Metanoia

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/28547277.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s),
Daphne Greengrass, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Harry Potter, Narcissa
Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Pansy
Parkinson, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger,
Luna Lovegood, Xenophilius Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Arthur
Weasley, Molly Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, Andromeda Black Tonks,
Severus Snape, Dolores Umbridge, Ginny Weasley, Vincent Crabbe,
Gregory Goyle, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, Justin Finch-Fletchley,
Hannah Abbott, Tracey Davis (Harry Potter), Harper (Harry Potter),
Graham Montague, Cassius Warrington, Original House-Elf
Character(s), Original Characters, Teddy Lupin
Additional Tags: Dark, Post-Hogwarts, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the
Deathly Hallows, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate
Universe - Voldemort Wins, Forced Marriage, Implied/Referenced
Rape/Non-con, Suicide, Character Death, Minor Character Death,
Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Angst, Blood
and Violence, Torture, Domestic Violence, Arranged Marriage, Explicit
Language, Angst and Tragedy, Tragedy, Dementor's Kiss, War, Slow
Build, Depression, Anxiety, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic
Smut, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2021-01-04 Updated: 2021-09-12 Words: 230,753 Chapters:
38/?
 Metanoia
by LornaLane

Summary

PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE FOR NECESSARY CONTEXT.

This is an alternate continuation of my prior "Quocumque Modo" series.

The Dark Lord reigns victorious and the Wizarding World of Britain is being rebuilt in his
image where darkness rules and cruelty is mundane. Valeria Winters, the wife of Draco
Malfoy after being married prior to their seventh year, struggles to maintain their status in
order to stay alive. As the crushing weight of the world threatens to cripple them, old faces
return and dangerous secrets come to light. Whether or not they can sustain their strength to
survive and their wills to live becomes the fight of their lives. Their deep bond for one
another is the only thing they have left to fight for.

Notes

Be Advised: This story is incredibly dark. If you are familiar with my previous work, this
story will be much darker than that. I highly encourage that if you are uncomfortable with the
graphicness and darkness of this work to avoid it. This story is also very emotionally bleak
and dark. I will not write descriptions of graphic non-consensual sexual content, but it is
referenced and implied in this story. I will post warnings in the notes in the beginning of each
chapter. If I miss something there or in the tags, let me know and I will add appropriate
warnings. Please note that just because it is written, does not mean I condone it. These dark
and mature themes are not meant to be romanticized in any way, shape or form. Nor are the
characters necessarily designed to be good people. The relationship between Draco and the
OC is meant to be codependent and toxic, as is necessary for the story. Again, this is not
meant as romanticization.

Necessary Context: This is an alternate continuation of my "Quocumque Modo" series with

the same characters. It diverges around the 35th chapter of "The Undoing." Other than one
other major detail, the rest of this follows from that series. You do not necessarily have to
read it, but there are many details that might make this story a bit confusing for you. I will, of
course, be fuddling with canon a little bit in the beginning as needed.

I had this idea and wanted to experiment as I enjoy character studies and I wanted to explore
a timeline where Voldemort wins in the context of my previous stories. I had enough of an
idea formulated to post it and I like working on multiple projects simultaneously. It's a bit
self-indulgent, but I wanted to put on paper, so to speak, to get it out of my head.
 Prologue: Draco Malfoy's Greatest Sin
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNING: War. Violence. Major Character Death. Threats of death.

May 1998

Draco almost didn’t have it in him. He could not believe his luck.

Harry Potter stood before him in the Room of Hidden Things as perfectly still as a statue,
petrified and unable to move. Draco avoided looking at his schoolyard rival’s paralyzed face
colored by shock and anger.

“You did it, Malfoy!” hissed Crabbe greedily. “Let’s get ‘im.”

Draco stopped Crabbe’s hand. “No. He belongs to the Dark Lord.”

“Then call ‘im,” Goyle said nodding to Draco’s left arm. Draco couldn’t. If Voldemort
appeared in the castle whilst the battle raged the loss of life would be even greater and Draco
had not hexed Potter to win a war, but to save what was left of what he loved. He wanted to
get this over with as quickly and quietly as he could. He was trying not to tremble, attempting
to silence his conscience, but he had to act fast. Potter's allies could interfere at any moment
and he could not risk Valeria stumbling upon the scene, though he hadn’t the faintest idea
where she was.

Draco took a tentative step forward, wand aimed squarely at Potter. He quickly confiscated
his own wand back from his captive and shoved the one his mother loaned him into a pocket.
He searched Potter’s pockets and found the cloak. Of course. The damn cloak.

“We’ll walk him out on our own. He and I will be under the cloak so we can’t be seen,”
Draco said. His voice sounded like it was not his own, like he was a foreigner in his own
body as he repressed the gravity of his actions. “You’ll cover us.”

“No way!” Goyle snarled. “We aren’t going to let you take all the credit.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I won’t. I’m going to control him from under it and as long as you
keep pace and follow all of the way out of the castle, we shouldn’t get separated.” He secretly
hoped that they would be separated, but that was beside the point. “Quick. His friends will be
around soon.”
Draco tossed the cloak over himself and Potter, standing behind his prisoner with his wand
aimed at the back of his head. He cast the Imperius Curse before removing the immobilizing
hex and swallowed. He could feel Potter fighting the Unforgivable Curse, and doing well in
the attempt, but now that Draco was reunited with his true wand, he came out stronger.
Unprepared and out of his league, he made a choice.

“Walk,” Draco ordered.

Throughout the long march out of the castle to meet Voldemort, Draco had kept his entire
concentration on maintaining the Imperius Curse. He had barely noticed Crabbe and Goyle
flinging curses with abandon all around him at the combatants, who fought in ignorance of
Potter walking to his doom right before them. Draco’s goals were so sharpy clear in his
mind’s eye that nothing around him mattered. It was for Valeria. That was all. This was for
Valeria. He repeated it in his head like a mantra, like prayer for forgiveness. Draco felt Potter
fighting his magical hold with each moment and with each step closer, Draco’s determination
only grew, as did the pounding of his heart.

Valeria made it to the Room of Requirement. She had to check. There was no sign of Draco
anywhere else. Perhaps he was hiding. If so, the Room of Hidden Things would certainly be
an appropriate place to do so. She managed to get in and before she had a chance to call out
for Draco, she heard voices ahead and tightened her grasp on her wand.

“Oh, God, Ron. Where is he?!”

Hermione.

“Maybe he found the diadem already—” Ron said, his voice echoing off the walls. They were
getting closer.

“He would have called out for us. HARRY!” Hermione cried. They came into view around a
corner made from a pillar of precariously stacked assortments of objects and stopped dead at
seeing Valeria. “Valeria, have you seen Harry?”

“No, I’ve only just come in. Have you seen Draco?”

“No,” Ron said with a sneer.

“But we heard voices before. Maybe Harry’s been captured. Malfoy knows about this
place…”

“I thought maybe he was hiding in here,” Valeria said.

Ron ran his hand through his hair. “What do we do? The diadem or look for Harry?”

Whilst those three reluctant allies debated, Draco had made it out of the castle with Potter,
doing so quicker than he anticipated using a series of short cuts he had memorized while
avoiding getting caught going to and from the Room of Requirement all the previous year
during the late hours of the night. Crabbe and Goyle were several paces behind him, still
doing their job as Draco ordered, but having lost track of Draco some.

It was the longest and shortest walk Draco had endured. He had to keep his eyes on Potter
while everything in him wanted to look away for shame, hightail and run. The boy he hated.
The boy who nearly slaughtered him in a bathroom. The boy who ruined everything. The boy
he had saved in Malfoy Manor. The boy he had entrusted with Valeria’s safety, given no other
choice than to watch her die.

Potter didn’t deserve this. He knew Potter didn’t deserve this. Neither did he.

None of them did.

But this was the only way to ensure Valeria’s life. Draco did not like the odds of Potter
coming out of this alive anyway. The war was all but won, but Valeria’s safety had yet to be
secured. Potter had not gotten her to distant safety like he had hoped. This was Draco’s only
choice.

The sounds of battle and the stench of new death faded in the distance, muffled by the forest
fence as Draco marched Harry forward. Draco made his presence known vocally to Crabbe
and Goyle so they could catch up to him and they eagerly flanked him, practically giddy with
excitement. Draco didn’t hear what they said. He had to keep Potter, who still fought him
with all his might, subdued.

A clearing. Draco could see in the short distance of the night shadowy figures crowded in the
dark. Voldemort paced while some of the highest-ranking Death Eaters stood stony to their
spots. The obnoxious voices of Crabbe and Goyle approaching made them all look up.

“Who goes there? Make yourselves known!” The Dark Lord ordered.

“Vincent Crabbe!”

“Gregory Goyle, m’Lord!”

“And Draco’s here too!” Crabbe clarified. Draco stopped in the clearing, a fair enough
distance from Voldemort. He was almost as petrified with fear as Harry was with magic. He
had to stop as the nausea threatened to overwhelmed his system into eruption. Before
Voldemort could ask for an explanation, Draco took one final deep breath. There was no
going back.

He tore the invisibility cloak off of him and Potter, revealing themselves. The Death Eaters
behind Voldemort gasped or whispered. His mother was there. Draco met her gaze and
though her expression was stony, he could see the terror in her eyes. Draco met the stunned
gaze of his father, who he could not bear to look at. The Dark Lord’s menacing red eyes lit up
as though he were a child opening his most desired Christmas gift.

“Draco...so this why you did not come to join us.” Voldemort said greedily smiling with a
most predatory grin that made Draco sick. “I’m shocked, that is to say, pleasantly surprised. I
didn’t think you had it in you.”

Draco swallowed, unsure of a response. He had to proceed with the utmost caution. He could
not come this far and fail. Fortunately, perhaps unfortunately, Crabbe who was in absolute
awe of the Dark Lord, opened his mouth.

“And we helped, my Lord,” Crabbe said getting on a knee in veneration. Voldemort

chuckled, if such a sound could be described in such a way and Draco's heart leapt into his
throat.

“And trust you shall be rewarded,” Voldemort said and turned to approach Draco. He stared
into Potter’s eyes whilst the latter was powerless to act. “The Imperius Curse?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Draco answered, his voice nearly cracking.

“Well done, Draco. Well done. Your left arm.”

Draco, trying not to violently tremble, lifted his left arm, his right arm aching as it was still
holding the wand aimed at Potter’s head. Draco felt the frigid, dry touch of Voldemort’s bony
finger as the mark on his arm burned and he tried not to wince through the pain. At once,
wispy clouds of black smoke descended from on high into the clearing taking the form of the
other Death Eaters who had been fighting in the castle once they touched ground.

“My loyal friends!” Voldemort said triumphantly. “I am pleased to announce that Draco has
delivered Harry Potter to me!” The Death Eaters cheered, some feigning excitement, others,
like Bellatrix over the moon with genuine enthusiasm. “The boy who lived, delivered here to
die.”

Voldemort took a few steps forward towards Potter and cried out at the top of his lungs,
“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Draco saw a bright green flash of light that he nearly mistook as being aimed at him but
struck Potter instead. He stumbled a step back as Potter’s body fell over with a hideous thud
on the earth, nearly falling onto him. He lowered his aching right arm, trying not to
hyperventilate as he stared down at Potter’s corpse. The others cheered.

“Draco…Check to be sure. Be sure that he’s dead.”

Draco tried not to audibly gulp and trembling, knelt on the earth. Wincing in the darkness, he
slid his clammy hand down Potter’s chest, bending down close. Draco froze as he felt a
heartbeat under Potter’s ribs.

And Harry Potter, barely above a whisper, so quiet that only Draco could hear, said the words
that would haunt Draco for the rest of his natural life.

“Draco…You’re making a mistake.”

Draco could not help it. It was instinct. He jumped back in shock, clumsily scuttling away
from Potter on the cold, uneven earth. Potter had done it again. He survived and Draco
witnessed it with his own eyes. He looked up at Voldemort, red eyes glistening in the
moonlight. Valeria. It was for Valeria. A simple trade. That was all this was.

“Alive,” Draco said through a lump in his throat.

The Dark Lord cried out in rage and Draco darted out of the way. He saw Potter move, trying
to get to his feet, only to be knocked down by another killing curse. And then several more.
Voldemort toyed with the body, flinging it against trees and the ground, battering it over and
over all whilst shouting his victory cries. Bones cracking, flesh thudding. He called Draco
forward again, who could barely move for how much he shivered in fear, to determine
whether Potter was alive once more. Draco obeyed, repeating what he had done just before.

No heartbeat. He held his hand above Potter’s mouth and nose for a moment. No breath. He
peered down at Potter’s eyes, wide open and lifeless, a single tear still dripping down the side
of his battered face.

“Dead,” Draco muttered.

A round of applause and a short-lived celebration of victory followed. Draco could not take a
full breath in. On the verge of panic. His parents rushed to him, speaking to him words of
pride or comfort, but Draco didn’t hear them. After a moment, he took a nervous step
forward.

“My Lord…?” Draco asked quietly.

“Yes, Draco. In all the excitement I nearly forgot you. Speak freely.”

Draco knew he had to speak more carefully than he ever had. “Please forgive me, but I’m
afraid my matter is urgent. A reward was promised, and as I know you to be an honorable
and generous Lord, I humbly ask that I may request it now.” There was a stunned silence and
Draco tried to not look at the Dark Lord.

“Normally, such audacity would offend me, Draco. But you speak true. You have delivered
me my rightful victory. For this, you may ask whatever you wish, and it shall be yours.”

“I ask only for a full and complete pardon for my wife, Valeria, and that my aunt make with
me an Unbreakable Vow to do her no harm for the rest of their lives,” Draco said. The next
moments were to be the most agonizing and uncertain of his life so far.

“What?!” Bellatrix snarled behind the Dark Lord.

“Silence, Bella!” Voldemort ordered. The Dark Lord lingered his gaze on Draco, as if
studying him. This was it. This was what he had delivered Potter for. Without this, Draco
wanted nothing more than to die.

“I shall forgive her in honor of your heroism this night, Draco,” he said. Draco let out a quiet
exhale of relief. “Bella, come forward.” She did not budge. “Now, Bella!” She obeyed that
time. “Both of you, here on your knees. I shall be your bonder. Severus, go into the castle.
Find the girl and reconvene with us outside the castle.”
Draco hadn’t noticed Snape yet, but met his professor’s eyes. There was something off. A
disbelief, a resentment, a fear? Draco could not tell. All he knew was relief that Voldemort
was to be the bonder, as he knew his aunt would have listened to no one else. The aunt and
nephew knelt before each other and Bellatrix stared daggers at Draco. He had nothing but
hatred to return with as he steeled what was left of his resolve. He extended his right arm and
she reluctantly did the same, grasping his. The Dark Lord’s wand touched where their arms
joined. “State your terms, Draco.”

“Will you, Bellatrix, refrain from harming my wife, Valeria in any way shape or form,
magical or otherwise, unless explicitly ordered by the Dark Lord alone so long as you both
shall live?” he asked.

“I will,” she said with spite dripping from her tone. A wisp of bright flame lit up the area
around them as it snaked around their hands.

“Will you never order, persuade, or manipulate another, directly or indirectly, to harm her,
magically or otherwise, unless explicitly ordered by the Dark Lord, so long as you both shall
live?”

“I will.”

A second flame wound itself around their arms.

“And will you refrain from insulting or mocking her father, brother and family name so long
as you both shall live?”

“I will.”

A third and final flame twisted itself with the others.

“This is all I ask,” Draco said. Without a word, Voldemort waved his wand and the flames
grew brighter, tightening around the bonded grasps until suddenly disappearing.

It was done. Valeria was safe.

Valeria had been arguing with Ron and Hermione. She insisted on finding Draco. She was
running around the Room of Hidden Things trying to find him, calling out for him. Where
else would he have gone? She had already been to the common room. Unless he was in a
classroom hiding perchance. Her heart dropped at the possibly of him fighting out there…

“At least help us look for this damn thing!” Ron called out.

“Shouldn’t you be looking for Potter?” Valeria called back.

“We have to find the diadem first! Wait. There! I see it—”

A great, booming voice cut Hermione's sentence short and nearly brought Valeria to her
knees.
“Harry Potter is dead. Delivered by my loyal and faithful servant. We approach with his body
as proof your hero is gone. The battle is won. You are outnumbered and the Boy Who Lived is
finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child,
will be slaughtered as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel
before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will
live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.”

A cry. A wail. Piercing an agonizing followed from Hermione. It was a sound Valeria knew
all too well. She rushed towards the sound to find Ron holding her, his face white and his
shoulders shaking as he struggled to hold Hermione up. Valeria was frozen. All of this;
Draco’s sacrifice to get her out of Malfoy Manor, her aiding them all those weeks, now even,
all in vain. She should have known. She grieved in stunned horror for a hope she did not
realize she had until it was torn away.

“Y—You have to go,” she said. Ron looked at her, tears in his eyes and violently shook his
head.

“Not…No…Harry!” he cried out. Hermione wailed again, trembling. Valeria saw an ornate
crown in her hand.

“They’re going to kill you,” Valeria said.

“I don’t care!” Ron yelled.

“We’re not leaving! Not without Harry! There’s no way out anyway!” Hermione said. That
was indeed a problem. The castle was impossible to depart from and they would be easily
caught if they tried. Valeria wracked her brain. There was no more time to mourn. She was a
dead woman walking anyway. There was no point in mourning. She peered around the room.
Perhaps she could will an escape route. She tried to, but the room did not change. At the peak
of frustration, she remembered. It didn’t have to change. There was one already here.

“Come with me. There’s a way out. The vanishing cabinet. It will take you to Borgin and
Burke’s. It’s your only chance,” Valeria said quickly, her breath trying to keep up with the
panicked pounding of her heart.

“No!” Ron said. “We’re going to destroy this and get Harry and my family and—”

It was clear they would not budge. Damn Gryffindors and the death wishes they mistook for
heroism. Swiftly and urgently, Valeria waved her wand and cast the Imperius Curse. They
both stopped and immediately calmed. She was shocked that she managed a powerful enough
curse to control both of them, but in their shock, their minds were weak and Valeria's will
won out.

She ordered them to follow her. The room was a maze, but she spent enough time in it with
Draco last year to remember the general location of the cabinet and find it she did, with relief.
She swung its door open and ordered them inside, which they obeyed. Valeria had half a
mind to step in with them, it was large enough for one more to just barely squeeze in, but she
stopped herself. Not without Draco. She was certain Bellatrix would stop at nothing to hunt
her down anyway. Valeria resigned herself. At least she could die knowing Draco was alive.
That would have to be enough.

Valeria took the crown from Hermione and clumsily shoved into the little purse on
Hermione’s person. She slammed the door shut on both of them. She considered going to find
other innocents, maybe help them escape too before they tried anything stupid and futile in
front of the Dark Lord. But she knew the Imperius Curse might not hold at such a great
distance, as she hadn’t attempted one so powerful before, and she had spent enough time with
Ron and Hermione to know they would try to immediately return once the hold was broken.

She opened the door again to make sure they were gone. She shut it and then with a fierce
flick of her wand blasted the cabinet apart, turning her face away as it shattered, and its
pieces scattered all around her. Perhaps this deed was enough to save her soul. Perhaps not.
Either way, she was sure to find out within the hour as death waited impatiently for her.

She turned and walked away, shaking the dust of her destruction out of her hair and made for
the exit back into the castle to only find an empty corridor. The door to the Room of
Requirement disappeared behind her and she took a tentative step forward down the eerie
hall, her shoes softly clacking in an echo on the stone floor. A death march of her own. She
made it a few floors down in the solemn silence when a voice behind her nearly stopped her
heart.

“Miss Winters.”

She turned, shocked to hear her maiden name. Snape stood there more emotional than she
had ever seen him, which wasn’t much. It was in his eyes, wild with a frantic sort of grief that
she shared. He rushed to her and grabbed her hard by the arm.

“I know what you did, Professor,” she said, stunning him again. “My memories…Granger
reconstructed them…I know that you tampered with them, I don’t why. I know about the
Horcruxes—”

His grip tightened. “Silence,” he said with a hiss.

“Is it true? Is Potter dead?”

“He is.”

Her breath hitched and she panted once more, the realization dawning on her even more like
a great wave had struck her. Snape shook her by the shoulders.

“Your safety has been guaranteed,” he said, sounding almost regretful, about what she did not
know for certain. “But not if you know what you know. Quickly.”

He dragged her into a nearby classroom and slammed the door as he nearly tossed her into
the room. She caught herself as she tripped from the force of his release as he cast charms all
over the entrance to the room and then rushed to her again, forcing her into a chair.
“This will not be pleasant, but it is your only chance,” he said, removing his wand and aiming
it between her eyes. Suddenly, without further warning, Snape invaded her mind, carefully
combing through her memories with efficient urgency.

She saw her brother, Konstantin’s, posthumous confession via his last will and testament and
her promising to help the Order, including her aid of the trio back in August. Then it was
gone. She saw the first time Snape had tampered with her memories while briefly a prisoner
in Malfoy Manor after Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Then it was gone. He went through
everything. All the times she went easy on other students during the school year. Then they
were gone. She saw her private life with Draco, revealed to Snape in a most humiliating
fashion. He left that alone. He saw her time at Shell Cottage after Draco had forced her to
escape Malfoy Manor with Potter after she nearly murdered Bellatrix Lestrange. He carefully
reworked them, forcing her to believe that Potter had kidnapped her for a prisoner, that he
had forced her to aid his efforts, that he had used the Imperius Curse on her to do their
bidding. He carefully removed any aid and acts of sympathy she had done prior and during
the beginning of the battle. He erased the memory of what she had just done to Ron and
Hermione, forcing their escape.

Finally, he took out any and all memories of Horcruxes. He removed himself from her mind,
interrogating her with careful wording to be certain of his efforts. She knew nothing. She
remembered nothing. She was Mrs. Valeria Malfoy, a victim of the Order of the Phoenix who
simply wanted to be safely reunited with her husband. That was good enough.

The silence at the entrance of the castle had been forced by Voldemort, that much was clear.
Potter’s body lay limp and lifeless at the Dark Lord’s feet. The sight of the Dark Lord struck
fear into Valeria’s heart once more as Snape kept a firm grip on her arm, escorting her to the
front of the crowd. She saw Ginny, Neville, Luna, all the rest. Her fellow Slytherin friends
had wisely not stuck around. Slughorn looked at her with sympathy, as did a weeping
McGonagall. Ginny looked like she was about to explode with grief and rage.

“Ah, excellent Severus, thank you. Bring her forward,” the Dark Lord said. Snape obliged
and Valeria had no choice but to follow. She stood between the crowd of resistance fighters
and Voldemort as he looked her up and down, his inhuman mouth forming into a menacing
smile. She had not felt so exposed since her wedding. “Oh, the poor thing is terrified. Mrs.
Malfoy, you have nothing to fear. Thanks to the noble actions of your husband, all is
forgiven, for I am a merciful Lord. Draco, she looks unwell, perhaps it’s best you take her
home to rest and return right after to attend to your duties here.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

She turned her gaze toward the voice and for the first time since the Easter recess saw Draco
again, alive. Relief swept over her and had she the emotional and physical strength, she
would have rushed to him. But something was wrong. His gaze was dark, his face as white as
a ghost. He approached and took her other arm, much gentler than Snape, and the latter
released her. Draco immediately swept his other arm around her and escorted her across the
stone and through the crowd of Death Eaters, seeing Bellatrix stare at her with disgust, which
frightened Valeria once more.
Neither of them found words while they walked. Once far enough away, Draco removed his
wand, and she felt the familiar discomfort of side-along apparation. Valeria felt like she was
going to vomit when it suddenly stopped, and she got her footing in their chamber at Malfoy
Manor. Before she could do or say anything in her distressed confusion, Draco rushed her,
taking the sides of her face hard in his hands and pressing his body against hers.

“Why did you come back?!” he hissed. “I told you not to come back. How could you be so
damn stupid?!”

“I—I…What’s happen—”

But he crashed his lips onto hers. It was an angry kiss full of fear, grief, passion and rage. She
was so relieved to see him again that she could not help but give into him. He was the only
thing that was safe in this world now. He pulled back and looked at her. There were tears in
his bloodshot eyes and his face was twisted in disgust and frenzy.

“You’re safe now. I made sure…Valeria, you have to know…I did it for you—” he lurched
forward with a heave and then shoved her away, darting to the balcony. He hung his head
over the edge of the railing and retched. She rushed to him and he flinched at her touch. Once
he recovered enough, he looked at her and she began to cry too, confused and overwhelmed,
wanting nothing for him but relief. He grabbed her again and brought her into the room,
sitting her down on the bed and placing his hands firmly on her shoulders.

“I have to go,” he said, nearly choking on his words. “Don’t leave this room. Don’t you dare
even think about it. Do you understand me!?” She nodded vigorously as she trembled. He
stunk of sweat, death and vomit. He looked into her eyes fiercely before squeezing her
shoulders and releasing her, as if it pained him to part with her.

“Draco,” she asked, in a raspy voice resulting from her dry throat. He turned. “What have
you done?”

His head lurched forward a little as he gulped, and he then turned away.

With a pop, he was gone.

 The Death Eater's Wife
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Graphic descriptions of death and violence. Blood.

Psychological trauma. Minor character death. Foul language.

Two Years Later

It was a period that wizarding history would one day dub the Dark Age. It was an apt name, a
succinct summation of what the period after Voldemort’s victory truly was. Yet somehow it
was far too broad, unable to fully encompass the extent of suffering and the overwhelming
vastness of horror that defined the time.

The term was useful but insufficient. Perfect, but empty. Correct but dysfunctional.

Much like Valeria Malfoy herself.

There were two rules to being Draco Malfoy's wife.

1. Don’t do anything stupid.

2. Never mention the name Harry Potter.

Other than those express conditions, Valeria was able to do whatsoever she wished so long as
she complied with the standards and laws set forth by the Dark Lord and the Ministry he
controlled. Life under the Dark Lord’s regime was surprisingly less chaotic than she had
anticipated a couple years ago. Perhaps it was her status. Perhaps it was her emptiness.
Perhaps she had seen too many horrors to pay mind to the ones to come. Either way,
attending this routine execution today was more of an obligatory inconvenience than a horror
show so far. As her husband was the executioner, Valeria had a special place of honor.

The Death Eaters and their lower ranked comrades were, according to Draco, always rowdy
at executions. That was, until the Death Eaters’ wives arrived, and they became instant
gentlemen, masters of proper decorum. Valeria wasn’t sure when the tradition developed, but
she always sat in the front for these events; prime seating to bear witness to atrocity. She had
learned to watch in elegant silence as men and women were tormented and murdered before
her as if she were looking at a dull, mediocre landscape painting.

How could she have survived this long otherwise?

“Pansy’s here,” Daphne Zabini, nee Greengrass, said as she sat by Valeria. Valeria had her
eyes straight ahead at the platform and hadn’t even noticed her closest friend taking a seat
beside her. Valeria peered across the aisle, seeing her old classmate Pansy, dressed in similar
fashion to the other wives, wringing her hands in her lap, looking at the ground. Pansy hardly
ever attended these events.

“Wonder why,” Valeria said to Daphne. Her friend leaned over to whisper.

“Word has it that Goyle’s trotting her out to prove she’s still alive,” Daphne said.

Valeria envied Daphne’s ability to engage in idle gossip and collect rumors from across the
high ranks of elite society, but she blamed that fact on the latter’s marriage to Blaise, who
even in these times, remained a charmer with a serpentine ability to slither into any circle to
collect information. He had been a great asset as the Dark Lord rebuilt the world, even
earning himself a Dark Mark.

Valeria turned to face forward feeling the thick fabric of her robes rub a little on her neck as
she did. Her garments were up to her chin, down to her ankles and her sleeves stopped at the
top of her wrists. Dark and plain as always, while varied in color, all the Death Eaters’ wives
wore similar styles of convent appropriate attire, keeping with the fashions of the times.
Valeria had not publicly let her hair down in years.

Each wife of a Death Eater wore a subtly elegant boutonniere of belladonna flowers pinned to
their clothes over their hearts. Deadly nightshade. A flower whose name meant beautiful
lady, but which was inherently toxic. It was intended as flattery. Valeria felt her heart shrivel
and rot beneath it.

“Have you spoken to her recently?” Valeria asked. Daphne shook her head.

“Not since exchanging Christmas cards,” Daphne said, in a tone mocking the empty annual
holiday gesture zapped long ago of all hope and life. “Perhaps today’s the day she’ll break
her silence with you.”

Valeria nearly scoffed at that. She highly doubted Pansy would ever speak to her on her own
accord ever again. But before she could respond, one of the Snatchers took their place in
front followed by Draco and two more Death Eaters who flanked him. Draco wore his mask,
and the hood of his black robes was up. Not an inch of skin, not one identifying feature of
him was visible, but Valeria would know him in form and the way he carried himself
anywhere. Two hooded victims were marched up the center aisle and pushed to their knees
on the stage. The Snatcher, whose name Valeria never cared to learn, cleared his throat as if
he were a glorified town crier.

This was the part where Valeria pretended to be somewhere else, a skill she had become quite
adept at. The Snatcher read the names aloud, Valeria never wanted to know their names, but
she didn’t recognize them anyway. Apparently, their crime had been harboring muggleborns
and helping them out of Britain.

“For this they have been sentenced to death. Any last words?” the Snatcher asked, rolling up
the parchment.

“FOR HARRY POTTER!” the first cried from under their hood.
“LONG MAY HIS MEMORY LIVE!” cried the second.

Draco turned, knowing his cue, and with a sweeping slashing motion cast a spell at the first
who immediately doubled over as long bloody gashes materialized all over him. Valeria knew
the spell. Snape told her about it. The same curse Potter used on Draco in that bathroom sixth
year. Draco did the same to the second victim and the platform’s wood was quickly dyed red
as they bled to death. Valeria was in for a rough night. Draco hated using curses that weren’t
the Killing Curse when he was ordered to. So much so that he had been bestowed the
moniker Malfoy the Merciful, though this was a tongue-in-cheek nickname. He would not
recover quickly from this.

Valeria expected that to be the end of it. She waited for the official dismissal when a scream
from behind broke the silence. She turned, seeing an additional pair of male Death Eaters
marching forward with another hooded prisoner, also male. Valeria was shocked when behind
them she saw Luna Lovegood, the first she’d seen of her since the Battle of Hogwarts, held
firm by two other masked Death Eaters, struggling against their grasp, wailing. She turned
sharply to Draco, who turned to her and then back to Luna.

Luna broke free and rushed up the center aisle but was stopped by a hex that knocked her to
the ground, right beside Valeria. Her captors grabbed her, and she struggled once more. Draco
stepped down and up to one of her holders.

“Silence her. She’s upsetting my wife,” Valeria heard him say discreetly. With a stiff nod, the
Death Eater followed the order and stifled Luna’s voice with a wave of his wand. The third
victim was shoved to his knees and the Snatcher swiftly removed his hood; Xenophilius
Lovegood.

Before Valeria could process the sight, a frigid chill overwhelmed the spring air and above
them descended a pair of dementors. Valeria felt none of the other effects of a dementor’s
presence, that of being unable to feel joy ever again, for that was her normal. She felt only the
chill.

“For the crime of writing, publishing and distributing dissident materials in an illegal
magazine, Xenophilius Lovegood has been sentenced to suffer the Dementor’s Kiss,” the
Snatcher announced. Luna wailed again. Draco raised his wand to the air, giving the
dementors their signal and they descended on Lovegood.

It was worse than the others. It was unbearable, even for Valeria, even after the past two
years. She stiffened in her chair and no matter where she looked without blatantly turning her
head, the horror was always in her periphery, impossible to avoid. In the corner of her eye,
she saw Luna, red faced, trying to scream.

When it was finished, Draco banished the dementors with another wave and the air returned
to its previous state.

“For loving muggles so much, you can rot like one,” the Snatcher said. The Death Eaters who
had held Lovegood carried him off and magically secured him to a post. Luna was dragged
away. The Snatcher dismissed the audience with a cheerful tone, as if they had just been
audience to a children’s puppet show. Draco quickly rushed down and took Valeria by the
arm and ushered her away from the site nearby. She could feel his hand trembling on her arm.
Once far enough away, officially off-duty, he removed his mask. His face was lifeless. She
would have brewed him something stronger if she knew it was going to be this.

His demeanor changed instantly when Blaise called out his name. He approached with
Daphne, his wife.

“They could have given us a warning,” Blaise said.

“Sudden change in the schedule,” Draco said. “They wanted his daughter to see it.” He
couldn’t even say her name.

“What’s going to happen to her?” Valeria asked.

“Back to Azkaban for the moment. Not sure otherwise,” Draco said. Before Daphne could
speak, another couple approached.

“Friends!” A booming, merry voice greeted the group. Valeria turned, dismayed but not
expressing it, to see Gregory Goyle approach with Pansy tentatively behind him, looking at
the ground. Goyle shook Draco’s hand firmly. “Quite a show, Malfoy”

“All in a day’s work,” Draco drawled, thoroughly unimpressed with the atrocity he had just
committed. He had become an excellent actor over the years, but Goyle was easy to fool.

“Pansy,” Goyle said, though it was more of an impatient demand. Pansy gave them a soft
“Hello” in greeting. Valeria saw, but did not react to Goyle nudging Pansy with his elbow.
“Perhaps you’d like to share our news.”

“I’m not sure that it’s appropriate...” Pansy said softly. Goyle put his arm around his wife and
Valeria watched his fingers squeeze down on her shoulder. He laughed, though Valeria sensed
he was laughing at Pansy rather than with her.

“She’s just being shy, silly thing,” he said.

“Out with it already,” Blaise said, rolling his eyes.

Pansy swallowed. “We’re expecting.” Her voice was barely audible. They all feigned
excitement, save for Goyle's which was genuine. This was good news for the regime. There
hadn’t yet been many children born from old pureblood lineages after the war. Rebuilding the
world in Voldemort’s image had taken priority, after all. However, they, particularly the
women present, felt pity for Pansy.

Valeria mingled with the other attendees, often on Draco’s arm. He hated this. Later that
night, he’d vomit in the bathroom of their chambers and she’d massage his shoulders while
he drank after he cleaned up. They’d hold each other after until he fell asleep, though he was
likely to awaken several times before morning. It was their own ritual and it was sometimes
the only thing that kept Draco from losing himself. It was therefore her duty now to be his
strength until they got home. Falling apart was a luxury.
Pansy sat alone as the crowd dwindled. Goyle claimed she simply wanted to sit due to her
condition, but Valeria knew better. Valeria always felt guilty, somewhere deep and hidden
away, for what she did to Pansy. She had tried to explain. There was nothing she could have
done to prevent it; any action would have risked more lives than hers. The most she could do
was approach her now. Maybe there was something she could say, but any words of help fled
as she stopped near Pansy.

“I hope it’s a boy. For your sake,” Valeria hadn’t meant the well-wish to sound so terrible, so
degrading, but there was an awful truth in it that was harder to swallow than it was to say.
Before Valeria could walk back the comment, Pansy turned sharply to her with more fire in
her eyes than Valeria had seen since she and the former outspoken spitfire were classmates.

“Cunt.”

Valeria did not react. She merely stared back in quiet defiance to the deathly look Pansy was
staring into her.

“You’re always invited for tea on Tuesdays at Malfoy Manor. Do let me or the other ladies
know if we can be of any help or support.” Valeria said.

“Go. Away,” Pansy whispered. The two women merely looked at each other. Valeria, only in
her thoughts, begged Pansy to be nice. To come around. To fall in line. Not for Valeria’s sake
but for her own. Pansy’s eyes darted around and, when she saw the coast was clear, spit on
the ground near Valeria’s shoes. Pansy turned around once more without another word.

The water stopped in the bathroom and Valeria knew Draco was finished cleaning himself up.
She stood instinctively from the sofa in the main room of their chambers in Malfoy Manor as
he came out. Without a word, he sat down on a plush foot stool near a matching armchair and
she set to work kneading his shoulders and upper back with her hands. This private ritual of
theirs wasn’t ordered of her, rather an accidental routine they fell into over time. She wanted
to do it. She needed to do it. She needed to remind herself that he was still himself. He was
still a man of flesh and bone. She could see his reflection in the mirror across the room, his
hair in his face as he hung his head forward. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and, in the mirror, as
on his back, she could see plainly the scars of the old Sectumsempra curse he himself had
once suffered at Harry Potter’s accidental hand.

“Surreal isn’t it? Pansy and Goyle having a baby?” Valeria said absentmindedly. Draco
responded better to idle chatter after carrying out orders. He appreciated distraction.

“It was bound to happen eventually,” Draco said quietly. His mind was elsewhere. Valeria
inhaled, pressing her knuckles into the tight muscle of his back. The news of Pansy’s
pregnancy had struck her hard with an old fear. It was the wrong time to address it, but then
again, there was never a right time anymore.

“How long before it’s our turn?” she asked gently. With the quick agility of a soldier, Draco
turned sharply and grabbed Valeria’s wrist hard enough to stop her but not enough to cause
physical harm. Valeria didn’t even flinch.
“Don’t,” he said.

“You don’t think everyone’s thinking it?” she asked.

He scoffed as he released her, turning around and letting her get back to work on his back.
“Listening to Daphne’s rumors again? I told you most of what she says is likely bullshit. I’m
in meetings every damn day, never has anyone asked about it. If it were important, it would
have been brought up to me.”

“Maybe. But with Pansy...I just. I feel odd about it.”

“You need to let it go.”

“I handed her over to Goyle on a silver platter.”

“If I recall correctly, you tried to stop it.”

“Not that hard.”

“There wasn’t anything you could do. Goyle voiced his reward and it was a decision made
above all our ranks.” He swallowed as if he were about to be sick again. “He earned his prize.
It’s a shame she was what he wanted.”

Valeria dropped her hands from his shoulders abruptly. “Is that what I am to you too? Your
prize?”

Draco sighed and stood from his seat, looming over her as he cupped her face in his hands.
The coolness of his skin sent a pleasant shiver down her spine and her heart beat a little
harder. She craved this from him often. Only he could bring her back to life in the dead of
night.

“That was different. You know that was different.”

Draco and Valeria possessed a privilege that was rare amongst the pureblood marriages; they
loved each other. Not in the same way they once did, not in the way they should, but the love
remained albeit mutated and deformed. They also reserved the honor of being the only
marriage arranged by the Dark Lord himself. The rest, of her peers anyway, save for the more
unique case of Pansy and Goyle, had been arranged by Valeria.

Valeria put her hands on Draco’s arms as he gently traced his thumbs on her cheeks. He
leaned down, touching his forehead to hers.

“You are all my good in this world. How many times do I have to say it until you believe
me?” he whispered. He expressed that sentiment each day. It was as though he needed to say
it just as much as she needed to hear it.

“You know talk will start. We’ve been married the longest.” It had been one of the few fears
Draco had left, producing offspring. So much of him had turned to stone, but this was a
subject that made him come alive in terror like a cornered creature.
“Goyle might treat Pansy like his broodmare but I will not stoop to...I’ve sunk low enough.”

“It’s about survival. Maintaining our position. Isn’t that why we’ve done everything we’ve
done? That’s what you said isn’t it? That’s why you handed over Potter just as I handed over
Pans—”

Valeria shouldn’t have said that. Draco dropped his hands quickly, snapping them away and
stepped back. He kept his face close to hers.

“Never. Say. That. Name,” he hissed. Valeria didn’t fear him. He let his rage out elsewhere,
never at her as that was one of the few rules he held himself to religiously.

“The point still stands, Draco,” she hissed back. “Name or not, we agreed. We maintain our
position and producing an heir is part of the deal.”

The old Valeria, the girl who died five years ago, would have held her hand to her mouth in
scandalized horror at what the present Valeria said. This was a child, not a commodity. Yet
she spoke with such clinical cunning that this hypothetical child could have been any sort of
old object. Draco grabbed her by the upper arms. Again, not nearly hard enough to cause
injury but enough to hold her in place.

“Over my dead body,” he whispered in her ear, his mouth so close that she could feel his hot
breath on her neck. She reached her arms around him and held him close.

“Don’t say that,” she whispered back.

He ran his hand up behind her neck, fingers gently cradling where the bottom of her skull met
her neck. He leaned down hard and kissed her. Then he kissed her more. Then more. After a
few seconds his arms were around her, pulling her entire body to him. He stopped. “Then
don’t say another word about heirs and offspring.”

“You do know what we’re doing, in theory, leads to, right?”

Draco pulled out the main pins holding her hair up and tossed them on the floor. He always
liked her hair down.

“Not this time.”

Valeria was busy at work the next day whilst Draco was out. Within Malfoy Manor, Valeria
had constructed a proper potions laboratory to pursue as a hobby. The one freedom allowed
in Voldemort’s new regime was free exploration of the Dark Arts. Valeria partook in such
enterprises at first driven by intellectual curiosity, but after working with Snape to assist him
in some potions matters, word had gotten back to the Dark Lord that she was rather gifted in
the subject. He shortly thereafter made her Snape’s apprentice, and she was subsequently
tasked with crafting potions for the Death Eaters often enough to keep her busy and
distracted.
She enjoyed the process. She enjoyed the mystery of the Dark Arts, the forbidden beauty. It
was probably the best part of having the privileged life her status offered her as her other
duties, rather expectations, were much more confining. Though she never liked to think long
on what her concoctions would be used for.

“Mistress?” The house elf, Tinky squeaked upon entering the room. “Mr. Snape is here to see
you.”

She sighed. “Send him in.”

Learning from Snape outside of Hogwarts had been intellectually rewarding. He was even
more brilliant than she knew him to be as a formal student. Though every so often while they
worked together, she would catch him looking at her in a curious way. She sensed he was
trying to keep an eye on her, though for what reason she hadn’t the faintest idea.

“It is against accepted wisdom to have too many cauldrons brewing at once,” Snape said,
entering the laboratory and noticing four cauldrons going on the stations. “One runs the risk
of getting sloppy.”

“Not me,” she said.

“Arrogance is the Achilles’ heel of the Potion Master.”

“Is mine not earned?”

He furrowed his brow at her. “No, it is not. You have much to learn if you want to achieve
true mastery.” Valeria didn’t respond. She was tired and uninterested in hearing a lecture
today. It had indeed been a rougher night than usual with Draco as she had predicted. He had
tossed and turned violently all night once he eventually managed to catch some sleep. “That
one’s new. What is it?”

“Tranquila Sensus,” Valeria said. “Dulls emotions, makes the drinker largely apathetic. I’m
trying to strengthen it.” She gestured to the open book on the table beside the cauldron, one
of her most prized possessions, The Mystery and Majesty of the Dark Arts. It had been her
brother’s and she had it for several years by now. She used it so much the binding was
starting to become brittle.

“Why?” Snape asked, taking the book and reading the entry on the Traquila Sesnus potion.

“The base recipe is for everyday life. I want something stronger for less everyday lives.”

Snape considered. “How are you enhancing it?”

“I’m trying dove’s blood.”

“Tempermental ingredient.”

“You don’t need to remind me. This is the fourth batch of it I’ve tried.”

“You’re determined,” he said.

“That surprise you?” she asked, peering into the murky liquid bubbling away in the cauldron.
Snape didn’t respond immediately.

“Is this what you’ve been giving Draco?” he asked quietly. She stopped, frozen for a
moment. She didn’t completely trust Snape no matter how much she wanted to. It was
dangerous business to trust almost anyone.

“What makes you think that?”

“Do not play the fool with me,” he said, voice low. “As…aggressive as your husband could
be in his youth, I never knew him to have a talent for the extreme. I would imagine
something like this would aid him well in carrying out his assignments.”

The most aggravating thing about Snape was his uncannily correct intuition, likely a result of
knowing both her and Draco so long. He had guessed true. Valeria had first made the potion
sixth year after months of being tormented by nightmares of her brother’s death and the
mounting fear over Draco’s situation, which he at the time refused to fully disclose to her.
She had wanted some relief, to not feel like her mind was unraveling for a little while. The
Dark Lord trusted Draco almost completely after the latter had delivered Harry Potter and
therefore assigned him to never-ending tasks of brutality to the point Draco could barely
function. He ran the risk of cracking and therefore incurring the Dark Lord’s wrath. The pact
they made sixth year, keep each other alive at any cost and by any means, was the lifeblood
of their bond and Valeria had no choice but to act.

The potion had not prevented Draco’s internal anguish. It did not stop the nightmares nor
inhibit the memories of the blood on his hands, but at least, while in the act, his mind would
be clearer. It was easier to be a monster.

“There’s no law against it, is there?” she asked, choosing her words carefully.

“No. In fact, I must admit it’s a bit inspired. Quite a useful idea, indeed,” Snape said. Valeria
didn’t like his tone, something about it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
“As fascinating as this is, Valeria, there’s unfortunately another matter I need to ask you
about.”

“What now?”

“Unicorn blood,” Snape began, ever to the point. “I’ve received a report that three vials have
gone missing. Before a full investigation is launched, I must ask…”

Unicorn blood was outright outlawed prior to Voldemort’s victory and the substance so
tightly controlled that even the purveyors of the darkest sort of magical material did not carry
it. While more used in the New Order, it was still so regulated that even a half of a drop going
missing was a serious offense. The substance was so dangerous, so tricky to work with, that
even Valeria would never dare to touch it.

“You offend me, Professor,” she said.

“Your ambitions in potion-craft alerted me to the possibility. I have to ask, for your own sake.
You admitted to arrogance yourself,” he said.

“Search my stores. Search my mind. I swear on it all that it wasn’t me,” she said. Snape
stared her down for a moment, directly into her eyes.

“I believe you. I just had to be sure. I must ask that if you hear anything to report it to me at
once.”

“You have my word.”

Draco sent word he would not be home for dinner, which gave Valeria the opportunity to
leave the Manor in secret without anyone asking any curious questions. As the evening
darkened, she set out with her hood up and apparated to the site of the executions she had
recently bore witness to. Snape had somehow convinced the Dark Lord in the aftermath of
the Battle of Hogwarts that executions should not be held in public, but rather be private and
exclusive events per invitation only. The idea was that the public would fear what they did
not see more than what they did and would therefore respect the Dark Lord’s iron fist while it
crushed them into submission. Public demonstrations of unprecedented cruelty would incite
loose cannons into rage and possibly cause opinion to turn. The Dark Lord naturally did not
care about opinions, unable to understand why the public would not immediately follow him,
but the idea of striking easy fear into the hearts of wizards and witches everywhere made him
figurately salivate.

Therefore, Valeria could be sure she would not be interrupted.

Through the foggy night she walked, shrouded by shadows. She took a hesitant step on the
stage, dark spots of blood still upon it which she avoided as she stepped forward. She saw the
slumped figure of Xenophilius Lovegood magically confined to the post, his head hung limp.
She put her wand to his head to awaken him and he shifted and groaned, struggling to lift his
head to look at her.

“Do you want me to end this for you?” she asked.

The man’s lips moved, but only breathy, incomplete sounds escaped him. He was looking
right at her but didn’t seem to see her at all. She sighed with defeat. It was hard not to see him
as a man and she had to remind herself he was a mere husk now. An empty vessel where a
man once lived. Though, breaking an empty vessel was less messy than breaking a full one.

“I’m sorry Luna had to watch,” Valeria said. He mumbled nonsensical sounds. The wind
blew and the smell of death and lifelessness, indescribable and yet completely familiar,
swirled around her, seeping in through the threads of her robes and making her skin tighten
and her spine straighten. She could see in the glistening moonlight a pendant hanging from
his neck. She couldn’t tell if he was suffering. He hardly reacted to anything at all.

“I’m sorry, Lovegood,” she said in a flat tone. She didn’t know if she meant it as she took a
step back and aimed her wand. She looked him in the eyes. She had to look him in the eyes,
or this would mean nothing. “Avada Kedavra.”

A flash of green lit up the night like terrible lightning for a fraction of a second.
Xenophilius’s body did not react to the curse save for his head slumping over just as it had
been when she arrived. She approached and lifted his chin with her wand. His eyes didn’t
look any less lifeless. She reached down to his neck and ripped the pendant from him,
stashing it into her robes. She stepped back again and waved her wand above her head, then
at Lovegood’s corpse.

“Corvi Provoco.”

From thin air a murder of squawking crows descended in formation on Lovegood’s body and
set to work making it appear that he died of exposure to wild animals. Once the birds had
finished with the eyes, she was satisfied her deed was sufficiently hidden and departed the
site. No one would think to check how Lovegood died. No one would care enough to.

Indeed, Valeria knew this as she had done similar before. Her first trophy was Potter himself.
The Dark Lord had apparently set his corpse ablaze in the Great Hall after Draco had
returned her to Malfoy Manor after the Battle of Hogwarts and his ashes rained down over
his loved ones. She had returned the next day with Draco to collect her things from her
dormitory. Draco waited outside, not strong enough to enter the castle himself and she alone
walked the destruction of the once hallowed halls that were her second home. The draft had
scattered Potter’s ashes across the Great Hall and with a vial from her potion kit, she
carefully collected some of his remains. She couldn’t do right by all of it. It would have been
too noticeable.

Draco had managed to keep hold of Potter’s old cloak and the Dark Lord had given him the
golden snitch Potter had on his person when he was murdered. Draco wanted neither and
Valeria stored all of Potter’s items, including what was left of his remains, in the nearly
impenetrable cellar of the now nearly abandoned Winters estate.

She didn’t know why she kept these things. It was a strange little impulse she couldn't resist.
It didn’t make sense, but little in this world did anymore.

“Where’ve you been?” Draco asked, seated with a wine glass and a book, picking at his
dinner in their own private dining room in their wing of Malfoy Manor.

“I took care of Lovegood,” she said. Draco sighed in frustration, pinching the skin between
his brow.

“You shouldn’t keep doing stuff like that,” he said.

“Is anyone going to care?” she asked.

“That’s not the point. If you’re caught, questions will be asked which will be inconvenient for
us both.”
“And then I’ll just say that I did it for my own pleasure. Anyone will buy that without
question,” she said.

“Maybe. Still doesn't make it smart,” he said. “I thought you hated him. You always said he
ruined your life with that damn magazine of his.”

It was true that her world began to crumble in fifth year when her father’s name was printed
as a Death Eater present in the graveyard with Potter the night Voldemort returned in
corporeal form. Again, when he published an article questioning her loyalty to the Dark Lord
seventh year. She had always resented Lovegood for it.

“He suffered enough since then,” Valeria said.

“You did it for you, to make yourself feel better, not him,” Draco said, seeing right through
her as he always did. He didn’t sound angry. Just tired.

“Does it matter? The ends are the same,” Valeria said.

 Mrs. Pansy Goyle
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Forced/Arranged marriage. Implied/referenced non-

consensual intercourse. Implied forced pregnancy. Suicide. Description of death. Loss of
pregnancy.

One Year Earlier

Everyone had a place in the Dark Lord’s new world. Those who did not were simply
removed from it.

Valeria’s place was certain. She was the wife of the man who handed over Harry Potter,
ensuring the Dark Lord’s victory, which gave her a position of privilege amongst those who
did not bear the Dark Mark themselves. The mission, the private one that had been forged
with Draco in the dark corridors of Hogwarts years ago was all she worked for; keep each
other alive. Draco had learned from his father’s errors. He was not about to let himself or the
people he loved be in such a predicament again and the young Malfoys resigned themself to
perfect outward obedience. It was all they could do now. All they could do was keep their
promise to each other, even at the cost of all other promises.

A year or so after the war’s conclusion, Valeria sat with her mother, Odessa, and mother-in-
law, Narcissa in a parlor room of Malfoy Manor that had been fashioned into a sort of ladies’
lounge where they would entertain the women of the social elite. It was one of the few places
where the three of them met all at once, for the sake of Valeria’s sanity.

As a reward for Draco handing over Potter and in addition to Valeria’s pardon, Draco had
been granted chief executor of the Malfoy estate. While ownership transferred to him upon
marriage, as tradition dictated, Lucius remained formally and informally in charge of the
property and the Malfoy assets. The Dark Lord insisted Draco take his father’s place,
humiliating Lucius all the more. Valeria suspected that Lucius never forgave Draco for what
he had perceived as a deep betrayal.

Rebuilding the world had been chaotic and in the mess of everything, and with new
responsibilities forced upon him, Draco assigned the different wings of the manor to the
different branches of the extant Malfoy family. This was effective immediately once the Dark
Lord moved his base of operations to the ministry.

Lucius and Narcissa were given the south wing. It gutted Draco to remove Narcissa from the
master bedroom of the Manor that had been hers for decades, but as he was now master of the
house, it had to be done. The south wing was smaller, but still audaciously luxurious and the
elder Malfoys suffered no lack of comfort for it.
A section of the west wing had been given to Odessa for her apartments. The Dark Lord
wanted to keep her close due to her ability to spin anything in print to public favor, another
one of Snape’s suggestions to keep rebellion from brewing. Odessa was still half-mad, but the
only time when she reflected even a bit of who she once was when she was writing or editing
articles or other public relations sort of work for the cause. She was once more a socialite and
now a glorified gossip columnist, but as long as she was busy, Draco and Valeria deemed her
harmless.

Draco and Valeria had full reign of the house though the north wing was strictly theirs, the
largest and most stately of the available sections of the sprawling manor home. In effect it
was their sanctuary.

The Winters castle in Wales sat empty and under the care of Tilly the house elf. Odessa could
not stand to be there, and Valeria too never stayed more than a long weekend when she
visited, as being surrounded by the life she once had was too painful to linger long upon.

But that was far from Valeria’s mind as she shared tea with her mother and mother-in-law
going over files of individuals. Each file had a photograph, information about the individual
and one other critical piece of information.

They were hours into their discussion. They were close to their final recommendations of the
first round of marriage arrangements since Valeria and Draco. Narcissa and Odessa were the
masterminds of the process, but it was Valeria who was called upon to be the public face of
the initiative. The idea was that it would be easier for any reluctant members of the public to
accept if it came from the woman who had first experienced it herself. Since many eligible
individuals in this first round were her friends or peers, Valeria’s recommendations held great
weight. Of course, final approval would require Ministry oversight.

“And Daphne Greengrass?” Narcissa asked, looking over Daphne’s file. She set aside the
lovely headshot of Daphne and examined the application detailing her personal information;
education, age, build and height, current roles and assignments in the New Order if
applicable, amongst other details including, of course, blood status.

“Who’s on her list?” Odessa asked.

That was the other critical piece of information included in the files. Each person who had
been notified they were to be paired off had to include a list of other eligible individuals they
would be happiest marrying in descending order. They were given three lines for three
names.

“Zabini, Nott, Montague.” Narcissa read in order from first to last. Valeria reached for Blaise
Zabini’s file.

“He hasn’t been paired yet. They always got on in school and have been close lately. It’s a
solid match, I think.” Valeria said. The Slytherin girls had often whispered about what would
become of them if the Dark Lord won; if they would be paired off into a pureblood marriage
just as Valeria had been with Draco. Valeria already knew of Daphne’s pact with Blaise; that
they would choose each other if it came to that. Valeria was determined to honor it and she
tried to do the same for the others.
“Very well,” Narcissa said, taking Blaise’s file from Valeria. “I’ll make the note and put this
in the piles to send to the Ministry.”

“Pansy Parkinson is next. She’s listed Harper, Pucey and Zabini,” Odessa said. Valeria
reached for Harper’s file. Sure enough, Pansy was atop his list too.

“He’s available. They’ve been friendly with each other in the past. I think they’re
compatible,” Valeria said, handing Narcissa Alexander Harper’s file. She had no clue if it was
a good match. School crushes rarely determined compatibility, and Pansy’s pursuit of Harper
had appeared rushed and done out of fear of being paired off with someone less desirable.
Yet, it was all Valeria could do for Pansy.

“Alright,” Narcissa said, repeating the process with the files as she had with the previous
ones.

There was a knock on the door and Narcissa called them to enter. Narcissa often forgot out of
habit that she was no longer the lady of the house, but Valeria never minded, certainly not
feeling like a grown matron herself. The handle turned and Draco entered followed by a pale,
exhausted looking Lucius. He had looked that way for so long, Valeria had nearly forgotten
what he was once like.

“Sorry to disturb your work. I need to talk to Valeria.” Draco said. Even he looked pale with
dread. Like he already knew this conversation was not going to go well.

“Of course. Time for a break anyway,” Valeria said. They’d been at this for hours and Valeria
had hated each agonizing second, though she was not stupid enough to allow herself to show
it or feel it too deeply. Odessa lovingly squeezed Valeria’s shoulder she left with Narcissa, her
best friend of decades. Odessa smiled softly, serenely, and Valeria was aware of how much
she resembled her mother. It made her all the more resent Odessa, who had trained Valeria for
a life like this. To eventually become her. Lucius was whispering to his wife when Draco shut
the door.

“What’s happened?” Valeria asked, reading Draco’s long expression. She knew that look on
him too well. She had seen it too many times to trick herself into believing this was not bad
news.

“About the marriages. I don’t know how close you are to being done but there’s one that must
occur and is not negotiable.”

Valeria’s heart sank a little, but she had some hope. That was foolish of her. She reached for
the files. “Who then?”

“Pansy and Goyle,” Draco said quietly. Valeria looked at him as if he had transfigured
himself into a flamingo.

“He’s not on her list,” she said stupidly in her bewilderment. She knew Pansy long and well
enough to know that such an obvious fact need not be said. There was no world where Pansy
would want to be with Goyle. She quickly rummaged through the files. “I don’t even have a
file for Goyle.”
“He never submitted his file because he asked the Dark Lord for her specifically,” Draco said,
arms crossed leaning against the door. He could barely manage to meet Valeria’s angry gaze.

“For what? Why?”

“Claiming his reward for aiding in Potter’s capture.” Draco said, wincing a little at the sound
of Potter’s name escaping his lips. Valeria stared dumbfounded at Draco, waiting for
something else. Waiting for him to admit this was a stupid, sick joke he was playing on her.
For some kind of reassurance that this was not the horror she thought it was.

None came.

“There must be another way. The Dark Lord will listen to logic. He doesn’t give a shit about
marriages anyway as long as the bloodlines are intact or improved—”

“Which is exactly why he doesn’t give a shit about Pansy or what she feels or does not feel
about it.”

“Draco. He’s not a schoolyard thug anymore. He’s a monster. You could barely control him
seventh year and in the Room of Requirement…What he did to that muggleborn woman—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does! We can’t—I can’t do this to her!” She paused. “She’s our friend.”

“There isn’t anything I can do. You know that,” he said softly with deep regret on his tongue.
Valeria stood in rage.

“If it’s so easy for you to accept this then you can sit here all day with our mothers and do to
our friends what was done to us like we’re trading goddamn chocolate frog cards!”

Draco stepped from the wall, demeanor suddenly shifting to the frantic, fearful rage that she
too had been familiar with as he marched toward her, stopping just in front of the table
between them.

“Keep your voice down!” he snapped in a rough whisper. “We’re the example, remember?
The only reason this is happening to them too is because of our success. We're the model and
we need to act like it." He paused. “We can’t undo what happened to us but this
marriage...us...it’s the only good thing to come of our lives aside from the fact that we’re
lucky to have our lives at all.”

“We were being punished. What has Pansy done to be punished?”

“She doesn’t deserve it. But the Dark Lord thinks Goyle does.”

“Draco please.” Valeria said nearly in tears for the first time in a long time. “Don’t you wish
someone would have stood up for us?”

“That was back when there was still hope,” he said. He turned on his heel, unable to watch
her cry and be powerless to stop it. He made it a few steps towards the door and stopped with
his fingers on the handle to look over his shoulder at her. His ice-cold eyes bored into her like
an auger.

“We’re all monsters Valeria,” he said.

The official protocol once the marriage arrangements were approved by the new Ministry,
was for letters to be sent to the parents of the unknowing betrothed so it at least appeared as
though the families had a part in the arrangement, as it was in the old days long ago. The
letters were written by Valeria herself, as she had been ordered to do, after the template she
drafted was approved by the ministry’s new Department of Purity.

Valeria reviewed Pansy’s letter feeling like her soul was in a benumbed state of suspended
animation as she waited for the ink to dry:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Perseus Parkinson III,

I am pleased to inform you that the betrothal of your daughter, Miss Pansy Parkinson, to
Master Gregory Goyle has been approved and certified by the Department of Purity.

Please report to the Department of Purity no later than thirty days after receiving this notice
in order to complete the necessary licenses and paperwork required by the wedding date.
Weddings are to be held within six months of completion of that process. Further details are
included with the materials accompanying this letter.

Marriage has truly been the greatest joy of my life. Whilst great change can be surprising,
please know that this decision was made with the utmost care and thoughtfulness for the
happiness of the couple and the prosperity of a pure wizarding world. I can personally attest
to what a blessing and source of pride my own experience has been. I have great hopes for
this couple as well.

My most heartfelt congratulations,

Mrs. Valeria T. Malfoy

The only thing Valeria didn’t despise about the letter was being permitted to sign her first
name; she was usually Mrs. Draco Malfoy in official documents.

Normally this notice would be sent via owl, but the matter of Pansy was too close to her heart
that she was compelled to present the document to her parents in person. It was the only thing
she could do that was in any way right. She appeared before the gates of the Parkinson home.
A handsome brick mansion in the far south of England near the sea. A stone gargoyle above
her began to move and spoke without moving its mouth.

“Name and business.”

“Valeria Malfoy. News regarding Pansy’s betrothal.”

The gargoyle paused and then returned to its position, becoming still once more. The gate
before her opened and Valeria walked up the long stone drive and past the fountain just
outside the house to the doorstep. Valeria hadn’t a chance to knock before the door flew open
and Alice Parkinson, Pansy’s mother, stood wide eyed and gaunt. She had a smile on her face
that made her look like she was wincing.

“I hope I haven’t come at a bad time,” Valeria said lowering the hood of her traveling cloak.

“Not at all Valeria, please come in.” Alice ushered Valeria in and led her to a sitting room
where Perseus Parkinson, a large-boned and tall man, stood as she entered. He nodded to her.

“It’s good to see you again, Valeria,” he said nervously. Valeria reciprocated his greeting and
sat as he gestured to the armchair opposite him. Alice returned with a tray of tea and light
fare that rattled in her shaking hands. Not wanting to torture them with pleasantries and
delaying the inevitable, Valeria handed them the letter she had written and slid the large
envelope of materials towards them on the table.

“Goyle...Thomas’s son? The one who...that Mudblood in Liverpool? Perseus—” Alice said,
unable to finish her thought as she burst into tears. Perseus was pale as he read the letter over.
Goyle’s reputation for cruelty had preceded him.

“Valeria, there must be some mistake. We were sure it was going to be Alexander Harper. He
already bought her a ring...he asked for my blessing even though it didn’t matter.”

The hardness of Valeria’s heart was beginning to crack. “There were many factors taken into
account. This decision comes from the Dark Lord himself.”

“‘There were many factors’?! What kind of meaningless bullish—”

“Alice!” Perseus hissed in warning grabbing his distraught wife’s arm. He looked at Valeria
with tears in his eyes. And it crushed her to realize that these people, whom she had known
since she was a girl, were terrified of her. “Valeria, please. She’s our only child…my little
girl. I knew you weren’t always close but, she’s your housemate. Your friend…Surely your
word would mean something—” he had to stop as he choked back tears.

Valeria swallowed compassion. “If you have any qualms with the decision there is an option
to appeal. That information can be found in here,” Valeria said gesturing to the large
envelope. “I should caution you that the appeal process is primarily for legal purposes as in
forged Proofs of Purity or some other reason why a person cannot legally marry.” It was the
gentlest way she could think of to tell them that the appeal process was a sham put in place to
make people feel better. It was legally airtight and impossible to navigate. Complaining about
disliking a designated spouse would not be taken well, let alone make any headway in the
appeal process.

The Parkinsons processed Valeria’s words for a few moments but said nothing. Valeria took
her cue to leave. She was about to tell them where to go for any questions they had as she
stood when Alice stood too.
“No,” she said, trembling with grief and rage. “You’ll tell her yourself.”

“Alice!”

“If you ever considered my daughter your friend, you will go up there and tell her yourself.”

The two women stared at each other for a moment. Valeria was taken aback, but that was why
she was here after all; to deliver bad news in person. Valeria nodded and left the room,
marching up the stairs to where she remembered Pansy’s room to be from the few times she
visited as a girl.

Pansy opened the door when Valeria knocked and looked immediately relieved. She hugged
Valeria warmly, tightly as if the latter were her rescuer. Valeria tensed in frozen shock. Draco
was the only person who had touched her beyond handshakes in so long. She wasn’t used to
this. Pansy pulled her into the room and closed the door.

“I’m so glad to see you. I’ve been losing my mind ever since this was announced. Thank God
you’re involved. That’s something at least. What is it?”

“Pansy...I’m sorry. It wasn’t up to me,” Valeria said directly, knowing that beating around the
bush would only hurt Pansy more.

Pansy’s expression twisted into terror. “Who?”

“Goyle.”

Pansy took a step backward as if she had been punched in the gut using a bedpost for support.
The room hadn’t changed much since the girls were fourteen. It was still covered in pink and
purple. There was a large, poster sized photograph of Pansy on the wall with a beautiful
unicorn. Pansy adored unicorns. This was not the room of a woman ready to be married.

“You have to do something.”

“There’s nothing I can do,” Valeria said.

“But...Harper...”

“Will be paired with another.”

“Valeria, please—”

“Pans—”

“He’s horrible. You know he is. I read those articles. Everyone knows what he does to
people! He’s hideous, he’s disgusting. The thought of him touching me—” She started
sobbing. Valeria reached out to her, but Pansy slapped her arm away hard. “Don’t you dare
touch me!”

Valeria stepped back.

“All we ever did when it happened to you was worry and try to help. We listened to you
mope and whine that whole year. I yelled at Malfoy for you once, did he ever tell you that?
Now it’s happening to us and all you have to say is there’s nothing you can do? Did you even
try?”

“I did!” It just burst out of Valeria’s mouth. She was angry both on Pansy’s behalf and at
herself for not being able to more. “I tried, but it came from the Dark Lord himself. There is
absolutely nothing I could do.” Pansy stared at Valeria as if waiting for her to say something.
“Take my advice. The sooner you accept this, the better off—”

Pansy cackled through her sobs. “Accept it like you did? All you and Draco did was plot and
scheme and try to worm your way out of it, like you always do! What, you thought we didn’t
notice? You think you’re so clever and perfect, that you can keep your secrets, but you’re not
as good as you think. You’re pathetic! You had it all and now look at you, Malfoy’s
submissive little bitch! If the old you could see you now she’d kill herself to avoid turning
out like you!”

Valeria was wounded. She hated that part of what Pansy said, the spirit of it, was true. She
turned before she could do anything she would regret.

“Goodbye, Pansy.”

It had been tradition since they were eleven years old. All the Slytherin students of their year
gathered for a picture in the common room at the start of each schoolyear. Valeria hardly ever
looked at the old photographs, but she studied it now in a parlor room of the north wing of
Malfoy Manor.

It was sixth year. Pansy had insisted on taking it, roping some first year into holding the
camera, and Valeria now wondered if she’d be arranging that first year’s marriage someday, if
they were still alive. Valeria didn’t want to pose for the picture. She was miserable in the
picture, grieving, worried about Draco after what happened on the train.

Pansy was loud. Bright of spirit. Happy. She was rude. She was mean. She was petty. She
could be downright cruel. She didn’t deserve this. Valeria still cared and hated herself for
caring, revolted by her own unscarred face looking miserably back at her from the
photograph. The photo became blurry as tears welled in her eyes and she hadn’t noticed the
door creak open. Draco walked in, crouching at her feet, his hands gently on her knees.

“Valeria...” he said. Just the sound of his voice sent her over the edge, and she began to sob.

“I feel like I’ve killed her,” Valeria said through tears.

“You haven’t. There’s nothing you can do.”

“She’ll never forgive me. I can’t forgive myself.”

“You don’t have to forgive yourself, you just have to learn to live with it,” Draco said softly.
She looked at him, seeing his own sadness. She knew better than to ask if this is how he felt
when he handed Potter over to Voldemort. If it was anything like what she felt now…

“You’re not a woman. You can’t understand,” she said.

Draco nodded slightly, taking her meaning. He curled his lip inward, suppressing the urge to
once again express his own helpless sadness when they were first married, but wisely kept it
to himself.

“I’ll talk to Goyle. I’ll tell him to be patient with her. I’ll tell him not to hurt her. I can’t
guarantee anything but—”

“What if it were me, Draco?”

He paused, then looked at her. “I’d kill him.”

He said it so casually that she believed he could kill just as easily as he could blink.

Pansy’s wedding had been more miserable than Valeria and Draco’s. It was bigger, more
guests, but Valeria was preoccupied with Pansy who looked like an animated corpse the
entire day and evening. Valeria had been called upon to give a speech, honoring the event in
light of her own arranged marriage. Pansy’s mother wept as Valeria spoke. Pansy’s father
looked like was about to kill Valeria where she stood.

During a break in the reception, Valeria approached Pansy whilst Goyle was mingling. Pansy
just stared at her, affronted by Valeria’s audacity. Valeria discreetly slid a small parcel
wrapped in white paper across the table to Pansy.

“Drink this tonight when you leave,” Valeria said. Pansy just looked at her with disgust. “One
sip and you won’t cry. Three sips and you won’t remember anything tonight.”

“You make it?” Pansy asked, barely above a whisper. Valeria nodded. She had worked
tirelessly on it in time leading up to Pansy’s wedding. “I made sure it’ll work. None of the
tests I did showed risk of adverse effects.”

“What is it?”

“The Wife’s Relief,” Valeria said; the morbid name she had given the potion. Pansy
swallowed and with a shaking hand took the parcel into her lap to hide it. Valeria turned, not
wanting to subject Pansy to her unwanted presence any longer.

“Valeria,” Pansy called. Valeria turned around and reapproached. Pansy leaned forward
across the table and whispered. “What was it like? The night of…? With you and Draco?”

Valeria curled her lip inward. She needed to choose her words carefully. Pansy was not
known for minding her tongue and being as rightfully distraught as she was, she was
unpredictable and therefore dangerous.
“He was kind to me,” Valeria answered. A half-truth that Pansy accepted with a downtrodden
nod.

July 2002

“She’s not going to be happy to see me,” Valeria said to Daphne as the two women made
their way up the long drive to Pansy and Gregory Goyle’s hauntingly stately home, holding
several gifts in hand from the other wives for the baby a few months after the initial
pregnancy announcement.

“The more she sees of you, the more likely she’ll be to reach out to you if she actually needs
help. She might hate you, but she knows that you still have more influence than all of us,”
Daphne said bluntly. Valeria knew Daphne was right as she often was, but she still had a bad
feeling about this. Daphne had managed to keep on Pansy’s good side, despite the latter’s
deep envy of the former. Daphne was trying to keep an eye on her, to keep her as safe as they
could without tipping of Gregory.

Daphne knocked. No answer.

She knocked again. No answer.

“We can at least drop the gifts off if she’s out,” Valeria said.

“She never leaves the house,” Daphne said. Daphne reached for the handle and opened the
front doors to the darkened foyer. The women stepped inside the eerily silent home and on
the ground was a piece of parchment in the center of the foyer. Valeria set down the gifts she
carried and walked toward it, uncrumpling it once she had it in hand.

Before she could read it, there was a creaking sound overhead. And Valeria looked up.

Pansy Goyle gently swung, hanging limp by her neck from the chandelier above, made off
balance by the weight of her corpse. Valeria screamed and it was then that Daphne saw too.
Daphne rushed Valeria, who doubled over, sobbing and dry heaving, forcing the latter’s gaze
away from the sight. Even Daphne, who had been training as a Healer for over a year now,
could not maintain clinical emotional distance, as hard as she tried. She dragged Valeria, who
sobbed and violently trembled into the other room and activated the floo network of the
nearby fireplace, knowing Valeria was too distressed to apparate without risking splinching.

“I’m sending you home. I’ll get Draco to you as soon as I can, just go home!” Daphne said.
Valeria could not see clearly through her tears, she only saw a blur of light and tripped out of
the fireplace into the familiar north wing of Malfoy Manor. She landed hard on her hands and
knees and she lost control of herself as she dry heaved hard enough to retch all over the stone
floor before her. Her head throbbed and her face was wet with tears, mucus, spit or vomit or
some revolting combination thereof.

Tinky popped into the room, calling out for her, but Valeria barely made out what was said.
Tinky vanished away the vomit, fortunately and reached out to Valeria, but she recoiled from
the touch.

“Milly, the Goyle house elf, told Tinky! Tinky has sent for Master Malfoy! Mistress, please
let Tinky help you to—” Tinky was stopped by another pop into the room. Draco had
apparated in and nearly shoved Tinky out of the way on accident as he rushed to his wife on
the stone floor.

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m here…” he repeated over and over, sitting on the ground and pulling
her into his arms. He held her tight to his chest, his hand in her hair. She shook violently as
she sobbed into his chest. He hadn’t seen her like this in a long time, despite the dozens of
deaths she had witnessed. “I got you. I got you. I’ve always got you...” She clung to his chest
and he reached for her hand to find a crumpled parchment in her grasp. Holding her still, he
folded it with difficulty with one hand to read it,

Fetal Gender Determination:

Girl
 Malfoy the Merciful
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Implied/Referenced rape. Domestic/spousal abuse. Graphic

description of violence. Discussion of suicide. Mild consensual sexual content.
Discussion of war/death.

August 1998

Valeria had been quite angry with Draco when he said that moving back to her home in Wales
was not an option. The Dark Lord wanted them in Wiltshire. Before the war’s conclusion,
Draco had said that Wales was an option, but because of Draco’s newfound value to the Dark
Lord, that hope was dashed, like all the others. She was in no position to make demands, but
there were conditions,

1. Valeria would refuse to enter the drawing room or the cellar unless explicitly ordered
by the Dark Lord.
2. Bellatrix Lestrange was not permitted onto the Malfoy estate unless absolutely
necessary.

Narcissa had been upset about the second condition, but as Draco was in command of the
estate, there was nothing she could do and, in all honesty, he had no desire to see his aunt
either. Narcissa was welcome to visit Bellatrix whenever she pleased. Valeria had hoped
Odessa would return to Wales, but Odessa was too unstable to be left alone for too long.
Keeping her in Malfoy Manor would allow her to keep busy. Konstantin, Valeria’s brother
and Odessa’s only other child, was buried in the courtyard of the small Welsh castle there and
Valeria doubted Odessa could emotionally handle being too close to his grave for too long.

Draco had accommodated Valeria as best he could. The north wing was spacious enough for
her to roam freely without interruption, and the rest of the estate was also available to her. He
had become almost irrationally protective of her in the months following the war and Valeria
didn’t have to ask why. They had been so close to losing each other and he had traded
Potter’s life for hers. He told her once and only once about what had happened with Potter,
but he never told her Potter’s last words,

Draco…You’re making a mistake.

He would not allow Potter to be right. If Draco could keep Valeria safe than perhaps his evil
act would not be in vain. Valeria indulged Draco’s protection, hoping someday he would
calm down. Draco knocked on the door in the late morning before entering the master
chamber, which they had recently moved into.
“Are you ready?” he asked. Valeria looked in the mirror, doing one final check of her
glamours. She had done a little more work than usual for the purposes of being
photographed. Odessa had forced both Konstantin and Valeria to wear magical, appearance
altering cosmetics since they were children. Valeria had never, before the war at least,
stepped out without looking less than perfect. Freakishly, eerily perfect like a porcelain doll.
Appearances were everything to the Winters family and so was maintaining good repute at
any cost. During the war the glamours were her trusty shield, the mask that protected her.
Now, there was just one problem that ate at her each time she looked in the mirror.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, rising to meet him. They made their way down to a parlor
room.

“I’ve already talked to her about what she can ask and print. I’ll be in there with you the
entire time,” Draco said as they came to the room. Valeria nodded and Draco opened the
door. Rita Skeeter was in the room laughing with Valeria’s ever elegant mother. The two of
them had always gotten on; Rita only sung the praises of the Winters for most of her
journalistic career.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Rita said, approaching Valeria and taking her hand in greeting. “As lovely as
ever.”

Rita was staring at Valeria, the latter watched the former’s eyes follow the jagged, diagonal
scar across her face. It was all most saw when they looked at her and unable to be covered by
glamours or cosmetic charms, due to being created by dark magic. That was the entire point.
It was exactly what Bellatrix wanted when she cut Valeria’s face. In fairness, it was a
haunting image. With the glamours on, the scar looked like a long crack in a marble statue,
no matter how much she tried to cover it. Odessa wept the first time she saw it in the flesh,
bemoaning the tragedy of her daughter’s tarnished face and not for her daughter’s pain.

Rita said nothing about it, Valeria imagined Draco had expressly forbidden it. They took their
places in the parlor for the interview. It was near Draco and Valeria’s first wedding
anniversary and Odessa had the idea of running an article about them for the sake of public
relations in the New Order. Draco tried to fight it, but the order to go forward with the
interview came from above.

Draco dismissed Odessa to her dismay, but she wasn’t about to fight him. He stood behind
Rita, watching what was written in her notes and Rita was visibly uneasy with him hovering,
though she dared not protest. The mark on Draco’s arm now protected Valeria as it had
damned her before.

The questions were tedious; How does it feel to have been married a whole year? You have
proven that tradition can prevail above all else in the name of love. How have you been
recovering from your kidnapping? Does it make you anxious knowing that two of your
captors, Weasley and the Mudblood Granger are still at large? Can we expect a new
generation of Malfoys anytime soon?

Valeria dutifully answered in compliance with the story that she and Draco agreed would be
the official one; Her memory was oddly fuzzy about many of the details anyway.
“And Harry Potter, how did you manage surviving as his captive? Did he…Did he try to
violate you?”

“Skeeter!” Draco shouted before Valeria could respond or even recoil in disgust at the
implication. Rita nearly jumped out of his skin at the volume of his voice.

“My apologies Mr. Malfoy,” she quickly said. “It is a rumor I have heard, and I merely
wanted to clear the air—”

“He kidnapped me to use as a bargaining chip, Miss Skeeter,” Valeria interrupted. “Potter was
a fool but knew it would be better to have me…undefiled.” Valeria looked at Draco who held
his hand to his chin, expression twisted in rage, staring intently at Rita’s notes as if he wanted
the woman to drop dead. This was all part of the plan and Rita was part of it too; paint Potter
to be as much of a villain as possible. He needed to be a monster that wanted to tear the
traditions of the wizarding world asunder. A young, pureblood witch of good intelligence and
reasonable attractiveness was the perfect vehicle to defame Potter.

The photographs were next. They were posed before the great double door of Malfoy Manor
and a jittery photographer took their pictures as Draco held his hand heavy on Valeria’s waist.

July 2002

Two days after the suicide of Pansy Goyle, Valeria sat, wrapped in her dressing gown before
the fireplace, looking at Skeeter’s old article, reading it over and over.

Mrs. Draco Malfoy speaks with resounding pride for her war hero husband, who she is
grateful to be reunited with. Thanks to Mr. Malfoy’s heroic act at the Battle of Hogwarts and
the Dark Lord’s triumph, she is safe and sound at home, taking the time she needs to recover
from the many trials she had courageously endured throughout the war. To us, she is a
bastion of feminine strength and a model to young ladies everywhere. She is the very image of
grace and it is clear that Mr. Malfoy is an incredibly lucky man. It is no wonder he fought so
hard to recover his dearly beloved bride from enemy terrorists. The bond between these two
noble youths is forged by tradition and their mutual desire to maintain traditional ways and
values in the wizarding world.

She sighed, unable to stomach anymore of the nonsense and she folded the old newspaper
over to look at their image. They looked so much older than they were at time. Perhaps it was
the stuffy clothes or their stiff postures, but something about them had aged far beyond their
years. Skeeter had been right about one thing; she was incredibly lucky to have Draco. The
fact that Pansy had to suffer whilst she never had anything to fear from Draco made her feel
ill with even more guilt. She was torn from her thoughts when Draco entered the chamber.

“Daphne’s here to see you. She’s waiting in the parlor. I had Tinky set out some food for you
both,” Draco said. She didn’t respond. Draco sighed. “Valeria, if you don’t start eating
soon…”
“Let me change first,” she said quietly, rising from her seat.

“You don’t have to. Daphne doesn’t care. She understands. Just go talk to her, please?” Draco
said. Valeria nodded and followed Draco out to the parlor, and he kept his hand on the small
of her back as they walked. “I’ll let you ladies talk. Summon Tinky if you need anything.”

“Malfoy, you should stay. You should hear this too,” Daphne said.

“What’s happened?” Valeria asked.

“I haven’t submitted the report yet, the examination isn’t finished, but I didn’t know what
else to do. It was between you or Snape, and I thought I’d come to you first.”

“Just tell us, Greengrass,” Draco said.

“I insisted on helping with the autopsy. We’ve detected a high level of unicorn blood in
Pansy’s system,” Daphne said. Valeria’s heart sunk down her chest.

“What? What the hell would she be drinking that for? How would she even get a hold of
any?!” Draco asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. This is really serious, given how controlled it is. Valeria, do
you know anything? Why would Pansy do this?”

“Maybe she…attempted before and changed her mind,” Draco suggested.

“Snape…Snape said there were three vials unaccounted for, missing. He asked if I knew
anything about it, which I obviously didn’t,” Valeria said.

“That would explain why the levels were so high,” Daphne said.

“But that doesn’t explain how it got in the hands of Pansy of all people,” said Draco.

“Daphne, did they find anything else? A note maybe…explaining why?” Valeria asked. It
was the question that had been eating at her for two days. One of the worst days of Pansy’s
life, the day Valeria delivered the news of her marriage to Goyle, was to Valeria a mere
uncomfortable errand. Pansy’s wedding was to Valeria a simple society event that required
her to perform for a few hours.

The gravity of what Valeria had done, how so thoroughly used she was as an instrument of
pain and suffering, rotted her soul. She had been so concerned with getting by, getting herself
through the next miserable day that she had never considered, truly considered, what it was
she did. Even at Pansy’s wedding she had hardly thought of her own. She had not recalled her
own fear of Draco when it came time to retire that night, and the immense relief she felt at his
refusal to touch her. All she did was pay her own pain forward.

“Other than that natal document you found, no,” Daphne said before taking a breath. “There
was one thing. She was nervous leading up to the appointment to find out the gender of the
baby and mentioned to me that she was terrified of having a girl."
“Why?” Draco asked.

“Because she would have to go through it all again, at least until she had a boy,” Daphne said.
It clicked in Valeria’s mind. Her absentminded comment at the execution some time back had
been more relevant than she could have then known. “Listen, I’m sorry. I can’t stay. I have to
get back, but I wanted to ask before the report is finalized and sent to the Ministry. I’ll talk to
you soon, Valeria. Let me know if you think of anything.”

Daphne made her exit and left the Malfoys in stunned silence. Valeria wracked her brain. She
highly doubted Pansy was going around killing unicorns; she loved them. And there was
almost no way for her to even attempt to acquire such a controlled substance. Pansy was no
potions expert, but she wasn’t dumb enough to drink it unless she absolutely had to. It was
clear she was miserable already; it would make no sense for her make her life worse than it
already was. Draco’s suggestion sunk into her mind, only…

“Goyle did it,” Valeria said.

“What?”

“If she did attempt before, why would she save herself with unicorn blood only to do it
again? Why would she need three vials of it? Goyle must have known she’d try it, or he
caught her in the act, and he forced her to drink it.”

“But why wouldn’t he just heal her if he caught her or call a Healer? Unicorn blood would
have to be a last resort,” Draco said.

“A last resort that he so conveniently had on hand,” Valeria said. Draco thought and tears
welled in Valeria’s eyes again. “Draco, you could see what he did to her. We all could. You
know…”

Draco’s fists were clenched as he tensed his crossed arms. “He was punishing her.” His voice
was low and dark. Without another word he turned and briskly walked out of the room.
Valeria chased after him, following him all the way back to the master chambers calling his
name. In their quarters, he was changing into a set of jet-black robes he often wore on duty.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting to the bottom of this,” he said.

“Let me come with you.”

“No!”

“She was my friend, Draco!” she shouted. He rushed to her as he finished dressing. His
stone-colored eyes were intense with rage, barely bridled.

“This is between me and him. You’re staying,” he insisted. He released her and picked up his
wand.

“Draco,” she said. He turned. “Kill him.”

“If it comes to that, I will.”

Goyle wasn’t home yet when Draco arrived. Getting in was easy. Goyle had been arrogant,
too stupid to listen to Snape’s recommendation for protective enchantments for Death Eaters
to place on their private residences. Draco quickly and safely stunned the house elf before
searching the home. Sure enough, in a cabinet in the cellar, three vials of a silvery liquid, one
was half-gone. Unicorn blood.

Draco saw red. He nearly crushed one of the vials in his gloved hand. Something snapped in
him that had been lying dormant.

He grabbed the vials and went back upstairs to stand in the foyer directly under the
chandelier from which Pansy hanged herself. And he waited. He did not keep track of how
long he waited, but when he heard the front door unlatch, he cracked his neck and rolled his
shoulders back.

“Malfoy? What’re you—?”

Goyle had no time to finish his sentence when Draco met his eyes and invaded his mind.
Legilimency had part been part of his training. The Dark Lord saw to it that Snape taught
Draco the skill, particularly given how well Draco took to Occlumency. Goyle stood no
chance against Draco and his single-minded determination.

In Goyle’s mind, Draco saw every act of cruelty Goyle had committed against Pansy. Draco
saw Goyle’s insatiable desire for violence. How he never cared how long or hard Pansy cried.
How he punished her. How she was, to Goyle, a mere plaything to brutalize. Even Draco in
his own life, his own marriage, by some miracle made room for tenderness in the never-
ending darkness. Pansy never received a single ounce of it since the day she married.

Draco had seen enough. He could no longer endure it and when he released Goyle from the
mental hold, the latter immediately drew his wand. In Goyle’s confusion, he was much too
slow, and Draco deftly disarmed him. With a flick of his wand aimed at Goyle’s throat, Draco
employed what had become his wife’s signature curse; Obfocia or the Strangulation Curse.

Goyle’s hands went to his throat, pawing at an invisible rope that constricted his breathing,
gasping and gagging, throat crackling as he tried to inhale. Draco’s hold was strong enough
that, raising his wand a little, he could lift Goyle a few inches off the ground.

“Do you think this is how she felt, Goyle?” Draco asked, mocking his former friend. When
Goyle’s eyes began to bulge and his lips went blue Draco released the strangle hold and
slammed Goyle to the marble floor. As Goyle gasped, Draco waved his wand and
manipulated Goyle’s body to lie on his back and magically pinned him to the marble. Draco
stood over Goyle, looming while the wind swept in from the open door, shaking the
chandelier above them so that the crystals sounded like the chattering of teeth.

“Did you think you’d get away with it?” Draco asked. He stomped on Goyle’s nose, breaking
it under his heel.
“Fucking lunatic—!” Goyle shouted through the pain and the gasping, still trying to recover
his breath. “Why’re you—”

Draco leaned over and grabbed Goyle’s jaw hard. “You think I’m a lunatic? You think that
you don’t deserve it? You cursed the life of a pureblood witch. How do you think the Dark
Lord is going to react when I tell him what you’ve done?”

Goyle’s eyes widened with fear at Draco’s implication. “There’re are other women—”

“Not enough,” Draco spat. “She was your reward, remember? You disrespected and
dishonored the Dark Lord’s generous gift that you asked for. I can’t imagine a world where
he doesn't take offense.”

“Then tell him, fucking coward—”

Draco released Goyle’s head to the ground and stomped on his right hand while Goyle
shouted in pain. “Still as stupid as ever. Some things just refuse to change. I’m not here for
the Dark Lord. I’m here for Pansy. I’m here for me.”

