attached to its leg. Draco banished the missive with a flick of his wand, then addressed the owl. “Shove off, mate, if you know what's good for you.”

It gave a dismissive hoot and shook its wings haughtily then took off. Draco asked, “Could you do something about the Skeeter article too?'

The bossy Gryffindor smiled, an evil little smirk that Draco would have been proud to bear in his youth. “Most certainly. So, you'll let me proceed?”

“Yes,” Draco smirked back. “Most certainly.”


Salvation

Chapter 22

Lucius lay in the twilit world between medicated wakefulness and dreamless sleep. A soft hand caressed his brow and hair, and nonsense words were being spoken above him. He moaned softly, attempting to open his eyes, which seemed to be stuck shut. Mona Lisa's cultured voice spoke, “Shh... Lucius, you'll be all right.”

He leaned into the hand and slept again, surprised that the pain of the cursing he had suffered was just a dull ache, rather than the roaring inferno it usually was.

&*&*&

Draco turned to the last page of the paper, his brow furrowed. Granger had said there would be a mention of his family's case in the Daily Prophet in the next two days. That had been three days ago, and he was losing faith in the outspoken Gryffindor. He had sent Scorpius and his wife to his Aunt's house for the duration of the furor. He did not need to worry about them right now, when he and Granger were working. Both Malfoy and Granger-Weasley families had received death threats when the Gryffindor had revealed her knowledge of his family's involvement in the war, in The Quibbler of all the rags. Hermione's children were staying at the Burrow. Both locations were being Secret Kept. Blaise and Longbottom were keeping an eye on the situation at Hogwarts.

Draco dragged a hand across his mouth, wishing that he had been born a Longbottom or been sorted into Hufflepuff -—anything but a Slytherin or a Malfoy. He then pressed his fingers against his temples, willing the dull headache that had been present when he woke, away. He missed Liz. He missed Scorpius. He missed the anonymity that his Muggle-flat in the East End had once afforded.

A sharp banging on his front door brought him back to himself. He shouted in answer to the loud noise, “Hold your bloody horses!”

He had prepared this morning for the inevitable arrest, Potter had warned him about. The Ministry was not well pleased with the discovery of the documents, and had begun probing into the allegations of one Rita Skeeter, who had mysteriously vanished in the last few days. Draco was expecting to be arrested any moment. It seemed the moment was at hand.

He stood, smoothing his hands over his hair, adjusting his robes, steeling his mind for the coming events. He strode to the door, his tread softened by the thin rug, one of Liz's homely additions. The rap sounded again, this time accompanied by a warning shout. Draco flipped his wand immediately into his hand. “Let me release the wards, dammit!”

What a dismal difference a few days made. Draco began releasing the wards.

&*&*&

“I told you his dad was a Death Eater.” Toby heard a snide female voice say from around the corner where he skulked in the library. He sank further into the chair, letting only his eyes and crown of his head show over the back of the chair.

“His mum's a fuckin' collaborator... I heard they have orgies while the little Slytherin shit watches...” A male voice joined in, with a little scoffing hint of laughter. “Fuckin' perv is what they all are. My mum sent me the article where Skeeter...”

Then came a third voice, this one male and quietly outraged. “You two should mind your own business, and leave the poor mite alone.”

Toby peeked at the three participants. It was a seventh year Gryff that spoke in his favour to two other seventh years of the same house. Toby blinked in surprise.

The original male scofflaw turned to the interloper. “Yeah, what're you gonna do?”

“Stop you from speaking about him ever again.” Toby's apologist said his voice low and dangerous.

The girl spat, her tone contemptuous as she added, “Ronny Leech, You're just still mad about Skeeter exposing your father as a cheat and a scoundrel.”

“You're right, because she lied, and my family broke up over it.” Leech's voice broke. “Shut your gobs, Poundstone and Ramayana, or I will shut them for you...”

“You and whose army, Leech?” The other boy asked, and then laughed contemptuously.

Toby heard several chairs in the vicinity scoot back. Multiple voices answered that they would aid the Gryffindor.

