The Slytherin Redemption: Now Complete

Thanks to wudelfin for your review. I really am glad that you felt something for Draco.

Penance

Chapter 7

Tish didn't speak to me as we flew back to London. I hadn't expected her to. My reasons for becoming a Death Eater were the same as my reasons for becoming a junkie. I, at the time, felt I had no choice. Whilst my father was in Azkaban, my mother under the thumb of her strange and mad sister, I was still young enough to want glory for our family name. It had seemed, when I was given the assignment by the Monster, that I could obtain some measure of relief for all. Riddle had threatened my parents' lives for father had disgraced us by failing him. The Dark Lord had delivered the threat through Aunt Bella, and as I said earlier, I feared her almost more than I feared the Heir of Slytherin. And so I accepted. Snape had attempted to aid me in my task, but I felt I couldn't risk allowing his star to rise while my family's waned. I realize now that Snape had been instructed by Albus Dumbledore to stop me from carrying out his own murder. Even so, if I had allowed Snape to stop me before that night, I would have still chosen to be a Death Eater. It was in my blood and heritage, I believed. In that respect, I was no better than Fenrir Greyback and his heed to the call of the moon in his blood.

I told this to Tish, my beautiful Muggle Angel, and she seemed to accept it. Her acceptance faltered however, when I told her of the Muggle raids of which I had been part. I could see the ghosts of her family in her eyes. I could hear the screams of her younger brothers and her father as some un-named Death Eater ravaged her and her mother before them. I could remember the look on her face as my Aunt told me to finish her after her torture. It was the look I saw there now.

The crimes I committed I could justify to myself as my cost to survive, but I couldn't trick others into believing that I did them with any less conviction than I had before my heroin induced epiphany. I had believed that the quest for pureblood supremacy was just. I had believed that the ends justified the means, even if I didn't always have the stomach to commit the acts. I had believed the lies and tortured philosophy of a madman, and I alone was guilty for that belief. My culpability lay in my faith and I couldn't be forgiven it. I understood her disgust even if it tore my soul asunder.

When I dropped her at her flat, I didn't look at her. I had no right. She called after me, but I fled; just as I had fled the scene of Dumbledore's murder; just as I had fled from Azkaban to heroin. I ran through the streets to my flat and was comforted by the aching in my sides and the burning of my legs. When I reached the mean dwelling, winded though I was, I ran on. I found myself at the doors of the church and I finally allowed myself to sink to the stairs, gasping and wretched. I felt Father Cavanaugh's reassuring presence in the shadows, just as I had felt Snape's on that night I met your mother. The priest said nothing. He only made sure I was able to exorcise my demons in peace. Angry tears came unbidden to my eyes and I dashed them away with my palm, pushing harder than necessary, punishing myself.

I heard the church bells toll midnight before I moved from my perch and stumbled home. Tomorrow was another day even if it wouldn't contain any joy.

Tish met me at my flat. Her concern for me made her manic and she practically flew at me and kissed me all over my face. When her mania subsided she offered, “Draco, you just brought up bad memories for me. I don't care what you were in the past. I just care what you will be. Is that so hard to understand?”

“I don't know why.” I drew her into my arms, needing to feel the reassurance of her body against mine.

We had made love before, but that night we became lovers. I felt as if we had joined souls and my tarnished half of the coupled equation became brighter because of her shining goodness. That was the first night she stayed over, and I was able to lavish the attention on her that I had wanted to all along. I told her I loved her unafraid of her reaction. She loved me too, and she showed me with every caress and every sigh.

The next few weeks were to bring changes, the largest one coming in the form of your Aunt Liz. (I hope your godparents will allow her to continue to see her and her son.) No, she's not really related to you. She showed up at the soup kitchen on a dreary Monday. She was a hard-eyed, thin woman with a young wizard in tow. I dropped the ladle I had been holding as I recognized her from one of the Muggle raids conducted by my Uncle Rodolphus.