“What do you care about Pans—?”

Draco grabbed Goyle by the collar, his blond hair now falling messily in his face. “She was
one of our own! We grew up with her and you killed her! My wife had to find her right there!”
Draco was yelling at the top of his lungs, unleashing years of resentment and rage all on
Goyle, pointing up at the chandelier hovering above them.

“I don’t give a shit about Winters—”

“Liar!” Draco yelled. “I’ve seen the way you looked at her for years. The way you leered at
her, your little comments on her being the ‘best looking girl in our year.’ The way you pried,
asking me what it was like to be married to her in seventh year. What? You think I wouldn’t
remember? You think I wouldn’t hold it against you? You think I didn’t fantasize about
killing you every time I saw you smile at her the way you did? You think I can’t invade your
mind right now and truly see every sick fucking thought you’ve ever had about my wife? Did
you think I’d let you get away with it forever?”

If Draco allowed himself to unravel anymore, he believed he would start foaming at the
mouth in frenzied rage. It wasn’t rational; He was here for Pansy, but he was weak of resolve.
He was losing control. If Goyle made one more comment…

“You’re the same as me, Malfoy. Do you think Winters wanted to marry you? Don’t act like
you didn’t enjoy having her just like I—”

Draco stomped on Goyle’s left hand, feeling the fingers crack between his shoe and the stone.

“You think you’re a big man now, Malfoy?” Goyle said before Draco could verbally retaliate.
"You’ve been married all this time and haven’t even gotten an heir out of her yet. What does
Lucius think about that, Draco? Is the Malfoy line a bit too pure to make it happen—”
Draco stepped back and set his foot on top of Goyle’s groin. “And what kind of man can only
it get it by force, Goyle? I never had to force her and I never will.” Draco pressed down on
Goyle’s groin. “And if you keep talking, it’s your bloodline you’re going to have to worry
about.” Draco felt guilty saying what he did; He had always been notoriously discreet about
his private life with his wife. He removed one of the vials of unicorn blood from his pocket.
“Here’s how this is going to go, Goyle. You’re going to drink this or I’m going to kill you.”

Goyle laughed. “You think you’d get away with killing me?!”

“Yes, I absolutely do. You’re good at torturing our enemies, but so are the rest of us. You
won’t be missed long.”

“You’re full of shit!”

“You think so?” Draco pressed hard on Goyle’s groin while the latter squirmed in agony
before stepping away. He aimed his wand overhead. “That’s where my wife found yours.
That was what I always liked most about Pansy; She always appreciated irony.” Draco
flicked his wand and the chandelier rapidly descended, suddenly Goyle was screaming with
terror. Draco halted the chandelier, levitating it in the air. “Call my bluff!”

“Draco…After everything…All those years at school…”

Draco let out a laugh with a small huff. “What about school, Goyle? I kept you around
because you were useful. That’s all. Did you think we were equals? Honestly, Goyle, don’t
pretend you were a friend to me either. You hung around me because of who I was, let me
order you around because of who I was. Just like now, you take the orders of better men
because that’s who you are. A pathetic little parasite who’ll blindly obey anyone who lets you
have your fun. It’s too damn easy.”

Draco wasn’t telling the whole truth. He did, at one point, consider Goyle and Crabbe to be
his true friends. But none of that mattered now. The boy who called Goyle friend had been
dead for years, inurned deep within Draco’s soul, never to rise again.

Draco released only Goyle’s right arm from the pinning spell and forced the vial into Goyle’s
injured hand. “Drink it, or it drops. It’s your choice.”

Goyle struggled to bring the open vial to his lips and stared intensely into Draco’s eyes. Just
before the drop at the edge of the vial was about to slip into Goyle’s mouth, his lips twisted
shut and he slammed the vial onto the floor, shattering it on the marble. Draco flung the
floating chandelier into the grand staircase to their left with a booming crash and rushed
Goyle. He grabbed Goyle by the back of the head and slammed the latter’s face into the pool
of unicorn blood and shattered glass. Goyle wailed in agony as Draco smothered his face into
the unicorn blood, and only lifted his head to absolutely ensure the silver liquid had reached
Goyle’s lips.

Satisfied with the state of his former friend and finally feeling his pounding heart begin to
settle, Draco dropped Goyle and rose.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Goyle,” Draco said, brushing his hair out of his face.
When Draco returned to Malfoy Manor, Valeria stopped pacing. Her heart had been pounding
the entire time, immediately regretting letting him go alone, contemplating whether or not
she should join him. Draco appeared in their quarters and immediately removed his gloves
that had touched the unicorn blood and tossed them into the fire. He was due for a new pair
anyway and wasn’t going to risk having them around. He shed his traveling cloak, draping it
over the back of a chair. He hadn’t realized how warm he was until he was standing before
the fire.

She saw him nearly silhouetted, partially illuminated by dancing firelight. The sweat on his
brow glistened some and he was breathing heavy still, absolutely disheveled. He stretched his
arm to grab the mantle and leaned over the fire. Valeria rushed to him, embracing him from
behind.

“Are you hurt?”

He shook his head.

“There’s blood on your shoes.”

He looked down, noticing it for the first time. “Not mine.” He turned to face her and reached
into his pockets to hand her two sealed vials, one of which was half empty, of unicorn blood.
“You should get these to Snape tomorrow. I’ll tell him the details when I see him next.”

“Where’s the third?”

“Spilled. Shattered on Goyle’s floor. I left him in it.”

“You killed him?” she asked in shock.

“Worse. Forced him to ingest it,” he said nodding to the unicorn blood. “Your gut was right.
He forced Pansy to drink it after she tried to kill herself the first time. She was injured bad,
but from what I could tell, there would have been time to save her if Goyle called a Healer. I
saw it in his mind; he did it to torment her.” Draco watched Valeria’s mouth twist in rage.
“It’s over. I took care of it.”

“Are you going to get in trouble for this?”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I thought I would. Goyle’s a glorified Snatcher, only good for
flinging curses and torturing prisoners. He’s muscle; pure, simple and expendable. The Dark
Lord might not have had a personal stake in Pansy’s life, but pureblood witches are not to be
harmed without cause. His marriage was a reward, and he squandered the Dark Lord’s gift.
Though, I think what I did to Goyle was worse than what the Dark Lord would have done,”
Draco said.

She huffed and set the vials on an end table, going back to embrace him and resting her head
on his chest. “Malfoy the Merciless.”
“So it would seem,” he said. He held her softly, gently, resting his own exhausted head
briefly atop hers for a moment. He leaned back and gently touched the fingers of his right
hand, warmed by the mantlepiece he had leaned against, under her chin. “Look at me,” he
asked of her, whispering. There was something pleading in his tone, as if begging her to tell
him he did something right for once.

She obliged him. Backlit by fire, his white hair caught the flames and it almost appeared as if
his head was ablaze in a beautiful, ethereal way. He stunk of blood, of sweat and that damn
cologne he had never changed since he was a teenager. His pointed features caught the
shadows of the room in such a way to make look like his face were cut from stone. His left
thumb came to the bottom of her chin and he ran it along a portion of the diagonal scar that
ran across her entire face, the souvenir from Bellatrix Lestrange.

His thumb grazed her soft lower lip and desire awakened in him. He only felt softness when
he touched her, and he craved it greedily. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her long
and deep. Propriety lost the battle to the passions as they sunk to the floor, him supporting her
on the way down. She stopped him as he settled on top of her.

“Slow this time. Like it used to be,” she said. He nodded and kissed her again, knowing only
one thing for absolute certain; No monster in this world could have her, save for him.
 An Honor to Serve
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Graphic depictions of death and violence. Blood.

Torture/suffering. Consensual sexual content.

May 2, 1998

To the day he died, Draco hated the smell of blood. Even a papercut would send him back to
the Battle of Hogwarts in his mind’s eye.

He may have been responsible for Harry Potter’s death, but that was not Draco’s first murder.

After his short-lived reunion with his wife, from whom it pained him to tear himself away, he
came back to Hogwarts as the massacre occurred in the Great Hall. He had half a mind to
take her and run to the farthest corner of the earth, but he knew all too well, especially after
what he had done, that they would be hunted in perpetuity until it was their turn to die at the
Dark Lord’s hand. He had handed over Potter for Valeria and he returned for her too.

Draco felt his mother’s hand grasp his so hard he thought his fingers would break as the
massacre turned the floor of the Great Hall red, Harry Potter’s corpse levitating overhead as a
trophy. Remus Lupin was handed over to Greyback and ripped apart, limb from limb; His
parts turned to indistinguishable mush on the floor.

The Weasleys were next.

Charlie refused to bow to the Dark Lord, and for that the Dark Lord magically cut him in half
whilst his parents wailed in agony. Bill was next and looking his wife in the eye, refused too
to bow. He suffered the same fate. Percy was bloodily murdered for his betrayal of his post at
the Ministry. Dolohov trotted out one of the twins, Fred if Draco remembered correctly, into
the Hall and toyed with him until the other twin, George, stepped forward and knelt in his
brothers’ blood to the Dark Lord. The parents were still screaming. Draco looked down,
trying to tune it out, watching the blood flow past his shoes.

The Weasley girl was hysterical with grief, so much so it was unclear what she wanted to do;
Die with her brothers or live for vengeance. Ron Weasley was notably absent, but Draco only
noticed that for a moment. Before she was called upon to make her loyalties known, Arthur
Weasley stood before the Dark Lord and pledged his family’s loyalty. But the Dark Lord must
have known it was only to save what little remained of his clan and magically pinned Arthur
face down to the floor, forcing him to drown in the blood of his sons.
But it didn’t stop. It never stopped. In Draco’s nightmares, as the years dragged on, the
massacre carried on without end. The Dark Lord quickly grew bored of doing all the work.
The Death Eaters, Draco’s comrades were eager to do his dirty work, but Draco had to be
called upon. Justin Finch-Fletchley was forced to his knees before Draco and Bellatrix
whispered in his ear,

“Make him suffer, Draco.”

And Draco did what he was told. He used a simple cutting charm to slit Justin’s throat. Just as
his body fell, Dean Thomas was shoved before Draco to do the same.

By the end of the night, the night Draco Malfoy died in all ways save for in body, he was
covered in the blood of nearly all those he once claimed to despise.

When it was over, though it was only the beginning, Draco retreated directly to his and
Valeria’s chamber in Malfoy Manor. She had hidden herself under the covers, limp and
lifeless and he saw only death. He saw only the stacks of corpses in the Great Hall, he saw
only the small splash and large crash Potter’s body made as the Dark Lord let it drop on top
of them. In his mind’s eye, he saw Valeria’s corpse amongst them, like the crown jewel of the
Dark Lord’s cruelty, and he lost himself.

He threw himself over her onto the bed, rousing her to wake, startling her. He screamed her
name until his throat hurt, shaking her roughly until he realized with horrific relief that she
was alive but now terrified. She looked at him, propping himself up on top of her, in the faint
lanternlight seeing his face splattered with dried blood, nearly panting.

He was the only thing between her and the cruel world that was rising with the dawn.

“Draco…” she whispered softly.

At the sound of his own name, he burst into tears, wetting the blood dried to his cheeks. And
his tears ran red as they fell onto her own cheeks before she took him to her chest and cradled
his head in her arms as he wailed.

Late August 2002

Valeria had many duties in the Dark Lord’s new world. Officially, the first was to carry out
the Dark Lord’s will, as was everyone’s. The second was to use her interests and talents in
Dark Arts and higher mysteries in the crafting of new potions and curses to aid the regime in
their efforts to expand their control of the wizarding world at large. The third was to assist in
the arrangement of marriages, when needed. The fourth was to save face as a model Death
Eater wife. The fifth was to maintain the Malfoy household in accordance with the needs and
societal standards that she herself had a hand in setting.
Above all of these, the secret duty of her soul was to Draco as they once vowed and even
now vowed over and over again.

But today’s duties, as summer began its descent into autumn, was to host afternoon tea with
the ladies of the highest ranks of pureblood society. It was a weekly event, but this one was
extra special as the young women about to enter their final year of Hogwarts were invited to
attend. That had been the brilliant idea of Valeria’s mother, as if anyone else could come up
with an idea so tedious.

Valeria actually didn’t mind parties but playing hostess to overly made-up schoolgirls who
treated a simple tea party as some sort of twisted networking gala was not an event she
enjoyed. In truth, the girls were only a few years younger than her. In a few years, it would be
a negligible difference of age, but Valeria had aged too much in the past years to vaguely
relate to them. These young women were old enough to remember Harry Potter, old enough
to have passed him in the corridors on the way to class. Some of them may have even been
his housemates, as the Dark Lord had united the school under the Slytherin banner. It was
hard to tell which would have been sorted into Slytherin on their own qualities and those who
weren’t.

“God, they’re ravenous,” Daphne said, finally catching Valeria alone. “That one just cornered
me for five minutes to give me a lecture on Goblins.”

“More interesting than what that one put me through,” Valeria said quietly, nodding towards
another young woman whose name she forgot. “She just told me which boys she liked and
why she would be compatible with them. They’re already worried about who they’ll marry.”

“In their defense, so was I as soon as the posters of your wedding went up all over Diagon
Alley,” Daphne said. So much had happened that Valeria nearly forgot about that. Hers and
Draco’s austere wedding picture was printed on posters with the call; KEEP BLOODLINES
PURE. PAIR EARLY WITH THOSE LOYAL TO THE CAUSE. FOLLOW THE MALFOY
EXAMPLE.

“I forgot I was already married at their age,” Valeria said.

“Time flies,” Daphne said with a beleaguered sigh.

The students were annoying, like circling birds of prey swooping down on any opportunity to
make an impression, overdoing it as they did, but Valeria could hardly blame them. This
world was about survival. She was only breathing because of sheer chance, and because of
Draco, and she considered herself amongst the lucky ones. Under the smiles, the platitudes,
the fine clothing and made-up faces were terrified teenagers desperately trying to find a
stable place in this world to call home, much like Valeria herself was just a few years ago.

The tea party did however provide an excellent opportunity to learn about how Hogwarts had
been rebuilt after she endured her tenure at the institution.

Snape was Headmaster, though his duties as the Dark Lord’s right-hand man often called him
away from his post, leaving much of the running of the school to the Carrows. Most of the
faculty had been loyal to Potter and needed replacements, though a few managed to survive
and keep their posts. Slughorn, of course, remained. The Dark Lord wanted to keep Trelawny
around too. Vector, Binns, and even Hagrid stayed on as gamekeeper by some miracle.

She, fortunately, had not been there to witness the deaths of many of the other staff. Draco
told her the nightmare that occurred once and never again. No one knew where McGonagall
was, though Draco insisted matter was being pursued. The last Draco saw of her was when
she was compelled to burn Dumbledore’s portrait. Sprout was murdered. Flitwick was
murdered. Others too.

Apparently, the houses that weren’t Slytherin were stripped of their décor. Any evidence of
the other three houses ever existing was gone. The Sorting Hat had been retired and Snape
had given it to Valeria to store in the basement of the Winters castle as an historical artifact.
Other than being one of the most magically secure places in Britain, she had no idea why
Snape would want to keep the thing, now useless, around.

All the women looked up when the door opened and the young guests smiled politely at
Draco as he entered the room. Valeria knew his entrance could not bring good news as Draco
would never interrupt an event like this unless he had to. He despised tea parties.

“My apologies for disturbing you, ladies. I need to steal my wife for a few minutes, if I may,”
he said, looking at Valeria. She nodded and followed him out, swearing she heard one of the
girls say “I hope I get a husband who treats me like that…” as Draco shut the door. He led
her to another room, far away from where they could be disturbed.

“What’s happened?” she asked anxiously.

“A meeting tonight. The Dark Lord has requested you attend,” he said with jaw clenched.

She was stunned. The Dark Lord hadn’t paid much mind to Valeria over the years other than
requesting her to make potions and work with Snape on curses, and all of those orders came
through Snape. “What? Why the hell does he want me?”

“Snape was being irritatingly tight-lipped about it. Believe me, I would have forced it out of
him if I thought I could get away with it. All Snape said was that it was for a special request.
He guaranteed you haven’t done anything wrong to provoke the Dark Lord,” he explained.

“That doesn’t make me feel any easier about it,” she said. He sighed.

“I know. It will be just like before. Nothing’s going to happen, not tonight. I promise. Trust
me.”

“I don’t have much of a choice otherwise, do I?”

He shrugged. "What's new?"

Later that evening, after the Ministry’s daily business was closed, Valeria emerged from the
Floo network into the atrium at the appointed time. She heard a clacking of heeled shoes and
a high-pitched clearing of the throat as she turned.
“Mrs. Malfoy, how lovely to see you again.”

Valeria saw approaching her Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge and Valeria nearly
laughed at her own misfortune. She despised Dolores, purposefully excluding her from any
event she had a hand in planning and avoiding her at all costs. Of course Umbridge was the
one to meet her now, just her luck.

“You as well, Madam Undersecretary,” Valeria said with such a syrupy sweet politeness, it
could have rotted Umbridge’s teeth.

“I’ve been asked to escort you. If you would follow me,” Umbridge said.

“Lead the way,” Valeria said with a gracious nod. Valeria prized her social skills, drilled into
her by her own parents, but Draco said that she had a tell. Whenever trapped with someone
she despised, he claimed, Valeria would grin even harder, her voice would lift a register, and
she would overcompensate in polite manners for the sake of covering how much she despised
the other. Valeria didn’t let Draco make her self-conscious about it, she didn’t even fully
believe him, but interacting with Umbridge challenged her argument.

The Ministry was a shell of its former glory. It was dim and dark, as if the air itself weighed
heavier here even in silence. There were monuments to Voldemort in the atrium and great
artistic depictions of the oppression of Muggles and Muggleborns. This was, naturally, old
news that Valeria hardly noticed anymore. It was the least of her concerns as she mentally
prepared to face the Dark Lord once again.

Umbridge and Valeria rode the lift in silence. In any other scenario, they’d be a comical pair.
While Valeria was also a short woman, she was far less stout than Umbridge. The older
woman had been the most brightly dressed person Valeria had seen in ages with her pale pink
robes, while Valeria wore her plain, high-necked dark robes and her dark hair pulled tightly
back.

“I hear you’re going to be very busy quite soon,” Umbridge said with a cheeky dose of cheer.

Valeria’s turned sharply to the Umbridge. “Oh, were you made aware of my purpose here?”

Umbridge laughed in that squeaky little laugh that nearly made Valeria’s ears bleed. “No, of
course not. I mean that a few of the pureblood prisoners in Azkaban are set to be released
soon and I heard that marriage was one of the conditions of their release. Seems our chief
matchmaker is going to have a fair bit to do.” Valeria smiled through her irritation.
Wonderful, more files to sort through. The idea of anyone being a matchmaker in this world
was laughable. “Let’s hope your instincts are a bit more honed this time. We wouldn’t want
another Parkinson-Goyle situation on our hands, would we?”

Valeria had to stifle her laughter. Was that meant to be a threat? An insult? A dig? The
specific nature of Umbridge’s comment was unclear, though it was blatantly unfriendly.
Pansy was a sore spot for Valeria, Umbridge must have realized at least that much somehow.
But she could not let Umbridge win. No fear. No mercy.
“Unfortunate indeed,” Valeria said as the lift doors opened at the top floor of the Ministry and
she followed Umbridge. “I’m told that my husband made quick work of the matter. I count
myself so very lucky to be married to a man who will go to any lengths to do right by those
he cares for.”

“Let us hope that such things will never be needed from him again,” Umbridge said as they
approached a grand set of double doors, interpreting Valeria’s veiled threat.

“Yes, that would be wise now, wouldn’t it?” Valeria said with the smirk that she inherited
from her mother, the knowing sly smirk the Winters were famous for.

The women stopped at the door and Umbridge knocked the great metal knocker once and
only once.

“It will open when he’s ready for you,” she said. “Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Umbridge walked off and out of sight whilst Valeria stood in wait before the doors. She
recalled her first meeting with the Dark Lord and how young, how naïve she had been. Draco
had been there then, standing at her side when she first faced him, but now she waited alone.
When the doors finally swung open, she was met with a grand conference room that glistened
from the floor to the ceiling with a long, dark table in its center. On all sides, the Death
Eaters, marked and essential.

She saw Goyle, who looked at her with such disdain that Valeria would have melted away
had it not been for the fact that her hatred outweighed his. She saw Bellatrix too and smirked
slightly at her. Valeria's mere presence was enough to make Bellatrix seethe and Valeria
enjoyed it each time it had occurred since the woman made the Unbreakable Vow. At the end
of the table, the Dark Lord himself met her gaze.

“Rise, all of you! Who sits at the arrival of an honored guest?” the Dark Lord said and all but
he himself stood at his command. Bellatrix stared daggers at Valeria as she did so, which
Valeria found most amusing. “Mrs. Malfoy you are as lovely as ever. Draco, seat her at the
end of the table.”

Draco, already present, moved from his place and pulled out the chair for Valeria at the end
of the table opposite the Dark Lord and pushed it in for her as she sat. The Dark Lord
gestured for all to sit as she did.

“You honor me, my Lord. It is always an immense privilege to be in your presence,” she said
with a soft, confident smile.

The Dark Lord laughed. “I shall say again that you all could learn from that famous Winters
etiquette. I suppose you are wondering why I have summoned you here tonight.”

“My Lord, I desire only to serve.”

He smiled, satisfied with her answer. “Severus has been quite impressed with your work
together over these years since my victory. The fruits of your talents have been instrumental
in our enterprise. I fear we have underutilized your potential, perhaps even overlooked you.”
He paused. “Is it true you have given your husband Tranquila Sensus?”

“It is, my Lord.”

“And why would he need such a potion?”

She swallowed, trying to hide it as she did. “Forgive me for saying so, my Lord, but we are
not all like you. Not all can do the noble work that needs to be done whilst remaining
completely undistracted. I offered the Draco the potion in order for him to serve you at his
best.”

The Dark Lord considered. Valeria knew flattery was key. She had to twist Draco’s distaste
for brutality against innocents into a positive.

“I see,” the Dark Lord said. “Severus has mentioned to me you’re working on improving the
basic concoction.”

“Indeed. I hope to craft something more potent and long-lasting,” she said truthfully.

The Dark Lord was silent for a moment. “Mrs. Malfoy, it pains me to say so, but it seems that
we’ve run into a bit of a complication in our attempt to purge the Mudbloods from our decent
society. You see, there are simply too many of them and as magic does course through their
veins, I began to wonder if there would be a better use for them than dead. As my power and
reach expands, I have come to the belief that having foot soldiers at my command that can
integrate into the Muggle world would be useful at this point in my ambitions. I would much
rather lose Mudbloods to our enemies than those of purer pedigrees, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Most certainly, my Lord,” Valeria said as if the words were pre-programmed into her
psyche.

“And this potion of yours, do you believe it possible to craft something more permanent?”

She didn’t have to ask the Dark Lord’s meaning. She was too world-weary now. He wanted a
bigger army but wanted to use remaining Muggleborns as fodder rather than lose the elite
pureblood society that supported him. If she had not been so focused on staying in his good
graces now, she would have been shocked by the suggestion; He wanted a new army of
unfeeling, apathetic soldiers ready to carry out his whims and whom he would not miss if he
lost.

“I’m not sure. With enough time and resources, I could come up with something I’m sure. I
know it is possible to improve the potency, so I don’t see why permanence is out of the
question.”

The Dark Lord bared his teeth in a sick smile. “Excellent. Naturally, you will work with
Severus on this project.”

“My Lord, if I may, I must say that I will require access to ingredients, rare and dangerous
ones, that are currently tightly controlled.”
“Not to worry, Mrs. Malfoy, Nott can get you anything you need.” Valeria looked down the
table to her old classmate, Theodore Nott, who nodded at her, confirming the Dark Lord’s
words. Nott now worked in the Department of Mysteries and had access to nearly anything
anyone could ever need for such tasks.

“I shall set to it immediately,” Valeria said. “It is an honor to serve, my Lord.”

When the Malfoys returned to their chambers that night, Valeria turned on Draco as soon as
they were alone.

“Valeria, I didn’t know—” Draco started.

“How many Muggleborns are even left?!”

“The ones who haven’t been found yet. The ones who are too young or haven’t been born
yet.”

“Do you hear yourself, Draco!?”

“I do!” he shouted. “And I know what I’m saying. You will have to do this, no matter how
you feel—”

“How I feel? Since when has anyone given a damn about how I feel about anything since
Potter died—”

“Don’t say his name!”

“You promised! After Hogwarts, you promised me that I wouldn’t have to be involved
beyond simpler potions, experimenting with curses and playing the part of your devoted
wife!” She was oversimplifying, but the sentiment was true.

“You aren’t playing at anything!” he shouted. “You are my devoted wife, and you need to act
like it in everything. Every time I tried to keep you out of it, you either barged your way in
anyway or I was simply deluding myself into thinking this didn’t involve you. It's just like
sixth year; We’ve always been involved. Both of us!”

“Do not put this on me!”

“This is the price! This is what we have to do in order for my saving your life at Hogwarts by
handing him over to mean anything—”

“You didn’t save my life, you destroyed what was left of it. You condemned it! Did it ever
occur to you that maybe I didn’t want to live if this is what it meant?”

“Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that!” Draco shouted at the top of his lungs.

“I can’t trust anything you say, any promise you make because you will bend at the first sign
of risk!” She shouted. She was shaking in fear and rage, rattled and desperate like a caged
beast. Draco’s cold eyes narrowed on her and she could feel his own ire radiate from him, but
she was not about to back down this time. “You said I wouldn’t have to live here. You said I
wouldn’t have to do much for the cause. You said our marriage was a sham to punish us, yet
here I am doing the same thing to others that was done to us! You lied to me. You lied to
yourself!”

“And do you know why!? Because you wouldn’t have made it without those lies. We need
them!”

She took a step forward and sneered at him. “Were they, are they, worth it, Draco? Was it
worth delivering the Dark Lord his victory for what we are now? Was trading Potter’s life for
this really worth it?”

Draco went pale for a second, the corner of his mouth pulled up in disgust, and for a split
second he looked like he was going to be sick. He exhaled long and inhaled sharply. Valeria
stared at him, as if challenging him, waiting for him to react. In a flash, he moved and
slammed his fist into the nearby, heavy oaken bedpost with all the might that remained in
him. Valeria barely flinched. He turned, fist still clenched and she could see his knuckles bled
a little. He marched to her, stopping just before his body would have made contact with hers
and loomed over her, staring down at her with so much hateful fury that her blood would
have gone cold if she were not so incensed herself.

“I didn’t just trade him,” he spat. “I traded my soul for you!” His stone-gray eyes welled with
furious tears and his expression twisted as though he were holding something back. She
could feel his hot breath on her skin. “I don’t care if you’ll never forgive me. You can hate
me all you like. I would do it all again. Just like I promised I would.”

She took a deep, huffing breath staring into his wild, gray eyes that raged like a rainstorm on
a foggy day and were just as difficult to see through. This room, their chamber, was the only
place in Malfoy Manor that ever felt warm and the temperature felt as though it were rising
with the boiling of her blood. The chamber was their only sanctuary from the miserably
perilous world without. It was heavenly hellish. Draco did not back down as his chest heaved
with his breath, staring down at her. They were at an impasse of obsessive, violent devotion
to one another and neither of them could contain themselves.

Draco crashed his mouth onto hers, taking her by the waist and she gave in to his hard
embrace. The only touch either of them received that did not bring pain was from each other.
His kiss was greedy, craving something, anything, that would give him control for a little
while. He stepped forward, holding her still, until she was pressed between him and the wall.
He broke the kiss and turned her around, her front against the wall. She felt a draft on her legs
as he pulled up the skirts of her robes and had her there. His left arm snaked around her waist
and up her torso to hold her against him, and her face was turned to see his right hand against
the wall, flexing as he moved, bruises starting to form on his bloodied knuckles. She felt his
breath against her ear, interspersed with low, primal sounds that escaped his throat as he
moved.

She could have told him to stop, and trusted wholly that he would, but she didn’t want him to.
As much as he needed to feel in control of himself, of anything, she needed to surrender.
Each morning she walked out of their chamber to face another day of carefully controlling
every thought, word and action. That exhausted her more than anything else, and it made her
cold. It made her alone. She craved the release, the resignation of her body and spirit. She
needed to succumb and so happily, resentfully, yielded to his base desires and her own.

He trembled as he finished and caught his breath with her still pressed up against the wall.

“Did I hurt you?” he whispered. His voice was gentle, ashamed, now. She shook her head in
the negative. “Don’t ever let me hurt you. Not like that, at the very least.”

He was not the man she once loved, but he was the man she needed to love now.
 The Scourging of Godric's Hollow
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Discussion of death and violence. Descriptions of pain/fear.

Implied mass violence. Mild consensual sexual content.

“As you can see, it’s escalating faster than I thought,” McGonagall said as Ginny pored over
the parchment carefully. “I think, for now, we should shift our efforts from liberating
Azkaban to this.”

“The Muggleborns are still in hiding,” Ginny began. “That buys us time to get Luna and the
others out of Azkaban before they start this.”

“The Department of Purity has been working tirelessly to reorganize all the records of every
witch and wizard in Britain. Once they finish that, any Muggleborn discovered won’t stand a
chance,” Neville said. Ginny hated that he was right. According to previous information, the
Department of Purity had been inventing new ways of specifically targeting, and tracking
Muggleborns. Once they had all the records sorted from the chaos of the war and the takeover
of the old Ministry, there’d be nothing to stop them.

“But why? I thought the whole point was to purge Muggleborns,” Seamus said.

“J.D. addresses that too,” McGonagall started, taking the parchment from Ginny. J.D. had
been the signature on every letter they received. The rebels had no idea how these letters
found them, and they were always encrypted with complex enchantments that McGonagall
taught them to decipher, yet they had correct and reliable information that saved their lives
multiple times. “You-Know-Who desires to expand to the rest of Europe once everything is
in his grasp completely here in Britain. Many of those on the Continent are going to be
uneasy about needing to murder their entire Muggleborn populations. Super soldiers, ones he
could use to threaten them or use to trade, on the other hand...”

“J.D. also wrote that You-Know-Who wants to lift the Statute of Secrecy, but Muggleborn
super soldiers he doesn’t care to lose could move easily through Muggle governments to
weaken them before he strikes,” Ginny said.

Seamus recoiled in disgust.

“And how does he even hope to achieve this?” Neville asked. “There’s too many
Muggleborns to use the Imperius Curse on. They’d never maintain enough control.”

McGonagall sighed. “J.D. wrote that Valeria Malfoy has been given the task of developing a
potion to do the job. She has apparently been quite useful in the creation of curses and
potions for the Dark Lord. I’d imagine she’s working with Snape on the matter.” Ginny’s
eyes narrowed and she looked across the makeshift little room, deep underground beneath the
Burrow, at the bulletin board.

The bulletin board was divided into three sections; Confirmed dead, missing/unconfirmed
dead and finally enemy targets; People who absolutely needed to die if they were to have any
hope of ever winning this long fight that was sure to last for several more years to come at
least. Photographs were included in each section. Harry Potter’s picture, for example, was at
the top of the confirmed dead. Hermione and Ron were on the top of the missing section.
Voldemort was at the top of the enemies’ section, naturally. Below him were the highest
ranking, most important, older Death Eaters namely Snape, Bellatrix Lestrange, Yaxley and
Lucius Malfoy although the last on that list had fallen in favor for the most part.

Below that tier were the proteges; The younger Death Eaters that, according to J.D. were
being groomed to take over the older ones’ positions someday. Those photos included
Theodore Nott, who was supposedly the best strategist; Blaise Zabini, who was gifted in
gathering intelligence; and finally, Draco Malfoy who had a remarkable talent for violence,
was the most ambitious of the three and was known to solve complex problems on the spot.
Below them were others, but namely Valeria was the focus of Ginny's attention.

Ginny hated Valeria Malfoy with every fiber of her remaining being.

Seamus was laughing. “I thought she was just Malfoy’s little broodmare—”

McGonagall gave Seamus a scolding look but did not vocally disagree. “They haven’t had an
heir yet, but you should not underestimate Winters just because of her position. She’s
intelligent and, according to J.D. anyway, well on her way to becoming a truly formidable
dark witch. And we all know what lengths she’ll go to in order to neutralize threats…”

“McGonagall’s right,” Neville said. “The demure pureblood wife bit is just an act. It’s what
got her through seventh year.”

Ginny remembered all too well the treachery of Valeria Malfoy, staring at the woman’s
photograph across the room. Her creepy doll-like face, tainted by that scar, made her even
more eerie looking. She was pretty, in a sort of uptight political way, but other than that
unremarkable. Ginny couldn’t see what some of the boys in school saw in her. Ginny
swallowed and viscerally remembered the way Valeria’s signature curse constricted her throat
until she almost died in the middle of a corridor and no one had done anything to punish
Valeria for the near murder. Underestimating Valeria could prove a fatal mistake.

After all, that’s what Valeria would want. The Winters were known for, even when they were
all alive and in their prime, playing all sides of any conflict so they would be in good graces
no matter who won out. It was a dangerous game, but they were unmatched at it, so much so
that no one realized that their patriarch, Hieronymus, and his eldest son, Konstantin, were
Death Eaters until they were killed in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Not even
Valeria.

Ginny had to gulp down her impulse to hunt Valeria down and kill her. She had a sick fantasy
she’d often play in her mind’s eye when she couldn’t sleep of slowly killing Draco in front of
his wife. Nothing would have brought Ginny greater joy for as much as she hated Valeria, she
hated Draco Malfoy more. Malfoy had handed Harry to Voldemort. He had cost them
everything. It was because of Malfoy that only her mother lived in her all her family. Ginny
and Seamus would often joke about who would get to kill Malfoy for he wanted vengeance
for the murder of Dean Thomas.

Ginny had seen Draco once and only once since Voldemort’s victory. She had apparated to
Aberforth after being wounded by Snatchers in a last-ditch effort to save her skin. Apparating
home was out of the question as it would put her mother at risk. Molly had become frail of
mind and body after the loss of most of her family and obsessively protective of Ginny.
Molly had no idea that Ginny was working with the others on dangerous tasks and Ginny
often had to dose her mother with sleeping draughts or spells before going on missions.
Molly would have been hysterical if she knew.

Aberforth helped heal Ginny, but a masked and hooded Death Eater had appeared on his
doorstep. Rather than ready to defend himself, Aberforth used a disillusion charm to hide
Ginny before the Death Eater broke into the house. With a green flash of light, the Death
Eater used the Killing Curse, which he cast wordlessly, on Aberforth right then and there. No
trial, no explanation, not even a word as to why Aberforth deserved to die. Ginny was weak
and frail from her injuries, debating whether she had the strength to survive revealing herself
and taking the Death Eater down. Capturing one would have been helpful for their fractured
cause but killing him would have been fine with Ginny too. She watched the Death Eater
rummage through the house, practically turning it upside down in his search. At one point, he
removed his mask and ran his hand through his white-blond hair. Draco Malfoy.

He departed before she acted, and Ginny regretted it forever.

“So what? We just let the others rot in Azkaban?” Seamus asked. That was a hitch and one
that made Ginny’s stomach lurch. Several pureblooded, or mostly pureblooded, supporters of
Harry and the Order were locked up in Azkaban, held until they pledged their loyalty, or
some other purpose was found for them. The purebloods were just far too valuable to outright
kill, especially the younger ones. Luna Lovegood, Terry Boot, Hannah Abbott, Ernie
Macmillan and those were just the ones they could confirm. The thought of leaving them
there longer than they absolutely had to revolted Ginny.

Ginny looked over to Harry’s photograph. He was so handsome, in a scruffy sort of way. The
boy she loved, the boy who lived, the bravest person she had ever known. She thought of the
question that she asked herself before choosing to do anything; What would Harry want me
to do?

“Again,” Draco insisted.

They had been at it for hours, practicing combative magic in a room they had repurposed for
dueling practice. They did this nearly every free evening alone they had, especially when
they couldn’t sleep, teaching each other dark curses and sparring. Draco insisted Valeria
maintain her dueling skills, even if she would never have to see a fight. Tonight was different.
Draco was tense, more aggressive.
“I’m tired,” she started with a sigh. “I’ve been working all day; can we take a rest for now?”
Orders from above had come through to make several large batches of various potions by that
very day, on top of her efforts in trying to improve the Tranquila Sesnus potion. Snape was of
little use as the school-year had begun and he needed to spend more time at his post as
Headmaster.

“No. I need to be ready,” Draco said, looking at the target he had just obliterated. He cast a
repairing charm as his shoulders heaved with his breath. She put his hand on his arm to stop
him and he flinched at her touch.

“Ready for what?”

He curled his lip inward, hesitant to say. “Tomorrow. Halloween. Godric’s Hollow will burn.”

She sighed. “So that’s what all those potions are for. I was wondering about all that
Veritaserum.”

He nodded. “In case we take prisoners. Not that we usually do.”

She gently put her hand on his and coaxed his wand out of his grasp. “All the more reason
that you need your rest.”

Though he was still tense, his breath unsteady, he nodded slowly and accepted her small
gestures of comfort. He fell asleep that night with his arm draped around her and his head on
her chest while she lazily ran her hand through his hair. She couldn’t sleep, she never could
knowing that he was about to enter danger. He always tried to wait to the last minute to tell
her when he was set to depart on an assignment, so she would have less time to be consumed
with worry. The crackling of the fire in the cool autumn night and the gentle pace of her
breath was the only peace Draco could find in order to allow sleep to consume his exhausted
spirit.

Valeria did all she could not to show him her fear. Even while he slept, she stayed as strong
as she could for his sake. She cried silently, gently, cradling his head in her left arm and her
right hand on the arm that he rested on her torso. She held her cheek to the crown of his head
as she let tears run down her face. She would have torn to pieces anyone who tried to rip him
from her grasp. But it was a fantasy. The idea of slaughtering anyone who would dare take
him from her, put him in harm’s way and running off to the furthest reaches of the planet to
be alone together for the rest of their natural lives was impossible in the hell that was now
home.

As evening fell the following day, the ritual was set to begin. It was similar to the ritual they
performed upon Draco’s returns. Neither knew when it started, neither of them ever talked
about it, but they performed it diligently all the same. It began as it always did, retreating to
their spacious private quarters and making love as though it was the last time, as it very well
could have been, for all they knew. They were tender, loving, but no less desirous and
impassioned with one another.

After washing up, Valeria went to the cupboard that contained Draco’s Death Eater robes and
the mask that made up his uniform. Draco didn’t like the robes being included in his main
wardrobe with his other garments. She retrieved them and helped him dress. The robes were
black as night with winding silver embroidery on the collar and torso. Valeria helped secure
the silver-colored metal bracers that stopped just below his elbows, equipped with protective
enchantments, to his forearms over his sleeves and black leather gloves. She secured a belt
fitted with a knife for a weapon to him; The knife had been Bellatrix’s idea, a last resort in
case he was disarmed.

She unrolled a tactical sash, a bandolier, and filled each slot with vials of potions, the ones
she had been assigned to craft and had been distributed amongst the other Death Eaters.
There were healing potions, Veritaserum, and even a few volatile ones that were explosive
once activated by a blasting charm, amongst others. She strapped the bandolier to his torso
and finished her work by fastening the hooded cloak around his collar. She gave him his
wand and it was finally time for the most important part of their routine.

She handed him a goblet of the sweetest red wine they owned.

“It’s far more potent than before. This is going to be…unpleasant,” Valeria warned, having
already mixed the potion into the wine to try and cover the vile taste. He took the cup,
nodding.

“As long as it works, I don’t care,” he said. In one go, holding his breath and aiming the
liquid toward the back of his tongue, he drank it down. His stomach lurched and his mouth
felt like it was burning. He bent over, catching himself with a pained grunt on the back of the
chair, gripping it hard. He felt her grab his shoulders for support as he fought the urge to
vomit. He groaned in pain as he felt the liquid rush through his veins all over his body and a
freezing sensation flowed through him, as if he had fallen through thin ice. His lungs felt as
though they were freezing solid and soon the sensation went to his pounding heart. He
coughed and gasped as he felt his heart harden in his chest.

Just when he was certain he couldn’t take it anymore, it ceased. The pounding of his heart
settled to a steady, calm pace. His breath was deep, but neither fast nor slow. A dead sort of
calm overtook his anxieties, his pain, his fears. He steadied himself and rose to a stand,
unsupported. He looked at his wife and could not relate to the concern in her expression. She
was less striking in attractiveness to him. The warm air in the room was a bit less comforting
and even the handsome décor of the chamber seemed completely unremarkable; dull.

“Did it work?” she asked. “How do you feel?”

Draco searched himself for an answer. Physically he felt just fine but couldn’t put a word on
an emotion for he felt absolutely neutral, painlessly empty. “I don’t feel anything.” Even his
voice was devoid of feeling.

She nodded though Draco registered something regretful in her eyes that he struggled now to
understand. “Then the adjustments to the normal potion I give you are doing what they
should.” She handed him his mask. “It’s nearly time.”

He nodded. Before he could put the mask on, she reached up to him and held his face and
kissed him. He felt a surge of emotion in his chest for a split second, but it quickly
evaporated to apathy.
“Come back,” she said. It was not a request; it was an outright command said through her
teeth. He nodded.

“I always do.”

Lizzie Miller was terrified of the dark. Her dad always told her that she was a big girl now, all
of seven years old, and she needed to be brave to overcome her fears. She tried her best and
that would have to be enough. The dim lamp that served as a nightlight on her bedside table
and the CD player that played her quiet, soothing songs throughout the night usually did the
trick to peacefully lull her to sleep, but tonight was Halloween.

Her classmate, Sean Beyer, had tormented her all in the lead-up to Halloween with scary
stories. He said that the village they lived in, Godric’s Hollow, was incredibly haunted. Even
worse, he claimed that the old legends of witches in the village were true. He said villagers
would often report unexplainable events, disappear and return without a single memory of
what they had previously claimed to see. That many years ago, some dark entity did
something horrible and destroyed a house, but it was covered up by the other witches that
roamed the village. Sean claimed you never knew who was a witch, as they pretended to be
normal people. Anyone in the village could be a witch or a warlock.

As fog descended in the crisp autumn night, Lizzie held the covers tight to her body and
jumped every time the radiator clicked on or the wind gusted against the window a little too
hard. “There’s nothing in the night that isn’t there during the day, sweetheart,” her mother
insisted. Lizzie repeated it in her head over and over to remind herself, but the childish fear
still consumed her. There was a low, gentle string arrangement playing on the CD player,
both dark and calming. She concentrated all her energy on listening to it, trying to find peace.

As her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, the CD started skipping and she could hear a
quiet clicking as the lamplight flickered. Her eyes flew open and in the moonlight seeping in
through the window, diffused by the fog and cloudy sky outside, she saw dark mist swirling
in the room near the foot of her bed. The wisps came together, forming black clouds and she
jumped so much her stuffed cat fell to the floor with a soft thud. She whimpered a little cry,
scooting herself to press against her headboard. The black cloud was in front of the bedroom
door.

The cloud took more of a shape, she could see it through her tears. It began to take the form
of a monster. No, not a monster. A man. A tall, lean man all in black with his back to her and
a hood over his head. He held a long, carved stick in his hand.

Sean was right.

Warlocks were real.

The man turned and Lizzie’s heart pounded in panic to see a shining metal mask on the man’s
face. She opened her mouth to scream, but he pointed the stick at her and as hard as she tried,
no sound escaped her throat. He pointed the stick at his face the mask disappeared in a cloud
of black smoke. He lowered his hood as he approached her and seeing his face did nothing to
soothe her fears as she kept trying to scream, her face red and wet with tears.

He stared at her for a moment, standing over her by her bed. He had the lightest hair she had
ever seen, that looked white in the light of the moon and a hard face comprised of pointed
features. As he approached, her heart skipped a beat to meet his eyes. His gaze was so cold,
almost dead. He pointed his stick at the skipping CD player and the music played as normal,
if not a little louder. He bent over and picked up the stuffed cat that had fallen, holding it out
to her. He put his fingers to his lips to shush her as she, trembling, took it from him. He
paused for a moment, staring at her, before inhaling sharply and grabbing her arm hard.

Suddenly, she was out in a dark field just beyond the village, the cover from her bed still
wrapped around her. Able to use her voice she cried, whimpering in fear and confusion. She
turned with a cry at a hand gripping her shoulder. The warlock had his mask on once more.
He leaned in close, the mask inches from her little face.

“Whatever you hear, don’t look back,” he said, his cold voice echoing behind his mask. She
could only whimper in reply as he forced her to turn around again. Looking just over her
shoulder, she saw him evaporate in a cloud of black smoke and disappear into the darkness
just as he had arrived.

She shivered in cold and fear as she stayed obediently rooted to the spot. She did not know
how much time had passed when a quick succession of loud booms shattered the silence of
the night. Light broke through the darkness behind her and she could see ahead her own
shadow stretching long across the field, surrounded by flickering, dancing orange light. She
could hear the crackling and crashing of burning in the distance behind her.

The child psychologist assigned to Lizzie’s case would later tell her grandparents how
fortunate it was that Lizzie sleepwalked out of bonds of the destruction and the police
believed the man she claimed to have seen was merely a manifestation of a coincidental
nightmare.

There was no such thing as warlocks.

Valeria drank while Godric’s Hollow burned.

She wandered around Malfoy Manor with a goblet of wine in hand, summoning the house elf
to refill it wherever when needed. She made it all the way down to the entrance hall, lined
with great portraits of solemn Malfoy ancestors. She could feel their eyes on her, and she
hated the lot of them. She hoped they were happy with what had become of the Malfoy
legacy. She stopped and turned to her left, seeing her own portrait.

She was only a few months married, still seventeen years old, when it was painted as a
Christmas gift from Narcissa. Her image sat, whilst Draco’s stood with his left hand on her
right shoulder, and Valeria now realized that this was probably the last image of her before
Bellatrix gave her the scar she’d bear until her death. Elegant and dark both in dress and
posture, they were. Their expressions in the painting so severe that one could be forgiven for
thinking it was painted after a funeral. This portrait was one of the few that hardly moved.
Their painted figures never spoke. They never left each other’s side. Even now, they both
stared at the real, now a little older, Valeria as if expecting her to do something.

She hated that goddamn painting most of all.

“I know the feeling.”

Valeria nearly dropped the wine goblet in surprise at the sudden intrusion. She turned, seeing
her mother approach to stand at her side. Odessa Winters who had grayed long ago but wore
her lovely silver hair perfectly. It appeared to be one of Odessa’s good nights, where she was
sane for a while, though Valeria could never be sure.

“I used to pace around all night during the first war while your brother slept, and your father
was out there. I never stopped walking until he came home,” Odessa said before swallowing.
“I was even more restless when Konstantin was out there too.”

“Did you ever want to be out there with him?” Valeria asked.

“Of course. Even more so after your brother took the Mark. But I knew my place, just as you
know yours,” Odessa said. Valeria hated being reminded of her place. She had dreams as a
teenager. She had wanted to work in the Department of Mysteries studying the most ancient
and least understood secrets of magic. She wanted to see the world, she wanted to learn, she
wanted to be admired and break new ground in her work. What was she now but another
housewife drinking the hours away until her husband came home? “I’m proud of you. You’ve
done so well. So much better than I ever could have imagined, especially under your
circumstances.”

Valeria looked at her mother and realized with regret how much like Odessa she had become,
not just in their resemblance. She resented her mother who stood by and did nothing while
she was handed over as Draco’s wife like a breathing trophy. Who didn’t come find her to
protect her after Hieronymus and Konstantin were killed in the Department of Mysteries
before her eyes. Who throughout the war and even now helped smooth over public opinion
by writing articles and society magazine spreads filled with lies to solidify Valeria’s position
as the model for a Death Eater’s wife.

“Do you think father would be proud of me?” Valeria asked pointedly. Odessa didn’t pick up
on the disdain in Valeria’s tone as she put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“Of course, he would. Don’t you understand? This is what we trained you for your entire life.
All the glamours, all the etiquette training, the dance lessons, the tutors, introducing you early
on into society. We didn’t do that for us, we did it to prepare you for this, your future. And
someday, hopefully soon, you’ll do the same for your children. You’ve performed perfectly,
darling. Other than that tragic scar, you’re perfect.”

If the goblet in Valeria’s hand were made of glass and not metal, it would have shattered in
Valeria’s angry grasp. Perfect? How the hell did Odessa figure that? Where was Odessa when
she was used as a bartering chip to motivate Draco into murdering Dumbledore? Where was
Odessa when she and Draco were married off as terrified teenagers, arguing all the time at
each other’s throats? Where was she when the Dark Lord called upon Valeria to torture
Konstantin’s Muggleborn ex-lover and then killed her before her very eyes? When she had to
torture and torment her fellow students at Hogwarts? When she nearly murdered Ginny
Weasley in the corridor or unknowingly assisted in the kidnapping of Luna Lovegood? When
she thought she was with child while still a student? When the Winters’ assets came under the
Malfoy name? Where was Odessa all the times she had been tortured, tormented and broken
over and over?

Where was Odessa Winters when Bellatrix Lestrange carved up Valeria’s face for refusing to
identify Harry Potter?

She wasn’t there. No one was. Lucius and Narcissa had likewise only been complicit in all of
it, even as what goodness left in their own son wilted away like a sun-starved plant.
Konstantin tried and he died for it. Odessa never cared about Valeria’s heart so long as
decorum was maintained. That was the Winters way; Appearances, and only appearances,
mattered. The price was your soul. The only person who was ever there was Draco. And who
was Draco now but a mess of what ifs and internal agony that rotted him from the inside out?
He was only overcomplicated regret; and all for the sake of her?

Even now, Draco was out there. Fighting, committing atrocities he would never have the
heart to tell her about in order to preserve their position and protect her. That was why he
handed Potter over in the first place. He damned the entire world, made himself responsible
for the deaths of perhaps hundreds by now, for her.

What Valeria resented most was that Odessa was right. The training, the glamours, how
easily maintaining grace and manipulating those around her came to her had saved Valeria’s
life more than once. Playing nice, feigning innocence, preserving her reputation in
accordance with the values of her family gave her the privileged position that now shielded
her. The Winters’s decades long friendship with the Malfoys and their mutual goals had given
her Draco. Affection, acceptance, tolerance, and too much tender loving care would have left
Valeria dead long ago.

Before Valeria could respond to her mother, a popping sound came through the room and the
women turned to see Draco taking off his mask. His black robes had been turned grayer with
ash and he smelled of death and smoke. He stood there, calm, resolute as if nothing were
amiss.

“It’s done,” he said.

 Dark Patronus
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Reference to mass violence. Death/discussion of death.

Suicidal thoughts. Mention/discussion of suicide.

Summer 1998

Draco was out on assignment and Valeria was restless. After being apart for so many
torturous weeks, it was hard to even spend a single night alone without him. The world was
too big, too frightening and uncertain when they were apart. Without him, she reverted to a
terrified little girl. She had arrived to Hogsmeade late one night. The alarms did not go off for
she was no longer being hunted down. There was activity in the Three Broomsticks, no doubt
Death Eaters there to protect the castle spending an evening out. Pulling up her hood higher,
she stalked into the dark towards the castle, which now was a black shadow against the dark
sky in the distance.

It took until her seventh year for her to appreciate Hogwarts. So many of her peers had
marveled at it and treated the castle with a sense of divine awe that she never understood. It
was just a school, one of many across the wizarding world. It was famous, sure, well-
respected, but just a school all the same. To so many, it was a place of endless possibly. To
her it was just a line in a script written for her before she was born:

Learn the values of her family. Learn to uphold them.

Attend Hogwarts. Be sorted into Slytherin as every other Winters before her.
Do well in class. Forge bonds with others, particularly her peers in Slytherin. Perhaps
find a significant interest in a subject.
Pursue that subject. Attain an influential position.
Marry well.
Raise her children with the values of her family and teach her children to uphold them.

It was so simple that she had never given it much thought. It was all so neat and tidy. So long
as she did her duty, her life would turn out a success. How wrong she had been. How correct
she had been. It was hard to say now. The castle seemed to grow in size as she drew closer.
Voldemort had made quick work in repairing it and preparing it for another school year.
Snape had apparently floated the idea of waiting a year, taking time for the world to recover,
but the Dark Lord was eager to solidify his hold on the world and the school. Vacant
positions were quickly filled, the walls themselves quickly repaired and all the Dark Lord’s
many, many changes quickly instated.
The world hadn’t even had a chance to catch its breath.

Looking up at it now, she realized how much the castle had meant to her, more than she could
ever know in her tenure as a student. She cast her first spells there. She fell in love with
potions, high mysteries, magical theory and magical philosophy there. She grew up there,
forged bonds with her closest friends there. She had danced there. She had sung there. She
fell in love for the first time there, stupidly and childishly, but love all the same. Her first kiss
had been there. So many days laughing in the corridors, playing games in the common room,
studying and reading, celebrating and being silly.

She had also first rebelled there. First realized the darkest secrets of her families past that she
should have already known. She had nearly murdered two people there. She had found
sanctuary in the castle’s abandoned classrooms and secret rooms. She had watched it turned
from mundane to hell in just one summer. She now did not know what to make of it anymore.

But her purpose tonight was clear, if anything. Draco had told her once, and only once, what
happened after he brought her back to Malfoy Manor. He told her to listen close for he would
never speak of it again. He told her who died and how. Who he had killed. The blood. So
much blood. Unbeknownst to her, tonight was the first of many attempts to make something
right. To make some sort of half-hearted amends. To leave no debt unpaid, as her father
taught her.

Despite her safety as a result of her pardon and her freedom to now roam unsupervised, she
was unsurprised to see a crossbow pointed at her face when the door to Hagrid’s hut swung
open. He went pale to see her there. She didn’t even bother to draw her wand.

“You,” he said with rightful disdain. “What d’you wan’?”

“Show me the graves,” she said, devoid of emotion. She stared at him, undeterred by his
disgust. She never much liked Hagrid. He was odd and oafish. She despised Care of Magical
Creatures, having always been more of an indoor girl, but she didn’t hate the man himself.
She didn’t care much about him one way or another, especially now. When Draco had
abandoned her the night Dumbledore died, it had been Hagrid who had lifted her to her feet
and urged her back into the castle after she confronted Draco. She didn’t try to understand it,
but knew Hagrid was close to Potter.

His eyes narrowed at her. “Why?”

“I just want to see them, Professor,” she said. He was taken aback by how she addressed him.
As much as she disliked his teaching, it was still his title.

“Yer not gonna try t’ do anythin’…unnatural, are yeh?” he asked.

“I just want to see them. I can’t go in there alone,” she said, nodding her head towards the
forest. He looked her up and down with suspicion, peaking outside and around for anyone
else who may have been hiding to surprise him. “I’m alone. Completely alone. It wouldn’t be
wise for you to deny my request, sir.”
She hadn’t wanted to resort to vague threats. If it was made widely known that she was here,
it would take time to smooth over, though it would not have been impossible. Hagrid, on the
other hand, had fewer cards of fortune in his hand than she did and could not have afforded to
deny her. He lowered the weapon and nodded.

“Gimme a minute,” he said, shutting the door on her and leaving her on the doorstep for a
minute or two. She looked up at the castle, almost completely dark, nearly every light in the
place snuffed out. A ghostly silhouette on the starry sky. When Hagrid opened the door, he
had his crossbow on his back and his hiking gear on. He carried a lantern in his hand and his
dog was at his side. He moved past her without looking at her. “Stay close.”

She followed him into the forest, her wand illuminated as bright as it would go. She was
capable of defending herself, but the forest was a dangerous place even for the most
knowledgeable and gifted sorcerers. Going in alone would have been suicide. She needed
someone who knew the place well enough to guide her and the only person alive or dead she
could think of was Hagrid.

“You’ve retained your position,” she said absentmindedly in the agonizing silence of the
forest that sent chills down her spine. Hagrid merely grunted in acknowledgement. She
thought Hagrid would have done the wise thing and fled. She wondered if he had a choice in
the matter. After a long silence, Hagrid spoke again. “Someone’s gotta stay. Someone’s gotta
protect the young’uns comin’ in.” He spoke with heartbreak.

So that’s why he stayed. Valeria severely doubted that he’d be much use in the face of the
new regime. It wasn’t his fault; No one alone was of much use anymore. At least Hagrid was
determined to try. That was more than could be said of her and she knew it better than
anyone. Fortunately, they didn’t have much further to walk. He stopped in a large grove.

“They’re all here,” he said, and she could hear him holding back tears. It was striking how
quickly nature retook this ground, crawling just beneath their feet with rot and death. She
could hardly tell this part of the forest from any other. She took a step forward.

“Tell me who and where,” she said. Hagrid reluctantly pointed to a low mound in the ground.

“Lupin’s there. What was left of 'im...” he said. She immediately went to it. This time last
year she hated Lupin’s guts, but he had tried to make amends. He had done her more than one
kindness before his life ended, ripped apart by the werewolf who cursed him. A terrible way
to die. And now his son was fatherless. His wife had tried to be kind to Valeria too, she saw
now. She aimed her wand at his resting place and cast a spell silently. Rocks in the area came
together and formed a neat stone plaque bearing his initials.

“Another,” she said when she was finished. Hagrid was surprised but complied. He pointed
out the mass grave for the faculty who had been slaughtered. She created there a stone plaque
with all their initials as well. Next was the students, there were multiple mass graves for
them. Hagrid gave her all their names and with each name an initial was added to the plaques
she created. Hagrid remembered them all, even names that she had never bothered to learn as
their classmate. He had buried each and every one of them himself. The bodies were not
permitted to go back to their families.
“That’s the Weasleys,” he said, on the verge of sobbing. The Weasleys. They never liked her.
Two summers she had been forced to stay with them, supposedly for her own safety, in the
hovel they called a home. But some of them tried. She vaguely remembered one of the twins
being nice to her once, but the memory was all foggy. Perhaps she had imagined it.
Regardless, they didn’t deserve to die like that. She magically placed a plaque bearing a W
where they lay.

“More,” she ordered. He directed her to another mass grave which included Justin Finch-
Fletchley and Dean Thomas. Draco had killed them himself. She barely ever said two words
to Dean and all she knew of Justin in school was that he was annoying. She gave them their
plaque without a word. For a great while it went like this until each and every grave was
marked. Valeria magically summoned some earth and forest debris about the place so to make
the place look undisturbed, in case anyone was to stumble on the site. Though one needed to
only brush some dirt and leaves out of the way to see the stones.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I’ll be on my way. I promise this will be the last you see of me,” she
said. She turned, preparing to apparate out of the forest as all the enchantments around
Hogwarts, save for the Muggle deterrent ones, had been taken down.

“Winters…” Hagrid said. She turned back to him.

“Malfoy,” she corrected. She could see his tear-stained face twist in disgust in the light of her
wand.

“I’m not ever sayin’ that name!” he said. She held back a defeated smirk. The name of
Malfoy had become just as foul as Voldemort. She didn’t need to ask why.

“What is it, Hagrid?” she asked, wanting nothing more than to leave this place as soon as
possible.

“Yeh don’t gotta go back. Not if yeh don’t wan’,” he said. She raised an eyebrow at him. Did
he know something? Was he offering her a way out? She shook off her curiosity quickly. The
less she knew, the safer Hagrid would be. She had to wonder why he was offering something,
whatever it was, to her of all people.

“No one else needs to die for my sake, Professor. I accept what’s happened. All of it,” she
said. He looked down, letting tears fall, knowing and being perfectly alright with the fact that
not one fell for her. It would not just be Hagrid’s life she was saving by refusing, but more
importantly to her, Draco’s too. She could not abandon him after he had done to get her a
pardon. She doubted she could last long away from him anyway. Whatever the case, she had
no desire to be without him, even if she had to be with him in hell.

She apparated away without a goodbye. That night had been the second time she had given
into her morbid compulsion to show some grace and mercy to the dead or suffering. It was a
purely selfish enterprise, a pathetic attempt to try and make her feel better about the world
plunged into darkness for her sake.
 November 2002

Valeria asked Draco what happened to the Muggles who lived in the village of Godric’s
Hollow.

“It wasn’t my call, Valeria,” was all he said.

Muggles did not return to Godric’s Hollow either. Enchantments were placed all around the
area to deter them. When Valeria arrived the day of the ceremony, it was still a ruin. Snow
had slowly started to fall, but the ground was still too warm for it to stick. It fell only to
disappear onto structures blackened by fire and onto what debris still remained in the streets.
The wizarding population hadn’t returned either, even those who had survived the massacre.

She hated graveyards but milling about before the dedication of the new memorial to
Voldemort’s victory, she wandered into the one in Godric’s Hollow. The Potters’ graves had
been blasted apart, the contents scattered without care or consideration, without ceremony. In
the rubble she noticed a familiar symbol on one of the pieces and recognized it to be the same
one that had been on the pendant she had taken from Xenophilius Lovegood after ending his
life as mercy. Draco joined her, to collect her for the ceremony. His black coat was up to his
chin and he looked absolutely drained, paler than usual, making the pink in his cheeks and
the tip of his nose, due to the chilly air, stand out more. He pulled his scarf out from under his
coat and wrapped it around her neck. Her shoulders relaxed into its warmth. Her skin had
gone a bit numb in the cold, even under her cloak, and she had not realized how cold she was.

“I forgot mine,” she said honestly regarding her own scarf. He put his hands on her shoulders
and rubbed them to make some warmth, a forlorn expression on his face as he looked down
at her. He wouldn’t look down at the destroyed graves. She was taken aback by his
tenderness now; it was hard to think of him as gentle anymore. He reached a gloved hand up
and gently brushed snow out of her hair before pulling her hood up over face.

“It looks like the ashes,” he whispered grievously. “We better take our places.” He put an arm
around her shoulder and escorted her to where the crowd of high-ranking Death Eaters and
their spouses had gathered before the Potter memorial. Rita Skeeter and several
photographers were there too. Valeria watched, feeling as though she had left her body and
her soul drifted elsewhere, somewhere warm, as Voldemort gleefully used a blasting charm to
explode the statue of the parents and infant son. She flinched hard at the sound of destruction
while many of the others cheered or applauded. All she could hear was the sound of falling
stone at the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco’s grasp on her shoulder squeezed her to bring her
back.

“Muggles once hunted us to burn us, it is only fitting that we have returned the favor!” the
Dark Lord proclaimed. Waving his wand with showmanship he reshaped the rubble to form a
great statue of himself with Nagini coiled around him and his wand raised victoriously to the
sky. He was staking his claim, marking his continued victory over Harry Potter and over this
world that was now his.
A few days later Valeria was reading in the Malfoy library. One of the advantages of living in
Malfoy Manor was access to the library full of rare books of darker magic in addition to the
ones she had brought from her family’s estate in Wales. She was reading an old, tedious,
book for research into innovative curses that she had been working with Snape on creating
while cauldrons bubbled away in her laboratory downstairs. The boredom was driving her
into an early grave when a paragraph caught her attention.

It is common knowledge amongst experienced sorcerers that the strength of emotions can
often determine the strength of the incantation. While most fields of study impress upon the
importance of positive emotions for the desired utility and impact of a spell, there are several
cases, notably the Torture Curse, where the strength of the negative emotion is the
determining factor of successful casting. Zukowski has expanded on this, purely in theory,
suggesting that channeling negative thoughts and feelings into casting can alter results of
various spells, regardless of whether they are light or dark. Memories, pain, grief and anger
are strong enough to perhaps achieve this. Zukowski boldly suggests that it may be possible
to do accomplish this in even the lightest of cases, such as Patronus Charms, though, as of
publication, there is no research to support this claim…

A knock interrupted her, and she called for the disrupter to enter. Snape came into the room
and she set the book down, still opened, and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Where’s Tinky? He’s supposed to ask before letting people wander in?” she said.

“Well, I’m very sorry to disturb you then,” Snape said sarcastically.

“Never mind,” she said. Valeria was territorial over Malfoy Manor, sometimes to the point of
paranoia, from having the place overrun by Voldemort and the Death Eaters at the height of
the war. She collected some papers from a desk and handed them to Snape. “Here are the new
formulas I’ve been working on. Purely theoretical for now.”

Snape took them and had a seat, taking his sweet time in reviewing her work for the
improvements of the Tranquila Sensus potion. He was silent and devoid of emotion as he
read through the parchments, and she felt like she was a student all over again, having her
work painstakingly evaluated for a grade.

“Professor?” she asked. He let out a low grunt in acknowledgement. “Are you able to conjure
a Patronus?”

“Yes."

“Corporeal?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“I was reading. I know strong, happy memories are the source of a Patronus’s viability. This
book, it suggested it might be possible to conjure a dark version of the Patronus with
unhappy memories, at least, I think that’s what it meant. Do you think it’s possible?”

“Planning on dueling with dementors?”

“No,” she said. “You and I both know that Patronuses can do more than that.”

Snape shifted. “I suppose it’s possible. I could always simply teach you the Patronus Charm
if you’re interested.”

“I’m not.”

“Fine. Then to the matter at hand. What is this variable here meant to represent?” he asked,
pointing to one of the formulas she had conceived.

“Before you scold me about that, let me find that book…” she said, looking around the room,
but was once more interrupted by a knock.

“Come in!” she called. Theodore Nott came into the room and Valeria sighed. “How’d you
get through the gate? Where’s that damn house elf—”

Stoic as ever, Theodore raised his brow at her. He was an intimidating man without doing
much to try. If Valeria hadn’t known him so long, she might have been afraid of him. He was
always the tallest boy in their class, lanky and with sharp features, his eyes nearly as dark as
his hair. “Lucius let me in. Wasn’t happy about doing ‘house elf’s work’ either. Apparently,
the elf’s working with your mum and Mrs. Malfoy planning the Christmas party.”

Valeria let out a small, frustrated groan. “It’s not even December.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Valeria. Professor Snape, good to see you,” Nott said. Snape
nodded to Nott as he greeted him in return. “I’ve been trying to hunt down what you asked
for, Valeria. The only lead I found was Borgin who had a strange story. Apparently, years
ago, there was some kind of break-in at his shop and while chasing out the burglars, they
dropped a few of them. Once he confirmed what they were, the idiot sold them on the black
market, and they’ve been lost ever since. I’m trying to track them down, but it doesn’t look
promising.”

“Dammit,” Valeria said. “Perhaps we can find some from the creature itself—”

“I thought of that too, but the things are so damn rare and so long-lived that they barely ever
breed. If there’s even one still alive, it could take years to find and we don’t have years to
wait,” Nott said. “I’m still looking. I’ve let my contacts in the black market know to spread
word that if any are discovered to bring them to my office at once under punishment with
failure to comply.”

“I’m confused by Borgin’s story. How do petty burglars get a hold of basilisk fangs?” Valeria
said.

Snape rose from his seat, setting the parchments aside. “Basilisk fangs?” Even when he was
surprised, he sounded completely calm.

“Yes, Professor, basilisk fangs,” she said.

“I have no idea. I tried to get it out of him, had to push further than I would have liked to, but
it’s his own damn fault for being so wildly stupid and irresponsible. He seemed to be telling
the truth about what happened though. He never got a good look at the intruders. A man and
a woman, that’s all we know, and it was years ago. They could be long dead by now,” Nott
said with a shrug.

Valeria sighed. “Well, I appreciate the effort anyway.” She took a pause. “How’s Tracey?”

Tracey Davis had been in Valeria’s cohort in school and, back then, was one of her closest
friends. But Tracey always had the weakest stomach of the group. She was the gentlest, the
most soft-spoken. She and Nott had marked each other in their top spousal preferences and
Valeria had given them what they wished. An odd pair that proved to be a good match. Nott’s
stoic detached demeanor balanced Tracey’s softness and Nott appreciated Tracey’s preference
for a quiet, undramatic life. However, Valeria had not seen Tracey in a long time. She hardly
left the home she shared with her husband, even for official events and Nott was able to
ensure they got away with it, for Tracey’s own sake. Tracey would fall apart at the least of the
horrors Valeria had witnessed in stride.

“She’s well. I’ll send her your regards,” he said.

“Good. Tell her I’d love to see her at the Christmas party, if she’s willing,” Valeria said.

He nodded with a thoughtful look in his eyes. “I will.” Nott departed after a quick farewell to
both Valeria and Snape. She turned to face the Hogwarts Headmaster once more, who eyed
her with a scolding, suspicious look, clearly not pleased.

“Do you mind telling me what you intend to do accomplish with basilisk fangs?” he asked
with the utmost severity. She rummaged around a table to find her brother’s old book and
flipped to a marked page before handing it to him.

“It’s all there. Because basilisks live so long, if I can get a hold of a fang, extract and then
dilute the venom down, I can both strengthen the solution’s potency and the genetic material
from the fang itself can make the change permanent, with some careful wandwork of course,”
Valeria explained as Snape read. He was silent as he considered, clearly unconvinced.

“I thought someone of your aptitude would have enough knowledge to be aware of how
incredibly dangerous and volatile the use of basilisk fangs and venom is,” he said.

“You looked at the other formulas. Those options are far less certain in their result than this
would be. I’m aware the process is dangerous and the solution itself runs the risk of being
overpowering, but it’s the best option I can see for what the Dark Lord wants,” she said. “Am
I not perfectly qualified to do this—”

“No, you are not. Not if your confidence makes you reckless,” Snape said firmly.

“Well, it doesn’t matter if I can’t even get a hold of a fang, does it?” she snapped. “I’m going
to have to go to Borgin myself. I can’t believe he let multiple specimens slip through his—”

“Nott is a marked Death Eater, you are not. If he could not pull anything more useful from
Borgin, it’s safe to assume Borgin has nothing more useful to offer.”
“I can ask Draco. He and Lucius have done business with Borgin for years, they have a
rapport—”

Snape slammed the book down on one of the tables and marched over to Valeria. “You will
not send your husband out to torture a man into giving him in answers he does not have. Not
only would it be audaciously irresponsible, but a waste of everyone’s time! You would be
wise to remember your place—”

“I beg your pardon!”

“We are all servants of the Dark Lord, but some of us outrank others, Winters,” Snape said
through his teeth, using her maiden name to her surprise. “The only reason you walked out of
Hogwarts alive was because Draco hand delivered the Dark Lord his victory. You are entitled
to nothing.”

“I have been given an assignment and it will be my head if I don’t do my duty by any means
necessary,” she said with a disdainful sneer.

“Sic’ing your husband on shopkeepers is not in your proper authority. If anything, you should
be working to reel Draco in.”

“Why? I’m not his commander—”

“You are his wife. You, for whatever reason, are one of the very few people he still listens
to.”

“And why are you suggesting I need to reel him in?”

Snape took a breath. “He’s getting reckless, much like you.”

“Draco has done nothing but faithfully fulfill each and every order given to him—!” she said,
immediately on the defensive like a cornered animal.

“I’m speaking of his actions done by his own decision, not what he’s done under orders. The
Goyle matter was an idiotic—”

“Pansy killed herself because of what Goyle did to her!” Valeria shouted so loud that it hurt
her throat. It had happened months ago, but it still sent Valeria into a fury to hear it spoken of
like this. “She was innocent! She was my friend and Draco’s too. We’ve always looked after
our own—!”

“Goyle is one of our own as well!” Snape said. “Infighting amongst the ranks is far more
dangerous than any other threat to our cause. Draco should consider himself lucky that the
Dark Lord sees so much value in him and not as much in Goyle. Otherwise, I doubt you
would have ever seen Draco again after what he did.”

“Don’t you dare!” she shouted, panicking at the thought of losing Draco and being left alone
in this nightmare.
“I dare because you need to hear it! What Draco did was not in the interest of the cause; It
was personal. He cannot allow his emotions to get in the way of what his position needs him
to be. Don’t pretend you don’t see it too. His quickness to violence is a liability not an asset
to—”

“He’s always had a temper, even in school. You remember—”

“I remember the frightened child who had Dumbledore caught in a trap and still could not
manage to fulfill his duty even as he watched them torture you. You know this is different.
Your potion might help make him into an unrelenting savage, but there is more to it than that.
You know it too.”

Valeria was on the verge of tears for the first time in a long time. Draco was careful that she
never saw him at his work. He tried hard to keep the capacity of his violence from her. He
didn’t scare her, but Snape’s insinuation did.

“What happened with Pansy was different. Goyle beyond deserved what Draco did. She was
your student too, don’t you remember? Did she not matter at all? Is all she was, what the rest
of are, just inconsequential broodmares!?”

“There are some that might think so, among them possibly your own father-in-law, given his
disappointment around your situation,” he said.

Seething on the verge of being sick she stared hatefully into him. “How dare you speak to me
in such a disgusting—”

“As vile as I too find such attitudes, I am being honest with you. I am trying to warn you.
You are first and foremost the Dark Lord’s servant and second you are Draco Malfoy’s wife.
While your intellectual gifts, in my opinion, are quite valuable, what is asked of you because
of them comes after the first two.”

Valeria was nearly shaking in rage. The realization of her own worthlessness made her wish
herself dead.

The door opened and Valeria nearly lost her mind.

“Where is that goddamn house elf!?” she shouted as she turned to see Draco in the doorway,
stunned in surprise.

“Good to see you too, darling, how was your day?” he said sarcastically, a poorly timed joke,
unbeknownst to him. That was until he saw Valeria’s teary eyes and desperate expression. His
look darkened and his eyes narrowed. Valeria saw the ruthlessness that Snape had only just
moments ago mentioned as Draco marched forward, stepping between her and
Snape. “Valeria, go."

“We have things to attend to,” she said quietly and truthfully.

“Go.”
“You don’t get to order me around like a dog,” she snapped a little, wounded by her
conversation with Snape. Draco turned and took her by the arm gently and brought his face
closer to hers.

“Go.”

The tone in his voice and the unforgivingly chilling look in his eyes softened her resolve. She
wasn’t frightened of him, but he meant his command. She nodded slowly and pulled from
him, marching out of the room and slamming the door without so much as a word to Snape.

Draco turned, targeting his unmerciful gaze at Snape.

“What did you say to her?”

 Wise Words
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mild implied violence. Poor prison conditions.

Forced/arranged marriage. Mention of death.

June 1998

The world was still reeling, and Valeria avoided the chambers she shared with Draco like the
plague.

Draco had returned before dawn after doing the Dark Lord’s will on some assignment. He
didn’t tell her what he had done. He probably couldn’t even if he wanted to. He needed to be
alone for a while as he could barely look her in the eyes. That left her alone in a sitting room
of Malfoy Manor trying to read a book or pacing or staring out blankly at the grounds
outside. Any distraction she chose was just never quite enough to make her unclench her jaw.

Even summer was cold. Even on the brightest of days where she longed to feel the rays of the
sun on her face, she could not bear to step outside. The world was too uncertain. There was
too much danger. She thought of the last time she felt the sun on her skin, but the memory
would bubble to the surface of her consciousness. It wasn't that long ago. It was somewhere
far away that she did not recognize. There was water there. Why would this memory not form
itself into completion at her mind’s command?

“Madam Malfoy?” Tinky shyly asked. Valeria hadn’t even noticed the door creek open.
“Sorry to have startled you—”

“What is it?”

“You have a visitor. Headmaster Snape is here.”

“Tell him Draco is indisposed.”

“He’s here to see you, he says, Madam Malfoy.”

How Snape, with all the duties surely now thrusted upon him, had the time to talk to her or
for what purpose was beyond her, but she granted the house elf permission to send Snape in.
She quickly adjusted her robes and her posture, calling upon her mother’s lifelong lessons of
poise and conversation to use as a shield against the fear she felt about everything around her.
Snape was ever his cool, collected self when he entered the sitting room, dismissing Tinky
immediately. Valeria gestured for him to sit across from her.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Professor. How can I be of service?” Valeria asked quietly as
if reading from a prepared script.

“Being meek will not serve you, Mrs. Malfoy,” Snape said. She was jarred by the comment
but had nothing to rebut it with. “I am taking time from repairing and refashioning Hogwarts
to check on your well-being. Lucius mentioned that you have not left the house since you
were safely returned here. Draco did not provide much of an answer when I asked him
myself.”

“I’m doing well,” she lied.

“You may be able to fool your families and The Prophet with ease, but you will not fool me,”
he said. He stared at her something strange. It was intense, angry, as if his eyes were begging
something of her, trying to find something that she did not know was there. “Your self-
imposed confinement must come to an end.”

“I merely wish to stay out of the way of things that are above me, Professor,” she said. That
was a half-truth. She longed to be forgotten by the wicked of the world. The Dark Lord had
forgotten her marriage, the sacrifice of her father and brother, even her coerced betrayal
through being kidnapped by Potter. The worst of her life was mundane, unnoteworthy, to
him. She hoped that she herself could fall into such a state, to be completely forgotten in
exchange for a wink of peace.

“You don’t think someone like you can do so forever, do you?” Snape said. It was a warning,
but she registered it as a threat. “You’ve been useful. You are the poster-woman of the Dark
Lord’s values and you have been successful, despite the complications. Your ingenuity in
Potions and dark magic is not a secret, and your husband is the one who delivered us our
victory, Mrs. Malfoy. Better for you to show yourself now than to cower behind your
husband—”

“I’m not cowering!” she snapped.

“Is that so? You lock yourself up in these rooms while Draco is the one risking his life and
mind with every assignment. He cannot continue on like this without your intervention. I
know that you know this,” Snape said.

“He wanted me to stay out of it. Draco said he wanted me to stay away from…all that,”
Valeria said. Snape took a deep breath.

“And when has that ever worked for you, Miss Winters?”

She swallowed. Her hands slightly trembled. As usual, Snape was right. Her family had kept
her in the dark for so long, only for it all to come crashing down on her. Her brother had tried
to shield her, only for him to die for it. Draco had tried to keep her out, keep her in the dark,
but she intervened regardless to her near doom. Now the two of them were so tightly woven
together that even the notion of parting from him for too long induced nightmares.
It had been the deal. It had been Draco’s express command that she do nothing in service of
the New Order unless absolutely necessary. His goal was to keep her away. Her safety came
at the price of his sanity as he did the Dark Lord’s bidding, Draco’s crimes and atrocities
piling up into a barricade for her to hide behind. Snape was right. She could not allow it to go
on.

“And what would you have me do, Professor?”

“Rise to your station, Winters. Soften the blows.”

December 2002

Valeria was still caged, just not physically and not self-imposed. Still, it was difficult to
justify her dissatisfaction with her station. She was alive, which was more than many others
could say. That had been the goal since she was sixteen; she and Draco keeping each other
alive. The promise had never been to keep each other happy or healthy; just breathing and
hearts beating.

It was even more difficult to claim she was somehow caged when she freely walked about
Diagon Alley. The streets were still bare, though shops still remained. An air of fear and
dread hung over the place, suffocating nearly all hope and life. Wandless people,
Muggleborns who had had their wands taken away, begged at the side of the road, but none
yet dared to approach her. She could not look at them, using her hood as blinders for her
peripheral vision. They would be the first experimental victims for the substance she was
tasked to brew, she knew. It was only a matter of time.

She heard a quick shuffling as she entered Borgin and Burke’s and behind the counter found
Borgin himself smiling through his anxiety, wringing his hands. Trading in dark artifacts had
skyrocketed and his business prospered, but that was all the improvement Borgin saw in his
life, it seemed.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” he said with some surprise as she lowered her hood. “It’s so wonderful to see
you again.” He was lying through his teeth and she could hear it in his voice. Draco’s
reputation had preceded him and transferred thusly to her. That notion aggravated her as her
reputation, won all on her own, had for a long time been her most valued asset. “What can I
do for you today?”

“I spoke with Theodore Nott recently, he claims that you let a few specimens of priceless
basilisk fangs slip through your grasp sometime back and—”

His face was pale. “I—I told Nott that I have no idea what—”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested in excuses, Borgin. I want to know the details of who
had them and how.”
He swallowed and shook his head. “There’s very little to tell, I’m afraid.”

“Must I draw it out myself or should I call upon my husband to pay you a visit?”

“No, no, no, that’s not necessary, ma’am, my apologies,” he said quickly. She didn’t like
invoking Draco, he would have been irked if he knew she was here, but it seemed to do the
trick. As much as she hated being associated with Draco’s crimes, she supposed it was only
fitting and why not let it be useful when it suited her?

“Then do tell.”

“It’s…as I told Nott. It was late in the night. I heard shouting and clamoring down here in the
store. I caught them, a man and a woman, I think the woman’s bag must have spilled out on
the floor and I saw the fangs. When I made myself known, the intruders collected the fangs
and ran. They were gone when by the time I got to the door to chase them. That is all.”

“And why’d you let them leave with the fangs? In your dealings, I would think you’d
immediately recognize them.”

“I was, unfortunately, more concerned with the intruders. It was a stressful night, Mrs.
Malfoy. It was the Battle of Hogwarts and I feared…” Valeria looked up, wide eyed at
Borgin. Nott hadn’t mentioned that critical detail, to her memory. Borgin went pale again at
the look of her and stammered. “I swear it’s the truth, ma’am. They were right over there
when I caught them—”

She whipped around to where he pointed as he cut himself off. Right near where he pointed
was a large cabinet and realization crept up in her as her blood boiled. How could have
Borgin left out these details when he first spoke to Nott? But she was careful not to reveal too
much. The cabinet, the Battle of Hogwarts…Someone had escaped with basilisk fangs in
hand…

“Thank you, Borgin,” she said. “I’ll be on my way.”

He shouted niceties after her as she left the shop, but the relief in his voice at her departure
was apparent. It was fortunate Borgin had not put together the Battle of Hogwarts with the
cabinet. She remembered that Draco and his accomplices had paid Borgin a fair amount of
coin to keep quiet and disclosed nothing to him prior to the start of sixth year. In fact, there
were very few who knew about the cabinet and even fewer knew where it led.

Valeria was nearly certain that the Battle of Hogwarts and the intruders were connected.
Everyone who was not in hiding in the wizarding world had come to the battle. It would have
been a fool’s errand to brazenly try to rob a shop in the middle of the night on that night in
particular. But everyone who knew about the cabinet at Hogwarts, and its repair, was either
dead or otherwise accounted for. Snape and Draco wouldn’t have had the time to smuggle
themselves out of the castle and back again, that didn’t make sense. Dumbledore was dead, as
was Potter. Her own memories of that night were fuzzy, but she believed fully that she had
nothing to do with it. She had been found by Snape that night, after all. A man and a woman
had been there, according to Borgin’s account, but her mind was blank as to who could
possibly have gotten out of the castle with basilisk fangs.
Valeria would have to go through the records of who lived and died at the Battle of Hogwarts
later. Mind reeling with the burning questions, she dreaded her next errand even more that
she had before. It was one of the few remaining places in the wizarding world that made her
grateful for her place in the world.

Azkaban had always been hellish, but even more so now, and she felt the cold of the
dementors’ presence as she was escorted into the prison. She never asked about what
happened there now. She did not want to know. It was a mark to just how vile some people
were that the guards standing before the high security floor of the prison were laughing with
one another.

“A visitor for Lovegood,” Valeria’s escort said. One of the guards scoffed. Valeria had kept
her hood up once more, but she could feel their eyes on her. They were glorified Snatchers;
low level members of the Dark Lord’s forces who themselves vied for the coveted Dark Mark
that only the highest ranking men and women bore. The very type of person to let a little bit
of power make them feel as though they were masters of the universe.

“And who might that be? We can’t just let anyone in to see the blood traitor collection.”

Valeria, repulsed by these people, lowered her hood. “Valeria Malfoy, sir. I have business
with Lovegood.” Much like Borgin earlier, the two guards froze for a moment when they saw
her. She saw them staring at the scar on her face, her greatest humiliation, though neither was
stupid enough to say anything about it.

“Of course, Mrs. Malfoy, our apologies,” the other guard said before letting her and the escort
pass through. Once again it was Draco’s reputation they feared, or rather, respected enough to
not ask further questions.

“She does not have her wand of course, so she should be of no trouble for you. Upon release,
a sophisticated Trace will be placed on her informing us when and where she does any form
of magic. If she is found in violation of terms of release she will suffer the consequences,”
the escort said as they passed by the eerily silent cells lining the walls. “Would you like me to
join you or proceed alone?”

“I think I can handle one unarmed blood traitor,” Valeria said.

“As you wish,” the escort said as he cast a complex spell on the door before them. He
gestured for her to open it and stepped away. “You have fifteen minutes.”

Valeria thanked him and opened the door with some reservation that she tried to hide. She
entered the cold, stone cell alone and shut the door behind her. Her eyes adjusted to the
darkness, but she still illuminated the tip of her wand for a little extra light.

In a corner, seated atop some old blankets or cloth, was Luna Lovegood. Valeria was so taken
aback by the state of her former classmate that she thought she had the wrong cell at first.
The woman’s hair had been sheered short. She was thin and ragged looking. Her eyes looked
to be ever at the brink of tears she could not bring herself to shed. Valeria swallowed her
sympathy and stifled all compassion as Luna looked up at her like she was seeing an
unexpected ghost.
“Valeria…” Luna muttered, her voice tired and raspy. “Why…? I don’t…”

“I’m here to help you,” Valeria said before Luna could ask the question. “Though I doubt
you’ll see it that way.”

“…What?”

Valeria pulled from her robes a small stack of paperwork bound in a leather cover. “I’m told
you will be released soon, congratulations. As you are a witch of pure pedigree it has been
decided that you shall marry. It is my duty to assist in the coordination of these unions. I
don’t have to do this, let’s make that clear, but I’m here to offer you some choice in the
matter.”

Luna’s gaze narrowed on Valeria. “You can’t…You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Valeria said as she held out the paperwork. “I’ve pulled a few options, but I
recommend Terry Boot. He’s set to be released around the same time as you and…you know
him. He’ll be…he’ll be decent.”

Valeria hated remembering Terry Boot’s existence. Their laughably childish schoolyard
romance, to stretch that word’s meaning, was not something she cared to remember. That was
a different life. A dead one. Luna reached out and swatted angrily at the papers in Valeria’s
hand, but the latter managed to snatch her hand away in time. Luna was slow and clumsy in
her condition.

“I would not try that again if I were you,” Valeria warned darkly. “Lovegood, I’m trying to
help you. If you don’t accept it, I cannot guarantee you won’t be placed with someone far
crueler than Boot.”

Luna eyed her with that freakishly knowing gaze that always made a pit form in Valeria’s gut.
“You’ve made that mistake before?”

Valeria remembered Pansy hanging from that chandelier. “I have.”

Luna’s expression contorted in disgust. “I should have known. I am not your absolution,
Winters.”

“I’m not asking for it. Nor do I want it.”

“Then why?”

“No other women need to die trying to live up to the example I set, Lovegood. Just take the
damn files and if Boot is a suitable option, inform a guard and they’ll get word to me.”

Luna gently took the papers from Valeria and held onto them. She stared down for a moment
before looking up again, tears in her eyes. This time they were real ones that were about to
fall. “Valeria…my father…you were there—”

“Turn to Boot’s file.”

“Valeria, please—”

“Turn to Boot’s file,” Valeria commanded quietly through clenched teeth. Lovegood finally
obeyed with shaking fingers and when she got to it, she stopped before letting out a sob. She
brought her knees to her chest as she set down the papers, cradling a dainty chain her
clenched fists. Valeria had snuck the odd little pendant of Xenophilius Lovegood's in with the
paperwork.

“How did you get this?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Valeria said, knowing it would be a little more
difficult to worm her way out of smuggling in contraband to Azkaban were Lovegood to
blab. Luna nodded, understanding Valeria’s meaning.

“Can you at least tell me what happened to him?” she asked, barely above a whisper. Valeria
stiffened and wore the most blank expression she could muster.

“I killed him,” Valeria said matter-of-factly. Luna sobbed hard once more.

“Why?!”

“Mercy.”

“For him?”