Toby dared to look at the assemblage. Two Hufflepuff fifth-years, a boy and a girl, several years of Slytherins, five Ravenclaws and four other Gryffs ranged around the two, wands drawn, all staring at them with mingled expressions of fear and anger. Toby turned around again, wishing he were anywhere else, but here. All this was because of him, and he hated it.

“What's going on here?” Miss Abbott asked as she hurried over to the group. “Wands away everyone or this will go to your Heads of House. Mr. Leech, please escort Mr. Cowell to the Great Hall, it is lunchtime. The rest of you leave. Now.”

The assembled students went back to their tables, grumbling about the unfairness of the situation. Leech, a ruddy-complexioned brunette with grey eyes, stalked to Toby. “Come on, Cowell.”

Toby gathered his possessions, not looking up at the boy, until the Gryff said, “Sorry you had to hear that, tyke.”

Toby finished stuffing his books in his bag, and looked up through his fringe. “Why do you care?”

“Because of my dad... and your cousin. Lupin's been crowing for days about how great your unc... I mean, dad was. He told me how Malfoy proposed to your mum.” Leech smiled. “It was too ridiculous for your mum to accept out of anything but love.”

Toby smiled. “Yeah, I always thought us Slytherins were supposed to be smooth.”

“So did I, tyke.” Leech clapped the younger boy on the back, his laughter ringing as they exited the library. He shook his shaggy head morosely. “My youthful illusions have been shattered.”

&*&*&

Liz had been crying more on than off since she and Scorpius had arrived at the 'safe ' location. She and Drake had only been married a few weeks, and now it looked like they would be separated forever. Nothing would ever be easy with him, she thought, and broke into fresh sobs. Andromeda bustled into the room with a steaming pot of tea and two cups. “Now, now, dear, please, no more tears. I'm sure my nephew and Mrs. Weasley have a plan."

Andromeda poured a cuppa for Liz, who accepted it with numb hands and a wooden expression. “Hermione doesn't even like him, Andromeda. She hated me when we first met, because she thought we were together.”

More tears leaked out of Liz's eyes as she forcefully put the cup on the side table. “I want to do something for him, but I feel so helpless. And the great prat just sent me away, like I was useless.”

Andromeda frowned. “Dear, may I ask a personal question?”

Liz nodded, a little frightened by the sudden shift in the older woman's demeanor. Andromeda took Liz's hand and asked, her voice troubled, “When was your last... monthly?”

More tears spilled as Liz began laughing, nearly hysterical. She felt the witch's hand on her back, alternately patting and circling, trying to calm Liz. Finally, Liz leaned into her, accepting the comfort that she normally would have sought from her mother. She eventually rasped out, “A week ago. I won't even have that consolation if he goes to prison.”

Andromeda settled into the back of the divan, drawing Liz with her. “Love, it will all work out. Have faith in my nephew. He's come out of worse than this before, I think.”

Liz sighed into the older woman's neck and closed her eyes. There was no sense in worrying, she knew, but her gut told her Drake needed her, right now. She closed her eyes and let the tears flow.

&*&*&

Lucius woke with his hand being held by Mona Lisa. He smiled lazily, the one he used to charm Narcissa when he wanted to make love. The look never failed. The doctor pulled a face and tweaked his nose. He gave an outraged huff. “Madam, I am not... an infant.

“Feeling better then?” She asked tartly.

Lucius nodded, revelling in the feel of her flesh against his. He moved his deadened had on top of hers, surprised to have so much control and feeling in it. He drew her hand to his lips, sketching a kiss over her dimpled knuckles. “I... do apologise for my... fit of pique, Mona Lisa.”

“Is that what you call launching crockery at someone's head? I'll have to remember that.” Patil smirked, a snarky expression that would have made Severus proud. She rubbed the back of his hand with her soap-roughened thumb. “You know I was just trying to show you the article, right?”

Lucius scowled at the mention of the blasted rag. His rage made him incoherent. “Bah... bitch shouldn't be allowed to... breathe... Lies... all.”

“Well, now I've got some more news for you, Mr. Malfoy.” The doctor withdrew her hand from his, snaking her hand into her pocket. “I need you to remain calm while I read it to you.”

Lucius folded his arms over his chest. “No guarantees.”