He had brought the young woman, who stood before me now, back to the Manor while my Aunt had been away taking care of The Dark Lord’s whims. The girl had been sixteen at the most, with a mane of spiky multi-coloured hair, a thin, hard body and the physical presence of a fighter. I remembered thinking that she reminded me of my cousin Nymphadora Tonks, whom I had only seen from a distance at the time, though I knew she had a price on her head due to her marriage to the werewolf, Lupin. My uncle raped the girl repeatedly over the next week sometimes in front of an audience, parading her around the Manor in between bouts on a leather thong; calling her a Muggle dog and making her eat off the floor when he deigned to feed her. When he violated her, the screams could be heard throughout the Manor, before they finally at the end dissolved into hoarse croaks as the days went by. Father had removed me from the debauchery after one particularly heinous incident involving Greyback. I assumed she was killed.

Now, she stood before me, her jaw firmly set, the boy thrust between us. I looked at the child, recognizing his square jaw and hazel eyes as the legacy of my Uncle.

“Father Cavanaugh says you're like he is,” she said as she gave the boy a little pat.

I stirred from my shock. “Like he is?”

“He says you're a witch, like my boy is,” she barked. “Don't deny it. Father don't lie.”

“Please, step back to my office,” I said, begging her to silence with my hushed tone. “Any business we need to conduct must be done privately.”

I offered her my arm, a gesture from my days with my formidable mother, and the woman gasped as my sleeve rode up to reveal part of the faded Dark Mark on my arm. She instructed the boy to stay behind, “Toby, don't move. Mummy'll be back in a trice.”

She followed me and I could sense her fear, as palpable as a wall, between us. I left the door open to make her feel more at ease, but she wouldn't sit. She grabbed my arm and exposed the Mark to her eyes. The sight elicited a hiss of recognition. “Yer one o' them bastards.”

“I was,” I said, hoping I wouldn't have to divulge to her the extent of my knowledge of her son's origins.

“Father said you were. He says you've reformed.” She glared at me. “You won't hurt us?”

I fixed the mildest look I could on my face. “No, I won't.”

“My son, he was got on me by one o' you lot.” She shook with the effort it took her to tell me this. “I don't blame Toby none, so don't go pitying my boy. He's going to be a good witch, like the dark one who saved me.”

“Wizard. Your son's a wizard,” I said absently. Snape again. Why should I feel the sharp pang at every mention of him after all these years? I nodded. “I know of whom you speak. He was the best of us, and I try to emulate him daily.”

“Yer a damn sight better lookin' than that one was.” She snorted, and apparently coming to a decision said, “I suppose if Father says yer all right then I can trust you.”

I breathed easier, one hurdle with this woman cleared. “Now, how may I help you, Madam?”

“Oh, I ain't married. I like girls,” she said, her jaw jutting further. I sensed she was withholding information, but who was I to accuse her? “My name's Liz Cowell and that's my son, Toby. He's been showin' signs of what he is fer a couple of months. Father says you might be able to help me with ‘im.”

“I think I can. There are spells I can do to route his magic in more appropriate avenues.” I stood. “I'll need to do a little research. I've never actually done the charms before. If you could meet me here in a week, I should be able to let you know more. “

Liz considered as she inched toward the open door. I knew the prospect of meeting me must be terrifying to her. She bit the inside of her cheek as she stared at me. I offered,” If you would feel more comfortable, I could ask my girlfriend to join us, Ms. Cowell.”

Liz nodded a sharp gesture that spoke volumes about her courage. “That would do fine, but we'll have to meet at the pub I work at. More people around. You understand, I'm sure.”

After her departure, I buried my head in my hands, shamed at the desire for the Muggle poison that was running through me after the encounter. I wondered if I would ever be cured.

&*&*&

Harry set aside the letter. He had not realized the extent of the Death Eater crimes. Of course, during the war, he had other things to consider. Yet, upon reflection, he felt he should have known. He had heard the Muggle news coverage of the atrocities in Bosnia and now Darfur. Rape was a common form of debasement and out-breeding in war situations. He wondered how many Liz and Toby Cowells were in the United Kingdom. He needed information, and he knew the person to contact.

&*&*&

I waited for Tish at my flat that evening. We had arranged to meet for a dinner which I was to cook it without magic. I had borrowed a cookery book from Father Cavanaugh's housekeeper and the information had been quite edifying. I began to have a greater respect for house-elves and Muggles.

