Dark Times for Draco Malfoy

December 1st 1997



A lone woman stood outside the gates of Hogwarts castle. She took no notice of the aurors pacing back and forth. She did not answer their inquiries. Silently, her tears fell to the snowy ground. She paid no heed to the cold. She had bitten the dust and gone to see the Weasleys. The boy had been to the wedding. They could tell her nothing else besides that he looked well, that he smiled and was very civil and forthcoming. She had been unable to restrain her tears in front of them as they painted a picture of Draco Malfoy; A healthy boy just turned seventeen. She had been forced to go. Once her husband had relayed to her in intimacy that he had seen their son; truly seen him, her heart had been beating faster and her anxiety had settled somewhat. Sanity had returned to Narcissa Malfoy. In the dim candle light in Lucius\' bedchamber, she had watched him closely while he spoke. Lucius had – in a matter of months – grown older, wearier and more tired than before. He wore a constant frown on his forehead. He walked haplessly about the Manor, blue rings around his swollen eyes, his gaze darting from corner to corner. And he kept telling her he was looking for his ring. He had lost the ring which had been passed down in generations, from one Malfoy to another. But to her, it looked more as if he was looking for himself.



Narcissa remained by the gate until dark. Her thoughts lingered around the events unfolding just here about a year ago. She had come to aid her unfortunate son. The news that he had become the target of an eudaimon had just reached her. Lucius had been incarcerated in Azkaban. And she had been all alone. That night, he had been scared out of his wits, his confidence gone, the spark in his beautiful blue-grey eyes dying. Draco had not dared go beyond the gates. And she had been unable to enter. What a wretch he\'d been, all pale and awfully thin, red-rimmed around the eyes, hollow cheeks and hair in disorder.



The Aurors asked her once more. Why was she here? Who was she and what did she want?



Narcissa did not want to enter. She had come here, hoping to understand her son\'s situation, including her own. All of these killings of people she knew well. People who were in league with Death Eaters and Voldemort. Good people with ideals. And then her son. Surviving the situation of being a target, nay, thriving in the position. There\'s no making sense of it. She left the Aurors and their questions unanswered. Whatever Draco was doing, he was doing it well. He was surviving, and that was all that meant anything.



The next day, she made inquiries at the Ministry. That Granger girl, who\'d been after her son. Where was she now? She read through the protocols that Granger had failed to report to the Muggle-born Registration Commission. She went off to speak to relatives to the Weasleys who were more lenient towards pure-bloods than others. She could hardly conceal the shock when they told her they\'d seen Granger enter the Weasley wedding ground, hand in hand with Draco, her belly big as a house. They had looked as if they were married. Only when she was safely back within the walls of Malfoy Manor, did Narcissa allow tears to fall. She could not tell Lucius. They\'d kept many a secret from each other over the course of their long marriage. This would have to be another one.





Hugo Abraxas Granger Malfoy was born on December 5th. It had been difficult to know who was holding who\'s hand during the course of the birth. Draco had witnessed it all, her toils and her troubles, the pain she had to endure. He had been helpless. She had been shocked, and the only thing they had been able to do, was to put their trust in one another and in Peter – who was there as a midwife. Draco and Hermione had begun it together, now they saw it through together. The boy was the most beautiful thing Draco ever had laid eyes on. Small and shrivelled, the baby reminded him most of a little troll. Hermione\'s first comment was that there was a lot of Malfoy in him, but Draco saw no immediate likeness. He lost himself completely in the little creature, and the first time he got to hold his son was a breathtaking experience. It moved him to tears, overwhelmed with emotion from watching Hermione\'s trials during labour to finally, finally having this moment! The sensation of having such a tiny, helpless creature in his arms couldn\'t have been more ambivalent. It was his son! Made from his loins, it harboured half of him. Over were the carefree days. Now awaited a whole new life with lots of fine moments. But the responsibility! In the blink of an eye, Draco\'s mind sifted through all of the tasks awaiting him as a father. He would need a vocation. A job with a steady income. A home and resources. Then there were all of the dangers. How would he be able to always be there for little Hugo? So many threats. So many possible outcomes which this tiny, fascinating creature would have to be protected from. The baby made a noise, and shifted slightly in Draco\'s arms. The noise grew louder, ending in a wail, and for the first time, Draco heard the infant cries of his son. The wails shattered him inside, and he instantly knew he would gladly sacrifice heaven and earth to please his baby son. He was going soft and he liked it.



He handed Hugo over to Hermione. Peter was softly instructing her how to breastfeed, and Draco watched with excitement as Hugo eventually latched on to her nipple. It was fascinating to watch those tiny lips move! How incredibly clever nature was, to implement such an important reflex into something so small which was hardly aware of its own existence. Hermione was positively beaming. Tired but happy. She blinked away a tear and looked up at Draco. Her eyes spoke volumes, and he put one hand comfortingly on her shoulder. He touched Hugo\'s head carefully with one finger. His hands seemed enormous in comparison, and he was afraid he\'d break the boy if he touched him too hard. Hugo was born with a considerable amount of bushy, blond hair. The hair was at least one token of Hermione\'s participation in making him, and Draco couldn\'t wait to see which other traits from her which Hugo might develop.



Ivory Scorpius Sparrow Malfoy was born on December 25th. Draco was there to bring the boy with him home. He did not participate. He did not hold Melchior\'s hand the way he\'d held Hermione\'s. This was the birth of a half demon, and he averted his gaze as John Sparrow cut open Melchior\'s belly. The birth took place in a grotto, enlightened with emeralds, jewels and veins of gold. The entire setting screamed of otherworldliness. From the belly emerged a tiny infant, about the same size as Hugo. Upon its head rested an seemingly amount of blond hair, and on its back, attached between its shoulder-blades, moved one set of small, greased up black feathered wings. The child was immediately wrapped in white linen. Draco met John\'s gaze as the baby was handed to him, and Draco accepted little Ivory into his arms. John turned back to his son, focused on closing the wound. For the second time in such short a while, Draco felt pride bloom in his chest. And he decided there and then that he would not make a difference. Hugo and Ivory. They would grow up as brothers, and they would be treated equally. It was the only way.



Draco returned to the Dragon\'s Lair five minutes later. Hermione had just put Hugo to sleep, and now she walked towards him in the living room, curious of the bundle in his arms.



“Well, would you look at that” she commented quietly. She gazed into Draco\'s eyes teasingly. “Another Malfoy. He\'s got your hair.”



“And hopefully your brains” Draco smiled back at her. He watched as a smile bloomed across her lips.



“Do you think he\'s hungry?” she asked innocently, gently prying the infant out of Draco\'s embrace.



“I would, if I were him” Draco teased. “In fact, I think it\'s – well, unfair of you. They get to enjoy all the goods, while I\'m … left with only a pair of lips to kiss.”

Hermione turned her back on him, lost in the face of baby Ivory.



“I get hungry too, you know. But no, I\'m left to fend for myself” Draco complained, all though his tone of voice held no seriousness at all. He embedded all possible sulky Slytherinesse in it when he continued: “No service, no sympathy, no – no comfort. Just dirty nappies, a good night kiss on the cheek –!”



“ – oh do get over yourself, Draco Malfoy!” Hermione replied with a lopsided smile. She rolled her eyes at him before she sent him a long, loving stare.



“Just a sip?” he pleaded, eyeing her with big, grey puppy eyes.



“Not a chance”.



“One tiny drop then?” Draco batted his eyelashes and pouted. Hermione glanced at him and shook her head. He watched her sit down and reveal one, full milky white breast. She put Ivory to her nipple, and before long, the infant boy suckled away as if he was a professional.



Draco feigned disappointment. But there was no hiding the pride on his face. During such a short period of time, they had managed to become the parents of not just one, but two boys. And Hermione seemed very content with herself and the situation she was in. Looking into her face, seeing the unbridled love she held for these boys, made Draco only stronger in his resolution. It was a thought he had been working on for a very long time. She was a Muggle-born. He was a pure-blood. Together they had created half-breeds with no future, unless he – Draco Malfoy, the son of a Death Eater – wiped the slate clean for them. The past would have to be eradicated. And with it, the threats lingering there which could come back to haunt them all: Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.