“He wasn’t special to me, Lovegood. He wasn’t the first, probably not the last,” Valeria said
before a long pause. She could not stand Luna’s sobs anymore. “Do send word about the
marriage. I look forward to your happy union.”

Valeria turned as Luna called after her, knocking on the door to be let out. The escort shut the
door on Luna’s sobs as Valeria quickly made her way out of Azkaban. That was enough of
errands for one day.

But the day did not improve once she arrived back home at Malfoy Manor. Her mother and
Narcissa were already bothering her with questions about the big Christmas party Valeria was
charged to play hostess for. She had handed over most of the tasks to the two older women to
give them something to do and to have more time to work on the Dark Lord’s tasks. After
absentmindedly choosing this color and that décor, she escaped. Once safe in the north wing
of the Manor, she hunted for Draco wondering to herself whether she was to meet the lover or
the monster. It was never certain.

He was sat at the piano, briefly bathed in golden sunlight streaming in through the window,
so rare in the dead gloom of winter. But an unseen cloud passed overhead as she stepped
forward and Draco was once more awash in daytime shadow as he turned to her. His gaze
was soft, expectant, perhaps relieved to see her. It was rare to see him at ease, even if it
manifested from some defeated resignation. She approached him and stood beside the piano.

“Play something for me,” she asked. He withdrew his wand and she held her hand up to stop
him. “Without magic.”
“Magic is might, Winters,” Draco said with sarcastic little scoff. It was their little secret that
he still called her by her maiden name, though he never fully explained why. To him, it was a
fragment of who she once was that he could still hang on to. Speaking it aloud was a way to
remind her, and himself, that maybe somewhere they were still who they were.

“I didn’t know a law against piano playing was passed,” she said.

“I’ve hardly played in years.”

“You used to all the time.”

He rolled his eyes a little. “We were kids. And you always complained about my playing
anyway.”

“You were too aggressive with the keys.” She paused, running her fingers on the smooth,
black wood. “Your mother still plays. I hear her at night sometimes.”

“Keeps her sane,” Draco said.

“Can you try?”

He looked at her, his hardened refusal cracked by the gentleness of her request. It was hard
for him to deny her anything, even after he had denied her so much, least of all the possibility
of a decent life. He gently placed his hands on the keys and slowly played out a soft little
melody, simple but no less poignant in the moment.

“How were your errands?” he asked, as if trying to distract himself from his thoughts as he
played.

“Nice change of pace from locking myself up in the laboratory all day,” she started. “I saw
Luna Lovegood.” He looked up at her with a stern gaze, but kept playing. “I told her I’d have
her marry Terry Boot, if she wanted. He’ll be released around the same time as her.”

“Why?”

“Boot’s nice enough. They know each other from school. Figure it’s the best option she’s
got,” Valeria said.

“Boot’s been in and out of Azkaban for years. You went a few dates with him fifth year. You
can’t claim to know the man anymore,” Draco said with a sigh.

“I’m sure he’s still decent,” Valeria said. Draco looked into her again.

“You think so?”

“I want to.”

“You should stop doing favors for them. They don’t want them, and you risk going too far,”
Draco said, still playing.
“It’s not about favors. It’s mercy.”

“And you think we’ll be shown mercy?”

“I haven’t taken it far enough to have to ask that. I might as well do what I can with what
power I have,” she said. Draco wasn’t satisfied, but he looked back to the keys and let it go.

“And your other errands?”

“Just the one. I had a conversation with Borgin,” she said with hesitation. Draco stopped
playing at once and rose from the bench, which creaked as the legs dragged on the stone
floor. With long strides, he marched over to Valeria, looming over her.

“Snape explicitly told you—”

“Is Snape my keeper now? You’re taking his side?”

“I’m not. I told you that I set the record straight with him.” Draco sighed. “But in this one
case, I think he was right. You should have let Nott handle it.”

“I’m perfectly capable of doing things on my own while still adhering to the Dark Lord’s
values and I sure as hell am not going to listen to Snape—” she said.

“I agree, but he was trying to keep you out of danger, as am I. That means keeping you as
much out of the thick of things as possible—”

“But why? The Dark Lord called upon me personally, so if he sees my worth, so should the
rest of you. Snape has no idea what he’s talking—”

“He left you in tears when I intervened,” Draco said, crossing his arms.

“You think I’m weak?” she asked, deeply wounded.

“No. If anything you’re too stubborn and strong, as always. That’s why you need to be
careful and listen to us. You don’t have to listen to Snape and I want to know immediately if
he ever corners you like that again, but you should listen to me and I say that he’s right.”

“Is that what you want? Just take every order and heed every word you say like I’m your
goddamn house elf?”

“You know that if I did, I would have forced you to already. I want you to behave like my
wife.” He took a sharp inhale. “And I don’t want you fighting anymore battles.”

She collected herself and calmed her anger. “I didn’t have to fight Borgin. He was scared
enough just seeing me, but I’m glad I didn’t listen to Snape because I found out something
that Nott didn’t.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, patience wearing. “And?”

“Someone, two people, escaped the Battle of Hogwarts with the basilisk fangs.”
Draco took a step back. “What? How? How do you know—”

“Borgin forgot to tell Nott that the night that he saw the intruders in his shop was the night of
the Battle of Hogwarts. There was a man and a woman, and the woman’s bag or something
had spilled out on the floor, that’s when he saw the fangs. They scrambled and got out of the
shop, but they were long gone by the time he got out onto the street. They were by the
cabinet, Draco. He pointed right next to it. The one that links to Hogwarts.”

Draco stared at her as the realization dawned on him and his expression became grave. “Only
us, Snape, other Death Eaters and Potter knew about that cabinet. We know what happened to
everyone who knew about it—”

“That’s the problem. Who were they and why the hell did they have basilisk fangs?”

Draco paced about the room, running his hand through his hair. “This is bad. If they knew
about the connected cabinets, they could possibly get back into the school.”

“It’s been years and they haven’t come back, it seems. No one trying to break into Hogwarts
would last long anyway,” she said.

“It couldn’t have been anyone on our side. It might have been an accident. Someone trying to
hide and thought that was a good spot, not knowing it’d transport them.”

“It’s possible,” she nodded. “But the Room of Hidden Things is a maze. The likelihood
they’d just come upon it and wait around long enough to consider hiding in it without
knowing what it is seems off to me. Considering they had the fangs on their person, it looks
like they were trying to get out and knew how.”

He sighed. “You’re probably right. Potter knew about it…so that means…” He stopped. “His
friends. He might have told one of his friends. Fuck!”

“I doubt any of Potter’s friends would have high tailed and ran. They were loyal to him to the
end,” Valeria said.

“Yes, some of them still are. It’s the only guess I have,” he said, darting to a small writing
desk and quickly scribbling on parchment. “I’m telling Nott to search the records from that
night at the Ministry to find out what became of all the survivors and who’s not accounted
for. That’s a place to start. Who do you think Potter would have told that’s still alive?”

Valeria didn’t have to think long. “Ginny Weasley, maybe. My memory’s hazy, but I don’t
think he had much contact with her before the battle. But, he might have told her beforehand
or suggested it as a way out for her. She might have told others…”

“Granger and Ron Weasley were around in the Room of Requirement when I caught Potter,”
Draco said, low. He was having a hard time getting the words out. “But they’re dead.”

“Are you sure?”

“I saw their bodies, Valeria. I think it was them,” Draco said before taking a shaky breath.
“They didn’t have any fangs on them.” He shook himself from the memory. “I’ll have to call
on Blaise too. We’re going to have to interrogate Weasley.”

“I’m coming with you,” she said, coming to stand beside Draco, who turned on her.

“Absolutely not!” Draco said as if the suggestion were vulgar.

“I’m capable. I’m excellent at curses and—”

“I don’t want you there if it goes…poorly.”

She stepped toward him and put her hands gently on his upper arms. “We’ve been practicing.
The four of us can handle Weasley and her mum. Look at me.”

Draco obeyed; a fair bit taller than her he had to look down to meet her gaze. There was a
solemn grief in his eyes. For once, his steel gray eyes were soft. There was still some of the
Draco she knew and loved left within him.

“If anything happens to you…It would all be for nothing,” he said with dread, as if he were
speaking a curse or dirty word.

“You don’t have to carry the weight of this world alone. That’s the whole point of being
married, isn’t it?” she said. He took her in his arms slowly, gently, resting his head atop hers
and she felt his warmth, his resolve, his strength. She had hardly felt stronger herself than
when she was in his arms like this.

“The marriage was bullshit,” he whispered.

“It doesn’t seem like bullshit. Not after four years. That was deal, wasn’t it? You promised to
keep me alive, we vowed to do it this way if the Dark Lord won. Let me help,” she pleaded
quietly.

Draco only nodded. He didn’t know what to say and knew well enough that there was little
point in stopping her. Better for her to be there under his watch than for her to feel as though
she had to act alone. It was easy for him to get caught in the mire of his atrocities without
remembering why he set on this path in the first place. All for her. All for a girl he had known
his whole life. All for the only person who ever needed him.

For every curse, every abominable action, each choice that further and further damned him
was in the service of love.
 Predator and Prey
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Graphic description of violence. Description of death/corpses.

Psychological trauma. Psychological torment. Foul language. Male violence against
women (not sexual.)

May 1998

There was no comfort, no relief in this reunion, only dread, the night Draco returned from
Hogwarts. It had taken time to calm him, after he had roused Valeria awake, covered in
blood, his body shaking while he sobbed hysterically. When he could muster enough
strength, she helped him into the adjacent bathroom. Magic was used to quickly run warm
water and she helped him undress as he trembled too fiercely. Valeria vanished his soiled
clothes away, knowing well that Draco would never want to see them again anyway.

Gently, she helped him wash away the dirt, grime and blood from the battle. She saw the
scars on his torso from Potter’s curse in the bathroom sixth year. She had to wonder how
many scars there were that she could not see. How many gaping wounds throbbed within
him, bleeding and open to infection? It brought her nearly to tears, but she had to stifle those
feelings for his sake.

He was calmer once he was clean and he began to tell her what had happened, his voice often
breaking. He told her what he had done with Potter, how he secured a pardon for her and
forced Bellatrix to make an Unbreakable Vow to him. That news brought her a bitter comfort.
He explained who lived and died and how. He told her how he had committed his first true
murder and her heart shattered into dust for him. When his telling of the horror was finished,
he grabbed her hard on the wrist, his fingers touching the serpentine ward that she dutifully
wore.

“I’ll never say any of this again. You will never ask me about it again,” he said. He frightened
her. His eyes were wild with shock and fury. But she nodded as the reality of her life took
hold within her. If Voldemort won, they would remain married and continue on in the world
created in his own image. This was it. This was the bitter end. Grief and anger for herself
selfishly nearly overcame her. But she managed to swallow and speak softly.

“On one condition,” she said.

“What?”
Tears were hot in her eyes. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done, forever, on one condition.
Someday, when it’s right, I’m going to kill Bellatrix Lestrange.”

December 2002

Draco returned much more at ease than when he had departed. He came into Valeria's potions
laboratory with papers in hand and sighed when he shut the door, as if dropping a heavy
burden to his relief.

“What happened?”

“Good news,” he began. “I tested the cabinet at Borgin and Burke’s and it doesn’t work.
Nothing gets transported when I try it. That means the cabinet at Hogwarts is non-
functional.”

“How do you know? Vanishing cabinets are finicky at the best of times—”

He smirked and let out a little huff of a laugh. “I spent an entire schoolyear learning the ins
and outs of vanishing cabinets. I think I’m a bit of an expert on the subject.”

“Fair enough. At least we know no one can get in or out of Hogwarts that way.”

“I’m still going to have the one in Knockturn Alley moved,” Draco said. “Without being
absolutely certain what the status of the sister cabinet is, I don’t want it sitting around in
public. I think the Winters Castle cellar would be ideal.”

“That’s doable. Tilly can help get around the protective enchantments,” Valeria said. “How’d
it go with Nott?”

Draco stepped forward and set the paperwork down on the one table that didn’t have
cauldrons sitting atop it. He handed Valeria the first parchment on the stack. “He put a list
together of everyone who’s gone unaccounted for since the Battle of Hogwarts. The rest of
these documents are their individual records; reported whereabouts, suspected status,
etcetera.”

Valeria read the list of names,

Bell, Katie

Corner, Michael

Creevey, Colin

Finnigan, Seamus

Hedgeflower, Gwendoline
 Jordan, Lee

Longbottom, Neville

Lupin, Nymphadora

McGonagall, Minerva

Weasley, Fleur

“No one from our side,” she said.

“They’re all accounted for, as I suspected they would be,” Draco said with a shrug.

“Does Snape know about the cabinet?” she asked.

“I told him what you discovered since he already knew about it to begin with. He’s agreed it’s
best that the other one be moved. I still think we should start with Weasley. I’ve sent Blaise
out already to start collecting anything he can on these people. I’ll have to ask my aunt about
Nymphadora Lupin since hunting her down has been her personal project for a while now,”
Draco said.

Valeria cringed at the mention of Bellatrix Lestrange. Valeria anxiously awaited the
opportunity to finally kill Lestrange herself, but for now stifled her impatient ambitions and
nodded. “I have to admit, Draco, this isn’t promising. Hardly any of these people would have
been close enough to Potter for him to tell them about the cabinet and its location before he
died. And it has to be one male and one female who also somehow had a stash of basilisk
fangs. None of these really fit the bill.”

“It’s the only lead we got for now. Hence why we still have to interrogate Weasley.
Personally, my money’s on Longbottom and either Jordan or Nymphadora.”

“So what now?”

“We get the cabinet moved. I’ll have you in Wales with Tilly and I’ll send it from Knockturn
Alley. Hopefully, that’ll work. After that…” he paused and shifted his weight. “We
interrogate Weasley. I’ll need some more Veritaserum, if you have the time.”

Valeria sighed. Veritaserum was one of the most common potions the Death Eaters had asked
her to make and with so much practice, she had perfected the recipe. However, it was still a
damned tricky, time consuming potion to make.

“Can’t you just use Legilimency?” she asked. Surely Weasley’s mind wouldn’t be that
difficult to tap as she wasn’t trained in Occlumency, to Valeria’s knowledge. Draco ran his
hand through his hair and sighed.

“Veritaserum is a lot more…humane. Trust me,” he said quietly, as if musing aloud, lost in
memory. She didn’t question or argue further.
The vanishing cabinet was efficiently moved to the Winters estate in Wales soon after. Deep
under the small castle was a storage cellar, carved out centuries ago. Valeria waited alone in
that room, surrounded by generations of her bloodline’s dark secrets, including her own. The
Winters didn’t have any skeletons in their closets; they kept them all here in the cellar.

When Draco arrived with the cabinet, assisted by Tilly in order to magically transport the
cabinet directly into the highly secure location, he went to a corner of the room to an old
trunk and used his knife to make a small cut on his palm, then pressed his hand to the lock.
Draco had explored blood magic over the years a great deal and found it quite useful. He
steeled himself as the trunk opened and pulled from it a cloak, which Valeria recognized
immediately as he held it out to her.

“Potter’s cloak?” she asked.

He nodded. “I want you to wear it until I tell you otherwise when we go to the Weasleys'.”

“You can’t possibly expect it to go that bad—”

“I’m in charge of these missions and therefore I make the rules. Just do it, for my peace of
mind, please?” he said, sounding exacerbated. She knew she wouldn’t win this argument. He
had developed a paranoid protectiveness over the years so even if wearing the cloak was
wholly unnecessary, and borderline insulting, she knew he was demanding this to soothe his
own obsessive fears.

He slammed the trunk closed when she agreed. Draco had been given or confiscated himself
a few of Harry Potter’s items from the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco wanted to hold onto them,
keep them accessible, but would suffer no reminders of Harry Potter in Malfoy Manor. The
cellar of the Winters’s estate was the ideal compromise. He looked at his wife and
remembered Potter’s last words, the ones that Draco never told anyone, not even Valeria;
Draco...you’re making a mistake.

Ginny was at a loss for what to do as she sat on the sofa in the Burrow a few days later. There
had been no new leads and they were having to ration food. Molly, fortunately, had not asked
or noticed where all the extra food was going, and Ginny knew better than to tell her mother
about the extra mouths to feed under a trap door.

She spun the red, metal ring on her on her right index finger. All blood traitors were required
to wear them and no matter how hard one pulled, or what spell they tried, it could not be
removed. Several blood traitors had tried chopping off their own fingers, but the rings would
release a deadly, corrosive curse that destroyed the hand’s tissues and require amputation.
Either way, they would always be marked unless they performed some service that pleased
the new Ministry enough to properly remove it.

The rings prevented her from getting a proper job to support her and her mother. No one
would hire a blood traitor for even the most meager jobs. No one could risk the association.
Even people who Ginny knew to be good would not help her nor give her an opportunity. She
tried not to begrudge them for it, but the pangs of hunger only reminded her of her
resentments. She and Molly relied on their gardens and hunting small game with the aid of
magic in order to get food. But the winter had grown hard and hiding her friends had taken a
personal and practical toll on Ginny.

Ginny never much liked jewelry save for special occasions in her old life long ago. She
remembered with heartache how she used to childishly fantasize about wearing a wedding
ring from Harry. But it was all she could do now to do what he would do. She was trying to
keep him alive, preserve him, by making the decisions he would make. He would share his
food, even if it meant he’d starve. He would keep his loved ones safe at great personal peril.
So would she.

Ginny was torn from her lamentations at the sound of an owl pecking at the window. She
shivered as she opened it and took its letter, not being able to spare a morsel in return, though
it flew off before she would have had a chance. The front of it simply read, Burn After
Reading. She tore it open,

Run.

-J.D.

Panic strangled her now racing heart as she crumpled the letter and tossed it into the fire. She
called out for her mum and she was about to call down to the others under the trap door.

But it was too late by a few short seconds.

Draco, Blaise and Theodore descended upon the Burrow in the form of shadowy clouds,
bypassing the weak enchantments with ease on the strength of their prowess with dark magic.
They surrounded Ginny in the living room.

Meanwhile, Valeria stood under Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak outside the Burrow, waiting
for the signal for her to enter. In her anxious anticipation, she could not help but be miffed
with Draco’s insistence that she wait outside, after she had given him the Tranquila Sensus
potion he had asked for. Admittedly though, she found some sort of strange comfort being
under the cloak. It was the first time in a long time she could guarantee she wasn’t being
watched. Reveling in being unseen for once, she took the time to breathe, a nice long, deep
breath feeling her lungs warm the cold air she inhaled.

Valeria looked out at the Burrow and remembered the miserable times she had spent there as
a teenager. Lost and with no control of her life, she had been forced to stay there under the
careful watch of the Order of the Phoenix, now long gone. It was clear her presence was
unwanted, and even back then she could not blame the Weasleys for their displeasure. She
too had been so uncomfortable, so out of her element and so deep in her own mourning that
the displeasure was certainly mutual. But she remembered with shame that they did try.
There was a bright green glow visible through the windows of the lowest level that lingered
for a moment and Valeria knew that to be her cue. She strode forward toward the borderline
makeshift house and entered, still under the cloak. She was immediately met with Molly’s
hysterical screams.

“Will you shut her up, Blaise?” Draco asked with a bored drawl, his and the others’ masks
now removed. Blaise promptly cast a silencing charm on Molly Weasley, still red-faced and
in tears. The woman had lost weight, her hair had grayed and resembled a wiry mess as she
sat, magically bound to a chair beside her daughter. Valeria shut the door to keep out winter’s
wrath and revealed herself as she removed the cloak.

Ginny, also magically bound to a chair, looked up. Her previous expression colored with
petrified fear morphed at once into an angry one that reminded Valeria of an aggressive dog.
Ireful tears filled Ginny’s eyes, but it was Blaise who first broke the silence.

“Lovely of you to join us, Valeria. See, Malfoy, I told you there was no reason to make her
wait. Making your poor wife stand out in the cold…tsktsk,” Blaise mused, sarcastically.

“Once again, Blaise, your jokes are both unfunny and unasked for,” Valeria said, though she
did agree with him, as she shoved the cloak into a bag she had on her person. Draco held out
his hand, but Ginny interrupted.

“That was Harry’s…” Ginny said, her voice cracking a little as she spoke quietly. Valeria
looked back to Ginny sharply, the casual banter was so bizarrely at odds with the situation
Ginny was in. “You…you took it from…”

“Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to, traitor,” Nott said flatly. Ginny didn’t appear to hear
the warning, her hateful gaze fixed on Valeria.

“It belongs to…it’s been in his family for generations…” Ginny said, still sounding like she
was musing aloud.

“Seems that ship has sailed, Weasley. Unless you have some news you’d like to share with
us,” Draco paused while Ginny kept her focus on Valeria. “Well, sounds like there are none
of Potter’s bastards running around.” Blaise and Nott laughed a little and that’s when Ginny
turned on Draco.

“Was his body even cold when you took if off him like a fucking trophy—?” she began, but
Draco cut her off by roughly taking Ginny’s jaw in his gloved hand. Molly struggled against
her magical bonds, trying to scream.

“I couldn’t have delivered him to the Dark Lord without it. Would you like to hear the whole
story?” Draco asked, bringing his face close to Ginny’s. Valeria felt an empty pit form in her
gut at his tone. His voice was much darker and sinister than even she knew. “How I used the
Imperius Curse to march him all the way out of the castle while your lot fought. Right under
all of your noses. A bit inspired on my part, I think. Harry Potter delivered to his doom with
his own family heirloom—”
Unable to squirm out of his grip, all Ginny could do was spit right into Draco’s face. He
recoiled away in disgust and gestured to Molly. At his prompt, Nott cast a curse on Molly,
quite clearly causing her pain. Ginny shouted in defensive retaliation, but Draco turned on
her again.

“Want more, Weasley? How would you like to hear how the Boy Who Lived landed on the
ground with a pathetic thud? Oh, you should have seen how the Dark Lord toyed with his
corpse, flinging it against the trees, against the dirt. The Chosen One, the great Harry Potter,
limbs dangling like a dead animal, and I got to see firsthand what he really was in the end; He
was nothing,” Draco said through his teeth.

Ginny trembled with rage, tears flowing freely and her face red with fury. “Drop. Fucking.
Dead.”

Draco laughed a little. “I must say I didn’t expect the foul language from you. The Weasleys
were always so wholesome, but none of you ever had the humility that fitted your station.
You lot always thought you were so much more virtuous than the rest of us. Where’d that
virtue get them, Weasley? I don’t think I need to describe it to remind you of how they died;
pathetically and exactly how they deserved while they begged for mercy. Even after seeing
all that, it seems you didn’t learn. Still in love with a dead boy. It’s a bit romantic, really, in a
pitiful sort of way.”

Ginny turned to Valeria. “I rather love a dead man than be a Death Eater's filthy whore—”

So swiftly that Valeria could not process it in the moment, Draco struck Ginny across the face
as hard as he could with the back of his hand. The strike was so forceful that Ginny surely
would have been knocked to the floor if she weren’t magically bound to her seat. Molly
continued to struggle as Ginny slowly straightened herself, a red mark on her face and a
small cut on her lip.

Valeria knew Draco’s temper well. She knew him to be the school bully. She had seen him
duel fiercely. She had seen him be cruel when he felt nothing else would work. She had seen
him kill. Many times, had she seen him kill, and he broke down each night in their chambers
after he did so. Never had she seen him purposefully torment someone on his own accord.
Never had she seen him smirk and smile as he did so. Was he always like this? Had he been
destined to become this? Did the potions she gave him to smother his emotions and flush out
his compassion do more than just dull his hesitations? Did the potion make him enjoy this?

Ginny laughed. “Why do you look so shocked, Winters? Finally seeing who exactly you’re
stuck married to? Thinking about what’s it going to be like when he runs his hands all over
you later—?”

Draco shoved his wand far back into Ginny’s mouth and she gagged as she struggled against
him. “Dare to speak to her again and I will cut out your tongue, filthy traitor.”

“We don’t have all day, Draco…” Nott said, sounding quite bored with this show. Draco,
seething in fury still, reluctantly removed his wand from Ginny’s throat and she coughed as
she caught her breath. He held out his hand towards Valeria.
“The Veritaserum, Valeria,” he ordered. She pulled it from her bag and handed the vial to
him. Ginny’s bold ferocity suddenly left her.

“I’ll tell you anything you want. You don’t need to use—”

“Trust me, Weasley, I’m being kind. This is the easy way. I don’t think you want to know
what the hard way will be,” Draco said. “Valeria, search the place while we interrogate her.”

Valeria didn’t say a word as she followed Draco’s command. Whilst the interrogation went
underway, she turned the house upside down searching for basilisk fangs, just in case Ginny
had stashed them there. It was a long shot, but it was better to cover all bases. Without trying
or wanting to, she recalled once more the time she spent here at the Burrow and how much
she loathed it. The Weasleys were loud, rambunctious, always bustling and active. It drove
her mad when she stayed there, so different from the quiet and composure of her home in
Wales.

Now it felt haunted by silence and grief. There were no voices to overhear through the thin
walls. No pranks going on downstairs. No Quidditch games out in the yard. No games at play
at all. No Molly scolding one child or another. No meal being prepared to feed the large
family. It was all cold and dread. Even the ghoul that the Weasleys had apparently treated like
a pet had vacated the place. The rooms of the Weasleys' dead appeared just how they had
been left. Ron’s room still had his Quidditch posters, his clothes, his odds and ends.

Valeria picked up a photograph of Ron, Harry and Hermione in a makeshift frame. She could
not recall what year it was from, but they looked happy. Harry Potter didn’t look like the
villain he had been made out to be in the Dark Lord’s new world. He looked like an
unassuming normal boy who could not be trusted to style his own hair. She left it behind,
letting it remain like a museum artifact of an age long gone.

She spent a long time searching but found nothing. No signs of basilisk fangs. No objects.
Not even a single scrap of anything that could point to dissidence or treason. She returned to
the living area of the Burrow empty handed just as Draco’s interrogation was winding down.

“Find anything?” Draco asked.

“No, I don’t think she’s hiding any—” she cut herself off as she took a step forward on the
carpet and stopped. She felt the floor under the rug beneath her sink a little bit more than in
her previous steps. She brought her other foot forward and though it was hard to describe, the
floor felt hollow under her footfall. Ginny turned sharply to Valeria as the latter stopped still.
There was something down there.

All of Ginny’s rage, hate and frustration as she fought against the effects of the potion were
gone in an instant. It was only abject fear on her face, as she went ghostly pale, save for the
red mark Draco had given her. Valeria had spent so many years believing she was on
borrowed time. For so long had she felt she was walking over a bottomless gorge on a
tightrope blindfolded. One misstep, one mistake, one slightly imperfect move and it would all
be gone in a flash of green light or worse. For so many years she felt backed into a corner.
Like she was being watched for errors. Like she was a desperate prey animal being
relentlessly hunted.
But when she saw the hopeless, desperate fear in Ginny’s once bright eyes, the way her lip
quivered as she looked at Valeria’s feet, the pleading helplessness in her expression, Valeria
froze.

For it was then that Valeria realized it was she herself who had been the predator this whole
time.

“Do you have or are you hiding basilisk fangs, Weasley?” Valeria asked sternly.

“No,” Ginny sputtered out, forced to tell the truth. If what Valeria sought was not under that
floor, she was not going to make this worse.

“Something wrong?” Draco asked impatiently.

“No. Just making sure,” Valeria said as she stepped off that part of the floor. Though Ginny
was relieved, she was not completely soothed for the woman she hated most in this world
might have still had suspicions about Ginny’s most dangerous secret.

Valeria and the Death Eaters left shortly thereafter, releasing Ginny and a violently trembling
Molly from their bonds. Molly was frantic and hysterical, and Ginny knew that those hidden
below the house would make their way out from their hiding place at any moment. She had
no choice but to lead Molly to the sofa and magically put her to a restful sleep for now.
Before Ginny could do anything else, the cellar door flew open with enough force to move
the rug that covered it out of the way. Seamus, angrier than ever, emerged and marched to
Ginny.

“Seamus, wait!” Neville cried out as he emerged behind Seamus.

“What the fuck was that, Ginny?!” Seamus said, seething. “You had them, you had him, right
in front of you and you just let him get away!”

“I was stuck to a chair, Seamus!”

“You had your wand before that. You could have done something!”

“J.D. sent a letter warning us and I had to get rid of it before they got here. There wasn’t
time!” She paused, holding back stress induced tears. “I had to protect my mum.”

“You should have killed him and his whore too!”

“And then what? Zabini and Nott would have killed her and Molly right then and there. We
can’t just mindlessly kill Death Eaters and risk losing more of us. We can’t afford that—”
Neville argued, but Seamus turned on him.

“If you hadn’t held me back!”

“And let you get yourself and the rest of us killed?!”

“He killed Dean!” Seamus bellowed.

“Dean wouldn’t have wanted you to throw your life away for revenge!” Neville shouted. “We
just need to wait and—”

“How long, Neville? How long are we supposed to wait?! Potter’s been dead for years!
We’ve been hiding in that hole long enough. We’re starving, penniless and we can’t dream of
showing our faces outside that hole! We had Malfoy fall into our laps and she let him slip
away!”

“I didn’t let him do anything!” Ginny shouted at the top of her lungs.

“Enough!” Neville cried out.

“I’ve had it. We have to act. If you’re not with me, I’ll do it alone,” Seamus hissed.

Things were not much calmer that evening in Malfoy Manor when Draco returned from
helping Nott and Blaise with the formal report. Valeria had been stewing in her own
anxieties. She had half a mind to keep them to herself. After all, the one thing she feared
most other than Draco’s death was the two of them coming apart. But when he entered the
sitting room to see her, she could not hide her thoughts and Draco knew her well enough to
see right through any barrier she attempted to put up.

“You told me, after the Battle of Hogwarts, that you would never talk about what happened
with Potter again,” she said flatly.

“That’s different,” he said.

“How? Because you were saying it to torment her? Did you have to do that? Did you have to
hit her?”

Draco raised an eyebrow her for a moment. “You don’t think…Valeria, I’d never do that. Not
to you.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

He rolled his eyes and poured himself a drink from the ornate liquor cabinet. “We’ve had this
conversation already, years ago, and the answer is the same. I would have done it already if I
ever dreamed of wanting to.”

“That’s it? Only because you ‘don’t want to’? Not because you care? Not because you love
—”

“It’s precisely because I love you that I don’t want to, don’t you understand? How much
more do I have to do to prove that you?”

“Not that. Not what you did to Weasley,” she said bitterly.
He sighed after taking a sip. “She needed to be broken, Valeria. That’s why I did it. Since
when do you have any love for blood traitors, especially her?”

“I don’t. I just think she’s been broken enough.”

“Clearly not if she was that uncooperative. Why does it matter to you? Are you only going on
like this because we didn’t find anything?”

“I’m not going on like anything!” Valeria shouted, enraged by Draco’s condescendence. “Her
father and brothers were murdered before her eyes. That’s something I can understand.”

“They were executed.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. This is exactly why I didn’t want you to come—”

“You didn’t want me to see you at work, didn’t you? It was never about my safety. You knew
I could have handled them on my own if I wanted to. You didn’t want me to see you…like
that.”

Draco’s expression twisted in anger and shame as he marched toward her. Valeria had struck
a nerve.

“You need to understand one thing and one thing only. Everything I’ve done and will do is to
keep us, you, alive. Don’t fall under the delusion that I will not kill anyone who gets in the
way of not losing you.”

“Even if you lose yourself?”

“I lost myself a long time ago, Valeria.”

 A Woman's Weapon
Chapter Notes

I'll fix any errors I made soon, I promise. This is way too long, I'm sorry.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Blood/Gore. Violent Death. Attempted sexual assault. Foul

language. Domestic violence. Discussion of implied rape. Description of death/the dead.
Discussion of suicide. Mild discussion of torture.

December 1998

The tree was beautiful.

In the foyer of Malfoy Manor stood an immaculate pine, not a single needle bent out of shape
and not a single branch or twig drooped in the slightest. It must have been an old tree, given
its tremendous size; even the vast foyer could not dwarf it. Ornaments at least the size of
Valeria’s head glistened as though they made their own light and full garlands of festive
colors cascaded in elegant spirals down the tree’s branches. Valeria was trying with all her
might to enjoy it, inhaling the evergreen scent, to find some comfort or enthusiasm on this
Christmas morning.

But it was just as empty as any other day. She had exchanged gifts with the Malfoys and her
mother. More of the same, though she was no longer naïve enough to expect otherwise.
Jewelry, sets of fine robes, perfumes, glamours, expensive home décor. At least Daphne had
sent her supplies for her work in potions; that was nice.

She lingered by the tree trying to feel the warmth of the holiday. Really, she was just thankful
to have gotten away from family for a little while. She glanced to her right to see the massive
portrait that had been her and Draco’s gift a year prior. Her own image, unscarred and
perfectly poised, Draco standing stiffly behind her, looked right through her. Both her and
Draco’s likenesses wore sullen expressions, looks of disappointment, as if she had somehow
failed her younger self.

“There you are.”

She turned, a bit startled by his voice, to see Draco dressed for going out. Draped over his
arm was her winter cloak.

“Needed a break,” she said honestly. “Where are you planning on going?”

“To take my wife to her Christmas present.”

She sighed. “We agreed no gifts between us this year.”

“I lied.” He unfurled her cloak and draped it around her shoulders, clasping it at the throat.
He did so with a touch of tenderness. He had resolved to be as gentle with her as he could for
as long as he could for there was no more room in this world for gentleness save here. He
pulled up her hood. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be in here a second longer than we have to.”

She took his arm as they left the manor and walked out onto the vast grounds. The Malfoys
annexed land from Muggles centuries ago and the paths they tread behind the Manor were
only a fraction of the full extent of the estate. Valeria knew these paths well, having
frequently walked them out of boredom or restlessness for quite some time.

“My present is…out here?” she asked.

“You doubt me, Winters? You of little faith,” he said with a soft smirk. She sighed and didn’t
question further. It was a leisurely stroll and, admittedly, a welcome one. She felt the snow
muffle her footsteps as it crunched a little beneath her. It was the soft, fluffy snow, fresh and
new. As if fallen from on high to try and purify the world, making everything appear in
grayscale. Even the manor in the distance looked remarkably darker than in the past until
they had walked far enough away for it to be out of sight.

“I recognize this,” she mused.

He nodded. “This is where we got lost when we were kids. The time your brother found us
out here.” What should have been a silly childhood memory that they looked back fondly
upon was tainted by the reality of their state and what had happened to Konstantin Winters.
They were getting closer to that little grove where they as children feared an oncoming
thunderstorm, wondering if they were ever to be found or were doomed to live out their days
in the grounds of the manor, forgotten.

But when they turned a corner, a bright pop of color in the grove caught Valeria’s eye and she
stopped still. Purple, light purple. Hundreds of little flowers in full, bright, bloom adorning
the branches of a lilac tree. Lilacs never bloom long, yet here they were, radiant in the dead
of winter. She turned sharply to Draco.

“That’s not—”

“No, it’s not the one Konstantin enchanted for you. I did this one on my own. I thought
maybe you’d like having one here too,” Draco said softly. She slowly pulled away from him
and walked over to the tree. She hadn’t visited the one in Wales often, the very one her
brother had chosen to be buried under. It felt vulgar to do so. She missed Konstantin too
much.

She took off her glove and reached up to touch the flowers. Cool to the touch, but softer than
velvet. They were so delicate in her gentle fingers that she feared she’d accidentally destroy
or corrupt them. A cold gust of wind blew and forced her hood to slide off her head. And
carried on that frigid wind came the scent of the lilac wafted all around her. The fragrance
was sweet and full of life. It smelled like sanctuary.
And this was why Draco had taken the time to learn how to enchant an eternally blooming
tree himself. He stood on, trying not to smile too much for fear of his joy being painfully
ripped from him, as he knew all too well. He watched her in all her grace, losing herself a
little in a beautifully simple, natural indulgence. Dressed in dark colors against the bleak
whiteness of the world, sheltered by the vibrant shades of purple whose fragrance enraptured
her senses. The girl he loved was alive somewhere in there still.

His heart ached a little to bear witness to how exquisite she was to him.

December 2002

Valeria hated Christmas.

Though she never felt more in her element, more comfortable in her own skin, than when
hosting this very party, she still hated Christmas. She was more than happy to let Narcissa
and Odessa have their fun planning and decorating for this damned annual party, which over
the years had grown in size and extravagance without any sign of plateauing in the years to
come. It had become such an event that even the likes of Rita Skeeter and photographers
from the Prophet attended to report on it.

Valeria hated Christmas because it was now the one day of the year that Bellatrix Lestrange
was allowed on the Malfoy property.

As the annual party had grown in size, luxury and prestige over the years, it was harder to
pragmatically justify Bellatrix’s banishment from Malfoy Manor when all the other elite
members of wizarding society, marked Death Eaters naturally included, attended. It was only
under the social pressure and for the sake of avoiding the questions Bellatrix’s absence would
surely raise that Valeria compromised and begrudgingly allowed it.

Though there was a silver lining. Valeria loved almost nothing more than watching Bellatrix
simmer with resentment as the former smiled and made polite small talk with her, knowing
there was no way Bellatrix could react without risking suddenly dropping dead. Now that
would have been a hell of a Christmas gift, to Valeria’s mind. But reveling in Bellatrix’s
bitterness at Valeria’s existence, and her impotence to retaliate, would have to wait.

She was mingling with several of the ladies in a parlor as they drank and played at cards
whilst enchanted instruments played nearby and hired help brought around plates of light fare
and were always prepared to refill a glass. The men of course were in a different room at their
own fun, but at this stage of the party, the sexes usually separated for a time. Valeria was
relieved to sit by Daphne and take a small break from playing hostess.

“How are the tests going?” Valeria asked Daphne quietly, referring of course to the tests on
the enhanced Tranquila Sensus potion. Daphne dropped her cards down and leaned her head
back in exasperation.

“For once, can we not talk about work?” Daphne asked.

“What else is there to talk about?”

Daphne leaned towards Valeria. “Millicent wearing paisley patterned robes, for one.”

Valeria made a gagging sound. “She looks like she rolled herself up in a forty-year-old
carpet.”

“Smells like one too. Caught an unfortunate whiff when she cornered me by the dessert
table,” Daphne said.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Have you seen Harper at all?”

Daphne shook her head. “Blaise told me that Warrington told him that Harper was told by
Warrington not to come.”

“And why not?”

“Goyle, what else? Harper’s been erratic since…Pansy. Warrington didn’t want him to do
anything stupid,” Daphne said. Against her will, Valeria was reminded of Pansy and how
Harper had been willing to marry her and never forgave being stuck with Millicent. Valeria
finished her drink to drown the memories, certain that Harper hated her just as much as he
hated Goyle.

The door opened and Draco, Blaise and several other of the men came into the room and the
noise from the party guests outside the room filled the air. Draco came up behind Valeria and
put his hands on her shoulders while Blaise stood beside Daphne. Draco leaned down to
Valeria’s ear and she could smell the alcohol on his breath and felt his hair brush her cheek as
it fell slightly in his face.

“My mother’s informed me that it’s time for our little performance,” he said with a syrupy
sarcastic tone.

“I see that you’ve broken into the scotch already. Bit earlier than usual, isn’t it?” she asked.

“That’s brandy you smell, darling,” he said with a little laugh. “I won’t bring out the scotch
until ten-thirty, as always.” For the past two years, Draco would purchase a ridiculously
expensive and supposedly impeccable bottle of scotch to share with his closest friends at
precisely ten-thirty, once other guests, who Draco believed would not appreciate, nor
deserved, his fine taste had gone. “For now, the show must go on.”

She sighed. “Must we?”

"Prophet wants pictures,” Draco said, his left hand running down her arm as he leaned over a
little further. “All of wizarding Britain wants a glimpse of the most captivating hostess this
side of the Atlantic…” as his sentence trailed off his hand had already made its way to her
rear and gave it a small squeeze. Valeria promptly scooted her chair backwards, nearly
causing Draco to lose his balance.

“Seems my cue has come, Daphne. I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” Valeria said.

“Oh, yes, it’s that time of the night where you make your grand speech,” Blaise said. “Sure
you’re not too drunk, Malfoy?”
“You’re welcome to take my place if you think you can do better,” Draco said.

“But it is just far too much fun to watch you two pretend there’s no other place you’d rather
be,” Blaise teased.

“By all means, join us in our misery then,” Valeria retorted. “Let’s go, Draco.”

Linking arms, they made their way to the grand foyer passing and greeting their guests as
they went.

“Did you see Millicent’s robes?” Draco asked, making sure only Valeria could hear.

“A textile tragedy,” Valeria said. Draco snorted as he tried to contain his laughter when
Odessa rushed before them, stopping them in their stride.

“Good, you found each other,” she said, shoving a glass of wine into each of their hands and
looking them over. “Valeria, straighten out your robes and stop slumping. This is the most
important part of the evening and we can’t let you go up there looking like that.” Valeria
looked down and didn’t notice a single wrinkle in her robes but smoothed them out and stood
up taller regardless rather than argue with her mother. “Now, you two get up the stairs, I’ll get
Rita and the photographer ready and then I’ll announce it to the guests. Go on.”

Odessa rushed off without another word and the Malfoys made their way to the stairs.

“You should slouch right as they take the picture,” Draco suggested.

“And deal with mother’s meltdown once it runs in the paper? I rather not,” she said.

After a few minutes of Odessa getting everything in order, she held her wand to her throat to
magically amplify her voice.

“Attention everyone, our humble hosts would like to say a few words. Please turn your
attention to the staircase and why not have a short round of applause for Draco and Valeria
Malfoy,” Odessa announced. The mingling crowd turned to them and clapped before falling
to a complete silence. Valeria caught Bellatrix’s resentful gaze and gave the sweetest smile
she could muster in return.

“I’d like to begin by thanking you all for coming,” Draco began, as master of the house.
Valeria looked up at him and smiled as he spoke. She had to appear to be the adoring wife
looking lovingly at the head of her household, she knew. “It is quite wonderful to be
surrounded by friends at this time of year and it is an absolute pleasure to host you all in our
home. I’d to like thank our mothers, Narcissa Malfoy and Mrs. Odessa Winters for their part
and I’d like to extend my gratitude to my lovely wife, who tirelessly worked to put this
together for us all on top of juggling her many duties.”

The crowd clapped again, and Valeria feigned humility knowing full well she passed the bulk
of the work over to their mothers.

“These years have seen so much change and progress and with each day we grow closer to
achieving our goals. It is the greatest privilege of my life to build a new world alongside all
of you fine people. Though we have endured losses, we have also reigned victorious and
have reaped the fruits of our labors. The Dark Lord’s generosity knows no bounds, surely,”
Draco said.

It was getting harder for Valeria to keep smiling, and her cheeks had started to grow sore in
the attempt. No mention of the horror, the death, the suffering, the toll it took on everyone
though no one dared say it aloud. She glanced up at the ceiling, for the flash of a second
seeing Pansy’s hanging corpse once more. Her breath hitched and she looked out on the
crowd of monsters to whom she too belonged.

Draco continued to speak, but Valeria wasn’t listening. Here he was, smiling, downright
jovial, absolutely charming in every way. He played his part perfectly, perhaps better than she
did hers. This man was so much the opposite of the one who she saw torment Ginny Weasley.
She didn’t know if she loved him as she once did or if her anger was poisoning her against
him. Then again, perhaps it was the degree to which she adored him that made her hate what
he became.

“…And to bore you no more with tedious speeches,” Draco said. He reached into his robe
and from a pocket pulled a large velvet box and Valeria knew the little charade was nearly
over. It had become tradition for Draco to publicly present to her a gift at the end of
addressing their guests. Valeria didn’t know why anyone cared so much, but it helped them
maintain their role as the loving couple successfully married in the traditional way. “A
beautiful gift for a beautiful woman.”

He opened the box and Valeria was met with a large necklace with dozens of diamonds that
glittered like moonlight. The diamonds cascaded down the length of the necklace with a large
diamond in the center. Their guests ooh’d and ahh’d as Draco carefully placed it around
Valeria’s neck.

She immediately felt its weight, how cold it was even through her robes. It wasn’t the first
obnoxiously ornate gift Draco had publicly given her, most of the previous ones collected
dust in a jewelry box, and Draco took care to give her something she’d actually appreciate in
private. But this one felt different. As its weight bore down on her shoulders, she thought the
necklace felt more akin to a collar. She’d have to wear it the rest of the night, parade it around
like she was a display mannequin, listening to the other wives make passive aggressive
comments. It was just one evening. Just one evening.

There was a toast to the holiday and the new year and then posing for the paper’s picture and
then more mingling. Malfoy Manor was often a lonely place, but she almost missed the
isolation when it was this filled with people.

“That’s quite the statement piece, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Valeria turned to see none other than Bellatrix Lestrange lazily walking toward her along
with her tall, gaunt husband Rodolphus behind her. Bellatrix never referred to Valeria by her
given name, it was always Mrs. Malfoy. Valeria smiled sweetly at them as they approached.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you were bejeweling your husband out of house and
home,” Bellatrix said.
Valeria laughed loud, a charming, airy laugh that was purposely performative. “Yes, Draco is
quite generous with me in how he expresses his affections. I assure you that with the
combination of the Malfoy and Winters fortunes and assets, Draco and I find ourselves to be
quite comfortable. Who knows, our collective value could well exceed the Black family
fortune. We could always inquire at Gringotts. That could be good fun!” Bellatrix’s eyelid
twitched as she clenched one of her fists and tensed her shoulders. It was then that Valeria
laughed again. “Oh, dear, I meant no offense. I was only joking, of course. It would be
absolutely ridiculous to go prying into matters that are both inconsequential and not my
concern, now wouldn’t it? Forgive me, perhaps I’ve over-indulged in the wine a little bit.”

“I understand the need for such ostentatious displays,” Bellatrix said, glancing back down at
the necklace. “It must be so difficult to resist the urge to accessorize so expensively when you
can’t live up to the Winters’s standard, given of course your tragic disfigurement.”

Bellatrix was of course referring to the scar she had carved into Valeria’s face just a few years
ago that would not fade and could not be covered with any magical means. Bellatrix was
clearly proud of her cruel marking of Valeria, the way she had stolen the immaculate mask
Valeria had been trained to maintain her entire life. Valeria hated seeing it in the mirror each
day, often fantasizing about what violent method she would someday use to murder Bellatrix
upon seeing it. But not today. Not this night.

“You’re quite right, it can be hard at times. Though I was recently in Azkaban to do business
regarding a prisoner who had only been there a few months and intermittently at that. The
place had ravaged her good looks, poor thing. I cannot imagine what a decade or more in that
institution would do to someone’s beauty,” Valeria said. Bellatrix’s cold eyes stared daggers
into Valeria who smirked politely in return, though she returned Bellatrix’s hatred with her
own gaze.

“Ladies, Rodolphus,” Nott said, having approached quietly and without notice. He was rather
good at that. “Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could borrow you for a few
minutes, Valeria.”

“Of course, do please enjoy the party Bellatrix, Rodolphus,” Valeria said with a polite nod as
she walked away with Nott. Her smile dropped as she turned her back on the Lestranges.
“What could you possibly want?”

“Seemed like you were in need of a rescue,” Nott said.

“Actually, I was rather enjoying the conversation,” she said as they passed into a far less
crowded hallway.

Nott huffed a little laugh. “Certainly looked like it, though I imagine provoking Lestrange
knowing she can’t retaliate gets old after a while.”

“And you’d be entirely wrong.”

“You need a hobby.”

“And you need to tell me where we’re going,” Valeria said impatiently. They stopped short of
a parlor room door and Nott opened it without explaining further. Valeria caught the motion
of someone suddenly standing from a chair. Her eyes landed on Tracey. With a sharp inhale
and a genuine smile, Valeria rushed to her old friend and embraced her, taking Tracey aback a
moment, but she eventually returned the embrace. Valeria turned to smile at Nott and even he
smiled a little shyly at the reunion.

“Valeria, I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I just…I tried…” Tracey began, stammering a little
and Valeria shushed her.

“No, no, no, it’s fine. I’m just happy to see you,” Valeria said.

“I’ll leave you two to it. Valeria, if you wouldn’t mind fetching me when you’re done,” Nott
said. She nodded in the affirmative and had Tracey sit with her at a table.

“Are you alright? Is Nott…Has he done anything to you—?”

Tracey shook her head. “No. He’s perfectly patient. He’s good to me. I should have thanked
you for making that match.”

“Don’t thank me.”

Tracey was meek and nervous. “It probably saved my life. I don’t how long I would have
lasted without Theodore. Daphne too. She and Blaise…”

Valeria felt her gut twist in disgust with herself. The thought of being thanked for putting her
friends, anyone, in the same position as she was once forced into made her skin crawl. “Not
Pansy.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

Valeria didn’t respond. Tracey, who had once been friendly, curious and bright, had been out
of this world too long to know what she was saying. Her fears and inner demons kept her
locked in the Nott mansion far away from all of this. Valeria did not know if she envied
Tracey or not.

“I know you feel sorry for me,” Tracey whispered after a moment. “Theodore doesn’t tell me
everything, he doesn’t want to upset me. But what he does tell me…I want you to know you
don’t have to pity me. I say this out of love as your friend, but I’d rather be me than you.
I’m…I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Tracey,” Valeria said, gently placing her hand on
Tracey’s.

“I can’t help it. Theodore says…the things they’re asking you to do…No one can live like
that forever…”

Valeria squeezed Tracey’s hand and looked her in the eyes. “I can. And I will.”

“Maybe there’s another way—”

“There isn’t,” Valeria said. “Listen, all I want you to worry about is you. I have myself and I
have Draco. We’ve made it this far.”

Valeria saw herself in Tracey as she was at age seventeen; Frightened, compliant, helpless
and hopeless. The fear that controlled Tracey, and once controlled Valeria, no longer crippled
the latter, having long since moved beyond it. Seeing Tracey now, Valeria was shocked to feel
as though she realized just how cold and dead she had become. The fear, as much as it did not
serve her anymore, once reminded her she was still alive.

Tracey jumped as the door creaked open. In stepped Goyle, his eyes alight with lust for
vengeance. His whole demeanor made him seem half-mad. Tracey’s breath hitched in fear
and Valeria immediately stood to stand between her and Goyle.

“Goyle, have you gotten yourself lost?”

“Not anymore, I found exactly what I was looking for,” he said, stepping toward Valeria.

“What can I do for you then?”

“I read a book—” Goyle began.

“First time for everything,” Valeria said with a smirk. His expression twisted in rage, but he
did not retaliate.

“Unicorn blood. Nasty stuff. You know I can’t sleep through the night now? Food doesn’t
taste right. I get headaches. Even Firewhisky can’t take the edge off.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean,” she said. Goyle slammed his hand against a
vase on a nearby table, sending it shattering to the ground. Tracey gasped a little behind her
while Valeria did not flinch. He got in Valeria’s face, looming over her, but she refused to
back down.

“You’ll pay for what you did. You won’t be able to sic your husband on people forever.”

“You can’t touch me. You know you can’t.”

“Not yet,” he said with a perverted grin. “I always knew you were a bitch. I tried to tell
Malfoy back in school. Always hiding behind teachers, your family, Malfoy or your perfect
fucking face. Look where that got you,” Goyle ranted.

“I’m not the one who appears to be suffering for my choices, Goyle.”

He paused as he seethed. “I came here to tell you something. I wanted to be the first to tell
you that I’ve been assigned a new wife.”

Valeria’s confidence threatened to leave her in an instant. “Pardon?”

Goyle’s lips peeled back into a sick grin. “It’s funny how they failed to tell the matchmaker
herself. The report on the Weasley girl, after you all interrogated her, after review, it’s been
decided that Weasley needs to be kept in line and under someone’s watch. It was decided that
that person should be me.”

Valeria was speechless. Ginny’s pure blood saved her life in the first place and kept her alive
still but being a blood traitor made her far less desirable for marriage. They weren’t going to
begin marrying the non-captive blood traitors off for some time and only to those of less
distinguished pedigree, not to pureblood Death Eaters. It was her fault. Another woman
would be subjected to Goyle’s torment because of her once more. Valeria doubted Ginny
would last as long as Pansy had.

She had to act. Goyle needed to die. There was no other way around it and nothing she
wanted more right then and there. She was about to go for her wand when she heard Tracey’s
shaking breath, behind her. Not yet. Tracey was too fragile.

“Tinky!” She cried out. The house elf popped into the room. “Escort Mrs. Nott back to her
husband.”

“Yes, Madam Malfoy,” Tinky said and followed orders. Goyle stood proudly, looking Valeria
up and down as she exited behind the others, mocking her with his triumphant expression.
Valeria made some excuses and retreated to the north wing of the Manor and reached her
potions laboratory.

She searched through her stores. Poison would do it. All she had to do was slip it in to
Goyle’s drink. She just needed to find the right one. She stopped herself as she held a
particularly deadly vial in hand. Poison would be quite noticeable and easily discovered if
investigated. Perhaps Daphne could perform the autopsy, fudge the results.

No. That would put Daphne at too much risk. Murdering a high-ranking Death Eater, while a
guest in her home no less, was not something Valeria could feasibly get away with. There
was no way to do so without being too obvious, without some reason. Some provocation.

Provocation.

The way Goyle looked at her over the years. The way he wanted vengeance against her and
against Draco. The threat. The way he bragged about his cruel perversions.

She looked to the clock. She would have to time this perfectly and gamble with Draco’s
predictability or else this would not end well. It was ten past ten. She had twenty minutes.

Steeling her nerve, cool and calculated, she made her way back to the party and remained for
the next while in Goyle’s line of sight. She was sure to make a show of having fun, smiling
and laughing as she mingled with the guests, even daring to make eye contact with Goyle a
few times to keep hold of his attention. If he was still the dullard she knew, he would be quite
easy to maneuver.

Just after twenty past ten, she made a show of excusing herself to grab a fine bottle from the
luxurious stores of liquors in the Malfoy Manor kitchen. She walked alone through the empty
halls of the Manor as the sounds of the party faded into the distance. She was getting
nervous, almost frightened by the sound of her own breath once or twice, but she could not
look back to see if she was being followed. She had to feign complete ignorance at all costs.
She could not even reach for her wand.

The kitchens were alive with activity, though no one was there. Tinky had used magic to keep
food prepared, dishes washed and so forth. She crossed the stone floor to the little storage
room on the far end. Given the value of the bottles and the need to control the temperature of
the room, it was separated from the kitchen at large by a thick, wooden door. She looked at
the clock; three minutes shy of the half-hour.

Her heart pounding, she waited alone looking at the bottles on racks from the floor to the
ceiling. She knew Goyle was watching before, she knew that he heard where she was going,
but perhaps he wasn’t as dim as she thought.

A rough hand on her shoulder spun her around and another hand struck her across the face,
knocking her backwards into the racks, sending a few bottles to the ground, shattering apart
on the stone floor.

“I didn’t think you were so stupid,” said the unmistakable voice of Goyle. She struggled
against him, but he pinned her wrists down with one giant hand and her body against the rack
by the shoulder with the other, pressing himself against her. “Let’s see what Malfoy’s been
keeping to himself all this time.”

She struggled in his grip and hoped she bet well on Draco as he began lifting the hems of her
robes and groping for her undergarments. She violently flinched and writhed to slow him
down but given his strength and her inability to reach her wand, she was largely unsuccessful.
Goyle laughed at her, mocking her plight, taunting her as he eagerly started to undo his own
garments.

His body seized as he stopped. Hot blood splattered on her face, the front of her robes and her
brand new necklace. In the dim light she could see Goyle’s face go pale and a gaping hole in
his throat as if an invisible blade had pierced through it from behind. He was choking on his
own blood as his muscles spasmed. He looked into her eyes and she smirked back at him
knowing that her smiling face covered in his blood was the last thing Gregory Goyle would
ever see.

Goyle fell to the floor, taking a few more bottles off the racks with him as his limbs hit the
other shelves. Behind him stood Draco, his wand still aimed where Goyle just stood. His
intense cold eyes were manic with something primal and he too had blood spatter on him. He
lowered his wand and rushed to her, yanking her away from Goyle’s corpse, blood mixing
with wine from the broken bottles. Draco held her firmly by the forearms and looked her over
in panic.

“Did he—?”

She shook her head. That relieved him some.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” He stopped. “Why are you smiling…?” He looked her
over and thought through his confusion until the realization dawned on him. His grip
tightened. “You knew I was coming down here. You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Did you
lead him down here on the promise that—”

“No!” she said, disgusted at the implication.

“Then you need to explain what the fuck just happened, right now,” Draco said darkly.

“He confronted me while I was talking with Tracey. He threatened me, telling me I’d pay for
what you did to him. Then he told me that apparently a decision was made over our heads
that Weasley was going to be given to him in marriage in order to keep an eye on her after
your report. I couldn’t let that happen, Draco.”

“And why do you care what happens to Weasley?”

“I don’t. I did it for Pansy; so that he wouldn’t be rewarded for driving her to her death.”

“His life was already cursed! I made sure of it!” Draco shouted.

“And it was still more of a life than he deserved!”

“So you decided to trick me, your own bloody husband, into thinking you were being…” he
stopped himself, unable to speak it aloud. “You knew that I would kill him. You lied to me.”

“I was going to poison him, but I needed a reason for him to die that the others would accept.
He tried to force himself on me and you defended my honor. Our laws should take no issue
with—”

“It’s not about the goddamn laws, it’s about you deceiving me into thinking my worst
nightmare—” he cut himself short again, catching his breath in his anger. She could see hot
tears in his eyes and for the first time she questioned what she had done. “You’re going too
far.”

“We won’t be punished for this—”

“No, but what about the next time you decide to take matters into your own hands? I would
have killed him, punishment or not, but what if I didn’t get here in time? Did you even think
about that?”

“I did."

“And you decided to put yourself in danger anyway? Have you lost your fucking mind? What
happened to staying safe, staying alive, just like you promised me? I told you that one of my
conditions was not to do anything stupid!”

“I don’t expect you to understand. You’re not a woman. You didn’t find Pansy hanging from
that chandelier. I didn’t want to scare you, Draco, I mean that, but I stand by what I did,” she
said genuinely.

“Snape was right. You need to be reeled in,” he said through a sigh.
“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re getting too bold. You think you have more power than you really do. I cannot allow
this, Valeria. You need to know your place.”

She was fuming at the words coming out of his mouth. “My place? My blood is just as pure
as yours and I’ve served the Dark Lord as well as you have! I am the last of the Winters’ line
and I will not be told what my place is by anyone, least of all you!”

“You are my wife, and you are a Malfoy,” he said through his teeth. “If you cannot be trusted
to not let your grudges get the better of you, then you leave me no choice. You remember
what happened when Konstantin let his emotions get in the way of his loyalties—”

She struck him across the face and they both stopped. She barely realized what she did but
hearing him use her brother’s name like that sent her somewhere dark. He nodded in
concession, a part of him knew he might have deserved that for that comment alone.

“Draco…I—I’m sorry…” she said, trembling a little.

“Until you can you be trusted,” he began calmly. “You will not leave this estate without my
permission. You will receive no guests unless I approve of them first and I will review any
letters you send. All this until further notice.”

“You can’t…you wouldn’t…”

“I can and I am. If you try to get around any of it, I’ll be much stricter. I don’t want this any
more than you, but you’ve left me no choice.”

She was desperate. “No, you don’t have to. I’m sorry. It was unfathomably idiotic and cruel
to you—” she stuttered.

“That’s my final say on the matter. Go upstairs, take the back way, clean up. I’ll let everyone
know that you weren’t feeling well all of the sudden. Go,” he ordered. She reached out to
him, but he yanked himself away from her. “Go.”
 Blessings of the Night
Chapter Notes

This is SO LONG.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mild consensual sexual content. Graphic descriptions of

violence. Description/discussion of attempted sexual assault. Discussion of death. Some
blood/gore. Magical torture. Violence against women. Putting a child unconscious with
magic (no injury or physical harm.)

August 1999

It had been two years to the day since Draco got married. So much had changed and yet he
felt exactly like that frightened boy who could hardly look at Valeria that day. Their
anniversary had never been a cause for celebration, not for them anyway. However, they
found a way, even unintentionally.

In the very ballroom in which they had suffered so many hours of misery at their wedding,
they had already gone through two bottles of wine and were getting going on their third.
They were laughing about something silly and stupid, though neither would be able to recall
what it was in the morning. In a laughing fit, Valeria spilt wine all over herself, causing her to
laugh even more.

“Clean it off for me,” she said, pointing to the stain on her robes.

“If I try to cast a spell right now…” he said.

“Damn, you’re right. You’ll transfigure me into a soap bar,” she said.

“You can always take it off,” he suggested.

“You are no gentleman.”

“I am! But it was a worth a shot,” he said. She stood up defiantly.

“If you are such a gentleman, prove it. Ask me to dance,” she said, holding her hand out.

“If I can’t cast a damn stain removing spell, what makes you think I can dance without
breaking both our legs?”
“There’s spells to fix that too, aren’t there? Dance with me.”

“Valeria…”

“Dance with me and I might just consider taking off these robes,” she said. He let out a
groan.

“You’re an evil seductress,” he said.

“And you’re enjoying it. On your feet.”

He obeyed her, unable to deny her anything really. He enchanted the piano to play alone,
though it took him more than one try to get it right. Their wedding song played, and Draco
was surprised how well he remembered the waltz, but that might have been his intoxication
fooling him. He held her close at the waist as they spun and stepped. They laughed when they
stepped wrong. He caught her when she nearly fell over and teased her sudden and
uncharacteristic lack of grace.

Even though the room was spinning and even though the twirling was starting to make him
nauseous, he let it all wash over him. Hearing her laugh, feeling her breathe and sweat and
move, seeing her fully alive made him feel more euphoria than he had felt in a long time. He
was never going to let go of this. He would never let this part of her fade.

March 2003

Draco didn’t need more enemies, let alone having an enemy for a wife. His only consolation
was that Valeria could not hate him more than he hated himself, no matter how hard she tried.
Not even close.

Draco had always felt ironically small. Despite his pedigree, the prestige of his name, the
magnitude of his wealth and the scope of his family’s power, he spent his entire life trying to
compensate for the missing pieces and inconsistencies of his identity that he was unable to
fashion for himself. He never felt smaller now that Valeria would barely look at him and
when she did, he wished she wouldn’t have.

Draco…you’re making a mistake.

The words that haunted him. Potter’s last words. The words that he heard each night in his
dreams and nightmares. The words that reverberated off the walls of his fractured mind each
time he had to torment or kill. Now they roared like thunder whenever Valeria looked at him
as she targeted her resentment at him with just her gaze, shredding apart Draco’s soul even
further as a result; much like how Potter’s spell had shredded his flesh in that bathroom years
ago.

Draco would never apologize for saving her life. Not for sacrificing Potter to save her and
himself, no matter how much the guilt pulverized him. But he did not know if he could
forgive himself for what he was doing to her now. The Winters’s way had always been
calculated, poised and ever in control. Control, middling as it was, was all Valeria had left
and he voluntarily revoked it from her.

He had naively led her into darkness, but he did not then know the horror that awaited them.
He robbed her of her future when he married her, but he had no other choice. He kept an
obsessive watch on her, but that was for both their sakes. He had delivered death and
destruction, but all to protect her.

He could square those decisions. He could make peace with them knowing she was alive. But
this? This was entirely his own doing and he felt his heart rot in his chest as he watched her
whither.

He hardly saw her anymore, except when necessary. He spent hours alone in his study
looking at old photographs, the album Odessa had given them as a wedding gift. It was
masochism, pure and simple. The urge to be near her easily overruled his need for a sound
mind. He was trying to be near her again by lingering on these photographs that meant
nothing to anyone except them.

Funny thing about photographs, such innocuous things valued for record keeping and the
preservation of memory, their only value was their sentimentality. To Draco now, seeing
Valeria happy, childlike, innocent and so very bright only showcased the scope of what they
had lost.

He wondered if anyone remembered her as she once was. Was there anyone left alive to?
Though it felt like his soul was bleeding out to recall it, he remembered the way she danced
at the shore of the Black Lake while Hogwarts loomed over them in all its storied glory as
Draco enchanted the wind to swirl around her. It smelled of spring then. It smelled of lilacs
and life. Did anyone remember her like that? Did anyone even care to try?

He mourned at night like this while in his self-imposed isolation. Sobbing into his third or
fourth drink, maybe more as he didn’t keep count, glancing out the window at the cold light
of the stars when he needed reprieve. Vainly and hopelessly, he wished the stars would spell
out an answer for him, but he had never paid much attention in Astronomy so he could hardly
decipher their omens if they did. But they reminded him of her, even as his torso trembled
through his lonely tears. He was named for the stars, but it was only her he saw. Splitting
through the blackness of night, the darkness of him, casting the beauty to captivate and the
lights to guide lost souls home as she did him.

She would show him no such mercy anymore. Goyle’s funeral was the first time they had
spent much time near each other since the incident in the liquor cellar. He knew she was two-
faced, often manipulative, but it was shocking when she turned it on him. She was every bit
the adoring wife supporting her husband through the sudden and tragic loss of his friend and
comrade. As soon as no one was looking her face fell and she turned ice cold again. Her
talent for putting on the right face at the right time was impressive, if not terrifying at times.

Draco had been punished by being forced to give Goyle’s eulogy. Snape and the Dark Lord
were the only ones that knew what truly happened to Goyle, but Draco withheld the whole
truth from them both, though Snape was suspicious. The story was simple; Valeria had gone
downstairs to fetch a special bottle of wine, Goyle had followed her and attempted to rape her
before Draco intervened. The Dark Lord was upset, but Snape advocated on Draco’s behalf,
gently reminding the Dark Lord that should Goyle’s assault been successful, he would have
been executed for violating the pureblood wife of a prominent Death Eater under their own
laws. Despite the damage control crisis Goyle's death caused, Draco didn't regret killing him.
If anything, he regretted not making Goyle suffer longer.

The public story was that Goyle, driven by grief for his wife and unborn child, drank himself
to death that night. That left Draco free to write a eulogy about their schoolyears, their
lifelong friendship, their shared ideals and how they worked together to bring the Dark Lord
to victory. While Crabbe was the most upset person in attendance, Draco could not help but
feel some semblance of guilt. Goyle was, after all, at one point just a boy of limited
intellectual talent but was a beast on the Quidditch pitch. They played games together in the
common room. They schemed to sneak food from the Great Hall. Goyle was, at one point,
Draco’s friend. Never could Draco have imagined when he met Goyle as a child that he
would one day become his friend’s executioner. Draco kept his eyes on his wife as he spoke
at the podium. He thought he saw the ghost of a smirk on her face.

That was three months ago. Valeria still barely spoke to him.

“I’m surprised Valeria hasn’t stopped in to say hello. She usually does by now,” Blaise said,
slouching comfortably in his chair.

“Doubt she will,” Draco said, not looking up from the papers on the table before them.
Dozens of scouts’ reports and reports on those reports, intricate topographical maps and
several books lay scattered and sprawled on the table. This was an important hunt, but only
Bellatrix knew the full extent of the mission for now. It was Draco’s, Blaise’s and Nott’s job
to crack the security around the location.

“Trouble in paradise, Malfoy?” Blaise teased with a raised eyebrow. Draco let out a hard
sigh.

“Just a bump in the road,” Draco said. He hesitated a moment. “I decided we needed to
reevaluate a few things and she’s less than happy with me about it.”

“This have anything to do about what happened with Goyle?” Nott asked.

“Don’t push it,” Draco said. He had been tightlipped about what happened with Goyle, even
with them. But they knew Draco too well by now and were in too deep to not notice the
strange timing and other details in Goyle’s sudden demise. Fortunately, Nott and Blaise knew
better than to push the subject, for the most part. “No one told me that being married would
be…like this.”

“You were married at seventeen, mate. You really weren’t able to expect anything, were
you?” Blaise said.
“I think, whatever your problem is, it has more to do with who you two are than it has to do
with marriage at all,” Nott said.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that you two were always either at each other’s throats and then went weeks
without talking only to kiss and make up; Repeat,” Blaise said.

“This is a little more than a schoolyard squabble.”

“You’re still the same people,” Nott said.

“I don’t think so.”

“Could always give her a baby,” Blaise said. Draco looked up at him with a raised eyebrow,
dumbfounded. “It’d give her something to do. She’ll have a reason to stay out of things and
no time to try and get overly involved.”

“Excellent idea as always, Blaise, but complicated by the fact that I’ve been all but banished
from our bed.” Draco had obviously not been so dimwitted as to even broach the subject of
intimacy with Valeria, nor did he blame her for her disinterest, but he could not deny to
himself that he missed being touched something desperate. Other than firm handshakes with
his colleagues, no one touched him.

“Who says you need a bed?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Hilarious.”

“That serious, huh?”

“It’s not important.”

“A man has needs.”

“And you need to shut it and keep working,” Draco said, his frustration getting the better of
him. “What are we going to do about these enchantments, Nott?”

Nott dutifully set down a map and began marking it up. “If my instincts are right, based on
the scouts’ reports, it’s a very crude concealment charm. Basically, a cube of space they’re
hiding inside. The downside is we can’t see in, but they can’t see out.”

Blaise scoffed. “Then what’s the point?”

“It’s crude, but it’s much easier to maintain this for long periods of time, months or years,
even. It’s thanks to that that we had such a hard time finding it, at least, that’s what Lestrange
says,” Nott said with an indifferent shrug.

“If it’s so crude, then we should have no problem getting through it,” Draco said.
Nott shook his head. “Trouble is finding it. It may be simple, but it’s strong, especially if it’s
been maintained this long. It’ll take all four of us, with Lestrange included, to take it down at
these points, here,” he said, gesturing to the points he made on the map. “I’m certain that’s
where it is, but I could be off by a few feet in any two-dimensional direction.”

“Looks like it’s the closest we’re going to get,” Draco said, looking over Nott’s work.

“And when exactly are we going to be told what we’re supposed to be doing?” Blaise asked.

“We’re hunting three. One is to be kept alive at all costs, the other two are inconsequential.
That’s all we need to know. Knowing my aunt, she won’t tell us until we’re about to begin,”
Draco said.

“Well, gentlemen,” Blaise began sarcastically, coming to a stand. “We best send this off to
Snape and the others and get our rest before the big day.”

The hunt had been approved a few days later. They were set to begin at night and Draco slept
in quite late that day, alone in one of the stately guest suites in the north wing of the Manor as
he had for the past few months. He counted down the evening alone with a drink, lounging
on a sofa, trying to settle his pounding heart. It was always like this just before a mission that
would likely result in him killing someone. He never got used to the feeling.

He was trying to distract himself, touch starved and alone, even the comfortable leather sofa
felt cold and hard on his back. He shut his eyes, trying to will himself to imagine warmth and
comfort and his mind immediately wandered to lustful reaches. His urges manifested in his
mind bombarding him with memories of pleasures past; the way her back would arch, her
soft, airy breaths when they were one flesh, how her fingers would dig into his flesh and he
felt her own soft skin on his. Even recalling the beads of sweat that rolled down her skin did
something for him in his pathetic state. Craving the distraction, he was about to relieve
himself for at least some small release when the door swung open without warning. Draco
scrambled to sit up and hide his shame, successfully to his relief. Turning to the door, he saw
his father as if there could be anything more humiliating. Fortunately, Lucius didn’t notice
anything amiss.

“You’re not supposed to be in this wing,” Draco said.

“I know, but surely a father is allowed to see his son off. This sounded important. Your aunt
is practically giddy with excitement,” Lucius said. He was a shadow of his former self,
though he still tried to have the airs of a patriarch, it was like he was playing a part in a stage
play.

“I know little more than you do about it, if that’s what you’re asking,” Draco said, getting to
his feet.

“Not at all. I’d never jeopardize your position. I’m merely here to show you my support, that
I’m proud of you,” Lucius said.
Draco was suspicious. He wondered where this was going. “Thanks.”

“Forgive me waxing sentimental,” Lucius said with a little laugh. “Watching you now, it’s
like looking back in time at myself. Like a mirror. Back in those years, your mother was the
one who got me through all of it. I was doing it all for her.” Draco swallowed, hating the
thought of being just like his father. “But, believe me, I know the toll it can take on a
marriage. The past few assignments, you’ve left alone. I thought Valeria usually saw you
off.”

“Timing didn’t line up. She has her own work to do,” Draco said flatly.

“Yes, locked up in that laboratory. You’re certain there’s not more to it?” Lucius asked.

“Yes.”

“She’s your lifeline, Draco. Hopefully, sooner than later, the eventual mother of your heir as
well. You need to stay connected to her.”

“We’re fine.”

“It’s not shameful to have a rough patch. They happen and—”

“You and mother turned out just fine. So will we,” Draco said, rolling his eyes impatiently.

Lucius looked at him and nodded, smirking a little at the floor. “We’re devoted, Draco. We’re
not fine. There is a vaster difference than it at first seems.”

Before Draco could rebut his father, the door opened with a long swing once again and Draco
turned to see his wife standing there. Of course. Valeria turned sharply to Lucius, barely
concealing a sneer.

“I thought this wing was private,” she said.

“I did not mean to overstep, Valeria, I just wanted to see my son off,” Lucius said, sounding
quite aggravated.

“Have you finished?” she asked.

“Yes, we have,” Draco said before Lucius can answer. “Can we have some time alone,
father?”

“But of course,” Lucius said after a moment, though the politeness was forced. Valeria and
Lucius stared daggers at each other as he crossed the room and shut the door on his way out.

“Must everyone walk on eggshells around you?” Draco asked. Promptly, Valeria marched to
Draco without a word, head high, shoulders back, and held out a small vial to him.

“As you requested.”

“Thanks,” he said as he took it from her, recognizing the vial as the Tranquila Sensus he had
asked for. She was standing closer to him than she had in weeks and he could smell her
perfume on the air. He could not help himself as his eyes looked her up and down on their
own accord. His lustfully frustrated urges returned once more. She said nothing, but she
handed him an envelope with her seal on it. Draco took it and looked darkly at her. This song
and dance again. He opened it as he rolled his eyes.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I, your humble wife, politely submit this letter as a formal request for me to be briefly
released from my gilded cage to embark on an errand to the residence of Mr. Terrence Boot.
The purpose of this visit, to be scheduled at your determination, is to discuss with him the
details of his upcoming nuptials with Miss Luna Lovegood. This is Ministry approved, official
business. You may inquire at the Department of Purity should you have any questions or
concerns. I expect the errand to not take longer than an hour, though I will of course return
at whatever time you dictate as is my most solemn duty as your glorified property. I await
your approval of this request as our family’s noble patriarch.

All my love,

Mrs. Draco Malfoy

Draco was nearly fuming as he finished the letter. He glanced at her to find her smiling.
Bloody smiling at him with that little smirk. He hated that part of him found it alluring.
Leave it to Valeria to be maliciously compliant for her own entertainment or to otherwise
prove a point. He recalled how she could be a real piece of work when she wanted to make
someone miserable.

“How many goddamn times have I told you not to do this shi—” he started through his teeth.

“For your records, of course. I know how much you like to keep track of me,” she said with a
grin.

“Just let me know when you go and when you expect to be back,” he said, crumpling the
stupid letter and tossing it into the fire.

“Yes, sir,” she said with a smile and a polite nod. She turned on her heels and marched to the
door.

“Wait,” he said. She obeyed his command, stopping and turning back to him. “Do you care
about where I’m going? What I’m doing tonight?”

She stood in silence for a moment. She looked him up and down, but then met his eyes and
struck him once more with her white-hot rage just by looking at him. She smiled, almost
proudly.

“No.”
She turned on her heel and strutted out of the room, slamming the door with a bang behind
her. Draco let out a hopeless sigh, sitting on the arm of the sofa and downing the potion
Valeria had given him in one shot. He wanted the feelings, all of them, to leave him as soon
as possible. The stuff was vile to swallow and made his stomach turn and his veins run cold,
but it was necessary. He began to think more clearly. Could he really blame her for behaving
so childishly when he left her without much freedom in all the world? He deserved this,
didn’t he? Then again, wasn’t he just doing what he had to?

He felt himself to be like a dementor, sucking the soul out of her for his own consumption or
to simply discard. Surely, he was worse. He killed her over time. Dementors didn’t love their
victims nor did those victims love their monster. But, she had scared him too much this time.
What he had walked in on, seeing Goyle’s hands all over her, watching him reduce her in
those few split moments to a plaything. How disgusted, how enraged, how utterly terrified he
was that he had been unable to protect his own wife. And to learn she herself had
orchestrated it unbridled his fury. He was angry at her, he knew it. That was part of his reason
for this state of living he had forced upon her, but it was also because he was a coward. He
was so uncontrollably scared. Not even the potion could quell these feelings completely.

He prepared alone as the time came, the ritual with Valeria now a thing of memory. Draco
remembered the bedtime stories his mother read him, of brave wizards who went to war and
the witches that loved them fighting at their side or using their profound power to protect
those they loved. Missing Valeria, he now knew why the stories often spoke of those witches
being the true heroes of the tales.

He did not have far to travel, as far as apparating was concerned. On the northwestern edge of
Somerset, amongst the rolling hills and fields, which at this time of year would have been
lush with bright green during the day, were patches of thick forest. Amongst these trees was
the assigned meeting point. After his feet touched ground, he let his eyes adjust as he strode
to meet the other dark, masked figure in her cloak nearby.

“Draco, you’re early,” Bellatrix said.

“Best to maximize our time. Mind telling me what we’re here for now?” he asked. He knew
she was smirking under her mask.

“Patience, Draco. I’m eager too, but we will wait for the others,” she said. Draco reluctantly
agreed, being left little choice else. “I love this. The calm before we rain down hell. It’s really
something to know what we know and have the privilege to wait while they mill about as if
nothing is about to happen,” she said after a moment.

“Yeah. It’s certainly something,” he said noncommittally. There was another brief pause.

“You should be proud of yourself. You’ve come so far. You’ve done better than anyone could
have expected of you. You will be great. Your name will be etched into history forever, as
you deserve,” she said. He was certain she was right, though perhaps not in the way she
intended. Only time would tell. Before he could come up with a vague response there was
another small pop and then another shortly followed. Blaise and Theodore, masked and
cloaked too, made their way over to them.

“I’m anxious to hear your plan, Lestrange. What are we getting ourselves into?” Blaise asked
as he sauntered over.

“Now that we’re all met, I’ll divulge,” Bellatrix said in a girlishly excited tone that would
have made Draco cringe if he were not so used to it by now and if the potion had not dulled
his emotions. “Not far from here, we’ve found the Tonks safehouse.”

Draco was shocked. “But they haven’t been heard from since—”

“Since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the werewolf-whore’s release, yes. My sister might
pretend to be a happy homemaker, but she is just as crafty as any Black before her. She had
this all planned, they’ve been hiding here with the werewolf’s abomination,” Bellatrix
explained.

“What abomination?” Nott asked.

“The son,” Draco said. Bellatrix often ranted about her niece’s marriage to Remus Lupin and
the child that was born of their union, though she used much nastier words to describe it.

“Which is what we’re after,” Bellatrix said. “He is to live at all costs. The Dark Lord wonders
if breeding the werewolves to make stronger soldiers is a viable option. We need the boy to
study him. Andromeda and her daughter need not be spared. Draco, you will search for the
boy. Nott and Zabini, you will help me with Andromeda, but do not kill her; She’s mine.
Once she’s subdued, you two will search the house for anything and everything we can use
against our enemies.”

“And how do we take down the enchantments?” Nott asked.

“We each take a side. Draco, north; Zabini, west; Nott, south; myself, east. We use the
Bewitchment Erosion charm which will take some time, but it will bring it down. Then we
cast the Dark Mark—”

“Before we’ve killed anyone?”

“To draw Andromeda out. She’ll run out looking for someone’s who’s been killed. I know
her,” Bellatrix insisted. “Remember, Draco, as soon as the Dark Mark is in the air, you go in
and search. Are we clear on the plan?”

The men agreed and Bellatrix led the way to another clearing which they surrounded on four
sides. On Bellatrix’s signal, they all began casting the Bewitchment Erosion charm which
was a simple spell on its own, but compounded together was powerful. Draco could feel
through his wand some magical resistance, signaling they were in the right spot, but it still
fought him with all its might. Until it broke. With a shrieking cackle that broke the night,
Bellatrix cast the Dark Mark into the sky, masking the starlight in a greenish glow. Before
Draco was a small shack, haphazardly built and completely innocuous looking. Three people
had been living there for years?
Draco cast aside his questions and transfigured himself into a cloud of black smoke, entering
the hovel via a window as Andromeda Tonks burst out the front door in her nightwear,
frantically looking at the sky. He heard commotion outside but did not take the time to linger
on the sounds. He had a goal. That was all that mattered. He was a bit astonished to find the
house was bigger than it had appeared on the outside and quite cozy. He made his way
upstairs and searched through the house, finding no one. Just a mundane old house.

He cast a spell Valeria had taught him, Homavidere, which could reveal the location of
anyone hiding nearby by following the faint little light that came from the wand. It had come
in handy in nearly all the hunts and raids he had been on. The faint light took him to a
bedroom, then to a wall, disappearing into the wood panel. Draco quietly tapped the tip of his
finger where the light passed through the wood and could feel it was hollow within. He slid
the panel and was met with a tuft of bright blue hair.

But before he could act, he was knocked to the floor, and a child began screaming. Briefly
supine, he stunned the child in the wall unconscious, but this allowed his attacker to knock
his wand from his hand and beat him with fists. He caught a glimpse of his assailant more
clearly when she tore his mask from his face, a woman with mousy hair that he recognized
easily; Nymphadora Lupin. That's why she tackled him. Her wand had been confiscated and
broken as her punishment for her involvement in the Order of the Phoenix and clearly she
hadn't had an opportunity to replace it. She was thin, weak, and thusly Draco managed to
overpower her as she fought him with all her might. She fought hard enough that Draco was
sure he’d have quite a few nasty bruises tomorrow. Bellatrix said she didn’t matter, this
would be easier without the boy’s mother having to know what was going to happen to her
son.

“Since you knocked my wand away, I’m going to have to do this the hard way. I’m sorry,” he
said with a harsh whisper as his gloved hands wrapped around her throat and his thumbs
pressed on her jugular.

“Drac—Plea—I’m—Your—Cous—” she said between gasps.

“That never mattered before, why do you think it matters now?” he said, pressing harder so
she couldn’t speak, straddling her to pin her down. In the dim light of the room, Draco was
shocked to watch her body change beneath him. Her hair grew out longer, darker in color and
silky smooth. Her body shortened in height a few inches and her very bone and muscle
structures took different shape. But it was the face that did Draco in. She had Valeria’s face.
Draco looked down at his hands as he was strangling his wife.

“Change. Back,” he demanded through his clenched jaw, keeping a stranglehold on her
throat, but being met with Valeria’s pleading eyes, paling face and gasping breath. When she
did not change form, Draco slammed her head into the floor, over and over, by his grip on the
neck. He could hear the crack of bone. But all he saw was himself smashing Valeria’s head
bloody into the hardwood. She wouldn’t change and Draco fought his own will. The potion
wasn’t working. Had the real Valeria diluted the dosage? Had he taken it too early and it was
wearing off? Was it simply not powerful enough for this?

She would not change. Draco held her down by one hand and looked to the boy. The panel
was open and he lay unharmed and unconscious, but out in the open. Draco pulled the dagger
from his belt, Bellatrix’s gift she had said was a last resort if he was disarmed and pointed it
at the boy.

“I’m going to throw this knife and aim for his stomach. I’ll be able to save him. He’ll be fine.
But he’ll be conscious and being stabbed in the stomach is long, it is excruciating. Trust me,”
Draco said. “And he’ll get to watch his mother die disguised as a stranger. You have a choice.
Change back.”

Nymphadora’s eyes, which were in effect Valeria’s right now, were bloodshot and full of
tears. Draco looked down at his wife’s face, battered and bloodied and weeping. He couldn’t
take it anymore. He raised his arm and loosened his grip on her throat and raised the arm that
held the knife.

“No,” Nymphadora wheezed. Draco looked down at her and watched as the face of his nearly
dead wife morphed back into the broken face of Nymphadora. Draco got off of her and went
for his wand, getting to his feet. She crawled toward her son, but Draco shoved her back,
knocking her prone on the floor, and turned her over onto her back with little effort even as
he was catching his breath and regathering his nerve. Bellatrix cackled triumphantly outside,
and another woman began screaming just after.

“Your mother will die tonight. As will you, most likely,” Draco said flatly, pointing his wand
at her. Nymphadora whimpered. “Why did you turn into her?”

“I knew her once. She made sure we all knew you weren’t a monster. If you would show
grace to anyone, it’d be only her. Isn’t that right, Malfoy the Merciful?” she said before
coughing and hacking some more through her hoarse voice. “She loved you, you know. She
did so much for you, more than you probably know.”

“This has nothing to do with her,” he spat.

“Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re wrong. But there are things you weren’t around to see—”

“What, when she stayed in that shithole the Weasleys called home and your lot all tried to
play nice with her? You nearly got her killed! Everyone thought she had switched sides and I
had to made sure to set the record straight—” He cut himself off. He was getting too angry.
“This is about you.”

“Are you going to try to kill my son? Because you will die here if you point your wand at
him again—”

“No. He’s to be kept alive at all costs.”

“Why? What could You-Know-Who possibly want with a little boy?”

“He’s half-werewolf. He wants the boy examined to see if his father’s genetic contribution
could make him, and potentially future half-werewolves, an asset,” Draco said. The woman
would be dead in the next few minutes. Draco had no problem telling her the truth, especially
after how enraged he had become when she had taken Valeria’s face.
“But he’s not! They examined him at birth. He’s not a werewolf!”

“Wasn’t my idea. It’s not my call,” Draco said. Nymphadora began to sob and panic.
Andromeda was still screaming outside to Bellatrix’s delight. Draco felt chills go up his
spine. “Look, I’ll make it quick, but we’re running out of time, so I need to be done soon. All
I have to do is call for the others and—”

“There’s another way.”

“What?”

“Him and I are Metamorphagi. I can transfigure myself into him. I can take my son’s place
—”

Draco laughed. “No. That won’t work.”

“It will! I will have the same genetic and physical makeup as him, just like Polyjuice Potion,
it’s completely undetectable and I can maintain it indefinitely. Draco, you know the truth.
You know they’ll find nothing useful in my son and they’ll just kill him. Why not just let it be
me? He can disguise himself forever and he’ll never trouble you. He’s stunned. You can erase
his memory. He won’t even know it was you,” she said. “Please, Draco. Do one right thing.”

Draco looked at the boy. He remembered the Muggle girl in Godric’s Hollow he saved. He
didn’t know what came over him then and he didn’t know what was coming over him now.

“Can he do it too? Transform himself?”

She nodded eagerly. “He can.”

“I’ll wake him up. Have him change into you. I’ll stun him again so that he looks like your
corpse. I’ll stun you and hand you over. You’ll stay in his form unconscious?”

“Yes. It has to be a conscious change.”

“Alright. Say your goodbyes. Quickly before I change my mind.”

“How can I trust you?”

“You can’t. Now say goodbye.”

Tearfully, with Draco’s wand still aimed at her, she crawled to her unconscious son and Draco
woke him with magic. The boy began to cry but she held his face and whispered to him.
Draco didn’t listen. It was too private, and he didn’t want to hear. He had to block it all out.
But he watched as the boy turned into his own mother, just as she was now.

“Remember, I love you. Always. I’ll never leave you, even if it seems like I have. Alright?
Promise me you’ll remember that?” she begged the boy, who looked the same as her, and he
nodded. She turned to Draco and tearfully nodded to him. Draco stunned the boy again.

“Your turn,” Draco said.

“Is Valeria alive?"

“Yes,” Draco said. She must have not heard much outside news, if any, during their time in
hiding.