I busied myself making the salad, I dutifully tore leaves into uniform bits, and sliced carrots and tomatoes with abandon. I had made a beef roast and it seemed a little tough when I cut into it. The mashed potatoes I made were more lump than not, and the gravy produced from the roast's juices was greasy.

I heard Tish enter the flat, and wiped my hands on a cloth before I made my way to her. “How was your day, Angel?”

She appeared to be distracted as she bussed me absently. “Fine.”

I stood next to her, nonplussed by her coolness as I took her coat from her. I put it on the hook and turned to her. “Have I done something to displease you?”

“Oh, no, Draco,” she said, as she hugged me. “I just received some unsettling news today. I'll tell you about it later, after we eat the wonderful dinner you've prepared.”

We repaired to the kitchen/dining area. I had already set the table. The cheap tableware gleamed in the candlelight, and the bedraggled, hothouse flowers I had purchased earlier brightened the space. I seated her and began dishing the food from the kitchen bar. She gave me a shy smile and I returned it, inordinately pleased with the small accomplishment of the meal I made. “I'm afraid it won't be very good. I never had to prepare a meal this way before.”

She placed a spoonful of potatoes in her mouth and I watched her chew the lumps. She said after a moment, “Well, the consistency is interesting, but it tastes good.”

I waggled my eyebrows at her. “That sounds familiar.”

She laughed and told me the mundanities of her day, a little more at ease. I related my meeting with Liz and asked her if she would accompany me to the pub. We made it a date. We slipped into comfortable silence as we finished the meal.

I was right the roast was rather tough.

She followed me to the kitchen, a disaster after my first cooking effort, and helped me clean. Once finished, I asked her, “So, My Angel, what's on your mind?”

She burst into tears. I hadn't expected this reaction to my query, and I became alarmed. I hugged her to me. “Tell me. Did someone hurt you?”

“No,” she moaned, drawing back to look at me with reddened eyes. “Draco, I'm pregnant. I don't want you to think I'm trying to trap you. If you don't want to be with me...”

I shut her up with a passionate kiss. She was mine. I felt a fierce, painful joy as I gathered her to me and carried her to bed. After, I said, “I don't want to hear another word about us parting. You're mine now, and that baby in your belly is mine. Now, when will you marry me?”

Eyes still glazed from passion, she caressed my Dark Mark slowly. “I think we have a great deal to discuss before we take that step, Draco.”

I drew away from her, hurt. “Of course. I wasn't thinking.”

She got out of bed and drew on her clothes obviously as miserable as I was. The quiet of the room was broken by the electric hum of the ancient fridge in the next room. She turned to me as I lay back in the bed, my arms across my chest. She started to speak. I turned from her. “Just... don't.”

She left the room and I listened the jangle of her keys as she picked them up from the table by the entryway. I heard the door open then shut before I exited the bed. Standing naked in front of the mirror on the back of my bedroom door, I looked critically at myself. I wasn't bad looking except for the fading stain on my arm and the scars I bore from my recent battle with heroin My face was pointed, almost elfin, (Merlin forbid anyone mention that to Lucius) and my hair was the same colour and texture as my father's, a pale, sun-gold. My brow-line had receded slightly, but I knew the Blacks did not go to baldness. I was still youthfully slender, and even so, I worked too hard to be fat. Therefore, I wouldn't lose her on my looks. I decided, given my past, she was right to be cautious; but it still hurt like hell. I resolved to allow her the time she needed, vowing she would be mine. I was a Malfoy, after all, and no one turned me down.

&*&*&

Harry Fire-called Hermione after she came home from work. “Hello, Harry. I was just thinking of you and Ginny. Ron says hello too... Yes Ronald, I'll tell him.”

Harry smirked as his brother-in-law's head appeared, replacing Hermione's. “Hey, I got the tickets to the Canons match on Saturday. Will you and Ginny be going?”

Hermione said from the background, “Ron, can't it wait?”

“I'll see what Ginny says, but I'm sure we'll be there.” Harry replied. “Ron, can I speak to Hermione now?”