Melchior was relieved to be rid of the child. He did not miss it. He was content in knowing that Draco and Hermione would care for it. It would get a good upbringing, and as for Melchior – well, he would contribute with his part of the upbringing once the child came of age. Melchior never withstood children. It was not in his nature. He had been made for other purposes. He thought of Draco while he caressed his now empty belly. He had succeeded in bringing the humans closer to one another. Hermione would be a worthy wife, and Draco would do anything in his power to love and protect his rapidly growing family. Draco was a fighter. A lion. A dragon. He would stop at nothing to eliminate all possible threats. And at this point, Melchior could tell that the boy was seriously contemplating the future of Malfoy Manor.



Good.



Everything was going according to plan.



*



Malachi spotted the familiar carriage from his window. He hurried the children into their outdoor clothes and more or less shoved them out the front door. He needed a pretext to get close to Peter. The children had been allowed into the Dragon\'s Lair. They\'d spent many hours there, playing with Peter and Draco. Malachi had kept his distance, and now, seeing Peter outdoors with the familiar baby carriage, Malachi couldn\'t contain his curiosity much longer. He stumbled outside whilst putting his jacket on, afraid he\'d might appear too desperate. Or hostile. He tried to remain calm, pretending to trot along casually to catch up with his children.



The children stood on their toes to get a look inside the carriages. Draco was out also, with the twins neatly packed down in each their bag inside a twin carriage he\'d borrowed from Peter. Diving down through the tediously arranged layers of fabric, one could discern a tiny nose in each bag. Hermione had gone back to sleep the minute he was out the door, relieved to be left alone after a long night with two craving babies. Draco could only do so much. He lacked the sufficient equipment on his chest, and did his duty with an extra bottle whenever it was needed. This night, they\'d both been up for hours. Both the babies had eaten and eaten, and then burped and slept for an hour or so, and then craved more milk. Draco was still in shock. It hadn\'t quite dawned on him that he was the father of two. It filled his days with one challenge after the other. No matter, he was overjoyed to suddenly have such tiny creatures into his life. They were a part of him, and he and Hermione worked as a team to get through it. They went from all the time in the world to themselves to suddenly none, but neither complained. They were tired, but having fun. Draco was thrown out of his musings as he saw Peter freeze up. Turning his head, he saw Malachi come walking in their direction.



“Don\'t leave me alone with him …!” Peter whispered quickly, eyeing Draco.



“He just wants to see his son! Weeks have gone by and he still hasn\'t seen him” Draco objected quietly. The blond pointed out something very obvious. “Look, if you\'re going to make this separation work, you might have to resort to some kind of compromise. You can never eradicate the the fact that he\'s the father of your children.” Draco spoke softly. He could see Peter\'s increasing unease.



“He\'s – he\'s going to kill me” Peter replied, hushed and secretive.



“Don\'t be daft. He loves you.”



Peter hesitated. Looking to Draco, he whispered; “What makes you say that?”



There was no time to make a reply. Malachi took the easy way, first talking to Draco and commending him for Hugo and Ivory. He courteously asked after Hermione and if she was in good health. All the time, he kept glancing over to Peter and the carriage. Thinking he had showed enough civility to Draco, he warily took a few steps forward.



“Peter” Malachi nodded in careful greeting. “How are you?”



Peter did not reply. He kept looking into the snowy ground. A clear and cold rejection. Malachi bent down to have a look inside the baby carriage, trying not to take offence. There it was, a tiny, tiny patch of skin buried beneath a lot of fabric. From the little he could see, Malachi concluded that the baby looked like its sibling. The same sloping forehead, and shape of the eyes. He had been told it was wingless. Probably another Sparrow Dragon, like Sebastian and Alexander.



“I – I ...” Peter began. He faltered, and looked to Draco for assistance. It was a subject they\'d touched in on for quite some time after the birth, and Peter seemed determined to go through with it.



“Peter wants to have a talk with you about future living arrangements.”



“All right. Maybe you want to come over so we can discuss things inside –!” Malachi said. The invitation came out with a lot less subtlety that Malachi had intended. Peter immediately began to shake his head. “So maybe I could come over to your place and –!” But Peter kept shaking his head. He turned the old Simo baby Carriage, which had accomodated two babies prior to this one, and began to walk towards the Dragon\'s Lair. “Peter!” Malachi called after him. But the former Londoner gave no reply.



“It\'s not easy for him. He\'s terrified of you” Draco told the powerless eudaimon. He watched Malachi dragged his fingers through his neck-long hair. He sighed dejectedly.



“You know, at first I was heartbroken. I thought I could live with that. I thought that eventually, I would somehow cease to exist so I wouldn\'t have to endure the pain of seeing him here. Within reach, but not within reach. I am glad that he did what he did, honestly, I am. It\'s the first true opinion Peter has shown in years. But right, now, after all these weeks, I have to say that I\'m beginning to get just a tad angry. A little pissed off.”



“You can\'t expect him to perform miracles.”



“Right. Silly me for hoping that he had finally punctured that aching ulcer which has kept him from speaking his mind. I can deal with a lot shit, Malfoy. I was devastated but glad that he finally showed some spine and moved out. I would have dealt with his anger. I would have coped with that. I would gladly take a punch in the face if that\'s what it took to fix this. I could have dealt with tears and endless quarrels. I\'d love to see him tear the bedroom apart and burn my clothes on a pyre. I am aching for him to spit in my face and call me an idiot. Anything! Anything! Just not this cold rejection.”



“It\'s been only a month. You can\'t expect –!”



“ – miracles?!”Malachi stuffed his hands in his pockets. The children rummaged around in the snow, making snow angels. “What is it that he wants?” Malachi replied, sounding frustrated.



“He probably should tell you himself. But we\'ve been talking. He wants to move away from the Farm. Maybe to Eoropie. Or Stornoway. And he\'s wondering how that will affect him seeing the children. If you will allow it or not. He\'s worried about the economy. He doesn\'t have much to live on. But he says he can\'t stand the thought of living here longer than he has to. And he\'s worried you might take the baby from him.”



This was a lot to take in. Malachi hesitated, and stared at the tips of his shoes. Did Peter really have that many thoughts in his head at the same time? It suddenly occurred to Malachi that he already knew. When Peter was sick once in a while, he would lie awake at night and whisper to some imaginary friend. It drove Malachi mad with envy, for he wanted so badly to be that friend. He wanted to be the one whom Peter confided in. Peter would whisper his pleas for someone to hold him in a warm embrace. For some unconditional comfort.



“What\'s he called?” Malachi said, after having cleared his throat and checked oncoming tears.



“Huh?” Draco replied. His mind had been some place else. At Malfoy Manor.



“My son. Our son?”



“Julian.”



Malachi went silent. He turned away from Draco. About to walk, he turned his head and offered the blond his thanks. It didn\'t surprise Draco at all to see Peter re-emerge once Malachi had gone back inside. Walking over to Draco with the carriage, the two targets proceeded on a walk. Leaving the Lighthouse Farm and walking down the straight and narrow road leading to Eoropaidh, Draco thought about miscommunication and about marriage.



*



Hermione was dissolved in tears. It was the end of January. She felt as if the babies were literally sucking the life out of her. Her worry for Harry and Ron had escalated. It had been three weeks without communication through the journeybook, and she was seriously beginning to worry. And finally, finally Harry wrote. She took great comfort in hearing that Neville Longbottom had joined their fight. Having a fresh mind was doing wonders to the small group, and she was incredibly happy to hear it. Draco wasn\'t equally thrilled to have Neville Longbottom caught up in the events. He\'d get lost just by walking round a tree. The glimpse of hope Harry had given Hermione soon faded when she read about the events taking place on Christmas Eve in Godric\'s Hollow. Harry had been set on finding Bathilda Bagshot. It had been a shot in the dark, but never the less, he felt obligated to try all options. Harry described vividly how they\'d indeed found her house, and who they thought to be Bathilda herself. He wrote about Nagini, about Ron\'s and Neville\'s burst of heroism and how that have ultimately saved them all. Harry had been so close – so very close to dying. He described that Nagini had managed to bite him. Neville had come to the rescue with his knowledge about herbs, and Ron – well, Ron had been there to hold his hand. Apparently, Harry had been a bit out of it for some days.



And then Harry told of his wand. It shocked both Hermione and Draco to read it. That\'s when she had begun to cry. Without his wand – what would Harry do?! He took her in his arms and held her for a long time. Hermione had endured much. She was tired from feeding the babies around the clock. They never had a moment to themselves, and her constant worry for Harry was taking its toll. She felt so incredibly helpless. He listened to her sobs for a while while thinking about what could be done. She had to get out of the house. She was climbing walls any minute. She needed to feel useful to Harry.



