The Slytherin Redemption: Now Complete

Thanks to wudelfin and Jilliane for your reviews. Your kind words mean so much to me.

Penance

Chapter 9

... I didn't know how much I would need that friendship in the months to come.

&*&*&

Liz, Toby and I had been to the London Zoo on a warm day in March during Easter break. I had enjoyed the antics of the apes though they seemed a little bored. Toby had been fascinated by the polar bears to the point of demanding, rather stridently, the purchase of a large stuffed-animal version of one. I bought the oversized toy over his mother's objections. Throughout our visit, Liz had been quiet and withdrawn, a state uncommon for her. I had tried to tease her out of her silence, but she just looked at me sadly. On our way back to the East End via the Underground, with Toby asleep between us she asked, “Drake, have you noticed how pale Tish has been, lately?”

“She's just overworked. I keep telling her to ask for a smaller caseload, but she won't,” I assured her but the niggling thought was planted.

I had noticed that Tish’s nausea, which should have ceased by the end of her first trimester, was still very much a presence. She had lost weight also, and the dark circles under her eyes couldn't be explained away by lack of sleep. She had complained of an aching fever on and off for months, and her tonsils had been painfully swollen. We had taken her to a Healer for this, and the Muggle potions they gave her had no effect. I had spoken to the Muggle Ob-Gyn Healer about these things, but he assured me each woman was different in her reaction to the hormones of pregnancy. I had accepted his statement at the time. Now, knowing that I wasn't the only one to notice the changes, I thought it best to investigate further.

Liz stared disgustedly at a man who was paring his nails across from us. “You don't think that, and you know it, Drake. I get feelin's sometimes, and I'm tellin' you there's somethin' wrong.”

I don't know what prompted my stubborn refusal, but I protested, “The Healer said...”

“Oh, fuck the bleedin' doctor!” She exclaimed drawing looks of disapprobation from the surrounding occupants. Toby stirred. “Go to another. Get one of yer own kind. There's somethin' wrong, Drake. I know it in my bones.”

We parted with a quick hug at the station. “I'll call a Healer today. Okay?”

It was Friday afternoon and I was able to make an appointment for Tish the following week. She had moved in with me in December, and the Healers were quite open to me making appointments for her. I called Tish at work and told her about it. Her tinny-voiced response alarmed me. “Thanks. I've been so tired lately; I was going to make the call myself next week.”

I placed the device back in its cradle my hands shaking almost uncontrollably. I waited for her to come home pacing like the lions we had seen earlier that day. I cleaned the flat compulsively. I had found over the past months that activity helped me keep any latent cravings at bay. By the time she arrived home, the flat was sparkling. She made no comment as I took her satchel, only nodded tiredly at me. I hugged her to me, the bulge of our child between us comforting me in an odd way. I kissed her forehead, “Get some rest, love. I'll fetch some Pho from the shop downstairs.”

Pho, a Vietnamese dish composed of a thin, broth soup-base, with rice noodles, bits of meat and basil had been her only craving during the pregnancy. I had tried to make it but the shop's was much better. She squeezed me softly. “Thank you.”

I watched her make her way slowly to the bedroom. Why hadn't I noticed how bad she actually looked? I berated myself all the way to the shop and back. I had picked up some crips, spring-rolls for myself and ate them absently when I returned, not even savouring the sweet and tangy, carrot sauce as I normally would have. Once I ate, I phoned Ian. I had been taking instruction in the Catholic faith so that I might be confirmed at the Easter Services on Sunday. Once we apprised him of his sister's delicate condition, his attitude had been frosty until I began attending Rosary classes and stated my intent to join their faith. He had thawed considerably to me after that. Tish and I were to marry after I was confirmed. The answering machine picked up and I stood dumbly after the beeping tone signalled that I should speak. What could I tell him? I rang off.

I hadn't felt this helpless since Voldemort had issued his fateful order to kill the Headmaster. I paced some more and was relieved to hear Tish stirring in the bedroom. “Draco, stop pacing, and come here.”

I joined her on the bed. She smiled lazily at me. “You're thinking too loudly again.”

That had become a joke between us. I did have a tendency to become broody. I always had, even at Hogwarts, but there I had been able to control it with Quidditch practice. Muggle London didn't allow me the physicality that I needed for my release, and Tish called my compulsive pacing and cleaning 'thinking too loudly.'

“I'm sorry, My Angel,” I said, gathering her to me. When had she become so thin? “I suppose Liz just made me realize... I just want to know why you're so tired.”