The woman's pointed look silenced Lucius, as no words would have. She began reading, her voice soft and hesitant. “Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, has successfully filed and been granted a divorce from Death Eater, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. The marriage was dissolved on grounds of extreme cruelty after thirty-four years of matrimony. The couple's son, Draco Eugene Malfoy, now embroiled in a spurious battle with the Ministry of Magic, and under a cloud of suspicion due to his questionable marriage to the Muggle and Death Eater victim, Elspeth Cowell, was unavailable for comment. The ruling came after Lucius Malfoy attempted to murder the former Mrs. Malfoy... It just goes on in that vein. You don't want to hear the rest do you?”

“Leave me.” Lucius managed, around his closing throat. “Now.”

The doctor gave him one more sad look as she gathered her equipment. “I'm so sorry, Mr. Malfoy.”

He followed her exit until she was no longer visible. Then he let the tears spill down his cheeks unchecked. His life was over.

&*&*&

Harry Potter was on the other side of the door, his expression solemn. Draco offered his wand to the man he had learned to call friend. Potter offered and uncomfortable apology as he took it. “I volunteered to take you in. I couldn't let you be taken by someone who didn't care.”

Draco graced him with a small nod. The Auror's face fell. “I truly am sorry, ferret. I wish it could be different.”

“It's okay, Potty.” Draco forced a smile that was more grimace. “What are the charges?”

“Using an Unforgivable, coercion of a Muggle and breaking the International Statute of Secrecy.” Potter brought out a pair of cuffs enhanced with magical binding spells. He ordered gently, “Turn around; I need your hands behind your back.”

Draco complied, fighting the claustrophobic feeling of the spells that began at his wrists but would spread as he moved. He swallowed the nausea that threatened to surge forth. Potter asked, “Do you need a moment?”

“Let's just get this over with.” Draco managed.

As they exited the building, Potter asked, “So, your middle name is really Eugene?”

“Shut it, Potty.”

&*&*&

Professor Zabini held Toby after class. Toby waited patiently as the last student filed out, ignoring the questioning looks from his friends. He sat behind his desk, waiting for the Professor to acknowledge him. When the older wizard motioned him forward, he went, standing in front of the scarred desk, and trying to sublimate completely his anxiety. “Yes sir?”

“Please, follow me.” The Professor moved toward the stairs to his office.

Toby complied, not liking the solemn demeanor of his Head of House. Once in the office the Professor Floo'ed for tea, bidding Toby to sit. The man retreated behind his desk, and templed his fingers in front of his mouth, a contemplative gesture. The wizard did not meet the boy's eyes. Once the tea appeared, Professor Zabini made a show of pouring and placing the oddments before Toby. The boy, finally growing tired of the tension, asked sharply, “Sir, what is the matter?”

Zabini's dark eyes flitted to his face, then away. “Your stepfather has been arrested. I'm sorry.”

Toby's nerveless fingers dropped the fine china cup on the stone floor. It shattered into a thousand pieces as he stood. Someone was screaming and suddenly Toby realised it was himself. He felt the Professor's hands on his shoulders, and a bottle being pushed between his lips. Toby swallowed reflexively and became calmer, but the small room still swam in front of his eyes, and he collapsed, giving in to the tears that had threatened since his afternoon rescue.

He felt Professor Zabini's arm encircle him and knew the man drew him onto his lap. Nonsense words filled his hearing and Toby closed his eyes against the invasive sights. If he had not pushed his mum and Uncle Drake together, things would be all right. Toby snuggled into his Professor's grasp, eventually falling into a fitful sleep, only a little ashamed that he was acting like a baby.

&*&*&

Hermione was waiting for Draco in the Auror's office, grim and pale under the artificial orbs. She stood as Potter escorted him past her. “Auror Potter, I need a word with my client, please.”

“Trust the bookworm to follow all the niceties,” muttered a grizzled Auror. Draco gave him a two-fingered salute from his cuffed hand.

Potter tightened his grip on Draco's arm, almost imperceptibly. “Okay, Hermione, you'll be able to see him when he gets to the holding cell.”

