The Slytherin Redemption: Now Complete

Thanks to wudelfin, Jilliane and Marti for your reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

These chapters beta'ed by Drusilla of Perfect Imagination.

Salvation

Chapter 2

Liz had been to Platform 9 ¾ before, but never with such trepidation as she had today. Toby raced ahead of her, dogging the steps of the two Muggle-borns that had accompanied them the day before. All three boys pushed heavily laden carts. The parents hung back with Liz, who carried her son's owl, taking their clues from her. Drake walked, with his son, ahead of everyone in the party. He made his way to the entrance, a brick column that looked solid, and waited as the Muggle party caught up. He was in a bad mood today, snapping at Liz as they waited for the Muggles to show up in the office. The trip there, on the Underground had been excruciating as Liz was forced to make small talk with the parents, while Drake scowled out the window, white knuckled, as if London had somehow offended him.

Liz waited while the four non-magical people went ahead. “What the hell's up, Drake?”

He scowled at her, his grey eyes growing dark as he considered her question. “Nothing. I just need to run some errands after we finish here. Can you take Scorpius with you?”

“No. You should have enrolled him in play-school like I told you...” Drake's scowl deepened as she mentioned their conversation of less than a month ago. “Shite, all right, I’ll drop it, but you know I'm right. You owe me. And remember, the Ministry report is due next week.”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, kid.”

Liz made a rude noise with her lips and tongue at him, softening her action with a wry smile. He chucked her under the chin, an annoying habit he had developed since they had watched a Bogart marathon on the TV. He probably thought it made him more endearing.

He bent to his son, and she watched his lithe grace as he hoisted Scorpius into his arms. She hated that she was beginning to notice him. It had been years since she had any interest in the opposite sex, and now her hormones were in overdrive because of her best mate. Her still in mourning best mate, who had lost his first love only four years ago. There was one word for women like Liz and she applied it to herself: Desperate. She knew she was not much in the looks department. She had always been too thin and tall, too angular in her face, too overblown with her dress. She could not help that she had been born in the wrong side of London, anymore than Drake could help that he was everything she wasn't.

She had tattooed, pierced, and dyed to cover her insecurities. It had helped when she was younger, but now, as she neared thirty, she just looked like an old bird trying to reclaim her youth. She hated it, but did not know how to change. She wondered if Scorpius' godmother, Ginny Potter, could help her. She was such a lady, and went to school with Drake, lived in his world; maybe she could pick up tips from her. Not that she wanted to catch Drake's eye, but it would be nice to catch someone’s. Maybe that one who had been so interested yesterday... Longfellow or something.

She shook her head to clear the cotton wool from her mind. Drake held out his arm to her, drawing her into his familiar embrace. “I know you'll miss him, Liz, but Toby will be back for breaks. Don't think you've lost him.”

Liz pretended that was what she had been thinking, and answered with a wan smile. They stepped through the brick wall and were greeted by a bustling Wizarding scene. Families milled around young men and women, who alternately squirmed under too much affection, or sulked as friends entered the train. Liz recognized Ginny's mother, father, and the five children they had fostered. The woman made Liz wonder what her own mother would have been like, if life had been a little kinder to her, if her father had stayed. Of course, Drake had told her the Weasley family wasn't well off, like his family had been. Liz always wondered what his life had been like, but he wouldn't really answer many questions about before.

Draco hugged Liz affectionately to him and followed Toby to the platform. Liz's heart lurched as her son manfully wrested his trunk from the carrier. It fell with a loud bang. A young boy, about Toby's age, with purple hair and a sweet smile turned towards the noise. He helped Toby lift it to the pile of trunks that were accumulated at the end of the area. The two boys began talking animatedly as Drake, Scorpius, and Liz approached. An older, dark-haired woman who looked speculatively at Drake came over from the Weasley group. “Teddy, why don't you take your new acquaintance and show him the train?”

Liz felt her friend's hand clench hers painfully. She darted a look at his usually imperturbable face and noticed it was dead white. His mouth worked as if he had been struck in the gut. The woman, with her heavy-lidded eyes and faded, dark beauty stepped towards them. “I'm your Aunt Andromeda. I'm not sure if your mother ever mentioned me.”

“Andromeda, of course. Silly of me, really,” he shook himself slightly. “No, Aunt, my mother mentioned you.”

The woman smirked unpleasantly. “I'm sure she did. The young man who helped your son is your late cousin Nymphadora's child, Teddy Lupin.”

“He's my god-child. Liz, here, is his mother.” Drake pushed Liz in front of him. “Liz Cowell, may I present you to my Aunt, Andromeda Tonks?”

“Pleased to meet you,” Liz responded uncertainly, easing Scorpius out of his arms. “Drake, I think we'll see what Toby's up to. It's no good, I'm sure.”