“Is she alright?”

“No,” he said. “Stop stalling.”

“You realize this is the first time we’ve ever met,” she said.

“And the last.”

“Where will you take him?” she asked, weeping again.

“Probably best you don’t know, or they could find out and we’re all dead. I have a place in
mind. He might not be safe there forever, but for now it'll do.”

“Why are you agreeing to this?”

“Because Valeria was right about me not being a complete monster, no matter how it seems
to you. Your turn,” he said. She nodded and transformed herself into her son. Without a word,
without any final sentimentality or ceremony, Draco stunned her, and she fell to the floor. He
quickly cast a memory charm on the boy, who was disguised as his own mother, and erased
the last hour of memory. He put away his wand and lifted Nymphadora in the form of her son
and carried her out of the room, down the stairs and out the front door.

Andromeda was still screaming, writhing on the ground as Bellatrix danced around her sister
as she cast the curse. Bellatrix stopped and beamed brightly at Draco once she noticed him
approach. Blaise and Nott were standing nearby, apparently Bellatrix had wanted an
audience. Andromeda looked up once Bellatrix had lifted the curse and lunged in horror
towards Draco, crying out in agonized grief, but her strength failed her, and she could hardly
lift herself off the ground.

Bellatrix cried out in triumph and applauded Draco. “And the whore mother? Where’s she?!”

“Dead,” Draco said. Andromeda wailed again.

“You…You’re Narcissa’s son…That boy is your family!” she cried out.

“Shut up!” Bellatrix shrieked and cursed her sister again.

“Just get it over with Bella. It’s what you’ve always wanted!” Andromeda shouted once
Bellatrix had relented. Draco looked at his other aunt, the first time he’d seen her in the flesh,
and noticed just how closely she resembled Bellatrix. It was uncanny.

“Oh, but Cissy’s going to want to see you too. Did you not consider your own sister,
Andromeda? Tsk, tsk. We can have a little sisterly reunion. Now wouldn’t that just be great
fun!?” Bellatrix said. Draco marched over to Blaise and passed the boy, actually
Nymphadora, to him.
“Take him to Daphne. She’ll know what to do. Nott, did you find anything?” Draco said.

“They didn’t have much,” Nott said.

“Right. Well, your work here is done,” Draco said, dismissing the both of them. Draco went
back into the house, but Bellatrix, still tormenting her sister, stopped him when he got to the
doorstep.

“Where are you going?”

“Taking the whore’s body to the Forbidden Forest. Snape told me there’s a ravenous pack of
werewolves there. I imagine they’d love something fresh. Seems fitting,” he said. Andromeda
cried while Bellatrix laughed, a combination of sound that made him ill.

“You’ve gotten funnier as you’ve gotten older. On your way then!” Bellatrix dismissed.
Draco went back up to the stairs and took the boy, currently disguised as Nymphadora, in his
arms. The boy seemed small for his age, but he was just as easy to lift in his mother’s form.
They hadn’t been eating much for a while, he could tell. He apparated out of the house to the
one place there was hope the boy would be safe. Andromeda was, unfortunately, unsavable.

He cast a silencing charm on himself and quickly waved his wand to detect any magical
alarms. Finding none, he carefully picked the body up and unlocked the door, silently
entering the house. He did not want to linger, and so he placed the boy, appearing as a grown
woman still, on the couch gently. There was some parchment and a quill on a table nearby
and he scrawled out a note,

Take care of him.

And so he departed The Burrow, certain that Weasley was in for a rude awakening in the
morning. Draco still did not know what had come over him or why he so easily agreed to his
cousin’s plan. He remembered himself slamming her head into the floor, seeing it as Valeria’s
head. He heard her skull bones crack and felt her fight for air in his hands. With each slam,
each crack, each little gasp, his heart cracked further and further. Seeing that, doing that, had
stirred something in him.

Which was why, when he returned to Malfoy Manor, he did not immediately retreat to the
guestroom he had made his own during his prolonged quarrel with Valeria. Instead, he went
straight to master chamber. He had to see her, even if she was going to kill him, he had to see
her. She sat bolt upright when he thrusted the door open. It was not yet dawn, but the sky was
turning blue in twilight. She stared hatefully at him once her panic subsided. His hair was a
mess, and he was sure his expression looked exhausted too, but that didn’t matter to him.

“Get out,” she said.

He wasn’t here to grovel. He wasn’t here to beg. He would not admit wrongdoing. He wasn’t
here to ask forgiveness. He didn’t need to be forgiven. He just needed to be touched. He
needed her to touch him. It wasn’t about lust. He just needed her to touch him. He just needed
her.

He did not obey her but went to the bed and stood at the side. He leaned down, resting his
hands on the mattress and looking at her. She sneered in disgust at him, clutching the blankets
up to her chest.

“How repulsed are you by me? How horrible do you find me?” he asked.

“Draco, don’t…”

“I need to know,” he said with a harsh whisper. He saw her, alive and unharmed, but his mind
flashed back to how he was smashing her head in. How Goyle groped her at Christmas. He
shook himself out of it and awaited an answer. She breathed heavily, seething with
resentment, not answering his damn question. He remembered Nymphadora’s words, how
Valeria once said she did not think Draco to be a monster. He had to know. He would stay in
this room with her until she gave him an answer.

“You’re horrible. You don’t repulse me,” she eventually said. An answer that shocked him.
An answer he didn’t know what to make of and, judging by the look on her face, neither did
she. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently reached for her hand. She did not resist
him nor pull away. He guided her hand to his cheek and pressed her palm to it. He felt
intoxicated with relief then and there, though he tried to hide it. Her touch felt like magic. He
hadn’t even noticed a small tear or two leave his eye, but he felt her thumb rub them away.

He looked at her, tears in her eyes too. Her hand stayed to his cheek on its own, though he did
not let go of it. It was so small and soft in his hand. On instinct, without a word, he drew
closer to her, climbing on top of her. She did not resist him, instead brushing the hair away
from his face. He leaned down to kiss her softly and she returned his affections. Slowly,
gently, they did so, drawing each other closer as they did until Valeria broke away.

“I’m still angry with you,” she said.

“Likewise,” he said.
 Dark Diplomacy
Chapter Notes

This is too long. I'm sorry.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Death. Violence. Blood. Discussion of rape/non-con. Mild

consensual sexual content. Discussion of violence, death and physical/psychological
torture.

July 1998

During the war, it was impossible to plan ahead. Each hour could bring some new surprise or
terror to face. Now that it was over, it was hard to let go of that anxiety and even harder for
Valeria to accept that this was it. This was the way of the world. Snape had been giving
Valeria assignments and assisted with constructing a proper potions laboratory for her in the
north wing of Malfoy Manor. He claimed it was for her to do her part for the cause, but she
suspected his efforts were also a means of distracting her from caving in on herself.

It was not going well. Whilst Draco was out risking life and limb hunting down insurgents
and dissidents, she was locked up in her room making Veritaserum for the cause. A tricky
enough potion as it was, her shaking hands and distracted mind caused her to ruin three
batches already. Dumping out this last failed batch, Valeria sat at a desk with her head on the
table, trying to calm her pounding heart. She felt her heart nearly strangle itself with anxiety
when the door creaked open.

Odessa Winters went to her daughter and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“You can take a break,” Odessa said calmly.

“I have to get this done,” Valeria stuttered out. Odessa gently guided Valeria to sit up and
crouched down to look into her daughter’s eyes.

“You must save this, your fears, for later when you’re alone. You can’t let anyone who might
wander in here see you like this. You cannot afford to show weakness,” Odessa said.

“I’m not weak,” Valeria spat through her teeth.

“No, you’re not. So don’t act like you are,” Odessa said before taking a pause, gripping
Valeria’s hand. “Your name might be Malfoy, but you are a Winters first; The last of the
Winters and we allow nothing less than perfection, nor will this world.”
Valeria burst into tears. The trauma, the stress, the fear collapsing onto her like a tidal wave.
“I can’t…I can’t do this—”

Odessa’s hand clamped down harder on Valeria’s. “You don’t have a choice. Listen to me.
You know I wanted none of this for you. I imagine if your father were still here, he would not
rest until he avenged everything that has happened to you. But he’s dead and he would want
you to rise to your station as his heir.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be the heir—”

“No, but Konstantin is gone too,” Odessa said. Valeria sobbed again at the sound of her
brother’s name. “Look at me. Do you understand why we worked so long to train you? Why
we dressed you in the finest clothes, made certain no hair on your head was ever out of place?
Had you practice poise and posture since you could walk?”

“For…for our reputation…”

“That was part of it, of course. An added benefit. But it was to give you the tools you need to
survive in this world your father and brother helped build, the world that is now yours to live
and thrive in. Your self-control, your perfection will keep you, keep Draco, safe. All you have
to do is play your part without a single misstep. By any means necessary, darling. By any
means.”

“So I have to live the rest of my life being Draco’s perfect wife? A pretty puppet on a string?”

“Never. But let them think that’s all you are. Let everyone underestimate you, everyone
except you.”

March 2003

Valeria sat on the floor after another attempt, surrounded by notes and books, searching for
some ghost of a clue as to where she was going wrong. She jumped out of her skin when the
door creaked open. The dim light of from the hallway outside cast the intruder in shadow.

“Just me,” Draco said. She sighed, partially relieved, partially annoyed. They hadn’t talked
about what happened the other night, how she had willingly allowed him into her bed. She
had been kicking herself for giving into her own base desires, giving into how much she
missed Draco, when she was still so furious at him that she could barely stand to look at him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

“No, just got in,” he said as he approached. He was carrying two glasses and handed her one.
“Working on that Patronus thing?”

“It’s not some thing,” she said, feeling the sweet burn of the brandy slither down her throat.
“Fine, your project then. Are you sure it’s even possible?”

She shoved papers along the floor towards him. “All my research points to the possibility, at
least in theory.”

“In theory…” he said, taking some of the notes in hand.

“If you have any ideas, I’m all ears,” she said through an aggravated sigh. “You never even
took Magical Theory so I highly doubt—"

“I was always better at Charms than you, but that’s not why I’m here,” he said before taking a
deep inhale and setting the notes aside. “We need to pack.”

“For what?”

“We’re going to Estonia.”

“Why?!”

“A diplomatic mission. The Dark Lord is seeking to expand into Eastern Europe, and it’s
been decided that we will begin negotiations with the Prime Minister of Estonia’s Magical
Parliament to peacefully bring them into the fold,” Draco said.

“And why do I have to go? I thought Snape was in charge of those sorts of matters. I have to
speak with Boot tomorrow.”

Draco scoffed. “Terry Boot should be the least important thing on your mind right now. The
Dark Lord wants Snape close and he has to manage Hogwarts. As for you, we’ll be staying
with the Prime Minister, his family, as high-ranking representatives of wizarding Britain and
the Dark Lord. We need to present a united front and you have ties there on your mother’s
side…”

“Distant relations a few generations back! Take my mother with you then,” she said
indignantly.

“Don’t play stupid,” Draco said, taking a few steps closer. “I don’t like this either—”

“Will you stop saying that every time you force my hand like it means something?” she said.
She could tell that Draco was wounded by the remark.

“I’ll be blunt if that’s what you want. You don’t have a choice and you will be on your best
behavior. We need all that Winters charm and I expect you to use it. If I have to use the
Imperius Curse—”

Draco was usually stiff and irritable when he was assigned an unpleasant task, but this was
different. He was far more anxious now and trying to hide it. She laughed. “You don’t have it
in you, even if you wanted to.”

He finished his drink in one go and walked toward her, looming over her with a domineering
gaze. He was so close she could feel his breath on her face as he exhaled. “You don’t want to
know what I’d do. No antics. If you do well, I’ll consider reinstating your privileges.”

She was not about to back down. “You mean my basic liberties? And if I fail in your eyes,
what will you do? What more do you have to take from me?”

“Don’t—”

“Was it worth it, Draco? Was it worth killing Potter to save me?” she spat. His lip quivered in
rage.

“Never say that name!” he said with a threatening tone. “I didn’t kill him.”

“You know that’s not true and I know trying to force yourself to believe it doesn’t make you
sleep better at night,” she said. His jaw trembled as he clenched, as if trying to stop himself
from overreacting. Instead, he turned and threw his glass across the room, breaking the quiet
with its shatter. Valeria didn’t flinch. He turned back to her, breathing heavy.

“This doesn’t have to work between us. I can live with that, but this does have to work for
everyone else and so you will do as you’re told,” he said before marching for the door, but he
turned as his hand touched the knob. “And it was worth it to me, I’m sorry that it wasn’t
worth it for you.”

Arm in arm, Draco and Valeria arrived at the stately medieval manor of Prime Minister
Rasmus Sisask after a long journey late the following day. They were both dressed well in
dark, elegant robes. If Draco wanted perfection, Valeria was determined to show him the
definition of the word.

“Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy!” Rasmus, an older man who had a rather jolly demeanor, surprising
Valeria, said with a thick accent as they arrived on the doorstep. He stood with his wife and
daughter, who could not have been older than eighteen. He shook Draco’s hand firmly.

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir. Thank you for being our hosts,” Draco said.

“We are quite honored by your visit, sir. I’ve heard tales of your deeds and am eager to talk
with you as our two great governments come to an understanding. And this lovely lady must
be your famous bride,” Rasmus said.

“My wife, Valeria,” Draco introduced. Valeria offered her gloved hand and Rasmus took it,
placing a polite kiss on the back of it.

“The reputation of your beauty precedes you, young lady. You’re descended from the
Wenlock family, yes?”

“On my mother’s side, yes. We have always taken pride in our Estonian heritage,” Valeria
said with all the polite sensibilities of her station.

“Yes, a legendary family, so very important to our magical history. It is a privilege to

welcome you especially into my halls, Mrs. Malfoy. Might I introduce you to my wife,
Lisandra and my daughter Yelena.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Sisask,” Valeria said, greeting Lisandra.

“Our home is your home. Rasmus, I think we should let our guests rest. They’ve had such a
long journey,” Lisandra said. Lisandra reminded Valeria of her own mother in grace and
poise, though she was more soft-spoken than Valeria had expected.

“My wife is right, where are my manners? Please come inside. Your things arrived before
you and have already been brought to your chamber,” Rasmus said.

As they were led to their guest chamber, Valeria was impressed with the aesthetic of the
interiors. Magical artifacts of priceless value, she guessed, were prominently on display and
there was a simple, austere elegance that reminded her of the Winters castle in Wales. She
was disappointed to discover that she and Draco would be sharing a room, though she
couldn’t have expected Draco to ask for separate quarters without raising questions. Large
and stately as it was, she could not say she was pleased despite smiling and kindly thanking
their hosts.

“Should you need anything, simply ring this. Our servants are prepared to assist you at any
hour,” Rasmus said, gesturing to a small handbell sat on a platter on a table in the center of
the room. Once they were left alone, Draco got to work unpacking his notes and what he
needed for his diplomatic work here, but Valeria was busy ensuring that her clothes were
properly stored, using magic of course.

“I saw your face when you saw the bed,” Draco said. “I’ll sleep on the sofa, if you want.”

She shook her head. “We can’t risk one of the servants noticing us sleep separately.”

Before Draco could answer there was a knock and Draco called for them to enter. In walked
in a young woman, maybe only a few years older than Valeria and Draco, in plain, severe
looking robes, short hair and wearing a thick silver colored band tight around her neck. She
stepped into the room carrying a large silver platter with tightly folded sheets of parchment
on it.

“What is it?” Draco asked the woman, but she did not reply. She merely bowed her head and
held out the platter towards Draco. He took the parchments from the woman and dismissed
her, but the woman’s eyes met Valeria’s for a brief moment and the look made the latter’s
blood run cold for a second. Draco handed Valeria one of the parchments to find, Mrs. Draco
Malfoy elegantly scrawled upon it. She rolled her eyes when she opened it, but her annoyance
turned to bewilderment upon reading it.

“What the hell is this?” she asked Draco, who was looking over his own parchment.

“I’m surprised you don’t recognize an itinerary when you see one,” he said.

“Look at this,” she said going up to him, brandishing her parchment. “I’ve got a ‘Ladies
Luncheon’ tomorrow after an ‘Estate Tour’? My entire day is planned down to the hour.”
“Mine too,” Draco said, showing her his own itinerary. While he was also scheduled for the
estate tour, he was scheduled to spend a lot of time with Rasmus and other high ranking
political men in the Estonian Ministry.

“This is absurd,” she said.

“You didn’t expect this to be a holiday did you?”

“No, but I at least expected to have some say in what my day looks like. I have that at home
and I’m not even allowed to leave the house,” she protested. Draco shot her a look and set his
itinerary down.

“It’s only a week. Who knows, you might even enjoy it. You’re good at these things, which is
precisely why you’re here,” he said.

“I am when it’s on my terms—”

“It’s not. Nor is it on mine, so you will do your job as I’ll do mine.”

“So while you play at master of the universe you get to parade me around like a set of new
robes—”

“No,” he said firmly. “I get the responsibility of negotiating terms with Sisask to get a
foothold in Eastern Europe so that when the Dark Lord does decide to take over, the
transition will happen with as few people dying as possible. Would you like to trade places?!”

Valeria did not answer, casting her gaze down. It was hard for her not to be selfish from the
outside looking in. It was difficult not to envy, what she perceived to be, Draco’s freedom,
even prior to him enforcing her confinement. Perhaps that illusion was partially his own fault
for purposely keeping the weight of his burdens to himself as best he could. Though of
course, she would not have been so prickly about this if it had not been for Draco
withholding her freedoms at home. She could manage this for a week. She already had plenty
of practice over the years.

The next morning, Valeria awoke a little earlier than Draco to find him asleep near the other
edge of the large, ornate bed and herself nearly at the opposite edge. She smiled to herself a
little, remembering their wedding night and how their modesty and youthful bashfulness
caused them to sleep in a similar way; as far apart as they could without falling off the bed.
Only now, it was their own bubbling anger at one another that drove them apart.

Breakfast was dull, full of niceties and mundane pleasantries. The estate tour was even duller,
as Rasmus recounted his long family history and showed off his collection of portraits and
artifacts. At one point, he yelled at another servant in his native tongue, who was dressed the
same as the servant who had delivered the itineraries. In fact, all the servants she saw were
dressed the same, the metal ring about their necks included, and none of them said a single
word.

The luncheon, when she and Draco were separated according to sex, was oddly enough more
relaxing than she had expected. The spacious sunroom was warm, and the ample amount of
wine served certainly helped correct Valeria’s sour mood. Unsurprisingly, Lisandra’s other
guests were the wives of the powerful men that Draco was taking lunch with and they were
all especially curious about her.

“I’m sorry, please forgive me,” one woman asked in a thick accent and an unsure tone. “But
your scar, Mrs. Malfoy, I am…curious.”

“Sofia,” Lisandra scolded. “Please forgive her, Mrs. Malfoy, she gets—how do you say—
gossipy when she drinks too much wine.”

“I promise you I take no offense,” Valeria said. While that was true, she was not keen on
having her scar pointed out even on the best of days. “I received it during the war.” The
women were taken aback, almost scandalized with shock.

“You fought…?” Lisandra asked.

“Not really, no. I was…caught in the crossfire, unfortunately,” Valeria said, which was barely
true. She remembered Bellatrix Lestrange, tensing her grip on her wine glass, fantasizing
once more in the back of her mind of the immense pleasure she would someday have in
killing the woman.

“I am sure your handsome husband saw to it that the monster was punished,” another woman
said.

“Erna, you’re old enough to be his mother!” Lisandra playfully scolded. “Don’t mind her.
She is a notorious flirt, but she is harmless.”

“Draco ensured vengeance, yes,” Valeria said, again not quite lying, but certainly not being
honest.

“I would expect nothing less, I’m sure he was unstoppable after those vile people kidnapped
you,” Sofia said, to the agreement of the other women. The entire ordeal after Bellatrix
attacked her years ago was a blur and Valeria could not tell them what was true or not, though
she never understood why Potter of all people wanted to forcibly kidnap her.

“Indeed, I’m very lucky to have him,” Valeria said.

“Handsome, brave and decent. I’m sure you’re the envy of every witch in Britain. You two
shall make the most beautiful children,” Erna said. Valeria nearly choked on her wine.

“Yes, why is it you haven’t started yet?” Sofia asked while the other women giggled.

“They are a nosy bunch, I’m sorry,” Lisandra said. Valeria smiled serenely, her default when
she was horribly uncomfortable.

“Draco, and myself, are dedicated to the Dark Lord’s cause for now. Once we can spare the
time, we’ll rise to that duty as well. We’re young enough, we still have plenty of time,”
Valeria said.
“Mrs. Malfoy is wise. Blessing this world with more pureblood children is certainly one of
our most sacred duties, but nor is it something that should be rushed into. Wouldn’t you
agree, ladies?” Lisandra said. The women nodded and muttered earnest words of agreement.
Fortunately, the conversation shifted until the luncheon was concluded and Lisandra offered
to escort Valeria to her next item on the itinerary. They descended down the many stairs of
the mansion, deeper into the older parts of the building.

“I hear you are accomplished with potions,” Lisandra asks.

“I have an aptitude, if it’s not too bold of me to say so. I craft potions and solutions when it is
asked of me,” Valeria said.

“Then let me show you our own collections, perhaps it’ll be of interest to you,” Lisandra
said.

“Certainly,” Valeria said as they stopped at a door down in the lowest floor of the manor
beneath the ground. Lisandra knocked and Valeria’s heart dropped into her stomach when
Silas Barakov answered the door. Judging by how his face drained of color, he recognized her
too.

“Barakov, this is Mrs. Draco Malfoy, visiting from Britain, and she is a potioneer in her own
right. I cleared this time in your schedule for you to show her your laboratory and your recent
breakthroughs,” Lisandra said before noticing the way the other two looked at each other.
“Are you already acquainted?”

“Yes, we met some years ago back at Hogwarts. Mr. Barakov is a friend of one of my old
Potions mentors,” Valeria said.

“How wonderful! A reunion then. Barakov, please show Mrs. Malfoy your hospitality and
Valeria, I shall see you at dinner,” Lisandra said. Valeria thanked the woman and was
reluctantly allowed into the laboratory by Silas. The room was dark and dank, not unlike the
dungeons of Hogwarts where the Potions classroom was, yet it was a proper laboratory
obviously built by an expert and kept quite clean. Thankfully, the room had no windows and
only the one exit so there was no fear of sudden interruption or surveillance.

“I’m sorry…” Silas began in a thick accent and coarse voice. “They did not tell me the name
of the person who I would be showing the laboratory to…”

“Nor did I know you were here,” she said, remaining stiff and dignified to quell her unease.
She had met Silas her sixth year. It was he who had given her his own book of rare poisons in
which she found the very solution that Draco used, unbeknownst to her, to attempt to
assassinate Dumbledore, but was instead drunk by Ronald Weasley. She met Silas at a Slug
Club party and she remembered him to be a haughty sort of intellectual, quite like Slughorn.
But this man was merely a ghost of the former one. “How did you get here?”

Silas’s face contorted, his grizzly white beard moving with his face. “Punishment.”

“For what?”
“If you will forgive me, Mrs. Malfoy, I do not wish to discuss the details of my situation with
you. Just look around, ask questions about the work and be on your way,” he said.

“I beg your pardon,” she said.

“Beg all you like,” he said. “That doesn’t change that I know who you are. I know what
you’ve done.” Valeria was taken aback by the boldness of his words. Hardly anyone, save for
Draco and others who outranked her, dared to even raise their voice too loud to her.

“I brewed that poison back then out of curiosity. I even dumped it out. I didn’t realize that
some of it had been taken and—”

“Taken by your husband, you mean?”

“He wasn’t my husband then.”

“No, but you were aiding him—”

“I had no idea he was trying to assassinate Dumbledore and believe me I tried to find out
what he was doing, but—”

“You were an ignorant child then, but you are not one now. I did not ask you for your excuses
—”

She took a fierce step toward him. “I regret what I did, always have, but I did not put you in
this place, so you gain nothing from taking it out on me.”

“You think so? You know, word travels outside of Hogwarts’s walls. When the extended
Potion community discovered that I had given a little girl the means to poison her own
classmate, hardly anyone would work with me. I’m sure you can see how this would damage
the reputation of a Potions Master, especially one whose specialty is poisons. I was forced to
work independently, underground. I lost a great deal—”

“And I’m sorry. But I did not put you here.”

“You didn’t let me finish. When your Dark Lord won his war, Sisask and his ilk finally felt
powerful enough to overthrow our Parliament and did so with success. As I had been
working underground for a while by then, I knew how to get things. I knew how to smuggle
things in and out through the black markets. It was not long until desperate Muggleborns
asked for my help. And so I did. I was caught when two wanted individuals, very wanted,
came to me for help and I did. They escaped. I didn’t. Rather than execute me or worse,
Sisask offered to me to pay my debt by working here for him and under his watch. I would
have rather died.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Because I knew that if I did not take his offer, they would have found some eager, twisted
zealot instead to perform experiments on the Squibs and the Muggleborns, as you call them.
So you see, while you may not have known the extent of what you’ve done, I still do blame
you.”
Valeria’s face twisted in rage as her blood boiled over. “I was a scared, nearly orphaned
sixteen-year-old girl with a price on my head if Draco had failed his task, who then became a
child soldier’s child bride. I am sorry about what happened to you, but I was really in no
position to examine the consequences of my actions thousands of miles away!”

“And I did not expect this. I still don’t. You played me like a musician plays the piano for
your own ends. You were good at it, by the looks of it you still are. You will do the same
here, convincing Sisask to ally with your Dark Lord and soon, the rest of Eastern Europe, I’m
sure,” he said.

“We’re here to keep the peace—” she said.

He laughed. “Who told you that? Your husband, and you believed him? I thought you were
intelligent.”

“I trust Draco the most out of anyone I have ever known—”

“Then it’s your funeral.”

Valeria was nearly trembling with rage. “You never even met him. You met me at a couple
parties years ago and you have the audacity to assume—”

“No need to assume. Your story is legend here.”

“What?”

“Why do you think the Sisasks are so eager to have you? To show you off to their friends? To
impress you with their property, their wealth, their influence? Everyone knows your story,
Mrs. Malfoy. The children learn about it in school. The young men and women aspire to be
just like you.”

Valeria looked at him, baffled, staring blankly. “That’s not possible. No one would want—”

“I didn’t say they know the truth, just the story. No, it’s been twisted into quite the romantic
tale. Draco Malfoy, the Chosen One’s childhood rival, who married the love of his life to
preserve the purity of their bloodlines and bravely overcame his fears to hand over the
Chosen One to the Dark Lord to save his beloved’s life. He’s a noble hero here, who has risen
to his duty and climbed the ranks of the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters and is even poised to
eventually take Snape’s position, if what Sisask says is correct,” Silas said with a heavy dose
of sarcasm in his tone.

“That says nothing about me,” she said through her teeth.

“No? You’re the woman, beautiful, graceful, with the world tied around her finger who
became the damsel in distress. Intelligent, but soft, tragically ripped from her husband’s arms
by Harry Potter and forced to do his bidding until you were rescued. It’s neat and tidy, isn’t
it? Was that the way of it at all?”

“I—I don’t remember…” she said, so taken aback by all this that she couldn’t think straight.
Being kidnapped by Potter was one of those spots in her memory that went fuzzy when she
tried to recall it. The Healers told her it was likely due to the many traumas she had suffered
and the chaos of the war, but there was always something about that explanation that did not
seem quite right.

“It doesn’t matter if you remember. Sisask has taken your tale and used it to show this region
how love prospers in the Dark Lord’s world. If you love the Dark Lord and the cause, then all
kinds of love shall be given unto you. Your story has helped him achieve his goals a great
deal and cost many Muggleborns their lives—”

Valeria could not take it anymore and with one swift motion sent the vials and glassware on
the table before her to the floor as tears escaped her eyes.

“You speak as though you’re an expert in separating truth from deception. You want honesty?
Here it is; I was honest when I met you. I wanted to study. I loved the craft. I was fascinated
by it. I appreciated your kindness, and I did love that book you gave me. I did not play you. I
can hear in your voice how much you want me to suffer, and so you will be delighted to
know that I have been from the moment Draco slipped this ring on my finger.”

“You hate him,” Silas said softly.

She shook her head. “I don’t.”

“You care for him?” Silas said, sounding disgusted. “Do you know what he’s done? The
stories spread outside of Britain. He burned the Muggles in Godric’s Hollow alive, he slits
the throats of Muggleborns without batting an eye, he orchestrates hunts, executions—”

“I know what he is,” she said, not knowing if she believed herself. “I don’t hate him. I wish I
did.”

Silas was quiet for a moment as they stared at each other. Valeria saw her future in him. Old
and worn, stuck in a lonely laboratory making potions and poisons for horrific ends for a
master she hated. It brought tears to her eyes once more. She had to swallow her pride, try to
make things right with Draco, or else she too would end up like Silas without any pride left to
spare. It was against her nature, and she deeply resented Draco for more than she realized, but
she still loved him to the point that her heart ached to be without him.

“You would have made an excellent Master of Poison,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“What’s the most important thing to know about poisons?”

“The Three Laws dictate that—”

“Damn the laws. Mastering poisons is about knowing when, where and with what to strike.
Like a snake waiting in the tall grass. It’s about knowing how to read people and even more
important to be able to read oneself. You would have been great, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“I no longer can be?”

“None of us can.”

Valeria went to the door without another word. She could not bear to be locked away down
there any longer, but she stopped herself short and turned.

“I will not share our conversation with anyone if you answer me this honestly,” she said.

“And what would that be?”

“You said you worked underground, familiar with black markets. Any chance you know how
to acquire basilisk fangs?” she asked.

His face paled again, but he quickly composed himself. “What do you need them for?”

“I have my own work to do, not unlike you,” she said.

“Even on black markets, it’s been many years since I’ve encountered a basilisk fang. I doubt
there’s any way to get a hold of one any time soon.”

Valeria quickly and magically cleaned herself up from her tears before reuniting with Draco
shortly thereafter for pictures and an interview with the local wizarding newspaper.
Afterwards, there was enough of a break in the schedule before dinner for the two of them to
be alone in their guest chamber. Draco ranted to her how it went with the men, which was all
very dull and rife with political jargon. He sat across from her, slouched in his chair with legs
lazily spread out, much like he used to do in the common room back at Hogwarts. Valeria
thought she was looking back in time for a moment. She told him of the gossipy afternoon
spent with the wives, surprised that it was much more pleasant than what Draco had
described with the men.

“And how was the Potions Master? Barakov, right?” he asked, head tipped back staring at the
ceiling.

“It was fine,” she said softly.

“That name sounds familiar, have you heard of him before? Sisask says he was
renowned...before...”

“Yes, I was familiar with him,” she said, even softer before sighing. “Draco, Silas Barakov
was the poisons expert Slughorn acquainted me with sixth year, the Slug Club, remember?
The one who gave me the book—”

Draco tipped his head up and looked at her. “The book with the poison that I had put in that
wine?”

“Yes.”

Draco sighed and leaned forward. “Shit. I’m sorry. If I had known I would have—”
“It’s fine.”

Draco eyed her suspiciously. “Did he do anything? Say anything?”

“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” she said. Draco’s gaze darkened as he looked at her more
severely.

“What did he say? No, don’t deflect. Tell me what happened,” he said low, as if it were an
order. She complied, retelling what had passed between her and Silas. She saw Draco grow
more tense with insult and anger as she told it.

“He blames us. Me for ruining his career with that poison, and you for Potter and all the
rest…” she said, but at the sound of Potter’s name Draco got right to his feet.

“I’m going to talk to Sisask,” he said. Valera grabbed his wrist hard.

“Draco, please don’t,” she pleaded. He looked at her surprised but didn’t try to pull away. In
fact, he took a step closer.

“We’re guests here, Sisask wouldn’t want us insulted under his own roof and I’m not about to
stand for my wife being berated by someone who hasn’t the faintest—”

“I don’t want him to suffer more than he already has. We both said what we needed to say.
Let it be,” she said, looking up at Draco into those cold eyes the color of steel that had beheld
her with more love than any others, and, to her surprise now, still did. Draco decided this
once to relent, to not oblige his violent urges that flared in him when his anger erupted.
Looking at her now, he realized how he had denied her so much for so long and he had no
strength to deny her this now. Draco gently wriggled his wrist out of her grasp and slid his
hand down to take hers, running his thumb on the little bones forming the base knuckles of
her hand.

“You’re far more merciful than I am, despite what they call me,” he said referring to his
nickname, Malfoy the Merciful.

She shook her head. “If you would have seen how miserable he is, you’d understand. He told
me he’d rather be dead than be here.”

“Then why not just die?” Draco asked with a casualness that would have bothered her a long
time ago.

“Apparently he’s the only thing stopping them from experimenting on others, like the
servants and such—" she began but was stopped by Draco’s face dropping in solemn
understanding.

“Probably for the best then. Those women are miserable enough,” he said wistfully.

“What do you mean?”

He curled his bottom lip inward and shifted his weight on his feet. “Calling them servants is a
kind thing to call them. They don’t use house elves here. Once Rasmus and his allies felt
empowered enough by the Dark Lord, they went after the Muggleborns, but instead of doing
as we’ve done, they’ve used them and those that sympathized with them, as labor.
Particularly the women. They break their wands, put those collars on them which tighten
around their throats if they even try to use magic and…Valeria, they cut out their tongues.”

“Why the hell would they—?” she began, revolted.

“So they can’t talk to each other or even try to utter spells, why else?” he said. “You should
know…They, Sisask and the other men, use them for…” he couldn’t even get the words out,
but Valeria understood implicitly.

She swallowed. “They rape them.”

He nodded. “Regularly. Sisask offered to send one to me when you weren’t around at some
point. I politely declined of course. Don’t look at me like that. As desperate as I am for that
sort of attention after you’ve denied me all this time, I have no desire to sleep with other
women especially women who have no interest in sleeping with me, nor do I find the idea
remotely arousing. The last thing I need is more women to keep track of; you cause me
enough grief as it is.” His last statement was a poor attempt at a joke and Valeria rolled her
eyes.

“Thank you very much for your high praise,” she began sarcastically. “But I’m more
concerned with how you politely turned down the offer to rape—”

“And what did you expect me to say? Would you have had me spin some bullshit about how
in Britain, purebloods fucking mudbloods is considered just shy of bestiality and risk
insulting him when he’s supposed to be our ally?”

“You could have expressed some kind of distaste for raping them,” she said.

“And claim some sort of moral high ground? That would have been rich, coming from me.
Do you really think we’re better than them just because the Death Eaters don’t go around
raping mudbloods?”

“You had no problem claiming the moral high ground after what Goyle did to Pansy. After
what he tried to do to me,” she said. She had struck a nerve. Draco’s expression darkened and
contorted in disgust.

“That was different.”

“Why? Because it was me?”

“Yes, because it was you!” Draco shouted, nearly at the top of his lungs. “And I don’t claim
the moral high ground for killing my once friend, a guest in my home, or forcing him to drink
the unicorn blood because I didn’t care about the ethics then, nor do I now. My only regret is
that Goyle didn’t suffer longer! You really haven’t gotten it yet, have you? You orchestrated
my nightmare and stand there perplexed and pissed off wondering why I can’t trust you.”

“I already apologized—!”
“But you don’t understand!” he yelled, stepping toward her, towering over her again. “No one
hurts you more than I already have and lives to talk about it. I have loved you since I was
fourteen, guarded your life since I was sixteen. I have killed, tortured, ruined every other life
I ever touched, and let this world burn all for you. It was different because it was you. It was
different because you’re the only thing in this world I can love.”

“I never asked that of you. Ever.”

“That’s the point of loving someone, isn’t it? You don’t have to ask.”

“Even if you hate loving them?”

“I would imagine,” he said, and she watched something primal overtake his gaze as their
bodies nearly touched. “You hate that you love me?

“Yes.”

“But you love me?”

“Yes,” she whispered honestly. His hand reached forward, cupping her cheek and then lifting
her chin.

“Then show me that you still love me.”

“Draco…” she said before his other hand cupped the other side her face.

“They can take everything else from us, but we don’t have to let them take this,” he said,
leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“You took this from us.”

He grabbed her round the waist suddenly, running his hands over her body. “Then let me
return it. Let me show you that I cannot stop loving you even if it would be easier for both of
us if I could. I can do it like I used to. Like how it was when we were better. I can’t be the
man you want or deserve, but I am yours and that can be enough.”

“We have dinner…”

Valeria and Draco barely had time to get ready for dinner after Valeria found herself unable to
resist Draco’s advances. She had missed him desperately and she was annoyed at herself for
enjoying their tryst as much as she did. Yet, her stubbornness was cracking. She was still
furious with him, but perhaps she was beginning to forgive him. These thoughts preoccupied
Valeria throughout dinner, being unable to look at Rasmus without her skin crawling.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up whenever the servants tending the meal came near
her. She tried not to be too polite to them and could not help but feel some nauseating
cocktail of guilt and revulsion in her gut. One in particular, the one who delivered their
itineraries the night before, kept staring at her and Draco with malice in her exhausted eyes.
The week would have been enjoyable if it were not exhausting and if their purpose were not
so dark. Soirees, dinners, tours of historical sites and the Parliament, interviews and meetings
with important people, late night drinking and even a Quidditch match that was more
ceremonial than anything. When they weren’t playing their parts as diplomats, whether
together or separately, Valeria and Draco spent a great deal of time fulfilling their carnal
desires to the point that Draco once joked that this must be the honeymoon they never got
around to planning. Valeria was reluctant to admit that she had been enjoying it as much as
Draco had, despite the side effect of soreness at one point. Though she could accept that this
was the best they could do to relieve the stress and horror of their circumstances.

One of the items on Valeria’s final itinerary for the last day of their visit was a walk in the
gardens with Yelena, the young daughter of Rasmus and Lisandra, who up until now had
been completely unremarkable. As the two women took in the fresh, spring air, Yelena was
quick to point out the various plants by name and note the history of the estate as they wound
their way through the paths. Her perceptiveness coming to her aid, Valeria could quickly tell
that this young woman was more than she appeared. She was intelligent, poised, with a
pleasant disposition. She reminded Valeria very much of herself.

“I was wondering, Mrs. Malfoy, if I could ask you some…personal questions,” Yelena said
shyly.

“Depends on how personal,” Valeria said.

“It’s about marriage,” Yelena said. Valeria stopped and turned. The girl removed the glove on
her left hand and held it out to her, displaying a shining diamond ring on her ring finger.

“You’re engaged.”

“I just…I was wondering, Mr. Malfoy is so good to you and so brave. Did you love him
when you first married him?” Valeria looked at that young woman like she was looking into a
twisted mirror. For all her poise and grace, the girl was terrified, just as Valeria once was. “I
mean no offense. I’ve wanted to be just like you for so long that I never really thought about
it and now that I have a chance to talk to you…”

Valeria did not want to hear another word about his this girl aspired to be like her. “How long
until you’re married?”

“Six months,” Yelena said.

“That’s good. I only had a week’s notice,” Valeria said with a little laugh. “Do you know him
at all?”

She nodded. “We went to school together.”

“Even better. I knew Draco my entire life, believe me that helps. As for your question, I have
to tell you that I don’t know. It was the middle of the war; a lot had happened prior and I
couldn’t really make sense of anything at the time.”
“But you do love him.”

“Yes, eventually I realized I loved him.”

“Don’t misunderstand. I am eager to maintain the purity of old bloodlines, as is our duty, but
I’m nervous…”

“As you should be. Do you like him? I mean, do you get on with him? Can you have
conversations with him, and do you enjoy being around him?”

“Yes, I think so. He’s smart, he’s going into Parliament. He’s nice to me, always been polite
and decent.”

“Then let that be enough for now. Liking him will often serve you better than loving him
would, even if you do grow to love him eventually.”

The conversation with naïve Yelena could not get out of Valeria’s head even after dinner as
their luggage was being packed away. The only distraction was that Draco had not returned
from his post-dinner excursion with Rasmus. According to Draco, they were off to celebrate
coming to an agreement in their diplomatic negotiations with other powerful men. Valeria
kept herself awake with worry with a book, until the chamber door flew open, startling her.

Draco lumbered into the room, pale as a sheet looking nearly ill with shock. Instinctively, she
rushed to him, but he flinched at her touch.

“Sorry…I…” he started, trying to get the words out of his shaking breath.

“What’s happened?”

“Do you have any? The Tranquila Sensus…?”

“No, I didn’t think there was a reason to bring—”

“Fuck!” he shouted, slamming his first into the bedpost.

“Draco, what’s wrong? Weren’t you just out celebrating?”

He scoffed. “Yes, with a hunt…a goddamn hunt…”

“You don’t mean—”

“Mudbloods.”

“Was there an urgent mission or something?”

He sighed. “You don’t understand. That was the celebration.”

“Hunting them for sport?” she asked. Draco lurched as if about to vomit. He was usually out
of sorts after fulfilling his more violent duties, but she hadn’t seen him this distressed in a
long time. “Silas might have something.” She rang the bell that had been left in the room to
call for service and urged Draco into the adjacent bathroom to clean himself up. She bade the
servant who answered the call, the same one who had been staring maliciously at her and
Draco throughout their stay, to ask for the Potion Master’s aid.

The woman returned not too long after with an almost wild look in her eye. Valeria gratefully
took the vial from the woman’s hand and turned, but before she could take a step towards the
bathroom, she felt a sharp, cold pain in the back of her shoulder. She cried out instinctively
and spun around to find a bloody knife in the woman’s hand that must have been hidden up
her sleeve. The servant lunged at Valera again before the latter could reach for her wand, but
Valeria was knocked to the floor before she could react.

Draco had rushed out of the bathroom and shoved her aside to grab the woman by the throat
in one hand and by the wrist with the other. Valeria held onto her shoulder, now shooting with
pain, feeling her blood leak out onto her hand as Draco sharply twisted the servant’s wrist.
The knife fell to the floor as the woman screamed, her hand and wrist now hanging limp.
Draco threw the woman to the floor and put one foot on her chest to hold her down as he
drew his wand.

“Are you alright?” Draco asked, his voice viciously low. Valeria trembled as she took a
mental assessment of herself. She was bleeding, but not enough to justify serious worry. The
blade didn’t puncture her deep enough to kill. She withdrew her wand and began to cast basic
healing spells on herself to stop the bleeding and reduce the pain.

“I’m alright,” she said, her voice shaking.

Draco pointed his wand between the servant’s eyes and said, “Legilimens.”

The reality of the attack was starting to sink in now that the rush of adrenaline was subsiding
some. Valeria could not fathom why this random servant would attack her. She could
understand the servant’s hatred, that was fair, but she had ensured her own execution, or
worse, by doing this. Valeria could not see how that would have been worth it for the woman.

“Why’d she do it?” Valeria asked as Draco ceased reading the woman’s mind.

Draco sighed. “The story, about how I turned Potter over for you. She thinks he was their last
hope and because of you, it was taken away. It was vengeance, pure and simple. You sure
you’re alright?”

Valeria nodded, slowly getting to her feet. Her wound was sore, still throbbing, but it was
closed. The servant was obviously not an experienced assassin and had done a poor job of
trying to murder Valeria, but her sloppiness could be explained by how personal the crime
was. Valeria went towards Draco, whose eyes were dark with vengeance, but his expression
bore something resembling compassion.

“Was that all you saw?” she asked.

He shook his head. “She made sure that I saw what Sisask…does to them.” That explained
Draco’s expression and hesitation in ending the woman’s life outright. He looked down to
her. “I can’t save you, but I’ll give you a choice. You can die here and now, quickly and
painlessly, or I will have to turn you over to Sisask.”

The woman made a whimpering sound as angry tears filled her eyes and Valeria surprised
herself with how much sympathy she had for the woman who had just tried to kill her. With
her functioning hand, she gestured to her head and Draco understood her request to
communicate via the invasion of her mind once more.

“She wants us to do it here, since it’ll be worse if we hand her over to Sisask. She also wants
us to keep the other servants out of it. She acted alone,” Draco told Valeria after reading the
woman’s mind.

“Why should we do her any favors? She tried to kill me, Draco,” she said.

“I know, and that’s why she’s going to die,” he said, pinching the skin between his brow as he
so often did when he was emotionally exhausted. “Please, Valeria, I know I might seem like
I’m underreacting. I saw in her mind what they’ve done…I just want to end this, make sure
you’re alright, and go home.”

“Fine,” Valeria said after a moment, relenting for Draco’s sake. The woman wasn’t worth
making a grand show. Draco looked at Valeria.

“Do you want to do it or should I?”

Valeria looked at his exhausted face and brutalized expression. She wasn’t about to ask what
he did tonight nor what he saw in the woman’s head. She doubted he would make it through
the first few sentences if he tried. She removed her wand and aimed it at the woman under
Draco’s heel. The poor thing looked at up her, desperate but still hateful. Unrepentant, but
grateful for the finality Valeria was about to deliver. Both women knew, with a shocking
casualness, that this was the way of the world.

“Avada Kedavra.”
 Unfortunate Reunions
Chapter Notes

I'll fix the errors soon! Just wanted to get this out quick.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Off-screen death. Magical violence. Discussion of death.

Description/discussion of suicide. Discussion of violence. Mild discussion of
rape/sexual assault. Violence against a house elf. Violence against a child (sort of.) Foul
language.

August 1994

The sounds of rushing and screaming woke Valeria, fourteen years old. Still innocent. Still in
the dark. One of the magical ear plugs Konstantin had given her fell out while she slept,
allowing her to be awoken by the chaos outside. She put her dressing gown over her
sleepwear and grabbed her wand, just in case. Calling out for her parents and her brother
yielded no response. Frightened and alone, she left the tent and ran away into the thickets to
hide from whatever threat assaulted the campground now.

She cowered with her back against a tree, listening for any hint of what was going on, but
through the shouting, she could not make out anything clear enough to understand. From the
other side of the tree, a hand grabbed onto her shoulder. Valeria screamed and spun around,
aiming her wand in the near dark.

“Val, it’s me.”

“Draco? What’re you—?”

“I was about to try to find you in the tent,” he said, stepping forward as she lowered her
wand.

“My parents, Konstantin…I don’t know where they are—”

“They’re fine.”

“But someone’s attacking. We have to go!” she shouted in panic. Draco reached out and
grabbed her shoulders, nodding upwards. She followed his lead and, in the sky, saw the Dark
Mark looming in the night above them. She had been so panicked that she had missed it
before.

“Death Eaters…?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he said with an unimpressed drawl. “See? Everything’s fine.”

“What are you talking about!? We’re all in danger—”

Draco laughed. “Not us.”

“Are you mad?!”

“We’re pureblooded, Val, remember? They’re not after us. Just go back to the tent if you’re
so scared—” he said, rolling his eyes and turning away, but she grabbed his sleeve before he
could step forward.

“Please don’t go.”

He looked at her curiously. “You’re really scared, aren’t you?” He took a step toward her
again. “Alright, I’ll stay if it makes you feel better.”

“Stay until it’s over?”

“Yes, I’ll stay until it’s over. Promise.”

April 2003

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy,

I write to you regarding the atrocity you experienced as a result of one of my servants as
honored guests in my home. Please accept this further apology, though I have made strides to
make amends. I thank you both for your discretion and undeserved graciousness in this
matter. I can think of no finer people and no better allies. I am delighted to inform you that
the rest of the wandless servants at my home have been executed as well in order to quell any
further rebellion and to begin anew. I am looking forward to the future work our two great
governments shall accomplish together.

Sincerely,

Minister R. Sisask

Valeria rolled her eyes and handed the letter back to Draco. “So killing her then and there was
for nothing? The whole point was to avoid getting the others in trouble.”

“It wasn’t our call,” Draco said. “The woman sealed her fate as soon as she lifted that knife to
you. There is a silver lining, though. The Dark Lord is happy that it happened, seeing as now
Sisask is going to be too terrified to ever dream of crossing me or him. He is completely in
our control and our hold in Eastern Europe is even stronger.”
Valeria gathered her things off her desk with a beleaguered sigh. “Congratulations. I am so
very happy for you. And you’re very welcome to once again be the damsel in distress for
your political gain.”

“That hurts, but I suppose it’s fair,” Draco began. “Where are you off to?”

“I still have to see Boot, remember?”

“Sorry, your near murder made me forget about Terry bloody Boot,” Draco said. “I still
would prefer if you had an escort.”

“He has a Trace on him and I’m just as capable with magic as you. I’ll be fine. I might go to
Wales before I return here, put that cloak you hate so much back in its trunk,” she said. He
nodded in approval. Despite its usefulness, Draco hated Potter’s invisibility cloak and didn’t
want it at Malfoy Manor any longer than it had to be, figuring he could always fetch it if he
needed. He had gotten less strict with her confinement since their return from Estonia and
while Valeria was enjoying having some freedom of movement back, she was careful to be
very clear about her plans so as not to risk pushing his limits again. Before she reached the
door of the study, a great low bell rang throughout the Manor, signaling the arrival of a guest
who must have been allowed to pass through the magical gate. “Were you expecting
someone?”

“No. I’ll walk you out, see who it is,” Draco said. Opening the great doors of the Manor’s
entrance, Valeria was surprised to see Daphne, still in her Healer garb, standing in the
doorway looking more unwashed and exhausted than she had ever seen.

“Daphne, are you alright?” Valeria asked urgently, shoving her things into Draco’s arms and
ushering her friend inside.

“I’m fine. I just, I’m sorry to drop in like this, but I didn’t want to send an owl…”

“About what?” Valeria asked.

“Actually, I’m really only supposed to share with Malfoy—erm—Draco, I mean,” Daphne
said. Valeria was a little surprised, but not offended. She often preferred not knowing the
gruesome details of Daphne’s work anyway, especially if Draco needed to know about it. No
good could come of that, given the nature of Draco’s own duties.

“Right, I understand,” Valeria said taking her things back from Draco. “If you have any
updates for me or want anything, let me know.”

Daphne nodded and Valeria left the Manor. Draco turned to Daphne once the doors were shut
and Valeria was likely a safe enough distance away not to barge back in unexpectedly.

“What’s happened?” he asked. Daphne’s breath hitched as she shut her eyes, as if in pain.

“He didn’t make it…”

“Who?”
Daphne looked at him like he was half-mad. “The boy. The werewolf’s son. He died this
morning.”

“Shit,” Draco said with a sigh. He knew the truth that Daphne didn’t. The Lupin boy was not
dead, as far as he knew, but his mother, Draco’s cousin, disguised as her own son now was.
He knew it would come eventually, at least he figured it would, but he had not been expecting
it so soon and his exploits in Estonia had distracted him from the matter almost entirely.
“Where does that leave us?”

“Without any other werewolf-human hybrids running around that we know of, we’re still
banking on Valeria’s work. Tests are improving, but not quite the results we need,” Daphne
said solemnly. Her face was pale and grave. Draco felt a tinge of guilt, not for Nymphadora,
but for Daphne believing she had essentially murdered a child. He grieved that he could do
nothing to assuage her guilt by telling her the truth.

“Thanks to you and your team for trying. The boy has been dealt with?”

“An unmarked grave at the hospital,” she said softly. Draco nodded. There was no point
informing the actual boy, or his caretakers, that Nymphadora was dead. Surely, they would
have guessed it by now anyway. The details of how and when didn’t matter and it wasn’t
worth the risk of getting the truth to them. Draco put a friendly hand on Daphne’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry you were assigned to it. You were only doing your job,” he said quietly.

“Does it help you to think that about yourself?” she asked quietly, and honestly, not trying to
attack him.

“Sometimes. Not always,” he said. He reached into his pocket and gave her a small vial.
“Valeria makes these for me, Tranquila Sensus. It will help you feel things less.” Ever since
coming back from Estonia, Draco asked Valeria to keep him well stocked with the potion so
that he could carry one on him at all times, in case he was ever again called to suddenly
commit atrocities. Daphne was hesitant, but she took it from him and gulped it down. She
breathed through the chill that ran down her spine and handed the empty vial to Draco.

She left without much more speech and Draco went to write a letter to Blaise, informing him
to take time away from his own work to care for his wife.

Meanwhile, the Boot residence in a small northern town seemed nearly abandoned. Though
not in disrepair, the home had an eerie energy about it that made Valeria nervous. Still, it was
all she could do to push her reservations down and knock on the door. Slowly, as if hesitating,
the door creaked open and out peaked the head of Terry Boot. His light brown hair had
patches of gray sown throughout and his eyes were sunken a bit. He was gaunt and thin,
sickly looking. Azkaban had surely ravaged him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he said through his teeth, disgusted.
“I’m here on business on behalf of the Department of Purity—” she started. Terry quickly
began shutting the door in her face, but she drew her wand and wordlessly stopped it from
shutting. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. This will only take a few minutes if you prove
cooperative.”

“And if I don’t cooperate?”

“You don’t want to go there, Terry.”

Reluctantly, his face contorting in disgusted defeat, he stepped back from the door and let her
pass through. She followed him to the living room and sat across from him on an old sofa.
The entire place looked only half-lived in, with dust everywhere and hardly a single light on.

“You live here alone?”

“I got my parents out of the country before everything went to shit. It’s just me.”

“Are they well?”

He huffed. “Can’t say. I forged a notice telling them I was dead so they wouldn’t come back
looking for me. Haven’t heard from them. You don’t have to do that.”

“What?”

“The small talk bullshit. Just tell me what you want.”

Obliging, Valeria placed the paperwork on the table before him. “Normally this would be a
bit more formal, but given the conditions of your release, and your status as a known blood
traitor, this is going to work a little differently. You have been approved by the Department of
Purity to marry Miss Luna Lovegood. Once you sign this, your wedding will be scheduled.
You’ll be informed of the date via owl post. The rest of this paperwork is for your records
and information about what’s expected of you and—”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Valeria?”

“You should take better care to mind your manners, Boot,” she warned.

“Why? Is your lunatic terrorist husband going to come get me?”

“I wouldn’t waste his time on you. Another stint in Azkaban should suffice.”

He paled at the suggestion. “I don’t think talking rudely to you is against any law—”

“No, but plenty of things are. Who will they believe?”

He sneered and clenched his jaw. He hastily looked through the other paperwork. “Why
Luna?”

“That was my doing, you’re welcome. You could have done much worse since no one really
cares who blood traitors end up with so long as purity is prioritized.”
“You did this for my sake? Some gift…” he said sarcastically.

“No. I did it for Lovegood.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to question my judgement.”

“It’s my marriage, right? Don’t I have a right to know?”

Valeria wavered. “I killed her father and wanted to make sure she’d at least be tied to
someone who wasn’t—”

“Who wasn’t like Malfoy?”

“Draco has nothing to do with this.”

“He has everything to do with it since it’s his fucking fault the world is like this in the first
place.”

“The Dark Lord was victorious anyway, Draco just ensured it a bit faster. I’d be very careful
with your next words. I’m not an Occlumens.”

Boot did relent. “So you’re just guilty then. Why’d you kill her dad?”

“Mercy.”

“Yes, because that’s what comes to mind when I think of you, as much as I try to avoid it.”

She stood. “Just sign the damn papers and I’ll be out of your hair.”

He took the quill in hand and was about to sign when he stopped. After a moment he looked
up at her. “I try not to think about you because then I wonder, if I hadn’t broken it off with
you…maybe you wouldn’t have run to Malfoy right away. You’d have stayed on our side.”

“Are you still hung up on that? It was a few months of fifth year, and I was never on your
side,” she said defiantly.

“Maybe not then, but you weren’t this either. You were different, that’s why I liked you in the
first place, as much as it makes me sick now. You were the nice Slytherin, remember?”

“What does it matter? You hate me anyway.”

“I do, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still feel sorry for you, for all of us. The Valeria I liked
back then did what she wanted, her way. Now you’re here doing this marriage shit, for what?
So we all end up just as pitiful as you?"

“It’s not that simple. I have always been this. I would never have betrayed who I was and I
wouldn’t have survived if I did.”
“Was it worth surviving? Being Malfoy’s wife, doing what you’re told? Foisting your misery
on the rest of us?”

“Draco and my pure blood are the only reasons I wasn’t cut down like a rabid dog.”

“You’re still loyal to him, aren’t you? Winters, he’s a murderer. You didn’t see what he did at
Hogwarts. I’ve heard stories, how he had no emotion when he burned Godric’s Hollow black
or how he killed his own cousin and handed her son over—”

“You need to stop suffering under the delusion that I’m somehow better than he is. I’m the
one who makes sure he doesn’t suffer through the emotions of what he does when he does it
so that he can do his duty! I’m the one who has to deal with the aftermath. You know just as
well as I do that I have sins of my own so if you would just sign the fucking document—”

“Is there nothing he can do to make you hate him?”

“There isn’t,” she said.

“You really think you’ve done things just as bad as him? Like what?”

She swallowed. When she blinked, she saw Pansy hanging from that chandelier. “I’m the
reason Pansy’s dead.”

“Parkinson? She was always a bitch—”

“Fuck you.”

“I thought she killed herself.”

“She did. She was supposed to marry someone else. I didn’t fight for her when that changed.
She found out she was expecting a girl. That’s when she killed herself.”

Boot took a moment. “So that’s why you’re doing this for Luna.”

“Satisfied?”

Boot hastily signed his name on the document and handed it back to Valeria after blowing it
dry. “I’ll do it for Luna too.”

Being back in Wales as night began to fall was no respite, despite how much she secretly
longed for the comforting sense of home she once had in the Winters castle. But now, its
empty halls, the grandeur of a once prestigious bloodline haunted her. She spent more time
than she needed to there tonight. She put Potter’s invisibility cloak away and looked through
the other items Draco and her had preserved of Potter. She turned a vial of ashes, Potter’s
ashes, in hand. The winds blowing through open doors and broken windows in the Great Hall
of Hogwarts had scattered his remains. This was likely all that was left of him that anyone
could hold. She shoved it back inside before her mind went too far to the dark reaches. She
kept it out of morbid curiosity, she told herself, but it was more likely the guilt of lost hope
that motivated her.

The golden snitch with the cryptic message. She had forgotten about it, having given up on
figuring out how to open it after all this time. Draco wouldn’t want it around, but he wouldn’t
chide her too much for hanging onto it to examine. She tucked it away in her robes before
shutting the trunk in which the last physical mementos of Harry Potter’s existence were
stored. She looked through other old things in that secret storage room. So much of it
belonged to her father and his ancestors, she was hesitant to touch them for fear of what they
might do. She was not prepared to contend with her family’s dark history today, knowing she
must have been the darkest generation of all.

There were things of hers. That goddamn set of fine china she and Draco had been given as a
wedding gift. They had never gotten around to using it. There were photographs of her and
Draco from their wedding in there too and she almost felt nostalgic for that day, as awful as it
was. They were younger, more naïve, and she missed having that luxury. They looked so
miserable in those photos, but there was a sense of innocence within their likenesses that had
been strangled out of them now.

She found her Yule Ball robes, beautiful and deep purple, timeless and free flowing. She
buried her scarred face in them now, swearing she could still smell her perfume from that
night, even too the musk that had rubbed off from Draco as they danced. He would smile
shyly as he lifted her while they danced that night. They had never been so happy again. She
shoved the robes away again rather than contend with the realization that she had not been
happy since she was fourteen years old.

Digging around, she found the Magical Theory project she had worked with Luna Lovegood
to create during her seventh year. She had nearly forgotten all about it and its ability to
preserve voices within the little box. She tucked it away in her robes, figuring perhaps it
would be a useful trinket to have around.

The conversation with Boot was getting to her. She could not reconcile who she was and
what she had become as she entered the courtyard in the center of the Winters estate,
surrounded by high walls on all four sides, open to the mountain sky, filled now with stars.
The lilac tree was in bloom, as it always was and under it, the lonely headstone of her
beloved brother.

Here Lies

Konstantin Silvester Winters

16 April 1973 — 18 June 1996

Cherished Son, No Better Friend

Hopeful Brother

“Quocumque Modo”
She tried very hard, standing above her brother’s grave, to not feel sorry for herself. For it
was Konstantin who had died in vain. His little portrait welded to his tombstone was stern
and serious, but she remembered him laughing. He was always smiling. He had that cheeky
little smirk that she too once always wore. Her classmates fawned over him and even Draco
admitted he had wanted to be just like Konstantin. Who didn’t want to be the handsome,
intelligent, extraordinarily wealthy and equally charming Quidditch star with the world at his
feet?

But he chose to die for her instead, at the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange. The waste offended
Valeria. Surely, were he able, he’d regret his sacrifice. What kind of life had he tried to save
in the end? A murderer. A creator of pain and misery, if not death. Someone whose sick
fantasies of elaborately murdering Bellatrix Lestrange lulled her into a peaceful sleep. He had
saved someone who now only had love for the man who personally delivered the last hope
the world had to his doom. And, without guilt, she loved every broken, jagged piece of Draco
no matter how deeply they cut her. She felt guilty about her guiltlessness.

Her brother’s life, one much better than hers, wasted. He would hate her now, she knew, and
Konstantin would surely murder Draco if he were able. Now, she felt nothing but emptiness
that threatened to swallow her whole from the inside out. It should have been her who laid
rotting six feet under and Konstantin who stood in the moonlight to spit on her memory. That
was worthy of her.

As tears welled in her eyes and threatened to fall, her breath becoming more labored and her
heart feeling like it was strangling itself, a great clatter from within the castle that made her
jump and brought her focus back clear.

She quickly and deftly drew her wand, casting a spell quickly to muffle her steps into silence.
She made haste towards the door back inside and followed the sound of frantic yelling, more
than one voice. She was terrified in her perplexity. The Winters estate was notorious for
being one of the most secure buildings in Britain. No one got in without an invitation and the
only people alive to issue one were Odessa, Draco and herself. The voices sounded vaguely
familiar as she drew nearer, but not clear enough to place. One was screaming in pain,
drowning out the other’s, a woman’s, pleas for calm.

“DO SOMETHING!”

“Stop struggling! I’m trying!”

Valeria’s heart pounded so hard it was starting to hurt. Letting her strides carry her, she
swiftly emerged from the doorway and into the grand hall of the castle, just before the
staircase, her wand aimed with a sure hand at where the voices originated.

She nearly dropped her wand.

Hermione Granger. Ronald Weasley. Older, grimy, dirty but still plainly, unmistakably them.
Their faces paled white as snow when they saw her. Ron stopped screaming and Valeria
barely noticed the blood oozing out of his leg.
“Shit,” he said.

A fierce duel broke out between the two women. Hermione was a competent duelist, but was
on the defensive, taken aback by Valeria’s sudden entrance. The ward on Valeria’s wrist that
she never took off helped protect her from Hermione’s attacks. Granger was also noticeably
exhausted, her spells much easier to deflect. Valeria had practiced dark magic with Draco
nearly daily over the years, before their months-long argument, for just this reason.

After a few rounds, Ron helplessly shouting all the while, Valeria disarmed Hermione,
confiscating her wand. Hermione put her hands up.

“STOP! STOP! WE YIELD!”

Valeria disarmed Ron as well, who had not tried to help for fear of accidentally hitting
Hermione in his injured state. Valeria marched to Hermione and grabbed her by the hair hard.
Ron stayed helpless on the floor, shouting Hermione’s name.

“How the hell did you get in here?!” Valeria shouted, dragging Hermione away from Ron.

“YOU INVITED US!” Ron cried. “LET HER GO!”

“My bag, Valeria. It’s in my bag!” Hermione said. Valeria quickly summoned the bag,
clumsily opened it and summoned the invitation with a wordless incantation. An old piece of
parchment flew into her hand and she read it. Panic began to sink in. It was most certainly her
handwriting. There was no mistake she herself had penned it. Panic only made Valeria more
dangerous.

“How did you get this from me? Did you use the Imperius Curse?!”

“What? No! It was your idea,” Hermione said. Valeria hexed Hermione with a curse that sent
a painful electric shock through the latter’s body.

“Hermione!” Ron cried.

“There is no way in hell I did this voluntarily. TILLY!” The meek house elf appeared with a
pop into the room. “How long have they been coming here?”

“Madam Malfoy—"

“ANSWER ME!”

“They were guests of the Winters…Tilly is compelled to treat the guests of the Winters as if
they were their own kin—" Tilly began, trembling with fear. Valeria struck the elf with the
same shocking curse and Tilly fell to the floor with a cry.

“Do you understand what you’ve done!?” Valeria screamed. “If anyone finds out about this,
we’re all dead! Do you know what they do to house-elves now, Tilly?! You’ve been one of
the lucky ones so far!

“S—Sorry! Tilly did not know—”

Valeria punished Tilly with the same curse once more.

“STOP! SHE WAS ONLY DOING AS SHE WAS TOLD!” Hermione screamed; Valeria’s
hand still entangled in her hair. Valeria relented, breathing fast, she turned back to Tilly.

“I’ll decide what to do with you later,” she said through her teeth.

“Hermione…” Ron said weakly, looking faint.

“Valeria, please. He’s bleeding out. Let me save him and I’ll give you anything you want—”

Valeria laughed. “You two are going to die no matter what I do. I just need to figure out how
to get out of this…”

“Valeria! I—I can tell you things, secrets! We can talk this—”

“I’ll be lucky if I get out of this alive. Seeing as I don’t remember issuing that invitation, the
Imperius Curse is most likely—”

“JUST LET ME HEAL RON AND I’LL EXPLAIN—"

“Shut up!” Valeria shouted, holding Hermione’s tangled mess of hair harder. “Tilly, keep him
alive.”

Tilly immediately got to work mending Ron’s leg, a result of splinching no doubt, while
Valeria tossed Hermione to ground, rooting her to the floor magically so she was sitting up
and could talk, but could not move otherwise. Tilly managed to heal Ron enough for him to
remain conscious and Valeria swiftly immobilized Ron as well. Valeria’s chest rose and fell to
the rhythm of her racing heart as she searched her mind for what to do. Ron and Hermione
were supposed to be dead. This was out of her hands.

“Tilly, once you finish, go to Malfoy Manor and tell Draco—”

“No!” Hermione shouted. “Valeria, please. Let’s talk first. Please,” Hermione looked at
Valeria as if she was studying her, which made Valeria quite uneasy.

“Fine. But if I suspect for even a moment that either of you are lying, I’ll call him.”

“Let him come. I’ve been itching to kill him—” Ron said.

“You don’t want me to do that. I’ve seen him interrogate traitors before. Did quite the number
on your sister, Weasley,” Valeria mocked, sending Ron into a red-faced rage as he struggled
against his magical bindings.

“What did he do to her?! What did Ginny do—”

“Quiet down, she’s fine, it was little more than a blackened eye. We needed to talk to her
about…” Valeria dropped off as she remembered the vanishing cabinet, the basilisk fangs, the
only people who knew about it being dead or missing, the man and woman at Borgin and
Burke’s. She lifted her head, wide eyed and coldblooded as she realized. “It was you.”
“What?” Hermione asked.

“You’re the ones who escaped the battle through the vanishing cabinet in the Room of
Hidden Things…”

“No shit, you’re the one who—” Ron began, but Hermione shushed him. Fortunately,
Valeria’s mind was too scattered to notice Hermione’s silencing, rummaging through
Hermione’s little handbag.

“Where are the basilisk fangs?” Valeria asked, but neither answered. “Tilly, call Draco.”

“No!” Hermione shouted before Tilly could vanish. “They’re gone. We’ve been all over, we
had nothing. We needed to survive…We had to sell them.”

Valeria searched Hermione’s face for the hint of a lie but found none. “Shit!”

“Why do you want them?” Ron asked.

“I’m asking questions here, Weasley,” Valeria spat. “I see you’ve gotten no smarter. Basilisk
fangs are powerful dark artifacts. There’s nearly infinite things I could use them for.” She
paused. Her search for the fangs was not the priority now. “How did you get here? Why come
here of all places?”

Hermione swallowed. “We just got back to Britain. We needed a safehouse. We tried Shell
Cottage, but it was a trap. It was rigged with an alarm. I told Ron it was too far to apparate,
that it was too dangerous to come here again, but—”

“How could I have known that she’d—?!”

“Quiet!” Valeria shouted. It had been Nott’s idea to outfit known safehouses of the now
decimated Order of the Phoenix with alarms that would call only the highest-ranking marked
Death Eaters to the spot. That meant, that in all likelihood, Draco was at Shell Cottage and
not Malfoy Manor now. But Ron and Hermione did not need to know that. “How long have
you been coming here?”

“We haven’t been here in years. We just got back to Britain, remember?” Ron said with a
scoff.

“We bounced around from place to place, coming here only once in a while when we needed
surer shelter. But then it got too dangerous to stay in the country at all. We’ve been on the
continent mostly. We came back because it’s getting dangerous everywhere else too and we
want to see who we can still help here,” Hermione said. Valeria believed Hermione, but the
explanation did not solve Valeria’s current problem. Valeria used her wand to burn the
invitation in her hand to ash, thereby permanently rescinding it, and Hermione’s face fell.

“What are you planning on doing with us?” Hermione asked quietly.

“I have to turn you in. I haven’t got a choice.”

“Yes, you do!” Ron yelled.

“I don’t! It’s only a matter of time before you’re caught. Turning you over peacefully will
give you a better shot than—”

“If you call Malfoy, you will sign our death warrants,” Ron said.

“That’s not my call. It’s not my place—”

“Since when did you care about your place?” Hermione cried out.

“Since I had to in order to survive!”

“Valeria, listen. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be this. You’re not some
murderous monster—”

“You have no idea who I am anymore, Granger. Even if I wanted to help you, there’s no way
I could keep this secret forever. Draco, Snape, the Dark Lord are all more than capable with
Legilimency. When you do eventually get caught, your minds will likely be read as well.
They’ll discover the truth. Then I’ll be executed. Draco will be executed. I cannot allow
that.”

“You still care about him?! He ruined your fucking life!” Ron said desperately.

“No, you did!” Valeria cried out in frustration. Every time something went wrong from her
fifth year of school onwards, it could always be traced back to Potter and his friends. Draco
had saved her, trying to rectify their mistake by earning a pardon for her. At least, she needed
to believe that now in order to have the strength to do what had to be done. “Tilly, find Draco
—”

“Wait!” Hermione shouted before Tilly could vanish once again. “If you let us go, we can tell
you how to get basilisk fangs.”

“Hermione—!” Ron said.

Valeria laughed. “And what leverage do you have? How do I know you’ll tell the truth? How
do you know I won’t hand you in as soon as you tell me?”

Hermione bit her lip. “I guess we’re going to have to trust each other.”

“No,” Valeria said, a plan formulating in her mind. She needed those fangs. The Dark Lord
would expect results soon and she searched her heart of hearts and found that she truly did
not want to be the reason Ron and Hermione died tonight. “This is how it will go. You will
tell me what I need to know, if I find out you lied or misled me in any way, I will kill Ginny
and your mum.”

“You cunt!”

“Ron—!”

“It’s the only way to make sure you’ll tell the truth. Afterwards, I will give you a head start. I
will have to tell Draco. That’s the best I can do. The choice is yours.” Valeria was happy to
put the decision on Granger so at least if they chose to die tonight, she could feel somewhat
absolved. At least, she could potentially delude herself into thinking so.

Hermione slowly nodded. “Alright.”

“Hermione, NO!” Ron bellowed.

“Hogwarts. The Chamber of Secrets. The basilisk is a skeleton down there and we did not
take all the fangs it had. The entrance is in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. You need to speak
Parseltongue to get in there…Ron, tell her.”

“Hermione…”

“It’s our only chance, Ron. Do it!”

Ron looked at Valeria with searing hatred, but she was unmoved. She had seen that stare
countless times in countless other faces.

“Listen carefully…” he began quietly in defeat. Valeria stopped him and took the box from
her old seventh year school project and held her wand to his throat. “What’re you—?”

“Just talk.”

Ron let out a strange hissing sound, which meant nothing to Valeria and when he finished, his
voice, magically preserved in waves of magical light, floated by the tip of her wand.
Carefully, she placed the voice in the box and shut it, preserving Ron’s words. She stored it
away in her robes and lifted the hood of her cloak before releasing Ron and Hermione’s legs,
letting Tilly assist them to stand. Holding onto their wands, she led them out of the castle,
across the bridge over the lake and onto the shore.

“Once I go, you’ll be free, but you will never be able to find this place again,” Valeria said.

“I feel like we should thank you, but—”

“Don’t bother. I’m certainly not grateful to have found you. Do what you can with what’s left
of your lives. It’s practically impossible to get out of Britain now, at least magically. I doubt
you’ll be able to make it much longer,” Valeria said.

“I guess this is goodbye then, according to you,” Ron said.

“So it would seem,” Valeria began. “I’ll be telling Draco everything the second I see him. I
suggest you run.”

She tossed their wands to them and apparated away without another word. Arriving home
was surreal, she almost didn’t believe what had just happened wasn’t some horrible dream.
She quickly stowed away the snitch and the box containing Ron’s voice in her chambers and
waited for Draco to return. Unable to find peace, jumping at the smallest of sounds, she
paced around with a glass of wine in hand, trying to remain calm.
Draco was going to be angry, she knew. She could live with that, but not with the uncertainty
that perhaps she had made a critical error in letting Hermione and Ron escape. All she did
was buy them some more time in the end, but was it worth the risk she had brought upon
herself? She did not yet want to admit the truth to herself; She didn’t want them to die.

The pop of Draco’s arrival startled her to the point she nearly dropped her wine. He had a
surly expression and he smelled like smoke.

“I’m going to kill Crabbe someday!” he said in frustration as he saw her. She opened her
mouth to speak, cursing her bad luck that he was in such a foul mood. “One of Nott’s alarms
went off, we arrive, and who’s arrived first but Crabbe. I gave Nott a fucking earful for
letting Crabbe in on the charm that allows the alarms to alert us in the first place. Whoever
was there already escaped, and Crabbe gets the ingenious idea to burn the place to the ground
with goddamn Fiendfyre, ‘just in case.’ The fucking moron—”

“Draco,” Valeria said, trying to be brave. He was removing his gear as he ranted.

“The whole point of a bloody trap is that it’s there to lure them in! Now we’re short one
guaranteed safehouse—”

“Draco…”

“Crabbe’s been becoming a loose cannon since Goyle. He should consider himself goddamn
lucky that Snape was there to hold me back because I was about to rip him apart then and
there!”

“Draco!”

He stopped and really looked at her, face dropping upon seeing the severity of expression. He
went to her and put his hands on his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“I…”

“What’s happened?”

“We have a problem.”

 Hogwarts Revisited
Chapter Notes

I'll fix the errors soon, promise.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Language. Child abuse. Discussion of death. Discussion of

torture.

September 1999

Ron knew how important this was to Hermione. That’s the only reason Ron agreed to this
excursion before they left Britain.

The past year had been the hardest they had ever endured. Ron had been broken by the
Horcrux hunt, but nothing compared to this. Harry was gone, truly gone. The faint hope Ron
had held that, like them, maybe Harry had somehow gotten out alive, had grown more futile
with each passing day. He and Hermione had been surviving by renting lodgings in Muggle
towns, always ready to flee, fearing using the simplest of spells for fear of a Trace being
placed at any moment. They moved frequently and had lived the best they could as borderline
Muggles, using Hermione’s Muggle savings to survive.

But the funds were low, and the walls were inching closer in. The many plots they formed
were all for nothing. There was no way to get close enough to Nagini to kill the snake and
save the world. They could not risk reaching out to their old comrades who were still alive.
As much as Ron loved his friends, he could not trust them not to turn Hermione and him over
in exchange for their own lives, and he knew that the mere knowledge he and Hermione were
alive could get them killed. Ron couldn't say that he would blame them if they decided to turn
them in either.

And so, when they decided to leave Britain, try to gather support or aid from the continent,
Hermione wanted to make a few stops before they departed. It had broken Ron’s heart to
watch her crumble. Her fabulous intellect, the way she could think her way out of most
anything, had failed her and it crushed her to accept it. She needed to do this. She needed to
remember what she was still alive for. They had been visiting the graves of various
Muggleborns who had died at the hands of the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. Ted Tonks.
Mary Cattermole. Justin Finch-Fletchey. But this one stumped Ron.

JANE ELEANOR MASTERS

 BELOVED DAUGHTER

A WOMAN OF MANY TALENTS

14 DECEMBER 1972—1997

“A woman of many talents. That’s rich,” Ron thought while Hermione placed on the grave a
bouquet of random weeds and wildflowers she had taken from the edges of the cemetery. A
woman of many talents. Jane was a witch, an excellent one by all accounts, and she would
fade into obscurity, lost to both the Muggle and the wizarding worlds. That hurt Hermione
most of all, he knew. She didn’t have to say it. Her own ambitions crumbling into nothing,
forgotten by the worlds she loved and lived in.

“It’s strange how one person can change so much,” Hermione mused quietly.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked. He didn’t understand why Hermione was so attached to
this grave, having never spoken to Jane Masters in her life.

“It was her, remember? It was because of her that Konstantin Winters had his change of
heart. Like he said in his letter to Valeria…” Hermione recalled. Ron remembered well and
bitterly the night Valeria Winters, when she was still called Winters, had tearfully read her
own brother’s final letter to the Order of the Phoenix and committed to joining their cause in
his honor, in his place. Ron found the story odd. It was rare for someone of Konstantin’s
standing to risk so much for love. His eldest brothers told him all about Konstantin, who was
well-liked by everyone in school, despite being in Slytherin and even despite ensuring
Slytherin’s Quidditch victories for nearly the entirety of his Hogwarts career. Even Ron
looked up a little bit to Konstantin, and his prodigious Quiddtich skills when he was young.
After all, what awkward boy didn’t want to be the tall, handsome, wealthy and intelligent guy
the girls fawned over with the world at his fingertips?

But Konstantin’s short life was sadder than it had ever appeared to anyone else. That was the
Winters’ way, of course; Revealing nothing to anyone. Konstantin’s letter to Valeria had read
more like a confession than a last will and testament. Hermione especially had been moved
by the story of the prodigious heir to a storied pureblood family falling in love with a
Muggleborn girl and how that girl, the one who now lay six feet under, had caused him to
doubt everything. Though not enough to abandon his sister, even while his efforts were for
naught and he died trying to protect her.

A simple schoolyard romance had brought the Winters from prestige to ruin right under their
very noses.

“Hello…?”

Hermione and Ron turned in shock and horror, fearing being recognized only to see a
woman, a bit older than Molly Weasley surely, shyly approaching them.
“We’re sorry. We didn’t mean to intrude…Excuse us,” Hermione said with a nervous stutter,
but the woman boldly stepped forward to stop them from leaving.

“Did you…Did you know her? Are you from…that world?” the woman asked, quietly,
desperately. Ron was about to deny everything on instinctual impulse, but Hermione spoke
first.

“Yes, we are, but we didn’t know her personally,” Hermione answered, and Ron felt cold fear
run down his spine at Hermione’s brazen reveal. The woman dug through her bag, fumbling
with her wallet before removing two photographs and shoving one into Hermione’s hand.
Ron looked over her shoulder to see pictured a young woman, in her early twenties most
likely, with straight brown hair and a plain face, in a hospital gown looking spent and
exhausted, but smiling lovingly down at the newborn in her arms. Hermione flipped over the
photograph to read the hastily written words, Don’t try to find him.

“Please…I know my daughter’s gone,” the woman said, choking back tears. “But her son…I
just need to know if my grandson is alive. He might be with his father. J—Jane had a
boyfriend in school called Winters. She didn’t say much about him, but I know that she was
in love with him. He’s the only person I can think of that could be…” The woman shoved
another picture into Hermione’s hand. This one moved, it was older, more wrinkled and
faded. Jane was pictured, younger and in her school uniform standing beside a tall, strikingly
handsome young man of the same age, doubtlessly Konstantin Winters. “Do you know how I
can find him—?”

“He’s dead,” Ron said bluntly. “And you shouldn’t have this. It’s dangerous for you to know
to much about our world right now and—”

“Your world killed my daughter and stole my grandson,” the woman said. “All I want is that
last piece of my daughter left in this world.”

“We can try,” Hermione said.

Ron turned sharply to her. “No, we can’t. I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am, but it is probably
for the best that no one knows where the kid is. And we don’t have time! We can’t afford to
—”

“You have my word, Mrs. Masters. We’ll do all we can.”

Ron was seething, trapped inside Grimmauld Place, abandoned even by Kreacher, as
Hermione tirelessly went through old copies of The Daily Prophet through the years,
studying the birth announcements. He told her she wasn’t going to find anything; If Jane
didn’t want her own parents to find her child, why would she print an announcement in the
paper. Hermione and Ron had been arguing over it for at least a week. Their plans set back,
their lingering grew more dangerous with each passing hour.

“Why do you care so much about this?” Ron asked pigheadedly.

“Maybe if we can find him…we can tell Valeria and—”

“Why the fuck would you want to do that?!”

“Because then we can use the knowledge of him and where he is to ask for her help—”

“Have you lost your goddamn mind!? Why would she do anything for us!?”

“Because we’d be dead three times over without her!” Hermione yelled. She was desperate,
Ron knew, and not entirely wrong. It was Valeria who had bought them time to escape at Bill
and Fleur’s wedding. Who had been merciful at Hogwarts to their friends when she could,
though Ron never thought it was enough. She had given herself over in Hogsmeade and who
in the eleventh hour forced them to escape via the vanishing cabinet. Ron had never forgiven
Valeria for that, even if she saved their lives. If she hadn’t, maybe he could have done
something…

“So you want to use the kid as a bloody bargaining chip? You don’t even want to tell Jane’s
mum—”

“I know it’s wrong, I do. But we need all the help we can get. With this, at least she might
have a reason to—” she said.

“And then what? Do you want this kid to be raised by the Malfoys? To have Draco for a dad?
You know what he’s done. You know how many people he’s killed! And what if they decide
that he’s the half-blood bastard of a pureblood who fell in love with a Muggle—”

“She wasn’t a Muggle!”

“They don’t see it that way!”

“I have to do something, Ron!” Hermione cried out. “You remember what Valeria said all
that time; That she was loyal to her own. This boy is her nephew and I still believe that she’d
do anything to protect…” she trailed off when her eyes landed on something in the paper.
“Ron, look at this.”

JM announced the birth of her son, KSW II on 9 May 1996.

Wandsworth Town

“You think this is it?” he asked.

“The initials and the date match up. She was probably trying to send a message to Konstantin
without contacting him directly. Come on, we have to go.”

“Where?” Ron asked as Hermione gathered her things.

“A library of course.”
Ron sat with Hermione, keeping an eye for danger constantly as he sat with Hermione for
hours on end in a London library at some machine he didn’t understand that apparently
showed old newspaper articles. It was getting late in the afternoon when Hermione finally
grabbed his attention. The screen showed a newspaper article picturing a couple holding a
young baby with a head full of dark brown hair.

Samuel and Elizabeth Thomlinson welcomed a new addition in their family in the form of
adopting their son who had been surrendered anonymously by the birth mother. The
Thomlinsons have named their son William, after Elizabeth’s grandfather. They are enamored
with their bundle of joy and grateful to provide a better life for this young boy.

“He’d be about the right age…” Ron said.

“You couldn’t expect them to keep the name Konstantin Winters II. I bet if there’s still
records in the magical world, the name is still the same…” Hermione said, thinking aloud
almost. Ron tried to stop her, but she began going through records, digging through phone
and address books for the Thomlinsons.

It was a chilly night in early autumn when they arrived at a finely designed London house in
Wandsworth Town. Ron didn’t know much about Muggle culture, but he could tell these
people had wealth. A vine-like lilac tree surrounded the front door that would have been in
bloom in a different season. Using a couple disguising charms, Ron followed Hermione to
the window of the first floor on the side of the house so as not to be seen spying from the
street. The curtains were drawn but there was enough of a crack in the cloth for them to peer
through.

The interior of the home was clean, bright and stylishly decorated. Inside a little boy, perhaps
three or so years old, with a thick head of dark brown hair and dark eyes ran around the
spacious living room with a small, plastic airplane in hand. He zoomed about guiding the
airplane to speed through the air in loops and dips with his hand. When a woman, Elizabeth
Thomlinson from the article, entered the room, the boy ran to into her arms and she spun him
round. He looked toward the window and saw the boy’s smile which resembled a cheeky
little smirk. Valeria always smiled like that, as did her brother from what little Ron
remembered of seeing him; the same smirk from the picture Jane’s mother had shown them.

There was no doubt in Ron’s normally skeptical mind. This was the son of Konstantin
Winters. The son of a Death Eater and Muggleborn who hadn’t the faintest idea what magic
was or who his parents really were. Ron was once more impressed with Hermione’s research
skill and her determination in proving herself right. Before he could whisper to her about
what they had discovered, Hermione was already walking off and he had to jog to catch up to
her.

“What’s wrong? You found him—”

“He’s happy,” she said quietly, with tears in her eyes. “Sometimes I wish that McGonagall
had never come to my house when I was eleven. That she never told me I was a witch and
that I never went to Hogwarts. Maybe…Maybe I’d be at university, working to be a doctor or
a lawyer or some kind of scholar. Maybe I would have been happy.”
“You don’t mean that.”

“No, but sometimes I think I do, and that scares me,” she said before pausing. “It’s for the
best that he doesn’t know and that he stays William Thomlinson.”

April 2003

Draco stood before her in the center of the spacious bedroom, one arm folded over his
midsection, the other held to his chin, staring ahead of him at the floor while Valeria sat on
the long, velvet bench at the foot of the bed. She had told him everything with shaking
breath, wringing her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. She did not fear him,
rather she feared the inevitable consequences of her actions, many of which were outside of
either of their control. Though, she could certainly see why he was feared.

To think the schoolyard bully, just another child in a sea of many, who cared more about
boasting than he did about fighting, would become this. He was tall and lean, all in black still
with an expression that revealed nothing, but eyes that saw right through her. The dancing
shadows around the room from the fire and lantern light made his pointed features even more
dramatic. He was dangerous, he was alluring, he was strong, and she needed him now.

Tentatively she stood and he did not move as she slowly stepped toward him. She snaked her
arms around him and buried her face in chest. She could hear his heart pounding beneath his
bones, though it was not racing like hers. He took her gently in his arms too, silently, resting
his head atop hers. The gesture brought her to tears.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” she mumbled as she wept. She needed him now and any anger
remaining within her vanished at his touch. “Will you say something please?”

“It’s going to be alright. We’ll handle this,” Draco whispered. She pulled away from him and
looked at him, baffled.

“And when have we actually handled anything?”

“We can get ahead of this. You’ll go to Hogwarts tomorrow, get what you need. I’ll start
hunting down Granger and Weasley. It’s practically impossible to apparate out of Britain
without allowance, so they can’t have gone far. I’m going to start training you in Occlumency
starting tomorrow night and if you can brew more Veritaserum, we can practice building a
resistance to it—”

“But if anyone finds out that—”

“Which is why I need to get to Granger and Weasley first,” he said, releasing her and heading
towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Summoning Snape. He needs to know.”

She went to him and stopped him. “No. I don’t trust him.”

“I do and that’s what matters. He’s the best chance we have. Just stay here, get some rest,”
Draco said, brushing her hair out of her face gently before leaving the room. Valeria was
astonished that there was no lecture, no scolding, no outburst about how much she had
jeopardized them.

Meanwhile, despite his exhaustion, Draco was energized by what Valeria had shared. The
profound shock of Granger and Weasley being alive, let alone the danger that Valeria and
himself had been put in by this pure happenstance, had not quite dawned on him yet. But it
was enough to spurn him into action. He had handed Potter over for Valeria’s pardon, that
was unequivocally true, but at the time he had also hoped that perhaps the deed would endear
him enough to the Dark Lord to be overlooked. Instead, Draco had only been entrusted with
more and more duties. Handing over Granger and Weasley would ensure Draco’s position,
and the safety of his family, forever.