“Hermione” Draco said, swallowing hard, “it\'s – it\'s just a crazy idea. Maybe, just maybe we could do something for Harry. We could go to Godric\'s Hollow and see for ourselves. Maybe we could find some clue –!”



“ – at Bathilda\'s house!” she said, sitting up and wiping her tears frantically.



“It\'s safe. It\'s – you know, we could do it while the children are sleeping. A small hour or so. I\'ll talk to Peter and see if he\'s willing to look after them …!”



In response to his soft words, she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. Oh how it felt good to be loved. Fifteen minutes later, they were standing at the living room. They gazed into each other\'s eyes, took each other\'s hands – and POP – they were on their way.



Despite it being daylight, Godric\'s Hollow appeared as a bleak, abandoned place. It was strange to think that this was in fact Harry Potter\'s origin. The orphan actually came from some place and this was it. They found Bathilda Bagshot\'s house after walking for ten minutes. A little to the left of the front entrance lay shards of glass. The curtains hung outside the window. They were frozen, grey and discoloured. Inside, it was dark and dirty. The shelves were covered, thick with dust and grime. They found the spot amongst the photographs which Harry had described. There, he\'d come across the trail of the thief who stole from Gregorovitch. Surveying the floor, Hermione found it. She was all ablaze now, back to her old self, all caught up in being the sharp-witted Gryffindor Draco had come to admire at Hogwarts. Again, he reminded himself of how lucky he had been to be bestowed upon with such a gift as her. He would take good care of her. She picked up the photo. It was scratched, contained within a frame of broken glass. Training their wands, they carefully made their way upstairs. Draco went first. He felt his heart pound hard in his chest. The low-ceiling bedroom which Harry had described to them, was littered and in complete chaos. It smelled of urine and other things which Draco failed to identify. Hermione cast Lumos, and almost immediately, their eyes fixed on the large lump slouched against the wall as if it were a sack of potatoes. The rotting body of Bathilda Bagshot. Draco had to focus in order not to vomit from the sickening sight. He heard Hermione groan with nausea. She turned away. The room was half covered in snow. The shelves were smashed into splinters, along with china and other objects. Draco couldn\'t move a foot without stepping into something which cracked. They could only imagine the struggle which had gone on in here. The walls were seared after being hit by spells. Draco imagined it to be Confringo.

They searched the rest of the rooms upstairs without results. Whatever had gone on, had gone on in the bedroom. They went back down the narrow stair. Draco held Hermione\'s arm, frightened she might lose her footing. Coming back down, Hermione gazed about. Her eyes were sizzling. He could almost hear the wheels in her brains work overtime.



“Aha!” she said quietly, taking one step over to the bookcase. “At first I couldn\'t quite put my finger on it” she said thoughtfully. She carefully pulled out a brand new edition of Rita Skeeter\'s The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. It was so brand new it was practically a show-stopper when compared to the rest of the worn and tattered collection which Bathilda had. There was a note sticking out from the top of it. She read the few lines of spiky, acid-green writing aloud: “Dear Batty. Thanks for your help. Here\'s a copy of the book, hope you like it. You said everything, even if you don\'t remember it. Rita.”



“It must have arrived while the real Bathilda was alive, but perhaps she wasn\'t in any fit state to read it?” Draco suggested.



“No, she probably wasn\'t.” She riffled through the pages. The spine was still stiff and unbroken, and almost immediately, she came upon the same photo which portrayed Dumbledore with the thief. \'Albus Dumbledore, shortly after his mother\'s death, with his friend Gellert Grindelwald.\'



“Grindelwald?” Draco repeated. He knew that name.



“You know who he was?”



“Only from what my father told me. A great dark wizard. A fine example as to why young dashing Slytherins as myself ought to have attended Durmstrang. And I would have, mind you, if my mother hadn\'t intervened.” Draco spoke about Grindelwald with mockery in his tone. It caught Hermione unaware. She knew Draco harboured disdain for his fellow Slytherins, but this – this was borderline hatred.



“A great dark wizard?” Hermione looked up at her husband.



“The second best, Lucius always said. After You-know-Who, of course.”



“This could be of importance to Harry. We must make sure he gets the book.”



Returning to the Lighthouse Farm, Hermione immediately went to her study where her journey book lay. Dipping her quill in ink, she began to write with deep commitment. Peter was sitting in the living room, mending a pair pants. Draco made tea whilst listening to the scraping and scratching of Hermione\'s quill. While the water boiled, he contemplated how the experience at Godric\'s Hollow had changed her. The roses were back in her cheeks. The frowns on her forehead gone. This was not unknown territory with little babies who craved constant attention. Her mind was working again, and she loved it. The journeybook immediately came alive. Harry replied after just a few sentences, eager to hear from her and excited once he realised she had been to Bathilda\'s house and seen for herself. He made tea for himself, Peter and Hermione. He placed the cup by the ink house and kissed her head. She paused and smiled, accepting his attention with much pleasure. She knew that he was doing this for her. Because he loved her.



“Hermione” Draco told her softly. I will have to go and ask Melchior for permission if we are to locate Harry. He might not –!”



“ – please” she replied swiftly with watery eyes. Glancing down on the pages of the journal, he could see that Harry was writing frantically, jotting down his typically boyish letters. He was in a hurry, by the looks of it. Draco finished his tea whilst looking out the window, towards Port Royal. Only a few days ago, Melchior had finally returned, but so far he had not shown himself. Draco thought about how to articulate this specific request. He always got his tongue caught in a jam whenever he was face to face with his master. This dark, tantalizing half demon puzzled him, even to this day.



Steeling himself, Draco made his way over. He brought Ivory along – hopefully as means of distraction. He rapped on the door and entered, instantly reminded of the last time he\'d set foot inside. He hadn\'t eaten carrots ever since. All though his entrance had healed a long time ago, Draco felt somewhat nervous. He found the living room to be empty. Noises suggested there was someone upstairs. He glanced down at little Ivory who was comfortably perched on his arm, asleep and snoring lightly. The tiny pouting lips made Draco think of Melchior\'s. He went upstairs. There were noises from the bedroom. He gave the door a gentle knock. No one answered, so he opened it carefully. Draco\'s eyes widened in shock. Stepping backwards, he twirled around and nearly stepped outside the staircase. His immediate thought was to protect Ivory, and he regretted ever bringing the child. In an automatic response, he began to make himself a cup of tea just to get his mind over to something else. It didn\'t work.



The image of the threesome was etched onto his retina, and strangely enough he regretted he was not part of it. His dedication to Ivory prevented himself from just putting the baby down on the floor and fling himself into the obscene act. For obscene it was! It was Melchior and Marian. They had an older looking Asian male between them. The male was looking absolutely terrified. He had Marian\'s cock pumping into his entrance. A dog\'s collar was tied around the boy\'s neck, and connected to a leash which Marian was in control of. Melchior\'s cock was inside the boy\'s mouth, and his hands held the boy\'s hair in a tight grip. The boy was sobbing and whimpering, the noises muffled because of the erection. Those huge black wings of theirs brushed the ceiling on either side, so large, their end feathers touched each other. They both looked up to eye the newcomer. And evil playful smiles spread across their lips at the sight of Draco in the doorway. The scene was hilarious, reminding Draco of something out of a bad porn still he\'d once seen in Crabbe\'s room when he had been fourteen. It had been two gorgeous bedroom dreams dressed up in silly costumes with angelic wings on their backs. In the middle, some fat lucky bastard who looked as if he was in distress. As Draco put a teaspoon of sugar in his teacup, he remembered why it had been hilarious. It had been Goyle\'s dad. Caught in the act. It was the reason why Goyle\'s parents had divorced. Not that it mattered. Goyle senior had gotten himself a new girlfriend just a month afterwards. She looked as if she could have attended her seventh year at Hogwarts at the time. And both Goyle senior and junior were mad about her. Tits and no brains.