She dismissed my concerns with a wave of her hand. “It's probably nothing. Did you get your suit today?”

I nodded, absently toying with her hair. “I did. It's grey.”

She began kissing my throat, sending hot slivers of desire down to my gut. “Have you chosen your Saint's name yet?”

“Saint Jude,” I said. He was the patron saint of lost causes. I thought he suited me in many ways.

She giggled wanly against my chest. “Fitting.”

On Easter Sunday, I was confirmed into the Catholic faith. When the bishop baptised me and then gave me my first communion, I have to admit I was moved. I had become part of something bigger than myself once more except, this time it was something worthwhile. I saw Tish beaming a huge smile at me and I met her gaze proudly.

By the following fortnight, my world lost its meaning. Tish and I had gone to the Muggle Healer's and she was whisked off to hospital. She had to have something called a biopsy done on her lymph nodes. Several other Muggle technologies were employed to see her interior. I found them to be barbaric, and could barely contain my rage as she went through each in succession.

We waited another week for confirmation of the dire news. Tish had Hodgkin's Lymphoma. I, of course, didn't grasp the import of the news. Tish sat solemn and pale next to me. I asked, having been completely taken out of my element, “This disease, it can be treated, right?”

The healer looked at me sadly. “In most cases, yes. Even with her pregnancy, we could administer chemotherapy. We would administer radiation treatments after the birth of your child. We would remove her spleen, and administer a bone marrow transplant if all else failed... However, the prognosis is grim in your case, Ms.Cavanaugh. “

My Malfoy hauteur rose. I stood in my most commanding posture, and said with quiet menace, “You will be doing these things, not would or could. She will not be allowed to die.”

The Healer looked discomfited. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy, we will discuss the appropriate options for Ms. Cavanaugh's situation. I do have to tell you both, however, Ms. Cavanaugh's is a very aggressive case. There seems to have been an environmental factor that exacerbated the growth of tumours, and they are extensive. I can hold out little hope of recovery. The best thing you both might choose would be the safe delivery of your child.”

Tish gripped the arms of her chair, her knuckles white.

“No,” I countermanded. “Tish, we'll take you to my Healers. They can treat any disease much better than this Muggle can.”

“Feel free to obtain a second opinion,” the Healer said looking between the two of us tiredly. “I'm afraid the outcome will be the same, no matter what physician you choose.”

I took Tish gently by her arm, and she followed me still grave and silent. Once out on the street, I grabbed her desperate to feel her body against me in a measure of assurance. She sobbed once and I shook her violently. “You will not give up hope. You will not die.”

I pulled her to me again. We stood for some time in the waning light of the early spring sun, two people broken by unbearable pain.

&*&*&

Ginny found Harry outside on the front stoop of their home. In the pale glow of the moon, she could see his hands twitching against the strong emotion he felt. He always handled his pain in silence and alone like that. She padded back to bed.

&*&*&

I Disapparated to St. Mungo's the next morning, having contacted Ian about taking the day off from work. We hadn't told him or Liz yet. The news was too raw. I made my way to the directory and found Patil's name and office number. I burst into her quiet domain nearly maddened by my grief. She looked up from the paperwork before her in startlement. Her expression hardened as she took in my wild-eyed mania. “Malfoy, you haven't come for another treatment, have you?”

“No, it's my fiancée, she's ill, and I need you to see her,” I blurted.

“Is she here? I'm due for rounds at the half hour, but I think I can fit her in.” She stood, placing the tools of her trade in her loose robe.

I sank to a seat boneless in my relief. “She's a Muggle. She can't come here.”

Patil gaped at me. “A Muggle? Malfoy, I can't treat a Muggle. The Ministry would be all over me... A Muggle? How did you end up...? A Death Eater...?”

I was quickly growing impatient with her verbal struggles. I cut her off coldly, “She's carrying my child. Will you help, or won't you?”

She adjusted her Healer's robes running her hands over the hidden pockets. She was buying time for herself, and I knew it. I lurched forward and up in disgust. “Never mind, Patil. I should have known not to count on a Gryffindor.”

“You were always a prejudiced git, Malfoy,” she said, her brown eyes blazing with anger. “I didn't say I wouldn't help. You will need to bring her to the Leaky Cauldron. It's the only place I can think of where a Muggle's presence won't be noticed quickly. I'll be there tomorrow evening at seven.”

I felt only a little ashamed for playing on House sympathies as I had. “Thank you, Patil. Until tomorrow.”