Draco awaited Snape in his study, which had been Lucius’s until Draco began rising in the
ranks, going over maps and records of known and suspected enemy safehouse locations. The
house elf let Snape in on Draco’s command and the former entered the study with a distinct
scowl, though Draco could hardly blame him.

“And for what reason have you called me away from Hogwarts at this hour?” Snape asked
with a sigh. Draco didn’t beat around the bush, nor dabble in pleasantries, but immediately
went into telling Snape what Valeria had told him. Snape’s mood did not lift but Draco had
managed to get his professor’s full attention sharing the news.

“Of course, Valeria will need access to Hogwarts immediately. Tomorrow would be ideal,”
Draco said.

“That can be arranged. I’ll have that corridor closed to ensure she’s not interrupted,” Snape
said.

“Did you know there were basilisk fangs down there?” Draco asked.

“What are you implying?”

“Nothing. I’m only a little curious as to why you wouldn’t mention when you knew she was
looking for them. You don’t seem surprised to learn they’re there and I’m sure Dumbledore
told you years ago.”

“In case you’ve forgotten what you just told me, Draco, the Chamber of Secrets can only be
accessed by speaking Parseltongue, a skill that no one alive has save for the Dark Lord. Even
if I knew the sounds could be mimicked, I had no way of knowing what they were and
therefore found it to be a moot point since any surviving fangs would be inaccessible.”

“Right. Of course,” Draco said. Something about Snape was rubbing him the wrong way, but
he blamed it on his anxiety and paranoia. “As for Valeria, I plan on training her in
Occlumency starting tomorrow as well as practicing to resist Veritaserum. However, as a
safety net…you know your way around memory charms; is there a way to perhaps be able to
plant false memories should it come to that?”

Snape shifted in his seat. “Draco, you know how dangerous it is to manipulate memories too
much. We run the risk of scrambling her mind.”

“Only after multiple times, which isn’t the case here. I need to know if you’ll help me or
not.”

Snape sighed. “You know that isn’t true.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve never found it odd how firmly she believes Potter kidnapped her when he escaped
from capture? You don’t find it strange how she doesn’t remember you shoving her right into
Potter’s—”

“No. I haven’t,” Draco insisted. He didn’t want to hear it.

“It doesn’t bother you that someone tampered with your wife’s memories?”

“No, it doesn’t! Whatever she did, whatever she knew, was probably too dangerous anyway
and it doesn’t matter. Potter is dead! The war was won and the less she knows of what
happened, truly what happened, the better,” Draco said, standing from his seat. Draco had
known of course that Potter never kidnapped Valeria, for he himself was the one who thrust
Valeria into Potter’s arms to save her from Bellatrix’s, and the Dark Lord’s, wrath. The
kidnapping narrative was convenient, so Draco stuck with it. He was willing to lie until he
was unable to recognize fact from fiction if it meant she was a little bit safer. In fact, he found
it all too easy to do so.

“You don’t want her to know the most selfless thing you’ve ever done for her?”

“Handing Potter over was the best thing I ever did for her,” Draco spat.

“You are certainly able to intimidate the rest of the world, but not me,” Snape said, unfazed.
“You know that isn’t true.”

“I didn’t call you here for a lecture. Are you willing or unwilling to manipulate her memories
if needed?”

“Only if needed,” Snape said after a moment. “But I must advise you against training her
yourself. I can assist if you like—”

“No one goes near her mind except for me,” Draco said darkly.

“It is generally considered poor practice for a loved one to train in Occlumency and
Legilimency. You might discover things, thoughts and memories, you were never meant to
know.”
“Bellatrix trained me.”

“And she discovered your feelings for Valeria and put a price on her head as a result.”

“You’re saying it like it’s my fault—”

“No, you were a child. I’m simply trying to warn you of the consequences of your…
overprotection,” Snape said.

“You’re the one who told me to rein her in!”

“I told you to guide her from making terrible mistakes, which clearly hasn’t worked if she
was willing to allow Granger and Weasley to escape when she could have gotten the answers
she wanted and captured them.”

“She panicked. No one even knew they were alive.”

“And she was capable enough to know what to do. Yet, she didn’t.”

“I know she’s capable, but I don’t want her to have to be,” Draco said. “If you’re insinuating
my wife is in any way disloyal, we’re going to have a problem, Snape.”

Snape rose, unwilling to contend with Draco’s stubbornness any longer. “We’ll do it your
way for now but do so quickly. Hope that you get to Granger and Weasley soon.”

“It’s only a matter of time. I’m going to have the safehouses, and the Weasley home, watched
around the clock. They won’t last long, and I’ll get to them first.”

Valeria hadn’t been near Hogwarts in years and Hogsmeade itself was a gloomy shadow of
what it once was. The shops were still there, though some business had changed to tailor to
the darker tastes of the clientele. The entire village was under the control of Death Eaters and
Hogwarts security that were loyal to the Dark Lord.

“Mrs. Malfoy, welcome to Hogsmeade!” said a teenage boy approaching her. He carried
himself proudly, with a cheerful smile, dressed in a Hogwarts uniform and gave a slight bow
as he stopped before her. “Gerald Whitaker, Head Boy, at your service, ma’am. I was asked
on behalf of Headmaster Snape to escort you into the castle. May I carry your things for
you?”

Valeria was carrying a bag full of tools for handling the fangs and tucked within was also the
box containing Ron’s voice speaking in Parseltongue. She had also packed Potter’s
invisibility cloak earlier that morning after rushing back to Wales to retrieve it. Most
awkward was the broom in her hand, which Draco had heard from Snape she would need it to
get out of the Chamber. Draco had wanted her to take one of his brooms, but she insisted on
using her brother’s. She was not looking forward to flying at all, let alone in some dank hole
under the castle.
“Thank you, but I think I can manage,” Valeria said. She wasn’t going to trust anyone with
her belongings.

“Of course, ma’am. If you would follow me,” Gerald said. She followed alongside Gerald as
they made their way toward the castle, a bit glum about having to have an escort all. The
castle loomed in the distance and even now she could sense the darkness and dread
emanating from it. She remembered the years of laughter and lightness of heart at school and
it broke her heart a little.

“I must say it is an absolute honor to have you visit,” Gerald said. “I look up to you and Mr.
Malfoy so much, as do loads of us. You’re up there with the greatest Slytherins of all time—”

“Everyone is in Slytherin now,” she said.

“Well, yes. But we all know there’s a bit of a difference between them and those of us truly
sorted into Slytherin,” Gerald said with a cheeky tone. “I’m sorry to be so obnoxious. I just
admire your work so much. And Mr. Malfoy’s too; one of the youngest Death Eaters ever to
earn the Mark!”

Gerald continued rambling all the way into the castle, which was all the same to Valeria,
albeit surprising. Sometimes she forgot how far her and Draco’s reputation carried. She was
more preoccupied with her task and the other one she wanted to complete while here. She
would have to lose the escort for that though. Death Eaters standing guard at the gate
mumbled friendly greetings to her as they allowed them to pass. As she walked to the doors
to the entrance hall, she was met with a great statue of the Dark Lord standing triumphantly
over the corpse of Harry Potter; a grizzly monument to the Dark Lord’s victory. Inside,
Hogwarts was as bare as the dungeon corridors. The paintings were gone as was any
semblance of décor. The students she saw either looked at her with nervous awe or turned
their gaze away in fear.

Sure enough, in the entrance hall above them hung the banners of the Fallen Heroes, or so
they were called. Her brother’s image swayed gently in the drafty hall as did her father’s
beside it.

“Mrs. Malfoy!” Alecto Carrow said with a big grin as she approached. Valeria returned the
smile. “I hope Mr. Whitaker has been treating you well.”

“He’s been a fantastic host, thank you—” Valeria began but was stopped by a sudden clatter
and thud. A student had tripped and fallen, spilling their items and resulting with a potion
shattering all over Valeria’s shoes. The student, a young boy who couldn’t have been older
than a fourth year, looked up her with fear in his eyes as soon as he saw the scar on her face.

“I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking—” the student stuttered.

Gerald’s friendly demeanor dropped in an instant and he stepped around the student to grab
him by the collar of his robes. “You weren’t looking where you were going? Do you know
who this is?! You will clean her shoes with your own robes—”

“That’s not necessary,” Valeria asserted.

“Agreed, but such flagrant disrespect cannot go unpunished. Whitaker, there’s a spot in the
Great Hall for him.”

“No, please—!” the student said, starting to sob.

“After you apologize to Mrs. Malfoy,” Alecto finished. Gerald forced the student to face
Valeria, holding his wand to the boy’s head.

“M—Mrs. Malfoy, I apologize for not watching where I walked and spilling potions on
you…” the boy was sobbing so hard he could barely speak.

“It’s alright,” Valeria began, shocked more than she should have been by the display and how
eagerly Gerald was looking to exact punishment. “Professor Carrow, I believe shatter-proof
vials are the current standard in the professional potioneer community. Perhaps I can arrange
for a donation for heartier supplies…”

Alecto tried to hide her offense but grinned through it. “Why that would be quite generous.
After you run the decision by your husband of course.”

“Considering how deeply Draco cares for the intellectual prosperity of young witches and
wizards, I think he would agree. He certainly wouldn’t want the embarrassment of our youth
being forced to work with outdated equipment. Not to mention he trusts my judgement when
it comes to Potion-Craft, given my expertise. In fact, he often defers to me as does the
Headmaster and the Dark Lord himself,” Valeria said with a sickly-sweet smirk and she could
see the animosity in Alecto’s eyes. Neither Gerald, nor the boy he was using for a prisoner,
picked up on the tension at all.

“Of course, Mrs. Malfoy,” Alecto said before turning to Gerald. “Whitaker, take him to the
Great Hall, we’ll make a show at dinner as a lesson for how to behave around honored guests
to this school. I’ll escort Mrs. Malfoy from here.”

“Yes, Professor,” Gerald said eagerly, dragging the sobbing child into the Great Hall. Valeria
could see through the doors as they opened the austere sight. That’s where she found Potter’s
ashes all those years ago.

“If you would follow me, Mrs. Malfoy,” Alecto said, and Valeria obliged. They were quiet as
they passed through the halls, students milling about darting out of their path on sight. Valeria
remembered being treated similarly when she was Head Girl in her seventh year. She hated
this place, only remembering the war and misery now. She couldn’t wait to leave. “Someday
your children will have the run of this place, I’m sure.”

“Yes, someday.”

“I know the staff are all eager to have the opportunity to teach your potential offspring. The
arranged unions haven’t resulted in any children yet and as you were the first…Well, we’re
looking forward to seeing such success.”

Valeria was thinking about all the torturous things she’d like to see happen to Alecto Carrow
as her blood began to boil. The boldness of inquiring about the state of Valeria’s womb made
her skin crawl with its invasiveness.

“Yes, it will be a great honor to someday contribute to the prosperity of pure bloodlines as is
all of our duties as pureblood women, wouldn’t you say?” Valeria said, noting Alecto’s lack
of a spouse as they came to the correct floor where the corridor to the bathroom was vacant
as Snape had ordered.

“I would. Though the Dark Lord ultimately decides, and he’s decided that some of us are
suited for being wives and others for playing a bigger part in rebuilding the world.”

“An interesting perspective, Professor. Perhaps I’ll share what you’ve said with my husband
and see what he thinks, considering how much you seem to value his authority,” Valeria said,
registering fear in Alecto’s eyes for a flash of a second.

“Sure. We can discuss it at the next meeting. I might bring up with him an idea that crossed
my mind that perhaps you could come give a lecture, sharing your story and advice about
how to be a model wife, for the older girls who just don’t have what it takes to play a bigger
role themselves.”

“A splendid idea. I imagine I’d begin with the dangers of underestimating a woman who has
the love of a powerful man,” Valeria said as she stopped before the bathroom. “Thank you,
Professor, for your help. I can take it from here.”

Valeria turned and went into the bathroom without another word, leaving Alecto to stew in
her own rage. She was eager to get out of Hogwarts as quickly as possible, so immediately
set to work in digging out the box and standing by the sink as Ron instructed. Opening the
box, Ron’s hissing words rang out clear and Valeria watched with some degree of awe as the
sink moved and the entrance was revealed to her. Clutching her broom tight, she awkwardly
positioned herself and with a pounding heart, she pushed forward to let herself slide down.
And down. And down. So long did she fall down that she thought it would never end until
she was unceremoniously dumped onto piles of old bones.

If only her mother could see the state of filth she was in, that would have been amusing.
Valeria tried not to look down as she got moving through the bowels of the school, hearing
the bones and other unpleasant waste crunching under shoes. She would have been wise to
wear less formal robes, though she wasn’t sure she owned any still.

Though she was anxious to do her task quickly she took a moment to stand in shocked awe
once she accessed the Chamber of Secrets proper. There was Salazar Slytherin, the man who
started all of this, in whose honor the Dark Lord carried out his hellish plot on the world. The
man whose legacy her family had carried for generations, only being sorted into Slytherin for
all the generations of her line. But before him was something truly more striking; the skeletal
snake, massive enough to move within if she wanted, lay there with a notable hole in its skull
and in its mouth, sharp teeth the size of her hand.

She got to work, trying not to tremble in the dark austereness of the Chamber. She could have
spent weeks down there studying this creature, but that enterprise would have to wait. With
her tools and hands protected by gloves, she carefully removed several of the creature’s teeth
and stored them safely.
If she had been less anxious, less focused on the task at hand, she might have taken the time
to consider how this beast was used to attack Muggleborns both before and during her
lifetime and how now she was set to do the same thing with the creature’s parts. But she
made quick work, a feeling of cold unease starting to overwhelm her and quickly made her
way out of the Chamber, but not before taking a final look back at the sight.

She took a moment once back in the bathroom to catch her breath. She hated flying more
than almost anything else and had to wait for the nausea to pass. She hid the broom away and
pulled out Harry Potter’s cloak, holding her wand at the ready underneath. Slowly, she
opened the bathroom just enough to let her pass through and shut it behind her silently.
Wearing the cloak, she walked down the empty corridor, seeing Gerald standing guard at the
end of the hall with another boy his age.

“What’s she like?” the boy asked.

“She seemed pretty uptight, but in a dignified way. I was kind of disappointed she didn’t say
much,” Gerald said, his tone notably different than the friendly one he had used with her.

“Maybe if you flatter her a little…”

“I tried,” Gerald said.

“No, like her looks.”

“I don’t think hitting on Draco Malfoy’s bloody wife is going to help me get closer to
becoming a Death Eater. My dad’s friends with some of the other Death Eaters and he told
me that Malfoy apparently flies off the handle if someone so much as looks at her the wrong
way.”

“I didn’t say make a move on her, that’s just weird. Just like flatter her a little. She’s the one
who arranges the marriages. Maybe she’ll remember and you’ll at least get a decent looking
wife out of it.”

“God, I hope so…”

Valeria could not help but smile a little, trying not to laugh, as she invisibly passed them.
Teenage boys never changed. She crept through the corridors, careful to keep close to the
walls until she reached the seventh floor and willed the door to the Room of Hidden Things
to appear. She removed the cloak, draping it over her arm once the door disappeared behind
her and she was safely inside. She moved swiftly through the haphazard aisles of long
forgotten secrets, some of which were her own. She wondered if anyone had been in here
since the Battle of Hogwarts as a slight draft blew lazily past her, carrying its secrets on its
wind. She missed the feeling of wind in her hair, having it styled in a tight updo most of the
time.

It didn’t take her too long to reach the spot where the vanishing cabinet once stood. Despite
her foggy memories of the war, she remembered well where it was. Sure enough, dusty
splinters and pieces of wood were strewn about as if someone had blown it apart. Someone
had helped Granger and Weasley out and destroyed the cabinet in the process. Draco had not
been too concerned about this, but it had troubled Valeria for a reason she could not place.
She felt a sense of déjà vu as she stood there; Something was off. Whoever did this was smart
enough not to leave any damning evidence behind. It was a shame the thing was destroyed; it
might have proven useful someday once again.

Her time was running short and she was getting uneasy there in that room where she and
Draco had spent so many hours of their fleeting youth wallowing and working. Valeria hated
remembering how their joy was spent and just how wasted their young lives were. It was best
to get back home anyway. Draco had told her to rest before beginning with Occlumency and
she doubted he’d let her skip practicing.
 Nostalgia
Chapter Notes

This is long and chaotic.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mild description of sexual assault. Language. Vague

discussion of violence. Vague discussion of death.

September 2000

“He’s my son, Severus. Please…The Dark Lord trusts you. There must be something you can
do.”

It was hard for Snape to hold back. Lucius had always been a cunning man, even at school
Snape recalled Lucius always thinking about his next move. Snape had admired that about
his friend at the time. Lily never understood why he was friends with the likes of Lucius,
Hieronymus, the Black sisters, Nott and all the others. How could he have expected her to
understand? She didn’t understand what all those who were sorted into Slytherin implicitly
knew.

Lucius always had an overinflated ego, an undeserved self-righteousness born of his wealth
and influential name, and from the outside, at least now, Snape could understand Lily’s
suspicion. Surely someone like Lucius, and his wealthy pureblooded friends, were only
looking to use Snape’s intellect for their own gain. At least, it could appear that way.

But when Snape stepped off that stool at eleven years old and tried so hard to conceal his
nerves, Lucius congratulated him. Lucius welcomed Snape into the fold of Slytherin on
impulse, without braggartry, without self-righteous pomp and circumstance. Snape was
simply welcomed because he belonged. Snape’s half-bloodedness, his poverty, his crippling
lack of confidence did not disqualify him from the ranks of friendship in Slytherin house as it
did with everyone else.

To Snape’s mind, Slytherin was elite because of this irony. Because it didn’t matter who one
was. If one were chosen, they belonged without question and always belonged to the end of
their days. Which was why, even throughout the years his allegiances changed, he had a
weakness for favoring the Slytherin students he instructed.

But Lucius’s zealotry, and that of the others, had made him blind to how good he had it whilst
Voldemort was gone between the wars. Lucius’s tragedy was getting everything he had ever
wanted in the worst manner anyone could imagine.

“The Dark Lord sees potential in Draco. You should feel honored,” Snape said.
Lucius’s lip quivered and he went a little pale for a moment. “I am, I just fear he’s not ready
—”

“He’s proven that he is. He handled Dumbledore the best he could, his…marriage he’s
handled well. He’s the one who delivered Potter,” Snape said, hiding his regrets.

“I know! Draco resents me, both of us, but he trusts you more, Severus. I am only asking that
you—”

“Watch over him. Yes, I know,” Snape said.

For it had not been the first time Snape had wanted to or been asked to watch over someone.
Lily was first, and he failed. Konstantin Winters was the second and he still failed. Snape
tried not to think about Konstantin, hard to do when the banner of his former student hung in
the halls of the school.

Snape’s old friend and school fellow, Hieronymus Winters, had on more than one occasion in
school used his charm and subtly persuasive nature to help Snape, particularly when it came
to James Potter and his friends. So when Snape received a letter from Hieronymus years later,
Snape still felt compelled to return that old favor, despite his change in allegiances.

Severus,

I fear I have a rather embarrassing request to ask of you, but I trust you and your gift for
discretion. My son has been involved with a girl at school that has been a terrible influence
on him. I have redirected him, but as he has proven his disobedience, I cannot trust him to
remain true to his promises to end this nonsense. If you would not mind keeping an eye on
Konstantin, ensuring that his focus is clear, Odessa and I would be much obliged.

Sincerely,

Hieronymus Winters

Hieronymus’s embarrassment over the situation made him guarded in revealing the entirety
of the truth, even to Snape, but fortunately Snape already knew Konstantin’s secret. Perhaps
it was Snape’s gift for perception, or his painful memories of Lily Evans, but it was not
difficult to see that Konstantin loved Jane Masters.

Much like his own father, Konstantin achieved perfection in all areas of his life with great
ease and the boy was a pleasure to teach. He was curious and intelligent, volunteered to
answer questions in class but not enough to be a know-it-all. But the boy smiled a little
broader when paired with Jane for classwork. Snape saw the way his eyes darted about,
looking to see if he was being watched no doubt, before leaving mealtimes in the Great Hall
early. Even the way Konstantin looked off at the Ravenclaw table despite the
rambunctiousness of all the students around him. Snape knew that look all too well.
“You asked to see me, Professor?” Konstantin, only eighteen and still in his seventh year,
asked with a serene smirk, his default expression. Snape slid Hieronymus’s letter to
Konstantin, and he watched as the perfection the boy worked tirelessly to maintain fled.

“I already broke it off,” Konstantin said as he looked away sheepishly, handing the letter
back to Snape. The sudden stark difference in demeanor would have startled Snape if he had
not known better. “You know how my parents are. You don’t need to keep tabs on me.”

“I know,” Snape said. “And that is not what I intended, Mr. Winters. I only want to caution
you.”

Konstantin scoffed. “Forgive me, Professor, but I don’t need any help. It’s over and I learned
my lesson and—”

“You’re quiet in class. You’ve been despondent and distracted since your return from home.
Whatever this was, you need to forget it, for both your sakes. Really and truly forget it. Do
you understand?” Snape said sternly. There was much more he wanted to say but could not
without revealing too much about himself. Konstantin stood, staring at the floor for a
moment.

“Right. I know,” Konstantin said with a whisper. But Snape knew he didn’t know. He did not
know what danger he would put himself and the girl in. Not yet. Konstantin was so very
different than Snape himself was at that age. Handsome, heir to a great name and fortune,
athletic, intelligent and well-liked by all; even the boy’s fiercest rivals had little more than
friendly japes with which to speak ill of him. Yet, the boy with the world at his feet could not
have the one thing he ever truly wanted. That was something Snape understood with
grief and shame.

Though Snape never took too much to teaching, there were those students that he had a
fondness for. Konstantin being among them, as were Draco and Valeria. Snape had failed to
watch over Draco. Snape had failed to keep Valeria and Draco apart. Dumbledore insisted
they be allowed to stick together, to be a little less alone, but Snape knew that it would only
plunge both into the darkness together. He never quite forgave Dumbledore for preventing his
interference.

Snape’s failures added up when he failed to protect Harry Potter in honor of the boy’s mother,
thanks to Draco Malfoy. Snape felt torn between hating Draco and feeling the urge to watch
over him as he once did, as Lucius asked now. He didn’t know if he had it in him anymore,
especially as he watched Draco and Valeria morph from frightened children to dangerous
monsters. For when the ends justify the means, power is all that matters. Little did Lucius
know how much Snape had risked in trying to save them all.

“I’ll do what I can,” Snape said.

April 2003
The first night of Occlumency training had been spent with Draco going over what the
practice was, technique and how to resist. It was a purely theoretical exploration, with Draco
referring to various books and writings regarding the art. He was thorough and grave,
straightforward in his instruction.

The actual training in earnest was to begin tonight. Having spent all day in her little
laboratory babysitting various potions and working tirelessly with the basilisk fangs to unlock
their destructive permanence, Valeria found herself exhausted as she made her way to
Draco’s study. That was perhaps for the best as she would begin in weakness, unable to
defend attacks against her mind so easily, and would get stronger from there. That was her
hope at least.

“This came for you today,” Draco said handing her an envelope with the Hogwarts seal on
the back as she came into his study that night. Draco had a smug look on his face like he was
trying to stifle a laugh. She opened it with a raised brow.

Dear Mrs. Malfoy,

I am writing to sincerely apologize for my discourteousness yesterday during your visit to

Hogwarts. Please know that I surely meant no offense, though I see now where I
communicated this poorly. I hope that we can repair the wounds and that we remain fierce
allies in our allegiance to the Dark Lord. You are welcome to revisit Hogwarts at your
pleasure. My sincerest apologies.

For the Glory of the Dark Lord,

Professor Alecto Carrow

“What did you do?” Valeria asked with a smirk after reading the letter.

Draco shrugged. “After you told me what happened, I quite conveniently ran into Carrow at
the Ministry this afternoon and had a little conversation to clear up any misunderstanding.”

“Unnecessary, but I appreciate your effort. The last thing I give a damn about is what that
woman thinks.”

“I know, but I couldn’t help myself. The look on her face when I walked up to her was
priceless,” Draco said.

She laughed. “Still bullying, I see.”

“Old habits die hard. Figured if I have as much influence as I do, why not have a little fun
sometimes? Have a seat,” he said, his smile dropping some as he gestured to the armchair in
front of his desk. She obliged, suddenly getting nervous. He leaned down with a sigh, resting
his hands on the arms of the chair. He was gripping the armrests hard as he reluctantly lifted
his head to look into her eyes. “I’ll start off easy, but this is not going to be pleasant. I might
see things you don’t want me to see. Just do your best to keep me out. Keep eye contact and
whatever you start feeling emotionally, shove it down. Bury it if you have to. Alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” she said, not knowing exactly what to expect.

“Do you trust me?” he asked as if he feared an honest answer.

“Now and forever.”

He leaned forward and softly kissed her for a moment before coming to a stand and taking a
couple steps back. He removed his wand and aimed it right at her, looking into her eyes. It
was plain as day how much he didn’t want to do this, but he swallowed and relaxed his
shoulders on an exhale.

“Legilimens.”

Draco and the office disappeared in murky waves, as if she were suddenly plunged
underwater. Images swirled before her eyes of her own memories, thoughts and feelings
scrambled into one jumbled mess she couldn’t parse out. She was starting to panic when
everything stopped and she clearly saw the Department of Mysteries. Fear struck deep in her
heart, not wanting to relive what had happened there in 1996, but she soon saw herself as a
young girl, a few years before she started at Hogwarts, standing beside her imposing,
dignified father in a corridor. Her young eyes were bright and full of life, looking about with
great wonder and no fear.

“Madam Minister,” Hieronymus Winters greeted with a broad smile and a friendly tone. An
older woman turned and smiled warmly upon seeing him.

“Hieronymus, how good to see you again,” Minister Millicent Baghold greeted before
looking down at Valeria. “And this must be young Miss Valeria.”

“How do you do?” Valeria greeted with a small curtsey that charmed the Minister with a
laugh.

“Well, aren’t you proper? There are those Winters manners; The apple doesn’t fall from the
tree, does it Hieronymus?”

“Don’t be fooled, Madam Minister. This one may be the light of life, but she has already
mastered those manners to get exactly what she wants from her mother and me. I had some
documents to deliver and she convinced me to tag along. She wanted to see the Department
of Mysteries.”

“I want to be an Unspeakable!” young Valeria said proudly. The Minister laughed again.

“I see what you mean, Hieronymus. You’re a young lady with a purpose, Miss Winters. I like
that,” the Minister said before looking at her father. “I’ll see you on Friday at the board
meeting. It was wonderful to meet you Miss Winters, I hope to see you running this place
someday.”
The Minister walked away, and Hieronymus bent over to lift Valeria in his arms. “I think as a
reward for such good behavior we should make a stop in Diagon Alley for some ice cream.
What do you say?”

“I wanted to see the mysteries…” Valeria said, disappointed.

Hieronymus chuckled. “Someday you will. I promise. For now, all you need to worry about is
ice cream.”

“Do you think she was right? That I could run this place someday?”

“You’re my daughter. You can do anything you want.”

The scene swirled again, faster this time. Suddenly Valeria was young again, just a couple
years older than in the previous memory. She was sitting in the dining room of the Winters
castle with a sullen expression and her eyes folded indignantly across her chest. Odessa
Winters, younger and the epitome of ladylike sophistication sauntered over to her daughter.

“Uncross your arms, Valeria. We’re practicing posture, remember? Ten minutes of perfect
stillness. We need to make sure it’s in your muscle memory,” Odessa instructed.

“I want practice dancing,” Valeria said, grumpily obeying her mother.

“Dance lessons are on Thursdays, dear.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t practice on other days. No one cares how straight I sit in a chair…”

Odessa crouched down to meet her daughter’s eyes. “Maybe not today. Maybe not for many
years. But someday there might be a time when everyone looks to you for grace and poise.
There might be a time when you’re scared, but you will always be able to rely on your dignity.
I did this, your brother did it too. Let it be your shield and it will serve you well.”

The memories swirled as Draco had his way with her mind. She was a little older now, the
summer between her second and third years, and she was sitting in an office opposite her
brother who worked at a desk in the Ministry of Magic.

“You’re sighing again,” Konstantin said.

“Maybe if this weren’t so boring,” Valeria said.

Konstantin smirked. “If you think watching me work is boring, you should try actually doing
it.”

“Then why do you work here if you hate it so much?”

It was Konstantin’s turn to sigh as he looked up from his paperwork. Seeing this memory now,
Valeria noticed just how dead his once bright eyes were. “Sometimes we have to do things
we’d rather not do for the greater good. That’s why father made you come sit with me here all
day even though you’re bored out of your mind; so you can learn about what it’s like to work
here.”
“What good can being so bored really do?”

“Wisdom from the mouth of babes…” Konstantin said to himself. He stopped still for a
moment, looking down at the document in hand, but seeing something else far away. He
slammed the paper onto the desk and stood, grabbing his workbag from off a rack. “We’re
getting out of here.”

“But father said I’m supposed to learn about working—”

“Sitting and staring at me for hours on end isn’t learning. When we get home tonight, as far
as father’s concerned, our day was spent being very diligent doing mind-numbing busywork
all day. Hurry up, grab your things.”

“What if you get sacked?”

Konstantin laughed, instantaneously the clever young man with the charming smirk so full of
life and joy once more. “You really think they’re going to sack Hieronymus Winters’s son for
some mild truancy? Come on, I’m thinking lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and we’ll see where
this adventure takes us from there.”

Valeria did not know what was worse, remembering often the pain of losing her father and
brother, or being forced to relive the memories of the happiness that she lost. Her grief was
making her weak, but she compelled Draco with her mind to leave her familial memories
behind. The scenes of her life were blurring together until they stopped in the Slytherin
common room, decked out in shining, glittering, holiday décor. Valeria was there, all of
fourteen years old, and there was Daphne, Tracey and Pansy…Pansy. They were laughing,
giggling even, faces flushed from the warmth of the room.

“It’s just a stupid ball, Pansy,” Tracey said. “I’d rather just avoid it altogether and have the
common room all to myself.”

“It’s not stupid! It’s going to be great. If anyone ever asks us that is…” Pansy defended.

“Pfft, we’ll be asked. The boys will get too desperate eventually,” Daphne said.

“Could always ask someone yourself,” Tracey said with a shrug.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Valeria said haughtily. “They have no problem acting tough in class or
playing Quidditch, asking us a simple question should be easy for them.”

“And what if no one asks us…asks me…?” Pansy said, despondent.

“Then we’ll all go together,” Valeria offered.

“Probably more fun than hanging out with one of them all night anyway,” Daphne said. The
girls laughed, other than Pansy who was still concerned about getting a date to the Yule Ball,
when Draco stepped in front of the girls, looking right at Valeria, nearly scowling, shoving
his hands in his pockets.
“I need to talk to you,” Draco said sternly. The girls were smiling and Draco started
blushing.

“Yes, Draco I’m doing very well and it’s a lovely evening, isn’t it? Thank you for asking,”
Valeria teased. Draco’s face flushed pinker.

“I need to talk to you. Alone.”

“Alright, alright. Relax,” Valeria said getting up. Draco turned on his heel and marched
away. The girls started laughing and Valeria herself had to stifle a laughing fit while she put
a finger to her mouth to shush them before following Draco to a secluded corner of the
common room where he told some younger students to scram. He stiffened when he turned
back to her.

“Do you have a date?” he asked, practically mumbling, struggling to meet her eyes.

“Why do you care?” Valeria asked. He rolled his eyes.

“Do you want to go to this stupid ball with me or not?!” he said, raising his voice a little and
turning his gaze away.

“Not if you act like that,” she said, folding her arms.

He let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine. Will you go to the ball with me?”

“You’re asking me of all people? I’m surprised. I know Pansy was sort of hoping you would
ask her.”

“Well, don’t flatter yourself. My mum told me to ask you—” he started, cut off by Valeria
snort-laughing. “I didn’t mean like—Fine! Don’t go with me.”

She grabbed his sleeve as he pushed past her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I will go with you to the
ball, Draco.”

He stopped, but his cheeks were still pink as he tried to regather his composure. “Right.
Good. What color are your dress robes?”

“Why do you care?” she asked.

“Because I—” he once more had to compose himself. “Just tell me the bloody color.”

“Purple.”

“I should have known.”

He walked off and she rejoined her friends who eagerly heard the story of how Draco asked
her to the ball, though Pansy looked disappointed.

“You could do better than Malfoy,” Daphne said.

“I know, but I felt kind of bad for him. Besides, maybe I don’t want to do better for now.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “You two are so exhausting.”

The scene swirled again, quicker this time. What did Draco want to see? Where was he going
with this? It was the common room again, Christmas Eve. Valeria was descending the stairs
with her friends and Draco looked up at her with an expression that she, at the time, had
never seen him wear. He approached with a small box in hand as he gently pulled her away
from her friends.

He cleared his throat. “You look…You look nice.”

“As do you,” she said. She was telling the truth then, a bit surprised with how well Draco
cleaned up. Though seeing it again now so many years later, it was a bit silly, in a childishly
cute way. Draco thrust the small box toward her. Opening it, Valeria found a small bouquet of
purple flowers making up a corsage.

“You don’t have to wear it. I know it’s stupid. My mum forced me to get it, saying that it’s
important or traditional or whatever. I told her it was for old people and you wouldn’t like it
but—” he rambled.

“I like it very much,” she said, pulling it out of the box. “Do you mind giving me a hand?”

“Right, sure,” he said, genuinely surprised by her reception of the gift. Gently, as if she were
made of glass, he put the corsage on her wrist with clumsy, clammy fingers.

“Thank you,” she said quietly when he finished.

These were hard memories to suffer through too, she realized as Draco moved on. But he
wasn’t giving up. She was trying to resist, trying to force him out, but she almost didn’t want
to. The scene morphed again and this time they were outside Hogwarts, still the Yule Ball, in
a snowy corner of the stone walls, alone.

“Did you see Weasley? He’s all alone, it’s pathetic—” Draco said, laughing.

“I don’t care about them,” she said, digging through her robes.

“What are you doing?” Draco said with a raised brow.

“You don’t think this ridiculous amount of fabric is all for show, do you?” she said, smirking.
She pulled a metal flask from one of her hidden pockets and Draco’s eyes widened.

“Are you mad? Where did you even get that?”

“Father’s mead stores. Why are you looking at me like that?”

He looked down as he laughed. “Nothing, I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking,
acting, less than perfect. Not that you’re not perfect now, I just—”
“Do you want to do the honors?” she said with a laugh, offering him the flask. He took it
from her and drank, his face contorting into a horrible wince as he handed it back. He
coughed through the burn in his throat as she drank, resulting in the same reaction. They
could barely manage two more small sips before giving up.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“I’m alright.”

Still, he removed the outer layer of his robes and draped it around her shoulders. Valeria
remembered the immediate relief of the thick, warm fabric enveloping her body. Draco
rubbed her upper arms to warm her up more. She looked up at him, this time it was her turn
to blush. Even the small amount of alcohol she had warmed her stomach and she felt
impulsive. He must have too because he leaned down slowly and gently kissed her as the tips
of their cold noses brushed each other’s flushed cheeks.

Draco moved on quickly and she was glad he did. That memory gutted her, and she felt her
mind growing weaker against his probing. To think that this man, a murderer capable of
unimaginable cruelty was ever once just an insecure teenage boy whose most guarded secret
was his ultimate tenderness.

Several scenes flashed before her eyes so quickly that she almost felt nauseous. Sixth year, all
the times she had spent staring at him as he withered away. The serpentine ward for her wrist
he had given her as a Christmas gift, that she still wore even now. Potter nearly murdering
him in that bathroom, her uniform damp with Draco’s blood as she held his head out of the
water and he clutched the collar of her robes. Not there…She didn’t want Draco to stay there.
He moved on to seventh year, their wedding. That horrible wedding.

He suddenly moved backwards. The lonely nights hiding herself away in the Leaky
Cauldron. Konstantin’s lifeless corpse. No. Not there. Fifth year. The brief, juvenile romance
with Terry Boot. There was Draco again, sitting on a patch of grass by the shore of the Black
Lake, laughing as she spun around in the magical wind he created, her face lifted to the sky,
awash in sunlight. Then he was spinning her around in the hallway as their final O.W.L. exam
ended. Draco stopped there, the night the fifth years had dominion of the common room once
exams were completed.

Everyone was celebrating. There were games and magical streamers flew about the room.
There was so much laughter that Valeria remembered she could hardly hear herself think, a
welcome relief after spending so much time focused on her studies and lamenting the state of
the world. There had been a dare and Draco dragged her to her feet by her wrist to the
center of the room, the furniture having been moved to the walls. They stood and grabbed
each other’s opposite wrists, all the while Valeria coyly feigned resistance.

“Ready, set, go!” Blaise shouted and with a sudden jerk Draco began to spin, taking her with
him. It was a stupid game where two spun in a circle to see which pairing could remain
standing the longest. Around and around they went, the world blurring around them, only
able to see each other clearly. Faster and faster, laughing harder and harder. Suddenly,
Draco stopped and they both tried to stand on wobbly legs thrown off balance.
Her friends cheered for her, certain that someone so preoccupied with how they carried
themselves would surely have enough grace to stay upright. But they were quite wrong. As
Valeria tried to maintain her balance and catch her breath, she stumbled. Draco reached out
to catch her and she fell into his arms, but given his own lack of balance, he too stumbled
backward, lost his step and fell to the floor.

The room erupted with roaring laughter as Valeria landed on top of Draco’s chest with a
thud. Fortunately, an ornate carpet protected them from the stone floor, Draco in particular.
What would have otherwise been a humiliating moment for the both of them was instead
joyous. Valeria perched herself up some, the world around her still spinning in her dizziness,
but Draco’s face was clear. Face flushed, hair a mess, sweating a little and breathing heavy
through laughter. He was returning the wide, toothy grin she too wore. All of the good in him,
that he worked tirelessly to hide, was right there before her eyes in that moment clearer than
anything else in the entirety of everything.

But nearly a decade on from that night, Valeria could not bear it. With all her might she
willed Draco away from that memory and sped through the recent years with dizzying
acceleration. All the pain, the suffering, the death, the blood. Draco plunged on through her
mind all the way to Christmas in the liquor cellar with Goyle’s body pressing her back hard
into the shelves as he ran his vile hand under the skirts of her robes and up her leg….

Then it all stopped. Valeria was back in the present in that armchair, sweating and shaking.
She was breathing hard and heavy looking straight ahead at Draco who was lowering his
wand. His face was contorted into nauseous disgust, his eyes filled with anger as if he wished
Goyle were still alive so he could kill him again. He put his hand on the desk to steady
himself as he caught his own breath and ran his other hand through his hair.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded. “Are you?”

“I need a second,” he whispered, looking down at the floor. She let him have what time he
needed. “Why’d you shove me out of that memory? The common room, fifth year, the
spinning one. You barely resisted the others.”

Tears filled her eyes and she choked on her breath as she tried to stifle her sobs, too weak of
spirit to subdue her sadness. She could hardly believe the boy who stopped her fall, the one
who really laughed, the one who even at his worst never ceased being full of life would grow
into who he was now. Her heaving breath overwhelmed her, and she shook as she fully wept.
He crouched down after rushing to her and pulled the pins that kept her hair tight on her head
out, letting her long hair relax as it tumbled down. He cupped her face in his hands to calm
her.

“We’ll stop for now. I’m sorry…” he said. “Tell me why, Valeria. Why did shove me out of
that memory?”

She looked at him, his face blurry in her tears, swallowing hard. “That was the last time…
That was right before the Department of Mysteries. That was the last time I was happy.” She
lost herself to tears again and held her arms around Draco with an iron grip as he brought her
to his chest and ran his fingers through her hair.

“Me too,” he whispered after a few moments. She pulled away to look at him.

“I’m sorry—”

“Valeria, don’t.”

“I’m sorry that you’ve done what you’ve done for my sake. I’m sorry I’m not worth—”

“Stop.”

“How can I when it’s my fault—?”

His fingers were ensnared in her hair and his eyes intense. “I have loved you since I was
fourteen goddamn years old,” he said through gritted teeth. “I would rather be with you than
have everything else I ever wanted and never see bloodshed again. You need to listen because
I don’t want to have to say this again. None of this is your fault. We were born into this. We
never had a choice. And I never had a choice in loving you.”

Fear gripped her heart hearing those words, not for herself but at the thought of ever losing
him. He was not the man she imagined herself marrying, ever. But no one loved her like him.
Hope filled her heart in pain. She hated feeling hopeful because if she had even the faintest
amount of it, it could be ripped from her at any moment. It was easier not to hope at all. But,
like he said, she didn’t have a choice. She had hope for him, feeling his touch, experiencing
once more the tenderness that still lived somewhere within him that she could find.

She had loved him so long that she had forgotten how to love anything else and some primal
need for his affection overwhelmed her as she leaned forward to kiss him. Softly, almost
fearfully at first, not unlike when they were teenagers. But then their passions grew more
intense and she had no choice but to open herself up to him in every way.

Fear gripped Ginny Weasley’s heart too, but there was no relief to be found for her as she
knocked on the door of the quiet Lovegood home. She remembered the words she read from
the anonymous letter that had explicit instructions to burn after reading.

The boy’s mother is dead.

Ginny Weasley was betrothed to Goyle. Goyle is dead. Do not discover by whose hand.

It will get worse. You are being watched. Always. Do not discover why.

-J.D.
Ginny knew she was likely disobeying their mysterious ally’s implied command. She was
sure she was being watched, she could feel it, as she stood on the Lovegood doorstep with the
hood of an old, ragged cloak over her head. She had to be careful. She was desperate for
allies, for more help, but she didn’t want to risk more vulnerable lives than she had to. How
did Harry walk through this world with its weight on his shoulders each day? She would
never truly know. Seamus in particular was growing volatile in his frustration and she was
starting to resent him for his expectations. What was she supposed to do?

The door opened and she was shocked at who stood inside.

“Terry…I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting—”

“I’m surprised to see you too,” he said. He looked exhausted. He had that same look she saw
in so many faces over the years. Sirius Black in particular had the same look; a face ravaged
by the misery of Azkaban prison.

“Is Luna here? I wantd to talk to her,” Ginny said.

“What about?” Terry asked.

“Anything. Everything.”

Terry looked reluctant, but eventually allowed her in. He directed her to sit while he fetched
Luna. Ginny didn’t sit, but instead rushed to Luna and embraced her when her old friend
came into the room. Luna flinched at first but warmed to the hug after a moment.

“Are you alright?” Ginny asked.

“As well as I can be,” Luna said. Her voice still carried a sing-song tone, but was notably
weaker, which broke Ginny’s heart. Terry joined the young women and Ginny sat down near
Luna.

“I’m sorry about what they’re making you do,” Ginny said. An announcement had run in the
paper about the upcoming nuptials of Terry and Luna. It was a short paragraph far to the back
and easily overlooked; a formality more than anything else.

“It could have been much worse,” Luna said quietly, though she sounded unsure.

“How?”

“We could have been forced with...much worse people,” Terry said bitterly.

“Like Goyle,” Ginny said softly.

“Oh, yeah, him. His obituary made my week,” Terry said with scorn. “It’s a good thing he
died before he got another chance to ruin some other woman’s life.”

“He almost did. Mine.”

“I don’t remember reading that…” Terry said, shocked.

“It didn’t run in the papers as far as I know. But I know I was assigned to him,” Ginny said.

“How do you know?” Terry asked with suspicion. Ginny kicked herself. She had already said
too much.

“I can’t tell you. But I think Goyle was killed on purpose. That’s all I know. I even thought of
sending whoever did it flowers to thank them. At least you two lucked out,” Ginny said.

Terry scoffed. “For now. I won’t be sending Winters any bouquets anytime soon.”

“Valeria?”

Luna nodded. “She’s the one who arranged for us…Terry and me.”

“Why the hell would she—?”

“She did it for herself, as usual. She felt guilty that Parkinson killed herself when she found
out she was having a girl and Valeria didn’t want it to happen again. She was just trying to
make herself feel better,” Terry said.

“How do you know that?”

“She told me when she visited me about pairing Luna and me. Not that it was a pleasant
social call.”

“I saw her in Azkaban too. She told me she killed my father…” Luna said, looking to the
floor.

“She what!?” Ginny said, but Luna shook her head.

“It was after the Dementor’s Kiss. She was…trying to end his suffering,” Luna said. Terry
put a hand on Luna’s in a more friendly than romantic manner.

“The lesson being, if you hear Winters knocking on your door, no good news can come of it,”
Terry said.

“I know. She, Malfoy and his gang too, came to interrogate me some time back.”

“About what?!” Terry asked.

“No idea. It was all so bizarre. She searched my house and Malfoy asked me all these cryptic
questions under Veritaserum. They were looking for basilisk fangs of all things—”

“Well, that can’t be good,” Terry said. “Those are rarely used because they’re so damn
dangerous to work with, but potent and powerful. No one, not even Winters, would be bold
enough to search for them unless they absolutely had to.”

“Shit…” Ginny said. “They didn’t find anything from me. If I had a secret stash of basilisk
fangs, I would have sold them by now.” Ginny remembered the event of her interrogation,
how she locked eyes with Valeria when she stepped on the trap door. Valeria knew something
was there, there was no way around it. It kept Ginny up at night to know that Valeria knew
she was hiding something. She had to wonder why she didn’t say anything to Malfoy, but
then again, most things Valeria did made no sense to Ginny.

“It’s strange. She goes out of her way to do these odd things for us, yet she’s—”

“We talked about this, Luna. She made it very clear to me that she’s loyal to Malfoy, even
though he’s a fucking psychopath. She’s doing what she’s always done; playing as many
angles as she possibly can. She’s probably just trying to gain our trust to spy on us or
worse…” Terry ranted. The anger in his tone was something Ginny understood implicitly.
She hated Valeria just as much, if not more so than Terry did.

“Listen, I don’t want to take up more of your time. I’m here because…I could use all the
friends I can get. I think there’s people on the inside trying to help—I can’t say too much—
but—”

“Luna, would you mind fetching Ginny a cup of tea?” Terry asked, taking Ginny aback. Luna
smiled softly as she left the room and Terry watched her go, waiting for her to be far enough
away before leaning forward.

“I can’t ask her to fight anymore; after her father, she's not the same, and I…well, if we have
to be married, I might as well do what I can to keep us both safe.”

Ginny’s face fell. “I understand…”

He reached into a pocket deep in his robes and removed a small glass vial containing a single
hair. “Ever wonder why most of the Death Eaters keep their hair on the shorter side? Why the
women tie theirs back so tight to pull the skin on their face up? Winters left this behind when
she visited me.”

“You aren’t suggesting…”

“I can get others. I can’t help you with the ingredients. My record is against me and the
ingredients are so heavily regulated. But if you can get them, if you have a plan, I can brew it
—”

“Terry,” Ginny shook her head and held the vial back to him. “I’m being watched. I can
barely afford to feed my mother and me. I can’t—"

Terry held out his hand to stop her. “Hold onto to that. Keep it mind.”
 Low Light on the Shore
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNING: Mild consensual sexual content.

October 1999

Draco never paid attention in Muggle Studies. Learning about Muggle ways was, to him at
the time, bizarre and pointless. But now, in his quest for quiet, he became intrigued.

Faith was not something widely engaged with in this corner of the Wizarding World. While
major holidays were celebrated and Halloween was viewed as historically and culturally
significant, there was not much need for God when there was magic. But perhaps faith was
something the Muggles understood better than wizards. For in Wiltshire there was a small
stone chapel set in a wide field, which in the summer was bursting with the golden life of
sunflowers.

Draco would come to this place every so often, careful not to become a regular visitor. The
chapel served the nearby village which, unbeknownst to Draco, was dwindling fast in
population with the youths seeking their fortunes in larger communities with more profitable
opportunities. He was sure to arrive late and leave early to their services, if he happened upon
them, and kept his head down. They were sparsely attended, and the congregation sung old
hymns that were hard to sing. Draco sat in the back. The tolling of the old bell above rang
through his shattered spirit.

And sometimes Draco would sit alone on the creaky wooden bench. They never locked the
doors of this place, which Draco found strange. He had heard Muggles were a paranoid breed
who thought everyone was out to get them. Why would they leave their most sacred places so
easy to access? He should have paid attention more in class.

“Can I light a candle for you, my son?”

The voice startled Draco. Despite the low tone, it still echoed off the stone walls and Draco
sharply turned upward. Draco recognized the old man who had led the few services Draco
had observed. His long black robes and vestments oddly enough made this Muggle look like
a wizard. The man had a gentle demeanor, a soft and forgiving smile that made Draco feel out
of place.

“What for?” Draco asked.

“For a prayer, of course.”

“A prayer for what?” Draco was horribly bewildered, but the old man was completely
unfazed by Draco’s ignorance. In fact, he seemed almost serene.

“For you, son,” the old man said. No one called Draco son, save for his own parents.

Draco fidgeted. “I’m not…didn’t mean to make you think that I’m…I’m not religious.”

“And why should only the faithful know the love of God?”

“Isn’t that the point?” Draco asked. The old man laughed a little. He nodded towards Draco’s
hand.

“You’re married?” he asked, noticing Draco’s wedding ring. Draco nodded in response.
“You’re quite young.”

“Our situation is complicated,” Draco said sternly.

“You love her?”

Draco looked him dead in the eye. “More than life.”

The old vicar nodded. “If you’ve known love, then you’ve known God.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why do you think you have to?” the old man said with a shrug.

Draco hated talking in riddles. He was growing frustrated with this disturbance to his
solitude. “And what would you even pray for, for my sake? You’ve got no idea who I am—”

“I don’t have to. You do. God does. What is it you need?”

“I don’t need anything,” Draco said.

“Then why are you here?”

Draco scoffed. “Could use some of the forgiveness you people ramble about. But some of us
don’t have the right to ask for that any longer.”

“Ah,” the old man said with a slow nod. “Son, like love itself, you don’t have to ask for
forgiveness. It is simply given.”

“That makes no bloody sense.”

The old man laughed. “God seldom does make sense, to us anyway. God knows your heart as
does, I assume, this woman you love so well. That’s enough.” Draco said nothing as the old
man went to the small altar at the front of the chapel and mumbled something inaudible as he
lit a candle amongst the many.

Draco was captivated by the dancing flames on that altar in their little red jars of thick glass.
He remembered a sermon the old priest gave on one of his other visits here. The priest spoke
about God being the great lighthouse beacon to guide lost ships safely home, but that the
people, the faithful around that beacon made up the low light on the shore.

Draco rose and slowly approached the altar. “Can…Can I light one?” he asked in a whisper.
The priest said nothing but handed him a long, thin piece of wood and an unlit candle in a jar.
Resisting the instinct to use his wand, Draco carefully performed the foreign ritual, using the
flame of the candle lit for him to light the second in his hand. The little light that danced in
his palm was Valeria’s. Hers alone. His low light on the shore.

“How long will they burn for?” Draco asked.

“For as long as someone tends to them.”

The old man left the room after a moment and Draco stealthily removed his wand to cast an
intricate series of spells on the two candles before returning to a pew to sit quietly again. The
old man sat in the pew behind Draco in silence upon his return to the sanctuary. Draco stifled
his paranoia, the urge to resist the gift of sitting quietly in a room with someone who had no
agenda, who did not suspect him, who did not know the gravity of his sins.

The priest never saw the strange young man with the white-blond hair ever again after that
incident. But he marveled in the hours after the young man’s departure at the candles that had
been lit during his visit. For those little flames never snuffed, nor did they ever need tending.
The wax never melted, and the wicks never dwindled. Ever. Even after their souls had
departed the world. It had become local legend, a pilgrimage for the faithful to bear witness
to the little miracle of the fires that never died and the story of the strange man, for whom
they were lit in love, only to never be seen again.

Only Draco ever knew the truth, that it was simply magic. But in his immature lack of
wisdom, he never learned that perhaps something pure and divine played a part in guiding his
hand. It didn’t have to be this God or any other. Draco never did, in the years he had left,
grasp the irony of him scorning and chiding Muggles for bowing down to a higher power
whilst he dedicated his life to preaching that magic was might.

But the legendary lesson of the ever-enduring flames persisted regardless of reality. Perhaps
that mattered more. The lesson was and eternally remained this; That hope was at its
strongest, at its purest, in the hearts of the hopeless.

June 2003

Valeria had improved in Occlumency significantly since the start but was feeling a bit weary
today. She had been so preoccupied with her own work that she was vulnerable to Draco’s
invasion of her mind. Hard at work once more in Draco’s study, he was easily exploring her
memories while she resisted.
He had wandered into a particular cranny of her mind from a few months after their reunion.
Draco lingered on this memory of the two of them. In bed. At the height of a deep, longing
passion…

Her indignant annoyance made it easy to force Draco out and she was back in the armchair as
the scene faded away, met with Draco’s satisfied smirk.

“Do you think you’re clever?”

“It worked didn’t it? Irritating you made it easier for you to defend your mind,” Draco said,
leaning against the desk behind him.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, your intentions were purely educational.”

He shrugged. “Give me a break, it’s my birthday.”

“Two weeks ago,” she said. “You’re an arrogant son of a bitch.”

“Old habits die hard, darling. Ready for another go?”

She raised a brow. “And to what are you referring?”

“Now who’s the pervert?” he joked. “You need more practice.”

“Don’t you have a meeting soon? I’m spent, Draco.”

“Not for another hour. And that’s precisely why we should practice. If you can force me out
at your weakest, you’ll be stronger overall.”

“Snape always arrives early, doesn’t he?” she asked.

“Then he can wait. Stop stalling.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who’s stalling.”

Draco was flustered for a moment. “I’m not. Now hold still. Legili—” A pop cut Draco off
and he turned sharply on the house elf who had just intruded upon them. “What have I told
you about entering rooms without warning?!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but an urgent letter arrived and—” Tinky stuttered.

“Fine. Give it here,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s for Madam Malfoy, s—sir,” Tinky said. Valeria held out her hand accepted it, dismissing
the elf with a wave of her hand and he did not have to be asked twice to leave.

“It’s from St. Mungo’s,” she said, examining the seal. It was a thick envelope with several
folds of parchment within.
 Dear Valeria,

I’m relieved to inform you that the most recent tests of your work on the Tranquila Sensus
potion have yielded promising results. I suspect that your formula will be finalized soon, and
the next phase of production can begin. Please see the enclosed documents for the details of
our experiments’ results.

Sincerely,

Daphne Zabini

Department of Experimental Magical Medicine

St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

Valeria’s relief made her heart light for a moment. It had been such a tedious process and she
was worried about how she would be reprimanded if the Dark Lord decided she was taking
too long to develop a sure formula. She too felt a tinge of arrogant triumph; She had been
right about the basilisk fangs and all the trouble she went to in order to hunt down and collect
them was worth it. Though, with Ron and Hermione still at large, only time would tell how
the consequences of her mercy would play out.

“This is good news,” Draco said after reading it for himself. “At least something is going
right.”

Valeria suspected that he was putting off preparing for his meeting in order to procrastinate
out of frustration. He didn’t want to speak much of it, but from what he told her the hunt for
Ron and Hermione was not going well. All Ginny Weasley ever did was buy food, stay in her
house with her half-mad mother and visit the Lovegood home nearby with some regularity.
Other leads quickly revealed themselves to be dead ends.

A pop again.

“Dammit, Tinky!” Draco said.

“S—Sorry, Mr. Malfoy. Headmaster Snape has arrived—”

“Tell him to wait,” Draco order.

“I did, sir, but he insisted on meeting with you now—”

“Fine,” Draco spat. “I’ll meet him in the drawing room in a moment.”

“No, sir. He says to meet in the foyer. He’s brought something large and needs to store it—”

“What is it?” Draco asked.

“He would not tell Tinky nor let him see, though I says to him it would make you angry….”
“Fine. I’ll meet him in a moment.” Tinky understood his cue to leave and popped out of the
room.

“Told you,” Valeria teased.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, conveniently getting out of practice. You’re lucky Snape’s such
an ass. Find you after? It’ll probably be…several hours.”

Valeria felt a little guilty for teasing him, seeing as he already was so exhausted before the
meeting even begun. “I’ll be testing my Patronus theory in the usual spot if you need me.”
She approached him and gently rubbed his upper arms. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Do you believe that?” he asked softly.

“If you do.”

With a kiss, he dismissed himself without another word and Valeria retreated down to the
empty room that she and Draco had used to practice dueling, though they had been slacking
in that department in favor of Occlumency, at Draco’s insistence. She still believed
manifesting a dark mirror of a Patronus was possible, even if doubters like Snape believed
the notion was purely theoretical. Valeria though felt bitter about her inability to cast a proper
Patronus. What had been made clear in Occlumency training was that the memories of grief
and terror were easier to endure than the painful nostalgia of the joyful. Therefore, scraping
the reaches of her mind for a happy memory to conjure a Patronus did not suit her. With her
notes spread on the floor by the wall, she felt determined. If the Patronus Charm was not
available to her, she would make one herself.

Draco marched over to Snape who stood beside a large, flat-ish object covered by an even
larger cloth.

“Ah, there you are—” Snape started.

“What is that and why the hell is it in my house?” Draco asked sternly.

“A mirror. A magical one. It was stored at Hogwarts and used in 1991, but the Dark Lord
decided he wanted easier access to it and requested I bring it here. Your father’s cellar is quite
secure for magical objects—”

“You mean my cellar. I don’t want random cursed objects in my bloody house. We’ll take it to
the Winters castle. It’s more secure and—”

“It is not cursed. And the Dark Lord wants it here. You dare defy him?”

Draco’s face contorted in anger, but there was no way he could argue or rage his way out of
this. “What’s it do? Show me.”

“I can just tell you. I don’t know if you’d enjoy seeing directly what it—”
“If it’s not cursed, you’ll have no problem showing me. I want to see it for myself.”

Snape sighed. “If you insist, Draco.”

With a wave of his wand, Snape heaved the thick cover off the mirror and Draco stood before
it. There was some strange writing on its ornate frame, but Draco’s attention quickly diverted
to his own reflection.

Except it wasn’t his own reflection.

It certainly was him. A little older maybe, but still youthful. He was dressed finely and with a
broomstick in hand. He was smiling…really smiling, as if he were having the best day of his
life. Beside him stood Valeria. Her face was unscarred, her chestnut-colored hair down and
free. She was hanging on his arm, dressed well but her robes actually had color to them, how
she used to dress. She was smiling broadly at this fake Draco, proudly and adoringly. The
false reflections looked at him and didn’t stop smiling. They weren’t stiff, rather completely
at contented, loving ease.

They looked as if none of this had ever happened.

The real Draco took a few steps back. “What the hell is this?”

“The Mirror of Erised; it shows the viewer their deepest desires and that’s all. I’m sorry if
you’ve seen—”

“Cover it now. Tinky!” Draco called. Tinky popped into the room while Snape magically set
the cover back on the mirror. “Get this thing to the cellar now and don’t tell anyone about it.”

“At once, Mr. Malfoy,” Tinky said.

“We’ll go the drawing room, Snape,” Draco said, not waiting for Snape before turning and
heading to the stairs. The mirror had rattled Draco’s nerves and he barely listened to what
Snape was droning on about now. Snape mainly saw fit to update Draco on various matters
that were not on the proverbial meeting agenda which irritated Draco more than he thought
possible. Draco helped himself to a glass of whiskey, not bothering to offer Snape one unless
he asked.

“You should remain sober, Draco. This meeting is critical for you,” Snape scolded.

“Exactly why I need a drink.”

“Perhaps it will calm you to know that your wife’s efforts have been a resounding success. It
is now a matter of finalizing the formula and working out the logistics of…distribution,”
Snape said.

“She’ll be delighted to know that you’ve admitted you were wrong about the basilisk fangs,”
Draco drawled.

Snape, unamused as usual, did not acknowledge Draco’s sarcasm. “As for this meeting, I
think it would be wise for you to make the suggestion of drawing Weasley and Granger out
into the open. The scouts at the Weasley home are growing impatient and this is dragging on
longer than you can afford.”

“The scouts won’t act without my orders.”

“How do you know?” Snape asked.

“Because I told them I’d kill them and their families if they didn’t and assured them I’m a
man of my word.”

Snape sighed and drew a step closer to Draco. “Draco, you’re running out of time to keep
yourself and Valeria safe from this. Your aversion to acting more surely and preemptively
runs the risk of raising suspicion—”

“Are you questioning my loyalty?”

“I’m questioning your wants.”

“Weasley at least will go to his family eventually. They never could help it.”

“He’s avoided his family for years. He needs a reason to act now. You need to give him one,”
Snape said. Draco avoided Snape’s gaze and curled his lip inward.

“I want to do it quietly. I’m trying to avoid unnecessary risks and potentially losing one of
our own. Who knows what Weasley and Granger have learned or picked up while in hiding
—”

“Yet, you killed a marked Death Eater, your school friend, while he was a guest in your home
without a second thought after you put a curse on his life by forcing him to ingest unicorn
blood. You’ve acted more severely under less precarious circumstances. I have to wonder
what’s stopping you now.”

Draco was especially careful now to avoid Snape’s eyes. Draco was a skilled Occlumens, a
competent Legilimens, but Snape was still nearly as gifted in the art as the Dark Lord
himself. He couldn’t risk Snape seeing what was passing through his mind nor how it made
him feel. He recalled seeing Potter with his two lackies in school. He remembered Granger
screaming without relent at the hands of his merciless aunt. He saw now too the Weasley men
being brutally, bloodily, murdered at Hogwarts one by one, even after Arthur Weasley had
begged for his children’s lives. There was a slight pang in his heart for the now orphaned
little boy he had brought to stay with Ginny Weasley.

Fortunately, Draco snapped out of it at the entrance of Tinky, who actually took the time to
announce his presence for once, letting the two men know that Nott and Zabini had arrived.
After the small-talk and the disappointment of having no new updates from either of them on
the fugitives’ whereabouts, Draco was anxious. They went over maps and strategies and
possibilities once more over the hours and all for nothing. As the evening crept on at a snail’s
pace, Draco could feel Snape’s gaze, his judgment, his silent urging, boring into the side of
Draco’s head. Draco swallowed.
“We need to draw them out into the open,” Draco said.

“Go for the sister then? She takes regular walks, should be easy to—” Blaise began.

“No,” Draco interrupted. “The mother.”

It was easy to lose track of time while absorbed in such intellectually demanding work,
Valeria found. Though, being in a windowless room all alone certainly added to her not
realizing how many hours had passed. She felt she had made progress, at least the notes she
had taken this round made it appear so. Or perhaps she was completely on the wrong track. It
was impossible to tell. Dark magic such as this was not a science. It was not a matter of wand
waving or pronouncing old words in dead languages with the correct intonation. It was truly
an art. While precision was vital, it was a matter of willpower, of inspiration and
concentration; all things Valeria had been running short of as the years went on.

It had indeed been several hours when the door creaked open.

“I hope you’re not hoping to practice more. I’m exhausted and in no mood for your childish
wanderings into our most pornographic memories—”

“Miss Winters…”

That was not Draco’s voice.

Valeria turned clumsily like a frightened cat, face flushing bright red (thankfully her
glamours compensated for this) in complete and utter humiliation. There stood Snape, her
own bloody teacher, and from the look on his face, though he tried to hide it, he was just as
embarrassed as she was.

“Good evening,” Valeria said. “Where’s Draco?”

“Finalizing some details with Nott and Zabini. He should be on shortly.”

“And what can I do for you in the meantime?” Valeria said, trying not to choke on her words
through her mortification.

“I came to congratulate you on your success with the Tranquila Sensus. Using the basilisk
fangs to enable permanence and to enhance the biological effects was nothing short of a
stroke of genius,” he said.

She smirked a bit to hear that. Snape was almost never wrong in her experience and he did
not give compliments without reason. “Thank you, sir.”

“I know that the path you’ve taken to develop your intellectual interests has not been what
you planned for in school, but I am pleased to see that you have become a great Potions
Master, as I always believed you could be,” he said.
As much as Snape aggravated Valeria at times, it was hard not to be touched by the
statement. Snape had, after all, been her mentor in the subject of potions. He above all had
nurtured her talent and interest, which she did truly appreciate somewhere deep down in spite
of everything. Not to mention, he had been the only teacher in school who understood her
background, her family, her ambitions. He alone, of all the professors, had given a damn
about what happened to Slytherin students, at least that’s how Valeria saw it.

“Thank you. That’s high praise coming from you,” she said truthfully.

“And it’s well-deserved,” he said. “What are you working on now?”

“That theory I had a while ago about Dark Patronuses.”

“Any progress?”

“Some,” she said going to her notes and handing them to him. “Have a look if you want.”

Snape began to read while she went over some dusty old book once again. He had a talent for
being able to concentrate on what he was reading while also being an equal participant in a
conversation.

“You weren’t at Boot and Lovegood’s wedding,” he said.

“An astute observation,” she said. “It was just a tiny Ministry ceremony. I made a statement
about it for the paper.”

“Yes, that’s how I know you weren’t there. It was well said, perhaps a bit stale but—”

“I congratulated the happy couple and waxed poetic about bringing over former enemies to
the right side, and how promising that is for our world. It was better than anything anyone
wrote for me…”

“Convincing the public of all political persuasions is going to take more than platitudes once
it’s the turn of others to wed. It’s your duty—”

“I’m aware. But if you think you could do so much better, I’d be happy to delegate some of
that work to you, Professor.”

“I’m trying to help you. Maintaining perfection with ease is critical right now.”

She laughed. “You sound like my father.”

“Hieronymus was righter than he probably realized,” Snape said with a tinge of a sad lament.
“Your progress is interesting. What sort of incantation are you trying?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re just trying to make a standard spell, a command, I doubt it will succeed. Expecto
Patronum means ‘I await a guardian.’ It’s not a command, it’s a request. Perhaps approaching
it like that will yield better results,” he said, handing her notes back to her.
She smirked as she took the parchments. “I thought you’d be weary of teaching by now.”

“Not for certain students. As interesting as your work is, I must be getting back to Hogwarts.
Good evening, Miss Winters.”

She nodded in reciprocation of the farewell as he left the room. As soon as the door latched
behind him, she let out a long sigh. She was kicking herself for having not thought of Snape’s
advice before. She darted back up to the library and then back down, using a handy levitation
charm so as not to have to carry all the old, heavy books on her own.

She flipped through the books of old spells, many long forgotten, for ideas. She wondered
where Draco was, but an intellectual fire was lit in her mind and she refused to be distracted.
More books. More notes. After quite a while she had a list of incantations which, combined
with force of will, could have some effect. At least in theory. She moved down her list,
waving her wand in the bare, empty room. Nothing came, but she was undeterred. Until the
door creaked open again.

“Still working?” Draco asked as he stepped in. Valeria’s heart broke a little to see him. He
wore a hopeless expression.

“Just got into a flow of sorts,” she said. “What did Snape want so urgently before?”

Draco sighed. “The Dark Lord wanted some object, a magic mirror, stored in the cellar. I
didn’t ask why.”

“What kind of magic mirror?”

Draco looked away from her. “Shows you your deepest desires apparently.”

“That’s it?”

He shrugged. “That’s it.”

“What does the Dark Lord want with some parlor trick mirror?”

“I told you, I didn’t ask.”

“Did you see anything interesting?” she asked.

“No,” he said sternly. She sensed he was lying, but she knew well enough that with Draco, it
was often better not to push the issue. “And it’s not important. Let’s see the progress you’ve
made. Show me what you got.”

“I doubt anything will happen.”

“Just try. Humor me,” he said.

She nodded, humoring him. She took her position, aiming her wand. She summoned her
anger, her grief, the memories of all the blood and horror she had witnessed in her barely
more than two decades of life thus far. Careful and calculated, her will felt as sharp as a
knife’s edge.

“Ecce Dolorem Meum,” Valeria said, holding her wand out towards the wall on the other side
of the unused room. She felt her wand cool in her hand for a moment as a stream of inky
black smoke slowly flowed out from the end of it. Amazed, she watched as the smoke tried to
take shape in the air before her, but it slowly dissipated before long.

“Holy shit…” Draco said.

She sighed. “What are you talking about? It clearly isn’t working. I told you nothing would
happen.”

“Are you mad? That was something. You were right,” Draco said in borderline disbelief.
“What’s that incantation mean?”

“Behold my pain,” Valeria answered.

The crisp spring air soothed Ginny Weasley as she drifted in and out sleep in bed with the
window open. Perhaps it was unwise, knowing the Burrow was under Death Eater
surveillance, but she couldn’t help these little pleasures. She never slept well anymore, not
for years, and so in the times where she found herself half-awake, she could hear her mother
through the thin walls of the humble, but wonderfully cozy, home singing and humming to
Teddy, to whom Molly had grown so very attached. Ginny almost wept at the sound. It
reminded her of the past.

But she was sharply torn from these thoughts at the sound of a loud thud by the window. She
sat bolt upright, hyperventilating in instinctive panic, but her fears turned to confusion when
she saw a small parcel on the floor under the window and owl’s wings flying off in the
distance. She carefully picked up the package, wrapped rather simply. There was no note of
who it was for or who it was from. She slowly and with excruciating care undid the wrapping
only to be met with a black book that bore no title.

Indeed, even the pages were blank which left her more bewildered. She flipped through it a
few times, looking for a clue and making sure it wasn’t some Death Eater trick. Some writing
on the inside cover caught her attention.

WRITE

Memories of her second year flooded back in an instant. She remembered Tom Riddle’s diary
and how it had poisoned her mind and influenced her beyond anything she was capable of
magically or morally. Was this that again? She had never gotten over that experience
completely. Even in her late teens it had embarrassed her beyond belief that she could have
been such a foolish, insecure little girl as to fall for something like that.

But she was older now. She knew better.

She got a quill and ink and took a deep breath before penning the words,

What is this?

To her surprise, and just as it did once in Tom Riddle’s destroyed diary, an answer came.

A way to communicate more efficiently.

Who are you?

J.D.

Who is J.D.?

That is the last question you should ask.

Then what do you have to tell me?

On the final Saturday of this month, the detail surveilling you will be departing at
midnight. There will be a brief period in which you can ensure those sheltering in your
home can escape.

Why do they need to escape? What’s happening? Isn’t it good that the detail will be gone?

I’m afraid it’s not. Everyone, save you and your mother, need to evacuate.

Are we in danger?

Not if you follow my instructions.

 Where are they supposed to go? There’s a child.

Contact Minerva. She’s your best option. It is best you do not know to where they flee.

Can you tell me one goddamn useful thing?

This; That I am saving your life. You will learn in due time, but for both our safeties,
there’s only so much I can divulge and even communicating like this is a tremendous risk
to us both.

Can I reach you again with this book?

Only do so if it is hopeless. I will reach you if I must. Do not tell anyone about this book,
not even those you trust the most.

Can I ask a question?

I suppose. Keep it brief.

Draco and Valeria Malfoy interrogated me, attacking me and my mother. You knew. You
warned me. They were looking for basilisk fangs. Why did they want—

Stop writing now. That is nothing you need to know about.

It is if they broke into my home and tore my house apart looking for them. Why would they
think I had them—
 I will end communication now if you do not stop.

Just this then; Did they find what they were looking for?

They usually do.

 Building Traps
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Consensual sexual content. Foul language. Mild magical

violence.

June 1998

Snape felt like a failure as he turned away from Draco Malfoy to pour a glass of blood red
wine for the young man, freshly eighteen, but with the exhausted eyes of someone much
older. Snape had failed to protect anyone. He had failed to save Lily. He had failed to save the
Order of the Phoenix. He had miserably failed to protect the son of the woman he loved; the
one act that could have absolved him.

He wanted to resent Draco for what he did just one month ago at the Battle of Hogwarts. He
wanted to shed the burden of the blame by putting it on the boy that had gone against orders
to deliver Harry Potter to Lord Voldemort. But when he turned to hand Draco the glass, he
knew only regret. He had known this boy practically from birth; the son of the first person at
Hogwarts, save for Lily, who had been warm to him. Snape had tried to save Draco too,
failing just as he had with everyone else.

The difference between Draco and the others was that Draco still drew breath. While the
departed haunted him in memory, Snape had to face his failure in Draco’s thinning face and
whithering spirit. Draco whispered a sullen “thank you” and looked down into the cup as he
hunched over, his white-blond hair falling in his eyes like the branches of a sorrowful willow
tree.

Snape could tell Draco was trying not to jump and wince at the sound of the wind squealing
outside the window of the house in Spinner’s End. This was not the low rumble of a
billowing wind, but a wild whistling one. It sounded like the sky was screaming. Snape
mumbled a charm while Draco was lost in thought, muffling the sound of the wind outside,
an act of kindness that went unnoticed, as most of Snape’s acts of grace did.

“What’s troubling you, Draco?” Snape asked, concealing his crippling guilt. It was a stupid
question. Snape knew what tormented Draco; In fact, there was very little left that didn’t
trouble him, in all likelihood. Draco, at least the arrogant version of him that Snape had
known so well, would have surely pointed this out with sneering disdain. Instead, this broken
boy was silent, sipping from his wine with a slight tremor of his hand. The wedding ring on
Draco’s finger made a small clinking noise against the glass as he clasped his hands around
it. Draco lifted his head and Snape remembered with a pang of guilt and pity the swaggering
braggart of a boy he had once been, only to be ground down to this.

“Does it get easier?” Draco asked, barely above a whisper. A primal flare of anger boiled
Snape’s blood for the briefest of moments. It had been Draco’s decision to choose love over
the fate of the world. How dare he try to seek absolution from Snape. But Snape relaxed
quickly. After all, had he not made the same choice himself long ago?

“In time,” Snape said, though he was lying. Draco was too fragile to hear the truth and while
Snape usually favored brutal, often unnecessary, honesty, this was not the time. Snape rose
again and haphazardly threw together a small plate of simple foods and set it on the table
between them. Draco had always been a bit on the lankier side, but he was much too thin
now. “Eat.”

“I can’t…I can’t keep it down,” Draco said as if embarrassed. Draco almost looked nauseous
at the sight of food. Snape shoved the plate closer.

“Try. That’s an order. You’re no good to anyone if you’re starving,” Snape said. Draco
reluctantly picked at the plate without argument.

“I thought…I thought that if I was the one that brought…him to the Dark Lord that I would
be able to…I thought it’d stop. I’d stop being punished—” Draco said, voice cracking
weakly.

“You’re being rewarded, Draco,” Snape said coldly. Draco threw a piece of bread down onto
the plate.

“Then why do I have to keep doing this?!” Draco cried out, breathing hard. This was the first
glimpse Snape caught of the man Draco would become; the cornered beast lashing out in
violence that lurked just beneath the surface of timid brokenness. The Dark Lord had been
quite pleased with Draco to the point that he was eager to push Draco as far as he could.
Snape knew Voldemort especially desired to hold over Lucius’s head that his son was the true
successor to the Malfoy legacy, humiliating the father further. Draco had been tasked with
hunting down known followers of Potter and bringing his school friends into the fold of the
Death Eaters. Nott and Zabini would be receiving Dark Marks that very weekend.

“Because the war didn’t end with Potter’s death,” Snape said, seeing Draco wince a little at
the sound of the dead boy’s name. “The sooner you accept it—”

“Does it matter if I accept it?” Both men were aware that Draco already knew the answer.

“No,” Snape said. Draco inhaled sharply, his breath hitching a little on the exhale. He
swallowed hard and took a few moments before speaking again as if doing so would cause
him to completely unravel.

“I need to ask a favor,” Draco said, returning to speaking barely above a whisper.

“I will do what I can, but only what I can,” Snape said.

“I know. I don’t want to ask you, but there’s no one else…”

“What is it, Draco?”

Draco leaned forward, his austere gaze looking directly into Snape’s eyes. “Sixth year when I
was trying to…Dumbledore, Valeria helped me—”

“Yes, I remember,” Snape said, having known from the beginning of the plot and counterplot
of Dumbledore’s assassination. He had disagreed with Dumbledore, wanting to keep Draco
and Valeria apart to the best of his ability to prevent them from plunging further into darkness
together whereas Dumbledore wanted them to be free to help each other. It was one of the
few times that Snape believed Dumbledore to be dreadfully wrong.

“You don’t know everything,” Draco said sternly. “We made a promise, when she found out
about the Mark and that I was doing it to save her life. I was keeping her alive and she
promised to keep me alive too. It was stupid. Shortsighted, at least at the time, but we’ve
been living like that ever since.”

“That’s…romantic, I suppose,” Snape said, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t see how that
pertains to me.”

Draco swallowed again. “It doesn’t look like we’ll be able to let go of the promise anytime
soon. But I plan on keeping my end of the bargain and I know she’ll stop at nothing to keep
hers. I need you to promise me that if something ever happens to me—”

“You should not expect the worst, but if it soothes you, I’m sure she’ll be taken care of. Your
parents, her mother—”

Draco scoffed and gave Snape an annoyed, knowing look. “She can take care of herself, even
if she doesn’t realize it. My parents are practically powerless, my aunt wants her dead and her
mother, as you know, has never had Valeria’s best interest in mind, even if she thinks she
does. I’m not asking you to take care of her if something happens to me.”

“Then what can I possibly do—?”

“If you’d let me finish!” Draco shouted in frustration, quickly collecting himself after the
outburst. “I’m asking that if it ever comes down to my life or hers that you will do everything
in your power to save her over me.”

“Draco, I highly doubt a situation will arise where such a choice is needed—”

“I doubted my life would end up like this, Snape, I don’t give a shit about what you think will
or won’t happen. You know Valeria. She’s too stubborn and she’s has no regard for her own
life anymore. She’d do whatever she had to do to save me if it came to that, and I’m asking
you not to let her if it’s likely to kill her too. Don’t let her keep her end of our deal.”

“You’re not thinking rationally—”

“Maybe not, but I really don’t care,” Draco said. “I’m the only one who gives a shit about her
and you people made us get married, making me responsible for her.”
“Other people care too, Draco,” Snape said sincerely. He did mourn for the dark turn
Valeria’s life took. Snape always liked Hieronymus, even Odessa to some extent. He
mourned for Konstantin too, one of his favorite students he had the pleasure of teaching.
Now he was forced to watch as the last of the Winters, in all her potential, was swallowed up
by the hell Draco had ignorantly and accidentally created. He could not share with Draco the
things he saw in her memories, nor the ones he had erased from her mind. It wasn’t safe for
either of them.

“Then prove it. Help me sleep at night for once. Promise me that if it comes down to it, you
will save her life over mine,” Draco pleaded.

Snape was too taken aback by Draco’s request to appreciate how events had repeated once
again. Snape had once begged Dumbledore, even Voldemort, for Lily Potter’s life. Narcissa
Malfoy had begged for her son’s, urging Snape to take Draco’s place. Now Draco appealed to
him for Valeria’s life.

“I promise.”

April 2003

Draco felt Valeria’s little exhales on the skin of his chest, her head rested on him, her body
pressed up against his as he lay on his back. He held onto her free hand, playing with her
fingers and feeling the little bones of her hand as the firelight made the small beads of sweat,
still remaining on their bodies after lovemaking glisten. Their little ritual before Draco was
set to go out on a mission had slowly returned and repaired.

“You’re breathing odd,” she said quietly, breaking the pensive silence. She tilted her head up
to look up at him with that flippant little smirk that he adored so much. “Did you overexert
yourself, Mr. Malfoy?”

He let out a little laugh. “There’s more where that came from, I assure you.”

“You sure you’re not getting old?”

“I can prove it to you, if you like,” he joked.

“You’re vile,” she said, laughing a little.

He moved, carefully but swiftly, to bring himself back on top of her, entangling his fingers in
her hair. “You didn’t seem to mind me being so vile just a bit ago.” He leaned down to kiss
her hard and fully, feeling his body respond to the prospect of lovemaking again. She
reciprocated him for a few moments before pushing him gently off.

“There’s no time. You need to get ready,” she said a little sadly, pushing the hair out of his
face. He sighed and hung his head in disappointment, though he knew she was right. She
pushed on his chest a little once more and he let her out from under him. But watching her
get out of bed and seeing her body before she put on her silken dressing gown made the
disappointment even worse. She tapped the mattress a couple times. “Up you get.”

He rolled onto his back and flopped onto the pillows. “You’re killing me, Winters.”

There was no point in hoping she’d change her mind. He was simply stalling. He eventually
rose and the ritual resumed in which she helped him dress for war. She handed him an
average dose of the Tranquila Sensus potion and he eagerly drank, feeling the anxiety and
fear neutralize with relief within his body and mind. Tinky arrived to inform them that Blaise
and Nott had arrived downstairs, the agreed meeting point, and Valeria followed Draco to see
them off after getting dressed herself.

Draco was surprised to see that Daphne and Tracey had accompanied their husbands to
Malfoy Manor, but not as surprised as Valeria who happily greeted her friends, particularly
Tracey. If Draco’s emotions hadn’t been so dulled in the moment, he would have reveled in
seeing Valeria smile so much.

“Hope it’s not intruding,” Blaise said. “Daphne thought it might be nice for you ladies to
have some time together while we’re gone.”

Draco knew Blaise was being gentle. Valeria hardly ever admitted it, but he knew each time
he left for some task that she was festering in fear waiting for him. The women were there to
keep each other company through the stress.

“Not at all,” Valeria said.

With a final kiss of farewell Draco left Valeria with her friends, trying all the while to rid his
mind of knowing the suffering he was about to cause.

The latching of the large, double doors of the main entrance of Malfoy Manor echoed
ominously in the foyer, but Valeria ignored it and ushered her friends into a sitting room in
the secure privacy of the North Wing. She had Tinky supply them with food and wine,
lighting a fire in the garishly ornate fireplace to keep them warm. She was particularly
relieved to see Tracey, given how she had become a shut-in.

“What do you two do when they’re gone?” Tracey asked after some small talk.

Valeria raised her glass of wine. “This, but alone.” It was an honest answer, though she would
pace around the house while drinking, usually.

“I sit by the window with all my healing supplies ready to go,” Daphne said, looking down at
the floor.

“Why the window?” Tracey asked.

“In case an owl comes. With news,” Daphne said, taking a deep gulp of wine. Valeria had
been hoping this reunion of friends would have a bit more life to it, to distract her from Draco
being in harm’s way. Nor did she like to linger on what it was like to be a high-ranking Death
Eater’s helpless wife. She had more privilege and power than most, but it was everything else
that she despised about it.

“Theodore makes me sleeping draughts so that he’s back when I wake up in the morning,”
Tracey said.

“That’s kind of him,” Valeria said.

“He says I worry too much,” Tracey said.

“Probably not. How much you worry is relative to the gravity of what you’re afraid of
losing,” Daphne said.

“They’re all strong, intelligent and quite capable wizards,” Valeria said. “I know it’s hard not
to worry, but they know how to do their jobs.” Being Draco Malfoy’s wife meant that she
would sometimes have to lie to herself that certain sentiments were true in order to bring
comfort to others. While the three men were indeed capable, that didn’t mean much given the
amount of danger they were regularly in. There was a lull in the conversation. What else was
there to say? Oddly enough, it was Tracey who seemed most eager for chitchat.

“Who do you think they’d be if they weren’t…Death Eaters?” Tracey asked. Both Daphne
and Valeria gave her an odd, albeit intrigued look. They were silent for a moment before
Daphne burst out laughing.

“Blaise will kill me if I tell you,” Daphne said.

“Well now we have to know,” Valeria insisted with Tracey’s agreement.

“You can’t tell him I told you. You can’t tell Theodore or Draco either.”

“Out with it,” Valeria said.

“He wanted to design robes,” Daphne said.

“Like for fashion?” Tracey asked.

Daphne nodded. “Ever since our fourth year. He had opinions about what people wore to the
Yule Ball.” The other women laughed, not so much mocking Blaise but by how well
designing fashionable garments really would have suited him, as he was known for his
snobbery and critical opinions. What a world that would have been to have him be able to
pursue it. “Alright, I spilled. Your turn, both of you.”

Tracey shrugged. “Theodore said his father wanted him to be a Legislator, but he wanted to
be an artist. He probably would have done what his father wanted if he hadn’t been a Death
Eater, though.”

“Really? He doesn’t strike me as the type with a keen aesthetic eye,” Daphne said.

Tracey laughed, wearing a proud little smile. “Oh, there’s a lot you don’t know about him;
that most people don’t know. He has sketchbooks full of stuff.”
“I could see it. He always liked to brood by himself, scribbling away on parchment,” Valeria
recalled.

“That’s what I liked about him. He was mysterious,” Tracey said. “Your turn. What did Draco
want to be when he grew up?”

“He wanted to be just like his father,” Valeria said with a shrug.

“That’s it?” Tracey asked.

“He wasn’t exactly the most open-minded when he was younger; I’m sure you remember,”
Valeria said.

Tracey perked up. “Remember that time, third year I think, we all pretended to forget it was
his birthday until after dinner in the common room?!” The other ladies burst out laughing too.
So much so that wine nearly came out of Valeria’s nose.

“He was furious!” Valeria said. “God, that was good. He wouldn’t shut up about his birthday
for two weeks straight and then he all thought we forgot. Completely brilliant.”

“So Draco’s the only one of our dear, devoted husbands who had a predictable career goal.
I’m not surprised,” Daphne observed.

“I like predictable. Means I can stay a step ahead of him,” Valeria said with a smirk.

Daphne rolled her eyes with a laugh. “You two were made for each other.”

“It’s weird to think about, isn’t it? We were throwing snowballs at each other a few years ago
and now we’re all married to each other. I’m surprised it’s not more awkward. Isn’t it odd to
marry someone who’s known you since you were an embarrassing teenager?” Tracey
rambled, the wine getting to her.

“I was a teenager,” Valeria said, laughing a little.

“That must have been the worst wedding night ever, Valeria, I’m sorry. At least it worked out
eventually,” Daphne said, trying not to laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, Valeria…” Tracey said suggestively.

Valeria laughed again. There was a lot of laughter in this room tonight, she noticed. “No, we
didn’t do it on the wedding night. It was still horribly awkward. We slept on opposite edges
of the bed and nearly fell off—”

“You didn’t?! We all thought you did! Like some kind of requirement…” Daphne said.

“It was expected, but we didn’t, no. Not until Christmas of that year. Oh, God, I don’t think I
ever told you how I thought I was pregnant for a week or so back in school—”
“You what?!” Tracey said.

“It was an absolute mess,” Valeria said, cringing at the memory, but stopping to reflect a
moment. “Before all that, I was so sure it would work out one way, and then life just shoved
me, shoved us all, in the opposite direction.”

“Remember Pansy’s prediction of who everyone would end up with? What was that, like
third year?” Tracey said after a moment of silent agreement.

“Oh, god that was funny. She was having some tiff with Millicent and declared in her roster
that Millicent would end up a cranky, old spinster. Weren’t you paired with Pucey, I was with
Warrington for some goddamn reason and Valeria was matched with Nott!” Daphne said.

Tracey nearly spit out her wine trying to subdue a laugh. “I just can’t understand the logic!”

“And then the boys avoided us like the plague after she put it out for everyone to see
anyway!” Valeria said.

“And she put herself with Draco, of course. Not that she was subtle about liking him at the
time. I would have paid good money to see those two have a proper go at a relationship,”
Daphne said.

“They would have killed each other sooner rather than later,” Valeria said with a sort of sad
reminiscence. There was another long pause, each woman waiting for the other to think of
something appropriate to say.

“I miss her,” Tracey finally said quietly.

“She could be a real bitch sometimes, lots of the time, but I miss her. She didn’t deserve that.
No one does,” Daphne said.

“I’m happy Goyle is dead,” Valeria said sternly. “I just wish he had suffered longer.”

The women continued talking, reminiscing about the joys and blunders of their adolescent
years. They kept drinking to take the edge off, to try and find some distracting relief from the
worries that always privately plagued them when their husbands were off on dark tasks.
There was still some life in them left, some laughter, some dark maze through which they
could navigate and find some comfort.