Liz scuttled away over Drake's protests. She watched the boys as they ran the length of the train for a moment, but turned back to look at the puzzle that was her best friend.

&*&*&

Draco watched his friend's retreat in quiet desperation. His mother had spoken of the woman standing before him in less than stellar terms. His father had never mentioned her. He remembered, now, that Nymphadora Tonks had married the werewolf, Lupin. Voldemort had told his mother and Aunt Bella, in no uncertain terms, that they were to deal with the indiscretion. Draco had been uncertain, until after the final battle, whether Aunt Bella's or his mother's wand had killed Nymphadora. The Ministry, using Priori Incantatem, had determined that Narcissa Malfoy was responsible for the death of her niece, and Aunt Bella for the werewolf. Draco could not meet Andromeda's eyes. He said, through strangely stiff lips, “I'm sorry for your loss.”

The older woman smiled sadly. They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment, until she asked, “So is the younger child yours?”

“Yes. His name is Scorpius.” Draco looked away for a moment, locating Liz and his son.

“And his mother? Did you end up with one of those pureblood brood mares your father, no doubt, paraded before you?” Andromeda's face darkened perceptibly at the question.

“His mother died four years ago.” Draco said. “She was a Muggle. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must attend to my clients.”

His aunt grabbed him by the sleeve. “So you know what it's like to lose someone you love. I'm sorry for it.”

“Thank you, Aunt,” Draco paused. “But I must be going.”

“Draco, I would like to get to know you,” the older woman said, a plaintive note creeping into her tone that reminded him forcefully of his mother. “I've read very good things about you in the Daily Prophet.”

“I don't believe...” Draco’s eyes strayed once more to his son. “That would be... acceptable. I would like Scorpius to have some exposure to his extended family.” He drew out his Muggle-style business card. “You can Fire-call me at this address at your convenience.”

He sketched a polite bow and made his escape.

&*&*&

Draco gingerly held a sobbing Liz in his arms as the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station. He balanced his squirming son in his other arm as he kissed the top of her spiky, processed head. “Shh, sweet. He'll be back before you know it.”

She burrowed her face in his robes, no doubt smearing the black gunk from her eyes on his exposed shirt. He did not care too much. “I'm sorry, Drake. I know I'm being ridiculous. He's just... so young.”

She snuffled into the handkerchief that he had given her moments after Toby boarded the train. Scorpius leaned over and patted her head, his lip trembling. “Daddy, why's Auntie cryin'?.”

Liz smiled tremulously up at the little boy. “I'm crying because I'm happy that my little boy is growing up. I'm going to miss him, but I'm happy.”

Scorpius scoffed. “You're silly, Auntie Liz.”

She nodded through a fresh burst of tears. “Yes, I am. Now, Daddy says he has some errands to run. Come with me, and we'll get some ice cream on the way back to the office. Okay?”

“We is goin' to Dagone Alley? I like Force cue's ice cream.” He reached towards his Auntie and flopped into her waiting arms.

Draco followed behind the pair, not really paying any attention to them. He felt bad about misleading Liz. He did have an appointment, but it wasn't one he cared to talk about with her. He had been having very disturbing dreams lately, complete with the type of mess he hadn't had to clean up since he was a teen. His partners in his dreams were as varied as the positions his dream body seemed to wind them in, and he needed release soon or he felt he would go mad. He was going to a Knockturn Alley establishment he had heard of while still a student at Hogwarts. The women were reputed to be clean and discrete. His appointment was just before teatime. He would go to confession Saturday, so that he might take communion with a clear conscience. Tonight, he just hoped he would sleep without the damnable dreams.

&*&*&

Malfoy made his way to the entrance of Knockturn Alley, his stomach in knots, his breath coming in excruciatingly loud huffs. He had cast a glamour on himself with practiced ease, due to his years of hiding before he had taken the Ministry job. He wended his way past the Dark establishments that had been regular stops for his father during Draco's childhood. Borgin and Burkes was now closed, having been caught up in the anti-Dark Arts fervor after the war. Another, darker shop had replaced it, Draco noted. Several hags stood outside the establishment looking at some new grotesquery, no doubt. One turned towards him, with a disinterested cataract-whitened gaze. Hags were very astute at judging true intent, and had been recruited by both sides in the war. The breed had remained maddeningly neutral. He stepped quickly past. The hag's gaze bore into him as he retreated. The last thing he needed was a rumour of his need, and the temporary solution to it, to be circulated anywhere in polite wizarding society.