He heard the unfortunate pig upstairs squeal. Oh, how he\'d loved to try a sandwich once, Draco mused. He wondered what it was like – to have one in the front and one in the back. Marian had proven himself to be trustworthy. Either that – or it was just Draco who had gotten used to the rough treatment. With Melchior\'s permission, he would have given the eudaimon brother a go. Blow jobs wasn\'t Draco\'s favourite. He had been too well raised for that, plus the fact that Melchior\'s treatment of him at Hogwarts had given him traumas about it. But he would definitely give it a go. Draco ignored the tone of the squeals, identifying them as cries for help. It didn\'t take a genius to understand that this was some poor criminal bastard who was forced to undergo a bit of sexual rape as the last thing he ever did on this Earth. Draco drank his tea and studied the tiny face of his sleeping son. Something had hardened inside Draco. Months ago he would have been put completely out by the screams, but now he thought that the Asian probably got what he deserved. He put his lips gently to the tiny forehead. A strand of white-blond hair tickled his upper lip, and he drew in the smell of the newborn\'s skin. Upstairs, the man\'s muffled moans and complaints went on. Standing like this, not far from danger yet out of harms way, filled Draco with tenderness for this little creature sleeping on his arm. How was it possible to love something like this – an eudaimon – so unconditionally? He hoped and prayed there and then to all forces in the abode that he would always be able to be there for this creature, and for Hugo. Choosing between them was impossible. He hoped intensely he would be able to be a good father – a better father than Lucius – and that he would make Ivory a decent person in the future. He had no idea how. Growing up in a manor virtually without boundaries to teach him the difference between right and wrong, Draco felt pretty much in the dark. But he would look to Hermione. And he would follow his intuition. Every man and every woman hold within them a seed of goodness. And Draco knew, that in order to succeed, he would have to search for it and always look to it for guidance. Staring into the newborn\'s blue orbs certainly didn\'t give any guidance. He\'d fetch the moon if those puppy eyes asked for it!



Swift steps down the stirs broke his reverie. Tearing his gaze away from Ivory, he came face to face with Melchior who stood at the bottom of the stair. He was short of breath, and had obviously thrown on a deep red silk morning gown.



“Mister Malfoy” the eudaimon began rather sternly. He had a quizzical look on his face. He crossed his arms above his chest and eyed Draco with an accusing stare. “Tell me. How am I to keep up appearances as a relentless, brutal evil-doer, when you stand here, mere metres away from where I am trying to conduct my work as a professional pain-giver, just oozing of good vibes and fatherhood?”



Draco\'s mind went blank. He had no idea what he was being accused of. Melchior stepped a little closer, looking amazingly sexy which wild hair, crimson shiny silk and sparkling brown eyes. “Huh?” The word fell out of Draco\'s lips.



“I am trying hard to re-invent myself here as a merciless eudaimon bent on torturing someone, and you stand here, offering yourself and the world to our son! Do you have any idea what that does to me?” Melchior\'s voice softened dramatically. “Your good intentions, your unbending will to do better, to reach higher and strive to become a better person – all for you family – is draining me of my evil conviction! How am I supposed to be evil when the goodness you\'re producing here, is interfering?” Melchior\'s accusing voice rose a little. He did his best to sound stern, but he could not hide the smile slowly curling on his lips. “I hate to say it” Melchior continued, his voice now filled with unrestrained pride, “I don\'t want to admit it, but with you, my work is done. You have become the person I accused you of not being, back at Hogwarts. And now, it\'s a shame to see that you are changing me. What\'s to become of me? I am supposed to be evil. It\'s what I do. But can I help it when you intentionally stab me with those grey puppy eyes of yours?! No. I am defenceless. A hopeless case. So, what is it you want?”



Draco hesitated, attempting to wrap his mind about all the words coming out of Melchior\'s mouth. He handed Ivory over to Melchior. The eudaimon didn\'t see it coming, and his brows tied up in a frown at first. Then, he reached for the boy, accepting it into his strong arms. If Melchior\'s face was made from butter, it now melted.



“He\'s gained weight” the eudaimon said silently. “A lot of weight.”



“Well” Draco sighed, “Hermione\'s turned in to a cream machine these days. Every time they feed, they look as if they\'ve been starving for the past week. And they always overfeed, brimming with milk.”



“Good. Very good.”



“Hermione and I need to go and look for Harry Potter. We\'ve come up with a book with vital information in it. Do I – have your permission?”



“I see no immediate danger, so yes. But you might want to bring a towel. For your dear friend Potter.”





Hermione sent the message through the journeybook, asking Harry to meet them in the Forest of Dean. She was so excited she kept going in circles. Once he had managed to convince Hermione that he was capable, Melchior was left in charge with the babies. Peter tolerated Melchior\'s presence, making the Malfoys free to go. Hermione brought with her a tiny beaded bag, but the way it clanked and the sound it made when it hit the floor, suggested that its content was way larger than its appearance.



It was snowing when they got there. The ground was frozen, the dirt solid. It was bitterly cold. It was fairly late, and they whispered Harry\'s and Ron\'s name, waiting for a reaction. It was Ron who first made his appearance. He came stumbling out of nowhere, stopped and blinked twice at the newcomers.



“Hermione! Draco!” he said sounding surprised. “I – we – he was supposed to have first watch, but now –!”



“Harry\'s gone?!” Hermione immediately guessed. She swirled around in hope of seeing Harry, but in the dark it was difficult. “There!” she said, pointing at a faint, silvery shimmering object far away between the trees.



“A Patronus?” Draco replied. Bringing out his wand, he cast his own, a Scorpion. It immediately sidled between the trees in the same direction as the previous one. “Where\'s Neville?”



“Inside the tent. Asleep.” Ron replied. The trio set off after Draco\'s scorpion. It was fast, and they could barely keep up with it. It provided just enough light for them to get their footing about right. Draco took the lead, as he was in extremely good shape. Hermione struggled, and Draco tried to wait for her. He took her hand, and together they ran as fast as Hermione\'s feet would allow her. They heard a splash, and all of them instantly knew that it was Harry. Coming up on the pool, Ron didn\'t hesitate. He got hold of Harry\'s hair and pulled. Draco aided him, pulling an unconscious Harry Potter out of the freezing water, inch by inch. Harry was holding a beautifully carved sword. It nearly fell back out into the water, but Ron was quick to fish it back up.



Harry was quickly conscious again. The sound of such familiar voices which meant friendly company, renewed his strength, and he got back to his feet. Hermione fished out a large, red towel from her beaded bag and wrapped it around Harry before giving him a big hug. Whilst re-dressing, Harry described the Patronus he\'d been following, and how it had led him to the pool with the sword in it.



“It was y – you?” Harry said at last, eyeing Draco. His teeth chattering, his voice weaker than usual due to his near-strangulation.



“What?”



“Y – you cast the doe?”



“What, no of course not. Mine is a scorpion. I have no idea whose patronus that was” Draco lied. It didn\'t feel like the right moment to share what he knew with them. Something made him hesitate. He remembered something Harry had told him about how he shared a mental bond with Voldemort. And if there was any chance that Harry – most unwillingly – might slip that piece of information, then it was better not to tell. Severus Snape had to be protected.



Harry put Hagrid\'s pouch back around his neck and pulled the final sweater on. Ron yelped in surprise. He was looking at his hands and at the giant sword he was holding. It was an ornate silver sword which Harry seemed familiar with. It\'s rubied hilt resembled blood stones in the moonlight.



“You reckon this is the real one?” asked Ron.



“One way to find out, isn\'t there?” Harry turned and gave Draco\'s shoulder a slap. “Thanks for coming. You\'ve no idea how much it means to have the both of you here.” His gaze into Draco\'s eyes lingered, all until Draco broke it. He felt strangely violated. As if Harry still wanted something he couldn\'t give him. He remained in the background while Hermione, Harry and Ron discussed the locket and the sword. Ron seemed to be on the defensive, for Harry insisted he should be the one to crush the locket. “I know it\'s supposed to be you who uses it” Harry argued. Ron hesitated.



“Tell me when” he finally replied, sounding defeated and looking determined at the same time. Hermione retreated back to Draco, and took his hand for extra protection. The content of the locket rattled like a trapped cockroach.



“One … two … three … open!” The last word came as a hiss and a snarl and the golden doors of the locket swung wide with a little click. Behind both of the glass windows within blinked a living eye , dark and handsome as Tom Riddle\'s eyes had been before he turned them scarlet and slit-pupilled.



“Stab” said Harry, holding the locket steady on the rock. Both Hermione and Draco held their breaths. They watched as Ron raised the sword in his shaking hands: The point dangled over the frantically swivelling eyes and Harry gripped the locket tightly, bracing himself.



Then, the Horcrux started talking. It spoke to Ron with tantalizing, seductive voice, and they saw the tip of the sword tremble.



“Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter … least loved, now, by a girl who married your enemy … second best, always, eternally overshadowed....!”