“Oh, sure mate.” He disappeared only to reappear a moment later. “Oi, Harry, I thought I'd let you be the first to know; I was accepted to Auror’s Academy. I'll be in the next class.”

“That's great, Ron. So George has found a replacement for you?” Harry was concerned about his friend's older brother. George had never really recovered from the loss of his twin.

“Yeah, he’s found a partner. A life partner, if you know what I mean.” Ron's smile was genuine as he added, “You know Susan Bones? I'm not supposed to say, but I caught them shag...”

Hermione's impatient voice cut stridently through her husband's, “Ron, that's private. Let me speak to Harry.”'

His other friend's bushy head poked through the green flames. “Just keep that quiet for now, okay, Harry?”

“Yeah. I wanted to talk to you about something I was reading today,” he began. “Does the Ministry keep any statistics on the victims of Muggle-baiting from the war?”

“Muggle-baiting? You mean all the crimes against Muggles. I don't think so,” Hermione replied, her voice tinged with unease. “Why? Has there been a new outbreak?”

“No. I was speaking of a specific crime... against women.” He could not bring himself to say the word.

“Oh, you mean the rapes that occurred? No, unfortunately not.” Hermione's tone spoke volumes about her feelings on the subject.

“So no one has kept track of the magical children from those... rapes?”

“Noooo... Wait a minute, Hogwarts. The school keeps a list of all Muggleborns in the United Kingdom. We might try there.” Hermione had her determined, research-face on. “Let me contact Minerva. She could give me a place to start.”

“Thanks, 'Mione. I knew you'd think of something.” Harry said.

“Harry, this isn't about the Malfoy manuscript is it? I'd hate to think he did something like that and got off scot-free.” Hermione said.

“It's not a manuscript, and no. He knows a woman who that... thing happened to and I thought I'd try to help her.” Harry's head began pounding. “Listen, I think Ginny's back from the grocery. If you could get back to me with that information, I'd be grateful.”

“Sure, Harry,” Hermione said. “Give Ginny and James my love.”

“'Kay. ‘Night, Hermione. Tell Ron I'll let him know about the game Saturday.” Harry pulled his head out of the Floo, dusting himself off. He turned back to the letter.



Penance

Chapter 8

....Harry turned back to the letter.

&&&

After the previous evening, I looked to spend a miserable weekend alone in my flat, or in equal misery, scouring used bookstores for the charms I needed for the boy. His mother's face haunted me in my sleep. I dreamt that she was calling my name as I raped her. Her face would metamorphose to my mother's, Tish's, or Granger's. I woke with the rime of ancient fear and sorrow on my face.

I went to Diagon Alley disguised as was my habit. The street was bustling, and I felt like an intruder around the garish clothing and overtly non-Muggle atmosphere. The third shop I entered had the book for which I was looking. I purchased the slim volume using the last of my Wizarding currency, so I went to Gringotts to exchange a few spare pounds. The Goblin clerk peered at me with more than moderate interest. That race can see through glamours, I've been told. He sneered, and then pushed my Knuts and Sickles towards me. “I see you've fallen on hard fortune, young Master. I never thought I'd see one of the great Malfoys reduced to glamours and transfigured Muggle rags. Pity.”

I smiled, the hard one Lucius reserved for enemies. “Not as much a pity as losing the Goblin-made Gryffindor sword to a mere child, I'm sure.”

He sputtered and turned a brighter shade of brown. I scooped my coins into my purse and inclined my head politely. “Good day, sir.”

I made my way back to my section of Muggle London and began reading. The book yielded several useful charms and I committed them to memory both physically and mentally. It wouldn't do for the only wizard the Cowell woman knew to appear amateurish.

I ate a light dinner and decided to attend Vespers. I hadn't done so in a few weeks, and I needed the calm of the sanctuary and the peace of whispered prayers. On my way out, I met Tish. My heart lurched painfully in my chest, and I had trouble catching my breath. She looked at me with red-rimmed eyes and said, “Draco, whatever you think I was trying to say, I didn't refuse your proposal because of what you were. We just need to get to know each other better, that's all.”