The next day brought dawning hope for me. Surely magical treatments would yield greater relief of her disease. My mood was infectious. I heard Tish singing in the shower as she made herself ready for work. I alternated between hope and despair the rest of the day, sometimes responding bitingly to my co-workers, sometimes nearly dancing with joy. When our meeting time finally came, I gathered Tish nervously to me to Side-Along Apparate to a designated point outside the Leaky Cauldron. She looked tired, so I supported her bodily through the doorway. She made an apologetic noise but I assured her, “It's all right. You can lean on me anytime you need to.”

She smiled up at me in her dazzling way and my breath quickened. How could I live without her?

Patil was waiting for us by the stairway. I introduced them, and Tish rallied herself. “I'm glad to meet you. You're the first school chum I've met of Draco's.”

Patil made no comment. Of course, she hadn't been the recipient of much of my vituperative anti-Gryffindor sentiment and was pureblood, so maybe she really didn't have much to say. However, she was present on several occasions when I had attacked Granger viciously. I wordlessly thanked Patil for her restraint. The Healer informed us, “I've secured a room for us. I'll be conducting your examination up there.”

Tish was still leaning heavily on me exhaustion etched lines in her beautiful features. “Draco, I don't think I can make it.”

“No need,” I assured her. “What floor is the room?”

“Third,” Patil answered. “Room Three-o-eight.”

I cast a Lightening Charm on Tish and carried her up the stairs to the room. Patil released the paltry wards that passed as security in the establishment, and I placed My Angel on the bed. She had gone from golden-brown to grey on the trip up the stairs. I cast a look at the Healer and noticed her expression had undergone a transformation from exasperation at me to concern for My Angel.

She cast a diagnostic spell, the cool, blue glow filling the room. Tish didn't register any shock at the magic; she only closed her eyes and settled back tiredly. I watched Patil's face as she ran the full spectrum of diagnostic charms. Her brows were drawn together in concentration. I wished I had paid more attention to Severus when he had tried to teach me to read those spells on our long flight from Hogwarts. The Healer began singing softly to Tish. My love's breathing became softer and more relaxed. When Patil stood, she motioned me to follow her out into the hall. I kissed Tish's forehead and smoothed her hair, and then followed.

“Draco, was she a victim of Muggle-baiting during the war?” Patil asked arms crossed over her chest.

I couldn't look at her as I answered, “Yes.”

“How many times was she Cruciated?”

“I-I don't know,” I mumbled. “I saw Snape do it twice and I cast but it didn’t work properly. I don't know how many times before that. Aunt Bella had her. Before that... I don't know.”

“Merlin, Draco, she was one of your victims?” Patil sagged against the whitewashed plaster of the hall. “You sick fuck.”

I had my wand at her throat before I knew I had reacted. Her soft, brown eyes widened and I noted the erratic pulse point at the base of her neck. When I caught myself, I moved away ashamed. “I'm sorry; I seem to be a little overset right now. What has her torture got to do with the illness?”

“I don't know what game you're playing, Malfoy. Do you think you'll garner some sympathy for having a Muggle as a mistress?” Patil moved away from me, her wand now drawn. “The great Malfoy, soiling himself with a dirty Muggle whore? Is that why you allowed her to get pregnant? So you can reclaim the Malfoy name with a dirty Half-blood?”

She was shouting, and I lost control for the first time since I had kicked heroin. I slammed her by the neck into the wall. I had seen Lucius do this many times to recalcitrant Death Eaters and had experienced it a time or two myself. I knew the discomfort it caused. I felt great satisfaction as she coughed from the force of the blow. I wrenched the wand out of her hand while she was unable to speak. “I have no desire to kill you, but you are so close to gaining that honour right now. Listen, and listen well: Tish is going to be my wife. I want nothing more than to have her live a long life with my child and me. I don't care about the Malfoy name any more than you do right now. You will give me the information I seek, and you will do it now.”

I let her go and she sank to the floor, sputtering about Aurors and the Ministry. I was in full Malfoy mode and laughed derisively at her. “Come, Patil, you won't call the Ministry. Or do you want them to know you practiced your Healing skills on a Muggle? Now, get up.”

I offered her my hand and she slapped it away before rising shakily under her own power. I handed her the wand I had taken, and she looked at me in disbelief. I replied to her look, “I just want an answer. I don't have to explain my actions to you. Please, Patil.”