Another turn and a twisted block later, led him to the building that had been described to him by the proprietress of the establishment. He paused outside the door, wiping his sweat-soaked palms against his robes. He felt like a sex-starved fourth-year. He raised his hand to knock on the overly ornate door, and nearly fell off the step, as it swung open under its own volition. A force, probably some sort of mild Compulsion Charm, drew him into the house. He came to stand in well-appointed drawing room. He had expected to see women in various states of undress seated around the room. Instead, he noticed a large photo album illuminated on a gilded table. He flipped through it idly at first, then more avidly as he became aware of the beauty contained in it. Each woman in the portrait book was as well dressed and poised as any pureblood witch of good family. He looked with some trepidation, fearing he might see one of his old classmates, so great was the illusion the book cast. He realized pureblood civility was no longer his taste, and was gratified to see, as he turned the page, a more exotic offering. His gaze lingered on a picture of an angular, awkward young woman. She drew him in with the insouciant lift of her brow and the saucy smirk on her too wide lips. He traced the bobbed black hair with his finger, noting the preening of the photo’s movement. He passed her, but none of the other pictures drew him as hers had. He flipped back to it. The woman was not really all that attractive, but she had an indefinable presence.

He jerked his hand away from the photo when he heard a small cough from the foyer. The girl stood before him, dressed in a very abbreviated skirt and a cropped Tee that showed her sinuous body to its best advantage. He felt, rather than saw, her approach. He reacted to her appearance in a deeply visceral way. She took his hand and led him upstairs.

&*&*&

He had said to himself that he wanted some relief from the torturous sexual tension that had been plaguing him since spring. So then, why was he lying with his arm around the nameless woman, still fully clothed, spooning her as if she were a long-time companion, rather than a paid one? Draco knew he was going mad just like his Aunt Bella. The woman rubbed his arm, the one scarred with the Dark Mark. She pulled his fingers to her lips, kissing them in a satisfyingly unpracticed way. Neither he nor she had spoken to each other. It was just as well. He felt himself stir, but knew he would not act on it. She arched against him as he kissed her neck. She purred as he ran his hand under her shirt, over her smooth belly to the lacy edge of her bra, and back again. His palm made the circuit as his breathing became raspy and harsh with need. She turned to him, her face inches from his, her eyes dilated. He kissed her generous mouth, tasting mint and the indefinable scent that was uniquely hers. A scent that left him wholly unsatisfied He sat up, looking on the body stretched before him. “I'm sorry, Miss, I think I need to leave.”

The corner of her eyes crinkled with her smile. “No need to apologise, I've been well compensated.”

“I suppose you have.” Draco ran a hand over his bound hair. “I just don't want you to think there is a lack in you.”

She stretched sinuously and sat up. “Sometimes what we want isn't what we really need.”

She stood, her skirt rising, giving him a glimpse of rosy flesh and a Muggle-style thong. “Go home to your wife, and give her what you've given me. It will be more satisfying and less expensive in the long run.”

She exited the room. Draco followed behind her.

Back on Diagon Alley, he made his way to the Leaky Cauldron. Parvati Patil was standing before the door. “Healer Patil.”

“Malfoy, what brings you here today?” Her tone was as contemptuous as it had been on their last meeting five years ago. The day that he had lost all hope that Tish could be saved from the cancer that finally killed her. He was suddenly overcome with fury at the woman's complacent refusal to see him as anything other than the Dark Mark on his arm. His temper, usually kept even these days by daily prayer and constant vigilance, raged out of control. He pulled the snotty former Gryffindor to him and kissed her roughly.

He pushed her away. “Well, that wasn't it, but it will do.”

He stalked past her. She stopped him with a touch. “I'll get a room, Malfoy. Follow me up in a minute.”

&*&*&

Liz sat outside the small ice cream shop that had replaced the Pho restaurant in Draco's building. Scorpius was pouting because she had limited him to a single scoop and she had not allowed him any toppings. It was nearing the time that Draco should return from whatever his errand was.

She wondered where her boy was now. She knew he was probably still on the train. It would be tomorrow before she would find out into what House he had been sorted. She missed him already, and was not looking forward to returning to an empty flat. She should let herself into Drake's flat and make him dinner. That would kill some time before she had to face the emptiness. “Scorpius, finish your ice cream so I can take you home.”

&*&*&

Draco felt dirty. He had used Patil as he had planned to use the whore, and she had enjoyed it. After they fucked, he washed himself in the dingy bathroom that lay down the hall from the room they had rented. When he returned, she was still in the bed, looking at him with undisguised lust and contempt. He hated her for that. She said, in the lazy, bored voice she had affected since her schooldays, “Meet me here next week at the same time. I'll get the same room.”

He nodded, unwilling to give voice to his assent. He would be there. He needed to punish her, and to a lesser extent, he needed to punish himself. As he exited the room, he heard her say, “Death Eater filth.”

He didn't give in to the desire to slam the door off its hinges.

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