I nodded. I knew she wasn't telling me the truth, but I would let her lie so that I might convince her of my worthiness. She moved up the stairs to the landing on which I stood. I enfolded her in my arms, relishing the sweet tang of the pomade she used to control her wild, African hair. She said, her words spilling over me like rich, dark chocolate, “I do love you.”

“I know,” I answered, then added, “I was just going to attend Vespers. Would you care to join me?”

She nodded and accompanied me.

We spent the next day discussing the situation in which Liz Cowell found herself. I mentioned that Tish might know her, given that Snape had helped the woman also. My Angel only looked thoughtful. I hadn't thought any of the women abused on Muggle raids were left alive. I told this to Tish. She said, “Probably not many were. If it hadn't been for Mr. Snape, all of us would have died.”

“How many women stayed with you in the safe-house?” I asked.

“At any given time, six maybe? But there were more, I know,” she answered after a moment of consideration. “He kept moving us to different locations, and there were always different faces at each one. He wouldn't allow us to know each other very well. We only used first names. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful.”

I sat, lost in thought for a moment. I didn't want to ask the next question, but knew I had to. “How many do you think were raped?”

She looked past me bleakly. “All of us.”

I let the subject die, and instead focused on the child we had created. “Are you scared? About the baby?”

“Yes.” She twined her fingers through mine before kissing them. “But I won't get rid of it.”

“Because you're Catholic.” It was a question. I wanted to hear that she kept the child because it was mine.

“Because I've already lost too much,” she said. “So have you.”

That answer pleased me well enough. I kissed her forehead tenderly. She turned to me and asked, “Will we raise him to be Catholic, even if he's a wizard?”

I thought for a moment. I had been raised with a faith that sacrificed other lives to save my own. She wanted to raise our child with a faith in a sacrificial blood-god who saved the world. The concept was still a little too Gryffindor for me, but I could live with it. “If it's important to you, yes, she'll be raised Catholic.”

“She, hmm?” Tish queried, her lips humming against my throat.

I teased, “She'll be just like you; a stubborn little Angel who will have to fight off all comers because of her great and terrible beauty.”

She twitched her eyebrow at me. “No, he'll be the apple of my eye, and spoiled just like you.”

The conversation devolved to tickles and caresses. I loved My Angel and she loved me. All was well.

The end of the week brought my first meeting with Liz Cowell. I waited for her to get off her shift while toying with paper coasters that were stacked on the table, ready for use by sloppy patrons. I had never been in a Muggle pub before, and found it to be exactly like a Wizarding one, the only difference being the beverages served. Merlin, I missed Butterbeer sometimes.

Tish wasn't there yet, and I noted several hard-eyed women glancing my way with interest. I studiously avoided eye contact with them. I saw Liz counting out her till. She shot me a guarded look as she approached. As I had been trained, I stood and offered her my arm. She declined it with a slanting, offended look. She folded her arms across her thin chest and sneered. “I thought you said someone would be here with you.”

“She's coming,” I replied. “She must have been detained by work.”

Liz slid into the seat across from me. “I don't have much time. I have to pick Toby up from his grandmum's before she goes to work.”

I saw a flash of light as the door to the establishment opened. Tish stood uncertainly in the entrance. I waved at her and she hurried over. She looked drawn and a little pale, less golden. I stood as she approached and she slid into the chair beside me, her eyes drifting around the room. Liz's attention, however, was riveted on Tish's face. “Yer name's Tish, isn't it?”

“Liz?” Tish breathed. The two women hugged as if they were long-lost sisters. I heard Liz sob as they embraced. I sat quietly as several patrons gave me knowing looks, apparently surmising we three were meeting for an assignation of another sort. I choked back a laugh at the thought, and the two women broke apart.

A man who sat behind us at the next table scoffed rather loudly, “'Ey, mate, if yer going to shag two birds, why not make both o' them good-lookin'?”

“Blow it out yer arse, Mulcahy, yeh Wally.” Liz said and reached over me to slap at the back of the offender’s head. “Le's go to my mum's. We can talk intelligently there.”