She nodded at me still wary. I seem to have passed some test in her twisted Gryffindor mind. Her voice was painfully raspy as she said, “We've noticed a rise in cases of this type of cancer since the war. It's rare but a side effect of the Cruciatus Curse in Muggles and Muggleborns. Use of magic around her will only make her condition worsen. That's why she was so tired after your Apparation. I suggest you do what her Muggle Healers prescribe.”

“Magic can't help her?” I asked numbly. The universe had shifted, and I was lost. Had I misplaced my faith all along? In a moment of adamantine clarity, I realized I had nothing that would stave off the death of the only person who had ever loved me as I was. I felt my throat constrict, and an animal howl tore from the depths of my soul. I had lost everything with Patil's cool statement of fact.

The Healer left me in the hall utterly alone in my grief.

So, son that is how I came to this. Your mother has refused to wed me. She doesn't want me to be a widower before I am thirty, stubborn woman. You were delivered at thirty-two weeks, a tiny, red and angry thing, who yowled at the injustice of the world even before you opened your eyes.

I write this letter to you now, not because I want to die, but because I honestly don't think I'm strong enough to survive the death of your mother. And believe me; Death will come for her no matter where I place my faith. I only want you to know that I love you, no matter what comes.

Penance

Chapter 10

...Friday...

Harry woke to a pounding headache. Lack of sleep, stress, and inactivity had taken their toll on his body. He went to the medicine cabinet to get a headache potion, feeling queasy and a bit angry. The damn Malfoy letter had stirred him more than he wanted to admit. He had not cried when he read about the woman, Tish, but he had come damned close. He was angry about all the emotion he expended on a woman he did not even know and a man he had never liked. Malfoy. He said the name as a curse in his head, but its tenor was burnished with the coppery tang of fear. He could not help but see the similarities in his situation and the git's. Ginny was pregnant. She had several doses of the Cruciatus Curse under her belt thanks to the Carrows. If she were not pureblood, she might have contracted the same illness. Dread filled him as he remembered the one Muggleborn who he absolutely knew had been so cursed; Hermione. He clutched the edge of the sink basin reflexively. It took great effort for him to release his hold on the porcelain, but he still felt nauseous. He would contact Ron today and let him know about the effects of the curse on Muggleborns.

He made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a quick cup of coffee. Ginny was waiting for him at the table. He offered her a quick kiss, and then sat. “I finished the letter last night.”

Ginny looked at him expectantly. “Well, are we or aren't we going to be the child's godparents?”

“What do you think?” Harry asked. He took a sip of coffee. He already knew what she thought, but he wanted to hear the words.

“Yes,” Ginny said. Harry knew what it took her to say it. She had never been a great fan of Draco's and Lucius had used her in such a horrible way during her first year at Hogwarts. She could not be thrilled at the prospect of having a spawn of Malfoy in their home, no matter how the git said he had changed. She reached for Harry's hand clasping it with cold fingers. “What about you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. He finished the coffee, burning his tongue in his haste. He wrote the address of the pub on a piece of parchment and slid it to her. “Meet me at this address at noon. We'll both talk to him.”

Ginny folded the parchment in half, then in quarters. “I'll Fire-call Mum to see if she can watch James.”

Harry kissed her and tasted the sadness on her lips. Damn Malfoy.

&*&*&

Hermione sent an inter-office memo plane to him that morning requesting he meet her in her office at ten. He hoped she had the information he wanted on the Muggle-baiting. It would be the best thing to happen so far today. His morning was going as well as he had expected, with departmental meetings and the weekly reports due. He filed the paper away. It would not do for his supervisor to see the memo from her until he had the information he needed and a plan formulated. He worked diligently until he needed to leave for the appointment.

Hermione was in her office, her hair pulled back absently with a quill stuck through it to keep it out of her line of sight. She had a small smudge of ink on her fingers and one on her cheek. Harry cleared his throat to let her know he was there. Hermione's gaze darted up. “Harry. You're early aren't you?”

Harry stepped into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He shook his head with a rueful laugh. “No, you're just busy.”

“I compiled the statistics you wanted on the Muggle-baiting,” she said, pushing a heavy-laden folder towards him. “It's by no means complete. We, for example, don't know how many Squibs were created.”

“D'you think any were?” Harry asked.

“No,” Hermione said. “Many of the women who were raped were killed, but there is evidence that at least one Death Eater may have been involved in preserving some of them. Most of those who were saved and impregnated seemed to have carried their babies to term. All of those children are wizards and witches. It may have been that Death Eater’s aim to create a Wizarding underclass. Why else would a loyal Death Eater attempt to save them?”