“Thank you, Harry.” Draco peered at her as Potter moved him past. She had lost weight since he had seen her a week ago, her hair was pulled back in an indifferent knot, and her eyes were rimmed in dark circles. She looked as if she were running on caffeine and adrenaline, and Draco was sorry for it. When they had started their investigation, he had not foreseen any of these consequences.

He stopped, making Potter scrape the back of his heel with the darker man's booted foot. Draco suppressed a curse as he addressed his solicitor. “I'm sorry about all this, Granger. Truly.”

“Don't worry about it, Malfoy.” Granger said with a small lift of her shoulders. “I've got it all covered.”

She winked at him, and sat back down on the seat she had vacated. Draco felt like laughing for the first time in a week. If anyone could get him out of here, it would be the brightest witch he had ever known. He would have to offer a prayer for her and her family when he was able to go back to St. Catherine's. Until then, he would answer the charges, and hope for the best.


Salvation

Chapter 23

Draco had been in the holding cells of Azkaban for a fortnight awaiting a hearing. In that time, he was forced to relive every bad memory he thought he had shed of his first incarceration in Azkaban and before. He could only guess how bad his incarceration might have been had the Dementors still been around to suck the happiness out of him. As it was, he was finding it less appealing to rise in the morning and perform his daily ablutions or say his prayers, especially since his head had been shaved.

Liz tried to visit, Granger had said, but had been denied access by the prison. The august body mentioned something about the charges before him and how irregular it would seem if the alleged Muggle victim were admitted to see the accused. Hermione had fought the ruling, arguing that several of the prisoners now incarcerated were regularly allowed Muggle visitations. The bid was irrevocably denied until the hearing. It was just as well. He did not want his wife seeing him defeated and depressed. She should have some good memories of him once she divorced him and continued with her life.

He realised how faithless the statement would make her sound, but really, it was a testament to his love for her. He only wanted the best for her, and obviously, he was not the person to supply it. If he were convicted and sentenced, he wanted her to move on. She deserved more than a former Death Eater, prisoner, and wreck of a human being. He should have considered all of this before he ever involved her in his life. He was such a selfish bastard.

He rolled over on his narrow bed, feeling strangely lethargic and slightly feverish, the sensation reminiscent of his days on heroin. He tried not to get used to the luxury of the lumpy bed. Once he was a convicted, he would be lucky to receive a moth-eaten blanket and a flat, sweat-soaked pillow.

A rattling at the door of his cell caught, but did not hold his attention. Who ever it was could just come in and do what they wanted. He no longer cared. He closed his eyes, waiting for the pain or the taunting to commence.

&*&*&

Liz sat patiently in the Auror’s office waiting for her name to be called. She had made the trek to London every day for the last fortnight, and would continue doing so until someone saw her. Her name had not been called yet, but she knew her persistence was wearing them down. Most days she knitted layette sets and receiving blankets. She was making them for the newborns that lodged at St. Catherine’s sister shelter, St. Theresa's. The Aurors did not need to know that. Let them think she was pregnant. The more pity she generated, the greater her chances were of succeeding in seeing her husband. The ploy had been Harry Potter’s idea, and it seemed to be working as well as anything else had, which was not at all. It was almost five o’clock, time to contact Andromeda and make her way back to the cottage, but Liz gave herself a few more moments as she began slowly putting away her supplies. Once done, she moved toward the exit of the mammoth building.

She would be back tomorrow.

&*&*&

Toby was sick of everything. He could not go to class without verbal fights and hexing breaking out around him. The school seemed to be evenly divided into pro or con camps with him being the contested piece of property. Toby just wished things would return to normal. He never got to spend time with his friends without some interfering older students flanking him. Of course, the older students had saved his skin several times, but still, how was he to practice flying without the whole school knowing that he was considering trying out for the Slytherin Quidditch team next year? He could not even go to the toilet alone.