We arrived a little later at a group of row houses that had never seen better days. They had been cheaply made in the nineteenth century, and were falling down now. Liz let herself into the foyer with a key and bade us wait outside. A few moments later, a frowzy-haired harridan exited the building. She shot a venom-filled look at Tish and spat at my feet. I let my wand, ever at the ready, slip to my palm. Liz appeared a moment later. “Sorry, tha's the landlady and she don't like coloureds and whites mixin'. Mum's just leavin'. We can talk inside.”

I looked at my sullen-faced Angel as we entered the building. I whispered, “What does that mean-- 'coloureds and whites mixing?'”

“Purebloods and everyone else, if I understand what you've been telling me.” Tish's expression darkened. “It's all the same.”

“I didn't realize you Muggles had the same type of prejudice against each other,” I said, chagrined at my ignorance. I had just assumed they would be like cattle, without prejudice as far as their own herd was concerned. I felt a little sickened at the thought. I still had so much to learn about this world.

We made our way up some rickety stairs to a scarred door, which Liz pushed open. A TV blared with the sound of some children's programme, one that I had watched while at Tish's house. The furnishings in the room were shabby but neat. I had the impression that Liz's mother took great pride in her possessions. The boy sat playing with a set of ancient steel cars in the middle of the room on a handmade carpet placed over a warped oak floor. He gave me an appraising look as I sat on the floor with him, imitating the movements he made. He turned away from me, letting me know I was not welcome. “Mummy, who's that lady?”

I continued to chug around the floor, now charmed by the autos. I had never had toys like this when I was young. Liz said, “This is Miss Tish, and you remember the man from the kitchen. I told you he was Mr. Malfoy.”

“Yeah, he's one o' them bastards.” The boy scowled in my direction.

Liz grabbed him by his arm and stood him before me. “Say yer sorry. This minute.”

I was taken aback by the swiftness of her reaction. I wanted to tell her the boy was right, but knew I would undermine her authority. The boy's eyes narrowed and his jaw jutted rebelliously. “Sorry.”

“Sorry, what?” His mother barked.

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbled, then protested softly, “That's what you and Grandmum called him.”

“That's enough. Get yer thin's together while I talk to my guests.” The boy looked as if he were going to add another comment, then saw his mother's expression. “Now.”

Liz grimaced ruefully as the boy began to move about the room. “Sorry, we did say them thin's where he could hear.”

I waved my hand in dismissal. “No need to worry, I’m sure I've said worse.”

Liz scowled, ready to blast me, no doubt, when her mother bustled into the room. She was thin like her daughter, with the same battered-looking fighter's face. Her grey hair was cut in a short bob, and hung limply about her head. She had a tired look about her, making her seem as if life had never been kind to her. I stood, bowing as I always did, and she stopped as if she had hit a wall. Her eyes widened in fear. “Liz? Is this one of them?”

“Yes, Mum. But he's not the One.” Liz looked around the room, as if she couldn't stand to see me. We four adults stood in an uncomfortable tableau until the clock struck the hour.

“Oh, look at the time. I'm off to work.” The older woman kissed her daughter absently, then her grandson. “Stay the night, Liz. I want to talk to you when I get home.”

“Yes, Mum.” Liz gestured for us to take a seat as her mother shut the door. “You said you'd found somethin' to help Toby?”

I explained the spells I would perform. She winced as I talked about the magic I would need to do to make her son less likely to act out in the wrong situations. She blurted, “Is that the only way? You can't just remove it, and be done with it?”

“I could, but you would be denying him the right to be what he is,” I explained. “It would be like asking one of your Healers to cut off his arm just because you didn't like it.”

“Oh,” she said, looking a little sick at the thought. “I hadn't thought of it like that.”

I noticed Tish edging towards the boy out of the corner of my eye. He began talking animatedly with her. Liz was chewing on the inside of her cheek again. “Okay, but will he be able to go to school then?”

“I don't understand. He's able to go now, isn't he?”

“No, he's been asked to leave by one already.” Liz looked at the boy, her features drawn with sadness. “They said he's too disruptive.”

I thought for a moment, then asked, “How much magic has he manifested?”