But there was no comfort for Ginny Weasley that night. She sat up in the near darkness of the
Burrow’s living area, fiddling with her wand to give her hands something to do. J.D.,
whoever he or she was, had warned her about this night and she had made quick work of
getting Neville, Seamus and Teddy out. Molly was beside herself when the young men took
Teddy to stay with McGonagall, but there was no way they could care for the besotted,
confused boy while on the run themselves. The men had chosen not to tell Ginny where they
were going so as not to endanger her. She knew it was for the best, but she worried all the
same.
Her chest rose and fell in pain as her heart thumped so hard that it began to ache. Every
sound of the house shifting or an animal scurrying about outside made her jump. She tried to
hope. She felt guilty at the immense relief she felt not to have people hiding in the makeshift
cellar nor having to care for a naïve child anymore. But she knew all too well how this could
not be good. She didn’t know what she was waiting for. Was she awaiting a way out or was
she waiting to die? What was the difference in the end?

She found a moment to catch her breath. To take a long, deep inhale, the deepest breath she
had taken in years. For a moment she felt in control, like she could navigate whatever was
about to come.

Then every window on the first floor of the burrow shattered.

Gripping her wand in hand, Ginny jumped out of the way of the broken glass only to see
fractions of a second later the entire dim house fill with the darkness of a magical thick, dark
smoke. She could hear her mother screaming upstairs and Ginny tried to feel her way to the
staircase, calling out for her mother when she felt her wand fly out of her hand and two arms
reach around her entire body to hold her in place.

“Cooperate and no one has to get hurt,” her captor said. She knew that voice and her heart
fell only to be filled with murderous rage to feel Draco Malfoy’s grip around her. “Find the
mother! Be sure she’s unharmed!”

“NO!” Ginny screamed, struggling all the more. But Draco was bigger, stronger and she had
grown weaker in her physical and mental exhaustion. His hold on her did not loosen and she
could hear Molly scream out for her as commotion rang through the house. “TAKE ME!
WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?! WHAT ARE—WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH HER!?”

“We’re taking her to Malfoy Manor,” Draco said calmly. She tried to strike him, but she was
unable to.

“I told you to cooperate,” Draco spat near her ear.

“FUCK YOU!”

Suddenly, Molly’s screaming stopped, and Ginny could hear more commotion drawing nearer
as she herself continued to cry out for her mother.

“We have her, Malfoy! We’re ready!” said another familiar male voice just outside the
Burrow.

“Remember, Malfoy Manor,” Draco whispered calmly before releasing Ginny. Ginny whirled
around in the smokey darkness, swinging her arms at where Draco stood, but her fists
met with nothing. He was gone as quickly as he came. The smoke began to lift, and she saw
the mess the Death Eaters had left behind. She darted for the door as soon as she could see it
again, but there was no one outside. They were all gone.

She cried out for her mother as angry, sorrowful tears filled her eyes, wailing into the night
futilely. As it dawned on her that Molly was gone, she felt her legs shake so hard with fear
and grief that they gave out from under her, and sharp pain radiated up from her knees as they
hit the ground hard.

Draco had tried to arrive in the foyer of Malfoy Manor with the others, and their captive, as
quietly as possible, but that was easier said than done. The apparition of him, Nott and Blaise
with an incapacitated Molly Weasley had been far louder than he wanted and echoed off the
smooth stone walls of the entrance hall. Draco knew his parents were far off and asleep in
their own wing of the Manor, Odessa as well. He hoped the women were too distracted with
catching up to notice.

But when he heard the clacking of hard soled shoes approach, he resisted the urge to curse
aloud. He knew those were Valeria’s steps and had he not been so mired in this situation
would have reflected on how easily he could recognize her steps just from sound alone. He
turned as she walked under an archway, her face full of relief at first but contorting in
confused anger as soon as she saw Blaise and Nott levitate Molly’s alive, but unconscious
body.

“Take her to the cellar. The elf cleared a spot for her there,” Draco ordered, and the two men
followed his order without another word, avoiding Valeria’s gaze.

“Draco, what in the fuck—” Valeria began as she marched over, and he noticed a slight
misstep in her gait and her words somewhat slurred. She smelled of wine as she came close.

“You’re drunk, go back to the others,” he said, but that was futile as he should have known.

“The Weasley woman!?”

“It’s only temporary—”

“I told you that there’d be no prisoners—!”

“It’s just a small part of a plan and I’ve accounted for everything—” he began. She began to
sway a little and he grabbed her forearms as to steady her.

“No prisoners in my goddamn house!”

“My house, remember?!” Draco said through his teeth. He knew he shouldn’t have said it, but
this was the last thing he needed right now. “We need to bring Weasley and Granger into the
open. This was the only way to do it without bloodshed. Once we have them, she’ll be
returned home. No harm will come to her, we’re just storing her—”

“You’re ‘storing her’??? Do you even hear yourself?!”

“Stop shouting!”

“Take her to Azkaban then!”

“If Weasley and Granger show up to rescue her, I want to get to them first. This is just a trap,
Valeria—”

“Just a trap?! What is wrong with—”

He tightened his grip on her, not so much as to pain her, and brought her close to his face.
“What’s wrong with me is that I’m once again stuck with cleaning up your mess! You’re the
one who let Weasley and the Mudblood walk free and I have to fix it because we’re both
dead if anyone finds out, remember?!”

Valeria didn’t respond, but he could see how upset she was. The potion she gave him still
lingered and while he felt numb, she still stirred his emotions enough for him to recognize
guilt within himself. He remembered Luna Lovegood’s captivity here and all the trouble it
caused. He could only pray that wouldn’t happen again.

He inhaled. “Weasley won’t be able to stay in hiding long once word of this gets out. It will
be over soon, I promise. I just need you, I really need you, to stay out of this at all costs. Do
not go down there. Do not talk to her. Do not even think about her. I’ll block the way for you
if I have to. Understood?”

Valeria nodded. She wouldn’t even look at him.

“Go back to Daphne and Tracey. Don’t tell them what you saw.”

MOLLY WEASLEY CAPTURED

Some three nights ago, the 2nd Tier Death Eater Regiment captured Molly Weasley, known
blood traitor and member of the Order of the Phoenix in both the first and second Wizarding
Wars. When reached out to for comment on the nature of her crimes warranting capture, Mr.
Draco Malfoy, Commander of the Regiment, said “I’m afraid I cannot disclose the details of
the matter at this time. This is a very serious situation that requires the utmost care and
discretion as we proceed with our thorough investigation.”

Serious indeed as Mrs. Weasley, mother and wife to many terrorists who assisted Harry
Potter in the Great Rebellion, including the late Ronald Weasley, is currently being held in
Malfoy Manor and not in Azkaban Prison. However, we can be sure that this is in the best of
hands under Mr. Malfoy’s leadership, as he has proven time and time again.

NEW REQUIREMENTS FOR WANDLESS ANNOUNCED

The Department of Purity has issued a statement announcing the new requirements for all
Wandless, that being those who possess stolen magic and cannot prove blood pedigree, to
present themselves to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for
examination. All those found out of compliance with this order will be subject to severe
disciplinary action and citizens of the Wizarding World are encouraged to report any failures
to comply.

The Department of Purity would also like to extend its gratitude to Mrs. Draco Malfoy for
lending her expertise to this new program.

Ink blotches stained the pages of The Daily Prophet over the articles which were suspiciously
situated side by side. Ginny’s hands were covered in ink from the hours she had spent
ceaselessly writing in the blank book J.D. had sent to her, asking him for help, for answers.
She had no idea what to believe. Surely, Draco Malfoy was not to be trusted, but neither was
the paper. Her mind had reeled for days assuming all the worst possibilities, lamenting just
how spectacularly she failed to protect the last of her family. She heard from no one; not
McGonagall, not Seamus or Neville either. She had never felt so alone. So abandoned. So
helpless.

Ginny had the windows open, which she had easily enough magically repaired. She found the
cold breeze kept her awake when exhaustion threatened to take her. She knew it would only
make the sorry state of her worsen, perhaps even grow ill, but she couldn’t risk sleeping too
much for fear of missing some solution, clue or event that would provide her an answer or
some assurance to act.

Her heart stopped cold when she heard voices outside. Hushed voices, mumbling to each
other and slowly approaching by the sound of it. She lunged across the table for her wand and
dared not go to the window, pressing her back up against a wall across from the door to the
house. Breathing quickly, nearly panting, she raised it, this time ready to strike whoever
dared enter. She could not discern what the voices were saying, nor could she properly hear
them over the sound of her belabored breath.

The knob began to turn, they must have magically unlocked the door. Ginny kicked herself
for being so distracted as to not think to learn better security charms. The door opened
swiftly, and the evening light of sunset filled the dim room.

“STOP!” Ginny shouted, trying to steady her trembling arm.

“Ginny…?”

Ginny’s breath hitched. She knew that voice, but it was impossible. Surely it was not
possible. Her eyes adjusted to the new light and she saw standing there the tall, lanky figure
and messy red hair of her dead brother, Ron.

“Is this a joke?! What do you people want from me?!”

Ron, or whoever this person was pretending to be Ron, stepped in followed by Hermione, her
hair shorter but still as wild and curly as she remembered. Hermione shut the door quickly
behind her and raised her hands to signal she was unarmed.

“WHO ARE YOU!?” Ginny screamed through tears.

“Ginny…It’s me…” said Ron, his voice cracking through his own tears.

“My brothers are dead!”

“We made it out, Ginny. I swear it’s us—” Hermione said.

“PROVE IT! When did Harry first kiss me!?” Ginny demanded.

A moment of silence preceded Ron’s answer. “Gryffindor common room. Your fifth year.”

“After Gryffindor won that Quidditch match. Ginny, please. We know this is a shock, but…
it’s us.”

Ginny was reeling, shaking harder than ever before, she lowered her wand and took them in,
staring at them across the room in shock and confusion; a cocktail of emotions that her
frazzled mind could not even begin to fathom. But she could move. She took off at a run
towards Ron and collapsed in his arms as they embraced each other, weeping. Sobbing so
hard she could hardly breathe, she let out years’ worth of sorrow in his comforting grip.
 Reflections
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mild consensual sexual content. Description/discussion of

death. Magical violence. Kidnapping. Graphic descriptions of violence. Blood. Alcohol.

This is so long, I'm sorry. I will fix what errors I missed as soon as I can!

May 1999

There was a spot in London that to a passing Muggle appeared to be nothing more than an
old, long forgotten warehouse. But thanks to the massive rebuilding efforts in the wizarding
world after the war and the Dark Lord’s propaganda machine, the interior had been magically
turned into a glorious opera house that seemed too big to fit in the size and shape of the
building.

That’s where Draco and Valeria found themselves tonight, the anniversary of the Dark Lord’s
victory, tucked away in some box seat in the mezzanine. Fortunately, they were in their own
box. The elder Malfoys were elsewhere, and Odessa was enjoying watching the opera with
other influential people, as could have been predicted. It was only the third act of a five-act
monstrosity of an opera entitled Magic is Might, putting the Second Wizarding War on stage
and Draco and Valeria were already a bottle and a half of champagne in.

“The one playing me is a twat,” Draco grumbled. It was the big mid-point of the opera,
glorifying Draco’s ingenuity of smuggling Death Eaters into the school. The actor in question
was in the middle of a melodramatic aria about how proud this fictionalized Draco was to
serve the Dark Lord in the name of the girl he loved. Valeria would have been laughing at
how ludicrous it all was if she had not lived it herself, but the energy of the audience told her
that the others watching this nonsense were eating it up. She thought she heard a fellow
audience member sniffling in tears at how moving it was.

“I really hate operas in English,” Valeria said with a sigh, shuffling through the playbill.
“Who wrote this shit? I plan on writing a strongly worded review for The Prophet.”

Draco scoffed. “I can just kill them. Hell, I thought about killing the ones playing Potter and
me during that bathroom duel duet.”

“I wouldn’t advise it, considering we’re guests of honor,” she said. That duel duet was more
terrible than Draco implied. This version of Harry Potter was warped into a comically false
Machiavellian villain, hellbent on usurping the Dark Lord’s place as the most powerful dark
wizard to ever have lived, fooling both his friends and foes into thinking he was a good-
hearted hero.

“Pretty sure the one playing you is wearing the worst wig I’ve ever seen. You’d think with all
the magical special effects they’re using, they could master a simple hair charm,” Draco said.
Valeria scoffed at that. Valeria’s character depiction was more or less a damsel in constant
distress and the love interest of Draco. She had a big solo after the scene of Draco’s maiming
in the bathroom at the hands of Potter which made the real Valeria far too uncomfortable.
Was this how the world saw her now; as a pathetically powerless romantic interest? Were
they right?

“Looks like they’re going to show our wedding. That will be fun to relive,” Valeria said,
noting a song in the playbill entitled A Marriage of Pure Hearts and Pure Blood. Terrible
title, to Valeria’s mind. Draco rolled his eyes and put his hand on Valeria’s knee. He was not
entirely subtle as his hand migrated up her thigh as he leaned towards her.

“We could always skip that part,” he whispered.

“I don’t think we could sneak out, go home and return without being noticed,” Valeria said in
scolding tone.

“I didn’t say we had to go home.”

“You aren’t actually suggesting—”

“Why not? Neither of us want to see this shit anyway.”

“Because the whole reason we’re here is to watch this shit and doing…what you’re
suggesting in public is low, even for you. What if we were caught?”

“Who cares?”

“I do!” she hissed.

“Snape says I’m being groomed to take over for him someday. If I have that kind of power,
we might as well do something enjoyable with it. No one’s going to notice or care and I
doubt the Dark Lord would off us for that during a stupid play that he didn't even care to
show up for. And look at that, we’re out of champagne. We can grab a bottle on the way
back.”

“What has gotten into you?”

He leaned in a little closer. “I’m drunk. I’m bored and I’m not interested in reliving this,” he
said nodding towards the stage. At a moment when the performers were singing loud and the
orchestral music swelled, Draco grabbed her hand and got her to her feet, leading her out of
their box and into the empty, ornately decorated corridor. Standing up made her realize just
how much the champagne had gotten to her, and he she had to stop herself from giggling as
Draco led her through the magnificent halls of the opera house.
Even the washroom was beautifully lit with marble floors and that is where Draco magically
secured the door and they indulged themselves up against a wall. Valeria would have never
pictured herself doing something so classless, but Draco perhaps had a point. He had a
certain degree of power, privileging him in the new social structure, and what little liberties
they did have should be enjoyed if this was what life was going to be. Besides, sitting
through that show was miserable, only tolerable while inebriated, and Valeria welcomed the
distraction so as not to linger on having the worst years of her young life fashioned into
voyeuristic spectacle.

And it was a fine insult to the regime that entrapped them, that demanded their union and all
that came with it. If there was any relief to be found, she’d take it, even if it was just a small
piece of obscene rebellion in a washroom. They did not linger when finished, and Draco led
her around once more in a haze of wine and post-intimacy euphoria up to the Premiere
Lounge where important patrons mingled before curtain and during intermissions.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but the lounge isn’t available while the show is still—” a young employee by
the door said as they approached.

“Yet my wife, Mrs. Malfoy, is feeling unwell and would like a place to rest,” Draco said
sternly and Valeria, following his lead, at least attempted to feign ill. The employee’s eyes
widened in realization at the sound of the Malfoy name and immediately opened the door to
them.

“Of course, sir. My apologies—”

Draco led Valeria in without another word and once they were safely and privately enclosed
within, he immediately went behind the bar area to grab another bottle of champagne that had
been kept cold with magic.

“Told you this is where they keep the good stuff,” he said, using a charm to uncork it with a
satisfying popping sound. He took a deep drink straight from the bottle and handed it to her.

“You don’t think we’ve had enough?”

“To get through another hour and a half at least of the show? No. I’d say we’re far too sober
at the moment,” Draco said.

Judgement already impaired, Valeria drank too, flopping down to recline on a sofa. “You
know we’re going to have to talk to some reporter about our thoughts on the opera when it’s
over.”

“Let’s practice then,” Draco said before clearing his throat to put on a mocking voice. “Mrs.
Malfoy, you are looking lovely as always. I must say I’m pleasantly surprised to see that your
hair has not parted from your scalp with how tight these new styles have you ladies putting
your hair up. Simply miraculous. Tell me, ma’am, what was your favorite part of the play?
Was it when Harry Potter forced you to live in a chicken coup at the Weasley hovel or when
you sang the shrillest, ten-minute aria in operatic history about how much you loved Mr.
Malfoy?”
Valeria nearly spit out the champagne. “My favorite song was Draco’s solo, Hogwarts and its
Mudbloods. It certainly was the most accurate song for his teenage years.”

“You’re cruel to me, Winters.”

“So very cruel to indulge your perversions in public,” she said sarcastically.

“You enjoyed it just as much as I did, don’t try to lie,” he said with a smirk. “Your legs were
shaking.”

“Just trying to balance in these shoes,” she teased.

“Lying will get you in trouble again, Winters.”

“I’m afraid we haven’t the time and I am far too drunk. We’ll be missed soon. We should
head back.”

“If you insist, but we’re taking this with us,” Draco said, grabbing yet another bottle of
champagne. They said no word to the bewildered lounge employee and took their sweet time
getting back to their box seats, passing the opened bottle back and forth as they went. They
were so relaxed at this point that they were basically meandering the corridors as if they were
on a leisurely stroll. Draco entertained himself by poorly singing, in a faux-operatic voice,
the worst lyrics from the previous songs of the opera.

As they approached the door to their box, Valeria stopped in her tracks.

“What?”

“That’s The Centaur’s Waltz,” she said. Draco stopped to listen through the door and sure
enough, she was right.

“Our wedding song,” he mused aloud as he realized. Their lighthearted mood of naughty
spontaneity lifted, and it was back to reality once more. A reality in which their miserable
wedding day was romanticized as a glorious celebration of joy and love.

“We can just wait until it’s over,” Valeria said. Draco set the bottle down on the floor and
took her hand, bowing low.

“May I have a dance?”

“You’re obnoxious.”

“I’d rather dance with you now than sit here and endure hearing that damn song, imaging
those two imbecile actors fucking it up. Come on. Indulge me one more time.”

And indulge him she did. In that empty corridor, making a complete mess of an elegant
waltz. They moved too quickly for the song’s meter and the turns made Valeria border on
nausea, but she laughed anyway. Their faces were flushed, their words slurred and their
movement sloppy. And it was the most fun either of them had in a long time. Even when
Draco tripped on the hem of her long robes, causing them both to fall to the ground in a
drunken heap, they still laughed.

When they eventually made it back to their seats, Valeria found herself falling asleep on
Draco’s shoulder in her drunken boredom. The next morning, the paper reported that Mrs.
Malfoy was so moved by the profundity of the opera that she wept into her husband’s
shoulder.

April 2003

Ginny desperately wanted to know everything, once the shock of seeing Ron and Hermione,
who she firmly believed to be dead, settled some. There was unfortunately no time, as Ron
and Hermione insisted, as they only had revealed themselves for the sake of their mother,
Molly.

“Well, this is the most obvious trap I’ve ever seen,” Hermione said, rereading The Daily
Prophet’s article about Molly’s capture.

“You really think she’s being held at Malfoy Manor?” Ron asked.

“That’s what Malfoy said, multiple times, when they took her. That’s all I know,” Ginny
replied.

“Even if she isn’t being held there, Ron…It’s going to be practically impossible to get her
back—”

“We escaped Malfoy Manor before—”

“Only because of Dobby and he’s dead. So is everyone who could possibly help us,”
Hermione said.

“Seamus and Neville are still alive. They’re in hiding though and I wasn’t supposed to know
where. But they have a plan, at least we were forming one before—”

“A plan? You knew mum would be taken?”

“Not about mum,” Ginny said. “The Ministry. They want to attack the Department of Purity
—”

“What?!” Hermione and Ron said in unison.

“I have some of Valeria Malfoy’s hair, got it from Terry Boot who’s been helping me make
Polyjuice Potion to sneak us in. He got a few other hairs when he dropped off his marriage
paperwork—”

“Ginny, you can’t do this,” Ron said.

“What else would you have me do? That’s where all the records on who’s pureblood and who
isn’t are held. I’m barely scraping by here as it is, which you would know if you hadn’t
abandoned mum and me—!”

“It wasn’t our choice!” Ron shouted.

“If we don’t do something, those of us left are going to be married off or worse and I’d rather
die fighting for what’s right than have that happen. They almost married me off to Goyle!”

“Goyle?” Hermione asked, cringing in disgust.

“Yeah,” Ginny said. “At least until he kicked it after that Malfoy Christmas party, or so the
papers said. I don’t know what to believe in them anymore…”

“That’s convenient. Good riddance. Maybe there is still someone on our side…” Ron said,
calming after hearing how his own sister was to be wed to a monster like Goyle.

“A little too convenient,” Hermione said, picking up the paper again. “It says Valeria was
helping the Department of Purity, something to do with these new regulations for
Muggleborns. Maybe that’s why she needed the basilisk fangs—”

“How do you know she was after them? She and Malfoy roughed me up thinking I had some.
Don’t know where they got that idea. Fucking morons,” Ginny said.

Hermione bit her lip. “There’s only so much we can tell you, I’m sorry, Ginny. When we
arrived back to Britain, we went to the Winters castle. Years ago, Valeria had written us an
invitation, letting us take refuge there whenever we needed. Only, she happened to be there
when we arrived and was going to hand us over, but gave us a head start in exchange for me
telling her where to find the fangs.”

“And now she’s gone and told Malfoy all about it. Hence why he’s hunting us down,” Ron
said.

“And he’ll keep trying,” Hermione said. “All those attacks on safe-houses, all the new travel
restrictions, they’re all him trying to find us.”

“Why would Valeria let you go in the first place? You don’t know what she’s like anymore
—”

“Oh, I think we got the idea when we ran into her…” Ron said with a sneer.

“But the thing is, she didn’t remember the invitation, Ginny. I think Snape messed with her
memories again.”

“Again?” Ginny asked.

“We told you about it in the Room of Requirement, right before the battle, remember? Snape
erased her memories of wanting to help us. This time, she didn’t remember getting us out of
the battle after—after Harry…” Hermione said, but the sound of Harry’s name made Ginny’s
heart choke for a second. “It was her, Ginny. Valeria forced us out of Hogwarts with the
Imperius Curse and through the vanishing cabinet, which she destroyed so we couldn’t get
back.”

“Why wouldn’t she save herself?”

“She never would have left without Malfoy,” Ron said with a frustrated sigh.

“Even if all that is true, it doesn’t matter. She’s definitely not on our side now, not that I think
she ever was. She’s killed people, she killed Luna’s dad…She’s a monster. The only person
helping me is the one who gave me this damn book, but I haven’t the faintest idea—” Ginny
said.

“Book?” Hermione asked. Ginny rifled through the things on the table and handed the book
from the mysterious J.D. to Hermione.

“It’s like Tom Riddle’s diary. A way to communicate across distance. J.D. will send me notes
sometimes. Warnings, usually. He sent me this and told me to get the others out and that I
was being watched. He hasn’t written in a while, but I’ve been trying to get a hold of him
constantly.”

“Don’t tell him, or her, that we’re here,” Ron said quickly, panicked.

“I won’t,” Ginny said, aggravated.

“I don’t know if you should keep this, Ginny. It could be an elaborate trap. Some kind of
double agent trying to get information—”

“I know!” Ginny shouted. “But whoever they are, they’re the only one who’s given me
anything resembling help. What the hell would you have me do!?”

“Enough!” Ron said. “None of this matters if we can’t get mum out of Malfoy Manor.”

Perhaps a part of all three of them; Ron, Hermione and Ginny, knew that this was for naught
but were too unwilling to accept the inevitable. When Ron insisted on going to the Burrow
after learning of his mother’s capture, there was maybe a small speck of his soul that knew
that doing so would seal his fate. His insistence, his urge to reunite with his family after
grueling years of brutal homesickness and mourning, was maybe just so he could see his own
flesh and blood one last time.

In honor of this, Draco stood far off, but still in sight of the Burrow. He had been checking
each night since Molly Weasley’s capture and now that his prey was in sight, he had given
the others; Snape, Blaise and Theodore, a precise time to arrive, all so he could have some
contemplative silence in his observation of the Burrow. Draco had always been impressively
intuitive. He always knew exactly where to hurt someone most from his schoolyard bullying
days to this moment. He could read people, quickly and easily, when his head was clear. So,
he knew from the first that capturing Molly would prompt Weasley and Granger to seek
Ginny out, against their better judgements. It was cruel, he knew, to give them a little hope, a
little taste of the life they could have had, only to rip it from their grasps, but it was either this
or an exhaustive cat and mouse game that risked dooming them all.
“You’re earlier than usual.”

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. Snape had a horribly aggravating habit of sneaking up
on people.

“This is important. I wanted to be prepared,” Draco replied as Snape took a place by Draco’s
side in the darkness.

“Why wait?”

“For Nott and Zabini, of course,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

“I mean why not surprise them immediately. Don’t give them a chance to escape or hatch a
plot,” Snape said. Oddly enough, Snape’s tone was more curious than critical, which made
Draco uneasy.

“I wanted to wait until they had their guard their down. Once they’ve had enough time to
relax just a little; think that we won’t attack tonight, that’s when we’ll strike,” Draco
explained.

“I see,” Snape said with ambivalence. Perhaps he knew Draco was lying, but Draco didn’t
care as long as Weasley and Granger were securely captured. “And you’ll be delivering
Molly back?”

“Once Granger’s at St. Mungo’s and Weasley’s secure in Azkaban, yes,” Draco said.

“Why not hold her?”

“The woman’s pathetic and half-mad, she’s useless to us and I don’t need anything else to
worry about in my house. Not to mention, Valeria has made it quite clear that she’s opposed
to the house being used as a prison.”

“Are you not in command of your own home?” Snape asked. Draco resented Snape’s
implication and shot him an indignant look.

“Says the man who’s never been married,” Draco spat. Draco checked his watch, Blaise and
Theodore were due any moment. He swallowed down a vial of Tranquila Sensus that Valeria
had given him. His heartbeat calmed as a numbing feeling of cold ran down his spine and
through his veins. The other distracting thoughts, his annoyance at Snape’s grating
comments, left him and he was relieved to only care about accomplishing this task.

The men all went over the plan one final time after Theodore and Nott arrived, just before
donning the masks as a ceremonial part of their uniform. They were slow on their approach
to the Burrow, but once close enough, transfigured themselves into clouds of black, wispy
smoke, breaking through the windows to the sounds of screams as spells started flying all
around.

But the fight was brief. Draco had indeed caught them all off guard, the Weasleys and
Granger too caught up in the urgency of their emotions to have anticipated the attack. Ginny
was quickly stunned into unconsciousness while Blaise and Theodore secured Granger.
Snape disarmed Ron and magically secured him to a kitchen chair so he was unable to move.
Draco came to Snape’s side, stepping over broken glass, splintered wood and other such
debris that littered the floor after the fight.

There was no fear in Ron’s eyes, to Draco’s surprise, only insolence and rage.

“At least take the mask off and face me like a man, you fucking coward,” Ron said. Draco
obliged and watched as Ron’s battered face twisted in hatred at the sight of Draco’s smirk.

“Where’s my mum!?”

“Bit rude not to even say ‘hello,’ isn’t it Weasley? Though I don’t suppose etiquette was a
skill you were taught in this house, by the looks of it,” Draco said before turning to Nott and
Zabini. “You know what to do, gentlemen.” Without a word, they took a limp and
unconscious Hermione away in a billowing cloud of black smoke while Ron cried out her
name.

“WHERE ARE YOU TAKING HER?!”

“That’s not for you to know, Weasley,” Draco said, picking up Hermione’s discarded wand.
“Should I destroy it?” Snape, still masked and staying silent, shook his head. “Right. The
Department of Purity will want a record of this.” Draco turned and approached Ron. “Not to
worry, Weasley. This will be quick.”

“Don’t listen to him!” Ron said to Snape, not knowing his true identity. “He’s covering for
himself. His wife already discovered us, but let us escape—!”

Draco started laughing and Ron’s face went pale. “He already knows, Weasley. You really
think I hadn’t planned this out? God, you’re predictable. In fact, that’s why he’s here.” Draco
gestured for Snape to step forward. “You know what to do.”

Before Ron could respond, Snape had already aimed his wand and cast the spell in question,
rifling through Ron’s memories and snuffing out those that would be most dangerous to
Draco and Valeria. It was quick, easy work, and unbeknownst to Draco, Snape purposely
didn’t linger to investigate what else Ron and Hermione had been up to over the years. Snape
relaxed when he was finished.

“Find out anything important in there?” Draco asked Snape, who only shook his head in the
negative. “Now that you aren’t a danger to me anymore, it’s time to say goodbye to your
home and your sister. Sorry she’s unconscious. It’s the thought that counts though, isn’t it?”

“Why…?” Ron mumbled in confusion after having his mind violated. “What did you do…?
Why didn’t you do it to Hermione…?”

“The Mudblood has much bigger problems to worry about. She’s not my concern anymore,”
Draco said.

“You really haven’t changed. Still the same vile, sniveling little shit—”
“In some ways, I guess I’m just as predictable as you, Weasley, though far less pathetic. I just
chose the right side.”

“You didn’t choose this, you forced this on all of us when you gave Harry to him! How does
your wife feel about what you’ve done, Malfoy? I’ve seen the bloody newspapers. How does
she like being who you forced her to be!?”

Draco calmly cast the Cruciatus Curse on Ron, letting him cry out in a blood curdling scream
for a few seconds before relenting. “If you mention my wife again, I will kill your mum,
who’s still in my cellar remember? I’ll send her head to Azkaban to rot in a cell with you, if
you like—”

“DROP DEAD!”

Draco laughed. “Like Potter? You’re the one who brought him up, after all, so how would
you like to hear the story of how he dropped dead? I expected so much more, after enduring
all the years of bullshit about his legend. But he died unceremoniously, pathetically, and then
the Dark Lord toyed with his corpse like a puppet. Quite amusing. You know, I’d say that the
spectacle of Potter’s corpse burning in the Great Hall and melting away to ash was more
entertaining than the manner in which he died. The smell, though, was a bit oppressive—”

Ron was shaking in rage, tears in his bloodshot eyes as Draco spoke. “He was ten times the
man you will ever be.”

“Perhaps he could have been. But we’ll never know. And you don’t have much longer left to
live, I reckon, so it’s a bit of a moot point.”

“You’ll pay for it, Malfoy. You’ll pay for every damn thing you’ve ever done—”

“So will you, and sooner than me. And at least I won’t die with the guilt that I led the woman
I loved onto a path that could only end one way. I built a life for her, for us. The same can’t
be said for you.” Ron was trying not to weep at the mention of Hermione and Draco spoke
with such a callous casualness that cut Ron somewhere deep. “Well, as fun as this reunion
has been, Weasley, it’s time to go.”

DRACO MALFOY PROMOTED

To the great shock of the Wizarding World, known close associates of Harry Potter, Ronald
Weasley and (Mudblood) Hermione Granger, have been discovered to have survived the
Battle of Hogwarts. However, the world can sigh a breath of relief knowing that these
terrorists have been captured and are currently being held, pending thorough investigation.

For this wonderful news, we have Mr. Draco Malfoy to thank. At the young age of seventeen,
Mr. Malfoy secured the safety of the Wizarding World by personally capturing and delivering
Harry Potter to the latter’s defeat. Now, years later, out of love for the Dark Lord and the
world he has built for us, Mr. Malfoy has finished the job he began all those years ago. The
 Dark Lord himself has reportedly sung Mr. Malfoy’s praises and promoted him as a reward
for his ingenious effort in discovering the terrorists were alive and securing their capture.

Humble as ever, Mr. Malfoy stated, “I was just as surprised to discover these two fugitives
were still alive and, knowing the danger they posed to our world and our people, saw it
simply as my solemn duty to ensure they were apprehended. I am honored by the Dark Lord’s
recognition and look forward to serving him in a greater capacity.”

Though he did not make mention of past events, it is fair to assume that this arrest is deeply
personal and a great relief to Mr. Malfoy. Along with Harry Potter, both Granger and
Weasley were directly involved in the kidnapping of Mrs. Draco Malfoy during the height of
the Second Wizarding War, firmly cementing all three culprits as the vilest of war criminals. It
is certainly a wonderful blessing for the Malfoy family, and for our world, that these
monsters will be brought to justice thanks to the Dark Lord’s love and care for all who follow
him.

Valeria rolled her eyes at the article, though she found it curious that her memories of her
kidnapping were so foggy. She remembered it, and subsequent events, as if someone else had
told her about it; like remembering someone else’s memories, and even then it was so murky
that she could not honestly say one way or another what the real truth was of the events.
Though it hardly mattered now as she took a brave step into the drawing room, the same
room in which her alleged kidnapping took place.

She had not been in this room since that day. The day Bellatrix Lestrange graced Valeria’s
face with the scar that everyone saw but no one dared to mention and the room in which
Valeria nearly murdered Lestrange in turn before Draco stopped her from finishing the job.
Valeria found that most unfortunate, though certainly the Dark Lord would not have suffered
his most loyal servant murdered by a teenage girl he had all but sold to Draco in marriage.
The thought of finally getting to kill Bellatrix filled her with anticipation. Perhaps she’d do it
in this room. That would be apt and Valeria found the morbid fantasy poetic. Though she
would have to bide her time. Killing random dissidents, even in mercy, or the likes of Goyle,
the Dark Lord barely batted an eye. He valued the devotion of those like Goyle, certainly, but
he greatly valued intellect, shrewdness and martial skill. None of which Goyle had. She
couldn’t get away with killing Bellatrix quite yet.

But her destination was not this room, but the cellar below it, famous for housing the Malfoy
family’s darkest secrets. Valeria had not been down there since she had personally delivered
Jane Masters to her doom. Valeria swore up and down when the war ended that she would not
step foot in either place, but when Draco had arranged for Molly Weasley to be delivered,
unharmed, back to the Burrow, Valeria had spied from a distance and was shocked that Molly
did not want to leave the cellar. In fact, the woman begged to be locked up once more, even
crying out for her sons and her husband, all of whom but Ron were dead.

Valeria had to see for herself.

She carefully descended the cellar stairs and with a cold, shaking hand opened the door.
Illuminating her wand in the darkness, she passed rows and stacks of objects, each awaiting
their opportunity to be used for dark purposes. But it was toward one of the walls Valeria
went and with a flick of her wand, the thick cover on the grand mirror drooped to the floor.

She saw nothing but herself at first, rather unimpressive. Valeria took a more confident step
forward and saw her reflection grow larger, as if it were also stepping up to meet her. Hazily
at first, then coming in clear, like wiping wet fog from a window, she saw herself change. Her
reflection smiled and her face bore no scar. Her long brown hair cascaded down, rather than
be tightly bound in the modest updo of the day’s fashion standards. She was dressed in fine
clothing, but not so stuffy and high-collared as the real Valeria’s garb. The reflection smiled
kindly and to her side came Odessa, the real Valeria peered around the cellar to find she was
still alone. Odessa looked at this non-corporeal Valeria with more pride than the true Valeria
had ever seen her mother gaze at her with, a realization that struck Valeria to the core.

Odessa was followed by her husband, Hieronymus, who appeared from a blur to sharp clarity
in all his finery. A stoic and proud man in life, he had his moments of tenderness that Valeria
still treasured. This was a fantasy of one of those moments, judging by the kind look in his
eyes. Stepping to the false Valeria’s other side was none other than her brother, Konstantin,
and the actual Valeria nearly jumped backward at the sight of seeing him alive, for the last
she saw him was while weeping and looking into the dead eyes of his corpse. Tall and
smirking, he had in hand a thick book with ornate bindings and while its title was obscured,
the author line clearly read, Valeria T. Winters in golden lettering.

Finally, a head of white-blond hair came into view and this unreal Draco took his place at her
side. The two false images looked at each other briefly, taking each other’s hands, and
smiling with endearing affection before turning back to face the real Valeria. Draco was
dressed well, and he was far less rigid than Valeria now knew him to be. There was a flicker
of arrogant mischief in his eyes still, a look Valeria missed dearly now. The toll of being the
ambassador of death and suffering did not afflict this version of Draco.

So this is what Molly Weasley was begging to be returned to. No doubt she must have seen
her lost relatives in this glass. The poor woman was so far gone that she would have rather be
captive in an impossible fantasy than free in the cruel reality. Valeria could understand that to
a degree, but happiness was no relief to her where hopelessness reigned. The images in the
mirror blurred, but only because her eyes were welling with shocked tears.

“I didn’t think I’d have to warn you.”

Valeria whipped around, having been so distracted that she didn’t hear Draco come down nor
approach. He was standing in his traveling clothes, notably far enough back as to not be taken
in by the mirror.

“You never come down here, so I didn’t think I’d have to tell you the details of that thing.
Tinky said you were here and since you have such strong feelings…I got concerned. You
alright?”

She nodded, trying to shake her painful thoughts from the forefront of her mind. “Fine. Have
you…looked?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Draco said with a sigh.

“What did you see?”

He averted his gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it. Do you…want to talk about what you see?
My aunt bleeding out at your feet, maybe?” It was a poor attempt at a joke.

“No. I don’t think I want to either.”

“Probably for the best,” Draco said. He waved his wand, and the cover was swiftly returned
to drape over the mirror. “Better to let this thing collect dust until the Dark Lord wants it
moved again.”

“Where are you going?” Valeria asked, gesturing towards Draco’s traveling clothes.

“Ministry. I realized I still have Weasley’s and Granger’s wands. They’ll want them secured
there. Have to talk to Umbridge too, talk her down, I should say. She’s been too excited about
Granger’s capture and I need to make sure she knows her place. Shouldn’t take too long,”
Draco said.

“Any word on what’s happening to Weasley and Granger?”

“Not yet. Nothing formalized, anyway. She’s in St. Mungo’s. He’s in Azkaban. I should send
word that his mum’s been safely returned. Not that that would help much…”

“I can do it.”

Draco raised an eyebrow but shrugged. “I suppose if you really want to. Best to do it in
person. He’s not allowed mail and I’d like to be discreet. You alright with that?”

“I can handle it, Draco.”

“Alright. I’ll write you a note to get you through all the security,” he said, gesturing for him
to follow her out of the cellar, which she obliged. “I was thinking, maybe we could sit out on
the balcony tonight. Some fresh air. Some wine. Just you and me.”

“That’d be nice.”

Valeria was led to the most secure level of Azkaban prison by a guard who rambled about
how amazing Draco was for having discovered and captured Granger and Weasley. Valeria
politely smiled and nodded in response. The guard instructed her to stay back whilst he went
into the cell to immobilize Ron, then let Valeria in for a limited amount of time alone.

“What do you want?” Ron asked in a hoarse, miserable tone. He was filthy, bloody, and
thinner than she remembered even from when he broke into her home. Azkaban and its
guards had shown him no mercy.

“I’m here to tell you that your mother’s been safely returned to Ginny.”

“Clever idea, using my mum to get to me. Proud of yourself?”

“It was Draco’s idea.”

“Should have known. Fucking piece of sh—”

“I told you that I would tell Draco. You knew what would happen. And I’d watch what you
say, Weasley.”

“What’s it matter? They’re going to kill me anyway.”

“You’ve still got an investigation and a trial to get through before that,” Valeria said.

“Didn’t realize your side was so civilized."

“They handle high profile cases like yours with care,” Valeria said flatly.

“What about Hermione?” Ron said, his tone changing to one of desperate concern. “Why
isn’t she in here with me?”

“Wasn’t my call,” Valeria said.

“I know you’re not that stupid. You have to know something. I saw that article about the new
Muggleborn protocols and how you apparently helped. What’s that mean for Hermione?”

“I don’t know,” Valeria said truthfully.

“But if you helped…then maybe you can…Is there any way you can keep her alive?” Ron
asked.

Valeria was shocked by the question and its boldness. “Weasley, from what little I do actually
know, execution might be mercy.”

“Why do you get to decide that?!”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t get to decide.”

“But you have influence. You’re Malfoy’s wife, they have to at least listen to you!”

“If anyone ever listened to me and what I wanted, I wouldn’t have become Draco’s wife in
the first place.”

“I can give you information. There’s more I know than just the basilisk fangs.”

“I’m sure everything will come out during your interrogation.”

“Well, you might not want to wait until then,” Ron said.

“Is that a threat?” Valeira said darkly.

“No. Just a statement of fact. Promise me you will help Hermione and I will tell you what I
know.”
Valeria could tell he was serious. He genuinely needed this, muttering words of pleading and
begging as tears filled his eyes. She sighed, looking away. “I can make a suggestion to a
friend at St. Mungo’s, make an argument through her. Otherwise, it’s honestly out of my
hands.”

“Will that keep her alive?”

“For a time, probably,” she said, though she knew she couldn’t make any sure promises. Ron
was relieved, but still let tears fall. “Now what is it you’d like to tell me.”

Ron was hesitant, horribly guilty looking, as his face contorted in defeat and sadness. “The
Ministry. There’re some people, from school, who are still alive and on our side. They’re
planning to attack the Ministry, destroying the Department of Purity,” Ron said reluctantly.

Valeria’s heart sunk into the soiled, stone floor. “When?!”

“I don’t know. But probably soon. Valeria, just please keep Ginny out of i—”

But Valeria had already left the cell by the time Ron had finished his sentence. She grabbed
onto the bored guard outside and looked at him with maddened eyes. “There’s a portkey that
goes from here to the Ministry, correct!?”

“There’s a couple, but they’re for official use only.”

“Where are they!?” she said, grabbing him by the collar harder.

“There’s one in the entrance, near intake. There’s a pen on the floor by the door, but ma’am
—”

Valeria stunned the perplexed idiot, leaving him in an unconscious heap and made her way to
the entrance. She wasn’t about to try to convince random Azkaban officials of what she had
just learned. Draco was at the Ministry now and perhaps in the Department of Purity. She had
to ensure his safety first and foremost. The likelihood of the attack being planned for today
was slim, she was sure, but she wasn’t about to take that chance when it came to Draco.

Amongst guards yelling at her once they realized what she was about to do, she grabbed the
pen on the ground and rematerialized after a violent-feeling journey, in the atrium of the
Ministry. Panicked and out of sorts, she searched the many faces for Draco or even a glimpse
of blond hair amongst the crowd but found none. But her eyes did land on a familiar face.
Her own face, standing across the room, looking almost nervous. The clothes were nice, but
sorely outdated and the hair style was a bit wrong for the current popular style that Valeria
herself wore now. It was herself, she knew, but not the real her. Was it a reflection? Was her
mind toying with her because of that damn mirror from earlier?

The false Valeria in the flesh, landed her gaze on the real one and the false one’s eyes
widened in fear. Valeria was rooted to the spot in shock and confusion, but no one around her
seemed to notice as they kept their heads down in the hustle and bustle. They stared at each
other for a moment and the real Valeria watched as the false woman’s brown hair began to
slowly change in parts to the color of bright red.
Valeria was grabbed from behind, ripping her gaze from the fake version of herself and she
turned to see she was being held by Snape, to her relief.

“Snape, listen. I just saw Weasley, and he told me they’re going to attack the Department of
Purity and Draco’s here and—” she said quickly, her heart racing and her thoughts moving at
lightning speed.

“We need to get you out of here,” Snape said low so that only she heard.

“No,” she said, absolutely flabbergasted. “We need to find Draco and—” she tried to yank
herself from his grip, but he held her hard. She began to struggle in his grip. Surely someone
would notice this absurdity and stop him. She was about to scream for help as Snape tried to
drag her towards the fireplaces when a great boom shook the entire atrium and Snape moved
to shield Valeria with his own body. People began to scream, and Valeria’s ears rang in brief
deafness from the explosion. She looked up and saw fire spouting furiously out of broken
windows on the floor she knew to house the Department of Purity.

Although she could not hear herself scream, she screamed for Draco.

Draco was alive, but narrowly. He had made his way down the corridor when the explosion
knocked him to the ground, his head ringing from the sound and the fall he took. He took a
moment to get his bearings and grip his wand, looking back at the fire that now consumed the
entrance to the Department of Purity.

“MALFOY!”

He whipped around and pointed his wand, but he stumbled in his confusion, to see a man he
didn’t recognize. The young man had an oddly proportioned face, but Draco watched as the
man used his wand to smooth out his features into those that he vaguely recognized.

“Remember me? Seamus Finnigan!?” Seamus said with a gleeful tone of bloodlust. There
was a violent hunger in his eyes as he looked at Draco. Another person turned the corner
ahead, behind Seamus and Draco aimed his wand at the newcomer.

“SEAMUS, NO!” Neville Longbottom cried out, lunging for Seamus.

“This is for DEAN!” Seamus shouted as he made a slashing motion with his wand in the air
before Draco could even react.

Draco felt a deathly chill run through his body as the skin of his neck peeled open and blood
began to cascade down his chest and down his throat before the darkness consumed him.
 Behold My Pain
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Extremely graphic depictions of violence, magical and

otherwise. Trauma. Discussion of death. Discussion/mention of suicide. Overall mature
and disturbing themes.

(A shorter one this time, sorry.)

All Time, No Time

Draco felt a sense of muted peace as he came to, though he did not remember waking. He felt
tranquil, as if all the fears he ever had were simply washed away as easily as one washes their
hands. He was not happy, but nor was there any pain. He simply was.

Rather than confusion, he felt curious about the place he now found himself in. Completely
unfamiliar, yet he felt he had been here before. The place looked an awful like a brighter
replica of the foyer of Malfoy Manor. The marble was a lighter color. The walls and floors,
even the grand stairs seemed warm without giving off any heat. A gentle, warm colored light
filled the space and Draco noticed himself standing in dark clothes that were fine, though
unfamiliar to him. They were in a style he very much preferred over the styles that had
become uniform since the end of the war.

The war. He had almost forgotten about the war and all that came after, which he found odd
but not worrying. He saw glimpses of gentle movement along the walls and looked over at
the portraits. Rather than clear, austere depictions of his ancestors, they were cloudy and
blurry. Curious.

“I didn’t think I’d see you so soon, Draco.”

Draco turned, shocked but not feeling dread, to see Abraxas Malfoy, his grandfather, standing
in the doorway of Malfoy Manor. Abraxas was just as Draco remembered him before he fell
ill. Gaunt and severe looking, his long white hair pulled back cleanly and wearing elegant
robes. An air of prestige followed Abraxas everywhere in life, as it did now. The man’s
pointed features, a defining Malfoy trait, grew starker with age and made Abraxas look even
more austere in life. But now there was a calm about him that Draco had not seen much as a
child.

“Am I dead?” Draco asked calmly.

Abraxas shrugged just a tad. “It would seem that the choice is yours.”
“I don’t understand,” Draco said. Abraxas said nothing, instead walking past Draco and over
to the portraits that lined the walls. “I didn’t choose to come here so I must be—”

“No one chooses to come here, but you might just yet have the choice to leave.”

“And where is here?” Draco asked.

“Everywhere. Also nowhere. The more important question is whether or not it really
matters.” Abraxas turned to look at Draco. “You’ve done well. It is no easy task to take on a
legacy and a war at once, and at such an age.”

Draco looked at the portrait behind Abraxas and the cloudy murk that danced within the
frame before began to clear. Draco saw himself, his triumphs; his Quidditch wins, his
schoolyard popularity, his joys and fun. Snape giving Draco good marks.

“Ah, Severus. A gifted young man, as I knew him. He’s done as you’ve asked,” Abraxas said,
as if reading Draco’s mind and then Draco’s quizzical expression. “He’s traded your life in
exchange for hers. Just as you asked of him long ago.”

Draco stepped beyond Abraxas as the murky portrait morphed again. He saw Valeria’s life
and not his own; strange as all the tales he had heard described dying as a process of seeing
one’s own life. From childhood on, Draco watched her, marveling at the realization that he
had never truly met her, not formally. Valeria was simply one of the givens in his life. A girl
he knew in childhood, friends because their parents were friends. Friends by nature of being
sorted into Slytherin, of being from similar backgrounds. Their fates had been painted out
from the start, he now saw, at the very least it was clear that they were bound to each other in
a way he had never thought to consider.

He recalled the Latin hymns that those old, weathered voices sang in that Muggle church he
used to visit. He vividly saw that little flame in that strange red jar that he had willed to burn
eternal; small, but strong. He felt the strength of their songs. He understood them in a way he
never had, even though he felt no closer to any semblance of a divine than he had in life. But
Valeria, she was the star of this soul’s journey, for she smiled at him in the confines of that
otherworldly portrait. There was an angelic grace about her that he knew and loved. A
forgiveness that brought this forlorn Draco to his figurative knees.

“You have a choice, Draco,” Abraxas continued as the painting morphed once more into a
pastoral composition of Valeria standing in a non-descript countryside of short, vibrantly
green grass amongst rolling hills and clouds, dressed all in white. “She will join you
eventually.”

But this Valeria, the very spirit of tender mercy who was a gospel in and of herself, reached
out for him.

And Draco reached out to join his lost hand to hers.

April 2003
“Can you tell me anything?!” Valeria said through her teeth, her muscles aching from how
tense they were and her exhausted heart still pumping harder than ever.

“The damage is severe. He lost a lot of blood and we’re trying to keep him stable enough to
repair it—” Daphne said, exhausted but trying to speak as calmly as she could after stepping
out of the room where a team of Healers were trying to keep Draco alive.

“Can you at least tell me whether he’s going to live or—” Valeria could not bring herself to
finish her question. Daphne sighed.

“I can’t. Not yet. Valeria, I’m sorry but we just have to wait and—”

“At least let me see him!” Valeria said, the tears returning. “He’s my husband for god’s sake I
have every right—!”

“And he’s my patient! I can’t let you in there until he’s consistently stable.”

Valeria clenched her fist hard enough to feel her finger nails dig into her palm. “Then maybe
try to tell me something useful! It’s been hours, Daphne, and none of you can tell me
anything and I refuse to sit around waiting! Maybe I can help; there’s potions and—”

“We have everything we need. The best way for you to help is to wait. I’m sorry. I need to get
back—”

“Will no one have the guts to tell me anything!?” Valeria shouted out to the room in general.
The Malfoys, including Lucius and Narcissa, had been sequestered off into a private area of
the intensive care ward of St. Mungo’s, all entrances blocked by guards as, given the attack
on Draco, it had been decided the Malfoys needed extra protection. Valeria was about to
break under the weight of the frustration and fear that was consuming her. She did not know
how much longer she could take inaction, pacing while listening to Narcissa’s non-stop
weeping and catastrophizing.

“Valeria, we need to talk.”

Valeria turned to see her mother with a grave expression carrying a leather folder and
accompanied by Snape, Nott and Zabini all equally as worried and pitiful looking as Odessa.

“In case you haven’t noticed, mother, I’m a bit preoccupied,” Valeria spat, not noticing
Daphne taking the opportunity to slip back inside the room where she and her team were
treating Draco.

“We need to get a statement out to the public immediately. I’ve prepared something for you
to say and a part of the lobby has been cleared for you to speak to the reporters arriving soon
—” Odessa began, pulling a piece of parchment out of the folder.

Valeria looked at her mother as if the latter was speaking a foreign language. “I don’t give a
damn about the public. My husband might be dying! I will not leave here until I know if
he’ll…if he’ll—!”
“We know this is a lot to ask, Mrs. Malfoy, but I’m afraid the Dark Lord has ordered this
directly and he also asked me to assure you that he is doing everything in his great power to
hunt down those responsible—” Snape said.

“I don’t bloody care!” Valeria shouted, louder than before, at which point Odessa forcefully
grabbed her daughter’s arm.

“We need to have a conversation in private. Now,” Odessa said sternly, more stern than
Valeria ever remembered her mother being, as if she was a child being reprimanded.

“I will wait here and find you if anything changes,” Snape said coolly. Odessa pulled on
Valeria’s arm, Nott and Zabini following a few paces behind, and led her past the guards and
into a vacant room in the ward. Odessa cast a silencing charm over the door before turning on
Valeria. Gone was the charming woman of sophisticated ease. Odessa’s eyes were wild with
worry and determination. Odessa set the folder down and stood inches away from Valeria, her
hands gripping her daughter’s shoulders.

“I need you to listen. Do not argue with me. Do not say a word. Understood?” Odessa began,
but she didn’t await Valeria’s confused, irritated answer. “You need to be prepared for the
possibility that Draco may not survive.”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” Valeria spat.

“Don’t. Argue,” Odessa hissed. “If he dies, there will be a mourning period, he’ll be made a
martyr, you a symbol of grief. When that mourning period ends, it is likely you’ll be married
to another—”

Valeria’s heart dropped to the floor and her gut felt as though it was painfully twisting in tight
coils. “That doesn’t…that’s not possible…”

“It’s the law, remember? We all went over it when we were put in charge of arranging
marriages,” Odessa said. Valeria didn’t remember. The period after Potter’s death was a
terrifying haze of uncertainty and suffering as the Dark Lord secured his iron grip on their
world. She hadn’t taken time to go over all the documents outlining the banal new laws.

“I was the first to be married in this way. I’ve been married the longest, I’ve been his wife
since I was seventeen and I represent the entire institution, isn’t that what you told me then!?
They wouldn’t just ship me off to some other—”

“They most certainly will, Valeria. You haven’t had any children yet and you’re a pureblood
witch from a prominent family with many child-bearing years ahead of you. If you and Draco
had had a child, then you’d be more likely to remain his widow but—”

“I will kill myself before you sell me off again!” Valeria said, realizing that she had done her
best to arrange her friends and those she pitied to wed decent men to the point that all the
decent men were unavailable. There was no one left her age she could imagine herself
marrying, in name only. She could not imagine a life without Draco. She hated the world, she
realized, and most who dwelled within it and had no desire to live in it without him. She
staggered a little in her state of distress, feeling her knees weaken underneath her, but her
mother grabbed her arm.

“Given your situation…Valeria, you must know I want the best for you. Severus has agreed
to take you as a wife if it should come to—”

Valeria jerked away from Odessa, looking at her with the utmost disgust, feeling as though
she were about to vomit. Her teacher, who had known her since before she had even begun at
Hogwarts who was more than twenty years her senior, surely. And to be his wife, yet another
insulting punishment when the first just so happened to work well enough in her emotional
and material favor. Vile. It was nothing short of vile.

“No,” Valeria said resolutely.

“He’s assured me it would be on paper only. You must at least be flexible toward the
possibility if…if Draco doesn’t—”

“He will live!” Valeria shouted. “He has to live!” The thought of living in some hovel on
Spinner’s End, humiliated once more sent her into hysterics. She relived the mortification of
being a teenage bride at school, recalling the pitiful stares her peers gave her. To be Snape’s
wife was simply unthinkable. “I’m going home.”

Odessa grabbed Valeria’s arm harder once more. “Not until you speak.”

Valeria looked into her mother’s eyes, the eyes they shared as a genetic inheritance. Odessa’s
stern sophistication was nearly broken in that moment, silently pleading with Valeria to
cooperate. Valeria could not help but hate her own mother in that moment, even if her advice
was the best course of action for the sake of her own life now. If only Draco were awake.
He’d burn this hospital to the ground without guilt.

But Valeria complied, eyes glazed over in a haze of tormented grief, Snape standing nearby,
her mother at her side.

“It is all I can pray for that the Dark Lord brings these terrorists to justice and that my
husband, and my precious family is avenged, no matter the outcome of the next few hours…”
Valeria said, reading from the pre-prepared statement. Words she didn’t write. Words she
didn’t care to say for an audience she had no love for. The room was full of concerned faces
eagerly jotting down, magically or otherwise, notes on the words she spoke. It was a story to
them. The last thread of peace in her life, already half-severed, was simply tomorrow’s print.
Valeria nearly choked as she spoke, the anger swelling into an inconsolable violence within
her broken heart.

“What’s next, Val?” Blaise asked, with Theodore at his side, after Valeria was rushed out of
the room, away from the camera flashes and journalists with eager questions.

“Shouldn’t you be hunting down who did this—?!”

Nott held up his hand, jaw clenched. “We asked to be your security detail, unless assigned
otherwise.”
Valeria rolled her eyes. “Draco trusts you two. You should be out there avenging him instead
of being glorified babysitters for me—!”

“Don’t you forget that my wife is part of the team trying to save his life! This is on all of us,
Valeria. It’s not always just about you.”

Nott held up a hand in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “We’re here because Malfoy would
want us to be. He’d rather have us make sure you’re safe. You know that. So, it’s best you
cooperate with us, for his sake.”

Valeria inhaled deep to calm down, though it did nothing. “I’m going to Malfoy Manor. I’ll
get some fresh clothes for him for when he wakes up.”

Blaise bit his lip, obviously holding back some comment. “The house elf can get that—”

“I’m his wife! I decide! You can come with me or not, it’s all the same to me,” Valeria
argued.

Blaise eventually agreed, though it took a stern look from Nott to sway him. They all
apparated to Malfoy Manor and the two bodyguards remained in the foyer whilst Valeria
went about her stated business. They had known her since she was a girl. No one, not even
those that could be her equal, interfered too much with her. Even in her school days,
questions were not asked, and her inherited authority went undisputed. This remained, even
after all these years. They trusted her at her word.

Those boys should have known better.

In the master suite of Malfoy Manor, Valeria was in a rage, embroiled in a fury and grief
fueled delirium that she felt was impossible to bear without action. She remembered the
Ministry; the shattering of the glass, the screaming and crashing, the smell of burning. That
horrible smell. She remembered the woman with her face whose hair began to transform into
deep red…

Ron Weasley had warned Valeria in exchange for Granger’s life. He had to have learned of
the plot from somewhere. His sister. It was Ginny. Valeria remembered the look Ginny gave
her when the former stepped upon that hollow spot on the floor of the Weasley hovel. Ginny.
It was Ginny. Valeria hated Ginny.

In all the chaos, it went over the heads of Valeria’s bodyguards that she could easily apparate
in and out of Malfoy Manor by nature of being married into the family as they discussed the
possible outcomes of the next few hours in the entrance hall. Clutching Draco’s spare
clothing tight in her fists, she recalled her father’s words, “When in doubt, go for the throat.”

She dropped the garments, the clothing falling to the stone floor of the master suite in the
wake of her secret apparation with no other acknowledgement. Valeria found herself gaining
her footing in the dark countryside, facing that makeshift house the Weasleys’ called The
Burrow, seeing only a faint flickering of light in the cracks of the curtains of the lowest level
windows and the smoke of a fire floating out of a chimney set against the backdrop of
moonlight. The peace of the night made Valeria all the angrier as she gripped her wand tight
in her hand; the object that had been first the means to cast simple spells but now would
realize its potential as the instrument of destruction she now needed it to be, but could never
had comprehend when Ollivander congratulated her at age eleven.

To a hypothetical outside observer, it would have been a terrifying sight. Though a petite
woman, the cloak of darkness that enveloped her and the sheer pain that radiated from her
was enough to chill the most passive audience to the bone as Valeria stepped forward in the
night toward The Burrow. One goal. Ginny Weasley.

The fence was first to go, lighting the night in a flash of red and orange as Valeria turned it to
ash with one simple wand motion. Then the garden that provided food for what remained of
the Weasley clan, animals included, the smell fleeing into the air on the wings of black smoke
as the earth was scorched to charcoal. Valeria did not try to muffle the sound. She wanted
Ginny to hear and emerge, to meet her on an open field. Valeria called out for Ginny,
screaming her name into the open sky. And so Ginny did rush out in horror after hours of
anxious wondering of what was to come next, but with nowhere else to go, her allies
scattered. Ginny saw Valeria more disheveled than she had ever seen her rival. The tight updo
in which Valeria now wore her hair was coming undone, her eyes sunken in with the
glamours wearing off, her exhaustion and rage plain as day as the horrid fire illuminated
Valeria’s face in shadow and orange, her robes billowing out around her like a dark bird of
prey on the wind.

“VALERIA, STOP—!” Ginny cried, taking out her wand, but was too short on the draw in
the abruptness and was knocked back by one of Valeria’s spells almost instantly.

“I KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE!” Valeria screamed, moving the spreading flames aside
with a quick wave of her wand. Ginny cast defensive spells as she tried to get to her feet, to
no avail. Valeria was far too skilled by now, far too calculated, and the ward on her wrist still
protected her by virtue of Draco’s very blood being forged within it.

“PLEASE, DON’T—” Ginny shouted as she was knocked back once more. She could give
no explanation or excuses, in fact, Ginny stood by what she and the others had done. All
Ginny cared about now was the safety of her mother, who was wailing within the home in
fear. Surely Valeria could hear, but Valeria truly did not care.

Seeing Ginny only further solidified Valeria’s decision to come here now. She remembered
the night when she was fifteen, when Potter and his friends had, unknowingly, lured her into
the trap that got her father and brother killed. That was the night it began. That was the night
Potter and his friends began to tear her world apart. She could weather that. She could
weather all of it. She could not lose Draco. Valeria saw the faces of all those she loved who
had died, were lost or beaten down in a flash. She saw Draco, in her mind’s eye, go from a
swaggering arrogant boy to the broken man she loved to this moment. She remembered him
bleeding out on the bathroom floor at sixteen years old, cradling his head as his bloody hand
gripped at her collar, while she begged Harry Potter to help. Every sick fantasy, every ill
thought, every evil wish overwhelmed her judgement now.

And so Valeria aimed her wand more surely than she ever had before and in her mind said the
words, Ecce Dolorem Meum.
Behold my pain.

Valeria’s lungs and heart froze, feeling as though her chest was being cut open by a saw at the
sternum as a massive cloud of black, syrupy smoke burst from the tip of her wand, quickly
and easily obscuring her view of the burrow. Valeria could feel every capillary in her body
erupt from the painful pressure within. It was worse than the Cruciatus Curse. She would
have rather endured a thousand lifetimes of the torture curse than this. But there was
something else too. Something sickly pleasurable. A catharsis. A release of all the grief she
had within. From every petty insult, every perceived slight, to the most unbearable of her
memories flew out of her and formed into a great shadowy bird, a crow many times larger
than a thunderbird, took shape. While Valeria’s body and mind felt as though it was coming
apart at the seams, her physical body remained intact and firmly rooted to the ground in cold
concentration. The great shadowy crow descended upon The Burrow, upon Ginny, and
Valeria could hear Ginny scream blood-curdling wails of horror and pain.

After a moment, which felt like a hellish eternity, Valeria realized she could step forward into
her dark patronus. There was an otherworldly ease to this, a true and controlled darkness as
she found Ginny on her knees, covering her head with her arms amongst the splintered ruins
of her home that the dark patronus was destroying. Valeria’s free hand dug deep into Ginny’s
red hair, scratching at her former schoolmate’s scalp and it was with that grip that Valeria
managed to apparate her and Ginny to the drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

Ginny continued to scream and wail, struggling against Valeria’s grasp. Valeria deftly
disarmed Ginny and flung a few curses that rendered Ginny too weak and injured to easily
fight back; as if she had been the loser in a fight with five grown men. Valeria grabbed hold
of Ginny’s hair again and dragged her into the cellar, pulling with all her might toward the
large mirror that stood near the center of the room. A simple wand wave forced the thick
cover off the mirror and Valeria pulled Ginny’s face up by yanking on her hair, forcing her
captive to look at it.

“What do you see?” Valeria asked calmly.

Ginny was weeping, though from pain or fear Valeria could not tell. “Valeria…please…”

Valeria pulled Ginny closer towards the mirror. “What do you see?! Answer! Now!”

Ginny’s face was inches from the mirror’s glass, her face swollen, tears and snot running
down it. Ginny’s chest heaved as she sobbed, coughing out the words. “I…I—I see…I see
Harry!”

Valeria tugged harder on Ginny’s hair. “What about him?” she spat darkly.

“Us…together…older….married, maybe…? There he is—” Ginny managed to speak before

Valeria yanked on her scalp again.

It was then that Valeria used all her strength to smash Ginny’s face into the mirror.

“You…You all took everything from us,” Valeria said, looking into the now bloodstained
mirror and seeing her and Draco, a different version of them, smiling fondly at her.
“I didn’t—” Ginny tried to say before Valeria slammed her head into the mirror once more.

“After all I did for you—” Valeria spat, not making sense of her own words. She bent over to
speak into Ginny’s ear. “Who do you think made sure Goyle died before he could marry you?
I know that you’re hiding something under your floor, but I said nothing.” Valeria slammed
Ginny’s face into the glass again. “You…Potter,” Valeria said as if she were saying the
foulest of all curse words. “It was all of your faults. All along. You tore everything apart.
Made us become this. Made us live like this. I’ve been too good to you.”

“It wasn’t our fault—” Ginny said through strained breath, but her head met with the glass
again.

“My father. My brother. You people took the last hope of happiness away from me. I could
live with that, but now you’ve taken the last thing that means anything to me. So tonight, I’m
going to take your hope away too,” Valeria said through her teeth. Valeria slammed Ginny’s
head over and over into the mirror as the blood stain on the mirror grew in size with each
blow. Valeria knew she saw Potter, not only Ginny’s love but the only hope her cause ever
had that was now gone. This was welcomed vengeance and Valeria felt even more
emboldened with each blow. Ginny wailed in pain and incomplete pleas for mercy as Valeria
exacted her brutally cruel revenge. While Ginny was still conscious, Valeria cast Ginny’s
body to the floor and stepped firmly on her chest.

“Please…my mother…” Ginny said, wheezing and coughing.

“If Draco dies, so does your brother, Granger, your mother and all the rest of whom you hold
any love for before I kill you too. In the meantime, you will sit here and look at the life you
cannot have in that mirror. The fate of those you love rests on my husband’s life. Best you
start praying for Draco Malfoy.”
 Awakening
Chapter Notes

This is too dang long, I'm sorry. If I missed any errors, I'll review and edit them soon.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Domestic abuse, heavy discussion of suicide/suicidal

ideation, discussion of death and violence, discussion of torture, explicit description of
magical torture, mild consensual sexual content, description/discussion of death and
injury.

July 1998

In a way, Valeria felt eleven years old again. She remembered walking into the Great Hall for
the sorting ceremony with the other first years and seeing all the other students contentedly
chatting at their assigned tables. They were all so much older. They seemed so mature, so
adult, despite being children too. But that was different, surely. Valeria was set apart from
many of her fellow first years in that she had no doubt as to what would come next. She
would wait her turn and be sorted into Slytherin. She was not as nervous or jittery as the
others. Though she was excited, she maintained an air of sophisticated serenity as she had
been taught, feeling almost completely at ease in the face of this new journey.

But now she was mingling in a large room of Malfoy Manor with the other high-ranking
wives of Death Eaters. The few marked female Death Eaters were exempt from this event,
perhaps one of the few perks to their position in Valeria’s mind. As none of her similar aged
peers had been officially betrothed yet, she was the only wife of her age in the room. The rest
were her peers’ mothers, Odessa as well, mingling politely almost happily, as they were
presented with mock-up garments that would set the standard for what the high-ranking
wives would wear in Voldemort’s new world. It was one of those rare moments that, in spite
of all she had endured to this point, she remembered just how young she truly was in body
and mind.

Madam Malkin had come, once having been a no-nonsense sort of woman, she was now just
as meek as the rest who were forced to bend to the regime or die, not given a true choice. She
came accompanied with a variety of equally nervous stylists and assistants all trying to make
the best impression on the room of wealthy, finicky women all trying to maneuver themselves
into what positions of power they could. Valeria hung back, trying to silently observe, but her
mother led her around to dress form after dress form, each clad in some different design.

Except, the designs weren’t all that different. They were nearly all dark in color, save for a
few silver and gold garments meant for special occasions. All were long, down to the shin at
the shortest and high collared with long sleeves. Madam Malkin insisted she had cast a sort
of cooling charm on the garments for those unbearable summer days. The sight of special
maternity robes made Valeria cringe and the presentation of special mourning clothes for the
unfortunate event of a husband’s death filled her with fear.

There was a set of blank faced mannequin heads neatly set on a long table, modelling wigs of
various hairstyles. Some of them were pretty, Valeria rather liked the intricate braiding on a
few of them, but she also noticed that there was not a single option for wearing one’s hair
down. Valeria looked down at her where her hair fell past her shoulder. She loved her hair.
Wearing it straight and with a stark fringe had been the style she had always worn it. A sort
of signature look she sported since she was a child, but she didn’t have to ask whether she’d
be allowed to keep it that way. She knew she shouldn’t.

“It’s so that terrorists can’t take our hair for Polyjuice Potion,” Mrs. Crabbe told her. That
may have been wise, but Valeria could not help but believe there was more to it than that.
Even the accessories were going to be standardized, it seemed. Each wife was given a brooch
of belladonna cast in metal. A potently magical plant that was common in vile poisons and
some forms ritualistic magic, she knew. It meant death, despite the name.

She awoke late a few days later, not uncommon in those early months after the war, and when
it came to deciding what to wear for the day, Valeria was horrified to open the massive
wardrobe to discover that all of her clothes were gone, replaced by the garments Madam
Malkin had presented, all in her size. She frantically shuffled through them, looking for her
clothes, but found only one dark colored set of robes followed by another, each only slightly
different than the last in design and color. The only one that was starkly different was her
wedding garments that still hung far to the edge.

“Tinky!” she called.

“Mrs. Malfoy—” Tinky sheepishly began.

“Where are my clothes?”

“Mrs. Winters asked Tinky to replace them, ma’am. These came for you early this morning.”

“Where are they?!” Valeria demanded through her teeth. She was already used to dressing
more maturely, rather like a middle-aged matron, but this was too much for her.

“They’re…they’re in storage, ma’am…”

Judging by Tinky’s tone, Valeria knew there was no hope of getting the clothes back, let
alone be allowed to wear them, anytime soon. She rudely dismissed the house elf and tried to
find something, anything, that wouldn’t make her skin crawl as soon as she put it on. She
recognized one of the designs and stopped. They were the mourning robes.

Valeria’s blood grew warm, and she had the desire to burn the set, as if destroying them
would somehow eliminate the possibility of Draco’s death, even though he was still just as
mortal as he ever was. Instead, she took them and shoved them far to the back behind her
wedding gown, just so she wouldn’t have to see them each time she opened the wardrobe.
The garments she settled on felt just as confining as all the others as she examined them in
the mirror. She could barely meet her own reflection’s gaze and suddenly the massive rooms
and halls of Malfoy Manor felt confining too, just as they did when she was first brought here
after Bill and Fleur’s wedding. She had to get out.

She knew from childhood visits to Malfoy Manor that there was a rather large pond out in the
expansive estate’s grounds. It took her some time, but she found it and stood by its edge. She
could not look down at her own reflection in the glassy water. She would have been
convinced that she was seeing the reflection of a different woman, save for the scar. In fact,
the scar was now the only thing about her appearance that set her apart. She sat by the edge
for a time, letting her mind wander in its internal rambling.

“There you are,” a gentle voice came. Draco’s voice, she knew. She didn’t even have to turn
to know for certain. The sound of that drawl brought her comfort, not much, but it was
enough to soothe a little. It always was.

“Did I worry you?” she asked, turning to him. He looked stunning in the evening light,
though the ever-present look of melancholy on his face soured this. Draco had taken easily to
the Death Eater dress codes, almost always black and close to the body save for a cloak. His
expression combined with his clothes made him appear as though he were in a perpetual state
of mourning. Perhaps that wasn’t far from the truth.

He shrugged. “Tinky told me where you were. Have you eaten?”

“Not hungry,” she said, expecting an argument, but instead he sat down by her side.

“I almost forgot about this pond,” he said.

“It reminds me of Wales,” Valeria said, remembering the little castle in the middle of the
valley lake that she once called home. She lowered her head thinking on it, mourning how the
seat of the once great House of Winters sat in near abandonment, save for a dedicated house
elf.

“I see the new clothes were delivered,” he said after a moment of silence.

“What do you think?”

“I hate it,” he said.

“Me too.”

She felt him reach up, feeling around gently in her hair before pulling out the pins that both
decorated her hair and held it in place. She felt an oddly painful sensation in her scalp as
Draco ran his hands through it to let it down around her shoulders. It was as though even her
hair was sore after being pulled up so tightly.

“That’s better. I always liked it better down,” he said in a whisper.

“I’m not supposed to wear it down.”

“Damn anyone who tells you how to wear it in my house,” Draco said before looking her up
and down. “How are you not burning up in that shit?”

“They put some cooling charm on them for summer. Doesn’t help much. Still feels…
suffocating.”

“Then take them off.”

She looked sharply at him, feeling the wind in her air as she did. “What? Out in the open?”

“Who’s here to see other than me? If you hate it so much, just take them off. For now, at
least,” he said. She raised an eyebrow at him, but she had to admit that her hatred of the
clothes was winning against her instinct towards modesty. She slowly stood and undid the
many buttons, letting the garment fall to grassy ground, leaving her in nothing but a loose,
modest underdress.

“It does feel better,” she said, finding the slightly breeze blowing around her oddly freeing.

“Looks better too,” Draco said with a smirk, which won him a soft, scolding smack from
Valeria. She took off her shoes and stockings next. Draco looked to the lake and then back to
her before starting to undo his own cloak.

“What are you doing?”

“Going for a swim,” he said.

“In that horrid, mucky—”

“You’ve inspired me, Winters, let me have this before I change my mind,” he said with a little
laugh. This was quite unlike Draco, who normally despised dirt and the messiness of nature,
but she could see the sadness in his eyes and something desperate in them that craved
reprieve. “Join me.”

She sneered at the water, thinking of the cold muck and slimy water plants that were surely in
there. “I don’t want to step on anything…gross.”

“I’ll hold you up. Come on,” he said. Before she could utter further hesitation, Draco lifted
her up bridal style and before she knew it, he was carrying her into the pond. However, the
uneven bed of the pond caused him to lose his balance and Valeria was suddenly drenched as
Draco fell into the pond, taking her with him. She quickly swam back to him and wrapped
her arms around his shoulders lest her feet make contact with mud. But she was laughing,
despite the sudden rush coolness the water brought with it. She was nearly floating as Draco
pulled her deeper into the pond. She felt light again.

“Remember fourth year when I dared you to swim to the middle of the Black Lake with me?”
he said, gently holding her up off the pond bed while the underdress she wore billowed out
underneath the water freely.

“You dared me in spring when the lake was freezing.”

“Just admit you were too scared of merpeople and the squid—”

“I told you I’d do it if you would, and you didn’t.”

“Calling me a coward?” he asked with a smirk.

“At the time,” she said with a shrug.

“We technically lived under the lake all those years. We should have been the least scared.”

“You ever miss it?” she asked. His face was downcast for a moment.

“Some of it,” he said. He managed to hold her up with one arm due to the water and pushed
away a section of her hair that clung to the side of her face due to its wetness. “You’re
beautiful.”

“Soaking wet, covered in god knows what lives in this water—?”

“Don’t argue with me,” he said before pausing. “Nothing can take that from you. No one can
take it from you. Ever.”

After gently drifting in the cleansing sway of the water for a while, they got caught up in the
moment, craving relief as they so often did. Draco brought her back to shore, laying Valeria
down atop of the discarded clothing she had been all but commanded to wear. She looked up
to see the sky ablaze in shades of gold, pink, purple and blue with thin wisps of clouds slowly
drifting across the backdrop of the setting sun in streaks. Valeria had never considered herself
to be the kind of person to engage in, what was to her, such scandalous behavior, given her
strict upbringing, but she felt oddly free tonight and she wanted to savor it. They made love
on those robes, already soiled in dirt and water. Damn those clothes.

May 2003

It was the littlest things Valeria missed most about Draco being home, which surprised her.
She missed the way his voice was hoarse in the morning in his drowsiness and how he
always ensured there was coffee awaiting her in the morning. The way he’d stop in the
doorway of a room, put his hands in his pockets and shift his weight before entering. How a
piece of his hair would flop into his face a little when he looked down.

She couldn’t stop thinking about it. About everything. She had hardly left the master
chambers for the past few days, only to go to St. Mungo’s. But even shutting herself inside
was painful for he was everywhere in this room. Some of his clothes were still lazily draped
over the back of a chair. Odds and ends he found interesting were still on the surfaces. His
pillow still had a distinct divot from where he slept. The room still smelled like him.

Valeria was haggard looking without putting on her glamours, her ritual before leaving the
room each day. She hadn’t been sleeping much at all, spending her evenings pacing and
waiting for Daphne’s owl each hour on the hour, as Valeria demanded updates on Draco’s
health at this interval. Most of them the night before had said the same,
 Valeria,

Stable. Cannot breathe on his own yet due to extensive damage in his throat. We are slowly
healing the throat due to high risk of death were we to rush the process. Not out of the woods.

Daphne Zabini

Valeria could not help but feel ire towards her dear friend, swearing Daphne must have made
several copies of the same letter just to placate her. But she had to do something with this
fear, grief and rage and so she set herself to planning for the worst. She had made peace with
killing herself should Draco die, as marrying anyone, let alone Snape was simply not going to
happen. And she could not imagine a life without Draco. She had known him from infancy,
since before their minds were mature enough to form memories. A world without him was
simply no world at all.

There were plenty of poisons in her stores that would do the job without much discomfort.
That was settled. She had several drafts of a letter prepared, that was a matter of editing it
down to form. Today’s tasks were getting the complex financial and asset affairs in order, but
not having time to go to the Ministry and being unable to do so anyway without alerting the
regime of her plans, she would have to improvise.

There was a knock on the door and before she could answer, it opened anyway. Blaise came
in along with Nott and, to Valeria’s surprise, Tracey. Tracey rushed to Valeria and took her
into a warm embrace, that Valeria would have appreciated if not for the fact that the last thing
she wanted now was to be touched. But she couldn’t push Tracey away. Tracey was so
sensitive, and this gesture was still well-intentioned.

“A bit rude to enter a lady’s room before she’s even gotten presentable, gentlemen,” Valeria
said, not hiding her aggravation well.

“We were told to watch over you, Val,” Blaise said, his voice obviously drowsy whilst he
mindlessly played with one of Draco’s trinkets on a small table. “And you haven’t exactly
cooperated.” Valeria glared at Blaise, who didn’t seem to care what the hell her opinion was.
After Valeria had escaped and captured Ginny, it was plain that Nott and Blaise were anxious
about what losing track of her, even for a little while, meant for them. They had followed her
around relentlessly, taking shifts outside her chambers at night.

“We thought maybe you could use some friendly company. Tracey happily volunteered,”
Nott said. Valeria shot Nott a knowing look, that he returned. They both knew why Tracey
was here. This was not some altruistic kindness on Nott’s part, but rather another method of
keeping Valeria in line. If she had to entertain Tracey, who was already anxious enough as it
was, Valeria would have fewer opportunities to go off on her own.

“I’m here for whatever you need, Valeria,” Tracey said with sincere sweetness that Valeria
didn’t have the heart to argue with.
“We’ll let you get ready. Zabini, I think the house elf should have our breakfast ready,” Nott
said. Blaise took the hint and left with Nott, leaving Valeria and Tracey alone. Valeria went to
her wardrobe and looked through her options for what to wear.

“Have you heard anything? About Draco…?” Tracey asked.

“No change,” Valeria said coldly.

“He’s strong. He’ll pull through. I believe it. Daphne is an incredible Healer. He’s in the best
hands he can possibly be. And those terrorists, whoever did this to him, they’ll pay. I’m sure
of it,” Tracey said, doing her best to be encouraging.

“Thanks,” Valeria said flatly. Valeria made it to the far end of the wardrobe and stopped dead
seeing a long black sleeve sticking out from behind her stored wedding gown. She moved the
wedding gown aside and took in the sight of the long, deep black set of robes that were the
customary mourning clothes of widows in the new regime. At one time, being Draco
Malfoy’s wife was unthinkable. Even after it was said and done, she had struggled to believe
it was real and would remain real until her dying day. The thought of being Draco’s widow
now was not only unthinkable, but impossible. Tracey must have noticed Valeria’s sudden
stillness and came over, reaching around Valeria to shove the mourning robes back to the
hard edge of the wardrobe.

“You don’t have to think about that yet,” Tracey said. It was a kind thing to say, perhaps, but
Valeria knew she was now living Tracey’s deepest fear and that it was something she had to
consider. Odessa had been right, despite Valeria’s initial denial. Valeria had to plan for the
worst-case scenario, despite the crippling guilt at not being at Draco’s side each second.
When Valeria eventually finished getting ready, trying to have a normal conversation with
Tracey although every instinct in her made her want to scream and banish everyone from her
presence, she made for the door and walked out with Tracey following in tow.

“I have something to take care of in Draco’s study and I’m not sure how long it’ll take. I’ll
meet you in the sitting room, in the north wing. Tinky can get you anything you want to eat
or drink it until I’m done,” Valeria said.

“Theodore said that I should try to stick with you…Are you sure you want to be alone right
now?” Tracey said, trying to be kind once again. Valeria mustered up her best smile,
defaulting once more to the manners that had been drilled into her as a child, and following
her father’s principle of revealing nothing to anyone.

“It’s just going over some documents with the estate that I have to handle in Draco’s absence.
It’ll be dreadfully tedious and really just balancing last month’s account. Nothing to worry
about, I promise,” Valeria said. Tracey eventually agreed and made her way to the sitting
room and Valeria was relieved to have some precious time alone as she was safely alone in
Draco’s study. It was just how he had left it with documents on the desk and a quill
haphazardly left on its surface. The chairs were just how he had left them and even the
curtains remained in his preferred position.

Valeria set to work collecting and combing through the many documents regarding all
matters relating to the Malfoy and Winters estates and their matrimonial union, full of
complex legal jargon. She was desperately searching for any loophole, any action she could
take to secure the finances. If the plan was for her to marry Snape should Draco die, she had
to protect what remained of her family’s legacy.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Lucius quietly entered the room. He was
more haggard than usual, which was to be expected, but there was a darkness in the way he
looked at her that immediately put Valeria even more on edge. She set down the parchments
and looked up at him as calmly as she could.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Malfoy?” she asked. She had never been comfortable addressing
her father-in-law by his first name to his face.

“Shouldn’t you be at St. Mungo’s?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t you?” Valeria snapped a little.

“Narcissa is there. I’ve heard people are starting to talk about your absence.”

“You can kindly inform them that someone has to manage the estate while he’s away. Some
matters cannot wait and I’m sure he’ll be pleased to be able to recover in peace without
having to worry about balancing books.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Lucius yelled suddenly. It took a great deal of strength for Valeria not to
flinch at the sudden rise of volume. His withered face contorted into an expression of anger
and disgust at her as he marched over to the desk and slammed his hands down on it. “You’re
plotting something aren’t you?”

“As your son’s wife, it falls to me to manage the estate while he’s indisposed—”

“My estate!” Lucius yelled, slamming his fist down again. “Don’t you dare talk to me of duty
when not only have I managed my own household, but you have not even accomplished your
most important duty of giving my son an heir!”

“This is Draco’s household and by extension, mine.” Valeria rose out of her seat to meet
Lucius’s eyes. “And I’m not sure how aware you are with the ins and outs of the process, but
it usually takes two individuals to make an heir. The duty is not solely on me.”

“Do you think I’m blind? You’ve been manipulating him from the start, having him do your
dirty work, having his poor mother and I relegated to second-class citizens in our home when
we’ve done nothing but treat you like our own daughter since you were a child—”

“The only father I’ve ever had is dead. How dare you pretend you’ve done me any favors,
when my father—”

“I loved your father. We had done more, been through more, than you’ve known. You only
knew the side of him he wanted you to see. I see him in you. Your cunning plotting; your
scheming against this family—”

“I knew my own father well enough to know that were he here, he’d look you in the eye and
gut you like a fish where you stand for all that you’ve done to me,” she said with a confident
sneer. “You know it too. I see it in your eyes. You said it yourself; you saw what he did in the
First War. You know he’d gladly rip you apart if only he knew the least that you’ve done to
me.”

“You might have my son fooled. You might play the part of a noble wife, but I know the
Winters way well enough to know that they always looked out for themselves first. I admired
that about your father, I truly did, but I will not let you take this family down the same way
yours went—”

Valeria lost control and shoved several of the objects on the desk’s surface to the floor with
one sweep of her arm, parchment dancing briefly in air before drifting to the floor. “I assure
you there’s no more damage I can do to the Malfoy family that you’ve not done yourself!
You’re the one who said nothing while we, two children, were married off. You rotted in
Azkaban while your own son was called to answer for your sins! You happily handed over
what remained of your dignity to the Dark Lord and let your family’s name fall and sat back
while Draco had to clean up the mess you made! The name Lucius Malfoy means nothing,
and you can’t stand it—!”

“Don’t you dare—” Lucius hissed. Valeria marched from behind the desk to stand up to
Lucius, though shorter than him, she was inches from his face.

“You’re jealous of Draco, aren’t you? He’s done what you couldn’t. He dragged the Malfoy
name out of the dirt, fighting tooth and nail, while you’ve sat back and drowned your
sorrows. And all you can see how your son is honored above all else in the position you think
should have been yours. You resent him, don’t you? I promise he hates you just as much for
the position you forced him into by way of your own worthlessness! You are nothing but
completely impotent in every way—”

Lucius swiftly wound his arm back and brought the back of it down as hard as he could
across Valeria’s face, striking her hard enough to knock her back a few steps, but she
managed to catch herself on the edge of the desk so as not to fall. She felt her mouth become
warm and wet, knowing one of Lucius’s rings had cut her lip deep.

“I wish nothing more than for it to be you in that hospital room on death’s door instead of
him,” Lucius said, calmly and coldly. Valeria almost started to laugh, a reaction whose
origins she could not place, but she heard the door click open again as she brought her hand
to cover her injured lip.

“Lucius, I need to speak to Valeria privately.” Though Valeria’s back was to the door, she
knew from the first breath that it was Snape’s voice.

Lucius sighed. “Yes, Severus. I think we’re quite finished here.”

Lucius marched off and slammed the door behind him as Valeria turned to see Snape rushing
over to her. He reached out to gently examine the injury, but she recoiled from his touch.

“If you let me see it, I can heal it easily,” Snape said, trying to sound gentle.
“Scarier men have done worse,” she said in regard to Lucius. “I’ll never allow you to touch
me.”

“Winters, I assure you that, only if Draco does not pull through, that any union between us
would be in name only—”

“And yet I’d still be shuffled off as your glorified property, wouldn’t I? I’ve been through this
once before, Snape. I’m not as naïve as I once was. You’d still have the Winters fortune, the
estate, the entire goddamn legacy in your control.”

“I can promise that there is nothing your money can buy me that I cannot get on my own by
nature of my position. You cannot believe I’m any more thrilled by the prospect than you are.
The last thing I want is this with a former pupil half my age—”

“Oh, yes you’re very much the victim in all this. Not the one forced to marry her teacher. Not
my actual husband dying in a hospital bed as we speak. It’s you, Snape. You’re surely the
most maligned of us all, the one who has everything to gain. The one who fucking
volunteered to marry me—”

Snape didn’t reveal much, but Valeria saw a flash of disgusted rage flash across his face. “I
made a promise to your husband that if it came between saving your life over his, I’d choose
yours and that I’d protect you in his stead if need arose—”

“And you listened to him?! Did you actually believe that I would sit back and quietly follow
your orders?!”

“No. Truth be told, I don’t think he believed it either. But I intend to keep my word and abide
by his wishes if it comes down to it.”

“His wishes?! If he knew this was happening—”

“Yes, I’m aware. But it’s all that can be done.”

“Is that why you’re here? To put me in my place again? God, you’re all the same. Just as bad
as Lucius—”

“No, I’ve actually come with happier news. The culprit responsible for the assassination
attempt on Draco has been captured and proven beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

“Who is it?!”

“Seamus Finnigan.”