He did have one thing to rejoice about in the whole mess. Rose and Robert Alston were going to stay with Professor Zabini for ever. Their mum had signed some papers just yesterday and Owled them to his Head of House. Rose had told him just this morning, along with Victoire and Teddy of course. The four had skived off Herbology to celebrate in the Astronomy tower. Of course, Leech had followed them, and he had roundly scolded all the younger students before he sent them off to class, late, and without an excuse. Despite the little impromptu party, tonight, the four friends and Robert were invited to dine with Professor Zabini and his visiting wife. Toby was a little scared about that. He had seen barking mad people when his mum and Uncle Drake… no, his dad, had worked in the kitchens at St. Catherine’s. Crazy people were frightening and dirty. He hoped that Professor Zabini’s wife was not like that. It would make him feel worse for Rose and her brother instead of better.

It was time for Potions, his second favourite class, so he packed his bag and made his way out of the library, followed, of course, by the newest addition to his security detail: a hulking, black-haired seventh-year girl called Magenta or some colour name. She was in Slytherin, and no one messed with her. Her aunt was in the MLE, and she had taught her all types of defensive spells before she ever entered Hogwarts. Toby nodded once to her as he met up with Rose and Victoire at the door to the Potions lab. The older girl muttered something about staying put after class, but Toby did not catch it. Oh, well, he shrugged, there would probably be someone else to escort him to his common room after class if the big girl could not make it.

&*&*&

Just as Liz made it to the Ministry’s visitors’ entrance, a young man with mousy-brown hair and a baby face snapped her photo. Liz stopped, put her hands on her hips, and glared at him. “Haven’t you lot made enough money out of me and my family? What can you want now?”

The young man had the sense to retreat a step as he stammered, “I… I… just wanted a word, Madam Malfoy.”

Liz could think of quite a few words that would fit the occasion, but judiciously refrained from using them. She knew the value of having the press on their side, and this reporter had called her by her married name. He was the only one in the last fortnight to do so. Her tone was even and a tad less frosty as she enquired, “Your name?”

“I’m sorry. Dennis Creevey. I work for Witch Weekly.” He paused hopefully, but when Liz remained silent and severe, he continued. “I would like to get the whole story of your marriage and Mr. Malfoy's subsequent arrest from your perspective.”

“The whole story, huh?” Liz considered for a moment, not quite trusting the open-faced blandness of the man. “Okay, but not tonight, or I’ll be late. I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at Paddington Station. There’s a little coffee shop. I can’t remember the name. Meet me there.”

“I was hoping I could speak with you tonight,” Creevey insisted, as a little crease formed between his eyes.

Liz shook her head. “No, I’m staying at a Secret Kept house, so I have to make my train or I won’t be able to get home.”

The reporter frowned, his face falling into more mature and careworn lines. “It’s been that bad, that Malfoy had to use one of the Order’s tricks?”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not a witch, you know. Please excuse me now; I have to make my train.” Liz pulled away from the young man, noting the thoughtful way he stroked the strap of his camera.

“Tomorrow, then,” he shouted after her. “What time?”

Liz made her way out through the glass door, keeping it open with her knitting-bag encumbered hand as she answered, “Be there at seven. I’ll be along around that time.”

&*&*&

Madam Zabini was nothing like the people Father Cavanaugh helped at his soup kitchen. She was pretty, clean and soft-spoken but with a little edge of something hard upon introduction of the two Gryffindors. Professor Zabini greeted her with a shy and happy expression as she demanded a kiss. His Head of House leaned over, asking her something inaudible as he bent to her cheek. She blushed and answered with a yes.

Teddy, Victoire and Toby hung back as the Alston twins were introduced to her. For a wild moment, Toby had an image of the two children paying homage to Snow White, or Queen Maeve of Faery; Mrs. Zabini was that pretty. Madam Zabini beamed at Rose and Robert and held her hands out as she said in a girlishly breathless voice, “You are the start of our family.”

She placed her hands on her drum-tight belly. “Here is our next son or daughter. My husband tells me it is most assuredly not a polliwog, but probably brown, nonetheless.”

The children had been informed of Mrs. Zabini’s odd thoughts on the child she carried, so none of them reacted adversely to the comment.

The group spent a few more moments in the room with the couple, milling about uncomfortably while they tried to make small talk with two adults, never an easy proposition for children. Toby looked around with disinterest, until a small rosewood shrine caught his attention. He moved toward it, trying to be unobtrusive. Professor Zabini caught up with him as the other children gathered around his wife to hear her stories of their travels around the world. His Professor asked, “It’s a shrine to the Buddha; would you like to see it?”