“Ron, stab it now!” Harry bellowed. The words came as a stab in Hermione\'s gut. Draco remained calm, though inside he was simmering with anger. This was Voldemort\'s malice, and it was evident how Hermione was affected by it. At the same time, it was also the truth, though truth always came in different versions. He saw that Harry had trouble holding on to the locket. It had begun to quiver, like a runaway cauldron about to explode. Two bubbles emerged, taking shape in the heads of Harry and Hermione\'s. Growing, they became whole figures, their hair on fire, handsome yet their eyes oozed with cruelty.



The real Hermione fizzled, she was so angry she screamed and growled, begging Ron not to listen to the foul copy Voldemort had made of her. The real Harry shouted as well, begging Ron to stab it. Draco grabbed Hermione\'s shoulders, holding her back. She was shaking with anger.



“Your mother confessed – …!” sneered Riddle-Harry. “Who could look at you, who would ever look at you, beside Draco Malfoy? What are you, compared with the greatest Dark Wizard to be? Who wouldn\'t prefer him, what woman would take you? You are nothing, nothing, nothing –!” Riddle-Hermione went on, the contempt in her voice tolling over and over again. Ron\'s face filled with anguish. His arms shook, he raised the sword high.



“Do it, Ron!”



The sword flashed, then plunged.



In the silence that ensued, they all noticed that Ron was shaking, but not from the cold. Hermione let go off Draco\'s hand. She threw herself at Ron, wrapping her arms around him and held him tight until his sobs subsided.



“I didn\'t mean to do it!” Ron wailed like a baby. “I\'m so sorry, \'Mine! I didn\'t mean to do it. I honestly thought – ….!”



Hermione hushed him. They all knew what he referred to. His assault upon Hermione back at Hogwarts. He had been possessed. The wall which had grown between them ever since, had been a wall of anxiety.



“I need you!” he wailed against her bosom.



“I am here for you. As a friend!”



“I can\'t do only with you friendship, I just can\'t. I – I love you too much, and no matter how much I try, I can\'t stop thinking about you” Ron continued.



“You must find a way, Ron. You must!” she urged him. These heartfelt revelations were beginning to worry her. She didn\'t dare to glance over to Draco, in case he proved to be bristling with anger.



Harry, however, had been observing the blond all the time. Draco seemed concerned. But calm. There was no indication he resented the scene unfolding before them.



“We should get back to camp” Harry finally said. At least, the ice was broken. Glancing at Draco, he wondered if he\'d ever get it right with the blond.



Neville Longbottom was still asleep when they returned. He woke, startled by the rustle of clothing, surprised to find so many people inside the tent. He flung himself at Draco, wrapping his arms around the taut waist of the blond and lifted him up in the air. The sudden intimacy of bodies instantly gave Draco a tingle in his abdomen, but he brushed it off for now. Neville looked terrible. Unshaved, wearing layers of clothes, he looked the part of a vagabond. Hermione began to relay the story of what they found at Bathilda Bagshot\'s house. She handed Harry the pristine copy of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. Her mouth opened, and a series of information fell out. They all sat down and listened to her talk. Draco fished from her the beaded bag, and began to pluck out cans of food, potatoes and – to his horror – carrots in a string. Then they gave Neville a quick walk-through of what had happened down by the pool. Beside himself with guilt, because he\'d managed to miss out on the action, he sighed and began to pace the tent. Draco got him to settle down. Hermione and Harry stuck their heads together, eagerly discussing the photo of Grindelwald and Dumbledore. They watched as Harry\'s ears grew red in pure excitement. \'The symbol\' being a repeated phrase, Draco assumed they were making progress.



Hermione ended her visit with having convinced Harry, Ron and Neville that they ought to go see Mister Lovegood, Luna\'s father. He had been wearing the symbol at the wedding. She was convinced there was a clue waiting there.



She couldn\'t have been more surprised when Harry later related about the incident at Lovegood\'s, with the betrayal leading to a near apprehension by Death Eaters. Draco was most upset by Luna\'s disappearance. He had come to enjoy her company at Hogwarts. Quite often, she had been the only one who\'d spoken to him, and to whom he\'d dared making contact. She had become a sort of light in his otherwise dreary existence. Hermione paced the room, muttering to herself about the Deathly Hallows. Harry had to be out of his mind! The Deathly Hallows! And now, the Gryffindor was convinced that his Invisibility Cloak was one of the three hallows! Draco sat on the couch, listening to her as she rambled on about Harry, Lovegood and the Deathly Hallows. Being a pure-blood, he knew the story by heart. He watched her sit down and leaf through the book Tales of Beedle the Bard. Was that really it? Draco pondered. Was Voldemort after the Deathly Hallows? After the Deathstick? He thought hard about Melchior, and the eudaimon knocked on their front door about ten minutes later. He was dressed casually, in jeans and billowy white shirt. He stood before Draco, placed his arms above his chest and said: “Yes?”



“First of all. Luna Lovegood. She has been abducted by Death Eaters. I want to help her.”



“I\'ll see if I can locate her” Melchior replied without hesitation.



“Second, the Deathly Hallows are real, aren\'t they? I remember my dad being totally convinced of their whereabouts.”



“Yes. A classic, really. There was a demon – and not Death himself – who tried to trick the Peverell brothers. Needless to say, he won.”



“And the items?”



“Are true, and Mister Potter\'s got one of them. Dumbledore had the elder wand.”



“He had the wand? Up until he was kidnapped?! Who took it?!”



“It passed on to the one who conquered Dumbledore.”



“And who was that?” Draco was sitting at the edge of his seat.



“Lord Voldemort. It might also interest you to know that his name is jinxed. If you use it outside the Lighthouse Farm, Voldemort\'s Death Eaters will be upon you immediately.”



Draco rubbed his face in his palms. “Is Dumbledore still alive?”



“No. He died slightly after his abduction. It might interest you to know that Severus Snape killed him, as a part of an agreement between them. So he wouldn\'t have to undergo endless torture. Snape immediately passed over the Elder Wand to Voldemort.”



There was a short moment of silence. Hermione stared blankly in front of her, before she burst into tears. Draco walked over to her and sat down, wrapping his arms around her.



“You have to let Harry stay!” Draco said softly. “I know you told me no, but please, he is a hunted man out there! If –!”



“If I grant him shelter here, in time he would find it extremely comfy and then lose his purpose. He would spend his years here doing nothing and turn into a coward while the world outside suffers.”



Draco sighed in silent resentment. He knew the eudaimon always spoke the. It didn\'t make it any less frustrating. “What of the final object? The – the third one? What was it? A rock?”



“The Resurrection Stone.”



“Where is it?”



“Waiting to be found. And in time, Mister Potter will find it and make use of it.”



“So – so if we could get Harry the Elder Wand –!” Draco suggested.



“ – no. We do not interfere on Harry Potter\'s behalf. If you go after Voldemort, you do so on your own behalf, because it gains you and no one else. We\'ve already talked about this” Melchior said, raising his eyebrows.



“You do know it goes against everything you\'ve taught me?” Draco said.



“Yes. And sometimes the path can be extremely winding. If you as much as lift a finger against Voldemort now, you\'ll be doing Harry Potter a disservice. I know it seems like the right thing to do, but in the long run, he\'s the one who\'s going to end up hurt. A few more things must fall into place, first. I suggest you focus your efforts on dealing with your parents. Remember; Your father has fallen from grace. He is no longer Voldemort\'s best second lieutenant. But his sister-in-law is.”



“Bellatrix Lestrange” Draco sighed. He had always admired his aunt when he\'d been a child. She was fairly unpredictable, and always viewed him as an annoying mosquito buzzing around her ears. She was Voldemort\'s equal in so many things.



“You ought to be glad your mother is past her fertility age” Melchior told him bluntly. He took absolutely no notice of Hermione\'s unhinged condition. On the other hand, him talking kept Hermione pre-occupied. She was really listening now.



“What\'s that supposed to mean?!” Draco retorted, sounding slightly affronted.



“With Lucius Malfoy locked away in Azkaban …? Lord Voldemort finds himself alone with two breathtaking women – sisters, even – in a dashing manor. Think about it? If it had been you? With some time to spare? Wouldn\'t you have made a move?” Melchior\'s voice was grave. He spoke slowly, without hint of sarcasm or irony. He wasn\'t insinuating. He wasn\'t vexing Draco purposely. In his book it was purely informational. And Draco got that. It achieved the effect Melchior was looking for. It was prudent that Draco tore his focus away from lending Harry a hand. They would help the Gryffindor without actually helping.