Valeria’s heart sunk a little. That made sense. Dean Thomas had been one of Draco’s first
kills and she knew Dean and Seamus had been close. Of course he would have a vendetta
against Draco that would lead him to do something so suicidal as to try to kill him.

“And what’s going to happen to him?”

“Yet to be decided. I have no doubts he’ll be executed, it’s just a matter of timing,” Snape
said.

Valeria rolled her eyes. “Well, where is he? I can take care of it right now if—”

“Held under strict security in Azkaban. The guards know not to let you into the prison, even
if you managed to get away from your own security detail again. Perhaps destroying the
Weasley home and taking Ginny hostage wasn’t the wisest—”

“She was there! You had to have seen it. She was disguised as me, skulking about. She
deserves to rot away in that cellar and I won’t have her removed unless the Dark Lord
himself commands it to my face!”

“I’m aware, though I have to express disappointment at your rashness. I have to wonder what
your plan was. What are you trying to leverage by chaining her up in the cellar and leaving
Molly Weasley recovering from her injuries at St. Mungo’s?”

“It’s personal,” Valeria said through her teeth. Snape could try all he wanted to read her mind,
but Draco had trained her well enough in Occlumency by now that she could confidently
keep her thoughts safe. It wouldn’t matter anyway. The plan was simple. Get the affairs in
order and if Draco were to die, she would embark on a murderous rampage of vengeance
against all who had wronged her and keep going as long as she could before she would end
her life or if she was killed in retaliation. Ginny, Molly, Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Bellatrix,
Umbridge and others, maybe even Lucius now, they all only had little time left to live if
Draco died; Valeria herself included.

“Have it your way, then. I must say, the spell you used to bring the Burrow to ruin was
impressive—”

Valeria threw a paperweight in Snape’s direction, denting the wooden door as it flew past his
head. “I’m not going have an intellectual discussion of Magical Theory with you! If you
haven’t noticed, I’m busy—!”

“And what exactly is your plan?”

Valeria stopped and looked him dead in the eye, trying to reveal nothing. “If he dies,
professor. I have nothing left to lose.”

“I know. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“You’ve said your news,” Valeria said after a long pause. “I would appreciate being left alone
to attend to my business.”

“That wasn’t all I had to say. The Dark Lord would like to meet with you this evening, here
in Malfoy Manor.”

Valeria would have been afraid at one point, but now her only worry at meeting with the Dark
Lord was that it would delay her contingency plan. “What does he want?”

“He did not say, but you would do well to be on your best behavior—”
“I fucking know that!”

“All the same, I thought it best to say it to you personally. Take the day to prepare and we
will reconvene tonight in the drawing room.”

Snape left without much of a farewell, leaving Valeria to start taking care of her matters while
ordering Tinky to prepare the house for the Dark Lord’s visit. She felt the need to prepare
more quickly. She felt bad for leaving Tracey to fend for herself longer, but surely Nott could
handle his wife. Valeria settled on a final draft of her suicide note. If she had been of sounder
mind, not desperately repressing her pain and fear in order to focus on the tasks at hand, she
would have been disturbed by how efficient she was being. Perhaps morally she should have
been weeping at Draco’s bedside, but she couldn’t imagine a world in which Draco would
want her to lie back and take whatever miserable fate was to otherwise befall her.

When she finally finished, she found Tracey was not in the sitting room, which wasn’t
surprising. Valeria ventured to the entrance hall of the manor, hearing some commotion there
as she drew nearer and stopped dead when she saw the massive amount of floral
arrangements and gifts placed everywhere around the foyer. Nott and Zabini were inspecting
the deliveries while Tracey was waving her wand around to arrange the flowers neatly around
the foyer.

“Valeria, there you are,” Tracey said.

“Sorry, I got caught up and had to meet with Snape—” Valeria said, looking around
confusedly at the gifts, overwhelmed by the oppressive floral scents.

“No, don’t be. I ran an errand and came back. Isn’t this lovely, Valeria? The whole world is
sending their love to you right now. Theodore and Blaise still have to inspect them for traps
and such, in case another terrorist sent them, but look at how much people care—” Tracey
went on.

“It smells like a fucking funeral,” Valeria said with a sneer.

“I think people are just trying to help—” Tracey said.

“Send them back,” Valeria said.

“But…we can’t send back gifts like this…Isn’t that a bit…insulting?” Tracey asked.

“He’s not dead yet!” Valeria shouted. She could feel herself slipping, seeing the forced
kindness all around her was driving her to the brink of breaking.

“It’s just a gesture—”

“SEND THEM BACK!” Valeria shouted, her voice shaking. It caught the men’s attention,
and they came over to calm her down.

“We can store them elsewhere if you want—” Blaise began gently.
“I don’t want them stored, I want them gone! I won’t have you tell me what to do in my own
goddamn house!”

“Valeria, please, just calm down—” Nott said.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Valeria said as she snapped. She swiftly removed her wand
and aimed it at the largest, most obnoxious arrangement that was at least as large as she was
and said “Incendio.” The others shouted at her to stop while trying to put out the flames, but
Valeria cast the spell at each arrangement one-by-one. Blaise shoved the doors open as the
foyer filled with smoke and steam from the water the men had enchanted to smother the
flames.

“I’m getting a drink,” Valeria said flatly, turning on her heels and marching back up the stairs.

“Tracey, keep an eye on her!” Nott said, trying to keep the portraits from getting caught up in
the flames too. Tracey caught up to Valeria upstairs. Tracey put on a brave face, but Valeria
felt a tinge of guilt seeing how startled her sensitive friend was by Valeria’s outburst. It was
for Tracey’s sake that Valeria didn’t banish her friend from her presence, allowing her to join
Valeria in the room that had been Draco and Valeria’s first bedchamber after they’d married.
Valeria summoned Tinky to bring wine and held her head in her hands as she sat on one of
the sofas.

“I’m sorry, Tracey. I don’t think I’m thinking straight,” Valeria admitted.

“It’s alright,” Tracey said, her voice trembling a little bit. “You’re under so much stress. This
is a nice room. It’s quiet…”

“It was our first room, before we moved into the master,” Valeria said. Fortunately, most of
the personal items had been moved to the master room, so she was, for now at least, not
surrounded by Draco; his things, his photographs, the smell of him that still clung to
everything else. Though that was a poor solace. So much had happened in this room, the first
room they ever shared; the first room either of them had ever shared with anyone. So many
arguments, so much grief, and even some contentedly quiet nights of the little peace that they
could find all lingered on in her memories of this place.

“I went back home to get something, I thought maybe you might want to see. You don’t have
to if you don’t want too,” Tracey said reaching into the bag she brought with her and pulling
out a book that she handed to Valeria. Valeria opened it, drinking her wine fast and deep. She
was met with a sort of scrap book filled with childhood memories. Tracey sat beside Valeria.
“That was your birthday party remember?”

Valeria looked at the photograph on the page and sure enough there was a picture of her and
her childhood friends in Wales. Valeria couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years
old; she didn’t remember now. Pansy, Tracey, Daphne, Nott, Blaise, Millicent, Harper and
several other of her peers were all there smiling bright in the sun. It was a cold February day,
but the adults had put warming enchantments on a patch of ground outside to have a pleasant
outdoor party. There were her parents, happy and proud.
“That was when Konstantin was taking us all one-by-one for broom rides,” Valeria mused
aloud, her gaze landing on her brother, who had come back from Hogwarts for the weekend
just for this party. He had to have been around fifteen and already looked like a young adult,
rather than a teenage boy.

“Pansy had the hugest crush on him. I think a lot of us did,” Tracey said.

“She kept asking to go for another ride,” Valeria said of Pansy with a little laugh. Valeria
remembered how her mother had built her up to sway her fears of flight. Konstantin had
happily taken Valeria up for a magnificent ride through the mountain sky and she saw the
world from a perspective she never had. She would have thought that a boy of Konstantin’s
age would be disgruntled to attend his little sister’s birthday party, but he was smiling so
bright in this picture. He always jumped on any opportunity to soar through the sky.

“And there’s Draco, scowling as usual,” Tracey said, pointing to Draco, arms folded and
frowning, standing with his parents.

“He was just mad that his parents wouldn’t let him fly himself. He just wanted to show off,”
Valeria said.

“To the surprise of absolutely no one,” Tracey said with a laugh. They went through the book
of memories full of delicate little drawings, photographs and scraps of the Slytherin tie neatly
adhered to the pages. There were so many memories. Themselves as children making silly
faces at the camera, one of Draco teasing Valeria for having a foam mustache from some
butterbeer in Hogsmeade, Christmas gift exchanges, a snowball fight on the grounds, post-
Quidditch victory celebrations, and the like. They were so innocuous, the sort of photographs
that could have been of anyone’s childhood. It was so far away, yet so vividly familiar to
Valeria. These felt like the happy memories of a dead little girl.

And seeing Draco’s images peppered throughout, she had to wonder in pain if she was truly
mourning the potential loss of Draco or the loss of who he could have been if it all had not
come to this.

“Thank you, Tracey. This was kind of you,” Valeria said quietly.

“Hold onto it as long as you want,” Tracey said. The women spent more time going through
memories, and to Valeria’s surprise she was welcoming this little distraction. It was helping.
That was, until there was a knock at the door a great deal of time later. Nott and Blaise
entered the room with dour expressions.

“We’ve been ordered to escort you to the drawing room,” Blaise said.

“I think she could use more peace and quiet,” Tracey tried to politely argue. But Valeria
stood, knowing what Blaise meant.

“It’s not up for discussion, Tracey,” Valeria said. She followed Nott and Blaise out of the
room and the two men were silent as they led her to the drawing room; the place she hated
most in the entire manor.
“We’re right behind you,” Nott whispered to Valeria as he and Blaise opened the doors.
Valeria steeled herself and stepped forward. A long table had been arranged where the Dark
Lord sat at its head along with Nagini, draping herself on the back of the throne-like chair.
Snape was at Voldemort’s right, along with Lucius who kept his head down. Valeria bowed
low.

“My Lord, it is a privilege to host you once more,” Valeria said.

The Dark Lord laughed a little laugh that made Valeria cringe internally. “Even in times of
great sorrow, the Winters manners can always be counted upon. You may forego them now,
Mrs. Malfoy. Nott and Zabini, I must give you both my thanks for keeping Mrs. Malfoy safe.
I know you both would be happier hunting down these terrorists in honor of your friend,
Draco.”

“It is ever our pleasure to serve where we are needed, my Lord. Valeria is just as dear to us as
Draco is,” Blaise said.

“Your diligence has not gone unnoticed,” Voldemort said before turning back to Valeria.
“Come here, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Valeria dutifully followed the order and approached the Dark Lord. He took her hand in his
cold, clammy, hand that felt like the touch of death. She stifled the chill that ran down her
spine as the Dark Lord looked into her eyes.

“I must personally express my condolences for your suffering right now. Know that if Draco
recovers, he will be handsomely rewarded for his injury in the line of duty. As one of my
most loyal servants, his potential loss cannot be understated.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“Severus has informed you of the culprit’s capture, I take it. We have been interrogating him
around the clock and now feel we have gotten what information we need from him. His
execution will be scheduled shortly and when that time comes, I want you to have the honor
of executing Finnigan, for it was you he has wronged most deeply. Your dearly departed
father had a vengeful spirit that suffered no insult, I admired that greatly about him. I see the
same in you, Mrs. Malfoy, hence why I have made this decision.”

“I thank you, my Lord. I will happily fulfill this duty.”

“I would expect nothing less,” the Dark Lord said, releasing her hand. “However, I’ve long
thought it over since the attack on my Ministry and I’m afraid I’ve come to the decision that I
cannot allow insolence, even under such horrific and shocking circumstances. Your attack on
the Weasley home and capture of the girl was certainly a natural response to the insult you’ve
suffered, however you went rogue, Mrs. Malfoy. I’m afraid I cannot allow it.”

Valeria’s throat went dry. “My Lord, I wasn’t thinking correctly. The Weasley girl and I have
had a personal history and—”
“I understand why. Fear not, I will forgive this indiscretion. You are also far too valuable in
name and skill for me to punish you too harshly. The Wealsey women are of no importance to
me and I’m glad to see the girl properly punished. I must say, I’m impressed with the style of
torture you’ve employed. Perhaps you should have been an interrogator all this time,” the
Dark Lord slowly removed his wand from a pocket of his pitch-black cloak. “But I cannot
have a precedent set that acting without direct orders to such a severe degree is permissible.
So, I’m afraid Mrs. Malfoy, Crucio.”

Valeria felt the feeling that could never be forgotten if ever experienced once. The
inexplicable, immeasurable pain of being flayed alive, burned from the inside out, all her
internal organs twisting and convulsing at once, and being stabbed on every inch of her body
while it felt like she was being torn apart. It was all she could do to fall to the floor, only able
to hear the sound of her own screams that escaped her involuntarily and would not cease.

It might have only lasted a few seconds or perhaps a few minutes, all the while Valeria
writhed on the floor, wailing. When the Dark Lord finally relented, Valeria was still
trembling in exhaustion. Her face wet with tears and snot. The Dark Lord bent over after
rising out of his seat.

“Do not act out of line again, Mrs. Malfoy. Understood?” he said. She could hear the smile on
his face.

“Yes…yes, my Lord,” Valeria stuttered, catching her breath.

“Excellent. Let’s give Mrs. Malfoy some time alone. I’m sure she’s got plenty on her mind
and I’d hate to overstay my welcome. Nott and Zabini, see to it that she’s cared for.”

She heard the others get up out of their chairs and leave the room. As soon as the door was
shut, Nott and Blaise rushed to Valeria’s aid, who was still on the floor, not daring to move
before she was sure Voldemort was gone. They were muttering apologies and asking after her
well-being as they brought her to her feet, but her gaze landed on the cellar door as they lifted
her. Ginny. Ginny probably heard Valeria’s cries, probably enjoyed it. That cut Valeria
deepest then and there, the humiliation of Ginny hearing her pain.

“I need to talk to Weasley…” Valeria said hazily, drawing her wand, but Nott and Blaise
stopped her.

“Did you not listen to what he just fucking said?!” Blaise said.

“We’ll take you to your room. The house elf will get you whatever you need. Just, for fuck’s
sake, don’t do anything stupid. Draco wouldn’t want this,” Nott said.

Valeria didn’t have the emotional strength to argue as she was escorted back to her room.
Once alone, her anger filled her again and she kicked over a small table sending its contents
clattering to the floor, letting herself drop to a sofa in defeat. She sobbed in her fear and
loneliness, but her need to act was strongest, culminating in frustration knowing that she was
utterly helpless. Options were running out, the possibilities narrowing and she felt the walls
closing in. She knew, perhaps she’d known it for a long time, there were only a couple of
ways this could end and none of them were good.
If no heaven awaited her, then she would rain hell upon them all before it was over.

An owl rapped on the window, making her jump out of her skin for a moment. She saw
several letters on the floor addressed to her, one for each hour of the day. She rushed to the
window and took the letter from the owl, tearing it open as soon as she recognized Daphne’s
handwriting.

Valeria,

He is confidently stable. Due to the damage on the vocal cords, there is an enchantment to
paralyze them so they may naturally heal. We are unsure when he will wake, but we are
confident he will. Though the extent of the damage from the injury and stress on his body
from the many healing methods will not be clear until he wakes.

Daphne Zabini

Valeria let out a sob of relief, though her fears still remained. She read the note several times.
He would wake up. He was going to wake up. She rushed to the door, showing the letter to
Nott and Zabini who easily agreed to take her to St. Mungo’s that very minute. They rushed
to the section of hospital that had been sequestered off and secured, Nott and Zabini ushering
Valeria past eager reporters lingering about, harassing her for another statement.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, but our policies clearly state that spouses are the priority—”

“I’m his mother!”

Daphne and Narcissa were arguing outside of Draco’s room with a security detail guarding
the room. Narcissa was weeping and Valeria did feel a tinge of guilt and shame but was
anxious to see Draco. Daphne looked relieved to see Valeria. Nott gently ushered Narcissa a
few steps away before she could say anything.

“Can I see him?” Valeria asked desperately.

“Yes,” Daphne nodded. “Just don’t try to wake him. We need him to come out of it
naturally.” She opened the door to the spacious room and pulled the armchair to Draco’s
bedside. Valeria looked at Draco, expecting to see a horror show, but he was oddly peaceful.
He was paler than usual, a bit sick looking, but his expression was entirely relaxed, and his
chest rose and fell as he breathed calm and deep. He seldom slept so well at home. He was so
blissfully unaware in his rest, she already felt guilty at the thought of having to update him on
the chaos of the time he had been unconscious for. “Take all the time you need. He’s being
monitored so we’ll know if anything changes. Let us know if you need anything.”

Daphne turned to leave, but Valeria stopped her. “Thank you, for everything. And…I’m
sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Daphne said before departing. Valeria approached Draco’s bedside slowly and
her vision became blurry as her eyes filled with tears that could not be stopped. She brushed
his hair out of his face. His skin was warm and soft. He was so perfectly innocent now, it was
haunting. She gently touched the thick layers of bandages on his throat, and she could see the
scars from when Potter nearly murdered Draco all those years ago poking out from how low
the hospital gown rested on his torso. Would his neck scar too?

She pulled the armchair closer so she could sit comfortably while taking his hand in hers. She
didn’t know how long she sat there with him in blissful, perfect silence, gently rubbing her
thumb on the outside of his hand. She had eventually leaned over to rest her head on the bed
whilst holding firmly to his hand, drifting in and out of a light, anxious sleep.

It was unclear how much time passed while Valeria sat in her exhaustion, her body
desperately clinging to what rest it could find. But she sat right up, alert, when she felt his
hand tighten around her hers. Her breath hitched looking at his face, watching his eyes slowly
blink open, and she burst into tears of relief once again, a tremendous weight lifted from her
shoulders, if only for a moment.

“Draco…?” she whispered as his eyes glanced around the room in confusion. He turned to
her seeing her tears and he slowly parted his lips to speak. “Don’t try to talk. Your vocal
cords are paralyzed so they can heal.”

He didn’t listen, being Draco, and tried to talk a little, but no sound escaped him. His other
hand went to his throat and felt the bandages on his neck. He turned to Valeria again.

“It’s healing. Daphne would know more…I don’t…” she said softly, stifling another small
cry. He released her hand and looked at her, his hand reaching gently to her cheek, where he
wiped away a few fallen tears. His hand moved along her jaw and his thumb brushed against
her lip where Lucius strike had injured her. He looked at her gravely.

“It’s nothing. It’s not important, don’t worry—” she started, but he gave her a dark look
demanding to be told what happened.

“Your father…we had an argument, but it’s not important now—” she tried to explain, but he
cut her off with a long, angry huff as his other hand clenched into a fist. He gave her another
look, one demanding her to tell him the full story. It would have shocked her how well he
could read him if she had not been so caught up in the emotions of this.

“It’s been…” she tried to say, but another ruthless onslaught of tears came again. “It’s been
really bad.” She began to weep her chest heaving to keep up with how hard she sobbed. But
Draco’s hand left her cheek and drifted to her hair and he gently pulled her to his chest. She
managed to squeeze herself into the bed with him, careful to be gentle as he pressed her close
to him, his other arm weakly wrapping around her. He pulled out the pins that held her hair in
place and tossed them lazily to the floor, letting her hair fall out long and loose. She listened
to the comforting sound of his beating heart and his lungs filling and releasing air while she
wept into his shoulder.
 The Price of Being Draco Malfoy
Chapter Notes

I wrote something too long again. Sorry.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Description of injury. Mild violence. Descriptions of death,

blood, torture and violence. Mention of violence against children. Mention of rape. Mild
consensual sexual content. Emotional abuse. Off-page death.

July 1995

Valeria was holed up in a spacious guest room of Malfoy Manor, stewing in her teenage
misery. Her parents were on a romantic getaway in the south of France. Valeria had begged to
stay home with her brother, but given how busy Konstantin was with work, they wanted her
to have more supervision, just to be safe. Valeria begged to stay with Daphne or Tracey, even
Pansy, for the two weeks they’d be gone, but the Malfoys had already volunteered to host her
and given how close the Winters and the Malfoys were, it was a done deal before
Hieronymus and Odessa had even approached Valeria.

Valeria tried to tell them that Draco was a horrid little ingrate and she had no interest in
spending time with him, which at the time Valeria firmly believed as the two had a massive
falling out at the end of their fourth year of school, but to no avail. Valeria’s stay was
comfortable and Narcissa did her best to make it enjoyable, but she truly couldn’t wait to go
home as avoiding Draco was as awkward as it was exhausting.

She looked up from the magazine she was reading to pass the boredom when the door
quickly opened and shut, seeing Draco standing in her room with his ear pressed to the door.

“What are you doing?! Get out of my room!” she shouted at him.

He shushed her with a hiss. “Shut up,” he whispered harshly, pressing his ear to the door
again. “Bloody hell, he’s coming. Cover for me.”

“What?”

But Draco held a finger to his mouth and darted for the adjacent bathroom, shutting and
locking the door behind him. Shortly after there was a knock on the door and Valeria called
for the intruder to enter, only to find Tinky, the Malfoys’ replacement house elf for Dobby
(the subject of whom was apparently a sore spot for Lucius still) panting and wringing his
hands.

“Tinky is sorry to disturb, Miss Winters, but Master Draco is due for his piano lesson and I
cannot find him anywhere and the tutor grows impatient. Have you seen Master Draco?”

“…No, haven’t seen him. I’ve been in here, reading, since lunch…” Valeria said.

“Tinky will keep searching. Thank you, Miss Winters,” Tinky said, quickly departing. Draco
emerged from the bathroom and Valeria folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Really?”

“I hate piano lessons. Mum makes me take them with that old hag of a tutor to ‘keep my
mind active’ while not at school and so I don’t ‘waste the whole summer playing Quidditch,’
but I have to practice. She doesn’t understand at all—”

“It’s pouring rain outside anyway. You can’t give up one stupid hour of your time? It’s not
like you do anything all day anyway!”

“Shut up! He might hear you yelling and come back. And if you ever paid attention during
matches, you’d remember that we play at school rain or shine,” Draco said, eyes darting to
door and back to her. He marched over to her and grabbed her hand hard enough that his
grasp was firm when she tried to pull away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“He’ll probably come back here looking for me, we’ve got to run.”

“I don’t have to do anything. I’m not the one trying to skip lessons!”

“But if you’re with me, I can say we went for a walk or something and lost track of time.”

“I just told Tinky I haven’t seen you.”

“And who’s my mum going to believe? Me or some stupid house elf. Let’s go already,”
Draco demanded, dragging Valeria to the door. When he was certain the coast was clear, he
pulled her into the corridor and led her quickly down the long hallway until they reached the
end, the corridor continuing both to their left and right. “Tinky probably went that way. My
father’s study is down there and Tinky knows I snoop in there sometimes. Come on.” He
pulled Valeria in the corridor going the opposite direction.

“Why do you snoop in your father’s study?”

Draco shrugged. “I want to know what he’s up to. I’m going to inherit all of this one day. I
should know what’s going on.”

“You’re still only fifteen. I think you’re just nosy.”

“I have every right to know. He can’t keep me out of the loop forever.”
“Maybe you’re just immature and that’s why he doesn’t tell you things.”

“I’m not immature! Don’t talk to me like that in my own house!”

“It’s not your house and I’m your guest and you have a duty to be nice to me!”

“I don’t have to do anything! And if you don’t keep it down, I’ll shove you in a broom
closet.”

“Like you could if you tried. You’re so stupid!”

“I’m not stupid!”

“Master Draco! Is that you!?” Tinky’s voice called from behind a corner.

“Dammit,” Draco spat under his breath.

“I thought you said he went a different way…”

“Well, I was wrong, happy?! This way,” Draco said, yanking on her hand again to a small
door at the end of the hallway, which led to a narrow, old staircase at the edge of the manor.
Draco led her down the stairs and opened another door at the bottom, where a cold gust of
stormy wind from the outside world assaulted them. Draco tugged again, but Valeria didn’t
budge.

“It’s raining! I don’t have my outdoor cloak and—”

“We’ll be harder to find outside!” Draco protested.

“But we aren’t allowed to cast any warming or drying charms outside of school…”

“And you’re so rubbish at charms that you’d probably set us both on fire if you tried anyway.
Let’s. Go!” Draco said, tugging hard enough that Valeria couldn’t fight and they were quickly
doused in rain as Draco ran, forcing her to keep up, across the grounds. They found refuge
away from the house behind some tall hedges, pressed up against them so as not to be seen
from the windows of the manor. Draco finally released Valeria’s hand as they were catching
their breaths. Valeria hiked up the hems of her robes, but felt her shoes sinking into the
muddy earth no matter where she stood.

“This is disgusting. I’ve never been so filthy in my life,” she said, clumsily shaking her leg to
fling off some mud from her shoe, which only made the muck splatter more onto her robes.
Draco laughed at her.

“It’s just water, calm down.”

“I’ve never been dirty. Not like this.”

“Oh, come on,” Draco drawled, rolling his eyes. “You’ve really never played in mud before?
Nothing?”
“Do you really think my parents would have let me even if I wanted to?”

“What’s the worst that could happen? They aren’t going to disown you or anything. You’re so
uptight—”

“I’m not uptight. I just like to maintain some dignity, unlike you!”

“Oh yeah, you’re so dignified right now looking like a drowned rat,” Draco said.

Valeria stomped her foot indignantly into the mud, splattering her once more. “I didn’t ask for
this, you dragged me out here. I’m going back and telling Tinky where you are if he asks!”
Valeria turned on her heels and began the mucky march back into the manor until she felt
something cold, heavy and wet plop onto the back of her head. She stopped dead in her tracks
and slowly turned, feeling the cold mud slide down her hair and drip under the collar of her
robes down her skin. But Draco was already armed with another handful of mud that he
threw at her shoulder as soon as she faced him, splattering mud on her face.

“Everyone, come see the noble, dignified Valeria Winters! Ha! I should have brought a
camera out here so I could show you your face right now!"

“What is wrong with you!?” she shouted, wiping mud off her face with her soaking sleeve.

“I’m doing you a favor. How many times have I told you to stop doing everything your
parents tell you to do? You need to loosen up and have fun.”

“I’m sorry that my idea of fun isn’t being pelted with mud!”

“Well, at least one of us is having fun then,” Draco said with a laugh.

Valeria let out a cry of frustrated rage. “You’re such…such an ass!” She bent down and
though she cringed at the feeling, scooped up a handful of mud from the earth.

“Don’t you dare!” Draco shouted as she rose, taking a few steps back. Valeria was no athlete
but her aim in her anger was true and she got Draco square in the face. He naturally retaliated
after the shock and the argument quickly turned into a mud fight, trying to dance around each
other, dodging out of the way of the blows until Draco approached and tried to hold down
Valeria’s arms, but not so much to cause pain or injury.

Valeria struggled in his grip, demanding to be released, trying to yell over Draco’s incoherent
shouting. They slipped in the struggle landing onto the water-logged ground, but the fight did
not cease. They each tried to get the upper hand in the glorified play-fighting, which to them
was a fight to death, wrestling on the ground growing filthier with each passing moment.

There was no clear victor when all was said and done, though if one asked, they would each
claim victory for themselves. They called an informal truce and sat on the cold, soggy
ground. Valeria started laughing at the state of Draco, covered in so much mud that parts of
his hair appeared to have been dyed brown. Draco laughed too. Resigned to the futility of
fighting the elements, they both laughed as the rain continued to pour over them. Valeria felt
something incredibly liberating in the moment, though she would never allow Draco the
privilege of knowing he was right, at least then. All the same, she didn’t have to say anything.
It was all she could do to savor this, which was wise as neither of them knew that this would
be one of the last times they felt truly free.

June 2003

It went without saying that Draco Malfoy was a far cry from the posturing schoolyard brat he
once was. He was tall and pale, his pointed features rendering him rather striking looking.
His cold gray eyes were ever vigilant. He was the kind of man who wore his sins plainly on
his face for all the world to see with anxious discomfort as he passed. Draco Malfoy was by
now well-known for being one of the most intimidating men in the wizarding world.

If Valeria had not known him for so long, had not been the recipient of what tenderness
remained in him over the years, she would have said that he was far more intimidating now
than he ever had been. Daphne had agreed to make house visits every other day or so to
monitor Draco’s progress. He was forbidden from strenuous activities for several weeks,
though long strolls were encouraged daily. Draco was absolutely forbidden from talking or
attempting to talk, not that he could anyway while his vocal cords were paralyzed. Even
attempting to whisper was out of the question and members of the Malfoy household were
warned not to sneak up on him in fear of him trying to shout in surprise. Draco expressed his
thoughts in nods and headshakes, smiling or scowling, gestures or little huffs and sighs. For
more complex thoughts, he used old fashioned quills and parchment, but writing frustrated
him terribly given how slow it was compared to talking.

Lip reading was pointless as Valeria was remarkably terrible at it, surprising Draco as he
didn’t think there was much left to learn about each other after all this time. Once, Draco
mouthed the words “No, I don’t need anything. Thanks,” which Valeria unfortunately
interpreted as "Warring eels are walking. That stinks." Draco’s frustration at not being able to
speak was plain. His meetings with Nott and Zabini took nearly twice as long with all the
writing Draco had to do to articulate his thoughts, so much so that Valeria would massage his
wrist at night. Draco spent time with his anxious mother, but came out of those conversations,
if they could be called that, visibly exhausted. He would not meet with his father, having
written to Lucius only the words “We’ll speak when I can talk.”

Daphne assured that Draco would be able to speak again, though she could not yet say what
exactly that would mean or sound like. Daphne spared the Malfoys the dirty details but
stressed that the injury had cut quite deep. Even with magic, there was only so much healing
that could be done. Draco had been forbidden from dueling with a partner, so was relegated
to using lifeless targets, under Valeria’s supervision so he did not stress himself.

The evidence of Draco’s injury was clear as day. In all the chaos of Draco’s near-death
experience, time had not been taken to prevent scarring. A long, pink, jagged scar sat like a
tight necklace at the front of his throat. Draco had written on parchment to Valeria after she
had gently touched it once the bandages were removed, If the bastard had aimed a little
higher, we could have matched. Due to the glamours Valeria wore every day and Bellatrix’s
precision, Valeria’s scar resembled a crack in marble whereas Draco’s was harsher.

Once Draco had received a clean bill of health and returned home, Valeria had Tinky release
Ginny from her imprisonment. Ginny had been given only enough sustenance and water to
survive during her confinement and was sent out of the bounds of the Malfoy estate to fend
for herself. There was hell to pay still, but given her torture under the Dark Lord’s hand,
Valeria found it best in the moment to hold to her word and let Ginny go, not caring what
became of her.

Then came the early morning, weeks after Draco’s release, that Daphne gave him the all-clear
to speak.

“They’ve been paralyzed so long; your vocal folds are going to be weak. It’ll take time, but
you’ll be back to some kind of normal soon. Just don’t overdo it. No whispering, no shouting.
Just speak normally for now. Try it once I remove my wand. Just say anything you like,”
Daphne said. She held her wand to Draco’s neck and he felt a sudden warmth in his throat.
He felt a tightness lift and looked at Daphne, who nodded at him.

“Hhhh—Hello, Greengrass…” Draco said weakly. His voice was lower, with a slight rasp,
coarser than before. Daphne nodded.

“Good. Very good. Your voice is going to sound different to you and to others, but you’ll get
used to it. Drink lots of fluids and if there’s any pain, stop speaking and contact us
immediately. Take it easy for now. Promise?”

“Yeah…I promise,” Draco said, taking effort to talk.

“I need to get back, but I’ll pass everything along to Valeria via owl later. You can start doing
more than just walks, but still no practice dueling, unless you’re only sparring with a target.
I’ll be checking in tomorrow.”

Draco thanked Daphne and kept his head down on the way to the library. He was trying to
mutter to himself, make small sounds to test his voice and get used to speaking again after all
these weeks. He found Valeria seated on the floor, surrounded by open books.

“Did it go well?” she asked. She had gotten used to speaking almost strictly in yes-or-no
questions.

“It did,” he said softly, after clearing his throat a little more. It was rare to be afforded a
moment of true joy and Draco couldn’t help but smirk watching Valeria’s face light up at the
sound of his voice. She marched over to him and kissed him, her hands affectionately holding
the sides of his face.

“Daphne gave you the all-clear? How’s it feel? Does it hurt or—?” Valeria asked in rapid fire.

“It feels…different. It sounds really different,” Draco said.

“It does. But I like it,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head against
his shoulder. “I’m just happy to hear it at all.”

Draco was filled with an uncomfortable cocktail of emotions, compounded by the trauma of
his injury and recovery, as he looked down at her. She had told him, as gently as she could,
about all that occurred while he was unconscious, and he had wanted to act immediately.
However, the severity of his injuries prevented him from retaliation, but this gave him time to
think on what to do. Now that he could speak, now that the Dark Lord would soon be
welcoming Draco back officially, it was time.

“I have to take care of a few things, but I’ll be back soon,” he said.

“You just got your voice back. Can we have even one conversation before—?”

“I’ve waited long enough.”

“What do you have to do that can’t possibly wait? You’ve already been having meetings you
didn’t have to have with Nott and Blaise. You’re allowed to rest until you’re officially called
back—”

“I’ll need to talk to my father to start.”

She sighed. “Draco, I’ve said over and over that we should drop it. He and I were both upset,
and we lost control for a moment.”

“No one touches you,” Draco said through his teeth, his tone even more chilling with his
vocal condition. “It’s time he answers for it.”

“Please don’t make it worse,” Valeria said gently.

He gave her a concerned look. “Are you afraid of him?”

“No,” she answered, mostly honestly. In truth she was a bit fearful of what Lucius would do
if Draco were not around, or worse, if Draco died. While she doubted Lucius would try to
seriously harm her, she couldn’t trust him worth a damn in general. “I just don’t want to give
him more cause to dislike me more than he already does.”

“He has no power over you or anything else. He has no power in this house or outside of it.
It’s time he understands that once and for all,” he said. He could tell Valeria was
unconvinced. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I'll handle it.”

“Are you doing this for your sake or mine?” she asked sternly.

Draco was a bit taken aback by the question. He sighed, his breath making a soft crackling
sound as it passed through his damaged vocal folds. “Is there a difference?”

Valeria didn’t argue and Draco had Tinky summon Lucius to the study, where Draco leaned
on the front of the desk with his arms tightly folded, trying to keep his blood pressure down
as the Healers had ordered. He looked forward at an ornate mirror hanging on the wall across
the room while he waited. He could plainly see the thick, pink scar across his neck, and he
gently brought the tips of his fingers to touch it, feeling the dry, rough skin that had grown in
to repair the damage. It wasn’t Draco’s first scar, his torso had several from when he was
sixteen, but those were cleaner and easier to hide. The scar on his throat felt more akin to the
Dark Mark on his arm, which the pain of receiving lay fresh still in Draco’s memory to the
point he often felt phantom pains and instinctively flexed his left arm.

Draco had been trying to hide, especially from Valeria who was so very relieved that he was
alive, just how difficult it had been to process the assassination attempt. He was forbidden
from taking potions to stifle his emotions given the other magical medical regiment he was
on, and so he had to suffer unaided. He could still feel the cold slicing open of his throat, the
hot blood running down his chest in a sheet, sputtering out all over him before he collapsed
into darkness. He could still feel himself choking on his own blood with each gasp for air,
which was filled with hot smoke from the explosion.

A part of Draco had died with Harry Potter in the Forbidden Forest. Draco felt scraps of his
soul die with every person he killed over the years, even now, even the ones he had killed
voluntarily and without guilt. Even those who deserved it. His first murders, committed in the
Great Hall where he once had meals with friends, where he once clumsily danced at the Yule
Ball with the woman he was now bound to forever, were at the forefront of his mind now. He
remembered Justin’s pleas for mercy, screaming “I’m your classmate, Malfoy!” Dean said
nothing when Draco slit his throat open, his blood spilling onto Draco’s clothes and hands.
He simply looked at Draco with a terrible, haunting gaze. Perhaps Finnigan had gotten part of
what he wanted in trying to assassinate Draco, for Draco empathized with Dean more than
ever, knowing full well what it was to have one’s throat torn open.

Keeping Valeria alive had been worth it, surely. Even if they would never be happy, it had to
be worth it. He needed that to be true, even if it wasn’t real. Draco lost track of what was real
and what wasn’t a long time ago. Even his strange visit with his grandfather in the realms of
his unconscious was uncertain. It was some strange dream as his body fought for life, in all
likelihood. Nothing but darkness awaited Draco when this was over. He pushed Valeria to the
forefront of his thoughts for in weighing whether this was all worth it, everything he had
done, it was an easy answer when he thought of her. There was no world without her. That
was enough to sway him, to his shame.

Draco was slammed back into reality when the door creaked open, and he saw Lucius.

“I’m happy you finally want to see me,” Lucius said genuinely.

“Sit,” Draco ordered, gesturing to an armchair.

“You can speak,” Lucius said in shock, though a smile crossed his lips.

“Daphne Zabini gave me the all-clear. Sit.”

Lucius obeyed and the happiness of seeing Draco’s progress in recovery dissipated. “It
sounds good, your voice. Better than I expected.” Draco cleared his throat, feeling a gruffness
in his windpipe. “What…What is it you’d like to discuss.”
“We’re not discussing anything. You and I both know why you’re here,” Draco said, devoid
of emotion.

Lucius’s face dropped. “Draco…I’m sorry. I was reeling at the thought of losing you, our
only child, and she…she wasn’t even at the hospital when your mother barely left the waiting
area that entire time. She was here…going through documents. It was suspicious. You have
to understand something.” Lucius leaned forward in his seat. “Hieronymus was my dearest
friend, I cared for him and I still mourn him. But the Winters are the Winters. They’re
schemers, manipulators. They will do whatever they have to in order to get ahead or save
themselves. I lost control, I did, but you have to understand Valeria in the context she was
raised—”

“I would say I know her well enough by now,” Draco said calmly.

“I’m sure you do, but you’re still young, perhaps a bit…infatuated….”

“Are you questioning my judgement about my own wife?”

“No! Not exactly. I’m just giving some paternal guidance—”

Draco scoffed, though it came out as more of a cough. “You think now’s the time to start?”

“That’s not fair, Draco. You shouldn’t speak to your father—”

“I will speak to you however I damn please!” Draco said, his anger erupting a little before he
regained his composure. “Why did you strike her?” Valeria had already told him what
happened, he had demanded it of her, but Draco wanted to hear it straight from his father’s
mouth.

“She…she made some claims that I found disagreeable…”

“You hit her because you disagreed with her?!”

“No! It was, she was behaving as though she had more power than she had. Like she
outranked me, saying things that were insultingly untrue.”

“She does outrank you.”

That clearly struck a nerve with Lucius as his face contorted in anger. Lucius pulled up the
sleeve on his left arm, showing off his Dark Mark. “I have the same mark as you, the one she
does not have. Your wife does not outrank me any more than your mother outranks her sister;
not in this house nor outside of it.”

“She’s my wife; the wife of one of the Dark Lord’s favored followers. She does outrank you
anywhere on the face of this planet. You’re the one who sat by while we were forced to marry
—”

“You can’t keep bringing that up—”

“If you interrupt me again, this will not end well for you,” Draco said through his teeth.
“Son…? Are you feeling alright? What has gotten into you?”

“I’m perfectly well. You should be thanking me, given what I did to the last man who laid a
hand on her.”

“What’re you…? What do you mean?”

Draco took a deep breath. That was not wise of him to say. The details of Goyle’s death were
better left unsaid. “I’m asking questions here, not you. Valeria said that you struck her when
she proposed that you resent me.”

“She insulted me.”

“It sounds like she didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Draco said with a shrug. Lucius’s
face was red with rage as he shot up from his chair, but Draco caught his father by the collar
and shoved him back to his seat. “I didn’t say you could stand, did I?!” Draco began to cough
after shouting, feeling pain in his throat from pushing his voice too hard. He quickly conjured
water to fill a nearby glass, struggling through his coughing fit, and drinking the liquid down
to try and soothe the pain.

“Have you gone mad? How dare you treat your father that way in my own house!”

“My house!” Draco shouted, slamming the now empty glass down on the little end table,
shattering it in his hand, cutting his palm up. Draco hissed curses under his breath but turned
his rage on his father. “You tried to put her in her place forgetting who is actually in control
here.”

“I built this family into what it is now,” Lucius hissed.

“And I had to save you from destroying it!” Draco said. “Marrying Valeria made this family
the wealthiest in the wizarding world, handing over Potter to earn her pardon made us the
most powerful family in the wizarding world. You would be nothing without her and the
decisions I had to make because you were useless.”

“Draco, stop this.”

“You know it’s true. You once told me after I married her that I had to be a man. So, I have
and so I will be, and I don’t give a fuck how much you hate me or her for it. You will never
raise a hand to her again or, I promise, I will kill you.”

For the first time, Draco saw that Lucius was afraid of his own son. For the first time, Draco
did not care.

“Draco, I’m proud of you. I’m proud of everything you’ve done and become. It’s Valeria who
needs to understand that you’re in charge, not me. If anything, I think you should be more…
forceful. She’s gone too long without providing you an heir—”

Lucius’s implication made Draco see red and he felt himself losing control. Ever since he had
married, and the world had to believe that Draco consummated his marriage no matter how,
the implication that Draco had ever raped Valeria set Draco off. It was a nerve so deep, that
he was known to explode when it was struck, and the case was the same today as Draco
closed his injured hand and brought his fist down onto his father’s face, and then back
striking Lucius with the back of his hand. Draco whipped his wand from a pocket and deftly
held it to his father’s throat. Lucius’s breath was shaking in shock and genuine fear while
Draco felt his face grow hot and his body sweat.

“I know you resent me for doing what you never could, having the position you will never
have. I did everything you wanted, and a part of you hates me for it. That’s well with me. I
don’t care, father. But you will not be allowed to overstep again nor push the privileges I
graciously give you. I’ve changed my mind; if you so much as breathe in Valeria’s direction
too hard, I will kill you,” Draco said, speaking low. His father’s fearful expression didn't
leave him, and Draco could see a couple cuts on his father’s face from the rings on Draco’s
hand and a red mark that would soon begin to form a bruise near his other eye. Draco smiled
a little. “Don’t look at me like that, father. You’re proud of me, remember? You’re so very
happy that I’ve become everything you ever wanted me to be, aren’t you? You will not heal
those cuts nor that bruise forming by your eye. You will wear them plainly so that everyone
can see and so you remember this conversation when you look in the mirror until the message
sinks in. We will have dinner as a family tonight once I return from Hogwarts where you will
profusely apologize to my wife for what you did until she accepts.”

Draco took a step back and set to work healing his hand from the broken glass while his
father breathed heavily in his chair, relieved Draco’s wand wasn’t touching his throat
anymore, but desperately fighting back the frightened, angry tears in his eyes. Draco tucked
his wand away when finished and cleared his tense, dry throat again. “I’ll see you at dinner
father. It’ll be nice. Perhaps we could make it a little celebration for getting my voice back.
Mother would like that, I’m sure.”

Draco departed without another word and made his way next for the drawing room, where,
according to his mother, Snape had set up a temporary portkey to Hogwarts to easily move
back and forth while Draco was on death’s doorstep. Daphne had made it perfectly clear that
long distance apparation was out the question for now and so Draco hoped that the portkey
was still active. It was a book on a small table and when Draco touched it, he felt the
unpleasant sensation of traveling via portkey until he found himself landed safely in a
desolate Hogsmeade.

Draco remembered the end of term at Hogwarts when the sun returned to warm the grounds,
and the energy of students anxious to complete their final work and celebrate the close of
another year. Those were happy days Draco wished he could forget. For now, an air of dread
loomed over the castle in the distance and Hogsmeade itself had a fearful silence in its streets,
until the door of the Three Broomsticks opened, and a couple of cloaked men emerged to
meet Draco in the streets. One of the men Draco recognized, but he didn’t remember his
name. This man looked a bit fearful at the sight of Draco. The other though, Draco knew well
enough.

“Malfoy…What are you doing here?” Adrian Pucey asked with a surprised, but friendly
smile.
Draco shot him a look that wiped the smile from Pucey’s face. “With my clearance I’m
allowed to go wherever I please. Unless you know something I don’t.”

Pucey shook his head and Draco could easily read Pucey’s slightly shocked expression at the
sound of Draco’s new voice. “No, sir. I didn’t mean—I just meant, well given your…
condition—”

“My condition is just fine, Pucey. I’m here to see Snape,” Draco said, noticing Pucey’s eyes
dart down to the scar on Draco’s neck, putting Draco on edge. This must have been how
Valeria felt when she was gawked at.

“He’s around as far as I know, probably locked himself up in his office. Warrington’s on duty
at the entrance. He’ll do a quick security check and—”

“Security check?” Draco said.

“It’s just a formality. I’m sure you’ll be let through without an issue—”

“Am I free to go, Pucey?” Draco asked with an exasperated sigh.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Pucey said, standing aside, pulling back the other man as subtlety as he
could. Draco set off briskly without another word towards the castle in the distance. Draco
tried to keep his gaze forward, feeling his heart tighten in his chest remembering the
destruction, the death, and the terror of the Battle of Hogwarts. He caught a glance of the
Astronomy Tower and in his mind’s eye quietly relived the sight of Dumbledore falling
lifelessly from the tower while Valeria screamed. Draco could see Warrington stepping
forward to meet him as he crossed the courtyard, passing the obnoxiously oversized statue of
Voldemort with a stone-faced Harry Potter lying dead at his feet.

“Malfoy…What a pleasant surprise. How are you feeling?” Warrington said as Draco
approached the main entrance of the school, blocking the gate. Draco was grateful that
Warrington spoke first as seeing Potter’s face rendered in stone made his former rival’s final
words ring in his mind like a battle cry, “Draco...you’re making a mistake.”

“I feel fine. I’m here to see Snape,” Draco said flatly.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry to have to do this,” Warrington started, pulling out his wand. “It’s
just a precaution and—”

“Get it over with,” Draco ordered. Warrington cast a spell that surrounded Draco in soft,
warm light, a charm to check for weapons and for any concealed identities.

“You’re good to go. The students are going to gab about your visit for the rest of term. Check
out the Great Hall, if you’ve got the time. They’ve put up a bunch of portraits of notable
alumni. Glad to see you’re on the mend,” Warrington said. He had an odd friendliness for his
position. Warrington was one of those who enjoyed his service to the Dark Lord and had been
known in the ranks as a suck-up who was always vying for a promotion. Draco passed
through the gate to the entrance hall, met immediately with the Hall of Fallen Heroes. Draco
felt ill at seeing Goyle’s image hanging there with the banners of better men but resisted the
urge to burn the banner. He saw the stern, noble image of Hieronymus Winters and the
handsome, charming face of Konstantin Winters hanging alongside him.

Other than his own father, Konstantin had been the one other person in his youth that Draco
had looked up to and wanted to emulate. Konstantin was even more perfect in death than he
had been in life. He would always be a handsome young man, full of wit, a quick expert at
nearly everything he attempted. Though Konstantin was a marked Death Eater before Draco
could have ever dreamt the same for himself, there was something tragically innocent about
him. Whatever Konstantin’s silent sins were, they all paled compared to Draco's. Konstantin
was not a killer. Konstantin had never failed, until the error that cost him his life. Konstantin
achieved the most envied of immortalities that Draco could never live up to. Seeing the face
of his late brother-in-law almost looking down on him, Draco felt small in his shame. Were
he living, Konstantin would have done unspeakable things to Draco knowing what became of
his dear sister. And Draco would deserve it.

Draco’s curiosity got the better of him, and against his judgement, he stepped into the Great
Hall, stripped of nearly all its historical grandeur. There were very few students mingling
about there as they once would have. There were a few students chained up to the walls, just
as happened during his seventh year and Draco averted his gaze. Some were seated at tables
having hushed conversations, looking back and forth at Draco, but Draco hardly noticed. He
was bombarded with flashes of images of bloody death that had occurred gleefully by
Draco’s comrades on Voldemort’s orders. The floor ran red then. Draco could still smell the
stench of Potter’s burning corpse. Even his memory of the Yule Ball, where Draco had been
blissfully lost in a juvenile haze of young love he had yet to understand, could not purify his
violent thoughts. It made it all the worse, for he and Valeria as mere bright-eyed children
were now but ghosts dancing across blooded ground.

Draco kept his eyes up, looking at the walls. Just as Warrington had said, on either side the
walls were covered in portraits of notable alumni ranging from his father and grandfather to
Draco’s own similar aged peers. Draco’s portrait was near the front, beside Valeria’s. The
portraits looked down upon the hall, upon the students, presented in aspirational fashion.
Watching them. Judging them. Inviting them to join the prestigious group of Voldemort’s
most loyal servants.

Draco realized to his dismay that he would never escape the prison that Hogwarts had
figuratively become. He returned to Hogwarts, to the battle, nearly every night in the
nightmares that he had grown far too accustomed to over the years, to the point that his most
vivid torments became banal. He expected to return to this personalized hell for the rest of his
nights what remained.

At a loss, Draco made his way to Snape’s office, eager to leave this place. If he was cursed to
return in his dreams, he could at least make quick work of being forced to visit in waking life.
Draco was lost in troubled memories, at the brink of turning back, unable to bear it any
longer as he passed students, who spoke in harsh little whispers as he walked. Draco was torn
from his unwelcome introspection when he collided with someone. He looked down. A
young girl, no older than thirteen maybe, had been accidentally knocked to the ground and
looked up at Draco in pale-faced terror as their eyes met.
“Sir…I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t watching where—where I was going,” she spoke meekly. It was
clear she knew who he was. “Please don’t—I’m sorry.”

The other students had halted to watch but stood as far off as they could. Draco bent down to
pick up what the girl had dropped, the books in her hand along with her schoolbag and its
contents spilled out on the floor before him. But the girl quickly snatched the objects away,
awkwardly clutching them at the sight of Draco’s hand reaching for them, trying to stifle a
terrified whimper. Maybe it was for the best, Draco thought, as everything he touched
seemed to whither in his grasp.

“It’s alright. I wasn’t looking either,” Draco said, trying to soothe the girl’s fear, but the sound
of Draco’s low, gruff voice as a result of his injuries frightened her more. Draco recognized
that his prolonged presence was making it worse and stepped away. He heard the girl take off
at a speed just under a run in the opposite direction behind him.

An older boy laughed. “You’re so dead, Maria!”

Draco turned on his heel and stopped dead in his tracks, seeing the jovial older boy. “Not a
single word out of you!” Draco said, and the boy went just as pale as the young girl had. The
boy’s mouth moved to speak, but no words came, scrambling for what to say. “Understood?!”

“Yes—Yes, sir—”

Draco turned back and kept on his path to Snape’s office, refusing to suffer further
distraction. Once up the spiral stair, Draco pounded on the door.

“Come in,” Snape called from within. Draco marched in approached Snape, seated at his
desk, without hesitation. “Draco. I was expecting you.”

“I didn’t make an appointment,” Draco said, Snape raised an eyebrow at Draco’s voice.

“I received word from St. Mungo’s about your progress and expected you to drop in. I didn’t
know you’d been cleared for speech. How are you feeling?”

“Goddamn wonderful,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

“Right. I’m sure Valeria filled you in on matters while you were unconscious. I’m assuming
that’s what you’re here to discuss.”

“I’m not here to discuss anything—”

“Draco, you need to see reason—”

“Reason?!” Draco’s voice hitched as he was on the verge of shouting and he had to cough
through the discomfort. “You expected me to have a diplomatic conversation about how the
second I was out of commission you tried to get into bed with my wife?!”

Snape’s expression soured. “I did not try to ‘get into bed’ with Valeria and I find your
implication incredibly offensive.”
“You’re offended? Never mind the insult you’ve done both to me and her by trying to marry
her, your own student who is half your age, you perverse—”

Snape slammed his hands on his desk as he rose to meet Draco’s gaze. “Stop this nonsense
now. I made a promise to you to protect her and that’s why I volunteered to marry her before
a worse man could. You’re not stupid, Draco. You know that.”

“No one will marry—” Draco couldn’t finish the sentence, even attempting to speak the
words made him too ill. “If something happens to me…no one will do that to her. Not again.”

“You know the laws as well as I do. If she’s widowed and childless, she would be required to
remarry.”

“Not her,” Draco said through his teeth.

“She’s a wealthy pureblooded woman of childbearing age. Her status and skill make her an
invaluable asset. You cannot expect an exception to be made—”

“I can!”

“You can try, but your efforts would be futile and likely to do more harm than good.”

Draco leaned forward across the desk and spoke low. “Everything I’ve done is for her. I don’t
care what happens to me, but if I can’t ensure her safety if I die…then there's no point to any
of this.” Draco’s emotions were threatening to boil over. Draco hated feeling most
everything. If he could have willed himself never to feel again, he would have done so in a
heartbeat.

“Are you sure your verbal lashing of me isn’t some manifestation of thoughts you’re having
about yourself?” Snape said calmly. Draco looked Snape dead in the eye. Very few people
dared to speak to Draco so plainly anymore. Draco couldn’t make sense of it in the moment,
and he was quite averse to introspection in general, but a sliver of his being knew that Snape
was right. When Valeria had told him all that happened while he fought for his life, he felt a
crippling fear that had tormented him all these weeks.

For what had fueled him to wreak horror on innocents, to regularly risk his own life, to
become the monster the world demanded him to be was the knowledge that their lives, his
and Valeria’s, were worth it. This was all in service that his promise would be fulfilled, that it
all mattered. But if he could not guarantee Valeria’s safety from beyond the grave than it was
surely all for naught. No thought threatened to break him more than that. Draco had given up
his rival, his classmate, like a sacrificial lamb for slaughter. He had to believe there was a
reason, more than anything.

The moment Draco’s spirit irreparably fractured was the moment before Potter was
murdered. The moment he opened the door to unleash hell upon the entirety of the world for
one purpose. Draco was strong enough now to bear the burden of most all of his sins, save for
that one which haunted him through the years and rang out like a siren with each successive
crime against his fellow man and woman, “Draco...you’re making a mistake.”
Maybe the best thing he could have done for Valeria, and himself, was to have let them both
die in the Battle of Hogwarts. Perhaps in death he could have saved them both from this life
they pretended not to hate. The life that was his fault. The life he had brought upon them and
everyone else.

“Draco...you’re making a mistake.”

No. No. No.

Draco could not allow it. Draco could not let Potter be right. He would never function again.
He could not abide the mere possibility of failure.

“I…just need to know that she’ll be safe,” Draco said, avoiding Snape’s question.

“She’s strong, Draco. She’s capable. She would have understood in time. I did not want her
money, nor would I ever have dreamed of anything improper. I was simply trying to see your
wishes through. This may surprise you, but I actually care about her safety too, as well as
yours.”

Draco took a moment to breathe through his emotions. “Don’t expect me to thank you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. You should go home to your wife. Get what rest you can and enjoy
your leave for as long as it’s allowed to last. The Dark Lord will expect you to be in good
form when you return to the full extent of your duties.”

Draco turned to go, wanting to leave Hogwarts quickly, but stopped and turned back to
Snape. “Am I really so predictable that you expected me to come here?”

Snape sighed. “I am not one to be interested in others’ family matters, but your father sent me
a letter just before your arrival warning me that you were on what he dubbed ‘a rampage,’ but
I expected a visit regardless.”

Draco scoffed. “Of course.”

“What did you to him, Draco?”

“Put him in his place. Plain and simple.”

“He’s still your father. It might help to have your family united rather than engaging in petty
power plays.”

“He struck her, Snape.”

“I know. I was there. I’m simply suggesting you could have handled it more productively, not
that you weren’t within your rights—”

“You were there and did nothing?!”

“I tried. But Valeria didn’t seem interested in my assistance. I got the impression that she
wanted to do much worse to me than Lucius had done to her,” Snape said, exacerbated.
Draco smirked. “That’s my girl.”

“Was that supposed to be funny?”

Draco stopped before turning to go again. "There's a girl, a student. Third year maybe.
Name's Maria."

"Maria Saunders, I assume. What about her?"

"Let her take tomorrow off school, if you can," Draco said.

"Did something happen...?" Snape asked, concerned, with a raised eyebrow.

"Just do me one bloody favor, alright?"

"I suppose I can do that."

“Can’t we just eat alone? You just got your voice back and you’ve barely talked to me,”
Valeria said as she and Draco went down to the dining room. Draco hadn’t time to properly
detail the events of the day before he returned shortly before dinner.

“It’ll make my mother happy. And I want to make clear to my father that he has no power
here anymore,” Draco said. Valeria took his arm, stopping them both on the stairs.

“You said you handled that.”

“I did. Now he owes you an apology,” Draco said bluntly.

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need an apology. I don’t give a shit. I’m just relieved you’re
back.”

“You can’t allow him or anyone else to treat you that way. And if you can’t do anything about
it, then you can be damn sure that I will.”

“Draco, the Dark Lord tortured me for what I did to Ginny Weasley. This has all moved far
beyond who’s allowed to hurt who and I’d rather just forget all of it—”

“That’s your right. But I won’t allow my father to forget it.”

She looked at him in a way that Draco hated, examining him with concern like he was a lost,
pitiful puppy. “Are you alright?”

What a stupid question, but Draco knew it was all that could be said. He took her hand in his
and squeezed. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Dinner itself was awkward at best. Odessa, bless her, did all she could to sustain a
conversation while Lucius stared down at his plate, avoiding his son’s eyes. Narcissa
participated as well, though it was plain that she was conflicted and disturbed given the state
of her husband and what her son had done to him earlier in the day. She tried to avoid all
offensive topics entirely. Valeria and Draco, for their part, participated when necessary, but
Draco could feel his wife’s scolding gaze every time she looked at him after she saw Lucius’s
face.

Draco cut open his meat with a sharp knife, prepared rare and still a bit bloody how he liked
it, and was immediately bombarded with the memory of Finnegan slicing open his throat.
Draco lost his appetite for the most part but tried to pick at his dinner so as not to draw
suspicion that anything was wrong. Lucius had made no move to issue an apology by the
time the dessert course was ending which prompted Draco, in his anger, to see to it that it was
done.

“Thank you all for joining us for dinner. It’s been a relief to speak again and nice to spend
some time together after everything that happened. I’m glad we can be together as family,
and so I think there’s no better time to mend bridges,” Draco said. He draped his arm across
the back of Valeria’s chair and sat back in his own, holding his head high. “Father, I believe
you have something to say to Valeria.”

Anyone in that room could have cut the tension with their butter knives as it washed over
them like a crashing wave. Draco didn’t care. His gaze was squarely focused on his father,
aiming all his resentment from a lifetime of failure and hurt upon him. Lucius kept his gaze
down as he spoke quietly.

“Valeria…I’m sorr—”

“We can’t hear you father,” Draco said. Valeria glared at him and Draco pretended not to
notice.

Lucius spoke louder. “Valeria, I want to apologize—”

Draco struck the table with his fist. “Look at her!”

“Draco!” Narcissa scolded with a hiss.

“Not now, mother.”

Lucius looked up at Valeria and spoke slowly. “Valeria, I want to apologize for my actions
during our conversation—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Draco said. Draco rose and grabbed hold of the back Valeria’s chair
and pulled it out a little from the table with an aggressive jerk. Valera stared daggers at him as
the unpleasant sound of the chair dragging against the stone floor broke through the tension,
but Draco chose to ignore her. “Stand up, father.”

“Draco, stop this now,” Narcissa said through her teeth.

“I said, stand. Up.”

Lucius obeyed, slowly and came around the table. Draco placed his hand firmly on Valeria’s
shoulder as she remained seated, seething in her chair.

“Draco, I don’t want this,” Valeria whispered in a low, threatening tone as Lucius
approached.

“On your knees, father,” Draco said.

Narcissa stood sharply. “Enough!”

“Quiet! All of you!” Draco shouted, straining his voice again. “We’re waiting on you, father.
Apologize for exactly what you did. On your fucking knees.”

Lucius shakily obeyed and looked up at Valeria. Draco could feel the tension in her body, but
kept his hand firm on her shoulder.

“Valeria, I would like to apologize for…for striking you while Draco was in St. Mungo’s. I—
I lost control and I should never have approached you at all, let alone insult you and raise a
hand—”

Lucius didn’t need to finish because Valeria apparently had enough. She swatted Draco’s
hand away from her and marched out of the room, slamming the dining room door behind
her. Draco looked around at the others’ faces. Odessa was looking down at her hands in her
lap. Narcissa stood, staring at her son, aghast with tears in her eyes. Lucius was still on his
knees looking at the floor. Draco felt unsatisfied, but only because Valeria made her hasty
exit without Lucius finishing his apology. After a few prolonged moments of silence, Draco
sighed and went to the door as well.

“Get up, you miserable fool,” Draco commanded before slamming the door behind him as
well. He made haste for the master chambers of the north wing, where he found Valeria
wearing a furious expression and her arms folded across her chest, expecting his arrival.

“What the fuck was that, Draco?”

“I told you that he needed to learn his lesson—”

“And you made sure of that earlier! You didn’t need to humiliate me in front of our mothers!”

“Humiliate you? He was the one on his knees!”

“I didn’t want that, Draco! I didn’t need it—”

“He needed it. I needed it! He insulted you! He struck you! And he insulted me by having the
nerve—”

“And there it is!” Valeria said, letting her arms fall to her side. “That little stunt was for your
sake, not mine. I want to make one thing perfectly clear. I do not want you lording around in
some sick reign of terror in my own damn house! You cannot afford to lose control like that
—”
“I am not losing control; I am in control!” Draco shouted, louder than he had in some time,
straining his already struggling voice. Valeria was startled but didn’t flinch while Draco
breathed heavily through his anger and the sharp pain in his throat. She slowly stepped
toward him and gently touched his clenched fist so that his hand opened and relaxed, though
the tension did not leave him.

“I’m going to ask you again; are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Tell me what’s happening. You need to tell me.”

Draco looked down at her, feeling her touch which weakened his resolve. He saw her as he
remembered when they were younger. He saw her as he remembered when he first started to
fall in love with her. The talented, intelligent and confident woman whose life he personally
destroyed at every turn. He remembered when she was missing just prior to their sixth year,
and how each second of worry, knowing Voldemort had placed a price on her head should he
fail, was a knife to his overwhelmed heart. He remembered her on the Astronomy Tower at
the mercy of his comrades who used her to torment him into trying to kill Dumbledore,
toying with her under influence of the Imperius Curse, torturing her with anticipatory glee as
she writhed and screamed. He remembered her clutching her bloodied face on the floor of the
drawing room when his own aunt gave her that scar.

It was his fault. It was all his fault. Everything. He was a failure. He failed her. He continued
to fail her every day since he handed Potter over, once and for all shutting the door on any
chance for her to escape this life and to escape him. And, after all of it, when he was
physically unable to protect her just weeks ago…

Draco broke. He was no longer used to feeling most anything so strongly, relying on potions
to numb the pain. He hung his head as his body trembled, fighting back the tears that were
easily overcoming any strength he had left. It was made worse by how she reached for him at
once, enveloping him tightly in her arms and bringing his head to her shoulder with the
gentle guidance of her hand on the back of his head.

“I’ve got you…I’ve got you…” she said with tenderness he did not deserve. He lost track of
how many times he had said those same words to her.

“When you told me what they did; Snape, my father…the Dark Lord—” Draco had to
breathe through more sobbing. “If I had been faster on the draw with Finnigan…I can live
with a lot of things. I can’t live knowing that I nearly left you behind. Alone, and there was
nothing I could do...”

She pulled back from him and took the sides of his face firmly in her hands. “It’s not your
fault.”

“It is—”

“Then it isn’t a fault that you bear alone.”

“I promised to keep you alive—”

“As did I, you,” Valeria said, firm in resolve. “You were almost murdered, it’s only natural it
would take time to process. This will get better—”

“Do you believe that? You and I both know there’s only a few ways any of this ends. None of
them are good.”

Valeria inhaled sharply. “If that’s the case, then it’s not over while we’re still standing. If you
go, I go.”

Draco brought his hands to hold hers, still on the sides of the face and brought them down,
holding her hands firmly but not tightly. He ran his thumb on the smooth metal and rough
stone of her wedding rings that had bound her to him. It had been all Draco had ever wanted
to one day to marry a fine pureblood woman, to be taken seriously as a Death Eater, to be just
as feared as he was powerful and to bring glory for the Malfoy name. He felt pathetic now as
his tears calmed that he had gotten everything he wanted at the price of all that was ever
good.

A part of him hated that she loved him. He hated her devotion to him, for it made him feel all
the more guilty. He had once asked her if she’d still be with them if the world was different,
if they had not been forced together, clawing through hell to find what scraps of gentleness
they could claim. Neither of them knew. Perhaps such questions did not matter anymore, but
Draco’s heart ached briefly hating that it still mattered a little to him. What he did know was
that he loved her now, even if it wasn’t how he wanted to love her. That would have to be
enough.

He kissed her hard, bringing his body against hers and deepening passion with each breath
until she stopped him.

“You’re not supposed to exert yourself,” she said.

“I’ll take it easy. I’ll be fine,” he said, leaning back down to kiss her, but she stopped him
again. His urges were overwhelming the logic of his medically ordered dry spell.

“I’m the one who’ll be in trouble with Daphne if I allow it.”

“Just tell her the truth. You couldn’t resist.”

“I see your near-death experience has done nothing to humble you in the slightest,” she said
with a smirk.

“And you still think you’re funny. We can take it slow, like we used to. You can’t tell me you
haven’t missed it.”

“Of course, but that’s not the point. In your condition—”

“I’m in perfect condition. Let me prove it.”

It was not lost on Draco that the matters at hand once again went without being fully
resolved, but what more was there to say? There was even less that could be done. Over the
years Draco had developed a deep, aching hunger for feeling fully, tenderly and vulnerably
loved. To be touched by soft hands that welcomed and loved him, belonging to someone who
yearned for him equally in return. The urge overwhelmed his better judgement, and he
cherished these most private intimacies, the only ones he had ever known. He adored the
indulgent euphoria, the little breaths of pleasure and the passionate warmth that he craved
physically and emotionally. It was hard for him to hold back for the sake of his own health,
but he managed well enough and slept more soundly than he had since he was helpless at St.
Mungo’s. That was, until the bedroom door flew open, forcing Draco bolt upright and awake.

“Shit. Sorry,” Blaise said turning his face away. Draco and Valeria hadn’t bothered to put on
their sleepwear, but the covers served well enough for modesty’s sake, though Draco’s
scarred torso was exposed as he pulled the covers up to Valeria’s shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Draco shouted roughly, which woke Valeria who cursed
at Blaise and pulled the covers up to her chin.

“What time is it?” Valeria sked.

“Late,” Blaise said, still averting his gaze. “I’m not happy about this either, believe me—”

Before he could finish, Tinky darted into the room behind Blaise. “I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Zabini
just barged in. Tinky told him to wait, but—”

“There’s no bloody time. Malfoy, Thicknesse is dead. Emergency meeting here, drawing
room, any minute now. The Dark Lord wants you and your mum there too, Valeria. Lucius
and Narcissa also. I’ll…I’ll let you get dressed. Sorry.” Blaise shut the door behind him and
Tinky.

“Draco, what does this mean?”

Sure enough, Draco's Dark Mark began to burn. “I don’t know,” Draco looking down at the
slithering serpent on his skin.
 The Predictability of the Unpredictable
Chapter Notes

Saddened to hear of the news of the powerhouse that was Helen McCrory. Love to her
family in this time.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Discussion of death/violence. Very mild consensual sexual

content.

“What happens now? Is there a protocol or—” Valeria asked, trying to keep step with Blaise
and Draco as they made their way to the drawing room, once dressed.

“Not that I know of,” Blaise said.

“Something has to be done quick. We need someone in that seat,” Draco said.

“Thicknesse didn’t do anything anyway. He’s been under the Imperius Curse since the war,”
Valeria said.

“It’s about having a figurehead to calm the public, even if they’re just a puppet. The Dark
Lord will need to name a successor immediately,” Draco said.

“My money’s on Umbridge. She’s been doing the job behind closed doors this whole time
anyway and she’s been the interim Minister while Thicknesse was in St. Mungo’s,” Blaise
said. Thicknesse was horrifically injured in the attack the Ministry that also nearly cost Draco
his life. This was bad, she knew, worse than it might seem on the surface. If any other of the
terrorists were caught, they’d now have the Minister’s blood on their hands.

“God, not Umbridge. Anyone but her,” Valeria said as they approached the doors to the
drawing room. A long table had been set out already, Odessa and Narcissa were at work
getting it all prepared. The Malfoy family drama from earlier didn’t seem to matter anymore
in the hustle and bustle. Nott was there and joined Draco and Valeria. Shortly thereafter,
Snape burst into the room, his cloak billowing out behind him. He was followed by others.
Bellatrix gave Valeria a snide smirk as she strode into the room. Umbridge was in a right
peachy mood to be there, the only attendee dressed in light colors, let alone the signature
shade of pink she always wore.

“Everyone, to your seats. We need to be ready!” Snape called out. He was out of sorts.
Though a difficult man to read, Valeria knew Snape well enough to tell that he was anxious.
Valeria dutifully took her seat beside Draco, Snape seated on Draco’s other side to the right
of the head of the table. Lucius and Narcissa sat across from them, but further down from the
head chair, which Valeria knew always annoyed Lucius. Draco had his hand inconspicuously
on Valeria’s leg under the table.

Everyone stiffened when the Dark Lord arrived, rising out of respect. He was oddly serene,
which worried Valeria as she had expected him to be in a rage. Nagini followed behind him
and Valeria avoided looking at the creature as it slithered along the floor and up the head
chair to rest on the back as the Dark Lord took his seat, gesturing for all to sit.

“My apologies for disturbing your rests, but as you know this is quite an urgent matter. Our
dear Minister, Pius Thicknesse, has tragically succumbed to his injuries from the terrorist
attack on the Ministry. We will honor his memory at his funeral in a few days’ time. Odessa, I
trust you can handle public statements on the matter,” Voldemort spoke.

“My honor as always, my Lord,” Odessa said.

“You are indispensable, Odessa. Thank you,” the Dark Lord said. The matter now is to name
his Thicknesse’s replacement. There are several of you among us now that I would deem fit
for the duty. It is with bittersweetness that I officially name our own Lucius Malfoy as
Thicknesse’s successor.”

Valeria turned sharply to Lucius who looked just as shocked as the rest to hear this news. No
one dared even to murmur, but Valeria glanced at Umbridge whose lips were pursed tight and
her face red, as if she were about to explode. Before anyone could properly react, Draco shot
up out of his chair and Valeria instinctively reached to grasp the fabric of his robes, as
covertly as possible, to bring him back to reality and sit back down.

“Do you have something to say, Draco?” The Dark Lord asked, but Draco’s attention was
focused on staring daggers at his father. Even Snape was looking up at Draco with a warning
look that Draco didn’t see. Draco shook himself out of his thoughts.

“My Lord, I respect your decision, though I feel it is my duty to advise that my father has
been out of public life for some time and—”

“You’re questioning my judgement?” Voldemort asked darkly. Valeria began to panic. Draco
just needed to sit down. Just sit down.

“No, my Lord, I—”

A high little cough cut Draco off and Dolores Umbridge rose slowly from her chair. “My
Lord, I think Draco raises a prudent point. Perhaps someone who has worked more closely
with the Ministry would be a better fit. Severus, for example.”

“I’m afraid my duties at Hogwarts preclude me from the office, as much of a compliment as
your recommendation is, Dolores,” Snape interrupted. Valeria glanced at Lucius while
pleading in her mind for Draco to sit down. Lucius was obviously fuming at these
protestations.

“Then perhaps myself. My career has been decades long and the record shows my loyalty—”
“Silence!” The Dark Lord hissed and with a wave of his wand Dolores was forced back into
her seat. Draco finally sat then. “I will hear no more of this. My decision is final. Perhaps
your youth blinds you, Draco. Your father maneuvered the Ministry deftly in the days of the
First War and shortly before my return. He is perfectly qualified, and you would do well to
consider the honor this appointment is. With your father as Minister, yourself so high in my
ranks and your union with the House of Winters, it seems that the Malfoy family is the most
powerful one in the wizarding world. I’m disappointed you are not more grateful.” That was
a threat, plain as day. Judging by Lucius’s sinister grin, it was a threat that he reveled in.

“Yes, my Lord. I thank you for the honor you’ve done my family. I apologize for my
reaction. It was just…unexpected,” Draco said quietly.

“You’re forgiven, Draco, though I am glad to hear that you’ve gotten your voice back.” The
Dark Lord turned to Umbridge. “Dolores, you will continue to serve as Undersecretary under
Lucius. I expect you two will make an excellent team. Lucius will be formally sworn into his
role in a week’s time in a public ceremony directly following the execution of the terrorist
Seamus Finnigan, which I’ve called upon Valeria to carry out as justice for the assault on her
husband, who will also be receiving an award to honor his sacrifices in his service to me. It
seems that this will be quite a day for the Malfoy family.”

“We are looking forward to it, my Lord. You honor us beyond imagination,” Lucius said.
Draco’s eyes narrowed on his father. It was already starting, Lucius speaking for the family
when Draco was, by all accounts, the head of the household. Umbridge looked reticent in her
defeat but did not argue throughout the meeting as Voldemort explained the ins and outs of
what was to come, charging Odessa with the duty of organizing the event.

The Dark Lord left quickly at the meeting’s conclusion and Draco did not want to linger
either. Blaise immediately went to St. Mungo’s to see Daphne, no doubt dealing with
Thicknesse’s body. Hearing that Finnigan’s execution was going to be public, along with the
other ceremonies, made a normally stoic Nott anxious knowing that his fragile wife would be
forced to attend the grizzly scene. Nott said a couple words of farewell before departing,
leaving Draco and Valeria to retreat into his study.

“Are you going to be alright with executing Finnigan? You’ve killed before, it shouldn’t be
much different,” Draco asked the moment they were alone.

“I don’t care about Finnigan, but I wasn’t expecting to have to it in front of…in front of
everyone,” she said.

“You’ll be fine. Take one of those potions you always give me. It’ll help calm the nerves,” he
said before letting out a sigh and pinching the skin between his brows. “What are we going to
do about my father?”

“Lucius knows just as well as any of us that the Minister position is just a glorified sock
puppet. He’ll have no real power beyond bureaucratic nonsense,” Valeria said. She was trying
to be reassuring, but she could sense that she had the same fears Draco had.

“Thicknesse was under the Imperius Curse; perfectly compliant and not craving anymore
power. It seems my father will be allowed to act on his own accord—” The door opened
without a knock and both the occupants jumped a little but relaxed to see Snape quickly enter
and shut the door behind him. “Mind enlightening us about what the hell is going on, Snape?
A warning would have been nice!”

“I would have had I known. I was certain he’d choose Umbridge,” Snape said.

“Why Lucius?” Valeria asked.

“Not sure. My suspicion is that, given Lucius’s past political dealings, and how eager he is to
please after his fall from grace, the Dark Lord believes Lucius will be easy to manipulate and
almost certainly will not work against him,” Snape said. As much as Snape aggravated her,
Valeria could usually trust his instincts.

“I’m not worried about that. I’m more concerned with him working against me. Our
relationship isn’t currently at its healthiest,” Draco said.

“Yes, I suspected the state of his face was your doing after that letter he sent me,” Snape said.

“You’ve known him since school, Snape. What do you think he’ll actually try to do?” Valeria
asked.

“I think Lucius will do whatever he can to stay in as much power for as long as he can,”
Snape said.

“Oh, and what’s next? Are you going to tell us that water is wet?!” Draco said.

“Now is not the time for your petty witticisms, Draco,” Snape scolded. “I doubt Lucius will
act against you while you still remain in the Dark Lord’s high regards. You’re also still his
son and the key to his legacy. Despite his resentments, I think that still matters to him a great
deal.” Draco was visibly conflicted about that answer.

“What power will he have if not placed under the Imperius Curse?” Valeria asked.

“He’ll be able to move through the world more freely, given his clearance. He’ll be able to
give orders on smaller, more day-to-day matters, access to important records and information.
Other than that, all his orders will come from the Dark Lord himself.”

“Can’t you say something? The Dark Lord trusts you more than anyone and you’ve known
my father the longest—”

“And that went so well during the meeting, didn’t it?” Snape said sarcastically. “I will not
challenge the Dark Lord on this, but I will try to keep an eye on Lucius and advise
accordingly. In the meantime, I suggest you do what you can to reach a resolution with your
father until we know more about how he’ll behave as Minister. I will warn you that the Dark
Lord is not remotely interested in your doubts purely based on family squabbles.”

“It wasn’t a goddamn squabble—”

“You’ll do well to remember that the Dark Lord doesn’t see the difference, nor will he want
to hear it, as you just saw. If you play this well enough, it could work to your advantage. The
Dark Lord was correct that your family is in a much more powerful position than ever—"

The door creaked open again and all turned to see Lucius, smiling proudly and serenely
despite the injuries on his face. “Was there another meeting I wasn’t informed of, Severus?”

“We were discussing another matter entirely, father,” Draco said spitefully.

“A matter that somehow concerns you, Severus, your wife of all people and not the newly
appointed Minister for Magic? Some might see that as suspicious,” Lucius said with a raised
brow, his smile not fading.

“You’re not Minister yet,” Draco said through his teeth.

“Severus, Valeria, it seems I need a private word with my son, if you wouldn’t mind,” Lucius
said. Valeria was about to protest when Snape spoke instead.

“I know it’s late, Valeria but I wanted to briefly go over that formula we were working on, if
you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Valeria said, giving one last worried look to Draco. He nodded at her and she
followed Snape out of the room, following him downstairs to the potions laboratory that
would guarantee them privacy. Snape magically secured the door behind them.

“This isn’t going to end well,” Valeria stated as if thinking aloud.

“I admit, this does worry me. I didn’t want to say anything to set off Draco, but while Lucius
won’t likely work against his son, he might try to find an opportunity to work against you.”

“Lucius knows Draco will kill him if he tries anything.”

“That may be so, but is that what you want? Draco’s accomplishments give him a great deal
of power, but even his is limited, especially concerning the Dark Lord’s hand appointed
Minister for Magic,” Snape said.

“What are you suggesting I do then?” she asked.

“Do all you can to prevent Draco from provoking his father.”

Meanwhile, back in the study, Draco was trying with all his might not to provoke his father.
Lucius had gone to the liquor cabinet and poured a couple glasses of expensive whiskey and
handed one to Draco.

“Have a drink with me, son. This is a cause to celebrate. Minister for Magic, can you believe
it? I admit, I never sought the office myself, but I’m incredibly pleased with the opportunity
now that the world is in our grasp. In fact, I always hoped that someday you’d be made
Minister, at least back in the old world.”
Draco took a deep sip of his drink, feeling it sting down his strained throat. “I don’t care
about politics.”

“Good thing the Dark Lord didn’t choose you then. Ah, but what does it matter? We’ve done
it. The Malfoy name is back in the best of graces and we’re some of the most powerful men
in the wizarding world. I think you and I will do great things together, Draco.”

“I take my orders from the Dark Lord,” Draco said.

“And who knows, some of those orders might come through me.”

“And yours through me,” Draco said.

“Your primary focus should be obeying the Dark Lord’s every word, but your second priority
is this family, as it always has been. We’ll be much stronger if we work together,” Lucius said
with a sinister grin. “And once you actually put an heir in your wife, the Malfoy legacy—”

Draco finished his drink and set the glass on the table hard. “Do not. Talk about her. Like
that.”

Lucius took a few nonchalant steps toward his son, refilling Draco’s glass. “I’ve been remiss
in celebrating our family’s victories as of late. I have to congratulate you on the discovery
and capture of Weasley and the Mudblood Granger. There hadn’t even been the faintest
whisper of them for so long, and you just happened to find them. You’re good at what you
do, Draco, no one doubts that, least of all me, but I have to wonder how you managed to find
them and pluck them out of thin air.”

“I received intelligence on them,” Draco said, staring directly into his father’s eyes, feeling
his rage boil up again.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Classified,” Draco said.

“Even for the Minister’s eyes?”

“As I already said, you’re not Minister yet.”

“I respect your devotion to law and order, but it’s no matter. In a week’s time, I’ll have access
to all your reports. I can sate my curiosity then,” Lucius said, taking a pause to drink deep.
“You know, Valeria spent a great deal of time with Weasley and the Mudblood during the
war. Those two summers and when Potter ‘kidnapped’ her. I remember her being at least
friendly with them in public more than once. I have to wonder if maybe she has grown a bit
of a soft spot—”

Draco flung his drink across the room, just past Lucius head and drew his wand. “My threat
from before still stands, father. Go near her and I will kill you.”

“And how do you think that would go over with the Dark Lord? You think you’d be
forgiven? What would become of your wife once he’s through with you? And could you
really do that to your poor mother?”

Draco didn’t have any of those answers and the questions themselves sent a pang of fear
through his heart, but he couldn’t let Lucius know that. “The Dark Lord chose you because
he knows that you’ll do anything to be his slobbering lapdog again. You’re just as disposable
as you ever were, and mother would be better off. I will say it one more time, never again;
move against me or my wife, I will kill you.”

“Then he’ll kill you.”

“And I’ll take your fucking legacy with me.”

Two afternoons later, the Malfoys were playing at perfection, posing for pictures in the
impressive ballroom of Malfoy Manor. Lucius and Draco stood side-by-side behind their
wives seated in gilded chairs against the backdrop of damask wallpaper with mirrors and
paintings in ornate silver frames. Narcissa was happy about the new attention, but Valeria
was far too used to presenting the very definition of power, pedigree and prestige to find this
posturing anything more than tedious. Draco silently seethed the entire time. Valeria could
tell by the way his fingertips gripped her shoulder.

The photos ran in a front-page article of The Prophet after Thicknesse’s funeral, in an
absurdly long, overly effusive profile on the Malfoy family. Valeria and Draco were largely
keeping themselves locked up in the north wing, and they had the most fun they had in
months drinking wine and reading the ridiculous nonsense written about the family.

“Valeria Malfoy looks up at her husband as if she were gazing in profound awe at the
constellation he was named for,” Valeria read aloud in a dramatized tone of mockery. Draco,
in the middle of sipping his wine, could not contain himself and managed to make a mess
spitting the wine out all over himself as he laughed. He cursed while cleaning himself up.

“Some of that came out of my nose!” he said, while Valeria was in tears laughing at him.
“When the hell were you looking at me like that? Was that when we were posing in the foyer
and you were trying to hold in a fart?”

Valeria looked as though she had never been offended in her life. “I have never far—done
that in public—”

“Oh, yes you bloody have,” he said, leaning his head back to rest on the back of his armchair.

“I have not!”

“You do it in your sleep all the time,” Draco said with a shrug, watching Valeria turn bright
pink and wide-eyed with horror.

“That’s impossible. You’re a liar. You are lying!”

“Get the veritaserum if you don’t believe me. NoGive me that paper, it’s my turn to read,”
Draco said reaching for the paper, but Valeria snatched it away with a smirk.
“Not until you admit that you’re a liar.”

“It’s not my fault you pass gas in your sleep. Give it here,” he said, but she held it out of
reach.

“Guess you’ll have to fight me for it.”

In their drunkenness, Draco easily caught her, wrapping his arms around her to playfully trap
her. They struggled, laughing all the while, until Valeria lost her balance and in trying to
catch her, Draco fell down too, though he managed to cushion her fall enough to prevent
injury. Draco was victorious in retrieving the paper, now wrinkled and splattered with wine
stains. Draco rolled onto his back and Valeria crawled to the table to fetch the wine bottle.

“‘After the near tragic loss of one of our world’s greatest heroes, Draco Malfoy is back to
near perfect form. His voice, while changed as a result of his injuries, has a distinct
roughness that suits a man of noble station.’ Good god, this is so bad,” he said, trying not to
lose control laughing.

“No, read the part where they called you ‘The Lord of Malfoy Manor! That’s my favorite
part.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” Draco asked.

“Pfft. You’re not a lord. You’re just rich.”

“I’ll have you know my ancestors used to mingle with the aristocracy. What did yours do?
Dance around fires in the wood and chant at stone circles?”

“They practiced older ritualistic magic and it’s fascinating, thank you very much,” she said
before adopting a low, mocking tone. “My Lord.”

“Yeah, you were right. Don’t call me that,” he said. He sat up, sitting against the wall beside
her as she passed him the bottle. He drank a deep gulp and looked at her while the world spun
and put his hand on her knee before running it further up her leg.

“Here? You’re drunk,” she said.

“We have this whole wing to ourselves; we might as well do something fun in this place
when we get the chance,” Draco said. He leaned over and was about to kiss her when there a
was a knock on the door. Draco sat back and let out an exacerbated sigh while Valeria was
still giggling for no apparent reason. “What?!” Draco turned to see his mother enter the room
with a scowl and a piece of parchment.

“There you are, I’ve been looking—” she stopped to survey the room, seeing them on the
floor amongst empty glasses and a couple of empty bottles, the newspaper sprawled out on
the rug. “You’re drunk.”

“We are, mother,” Draco said, smiling at her. She stepped forward and handed the parchment
in her hand to Valeria.
“Witch Weekly sent for me. They want to do an article on you and I, Valeria. Shouldn’t be too
different from the one in The Prophet, just focused on the women this time—”

Valeria cut her off, by bursting into laughter, startling Narcissa. “I did one of these with mum
as a teenager. It was awful!”

Draco took the parchment from Valeria and held it out to his mother. “Looks like you’re on
your own, mother.”

Narcissa was not pleased. “Draco, you know how important this is. We need to present a
united front, as a family.”

“If she doesn’t want to do it, she’s not going to do it,” Draco said.

“Using that tone with me is uncalled for. This is not negotiable, Draco. Your father is to be
Minister for Magic and you’re drunk, behaving like a child—” Narcissa said.

Draco stood to face his mother, swaying a little, using the arm of the sofa to maintain
balance. “Could a child do what I’ve done?”

“You know what I mean. Sleep this off and I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, turning to
go in a huff.

“She’s not going to do it,” Draco said. Narcissa stopped and turned.

“I’ll do it, Draco,” Valeria said exacerbated. “It’s the same as all the others.”

“Not if you don’t want to, you’re not.”

“Draco, please. She doesn’t have a choice and neither do I. At least let her do it to support
your father—”

“I’ve done nothing but support this entire family for years!” Draco shouted, straining his
voice, but he immediately calmed himself after seeing his mother’s face. She took a few
furious steps forward before he could say anything.

“Go to bed. Now.”

“I’m sorry. I’m very drunk and—”

“Now,” Narcissa said through her teeth. Draco stood a moment in defiance but relented and
went for the door. Valeria struggled to her feet to follow, but Narcissa turned on her. “Not
you.”

“Mother—”

“Go!” Narcissa ordered, surer than ever and Draco reluctantly obliged. Valeria nodded to him
and he left, slamming the door behind him as Valeria flopped clumsily onto the sofa to try
and keep the room from spinning. Sure that Draco was gone, Narcissa took an empty glass
and magically filled it with water. She reached into her robes for a small vial and tapped a
few drops into the water before handing the glass to Valeria.

“Dosing me?” Valeria asked with petulance.

“I keep it on hand for Lucius. It’ll help sober you up a little. Drink it,” she said, crossing her
arms. Valeria wasn’t scared of Narcissa, but she was a hard woman to defy when she was this
angry. Valeria took a deep sip that her body desperately needed and quickly felt her
composure come back to her some.

“You need to do something about him,” Narcissa said.

Valeria, still a bit buzzed, chuckled. “First you all want me to know my place, and now you
seem to think there’s anything I can do—”

“Do not play the fool with me. If Draco does not at least try to mend things with Lucius, this
will not end well for any of us.”

“Maybe you should control your own husband,” Valeria said.