“I’m sorry sir; I didn’t mean to pry…” Toby began, feeling as if he had been caught looking in the girl’s shower or through his mum's diary.

His Professor smiled the kind of smile that Harry Potter had given him at Yule, the one with the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He moved to the shrine, and twitched the curtain aside, revealing the pretty little gods. “I know how curious I was about my Professors and how they lived. I remember how your father and I used to make up ways that our Head of House, Professor Snape, spent his time. None of the tales were as dashing as what he actually did, but we were curious.”

“Professor Snape, the Death… uh… dead Headmaster?” Toby asked. “Uncle… I mean, Dad said that Scorpi was related to him, somehow.”

“He did?” Professor Zabini’s hawk-gazed eyes focused on him uncomfortably. “Do you remember how they’re related?”

“No, but Father Cavanaugh might be able to tell you. I think they might be cousins or uncles or something.” Toby shrugged in apology. “Miss Tish, Scorpi’s mum, was Father Cavanaugh’s sister. It’s kind of strange to think of him having any family really.”

The One-Armed-Prof looked like he was going to whoop for a moment. Toby was a little frightened of him and wondered if Madam Zabini’s madness was catching. “Uh, Sir, can you tell me about the gods you worship?”

His Head of House turned back to the shrine and explained the differences between the way he looked at the figures and the way Toby prayed to the saints until the house elves brought the food. As they broke away from their conversation, Toby said, “I never thanked you for taking my letter to Father Cavanaugh. It was really nice of you, Sir.”

Professor Zabini ruffled Toby’s hair affectionately. “It was nothing, Mr.Cowell.”

&*&*&

Draco woke once more from his boredom-enforced stupor to a gravel-voiced whisper. “Mr. Malfoy.”

The sound came from the door, and Draco tensed, remembering the last visit by a guard, which had resulted in a shorn head and a few bruised ribs. He heaved himself to a slouching sit. Guards who used his last name without ‘prisoner’ in front of it deserved at least a modicum of respect. Draco, still feeling strangely feverish, stifled a shiver. The voice sounded again, this time louder and more distinctly. “Mr. Malfoy, I have some things from your wife, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Draco stood, feeling a little less pitiful, but still wracked by the strange chills that had taken him earlier. This guard seemed less brutish and more educated than most of the vermin employed at the prison. “What is it?”

“Ooh, you don't look so good.” The guard pressed his beefy face to the bars. “Do you need a Healer?”

“No, I'm fine.” Draco had been ill when he began his prison term the last time. He was sure there was no problem but nerves.

“Here.” The man smiled, a toothy, pity-filled grimace, as he handed a brown paper-wrapped parcel through the bars. “I think you should know that not everyone is happy about what's happened to you and yours.”

Draco clutched the parcel spasmodically, the rough, brown paper abrading his fingertips like sandpaper on wood. He asked guardedly, “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, those of us that are related to Muggles could be up on the same charges. The same way that bitch Umbridge did us during the war.” The guard scratched his cheek with a thick finger. “It just doesn't sit right with most of us, even if it is a Malfoy up on charges, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I think I do.” Draco returned his attention to the package. He could almost smell Liz's musky, citrusy scent as he trundled it back to his cot. As an afterthought he said, “Thank you.”

“It's no problem. And, uh, Mr. Malfoy?” Draco looked up at the man's kind face. “Good luck.”

Draco opened the package with shaking hands and an aching heart. He pulled a small packet of letters out first, a thick bundle tied with green ribbon. Her scent drifted up to him, the one he had bought her on their truncated honeymoon in Venice. The sharp scent of her soap, her brand of Muggle shampoo and his brand of conditioner filled his senses next. He nearly laughed remembering the idiotic fight they had about her shampoo a few days before the publication of the Skeeter article. He had claimed her shampoo was not the right one for his hair as she had smeared it into her own. She had reacted saying her shampoo was just not posh enough for him. The argument had continued until Draco had pinned her to the wall with his soap-slick body, each of them easing into their apologies with drugging kisses and languid lovemaking. He opened the bottle, letting the light scent of orange and kiwi transport him to that moment, filling his mind with her soft gasps and low moans. She was so appreciative in her acceptance of his apology.