“That particular Death Eater wasn't under orders from Voldemort, I can assure you,” Harry said. When Hermione raised her chin in a questioning gesture, Harry added, “It was Snape. He's the one who helped them.”

Hermione leaned back in her chair shock and a knowing cunning registering on her features. “How do you know this Harry? Does this have something to do with Malfoy, or not?”

“'Mione, I can't tell you everything right now but in a way, it does.”

“Do tell. Malfoy has a meeting with you, gives you a suspect manuscript, and leads you to this distasteful aspect of, for all I know, his own activities, and You... Can't... Talk... About... It?” She slapped her desk in punctuation to her question. “Why, after all this time are you interested in these women?”

Harry mumbled, “Malfoy made me aware of them.”

“Draco?” Hermione's eyes flashed darkly. “Since when does he have a conscience? Do you remember the crimes he admitted to committing in his trial? Do you remember what he tried to do to Professor Dumbledore? Do you remember what his father did to Ginny?” The unspoken question hung in the air between them; do you remember how he treated me?

“He's not his father, and he has changed I think.” Harry said his inflection flat. “Listen,I'm not here to argue with you. I just needed the information. I've got to go. Thanks Hermione.”

Harry stood stiffly. Hermione turned back to her paperwork in dismissal. Once Harry was out of his friend's office, he leaned against the door. “Well, that went well.”

&*&*&

Harry met Ginny at the pub that he had seen Malfoy in earlier that week. She looked a little worse for wear. He asked ruefully, “Rough trip?”

Ginny pushed her hair out of her eyes. “I had to take the Underground. It made me ill from all the shaking.”

Harry kissed her nose. “I'm sorry, Darling. I should have met you at the Ministry so we could Apparate together. I wasn't thinking.”

They entered the dark interior. Harry scanned the room for the familiar blond head, but had no luck. Ginny suggested, “Let's just sit and wait for him. I'm sure he'll be along soon.”

They made their way to a booth in the back of the smallish room. A bored, gum-chewing woman came and took their drink orders. Harry smiled at his wife as he noted the avid interest she was paying to her surroundings. Arthur was not the only one in the Weasley clan interested in everything Muggle. Harry had discovered his wife's private stash of artefacts three months after their wedding. She seemed fascinated by paper-goods and pens, and secreted them away like a magpie. He watched with some amusement as she pocketed a paper coaster.

The pub was bare at this time of day, but Harry noticed several rough-looking men gathered in the corner. He readied his wand in case there was trouble. The door to the outside opened and one of the men stood. “Oi, Liz. Any word?”

Harry followed the woman's progress to the cluster of men in the corner as he recognized her as the one he had seen Monday. It seemed like a year ago. One of the men grabbed her in a rough embrace and patted her on her back. Harry stood, and watched as the man turned away from the woman. She handed him a flannel that she snagged from the behind bar and turned her attention to the other patrons of the pub. Harry noted her reddened eyes and the dull expression on her face as she searched. She spied him and came over. “Yer Potter, right? I saw you the other day in here with Drake. This must be yer wife.”

The woman pointed her thumb rudely at Ginny, saying no more. Ginny smiled sweetly in return.

“Yes. Ginny, this is Liz,” Harry answered. “Where is Malfoy? He was supposed to meet me here, unless I'm mistaken,”

The woman's gaze shifted to Ginny, then back to Harry's face. “You read it then, both of you?”

Ginny nodded. The Muggle woman sighed heavily. “Father Ian asked me to fetch you back to Drake and Tish's flat.”

Harry gestured for the woman to lead on, and then helped his wife to stand. Ginny had become unusually solemn. She ventured to Liz, “I hope everything is well.”

The sharp-faced Muggle made no answer. The two-wizarding folk followed in silence onto the street. The walked a few blocks and then turned up an alleyway that ran next to a Vietnamese soup shop. Following Liz up the stairwell on the side of the building, Harry halted. He noticed the woman take a shuddering breath as she fumbled with the lock on the door. “I'm sorry I’m actin’ so rude. It's just that Tish died last night and Drake hasn't been his self. Father thought it might help if some of his own kind was around.”

Harry took the keys gently from her hand and twisted the lock open. He noticed two black-clad men beside a gurney, standing idly in the hall. Ginny preceded the woman through the door. “I'm so sorry, dear. The way Draco described her, she sounded like such a lovely person. I wish I could have met her.”