Draco fell silent and thoughtful. His gaze darted across the living room, his mind working hard to digest the implications. He held his arms around Hermione until the babies\' wails made it necessary to re-focus.



Peter entered the living room with little Julian on his arm. When he saw who it was – the black wings, the figure – he immediately spun on his heel.



“Peter?” Melchior\'s voice rang demandingly through the sitting room. The target stopped. “We need to have a word.” Melchior\'s voice softened. He waited patiently for Peter to turn. Weeks of spending night time together seemed to pay off, and Peter relaxed his shoulders as he remembered who he was dealing with. He turned about, took a deep breath and approached.



“Why don\'t I make us some tea? Why don\'t you sit down?” the eudaimon offered. He watched Peter hesitate, before thinking the better of it. Melchior made his way to the kitchen, almost brushing down a few pictures on the walls in the process. He noticed, and while he put the kettle on, he said: “You know, we who have wings weren\'t really meant to live inside in houses. I really don\'t. These wings got to be some of the most impractical limbs ever created by Demon nature. I mean, really, what\'s the point? How often do I fly with them, nowadays?” He fetched two cups from the closet and placed them on the table next to Peter. “I\'m hardly ever stationed in Hell. And it\'s not particularly likely that I\'m off to Heaven any time soon, is it? Sugar?” Melchior fetched Peter\'s favourite blend and then one for himself. He poured hot water into the cups, put the jug down and brought himself a chair. Like all winged eudaimons, he turned it with its back against Peter before he straddled it, leaving his wings in the free. He had been this casual with Peter ever since the beginning. Slowly and surely he\'d won the man\'s confidence. But Peter had a limit. And beyond it, no man or demon passed. It was that mental place in which Peter lived, a dreary, grew and black place littered with horrors and fears.



“I – I think it\'s time you spoke with Jack. About moving away from here.”



“B – but Captain Sparrow –“



“John Sparrow doesn\'t have the final word in this. In matters concerning the welfare of the targets, of living conditions and so on, Jack has the final word. It may look as if John\'s the one in charge, but you have to remember that he\'s just one of us” Melchior said, pointing his own thumbs at his chest, “and he is submitted to the will of Captain Jack Sparrow just as much as anyone. He\'s not above that law just because he\'s The Satan. The problem with John” Melchior said, pausing to sip from his tea, “is that he \'forgets\' to tell Jack things which has to do with people like you and Draco. He may not have the power to lie, but he sure knows how to keep information to himself.”



Peter was wringing his hands. He had put baby Julian down on a soft fur on the floor. The baby was awake and made small noises, gurgling to himself and moving tiny fists.



“Would you permit me to summon him?” Melchior asked softly.



“Y – yes please. If – if it\'s all right. Thanks for asking. I really appreciate it.”



“Then it\'s settled then.” Melchior smiled, keeping his lips closed. This wasn\'t the time or place for displaying fangs.



*



Captain Jack Sparrow arrived a few days later. Melchior urged Draco to attend the meeting. They held it in the Dragon\'s Lair, and Draco made sure there were plenty of hot water, tea and biscuits. It was good to see Jack again. Forever the captain at the rudder, he stepped quite naturally into the role as an authoritative figure, and was the immediate centre of attention the minute he walked into the living room. He gave Hermione special attention, and did not fail to pay her compliments on growing beauty as a mother. He commended her on her choice of clothes, earrings and the way she wore her hair. In turn, Hermione blushed like a thirteen-year-old maiden, and Jack smiled a golden-toothed smile in return, knowing he had achieved his goal. His flirtation skills were baffling, leaving Draco at a loss for words, and it made him wonder why he never thought of saying something like that to her. Draco made a mental note of working on it, suddenly afraid that Hermione might lose interest in him. He was glad it rarely happened. He wasn\'t used to feeling like a teenage git with absolutely no experience with women. But somehow, Jack succeeded in doing just that.



They sat down in the sitting room, and Draco poured hot water into their cups. Jack\'s youngest were with him, and had brought his own toys for the occasion. Hermione sat down on the floor with the boy and played with him, whilst the Child Bearers began talking. Captain Jack Sparrow wasn\'t one for talking about the weather. He went straight to the point, and that was a trait which Draco liked about him. Peter was obviously nervous. As Draco was sitting next to him, Peter\'s hand found Draco\'s left hand which rested on the couch next to his left thigh. Draco didn\'t mind. He had come to understand what a big step this was for the young man.



“So, here we are, then. Let me just start by sayin\' tha\' it was abou\' bloody time, Peter.” Jack gazed at the dark-haired man with a serious expression of face. His chestnut eyes speaking volumes. “I honestly believe ye\'ve made the right choice. Now, Melchior\'s defied his father and he came to see me about this. He\'s relayed parts of the story between yerself an\' Malachi which I had no idea had taken place. John will be gettin\' an earful fer this, tha\'s fer sure! But I have to hear one thing from ye, and I want ye to be tellin\' me the truth, savvy?” Jack paused. Peter swallowed hard and looked down at the table.



“I have to know, Peter. Have you ever loved Malachi?”



Silence.



Peter\'s reply was faint. “I still do.” Peter hesitated, before he opened his lips again.



“Yet the situation\'s killin\' ye. Very slowly. And it\'s killin\' Malachi too, for he\'s very fond of you also.” Jack told him in earnest. “But now, yer fear fer Malachi is stronger than yer love, savvy?”



Peter nodded in agreement. His lower lip was trembling.



“I\'ll be honest with ye, I\'ve never found meself in tha\' predicament, so this is new to me too. Now, the Sparrows are afraid ye might be takin\' off with the baby , tha\' ye\'ll fall prey to some other demon and tha\' they\'ll be forced to take ye out. Tha\'s wha\'s eatin\' at John. It\'s the one principal which the Sparrows live by, savvy? If ye want tha\' be free, I can always order Malachi to stop seein\' ye, but you\'re goin\' tha\' have to live with bein\' escorted and havin\' Sparrows aroun\' ye fer protection. It\'s me one condition for ye livin\' elsewhere than on Sparrow property, savvy?”



Peter nodded again. He couldn\'t stop the tears which pressed on.



“N – no more children.”



“Forget about the children fer now, Peter, and focus instead on rebuildin\' yer life. Yer\'re still young. Look at me!” Jack threw a lopsided smile, banging himself in the chest, “me sailin\' days are soon over. I\'m findin\' grey hairs everywhere, even on me unmentionables!”



Jack and Draco broke out in roaring laughter. Peter had to smile as well, despite the tears from his eyes. The irony of the comment was so great it was ridiculous. Despite his three hundred and fifty years, Jack looked as if he was in his early forties. His hair a warm chestnut brown without any sign of white, thick and shining in the weak January sunlight protruding through the window. His eyes were alive and vibrant, and his skin still fresh and smelling faintly of aftershave. He leaned back on the couch and winked cheekily at Peter.



“Do you ever have days when you feel like your true age?” Draco wondered.



“Nah. Never. Not once. Maybe twice a year.” In other words, not very much. Draco\'s thoughts wandered to Dumbledore, and how tired he had looked at the end of the school year. Before his abduction. Before the end.



“I – I don\'t have much money” Peter suddenly mumbled, staring at his fidgeting fingers. The subject seemed to shame him immensely.



“I\'ll put Malachi to work on one of me ships! He\'ll hand his pay checks over tha\' ye. I\'ll see to tha\' some money are transferred to yer account so ye can buy yerself a cottage. A proper one. If their not already in kindergarten , get the kids enrolled. They need to socialize and to learn how to interact with other kids.”



“John believes –!”



“ – in home tutoring, yeah I know. It worked when he was a kid some three hundred years ago. This is 1997. Listen, unless ye have wings, fittin\' into today\'s society is a lot simpler than it was back in the 1770\'s with superstition and religion everywhere. Today, it\'s all about integration and acceptable social behaviour. John isn\'t livin\' in this century. And even if they \'ave wings, there are possibilities. Like Draco\'s Hogwarts, for instance. They accept all manner of human creatures, as long as they\'re magical. There be a bunch of magical schools abou\' in the world.”



Jack had managed to arouse Peter\'s attention now. The man stared at Jack while the old pirate spoke, and even Draco was impressed. Jack\'s ability to see opportunities everywhere was breathtaking.