He set the bottle aside. If he used it while he inhabited this bitter part of the world, he would go mad.

&*&*&

Dinner was going well until Madam Zabini burst into tears. Professor Zabini tried to get her to stand, to remove her from the uncomfortable gawking of the children, but she refused. He pleaded, “Darling, please, you're going to alarm the children.”

“I'm no better than one,” she sobbed as she buried her face in his robes. She whispered into his ear and the dark man paled under his chocolate skin.

It was then that Toby heard a trickle of fluid under the table. Had she had an accident just like little Scorpi? Victoire looked at him, her shock plain on her face. She stood, placing her hand on Professor Zabini's shoulder. “Sir, do we need to fetch Madam Hasselnuss? My Aunt Ginny did this just before she had little Lily.”

Victoire retreated a step as the older Slytherin nodded. He scooped his wife into his arms using a charm to hold her in the one with no hand, and said as he swept from the room, “Inform Madam that we are on our way. The baby is coming early.”

His gaze swept the five students, frantic to be away, but still aware of his duties to them.

“All of you stay here until I get time to escort you to your dorms.” As he exited, he shouted, “And don't touch anything!”

Victoire went to the Floo and searched the mantle for the distinctive powder. It took a few moments, but once discovered, she Fire-called the mediwitch. Rose was standing next to the chair, her mouth pulled into a tight frown. “You don't suppose he wants us to leave this, do you?”

“Ugh,” both Robert and Teddy exclaimed at the same moment. “I'm not touching that.”

Toby rolled his eyes and brandished his wand. “Have you been wizards long?”

He flicked his hand in the motion that Victoire and Rose had both shown him when he was struggling with the charm in class. “Evanesco!”

The seat was clean, if not dry; that was a third-year charm. Both of the other boys glared at Toby before they all retreated to the itchy seats in the parlour. Rose blew her dark fringe out of her eyes. “I wish we had known we'd be stuck down here. I would have brought my books to study.”

The others groaned as Victoire said, “You're just like my Aunt Hermione.”

&*&*&

Drake,

I'm not much for writing letters; I've never known anyone that lived far enough away for me to write them, so please forgive me if what I write doesn't sound right.

Draco's heart gave a queer lurch as he saw Liz's handwriting, the tight English, schoolgirl quality of it familiar and endearing. He ran the chapped ends of the fingers over the paper as if to get a physical sense of her.

I know you're probably telling yourself that you should have thought twice or maybe three times before you married me. I know you, Drake, you’re so much better at Catholic guilt than I am, so don't deny it. I just want to tell you that you had no choice. From the minute I saw you in that soup kitchen, I think I knew you were for me. I respected Tish and you too much to try anything then, but when I finally decided it was the right time, I tried very hard to let you notice me. I'm glad you did. I've never loved anyone before, so maybe this sounds strange, but I think we were meant to be together.

I had a strange dream the other night. I haven't been sleeping well, just so you know. I haven't had your arms around me and your...

The words were missing, and Draco knew they had been excised by the Prison Censors. He could just see their faces as they read Liz's East End version of dirty-talk, an odd combination of gutter language and Catholic prudery.

In the dream, I was in Saint Catherine's garden walking with Tish. She was just as lovely as in life, but she had a special glow, one I hadn't noticed she had while she was alive. She looked happy. I told her about us, and she said she was happy. She told me she had a talk with your father about it, but thought he mightn't be in any condition to remember it when he came back. Then Tish and I talked about Scorpius and how he had grown; she's proud of her little boy. Finally, she said, “You and Draco were made for each other, Liz. I'm happy you've finally discovered that.”

Draco blinked away the rough feeling of unshed tears as he noted the dried tearstains marring the ink and the paper.

I woke then, because Scorpius was calling for you. Drake, we both miss you so much. Please don't lose hope. I pray every night for your safe return, and I know God will let us be a family.

I love you,

Liz

Draco folded the letter carefully and tied it in the bundle of letters, which he held against his heart as twilight faded to night. He was a lucky man.





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