“Yeah, she was lovely,” Liz said her voice small. “Their flat is number four.”

Harry waited for Liz and his wife in a hall lined with scarred walls and doors. He had not realized what squalor Draco had fallen into until now. Liz said, “You two go on in. I've got to fetch my boy from school.”

Harry let them in with the keys and was overcome by the sweet odour of burnt flesh. Ginny covered her nose. “Harry, what’s that smell?”

“I'm sorry about the stench. Tish was undergoing radiation treatments and the odour clings.” A large man, dressed in the dark suit of Catholic clergy greeted them solemnly as he from an overstuffed chair of indeterminate vintage in the corner. “You must be Potter.”

“You're Father Cavanaugh?” Harry shook the man's extended hand, as the priest nodded. “This is my wife, Ginny.”

“Yes, Draco was telling me about you two,” the man said. Harry looked around the room. Draco's well-bred taste was evident in the arrangement of the shabby furnishings and the colours that warmed the walls. The priest gestured for them to take a seat. “Mr. Potter, I know that you and my friend were not close, but I must ask you to intervene on my sister's behalf. He has not allowed the undertakers into the flat to take her body for burial. He says there is a rite against Inferi that must be performed, and until it's done...”

The priest's voice broke.

Ginny gasped. “Harry, do you know how to perform the spells?”

“Ginny, I hardly think it's necessary...” Harry began, but at the look on his wife's face wisely clamped his mouth shut over the rest of the words. “No. I've only seen it done once for F-fred, and you and Arthur were the ones who did it.”

Ginny turned to the priest. “Can you show me where her body is, please?”

“This isn't some pagan ceremony is it?” the priest asked, blanching. “My sister was a Catholic.”

“No, it's just something to ease Malfoy's mind about his... wife's remains,” Harry assured him.

The priest nodded, and then led them down a short hallway to a closed door. He tapped on it darting a glance at the wand now evident in Ginny's hand. “Draco, Mr. Potter and his wife are here. Can't you come out?”

An infant's weak cry was all that answered the query. The priest knocked harder. “Draco, they said they would perform the rite. Please, son, open the door.”

The door swung open with a slight squeal.

The sight that met his eyes took Harry aback. He had seen death before; sudden, battlefield death that showed no signs other than the violence that the person had met. This woman's death had been ugly. She had wasted from what Draco had described as stunning beauty to a cadaverous parody of that loveliness.

Harry spied a Muggle snap on the wall of the couple obviously taken before the disease had exacted its toll on her body. She had been exotically beautiful, with slightly African features, pale, golden-brown hair that rivalled Hermione's in bushiness, and a lustrous full-lipped smile. In the photo, she was looking shyly at Draco and he returned her gaze with obvious love. Harry's breath hitched in his throat.

Draco was skirting the edge of the bed, jiggling the crying infant in his arms his wand held behind the child's back. He did not acknowledge their presence with more than a swift upward motion of his pain-dulled eyes. Ginny approached him and brushed his arm softly. “Draco, give Harry your son. Scorpius needs to be out of here when we perform the spells.”

Malfoy wordlessly handed his son to his former sworn-enemy his shadowed eyes never leaving Ginny's face. Harry took the priest with him out of the room. Once in the parlour, Father Cavanaugh escorted the waiting undertakers into the flat. Ginny exited the room shortly thereafter pulling a dry-eyed Malfoy behind her.

Harry was struck by the commonplace business of death. He had been around enough of it to know the processes intimately. He was sick of it. The child nuzzled his tiny fist fussily and nudged Harry's chest. Malfoy scooped the boy from Harry's arms and went to the kitchen area. He retrieved a bottle from the fridge and heated it in a small microwave

The room took on an airless quality as the woman's body was moved from the flat to the hallway. Draco's eyes followed its progress. With a shudder, Malfoy turned from the spectacle and tested the baby's bottle against his wrist before he let the child suckle.

Harry said, “We've made our decision, Malfoy. We won't be his godparents,” Ginny started to protest, but Harry cut her off, “Unless you promise not to give up. He needs his father now more than ever. If you promise not to end your life right now, we'll consent. Deal?”

Malfoy's grey eyes narrowed. He finally said, in a voice rusty from disuse, “Deal.”

Next up: The Epilogue and Salvation in which Draco struggles to create a life for himself and his son after the death of his partner, Tish. Will he be able to uncover the secret that Liz has hidden from him, and will he ever love again?


Please review, let me know what you think. I would love to hear your opinions.