“Tell me about yer dreams, Peter. When ye move away from \'ere, what do ye want to do with yer life?”



“I – I want to – to have a job. And perhaps make friends with someone. Just – friends. And to have the children around me” Peter whispered.



“Is Malachi at all somewhere in these dreams?”



“I – I sometimes dream of him when I\'m very lonely.”



They fell silent. The pain and longing in Peter\'s voice was heart wrenching, speaking volumes about crushed hopes and unrequited love. Draco squeezed Peter\'s hand. He knew the feeling of despair all too well, remembering how it was to lay in his bed all alone at Hogwarts, clinging to what he thought were unachievable dreams about Melchior.



“Will – will they take Julian away from me?”



“No.”



“Sebastian and Alexander?”



“Of course not. I\'ll \'ave a word with Malachi. Ye need to make up yer mind abou\' how much you want to be seein\' them, savvy? Right now, ye have more than enough with yerself and Julian. Ye need tha\' be able to tell Malachi when and how ye want tha see yer children, savvy? Ye \'ave to able to communicate these things fer tha\' benefit of the children.”



Peter nodded compliantly. This was big for him. Really big, and he was terrified for the great unknown which he had just stepped into.



“Draco will help ye move yer stuff, savvy?”



Draco smiled, feeling relieved. He sometimes felt like a big brother to Peter. They needed to see this through together.



When the talk was over and Jack made to leave, Draco was left with a sensation that something big just had happened. Still overwhelmed by Jack\'s words, he helped the boy tidy up. Hermione put the toys in a bag, and they stood to see Jack off. He put his arm around Peter\'s shoulder and squeezed mildly. Peter was shaking. Mentally, he was on a far lower level than Draco, and socially speaking so very out of practice.



Jack turned and said: “Draco? Walk me to me car, will ye?” Draco threw on a winter jacket and put on his shoes.



“I\'m glad you could come” Draco told him in earnest.



“Well, I need to ask a favour of ye.”



“Anything.”



“Once John finds out tha\' money are rollin\' within the accounts, he\'s gonna start askin\' questions and then Hell will break loose, savvy? Since ye\'re the only Child Bearer with spine around \'ere, it falls upon ye to be our moral compass. Got it?”



“Yes sir.”



“It\'s aye aye, Captain Sparrow.”



“Aye aye, Captain!” Draco smiled respectfully.



Draco went to see Melchior later that evening. His head was brimming with thoughts spinning around Malfoy Manor, his parents and the events during the day. It was all too much. He felt restless. The eudaimon was deeply immersed in reading an ancient scripture when the blond arrived.



“Mister Malfoy” he greeted him without looking up from the book. “You come through my door looking quite lost. Why?”



“I need a shag.”



“And he is straight to the point” Melchior said, imitating a sports commenter. He put the book away and scrutinized the youth. “You know where the wine is. Help yourself.”



“Thank you. Want a glass?”



“No. I\'m fine.”



“You seem more like yourself again” Draco poured himself a glass. Coming over to the fire, he sat down on the fur in front of it. Looking up at Melchior, Draco\'s pale face and pointed chin combined with a glowing halo around his head made him look like an angel. The eudaimon didn\'t answer. He slid off the couch and came to kneel between Draco\'s legs. The boy put one warning hand on his chest. He said: “No carrots, please. No burning candles, no wands, no bottles with rum, no tweezers, no hot needles or pokers, please, and no hair combs, hot wax, broom stick ends, cucumbers, paper towel holders, walking canes, wooden dildos, frozen pieces of meat, flash light handles or fists. Please!” Draco drew a long breath, keeping a pleading expression. Melchior smiled wickedly.



“You have a fantastic memory.” He bent down and placed a heartfelt kiss on Draco\'s lips. He put his torso down on Draco\'s body, forcing him to lay down. The sensation of Melchior\'s weight on top of him gave the blond a familiar tingle in his abdomen. For a long time they simply gazed into each other\'s eyes. The eudaimon seemed to be Patience itself this evening, and Draco enjoyed every second of it. They kissed once more. Slowly. Melchior closed his wonderful, nut-brown eyes and let the tip of his nose caress every bit of skin across Draco\'s face. Only when he reached the boy\'s chin, did he open them to have a look.



“It\'s called a two day old beard” Draco immediately informed him a matter if factly.



“Draco, you only grow more sexier the older you become. It shall be a true pleasure to watch you come of age, with your belly ripe with my child –!” Melchior\'s nose touched the tip of Draco\'s nose. They stared into each other\'s eyes for a long time. Only when the veil behind those shimmering grey-blue eyes began to shift and dissolve, giving way to the depths within in which Draco\'s soul lingered, did Melchior avert his gaze. He felt the pull – the inexplicable sensation of being drawn inside to that otherwise forbidden place within Draco. It was intoxicating. It was what every demon craved for, and what every good Christian fought to keep impenetrable. The very soul. It occurred to Melchior that if Draco\'s innermost place opened itself so easily to him, it could only mean one thing: Draco was ready. Soon, his body would begin the process, and then, with every full moon, Draco would be ripe for the taking. His body would willingly open itself up for Melchior, in hope of harbouring new life.



Draco kissed him passionately and tenderly. He stared into Melchior\'s brown pools once more and whispered: “I want Malfoy Manor to burn.”



“Patience, little dragon. Patience” the eudaimon whispered, pressing his lips down on Malfoy\'s. The blond sighed and pressed his hips upwards in response.



Some five minutes later, Draco was on hands and knees, staring into the live flames in the fireplace. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and tried to lose himself in the sensation on Melchior\'s mouth working its way from the small of his back and down to his crack. Gently parting the cheeks, the eudaimon bent down and kissed Draco\'s entrance. The touch sent jolts of pleasure down to Draco\'s fingertips, and he shuddered wistfully. He spread his legs a little more, and Melchior\'s fingers slid down the perineum. Rubbing it gently, he knew from experience that this was the entry point of a bundle of nerves leading to Draco\'s sweet spot. He felt Draco\'s body move in response to his ministrations. He had once put his fist inside Draco\'s entrance. Keeping his hand still, he had proceeded to rub across the perineum. He hadn\'t touched Draco\'s erection. It had come all by itself, and stayed at attention because of the rubbing. Draco had been beside himself with lust. His hands had been tied above his head, and he had been completely at Melchior\'s mercy. Rubbing the perineum had done the trick. Draco\'s orgasm had come, and he came hard. And the best part of it all, was that it had left the blond dissatisfied. He had been crying for more, begging for his master to take his cock. Melchior could vividly recall the distressed expression on the boy\'s face. A quizzical look mixed with pure lust. It lasted only for so long, for Melchior had answered the boy\'s prayer by fistfucking him. Hard. Quite despite himself, Draco had grown hard again, wincing at the near unbearable sensation of having someone\'s fist rubbing his insides. Pleading didn\'t help. Melchior had continued until Draco\'s pleas subsided into whimpers of pain. He kept it up for a good hour after that point. When he finally tired of Draco\'s loud sobs, he withdrew his hand and had commanded Draco to dress. Then, he possessed the boy and forced him to kill.



Back in the present, Melchior did not regret what he had done back then. Such was Demon nature. Such acts had driven Draco from him and into the arms of Hermione. It had been necessary. It had left a gap between master and servant which strengthened Draco\'s loyalty to his wife. And it had served as a perfect excuse to vent some frustration about being pregnant. Now, he kissed his servant tenderly, savouring the taste of his lips and the very moment they had together. He felt Draco tense in front of him. Melchior moved his hand forward, taking care not to scratch the tender skin with his sharp fingernails. He fondled the balls whilst planting kisses on Draco\'s cheeks.



Draco disciplined himself to think about Lucius Malfoy, as he felt himself being entered. He pictured his father\'s face before him, and he thought of the long corridors lavishly decorated with paintings and luxurious wallpaper, gilded chairs and heavy curtains. He wanted spite to fill him up, he wished vividly that his father felt what he was feeling right now, he wished deeply that Lucius was beside himself with fear, crumbling by the sensation of having someone\'s cock sliding in and out of his entrance. He hoped Lucius felt disgust and shame, that it truly hurt him and induced him with terror. And Draco prayed that his father understood why. That Lucius Malfoy had failed his son in every way. Draco had adopted this habit some time back. It had become his only way to vent out his increasing frustration about his own background. With every month that passed, his hatred for his own parents grew stronger.