The woman laughed. “I'd say a lot. He got mad at his teacher, gave her a pig’s nose, and flew her about. Then when the headmaster came to take him out o' the room, he made him stick to the ceilin'.”

Uncle Rodolphus had never been that strong at the boy’s age. I had heard the stories of his youthful exploits and nothing compared. I was impressed, and it must have shown on my face, for she asked, “Is that strange?”

“It is a little more of a manifestation than I expected. His father wa... must have been a very strong wizard. I may need to work with Toby on his control. Would that be possible?” I asked. “We could make it three times a week for a fortnight and see if that helps.”

“When can you start?” She asked her voice still tense. “I love my boy, but sometimes he scares me.”

“Tomorrow,” I said. “I can meet you here with Tish?”

“Yeah. That'd be fine.” She stood, and I joined her. “I get off at the same time.”

She saw us out, after sending the boy to the kitchen for a glass of milk. “Thanks. Do I owe you anythin' fer all yer help?”

“No, I just hope I can give you a better opinion of the Wizarding world.” I cringed inside as I said this. “I mean, your son's one... and I'm... one, and his father... Shite.”

Tish laughed at my discomfiture. “We'll see you tomorrow, Liz, and maybe this time we can go out for a bite after. I'd like to catch up with you.”

The two women hugged again. The boy and I stared at each other. He had the mannerisms of my uncle, softened by the blunt sweetness of his mother. He turned to me and made a perfect imitation of the bow I had made to his grandmother. I returned it and smiled. “Goodnight, Mr. Cowell.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, a hint of a smile playing around his lips.

The women laughed at our formality. I would make the boy fit into the Wizarding world, I vowed, if it killed me.

The next day went as well as could be expected. The boy didn't trust me, and I wasn't good with children. Liz and Tish talked about their experiences in euphemisms so Toby wouldn't understand. I listened as I set him a lesson to help him control of his magic. I had thought I knew what my uncle inflicted on Liz. I didn't. The effect of that week on this Muggle would forever mark her as separate from the rest of the world. I caught myself gazing at her with new respect. She could have folded in on herself or blamed the child of that unholy union, but she didn't. She was strong, and she definitely loved her son. She saw me looking at her as they spoke and she flushed an ugly stain on her already florid person. I looked away, unsettled by the very nature of my regard. She had every right to mistrust and hate me, and yet she still trusted me enough to work with her son.

We went to a McDonald's restaurant. I had never eaten Muggle fast food, and I vowed I never would again. It was atrocious. Liz rolled her eyes as her son begged for more chips. I gave him mine with pleasure. His mother patted his back expectantly. “What d'you say, Toby?”

“Thank you Mr. Malfoy.” He looked at me with a little higher regard than he had the night before.

Tish looked at Liz, perplexity crossing her features. “Toby. Where do I know that name from?”

“It was the dark man's middle name, Tobias. I needed a name fer my boy when my time came. I asked if I could name the baby fer him,” Liz said. “He smirked, you know that one he always did, and said my boy would hate me fer that, but he'd give me his middle one. He said it was a proper Muggle name.”

Snape again. I laughed aloud. He had a namesake, the poor bastard. Tish heard the note of hysteria in my reaction to the news and patted my knee. She turned to a startled Liz and said, “They were friends. The man's name was Severus Snape.”

“Eww. That's a bloody awful name.” Liz laughed. “No wonder the poor sod didn't want us to know it.”

“Severus was the name of a Roman emperor,” I said defensively.

Liz twitted me, “And where did the name Draco come from, his dog?”

I turned away from them flustered. Tish kissed my cheek. “Don't pout my spoiled one. We're just having a little fun.”

I tried not to smile as her hand snaked further up my thigh. Damn her.

I found myself liking Liz as the days of our acquaintance went by. She had an easy way about her with people, a way that I had never possessed. I began talking to her about the situation between Tish and me; how I wanted her to marry me and she wouldn't, about the baby, and about my desire to provide a home for them.

Liz became a confidante, a friend like I had never had before. Tish encouraged it. She liked Liz too; she had since their days in the safe house. For the first time in my life, I felt I was accepted for just being myself. It was a rare pleasure for me. I didn't know how much I would need that friendship in the months to come.

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