Melchior quickened his pace. The thrusts came harder and faster. He tightened his grip around Draco\'s hips. Digging his nails into the soft flesh, Melchior set a determined speed straight for the top. He felt himself approach the inevitable orgasm. He urged Draco to shift his balance, pulled the boy\'s hips backwards until Draco was half way sitting on top of him. The pull of gravity allowed Melchior to go deeper, and the boy moaned at the sensation. Working his thighs, the eudaimon bucked his hips repeatedly, pushing upwards, fucking Draco from beneath. He could tell that Draco was touching himself. They orgasmed simultaneously, their moans echoing the pleasure of the other. Melchior wrapped his arms around the waist of the blond and squeezed hard, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. Buying it in a forest of blond hair, the eudaimon then exhaled in a long contended sigh. He continued to hold the boy close, still remaining inside him. He liked to revel in the sensation that this creature, this young, blond-haired warrior belonged to him. This was his property which he had come to love so dearly. The pregnancy had been a tough trial which had tested their relationship. Draco\'s loyalty and love for the eudaimon remained unchanged. The bond between them was unbreakable. Melchior needed no further evidence to know he had made the right decision when he brought Draco to the Lighthouse Farm. He former Slytherin rested his head against his master\'s shoulder. He closed his eyes, yet the image of his father wouldn\'t leave his inner eye.



I hope you see me. I hope you understand what I have become. I shall never be the son you so desperately wanted me to be. I will never stoop to your level. I shall never be a Death Eater.





Lucius Malfoy sat awake in his bed. It was nearly midnight. His head hung down, and his beautiful shining blond hair hung cascaded down onto his thighs. He paid no notice to the tears silently falling on his cheeks. His breath was ragged, and only beginning to slow down. Going to bed early had obviously been a mistake. The nightmares had come the moment he\'d shut his eyes. The image of his son\'s cold face which was imprinted with hatred, still lingered before his mind\'s eye. His own child had handled him with such firmness and strength that everything inside Lucius had yielded. He had buried his face in the pillow out of pure shame and despair, as his son\'s fingers had dug into the sides of Lucius\' buttocks, parting the cheeks. Then – the boy had mounted him. It had been pure agony, and Draco had shown no mercy.



Lucius did not know what else to call the creature which quite often forced itself on him. It wasn\'t Draco. It was wearing Draco\'s face, his body. But this nightmarish copy of his once beloved son was lacking something vital: Emotion. Life. There was only silent accusation in those grey-blue eyes. Malice and coldness. Having consulted his black books on Occultism, Lucius could only conclude that this was something akin to a Wraith – a ghost or a dead spirit. It could be a hellish entity under someone\'s command.



Lucius knew he was bleeding from his orifice. He had long since stopped covering up or clearing away the tell tale signs. He knew he was sitting in a pool of his own blood. The situation was hopeless. The real Draco had abandoned him. Or perhaps Draco was prevented from returning. Voldemort had lost his patience and called Draco a fraud and a traitor. He was pretty high up on Voldemort\'s Death List. There was so little to live for, now. So little, with no open doors to escape through. His mind was as dark as his bedroom. Yet there was silence, the voices in his mind roared. The loudest of them all, shouted about suicide.





February went by. It was bleak, grey and filled with bad weather. The lighthouse stood its ground as it had done for hundreds of years, diligently offering guidance to sailors on the treacherous sea. February brought on bad snow storms, with hails the size of ping-pong balls. It was the month when Draco helped Peter move to a small cottage outside Eoropaidh. It was the final disruption of the Sparrow-Monterey family, and a difficult time for all parties involved. Peter was fear-stricken. Draco and Hermione visited him often the first week he was all alone. When all was said, and all was done, Peter was terrified. But he was resolved on making it on his own. Defying his fears gave him plenty of sleepless nights. He could sit for hours by the window in his living room, taking comfort in seeing one of the Sparrow demons guarding in his garden. Hermione and Draco sometimes slept over, and got to witness this peculiar show. The sight of this foreign eudaimon – a three hundred year old creature who did not know either of them, paced back and forward, slowly, stretching out with his senses. He was winged, and reminded Draco greatly of Melchior. But there was more of Jack in his face. His limbs were long and elegant, and he carried himself with a royal attitude. His pale face shone against the darkness, and a mass of long dark brown curls softly framed high cheekbones and dark, beautiful eyes. It was a captivating creature, dressed in pitch black clothing, with long sleeves and a medieval cut. He wore thigh-high boots. And he induced fear into Hermione and Draco. Whenever he turned his head to touch the fringes of their minds, the Gryffindor and the former Slytherin felt naked, as if the eudaimon saw their every secret, bringing to mind every minor offence they\'d ever done. He made Hermione\'s mood stoop because she all of the sudden remembered about apples she\'d poached as a child. It made her miserable to think of the poor old man who owned the tree and how sad he must have been to find apples missing. It brought her to tears. The only one left with confidence, was Peter, who was greatly comforted by the half-demon\'s presence. Jack had kept his word and made his offspring take turns in protecting the premises.





Hermione had ordered Harry to report in every day. Harry seldom wrote to Draco directly. In whatever relationship, Harry and Draco were as two fish on land, each scared of the other. Harry some times required after Draco\'s health, and it was formulated in such a formal way that Draco interpreted it so that Harry did it out of duty because his enemy was married to his best friend. The kiss that had taken place in no. 4 Privet Drive, had built a wall between them. Neville was the only one to write long and intricate letters to Draco. He filled pages up and down with thoughts and feelings about different matters, from the most irrelevant subjects down to hard core information about the Order of the Phoenix. The letters made Draco feel as if he actually had a friend out there, apart from Hermione. He eagerly replied every time Neville made contact, not caring if there was a chance that either Ron or Harry might have a look. He took care to praise the trio for their courage, speaking warmly of Harry. There was no escaping the fact that Draco was way more capable in expressing his emotions in written text than it was to speak them, and he used the opportunity to explain to Neville that he thought things between himself and Harry were difficult. That it was sad to know that Harry never fully would trust him. He even wrote to Neville about his feelings for Harry, confessing that his guilt prevented him from speaking to the Gryffindor, and that Harry seemed hostile and unfriendly. As if he was holding a grudge. Draco also mentioned the episode at Hogwarts between himself and Harry, and how much it had meant to him. It had been a lifesaver, yet something must have happened for Harry to change his mind about Draco. To this, the former Slytherin was clueless. \'It seems I am forever to be a no good Slytherin Death Eater in his eyes. If only he would tell me so I might have the opportunity to correct my ways\' Draco wrote to Neville.



Did Harry read it? Oh he read the letters to Neville when he thought Neville was asleep or otherwise engaged. He sucked in every word Draco wrote, memorized the elegant way his handwritten letters slithered and turned in an elegant manner across the parchment of the book. To have a piece of Draco\'s mind was deeply needed, especially when being on the run with little other than Dumbledore\'s riddles to ponder about. Draco\'s letters to Neville explained a lot. It also raised important questions about where Harry and Draco were going from here. And indeed, Harry thought to himself, did they have a future as friends? Harry could only see Voldemort in his own future. At the end of the tunnel waited only Death.



Hermione turned the page of the calender. March. The first week went without trouble. Harry reported in as promised. The second week went by just as easily. The snow began to melt, the hail turned to snow and then to rain. Easter holiday came, and Wednesday that week, Harry failed to report in. There was no word on Thursday either. Friday morning, Draco received Melchior on his doorstep.



“It is time” he simply said, and Draco instantly realised what his master was talking about. Inside, he hurriedly packed a bag with fresh clothes. He dressed in black trousers and a thick black woolly sweater. He kissed his sons goodbye, lingering first, by Hugo, then by Ivory\'s face, drawing in the infant smell. Coming back down into the living room, he found Hermione waiting next to Melchior. She was looking seriously at him, her arms crossed above her chest.



“Be safe” she told him, before she kissed him passionately. She swallowed hard, fighting the tears.



“I love you, Hermione” was all Draco could say. He was ready. He was nervous. He was anxious to come face to face with his parents. He was genuinely afraid that Voldemort might be concealing some secret which would grant him power over Melchior. He was concerned that his plan to burn down his own childhood home would fail. He dreaded the thought of Snape getting in the way so he would have to kill him. There were so many possible outcomes of the situation at hand, Draco felt a little lost. He opened his eyes and gazed into Melchior\'s calm, brown orbs. There, he found the strength and conviction to release Hermione from his embrace and leave her and the babies behind.