“I will handle Lucius. I always have, but Draco will listen to you above anyone else,”
Narcissa said sternly.

“He doesn’t like it when I interfere,” Valeria said, recalling Draco’s forceful reaction to her
orchestration of Goyle’s death.

Narcissa finally sat across from her. “You were dealt an impossible hand. You were far too
young and unprepared. I can appreciate that and I’m sorry there was nothing I could do, for
both your sakes.” Valeria gripped the glass harder, looking away from Narcissa, holding her
tongue in the face of the resentment of every adult in her life who did nothing to save them
threatening to boil over once more. “Are you afraid of Draco?”

Valeria looked Narcissa in the eye. “Are you?”

“I’m his mother. I can’t see him as anything but an innocent boy, but nor am I blind,” she
said. She swallowed hard as she struggled to conceal her tears of grief. “I see what he’s
become, and my heart breaks every time I look at him. I see the way you look at him. I know
you see it too.”

“I see a man doing the best he can—”

“And he’s failing, Valeria! Which is why he needs you, even if he hates it.”

“I don’t really know what you expect me to do. He needs to feel like he’s in control or he
falls apart and we’re all doomed if that happens. I don’t think he’ll respond well to me—”

Narcissa stood. “Respond well? You weren’t there! He had no choice, but he took the Dark
Mark willingly for you and I had to hear him whimper in pain when he could barely move his
arm. I had to ensure that he wouldn’t have to do—” she cut herself off, calming herself and
swallowing more tears. “But when he was forced to marry you, I had to be strong for him
even though there was nothing I could do to stop it. And then that night in the forest, while
you were hiding in the castle, I had to stand there and watch him wither away in an instant
when he handed over Potter. The look on his face…I don’t wish any mother to see that. The
look on his face when he killed those boys afterwards, just a boy himself. You weren’t there.
You didn’t have to watch it happen…my only child. I saw how he responded, Valeria. Trust
me that the worst has already happened to him. And it happened to him all for you.”

Valeria wanted to argue. She was enraged by the notion that she herself was somehow
ignorant of Draco’s condition. Had she not been closest to him? Had she not been the one
who soothed him when his nightmares made him too terrified to rest? But something in the
moment of silence following Narcissa’s declaration softened Valeria’s defenses and she only
had one question she wanted to ask.

“Is it harder to be them or to be their wives?” Valeria asked quietly. The question disarmed
Narcissa who slowly took a seat beside Valeria and gently took her hand.

“What they’re called to do is not easier, but it is simpler. Women’s burdens are often just as
silent as our duties are thankless. It is our job to understand what’s happening and see what
must be done in their stead. It will never be fair, but we’re the only ones who can do it,”
Narcissa said softly.

“You said I was unprepared. I know you’re right. I have to ask you then, what the hell am I
supposed to do?”

“You have more power than you think to do. You can steer him where you need him to be.
It’s time for you to fight your own battles, even if they’re fought against Draco.”

Ginny could not receive the gentle love of a mother, let alone her own, who was apparently
being held in St. Mungo’s on grounds of insanity. Ginny had gone there first when she was
released from Malfoy Manor. Feeling half-dead herself, she begged to see her mother, but the
only kind word she received was the news that Molly had survived the destruction of the
Burrow. The Healers would not permit visitation, even for a moment, which destroyed Ginny
just as much as anything that had been done to her. The Healers were stern, but still walked
eggshells around her and Ginny got the sense that it was not her they feared, but Valeria
Malfoy.

It was Valeria Malfoy’s face she could not stop staring at in a makeshift guest bed at the
Lovegood home, taken in by the kindness of Terry and Luna Boot who nursed her back to
health after the Healers refused to touch her. Ginny knew herself to be capable of hatred.
Strong dislike, sure, but hatred had always been foreign to her in childhood. But seeing the
Malfoy profile in the newspaper, Valeria sitting regally, proudly, made her realize that she
was absolutely capable of hate. She had wanted Valeria dead for a while, but this was
different. Before it was a fantasy to soothe her anger, now it was a task she wanted to
dedicate the shattered remains of heart to.

The Boots had covered the mirrors when Ginny broke down the second night of her stay. She
had spent so long staring at Harry in that magic mirror in the Malfoy cellar that each time she
looked in a mirror, she saw a flash of him again. Ginny hated that Valeria had succeeded in
breaking her once and for all. In her vindictive cruelty, Valeria deftly exacted her vengeance
just as she wanted. Ginny had already lost her family and the boy she loved, the only things
in this world she held so dear, and when it was Valeria’s turn to lose the last thing she loved,
she made sure Ginny suffered and made sure to enjoy it.

Ginny was starting to loathe the empathy that remained within her. When Valeria destroyed
the Burrow in that malignant, black cloud of dark magic, Ginny could have sworn that for a
few moments she felt her enemy’s pain. The magic was so destructive that when Ginny tried
to return to the Burrow to recover and repair what she could, each spell she tried turned every
broken object they touched to dust. Even stepping onto the site where the Burrow once stood,
Ginny could feel the pain, the depths of the darkness, radiate from it and reinfect her heart
until she stepped away. She still heard Valeria calling her name into the night, howling with
horrified anguish.

Perhaps it had been intentional on Valeria’s part, perhaps not, but that evil woman managed
to accomplish Ginny’s worst fear that she once thought impossible; Valeria’s cruelty was
turning Ginny into her.

Luna, Ginny and Terry tried to think of a way to avoid going to Seamus’s execution, doubling
as the swearing in of Lucius Malfoy as Minister; an appointment that shocked the wizarding
world. Terry was especially concerned for Luna’s now fragile spirit in the face of such
atrocities. They came to the conclusion that they were being selfish. Even though they could
not stop it, they knew Seamus would probably like to see at least one friendly face as he died.
Terry was briefly angry at Seamus for deviating from the plan, for choosing the wrong time
for vengeance after the mission had been successful in destroying the Department of Purity.
But Terry managed to control himself in the end and was instead consumed by guilt.

Ginny shoved the copy of the profit into a small bag full of a few necessities and spare
clothes, all given to her by Luna. She made for the door but found Terry with his arm raised
about to knock when she opened it. He looked at her and the bag she clutched.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’m sorry. I can’t stay here. I…I need to be alone.”

“We should stick together while we still can,” he was trying to say it as kindly as possible.
“That’s what Harry would want, right?”

“I don’t know, Terry. He’s dead,” she said, and it broke her heart to give voice to it. She had
lived these years trying to live as Harry would have wanted her to, but how could he have
anticipated this? Would he have still felt the same? Terry looked down sadly.

“Luna really likes having you here. She’ll be really sad that you’ve gone,” Terry said,
frustrating Ginny who could not help but feel guilted into staying.

“I’m dangerous to be around. Valeria obviously has it out for me and I don’t want you two
caught in the crossfire,” she said. It was partially true that Ginny feared such a thing, but
really, she just couldn’t stay anymore, something in her soul told her to go.
“Will you at least say goodbye?”

“No. I can’t. I’m sorry. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me here, but I think it’s best if
I just go quietly.”

Terry stepped aside and saw Ginny off. Shell Cottage had been destroyed by Crabbe, but she
considered going there anyway just to feel the ocean air on her skin once more. She decided
it best to head for London, to one of the last places that held some semblance of a happy
memory with her family and friends that the Death Eaters hadn’t yet destroyed.

12 Grimmauld Place was still abandoned, and Ginny had managed to gain entry. She was
thankful there was no sign of Kreacher. She walked around the home, finding herself in the
room containing the Black family tapestry. Andromeda Tonks had been blasted off, her
grandson not even being named. There was poor Sirius too, burned away, now just as dead in
life as the tapestry metaphorically implied. Ginny’s eyes landed on Narcissa Black and down
to Draco’s name. Somehow, the tapestry must have known, for there was the name Valeria
Winters beside Draco’s in marriage. Ginny had half a mind to destroy her name on the
tapestry too, but the ring on her finger still tracked her magic use and she decided it wasn’t
worth the risk to try.

She wandered to find the table at which she had spent time having meals with the Order of
the Phoenix. She let a few tears fall recalling those memories of finding light even in as the
darkness was closing in on them. All that mattered then was that she was with her friends, her
family, with Harry. But most all of them were dead and there would be no laughter had here
again.

“Ginny…?”

Ginny jumped almost violently out of her skin as she drew her wand and turned. Her heart
still pounded with anxious speed as she landed her gaze on Neville Longbottom.
Instinctively, she ran to him and wrapped her arms around him as her body collided with his,
sobbing into his chest so hard she thought she would faint.

The summer sun rudely woke Valeria from her near restless slumber the morning of Seamus’s
execution. The other side of the bed was empty, but still warm and bathed in sunlight. She sat
up a little and looked to the balcony where she saw Draco’s silhouette enveloped in
brightness. He turned as she stirred and for a moment, he was radiant. His white hair was
alight like a golden crown as he looked at her with a soft, warm smile she had to squint to
make out in the brightness. For the most fleeting of seconds before he stepped back into the
room, she felt as though her soul was taking a deep, calming breath. The beaming sun
reflected off his white-blond hair, as though he were wearing a golden crown made of light.
And he was beautiful. And he was glorious.

In that brief instant she saw the good that was left in him and she cherished it with what good
was left in her.
 Born Broken
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Graphic description of death and violence. Character death.

Magical torture.

Many Years Later

Konstantin Winters II sighed, setting his coffee cup on the inn’s small table and checking his
pocket watch; his father’s watch. Being out of the loop made him uneasy, not knowing where
his cousin made him all the more nervous.

“That’s a fancy watch there. Don’t think I’ve seen any younger people with pocket watches.”

Konstantin, interrupted from his thoughts, looked up at the server around his age. She must
have been watching him, for she carried a freshly brewed pot of coffee in her hand. Then
again, he was the only guest in the inn right now, so he reckoned she had little else to do. She
smiled kindly, simple but pretty in her own rustic way. He smiled back. It was a breath of
fresh air to interact with someone who didn’t recognize him or his infamous name.

“I guess you could say I’m old fashioned,” he told her. She laughed flirtatiously. Konstantin
inherited his father’s good looks. Though he did not use the magical glamours that once gave
the Winters their eerily perfect features, the resemblance was still deemed uncanny by those
who still lived to have met both him and his father who died not knowing he had a son. “The
man I’m here with, younger than me, the blond. Have you seen him around this morning?”

“I walk my dog in the mornings and I passed him headed to the old church just outside of
town,” the server said. Konstantin should have known. He had not wanted to make any extra
stops, especially in Muggle towns, but he knew his cousin well enough to know that once an
idea got into his head he could not be stopped. Konstantin rose from his seat, leaving some
Muggle money on the table and thanked the server for the information. “Is he alright?”

Konstantin turned back. “Sorry?”

“He just…he seemed so sad. I said hello, but I don’t know if he even saw me. Like he was
staring at something far away that wasn’t even there. I know it’s my place to pry, sir, but is
he…in mourning?”

Konstantin’s cousin was not hard to place which always made him easy to find with his
sharp, pointed features and a mop of ice-blond hair that always fell into his eyes. The young
woman’s description was accurate, though her concern was unique. No one in the wizarding
world had to ask why Konstantin’s cousin’s jaw was perpetually clenched or why he always
wore an entranced gaze, as if staring off at distant ghosts. That spectral look was one of the
only things the wandering young man’s mother had physically given him. Even after all these
years, Konstantin remembered vividly the haunting stare his own aunt had in the same dark
green eyes she had given her son.

“He just has a serious face,” Konstantin said with a small smile that resembled a smirk, a
Winters feature that was oft remarked upon.

“Well, I’m glad he has someone with him. Seems like he could use a friend,” she said. The
young lady was perceptive, perhaps too perceptive for Konstantin’s liking, but he thanked her
politely all the same before departing and crossing the village to the fields surrounding it. His
legs seemed to carry him without conscious effort. Konstantin’s instincts always directed him
to monitor his cousin as closely as he could, and the instinct had been there from the
beginning. Even if Konstantin’s aunt had not charged him with the duty to look after his
sullen cousin, Konstantin would have done it anyway. He knew no one else would.

The little church ahead had become a centerpiece of local folklore and a small tourist
destination for Muggles interested in urban legends. From what Konstantin could gather, it
was still a pretty obscure tale, but it was enough of an attraction to financially aid the church.
Small and pastoral as a painting, there was a sense of simple peace that washed over
Konstantin as he approached. Even on a gloomy day like this the sun filled the chapel when
Konstnatin entered, and he shut the creaking door behind him.

Ahead stood Scorpius beside a vicar, much younger than Konstnatin would have guessed,
supposing that this man of the cloth replaced the older one from the local legend. Konstantin
nodded to them in acknowledgement but hung back in the far end of the church. Scorpius
deeply envied Konstantin’s social instincts. He always where to stand, how to carry himself,
what to say. Scorpius never felt comfortable anywhere, like there was always some
metaphorical ache in his body that never relented no matter how he positioned himself.

“And you buy the story? You think they actually stay lit on their own?” Scorpius said quietly,
staring down at two the little red jars on a small altar. Scorpius recognized the magic, noting
how the wax didn’t melt despite the wicks being alight with warm fire, the flames dancing a
little in the gentle draft that came through the old building.

“No parlor tricks here. I’ve no reason not to believe the story, which makes the pleasure of
faith only better,” the vicar said.

“And the man, the one who lit them and never came back, you really believe he had enough
good in him to do this and keep the flames burning?”

“Don’t forget, son, saints are sinners too.”

“Maybe it was just magic?” Scorpius said with the ghost of a small smile.

“Maybe it was love,” the vicar said. “Why must they be different?”
Konstantin watched on, unable to help but overhear the quiet conversation given the way the
sound carried in the sanctuary. From his angle, he saw his cousin Scorpius look down into the
flames. Believing his eyes deceived him, Konstantin thought that the flames burned a little
brighter in Scorpius’s presence, casting light to warm and soften Scorpius’s cold, harsh
expression that never went away.

Scorpius once told Konstantin as casually as one would comment on the weather that he was
“born broken.” Konstantin wished he could soothe that pain, tell Scorpius it wasn’t true, but
it was true. Seeing him now, his face enveloped in warmth gave him hope, as treacherous as
hope can be. Konstantin had no means of erasing the past, of repaving the thorn-laden path
set before them by nature of their birth, of rescinding the unwelcome inheritance their
families had regrettably bestowed upon them. But Konstantin could make damn sure that
Scorpius knew love.

July 2003

Valeria straightened Draco’s cloak around his neck. Even in the summer, he was favoring
higher necked clothing to hide the scar on his throat. After a It was a week to the day that
Voldemort announced Lucius’s appointment as Minister, and today was the day he was to be
sworn in by Voldemort himself.

Draco grabbed her wrist, gently stopping her from fussing over his clothing. “Are you sure
you can do this?”

“I haven’t a choice, have I?”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” he said. His gazed bored into her, his expression calm and
stern, but his eyes betraying something feral and unhinged with sorrowful rage.

“I’ve killed before.”

“Not like this,” he said. His voice had not returned to its previous form and Daphne doubted
that it ever would. Valeria didn’t mind the low, coarse rasp of his voice now, but secretly
lamented that she would not hear the voice she remembered again. Like the rest of him, it
was permanently altered. The voice of his youth, that had once been joyful even when used
with malice, would never be heard again. “Do you remember the Astronomy Tower? Seventh
year?”

Valeria struggled to recall, having tried not to remember Hogwarts at all for so long, but she
nodded. “After we threatened Longbottom?”

“I told you that I didn’t want you to become like this. I don’t want you to become like me.
Killing doesn’t get easier, Valeria. I know better than most, no matter how easy I make it
look.”
“And I told you that you weren’t alone and that we have to manage, by any—”

“By any means necessary,” he whispered morosely.

The Ministry atrium buzzed with activity. The Dark Lord did not slack in presentation as it
seemed everyone in this corner of the wizarding world was required to come and witness the
spectacle. A raised platform had been set up for a stage and all the prominent members of
society had reserved seating for the events. The atrium was crowded, and dread hung in the
air even if no one dared to speak of it. Even amongst those who faithfully served the Dark
Lord, the atmosphere felt severe.

The arrival of the Malfoys caught everyone’s attention. Lucius and Narcissa walked ahead as
the standing crowd parted for them, carrying themselves with pride as they strode forward.
Draco and Valeria a few paces behind, kept their eyes ahead for the most part. Valeria
glanced at the crowd as she passed, seeing Daphne and Blaise first. Daphne was looking
especially world-weary beside ever-stoic Blaise. Nott was there and he had what looked to by
an iron grip around Tracey’s shoulder to comfort her. Valeria felt guilt knowing how much
distress the grizzly scene would cause her friend.

To Valeria’s surprise, though she figured she should have expected it, Ginny was there,
guarded by two Death Eaters at her side. Pale and sickly looking, Valeria felt only anger at
Ginny and Ginny reciprocated Valeria’s hatred in full when their eyes met. She remembered
the splotch of red hair transforming as the Polyjuice Potion wore off when the Ministry was
attacked. Valeria recalled her torture of Ginny when Draco was on death’s door and felt no
shame. It was hard to determine just how much Valeria had forgotten herself over these years.

So many of Valeria’s peers and their families were present to see who she had grown to
become. Luna and Terry Boot kept their eyes down. The Parkinson’s looked at her with
disdain, as did Harper.

But Draco did not suffer such distractions and he had a firm hand on the small of Valeria’s
back as he was guiding her forward. The world gawked at him; his injuries having been so
publicly covered in the news. The wise amongst the crowd looked at him with fear. Even for
Valeria there were times when looking at him, the intensity of his expression and his sinister
eyes, her blood ran cold for a moment before she remembered who he was, who only she still
knew him to be.

Seated in the front row amongst other high level Death Eaters, Narcissa and Valeria sat next
to each other with their respective husbands beside them. They had privately spoken,
believing it best to keep the Malfoy men separate for now. In what looked to be a quiet
display of marital affection, Draco had his hand on Valeria’s atop her leg. In truth, he was
gripping her hand so tight that she had to flex her hand to remind him not to grasp so hard.
Her kept his gaze fixed forward, his jaw clenched and devoid of emotion. In the brief silence
of the atrium, she heard only his raspy breath. Bellatrix Lestrange sat directly behind Valeria,
likely miffed about having been relegated to the second row, and Valeria could feel her
disdain.
Umbridge came forward and smiling as though this occasion were a merry one, took her
place on the platform, though her expression did sour just a tinge when she saw Lucius.

“Please rise for the Dark Lord,” Umbridge commanded, and all who were seated dutifully
rose to turn toward the back. Sure enough, the Dark Lord approached, accompanied by
Snape, his black robes flowing with ghostly malignance around him. Nagini slithered on the
floor beside the Dark Lord and all lowered their gazes so as not to make the mistake of
meeting his red eyes. He gestured for everyone to sit once he took his place on the platform.

“My followers, my friends. We come together today, united in purity of blood and of mind. It
brings me great joy to see you all here, to see all my efforts come to fruition in your loyalty,”
he began. His voice was cold and sent a chill down Valeria’s spine despite the banality of his
words. “Today, we witness my justice in action, and we welcome our new Minister for
Magic. This gruesome act of terror against all of us and the world we have together built
shocked us all, but rest you all easy knowing that your Lord shall defend you in all things.
While we grieve for Minister Thicknesse and the others who we tragically lost, we lift our
heads high knowing that there is no adversity we cannot conquer together.”

The Dark Lord gestured as he finished his speech. Masked Death Eaters came forward,
dragging a weak, but still struggling, Seamus Finnegan with them. They marched him up to
the platform and forced him to kneel. Valeria’s heart sunk into her stomach upon seeing him.
His hair had begun to gray from the torment he had been put through since his capture and he
looked as though he had otherwise aged several years. He was nothing like she remembered
from schooldays.

“This man is one of those responsible for the explosion, but we bring him before you to die
today for the attempted assassination of one of my dearest and most loyal Death Eaters,
Draco Malfoy. Draco, please rise,” Voldemort said. Draco did as he was told, reluctantly
releasing his wife’s hand. “As you all see, this terrorist’s efforts were all for naught. Draco,
Valeria, please come forward.”

“Best give us a show,” Bellatrix whispered menacingly as Valeria rose with Draco. Draco
returned his hand to the small of Valeria’s back and guided her up the few steps of the
platform. She took her place beside her husband, staring out onto the crowd. She ignored
Seamus’s weary breath near her, her gaze landing on Ginny, who wore her pain and ire on her
face. Valeria wore a soft, serene smile in response.

“Draco Malfoy has proven himself to be a paragon of what dedication service to myself and
our cause can mean. Given all he has accomplished and in the face of what he has suffered, it
is my pleasure to honor him now,” The Dark Lord announced. Wand in hand, he cast a spell
into his free hand and, in a display of magical prowess, conjured a shining silver serpent into
the palm of his vile hand. The Dark Lord raised the ornate medal up to the crowd. “I hereby
grant Draco Malfoy with the first ever Medal of Distinguished Duty to reward him for being
such an example to you all. Mrs. Malfoy, please place the pin on your husband’s chest.”

Valeria stepped forward and felt the Dark Lord’s chilling touch as she did as ordered. The
silver pin glistened, but its darkness, real or imagined, could be felt in its weight. She looked
up at Draco who stoically stood on, mostly expressionless. He was an intimidating man and if
Valeria had not known him so well, she might have feared him. Task complete, she stood
back.

“You do me a humbling honor, my Lord,” Draco said flatly.

“And it is well deserved,” the Dark Lord replied. He gestured to the crowd that erupted in
applause, whether real or feigned, until the Dark Lord gestured for them to stop.
Remembering the order of ceremonies that Odessa, having organized the event, informed
them of, Draco stepped off to the side, before giving Valeria’s hand one final conspicuous
squeeze. The Dark Lord turned his gaze on her and smiled.

“I would be remiss in not acknowledging the efforts and accomplishments of Mrs. Draco
Malfoy who has whole-heartedly embraced the ways of this world we have built from the
start and of such fine pedigree and magical skill that she no doubt is the very symbol of
perfection for pureblood feminine grace, and all that a pureblood wife should be. She has
suffered great distress because of the terrorist attack that nearly took her husband’s life. It is
for this reason I have given her the honor of seeing his punishment. The floor is yours, Mrs.
Malfoy,” the Dark Lord orated before stepping to the side to observe.

Valeria swallowed and turned away from the crowd, the gaze of the entire audience fixed
upon her. She looked at Seamus and could not help but remember him joking with his friends
in the halls with the booming laughter he became known for. To think it would ever come to
this. She drew her wand and approached him.

“Do you have anything you wish to say, Finnegan?” Valeria said coldly, silencing the voice of
her conscience that still sat somewhere buried within her. Finnegan looked up at her, pure
hatred in his eyes that she recognized within herself too. He breathed sharp, heavy, saying
nothing until he spat directly in her face. Valeria heard the crowd gasp as she shut her eyes
and turned away in reaction. Draco moved instinctively to take action, but Snape quietly
stopped him. Valeria cleaned the spit from her face and surveyed the crowd, shocked and
fearful. Her gaze landed on Ginny for a moment, who was one of the few who was not
remotely upset by Seamus’s act. Ire filled Valeria once more and she turned to the Dark Lord.

“My Lord, may I ask that Ginny Weasley be brought forward?” Valeria asked with all the
syrupy sweetness she had practiced in her youth. The Dark Lord smiled sickeningly, and he
nodded, calling for Ginny Weasley to be brought forward. Seamus began crying out,
struggling against his magical bonds as Ginny struggled in the grasp of the Death Eaters who
brought her to the platform. Ginny was forced to kneel before Valeria and the latter turned to
Seamus once more.

“I didn’t realize I would have to teach you what it is to watch someone you care for suffer,”
Valeria said, aiming her wand at Ginny, whose face contorted in fear and rage.

“Winters, NO!” Seamus said, but his plea was interrupted by Ginny’s screams of agony as
Valeria cast the Cruciatus Curse. The sound filled the atrium, echoing off the floors and high
walls, droning on like a horrific death knell. Valeria kept at it, unloading more of her own
pain on Ginny via the curse. The desire to unleash her wrath never left Valeria ever for her
pain felt boundless.
Seamus continued screaming, begging Valeria to stop and just kill him instead, but Valeria
held on, watching Ginny writhe against the curse.

“You’ve made your point, Mrs. Malfoy,” the Dark Lord said calmly. It was only then that
Valeria relented and turned back to Seamus, leaving Ginny a heap on the wood floor of the
platform when her screaming stopped.

“You’re a sick bitch, Winters,” Seamus said, tears in his eyes. “I did it for what he did to
Dean.” Draco’s hand had cast Dean out of this life and now his wife’s would cast out
Finnegan’s.

“My name is Malfoy,” Valeria said low, raising her wand.

“HARRY POTTER WILL NEVER DIE—!” Seamus cried with his final words, but his
shouts turned to garbles as Valeria slashed her wand through the air and the spell she used slit
Seamus’s throat. She stared him in the eye as he died, knowing that her face was the last
thing he would ever see, finding some peace in this vengeance after what he did to Draco.
Ginny sobbed behind her, but the Death Eaters forcefully dragged her away as the life left
Seamus’s eyes.

The Dark Lord began a round of applause, which the crowd followed in kind. Valeria stared,
numb and cold, at Seamus’s corpse before it was dragged away. Draco went to her and
ushered her to join him on the side as delicately as he could. She stared on at the crowd, stoic
and resolute, as the blood was magically cleared from the ground and the elder Malfoys
asked forward.

Valeria couldn’t concentrate on the ceremony that inducted Lucius into his position as
Minister for Magic. All she could do was gaze with dead eyes at the audience. Supporters of
the regime behaved as though no atrocity had taken place just minutes ago. Valeria caught
Terry Boot’s maliceful gaze, Luna’s tearfully distant one and Ginny’s horrified one, but it was
Tracey’s expression that struck Valeria most. Tracey’s eyes were fixed on Valeria not in
disappointment nor fear, but shocked; as if she didn’t even recognize who Valeria was.
Valeria glanced up at Draco, his face frozen in a neutral expression that even Valeria couldn’t
read.

The Malfoys were presented to the world as a paragon of power. They were held up as the
example for what pureblood families should be. Through the performance, the presentation,
the pictures and the grand show, Valeria didn’t flinch. It was all a mask that she was trapped
behind, just like Draco’s that was part of his wardrobe as a Death Eater.

The only thing that kept her mind on the present rather than plunging into the bottomless
darkness within her was Draco’s iron grip on her hand.

It had been a long grueling day, yet Draco felt restless. He had slipped away from the party at
the Ministry celebrating his father’s appointment to bring Valeria, who had overindulged in
wine to no surprise, back to Malfoy Manor. She was breathing peacefully in bed, the most
peaceful she had been all day. Draco felt a headache coming on from all the wine he had
imbibed and sipped at another glass of the stuff to reignite the buzz of inebriation and soothe
his troubled thoughts. He could barely look at his own wife for shame at what she was made
to do that day. He was especially troubled that part of her enjoyed her shallow vengeance. He
could tell. He knew her too well.

As well as she played her part, he was perhaps more disturbed that there was still something
within her that struggled with committing acts of evil. Her conscience was bubbling to the
surface at the Ministry, and she depended on the wine that night to wash it away. Draco knew
better than most how much easier it was to feel nothing.

He looked out the window of the quiet Manor. The elder Malfoys were still at the Ministry
with Odessa, reveling in the attention they received while Draco gazed out at the dark empire
he helped build. Nothing to be done, he told himself. But he could not help but think on
Hogwarts, the same way he always did once someone he knew from schooldays died before
his eyes, whether by his hand or another’s. He missed even the times he hated while he lived
them. Everyone he disliked, and who disliked him, did so on principle. It was easy. Now his
father was the Minister, and his wife was withering away faster than he expected while Draco
sat comfortably on his throne of horror. The only comfort he could take in was that his father
wasn’t a killer, not really. But Draco was.

Draco set the wine glass down once his thoughts meandered into fantasies of killing his own
father; His hero back when he was a sheltered, spoiled brat. His thoughts were so scrambled,
he had to get out from these walls. He needed to flee one prison for another. He ordered
Tinky to tend to Valeria should she need anything before he took off into the night. When he
arrived at Azkaban, no one questioned his presence, as usual, and he was politely led to Ron
Weasley’s cell. There was Ron, a weakened shell of himself while Draco stood against the
wall, leaning his head back on the cold stone. The coolness of the cell soothed the warmth of
the wine in Draco’s body. It was quiet, relieving some of the loudness of his thoughts. He
stood on for a moment, bewildering Ron.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ron asked.

“Just wanted some peace and quiet, Weasley,” Draco said. Ron was taken aback by the sound
of his enemy’s voice.

“I heard you got messed up in the attack. Sounds like they did a number on you,” Ron said,
enjoying the fact that Draco had been injured.

Draco huffed a little laugh and yanked his color down to show Ron the prominent scar across
his throat, marking the wound responsible for Draco’s new vocal quality. “Courtesy of your
old friend Finnegan.”

“Shame he didn’t make it match your wife,” Ron spat.

Draco laughed again. “Funnily enough, that’s exactly what I said to her.” He paused. “She
killed him today—Finnegan, I mean.”

Ron’s face fell. “Did he suffer?”

“Yeah, I’d say so. Valeria would have been kinder if he hadn’t spat in her face or tried to kill
me in the first place. The Dark Lord said to her after that torturing your sister for spitting on
her was ‘inspired.’ That’s the word he used.”

“What did she do to Ginny?!"

“Relax, she’s fine.”

“Why hurt Ginny!?”

“Your idiot sister took Polyjuice Potion to look like Valeria the day the Ministry was
attacked, and my wife has been out for her blood ever since. She knew there was nothing she
could do to Finnigan to make him regret spitting on her. He’s like you, you’re all the same
way. You’re sorry if someone else gets hurt, but not yourselves. So blame Finnegan if you
must.”

“Are you drunk?” Ron asked, noting the way Draco’s words weaved as he spoke them.

“I am, just a bit. Sorry for not bringing any to share.”

“But Ginny’s alive? She’s okay?”

“Wouldn’t say she’s ‘okay,’ but she’s alive and as pitiful as ever. Not that I’d want to be alive
if I were her. Valeria sat her in front of that damn mirror in my cellar while I was fighting for
my life. I should have been impressed how she managed to turn that useless chunk of glass
into a torture device—”

“Mirror?”

“Yeah, it’s enchanted. Shows you what you want to see, which are usually the last things you
should see, I’ve discovered.”

“The Mirror of Erised…” Ron said, recalling a distant memory.

“You know it? That’s interesting. Let me think; It was at Hogwarts previously, so I’m
guessing you found it whilst you and Potter were up to your antics.”

“Something like that,” Ron spat.

“Figures. Probably got away with breaking every rule in the book, as always.”

“Is that why you’re here?! Still stewing in jealousy of Harry? You’re just as pathetic as ever.”

“I’m a little jealous of him, if I’m honest. He doesn’t have to live anymore, and the lucky
bastard died easy. Though, while being me has its downsides, I’d rather be me than the rest of
you any day. Not that your lot has to suffer much longer in all likelihood.”

“Are there any…plans for anyone? For me…?”

“I think the Dark Lord likes keeping you locked up in here for now. No greater torture for
you than knowing you’re useless. But I doubt he has the ability to care about that. Probably
just has his eyes on bigger things. You’re my father’s problem now, the Minster for Magic. I
won’t know your fate until they give an order. Wouldn’t that be rich, Wealsey? I could be
your executioner someday.”

“I heard about your fucking father. I hope he gets himself killed!”

“We can dream, Weasley,” Draco said wistfully, the dark rasp of his voice giving his words a
haunting quality. Ron took time to look at Draco, a real good look. If Draco didn’t have such
memorable features, Ron would not have recognized the bully he always hated. There was a
time when implying anything less than polite about Lucius would have set Draco off to
comical defeat in the latter’s own cowardice. It was clear to Ron now that Draco was dead.
No different than a ghost save for still inhabiting a body. As much as the sorry state of
Draco’s soul pleased Ron, he still would have rather seen Draco drop dead once and for all.

“Do you ever regret it? What you did, knowing this all your fault?” Ron asked, taking
advantage of Draco’s drunken honesty.

“No.” It was unclear to both of them whether or not Draco was lying.

“Strange since you came here just to bitch about how miserable you are. At least, that’s the
impression I get.”

“I didn’t do it for me. What I ‘bitch’ about doesn’t matter.”

“That’s the story they tell about you, isn’t it? How you did it for love and the glory of
pureblood—”

Draco interrupted with a laugh. “It’s a nice story. True in that I did it to save Valeria’s life.”

“I bet that helps you sleep at night. Did saving your fucked up marriage, that wasn’t even
worth saving, help you through murdering Harry?”

“I didn’t murder him.”

“We both know you did. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t fire the curse that killed him. Did
you think about your horrible wife when you set all this in motion?”

Draco smirked. “That wasn’t the moment that sealed our fates, Weasley. It was the Yule
Ball.”

“You really are drunk.”

“That was the night I fell in love with her, though I didn’t realize it yet. It was because of that
alone.”

“That makes no sense—”

“Once it could be used against me, it was over.”

“You claim to love her so much, like that somehow absolves you, but look what you did to
her. We both know she and the rest of us would be better off if she was dead—”

Draco interrupted Ron by giving him a swift, hard kick in the ribs, unable to control himself.
Ron doubled over, heaving through the pain in his weakened state. Draco said nothing else,
not even a threat, as the message was clear enough. Draco felt himself losing control and
once more felt the urge to flee.

“Did that make you feel better?” Ron asked sarcastically once he managed to catch his
breath.

“I feel better just knowing I’m not rotting away in here,” Draco said with a shrug.

“It sure seems like you are.”

Draco was silent for a moment. “I came here to inform you of Finnigan’s execution. That
work is done. So long, Weasley. I doubt you’ll see better days.”

“Wait! What about Hermione?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Draco said. “It’s up to my father and the Dark Lord now.”

“You owe her—” Ron said, starting to get desperate, shocking Draco a little at the sudden
shift in his demeanor.

“What could I possibly owe a fugitive Mudblood?”

“Don’t call her that!”

“That’s all she is or ever was to me, Weasley.”

“Listen! Hermione helped Valeria. Back when Harry was still alive and you sent her away
with us—” But Ron was cut off once more by Draco suddenly lunging at him and grabbing
him by the throat. Ron struggled, but was too weak to fight back in earnest.

“Does anyone know?! Have you said anything?!” Draco asked through his teeth, his face
mere inches from Ron’s.

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I did,” Ron managed to say through his
somewhat constricted airway. Draco released Ron with a shove to the floor.

“If you ever say anything, it will be final action to slaughter everyone you love.”

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise. But Hermione…of the three of us, she was the only one who
thought there was any good left in Valeria. I wanted her gone. Harry only helped because he
had to and, well, that’s just what Harry did.”

“That was a long time ago. Valeria repaid that debt when she shouldn’t have, giving you the
head start you wasted. I have enough to deal with,” Draco said.
“I have information. More than you think. I can give you some now. Believe me, you’d want
to know.”

Draco thought for a moment. “I can maybe find out what they’re planning to do with her in
more detail, but I can’t intervene, nor will I. If you have any information, I suggest you say it
now.”

“I guess my hands are tied…”

“So it would seem. You really trust me to see my end of the deal through?”

“No. But I doubt I’ll get more chances to help Hermione.”

“That’s the smartest thought you’ve ever had. Out with it.”

Ron paused, ruminating briefly on his decision. “Valeria has a nephew.”

 Konstantin Winters II
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mention of death. Mild/implied consensual sexual content.

Summer 1995

Jane Masters sat alone in her London apartment near Nimbus headquarters where she
worked, designing brooms, her dream job. She was feeling nostalgic that night as she let the
magical record play quietly and was going through her old school things. She read through
old letters from her Hogwarts friends, filled with inside jokes that were only funny to them.
There were old assignments for her favorite teachers that were so frivolous now, but the
material was so difficult at the time as she recalled agonizing over homework for hours on
end. She almost missed Hogwarts and the sense of wonder it always brought her. She was so
grateful to be a part of this world that her Muggle family could simply not fully comprehend,
though they were enormously proud of her. Cedric Diggory’s death had shocked her
especially. She hoped that Hogwarts was still of acceptance and belonging for the students,
even in these uncertain times, as it had once been for her.

In rifling through those old papers, a photograph fell out onto her lap. Hogwarts loomed
magnificently in the background of the moving picture but was out of focus. The camera’s
focus was in capturing Konstantin Winters, who threw a snowball at the photographer, Jane
herself, out on the grounds. She wanted to feel bitter looking at it but could not muster the
required resentment. She was struck by his mouth wide agape in laughter as he tried to
maintain his footing in the slippery snow. It was the one image, one of the few memories, of
him where he didn’t carry himself with calculated ease. He was playing. He was being silly.
He was free and he was reveling in it.

She kicked herself for still finding the boy who broke her heart so handsome. Even in his
seventh year he had the face of a young man a few years his senior. She used to joke with
him that he could make a successful life for himself as a male model in the Muggle word, an
assertion that he would crinkle his nose at in amused confusion. When she saw him at the
Quidditch World Cup the previous summer, she felt drawn to him once more, even more
handsome than he had been in school. Though she spoke with him in vain that day, for while
Konstantin was ever his polite, charming self, it was clear the boy she loved was gone.

She dropped the photograph in hand when she heard relentless banging on her door. Fearing
her neighbor needed to borrow something again, she got to her feet and opened the door and
her heart leapt into her throat at the sight. There he was, Konstantin Winters himself, his hair
all a mess, but his face was still perfect. That was until she lingered on him and saw tears in
his eyes, his jaw clenched and wearing an expression like he had seen hell.

“I’m sorry…” he said softly. Jane saw him clutching his left arm hard. “Can I come in? No…
never mind, I’ll go. I’m sorry…”

He turned to go, but she stopped him. “You…you can come in.”

He did so, albeit reluctantly. She was startled by his presence, but still felt a weird
embarrassment that her apartment had not been thoroughly cleaned for hosting a guest. He
stood sheepishly as she shut the door behind him, looking down at the floor, clutching his
arm and breathing heavy through agony. She directed him to sit on the sofa and she took a
seat beside him with polite distance between them. There was silence and she was alarmed to
see him tremble as he flexed and relaxed his left hand, staring down at his arm. She reached
out to him.

“Are you hurt? Can I see?” she asked, but he recoiled hard away from her touch. “Konstantin,
what’s wrong? Why are you here?”

He coughed a sad little cough meant to keep tears at bay, but he failed. He didn’t sob, but he
did cry as he shook his head. “I don’t know. Jane, I don’t know.” His breath quickened and
she moved to embrace him, careful not to bump his pained arm. He flinched a little at first,
but quickly surrendered to her embrace, which only made him cry harder.

“Just tell me what’s happened. Please. You’re scaring me…”

“You should be scared. I shouldn’t be here,” he said. She had wanted to slam the door in his
face or rant at him about how much of a coward he had been for ending their relationship
because of his stupid family, but she had too much love for him still and it made her weak.

“Will you let me see?”

He said nothing but didn’t stop her when she gently reached for the cuff of his sleeve. He
winced and grunted as she lifted the fabric up his arm before being met with the horror of the
Dark Mark magically branded onto his skin. The surrounded flesh was red with irritation, the
veins popping out in his arm, the muscles twitching in agony of the raised flesh. Jane stopped
as she felt her heart skip a beat and fill with dread. She looked up at his face to find his
tearing, bloodshot eyes staring at her in misery and guilt.

“What have you done?” she whispered through her teeth, sitting back as if to get as far away
from the vile mark as possible.

“My father says the pain will subside but—”

“You’re a fucking Death Eater,” she said. He cringed at the sound of the words spoken aloud
but didn’t deny it. He simply looked at her with a regretful expression. It was now Jane’s eyes
that filled with tears.
“Why? Why did you do this? Why did you come here?!” she said, trying to keep her voice
down. “It’s true then…? What Harry Potter said? He’s back…?” Konstantin only nodded in
response and Jane felt fear like she never had before. “Why are you here?!”

“To be selfish, Jane. Like I always was. My father was so proud of me…but all I could think
about was you. It’s wrong of me to do this to you, but I had to see you. You’re the only one
who’s ever seen me…I needed you to see this, see me like this so that I could maybe find a
way to live with myself.”

“But you didn’t have to do this! Just for those monsters you call parents?!”

“I did it for my sister, Jane. If I didn’t do it, they would have expected it of her. She’s only
fifteen, she has no idea about any of this. Not yet. She’s good…she wouldn’t last long, I just
know it. I can’t let that happen to her. I almost left, I almost ran, but I couldn’t do it to
Valeria.”

“And what about what this means for people like me?”

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“But what about all the others you’re going to hurt?”

“You don’t need to remind me.”

“Apparently I do!” Jane said, but she calmed herself, seeing the abject hopelessness in his
eyes. “If you don’t want this, if you truly don’t want this, I can help you. We can run. We can
go. Leave all of it behind and do what we can to help from afar—”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that, Janey. The only way out of this for me is when
I’m dead and buried. You can’t take this back. I didn’t come here for a solution. I came here
just to be in your presence one last time.”

A prolonged silence passed between them as Jane’s fearful heart gave way to grief and love.

“I still loved you, no matter how hard I tried to hate you for what you did.”

“You’ll hate me soon. And you’ll be better off for it.”

“Did you mean it when you ended things?” she asked. She already knew the answer, but she
needed to hear him say it.

“I have loved you since I watched you demolish Gryffindor at that damn Quidditch match.
I’ve never stopped. Not once,” he whispered, looking her directly in the eye. “I thought
leaving you was the worst thing I ever did to someone. I tried to think that maybe, somehow,
I was protecting you. Now look what I’ve done.”

Jane sniffled. “I used to imagine this. That you’d come one night and say you changed your
mind and wanted…me.”

“I’ve thought of doing it every day.”

Konstantin Winters. Eldest son and heir to his family’s great fortune and storied name.
Always near the top of their class. Slytherin Prefect, then Head Boy. Slytherin Quidditch
Captain, then Most Valuable Player in his final year. Ministry wunderkind with the entire
world at his feet. But here he was at the mercy of a Muggleborn girl he had the audacity to
still love.

He rose, shakily from his seat, looking down at the floor, so unlike him. “This was a mistake.
I’m sorry. I’ll go. You’ll never have to see me again.”

Jane’s emotions were all out of sorts, but the one thing she did know was that the thought of
never seeing him again hurt more than anything else. She gently stopped him. “Don’t go.”

Konstantin looked at her with more love than Jane had ever seen, just before he properly
broke into tears. He was so tall it was hard for her to fully take him in her arms as he wept
into her shoulder, and she could feel his fingertips cling to her back. She kissed the side of his
head and then moved to look at him, cupping his face in her hands and wiping away his tears.
Something intangible and inexplicable passed between them and before Jane knew it, she was
kissing him hungrily and desperately, before he stopped her.

“We shouldn’t,” he whispered.

“You said. You said one last time.”

After a moment of guilt, he spoke. “One last time.”

Jane had managed to keep it a secret. She knew her friends would give her grief for talking to
Konstantin again, let alone what she had done with him that night after letting him into her
home, let alone now that he was a Death Eater. She kept that to herself too. She hadn’t heard
from him since, nor did she expect to, she simply waited with dread for the war to be decided
which would end with him dead or thrown in Azkaban. Perhaps it would end worse with
Konstantin being forced to live the life of a Death Eater, but she would be gone by then if
Voldemort had his way.

She hadn’t even told him that she was pregnant. She knew he would want to know, no matter
how angry at himself he would be. She thought of telling him, having a desk drawer full of
unsent letters that she eventually burned. It was better this way, for what good would telling
Konstantin do? It would cause even more trouble with his despicable parents who valued
their reputation above all. The shame of having a bastard born of Muggleborn, who would
eventually inherit the Winters’s fortune according to ancient law would be too much to bear.
And what would it mean for their child? Doomed to a life of shame, unworthy of their
birthright in their own family’s eyes. If Voldemort lost, the child would have to live with the
shame of a Death Eater for a father, either dead or rotting away in Azkaban. And if
Voldemort won? Jane doubted even the Winters name could save her child from a horrible
fate, being the bastard child of a Muggleborn.

It was a burden she bore in abashed secrecy. When it became too much to hide, she took time
away from work, friends and family. When the time came on a warm day in May, she gave
birth at a Muggle hospital, refusing to give her name to the medical staff. When the child was
born, she insisted he be handed over to the government for adoption and though the staff
were befuddled by her strange requests, they respected them.

She held her son, conceived and born in love. She wept as she rocked him gently. He already
had a full head of dark brown hair, and she was amused to see that she could hardly find a
trace of her features in him.

She left the hospital in secrecy once more as soon as she was physically able, leaving only a
note near her son’s hospital cradle: “His name is Konstantin Silvester Winters II.”

Konstantin Winters, her son’s father, was killed a month later in the Department of Ministries
trying to save his sister, the same reason he took the Dark Mark to begin with. Jane was
beside herself in agonized grief as she fled into hiding, having indulged in fantasies of this
mess somehow working out so they could be a family. It reminded her of her schooldays
where she would write, Mrs. Jane Winters in the margins her notebooks. Her son was
supposed to inherit the fortune, the name, but he was long gone. She hoped he was happy
with a Muggle family and by the time he reached age eleven, this would all be over.

And when she was captured, brought to the cellar of Malfoy Manor, she knew it was over and
felt relief that at least her son was unknown to such a dark world. Konstantin had always
described his little sister as a clever little brat. He said Valeria was always sure of herself,
confident and just as charming as him. When Jane met her in that cellar, all she saw was
herself; a scared young woman sucked into unfathomable darkness and beyond any help.

Valeria resembled her older brother. Valeria resembled Jane’s son. Even as Valeria tortured
Jane, with horror in the former’s eyes, the last thing Jane saw before the Dark Lord murdered
her was the family she could never have.

August 2003

Draco had kept the secret to himself. He had agonized over what to tell his wife. He knew
how much Valeria had loved her brother and that she would go to any lengths to meet her
nephew if she knew.

But Draco had a clearer head, unobstructed with such sentimentality. What good would
meeting the boy do? He would have been old enough by now to remember things. He would
be old enough by now to understand, even in an immature way. The shame of a half-blood
child in the pure Winters bloodline would be a massive hurdle. Would the boy even be
allowed to live? If so, the new order would rip him away from the only home he had ever
known and for what? To be doomed to a life of terror and suffering. Odessa surely would
want to know about her grandson, but Draco never truly trusted her, nor had he ever forgiven
her for not interfering to help her daughter; the same resentments he had of his own parents.
All these thoughts clouded his mind the evening he approached the tasteful, but foreign to
him, Muggle home of the Thomlinsons in London, just as Weasley had instructed. He tried to
be inconspicuous amongst the Muggles but caught some odd glances as he approached.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have worn a long black cloak. He knocked on the door, careful to make
sure his wand was safely hidden away deep in an inner pocket. He could have easily entered
and hexed the parents unconscious and gotten what information he wanted, but that felt too
wrong. This boy was his family too after all.

“Can I help you?” sternly asked Samuel Thomlinson, at least that’s who Draco figured he
was from what Weasley told him. Samuel looked Draco up and down suspiciously.

“I’m sorry to drop by like this all of the sudden, but I was wondering if the name Winters
meant anything to you,” Draco said. Samuel, startled both by the sentence and the
strangeness of Draco’s voice looked panicked for a moment.

“Means nothing, sorry. Have a good day—” Samuel said, moving to shut the door. Draco was
about to reach for his wand, but another voice called from within.

“Sam, who’s at the door?” Elizabeth, the adoptive mother said as she approached. Samuel
sighed.

“I don’t know, he hasn’t given me his name,” Samuel said as Elizabeth popped into view. A
tall thin woman, she smiled at Draco though she was visibly taken aback by the looks of him.

“My name’s Aston. Aston Martin,” Draco said hesitantly. He had seen an advertisement for
something with that name. It sounded like a solid Muggle name in his head.

“Like the car company?” Samuel asked, more suspicious than before.

“Yes,” Draco replied.

“Are your parents fans of Aston Martins?” Elizbaeth asked, trying to be polite.

“Oh, yeah, big fans. It’s a bit embarrassing actually,” Draco said.

“And why are you here, Mr. Martin?” Samuel asked.

“I believe your son is my nephew. Ma’am, does the name Winters mean anything to you?”

Elizabeth looked at Draco wide eyed. Draco expected the door to be slammed in his face, but
he was surprised to see a look of joy in the woman’s expression. She swung the door wide
open and stood aside. “You must come in at once.”

“Lizzie…” scolded Samuel.

“Oh, hush. Please, come in, Mr. Martin. We’ll get you some tea.”

Draco sat stiffly in an armchair in the strange home as the couple murmured in the kitchen.
He found electric lighting visibly assaulting and it had a way of making the room look uglier
than it would with firelight. There were strange noises all around. Muggle machines made
sounds, who would have guessed. He could barely name what they were, but he recognized
the television from Muggle Studies, though it was turned off. He looked around the room,
seeing still photographs of the family everywhere, his eyes focused on one’s of a young boy
with a head of thick brown hair who bore the striking Winters features. He had hoped it
wasn’t true, that Ron had been mistaken, but Draco didn’t even need to meet the boy to see
the truth. This boy was Konstantin’s son.

The couple sat on the sofa opposite Draco and Elizabeth poured him some tea, which Draco
politely took.

“You must be roasting alive wearing a turtleneck and that interesting coat in the middle of
summer. I’m glad we have the air conditioner blasting for you. Do you work in the fashion
industry?”

“Yes, I do. And I’m cold-blooded, so I’m not uncomfortable. Thank you though for…
conditioning the air,” Draco said. Elizabeth laughed politely, but Samuel seemed to pick up
on the fact that Draco had no idea what an air conditioner was.

“How is it that you are related to our son again?”

“My wife is his biological aunt on his father’s side,” Draco said. Before either parents could
respond, the front door flew open and a young boy ran into the room.

“Mum! Jason said that his mum said that I could spend the night at his house on Saturday!
Can I go?! Please—!?” the boy spoke quickly. Draco instinctively stood slowly out of
politeness, the boy was facing his parents, having not even noticed Draco in his excitement.
Elizabeth laughed and gently gestured for the boy to calm down.

“We’ll talk about it later, Will. We have a special guest,” she said nodding to Draco. It was
then that the boy turned, and Draco saw his face. The pictures on the Thomlinsons’ walls
hadn’t done the boy’s resemblance to Winters family justice. Draco was struck to see how
much this boy was a young a copy of his father. He had thick, dark brown wavy hair and
already possessed some of the Eastern European features of the Winters family with his
strong brow and high cheek bones. He appeared to be a bit tall for his age, but it somehow
suited him. Biased as he was, Draco saw a lot of Valeria in the boy too, oddly enough. Draco
expected the boy to be wary of him, having long gotten used to nearly everyone being at least
a little afraid of him. But the boy looked up at Draco, wide eyed with childlike wonder. The
boy smiled, which formed a cheeky little smirk that Draco knew all too well.

“Will, this is Mr. Martin,” Samuel said.

“Are you a Jedi!?” the little boy exclaimed at Draco after looking him up and down, noting
how Draco was dressed.

“A what?” Draco asked, trying to hide his raspy vocal quality so as not to raise undesired
questions.

“Like in Star Wars?!”

“I’m sorry…I’m not sure what that means…”

The boy looked a bit pale with shock, bordering on offense. “You’ve never seen Star Wars?!
Do you live under a rock!?”

“Will,” the mother scolded. “Not everyone likes Star Wars and there’s no need to be rude to
our guest—”

“But everyone’s seen Star Wars, mum!”

“William…” the father scolded.

“It’s fine,” Draco said, trying to sound polite to the parents.

“Will, why don’t you run upstairs for a few minutes while we talk to Mr. Martin,” Elizabeth
said quietly. Will smiled and nodded, happily going on his merry way upstairs. Draco
supposed that most children had so much energy, but he recalled Konstantin and how there
always seemed to be a sort of latent energetic quality to him sitting just beneath the surface of
his composed demeanor.

“I hope you can forgive our surprise about all this,” Samuel said. “We actually tried to search
for his birth family for years, we’ve practically given up. How did you find out he was here?
About us?”

Draco had to speak very carefully. “It was quite a surprise to us as well. I don’t know his
mother’s family, but I can tell you that no one on his father’s side even knew there was a
child. I, searched through some old records and stumbled upon the information.” Draco was
partially lying, of course. When Ron told him about the child and the old, cryptic birth
announcement in the paper, he knew Ron had not been mistaken.

“What records? We’d love to see them, especially anything medical for Will’s sake—”
Elizabeth began.

“I’m afraid that’d be very difficult to get ahold of,” Draco said. “I’m curious what you know
of his family and how he came into your care.”

“We’d wanted children for quite a while, but never could conceive on our own. We received
word from the state that a woman, who remained anonymous, had relinquished a newborn
into government care and all we know of her is that she named him Konstantin Silvester
Winters II. We changed it as we preferred a more traditional name and wanted him to have
our last name. We figured that his father must have been called Konstantin Winters, but we
could find no record of him anywhere. Can you tell us, are his parents still around? Does he
have any family?” Elizabeth explained.

That irked Draco some, but he tried not to blame these people for their ignorance. If only they
knew what the name even meant. “His father is dead, as is his mother. Other than my wife, he
has a living grandmother on his father’s side. Again, I know little of his mother’s family.
The parents looked down in solemn respect for a moment. “If you don’t mind, could you tell
us how they died? For the sake of medical records…”

“Father died in a…an accident, trying to save someone else,” Draco said. He remembered
well the night Jane Masters died before his eyes. “His mother was murdered.”

Elizabeth put her hand to her chest in shock. “How tragic…Was her killer brought to justice
at least?”

“Still at large,” Draco said looking into his teacup. There was an awkward silence that hung
heavy in the room.

“And what of his other family, the aunt and grandmother? Do they know about Will?”

“No, not yet. The grandmother is…she’s a deeply troubled woman. His father, Konstantin’s,
death struck my wife particularly hard, and I didn’t want to trouble her with news of this
unless I was absolutely certain of the truth. The family has suffered great tragedy,
unfortunately.”

“I expect so. They lost so much,” Elizabeth said sympathetically.

“My wife and I live far away from here, but she and her brother were once quite close. He
meant a great deal to her,” Draco said, almost musing aloud.

“Maybe she’d like to meet her nephew. She’d always be welcome here, of course,” Elizabeth
said.

“Perhaps someday. Her work keeps her quite busy, at least for now,” Draco said delicately.

“Pardon me, but I want to ask, were either of his parents the creative type?” Samuel asked,
speaking up for the first time in a while.

“Oh, don’t start, Sam,” Elizabeth said.

“It’s just that, Will seems to have a very wild imagination.”

“He’s seven years old, of course he does!”

“But it’s oddly specific. He thinks he has magic powers. A couple years ago he thought he
was a superhero and now he thinks he’s a Jedi. Once, I went to refill his water glass from the
pitcher for him, I turned my back for maybe a few seconds, and when I turned around again,
the glass was full. He swore that it happened all on its own. There’s been other things, but
little things like that.”

“You probably filled the glass and forgot, Sam.”

“I just don’t want him to fill his head with things that are too fanciful,” Samuel said. Draco
kept his composure, but found the Muggle father’s ignorance a bit funny, albeit
unintentionally insulting. This confirmed Draco’s opinion on Muggles. He didn’t them so
much anymore, his feelings were pretty much indifferent, but he still found them suspicious
and untrustworthy. Draco reached into a pocket to remove an old photograph. He dug through
Valeria’s old memories, stored away, and found the image. Unable to bring much more in the
way of proof without revealing the magical world to them, he managed to charm the picture
to stop moving, at least temporarily. He passed it to the mother, who was more receptive to
all of this.

“That’s his father and his aunt, my wife, back when they were younger,” Draco said. It must
have been from when Valeria was fourteen years old. She stood beside her brother in the
image, each with a soft smile.

“My God, it is uncanny, isn’t it?” Elizabeth said. Samuel, who had been more skeptical than
his wife, looked over the image too and even he agreed. “So, Mr. Martin, what do you think
should come next? I’d like for him to know about his family, but I don’t want to overwhelm
him. We could try to work something out with the help of the social worker—”

“Lizzie, perhaps we should talk in the kitchen for a moment,” Samuel said.

“Oh, Sam, don’t start,” she said as her husband stood. He gave her a look and she rolled her
eyes, rising to follow him, clearly a bit embarrassed. “Excuse us for just a moment.”

The couple retreated into the kitchen. Draco could still see them across the room and through
the doorway but chose not to listen to their bickering. A sound of fast footsteps approached,
first upstairs and then growing louder as they came down. Will burst into the living room
again, holding a small Muggle airplane in his hand.

“Dad! The wing’s broken can you help me fix it?!” Will called before noticing his parents in
the kitchen.

“I think they’re having a grown-up conversation,” Draco said politely.

Will frowned. “They’re talking about me, aren’t they? Whenever they say it’s an adult talk,
they always talk about me.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No, not at all,” Draco said.

“Dad said he wants to call a doctor on me. I heard him say I was weird,” Will said.

“Why does he think that?” Draco asked. He had been hoping that there was a small
possibility the boy was a squib, for his own sake. Will walked over to Draco and leaned in
close.

“Can you keep a secret?” Will whispered.

“Keeping secrets is an important part of my job.”

“I think I have powers. My dad thinks I’m crazy, but I know it’s true. Once, I got grounded
for the weekend and I was so mad, I wished really hard that I could fly away, and then I
looked down and my feet were off the ground. Like I was hovering a little. They said I was
imagining things, but I know it’s true! You don’t believe me either, do you?”

“Oh, I believe you,” Draco said, recalling times in his own childhood where he had
inadvertently used magic, as nearly all magical children did at some point. “Can you keep a
secret?”

The boy scoffed. “Yeah.”

“Hand me…hand me that thing,” Draco said gesturing to the model airplane, reaching into
his pocket for his wand, but not removing it, keeping a careful eye on the parents in the other
room. The wing on the toy was clearly broken. His hand on the wand in his pocket, he moved
it gently and before the boy’s eyes, the toy repaired itself, good as new. Will’s eyes lit up as
Draco handed it back to him.

“You…you are a Jedi…”

“Not exactly,” Draco said, still unsure what that word even meant. “But I’m like you. I, both
of us, we can do things that other people can’t. My wife used to say there was more magic in
the world than we could ever dream of.”

“I knew it was real. Can you teach me how to be like you?”

“Perhaps someday. You’re a little young right now,” Draco said. He gestured to the airplane.
“Those things fly, don’t they?”

“Not this one. There are some that can fly, but they need a remote control and mum doesn’t
trust me with that in the house. The big ones fly. Haven’t you even been on airplane?”

“I haven’t.”

Will laughed. “You’re weird! I love flying, it’s the best. I want to be a pilot when I grow up.”

“Where I’m from, flying is very normal. We don’t use those, but we still fly.”

“Really?!”

Draco nodded. “Really. There’s no other feeling like it. Someday, you might get to learn
how.” Will’s mind was swirling with possibilities, judging by his expression. “But remember,
we have to keep this a secret for now. Promise?”

“I promise,” Will said. Draco smiled a little and gave Will a wink. It was hard not to smile to
see a child discover their magical abilities, as he himself vaguely recalled the juvenile awe he
once had. At the same time, Draco’s heart sunk faced with a conundrum. It would only be a
few short years before Will received his Hogwarts letter, before he would discover his true
name and what it meant. It would only be a few years until this innocent child, ignorant to the
magical world let alone the horrors that ruled it, would discover the truth. There was no way
the boy would be allowed to return to his Muggle family, all he had ever known, after he was
discovered.

“I assume this matter is of utmost importance,” Snape said, taking a seat at the Headmaster’s
desk opposite Draco in Hogwarts. It was the evening, bordering on the time of day where it
was rude to insist on meeting, but the Thomlinsons kept Draco around longer than he
expected. They had asked for a phone number or at least something strange called an email,
but Draco had chosen to insist on contacting them first instead.

Draco didn’t trust Snape fully, but he was the only ally that could possibly give some
guidance on the situation. Odessa would report the boy’s existence immediately, as would
Draco’s own parents if he told them. He didn’t want to burden Nott and Zabini with this, and
they would be of little help anyway. Valeria would be beside herself to know of her nephew
and would likely insist he be taken into her care. Draco didn’t quite have the heart to
inevitably tear the boy from his family, or worse, inadvertently get the Muggles killed.

“We have a problem,” Draco said, before going on to explain what Ron had told him and
what Draco had discovered as a result. Snape’s expression became graver than it usually was
as he listened.

“No one else knows?” Snape asked.

“No one other than you and I. According to Wealsey, the mother’s parents know she had a
son, but they have no way of finding him,” Draco said. “What’s going to happen to him?”

“His Mudblood mother is a problem, but given that he’s Konstantin’s son, that would save
him. When it’s time for him to attend Hogwarts—”

“He knows nothing of our world, let alone what’s become of it. Is there really no way we can
just let him be?” Draco asked. Draco wanted to believe that the world would settle down but
knew in his heart that the Dark Lord would only escalate in his pursuit of total domination.

“You know that’s not possible. The boy could become an Obscurus if his abilities aren’t
nurtured properly, which would cause even more pain and suffering. You know all of this,
Draco. Perhaps it would be wise for you to bring the boy into your care sooner, at least get
him acquainted before he comes to school,” Snape said.

“He’s just a child, Snape.”

“So were you.”

“That was different,” Draco insisted, not wanting to linger on the subject. “Is there a way we
can stop his admittance to Hogwarts?”

Snape stood. “Not if he’s proven to possess sufficient magical ability, but there is a way to
check. Follow me.”
Draco followed Snape in silence through the nearly empty corridors. Draco was relieved
students weren’t milling about, as he hated the stares and the fear in their eyes when they saw
him. Snape led him through a meandering route and up to a tall tower Draco barely
remembered even existing. At the top, Snape unlocked an old door that opened to a small,
quiet room. The room was empty, save for an old wooden table with a large, ancient book
with a quill and inkwell beside it.

Draco understood. He remembered the stories his father told him about how students were
admitted to Hogwarts. The Quill of Acceptance would attempt to scribe the name of children
demonstrating magical ability, but the Book of Admittance would slam shut if it did not
perceive sufficient magical prowess, to prevent squibs from accidentally being allowed into
Hogwarts.

“You can look, but don’t touch them. If the boy’s name is in that book, then there is nothing
to be done,” Snape said. Draco tentatively approached with Snape behind him. The quill was
inactive at the moment and the book laid flat and open for perusal. Draco thought of his own
name and when it was quietly inscribed in the book some time long ago.

The list of names was shorter than he expected. He supposed that not many children had been
born after all the death of the war and in the new regime. There were only a few names on the
list currently open to him and he did not find the name William Thomlinson. He was relieved
at first until he reached near the bottom of the list and read Konstantin Silvester Winters II.
His heart dropped.

“That’s not his name anymore,” Draco said.

“It’s the name his mother gave him. It’s the one the quill remembers,” Snape said. Snape was
hiding his own feelings on the matter well, but Draco could sense his old teacher’s unease.

“There’s got to be a way around it,” Draco said.

Snape shook his head. “It’s more than just Hogwarts, Draco. That boy is the heir to the
Winters estate, the heir to the fortune other than Valeria’s portion. He belongs in our world.
He has no choice. Neither do you.”

Draco slammed his fist on the table and cursed loud. The thought of tearing another life apart,
the life of an innocent child, was too much for his conscience to bear. Draco had never
forgiven his own father for what he had done, for what demanded Draco become. This boy
was his own kin now and Draco struggled with his impulse to protect him and not drag him
into the hell he had himself created. Draco searched his mind for answer, but all avenues of
escape were closed. He knew he couldn’t the boy and his family out of the country. He
couldn’t deny the child’s magical abilities and suppressing them would only bring pain. He
knew that whether by Draco’s hand or another’s, the boy would be ripped from his Muggle
family and never allowed to return.

It was inevitable. Sooner or later the boy would learn who he was.

“Are you going to tell your wife?” Snape asked.

“No. Not yet. I need to think about what to do,” Draco said.

Draco returned to Malfoy Manor shaken. He slowly sought out his wife in the North Wing
and heard excited voices coming from a parlor room. Inside he found Valeria with Tracey and
Theodore Nott.

“There you are. Where have you been all day?” Valeria asked.

“Working. Wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow, Nott. It’s good to see you too,
Tracey,” Draco said. It was then that he noticed the smiling faces of the women. Even Nott,
who mostly carried himself in a stoic manner, had a soft look of joy in his expression. “Is
there some good news?”

“Tell him, Theodore,” Tracey said to her husband.

“Tracey is expecting,” Nott said with a smile. Draco was quite taken aback but tried to hide it
as the women laughed with happiness once more. He could hardly accept the prospective
child as good news. This child would be one of the first, at least of the old pureblood
lineages, to know no world before this one, and Draco’s stomach turned in knots over it.

“Congratulations, both of you. Nott, how about you come with. I’ve got a special bottle in my
study for an occasion as this; let the ladies have their fun for a few minutes,” Draco said. Nott
squeezed his wife’s shoulder and followed Draco out. Draco met Valeria’s eyes before
departing and though she was excellent at hiding it, he saw worry in her eyes. The two men
made their way to Draco’s study and Draco poured Nott a glass of something fine.

“Was it…intentional?” Draco asked. It would have been a rude question if Draco hadn’t
known Nott for so long and so well.

“It was her idea,” Nott said with a shrug. “I think it was all starting to get to her and she
wants something more to do that still keeps her out of the worst of it. It took a while to calm
her down after she saw Valeria execute that terrorist. I don’t think she’d ever really imagined
Valeria capable of…that. You alright? Seem a bit off.”

Draco took a deep sip. “I’m fine. Just hope Valeria doesn’t get ideas into her head.”

“You may not have much of a choice much longer,” Nott said. He always had a way of being
unintentionally blunt. “One of your father’s big pushes is encouraging more births. He’ll
expect it of you sooner or later.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” Draco said. The last thing Draco wanted or needed was more
responsibility. It was one thing to have to hold his family together, to do his job dutifully, to
keep Valeria alive through all the lies and secrets threatening them just below the surface. He
already felt oddly responsible for his late brother-in-law’s son. The thought of having his own
child to care for, to raise with the values of this world and guide him or her to live up the
status the Malfoy name had secured made him nauseous.
Draco and Valeria retired for the night after the Notts departed. Draco was emotionally
exhausted, but his body was restless. Valeria sat beside him in bed with a book and he looked
at her, thoughts spinning with the knowledge that his once childhood friend, his wife by
force, would one day be expected to mother his children. Perhaps it was too much for him. It
was still difficult for him sometimes not to see her for who she once was. There was a part of
him still that believed there was still some innocence left in at least her, even if he was a
goner. A part of him believed firmly that the confident, witty young woman he fell in love
with was still there and that she was free.

“You’re staring,” she said, not looking up from her book.

“I’m not.”

“You stare when you’re worried.”

“No, I don’t.”

She sighed and shut her book. “Is this about Tracey’s baby?”

Draco paused. “I’ve been so preoccupied with the now that I haven’t thought much about a…
new generation. It doesn’t seem real.” The truth was Draco didn’t want it to be real.

“We don’t have to worry about it now. Tracey’s happy about it. She’ll be a good mum,”
Valeria said. Draco doubted that even the best mother in the world could save a child from
this world.

“I’m not worried about Tracey and Nott,” Draco said.

“We both agreed that we won’t discuss our own…situation until have to,” she said.

“I’m worried that that will come sooner rather than later,” he said. He wanted to tell her about
her nephew, desperately, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. Not until he had a
plan. Not until there was some way around it. “How could we bring someone into this world?
Our own child. Could we even love it?”

“I’m sure we can. It’d be our child, Draco."

“It doesn’t worry you at all?”

Valeria was quiet for a moment. “I have nightmares about it sometimes.”

“What?”

“Sometimes I see someone. He’s our age, probably a few years younger actually. He just
looks like you. He’s tall with white hair. But he has my eyes and my smile. He turns to me
and calls me mother, shows me the Dark Mark on his left arm. He smiles and asks me if I’m
proud of him,” Valeria explained, looking down at her lap.
Draco knew that dreams could be magical, but he never learned how to tell which ones
foretold events or were just manifestations of anxious minds. He had grown accustomed to
his own nightmares, so much that they barely bothered him anymore, but Valeria’s dream
struck him with deep fear for someone that didn’t even exist. At least not yet.
 Inevitable
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS:

Death, magical violence, human experimentation, domestic violence, discussion of

death, corpse, torture,

September 1998

There was a period after the war when the young Malfoys were still soft. There was a time
when they had yet to learn how to stomach violence, especially that which was committed by
their own hands. It was liminal, an in-between time, in which they were irreparably broken
but had yet to rise to monstrosity.

The pressure was mounting. It was no longer viable to lock themselves away inside Malfoy
Manor. “The public needs to see you,” Odessa told them, trying to be encouraging in her own
twisted way. Snape was more direct, “Hiding will be seen as weakness.”

So the Malfoys went to Diagon Alley, using the need to run errands as an excuse to be seen in
public. They walked so close together, arm in arm, that they nearly had to move as one unit.
Valeria asked Draco several times if they should go back home. His breath was quick and
anxious. In the days before he stopped fearing death and suffering, he was a bundle of nerves
and endured frequent, relentless panic attacks. Diagon Alley itself reciprocated his feelings as
dread and terror hung oppressively in the air like high humidity on a windless day.

The posters of the Malfoys encouraging the pairing of young pureblood witches and wizards
were still plastered around, though weathered and faded. Some even bore graffiti. There was
one with the word EVIL scrawled across their images. Another was simply splattered with
bright red paint. It was hard to look at, harder than looking at the old stores. Some were still
open, but with no brightness left. Others were falling into disrepair, with rubble from smaller
conflicts still strewn about.

Death Eaters and others who were loyal to the Dark Lord greeted the Malfoys with nods and
smiles, but fortunately no one stuck around long enough to endure grueling small talk. Others
veered around the Malfoys as they passed, not daring to look at them. Many of the wandless
had yet to be rounded up or had not the resources to run. Even if they recognized the
Malfoys, they didn’t care, begging on the streets for anyone or anything who would deign to
hear.
“We’ll make one more stop at Flourish and Blott’s. Then we’ll go home. You can get some
books. As many as you want,” Draco said so only Valeria could hear. He was trying to be
nice. He was trying to make this pleasant, but the wistful tone in which he spoke made it
clear that he didn’t want to drag this out any longer either.

“Are they even open?” she asked. She had ignored the news, the papers and the rumors. She
didn’t want to know what was happening outside the protective cage of Malfoy Manor.

Draco nodded. “Dark Lord’s orders.”

“Ah, Draco!”

Draco stopped in his tracks and Valeria felt his body tense at the cheerful calling of his name.
Looking ahead, Rabastan Lestrange approached. He was thin, wiry man who had the
obnoxious habit of breathing out of his mouth, impressive given the nasally quality of his
voice. He shook Draco’s hand firmly and enthusiastically in greeting.

“It’s good to see you out and about,” Rabastan said. “You as well, Mrs. Malfoy. Looking
lovely as ever, you’re one lucky man, Draco.”

“Likewise, Mr. Lestrange. Thank you,” Valeria said calmly. While Rabastan clearly meant to
give a simple compliment, Valeria’s dislike of him made her squirm at the comment.

“I realize I never congratulated you, Draco. Some doubted, but I always knew you had it in
you. How you handled it was nothing short of impressive and now look at you with a
wonderful wife and the world at your feet. I expect great things from you in the future,”
Rabastan said. It was almost more off-putting that he was speaking with such sincerity.

“Thanks, Rabastan. I was only doing my job,” Draco said. He was doing his best, but he was
clearly nervous.

“Nonsense, you went above and beyond, and the Dark Lord recognizes it. You should visit us
at the Ministry some time. Building the Department of Purity is going really well and I’m
sure you’d have ideas to contribute. We’d love to hear your thoughts.”

“Sounds interesting. I’ll get back to you,” Draco said flatly, non-committal.

A cry rang out, an angry, feral one. The next thing Valeria knew was that her head was
pounding, and her vision nearly went dark. She felt Draco catch her as she was knocked off
balance. She heard scuffling and shouting, but could not make out what was happening.

Draco could. It happened too fast for him to act preemptively, but he saw a young woman
fling a brick from some of the nearby debris at Valeria’s head. He tried to pull Valeria out of
the way, but it was too late. He caught Valeria before she fell and panicking parted her hair to
assess any injuries. Rabastan had acted quickly, immobilizing the culprit and the other young
woman who had tried to hold the former back from throwing the brick.

“Is she alright?” Rabastan asked, crouching down by Draco. Others in the street had stopped
and looked on in shock, but no one dared to come close.
“Looks like just a small cut. Are you alright, Valeria?” Draco asked. Valeria’s heart was
pounding in her pain and confusion, but she nodded.

“Good,” Rabastan said, rising once more, looking at the culprits. He laughed as Draco helped
Valeria to her feet. “I was wondering when one of these shits would try something. It’s been
boring lately. How about you do the honors, Draco?”

“I have to get her home. Just send for Azkaban and I’ll write to them about what happened
and—”

“No need for a trial for this lot. Not worth the time and money, trust me. Teach ‘em a lesson,”
Rabastan said cheerfully before leaning in close to Draco. “Put on a little show. Looks like
the world is watching.”

It was then Draco noticed the stares of the small crowd. Some wisely shuffled away, but
others looked on in borderline disbelief. Draco’s heart began racing and he felt his pores
sweat. He saw flashes of Hogwarts once again, how his peers stared at him in horror while he
murdered their allies and friends. He looked up at Rabastan who had a sickening expression
of eager anticipation. Then he looked to the immobilized culprits and his gut lurched when he
recognized Katie Bell and her friend Alicia, the latter having been the one to throw the brick.

“Don’t make us wait, Draco. Here I’ll help her,” Rabastan said, coming to the other side of
Valeria to hold her up.

“Don’t watch,” Draco whispered harshly, before he left her side, but he didn’t need to tell her.
She kept her eyes fixed to the ground as her head pounded anyway. Draco removed his wand
as he approached the assailants, and he first released Katie from her magical bonds.

“Malfoy, please! I tried to stop her, I told her not to! She just lost it. I’m sorry. Just ask her,
she’ll say she’s sorry!” Katie Bell cried, rushing to Draco. He stepped back from her, and she
fell to her knees to beg at his feet. “Malfoy…I remember Winters from school. She wouldn’t
want you to hurt her. The Dark Lord says he’s merciful…please!”

Draco glanced at Rabastan, feeling the agonizing stares of the others around them. Rabastan
smiled and nodded encouragingly to Draco. Draco saw his pained wife, making sure she
wasn’t watching. He pointed his wand at Katie Bell and cast the Imperius Curse upon her.
The young woman calmed, and her fear left her to the point of peace. Draco bent down to
whisper in her ear.

“Kill her,” he said nodding to Alicia. He removed the immobilization hex from Alicia as
Katie removed her wand and walked toward her friend. Draco returned to Valeria, taking her
head and holding it to his chest.

“Katie…what are you…? What did he say? Katie?!” Alicia said, growing more fearful as
Katie lifted her wand. Alicia tried to run but didn’t even make it a few paces before Katie cast
the Killing Curse on her. Draco winced as Alicia’s corpse fell to the ground and he swiftly
lifted the Imperius Curse from Katie, who began wailing at the sight of what she been forced
to do. Draco flinched when Rabastan gave him a firm pat on his back.
“Take the lady home, I’ll handle it from here. Nice work once more. Hopefully that’ll teach
the rest of them a lesson,” Rabastan said casually.

In the mere moments before they apparated back home Valeria felt Draco’s muscles tremble
and heard, with her ear pressed into Draco’s chest, the rapid pounding of his heart on the
brink of explosion. Draco had not been built for cruelty.

But he was being molded for it.

September 2003

“You alright, Greengrass?” Draco asked, standing as Daphne entered her office in which
Draco had been instructed to wait. He didn’t bother with pleasantries. He didn’t have to with
someone he had known so long. Draco remembered when Daphne was considering becoming
a Healer back in school and Draco always believed Daphne had the stomach for such things,
the way she always kept a level head. But he could see now with the way she carried herself
that she was not in a good mood, and over the years he had seen the weight of her duties wear
on her.

“Just not looking forward to seeing Umbridge,” she said with a sigh. “She a bit…difficult.”

“She’s a bitch, you mean. You can still speak freely with me, Greengrass,” he said.

“Just trying to be professional. It’s a bit different than when we were kids.”

“It’s still me.”

“If you say so,” she said, leaning on her desk and crossing her arms. That stung a little, but
Draco let it pass. He was in a foul mood too. They were met here to await Lucius and
Umbridge, who were running late of course.

“Has she tried to interfere with your work?” Draco asked.

“She thinks Granger is her pet project. She tried to go over my head several times, against my
medical opinion, to force me to do things her way. Fortunately, my supervisors trusted me,
but it’s been tense. I’m sure Blaise has complained to you about how frustrated I’ve been.”

“He doesn’t. Doesn’t talk much about himself at all. Is he…is he doing alright?”

“He’s perfectly fit to continue his duties as he’s been doing.”

“I’m not attacking him. I’m asking as his friend.”

“You’re also his boss. His livelihood is in your hands…”

“All the more reason for me to care. I’m not going to turn on him, Greengrass. Do you really
think…?”

“I don’t know what to think most of the time.”

Before Draco could retort, Lucius and Umbridge and came into the room. Draco resisted the
urge to roll his eyes at his father, who swaggered in like he owned the hospital, followed by a
perturbed looking Umbridge. Daphne stood straight at the sight of them.

“Mr. Minister, Madam Undersecretary, welcome and thank you for coming,” Daphne said.

“Apologies for our tardiness. I promise both Dolores and I are eager to see what you have to
show us.”

“If you’ve all read the briefing, than we don’t need to go back over it. I can take you down to
the subject now.”

“Lead the way, Mrs. Zabini,” Lucius said.

“Healer Zabini,” Draco corrected. Lucius stared daggers at Draco, who stood on unmoved by
his father’s expression.

“Of course. Forgive me. Shall we?” Lucius said.

Daphne lead the way while Draco fell behind, following Lucius and Umbridge. Umbridge
was asking questions whose answers were in the briefing Daphne had previously sent.
Daphne did her best to answer Umbridge’s aggravating questions through gritted teeth.
Lucius mused aloud about all the changes he’d like to see St. Mungo’s make, which Daphne
also took in stride. They descended several floors to well below ground to the very bottom of
the building.

“It’s just passed the morgue. This way,” Daphne said. Daphne walked through the chilly main
hall of the morgue, which branched off into other halls and large rooms. They kept to the side
as another Healer was using magic to push along a stretcher carrying a covered corpse.

“The grave plot is the other direction, Simon,” Daphne said, stopping him. As Simon stopped
the stretcher, a pale, limp hand fell out from under the sheet.

“Boss says this one’s meant for cremation. It’s above me, Daphne,” Simon said. Draco
touched the cold hand and carefully placed it to rest back underneath the sheet. As
accustomed as he was with death, he still sometimes managed to surprise himself.

Daphne sighed. “Fine. Carry on.” Simon did as he was told and Daphne gestured for the
visitors to continue.

“He didn’t even address me…” Lucius muttered.

“Some people have jobs that don’t include kissing your ass,” Draco said under his breath,
earning a dirty look from Lucius, which Draco ignored. Stopping at a large door, Daphne had
them all turn around while she undid complex security enchantments to open it. It was
warmer inside, but the light was dim, and the hall resembled a clinical prison, which was
essentially what it was. Metal doors without windows were on either side and Daphne led
them to the very end.

“The only person I’m authorized to let in is Malfoy. Draco, that is. You can watch from the
hatch, Mr. Minister and Madam Undersecretary,” Daphne said. Draco nearly smirked while
Umbridge tried to argue with Daphne about the restriction, Daphne’s face barely concealing
her annoyance. “The call was made above my head, I’m sorry. Are you ready, Malfoy?”

Draco put his hand on his wand in an interior pocket of his cloak and nodded. Daphne opened
the hatch and cast an immobilizing spell before unlocking and opening the cell door. At the
back of the cell, the door of which Daphne promptly closed, was Hermione Granger, sitting
against the padded wall with her knees up, dressed in a simple white uniform. Her head was
down, her wild unkempt hair in her face. Draco removed the immobilization charm, but
Granger still didn’t move nor even acknowledge Draco’s presence. Draco stood back a fair
distance, his hand still on his wand.

“Look at me, Granger,” he said. At that, she obeyed, and Draco was shocked to meet her
eyes. Draco had seen many cold, dead eyes, but not often had he seen them on those that
were still living. There was no hatred, no feeling at all in her gaze, she simply stared at him.
He remembered how much he hated her in school, he tried to muster those feelings now, but
it did nothing for him. He didn’t hate her.

But he had to shove that away. He needed to test the results of the experiments and he knew
he was being watched.

“Seamus Finnigan has been executed,” he told her. She nodded a little but had no other
reaction. “Valeria killed him. Split his throat open.” No emotional response, just another nod.
“She tortured the Weasley girl first.” Nothing. “Do you know who I am?”

Granger nodded once more. “Draco Malfoy,” Her voice was flat and devoid of all feeling.
Draco had been standing off to the side and was out of the way when Umbridge cast a curse
on Granger from the hatch. It was clear the curse caused Granger some pain, but she didn’t
seem to react in any emotional capacity. Draco turned sharply.

“Madam Undersecretary, I must ask you refrain from using magic on patients. Only I have
the authority here—” Daphne said, working hard to hide her disdain.

“She didn’t address him properly. Try it again, Draco.”

Draco clenched his jaw. “Do you know who I am, once more?”

“Draco Malfoy, sir,” she responded. Draco had seen enough and asked to be let out of the
cell. Daphne relocked the door and shut the hatch and then directed them to a nearby meeting
room.

“As you can see, and as was reported in the briefing, the administering of the empowered
Tranquila Sensus potion has been successful in this case. The subject does not exhibit any
emotional reaction or opinions whatsoever. The subject retains has retained her memories and
can be directed to follow orders as needed. She understands everything she’s told, she simply
doesn’t have the capacity to react in an emotional manner,” Daphne explained.

“And this is permanent?” Lucius asked, excited at the prospect.

Daphne nodded. “And as far as we know, it’s irreversible.”

Draco shifted in his seat. He almost envied Granger for a moment, for he was certainly
reacting to what he saw. He took the regular Tranquila Sensus potion all the time, but seeing
what Valeria’s ingenuity had wrought made him feel something ill in the pit of his stomach.

“The Dark Lord would like to run a test before sending her on a more important mission. In
your medical opinion, is she ready for such a task?” Umbridge asked.

“Yes,” Daphne said flatly. Draco sensed Daphne was more uncomfortable than he was.

“Do you have any news regarding that, Draco?” Umbridge asked.

“Snape told me she’s to be on the 2nd Tier Regiment’s next task, under my supervision,”
Draco said.

“What task?” Lucius asked.

“Classified,” Draco said.

“The apprehension of the Creeveys, isn’t it?” Umbridge said absentmindedly. Draco looked
at her and even through her sickly-sweet little smile, he could see she was enjoying sowing
discord between him and Lucius.

“Why wasn’t I informed? Who are they and why are they being apprehended?” Lucius asked
defensively.

“Because it’s not the Minister’s job to know, father,” Draco said.

It had been a busy week leading up to the capture of the Creeveys. Neither Blaise nor Nott
were too thrilled about having Granger involved. Draco wasn’t looking forward to it either,
but he had orders. Snape sat in on their meetings and Draco couldn’t tell if he liked it better
when Snape spoke or kept silence. Either way he felt like he was back in school, being
surveilled and monitored, like he was brewing a simple sleeping draught.

“Are you going to be able to avoid intervening?” Snape asked after Nott and Blaise had left a
meeting.

“Not if I was stuck waiting outside. That’s why I’ll be under that cloak, following behind
when we send her in,” Draco said.

“Potter’s cloak?”
“Not anymore,” Draco said, trying not to cringe at the sound of Potter’s name.

“Have you figured out what you’re going to do about your nephew?”

“I’m going to let him be.”

“You know what sending Granger into the field means. What it means for the Muggle
world…”

“I’m not going to rip a child from the only home he’s ever known unless I have to,” Draco
said.

“He might be doing well now, but it’s only a matter of time,” Snape warned.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it then! For now, I’m simply going to follow my
orders.”

“You’re more than a soldier, Draco.”

“Not since I was sixteen,” Draco spat.

The door creaked open, and Draco was doubly relieved to see Valeria and put an end to this
conversation with Snape.

“Am I interrupting?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Draco said before Snape had a chance.

“I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything before the task, Draco,” Snape said.
Draco merely nodded in half-hearted acknowledgement before Snape departed.

“What was that about?”

“Sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong as usual. Thanks for the rescue,” Draco said.

“Unintentional. I only wanted to go over dates for Tracey’s baby shower,” Valeria said.

“I don’t care when it is. Just tell me when it is, and I’ll be there. Why don’t you let your
mother handle it? You hate planning parties.”

“I’m doing it for Tracey. No doubt my mother will overblow it and I don’t want to
overwhelm Tracey. Are you sure you’re alright? Is this about Granger? You were just
following orders.”

“I figured she’d just be executed, Weasley too. It’s easier if they’re going to be executed. At
least it’s over for them,” he said. Looking at her, he could not help but see her nephew’s face
too, just a bit, but enough. Something about that young boy also reminded him of himself, a
different Draco from long ago.

“Malfoy the Merciful…” she said quietly.

Draco didn’t want to admit the cheeky nickname was perhaps truer than anyone knew. It was
beginning to dawn on Draco, truly hit him, that this was going to go beyond anything he
could have ever thought. It was always something. Lucius told him that everything would be
fine once the Dark Lord returned. It was supposed to be fine once Potter was gone. It was
supposed to be fine after the war.

“Do you think this is ever going to end?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “But at least we’re mortal.”

Draco felt as though Potter’s cloak was burning through his pocket. He hated that damn
thing, only able to remember Potter’s death march at the Battle of Hogwarts when it was on
his person. That Draco would have fainted to know what he would eventually become. This
task would be tricky. The Creeveys were hiding in a home settled into a quaint village in the
north, populated exclusively with Muggles. There could be no dramatic displays of magical
power.

Draco was grateful to see Nott and Blaise out in a field near the village, the agreed meeting
point, as he escorted Granger. She had been silent for the entire journey, which was entirely
eerie. Even the potion Draco ingested to numb his feelings paled by far in comparison to
Granger’s apathy.

“Ready to get this over with?” Blaise asked. Draco appreciated Blaise’s honesty for once as
he felt the same way. Both Nott and Blaise were suspicious of Granger, but neither remarked
upon it.

“Right. You both cover and observe. We’ll have her approach, with me invisible just behind.
It will be harder for her to capture two, so if one decides to make a run for it, be prepared to
capture. No fatalities and keep injuries to a minimum,” Draco said before turning to Granger.
“You ready.” She simply nodded.

Draco donned the cloak and had his wand at the ready, instructing Granger to head for the
small house ahead. She did as she was told and knocked when she reached the doorstep. Very
slowly the door creaked open, but when a pair of eyes saw Granger, it opened wide.

“Hermione!?” Colin Creevey said with shock, moving to embrace her. Hermione didn’t
return the embrace. “Come in. Quick, hurry.” Draco managed to slip in just behind Granger
and kept his back to the door. Colin called for his younger brother and they both eagerly
spoke to Hermione about how happy they were to see her.

“How’d you get here? I thought they had you imprisoned?” Dennis asked.

“I can’t say,” Hermione said blankly.

“You don’t remember, or you can’t tell us?”

“I can’t tell you.”

The brothers exchanged a look before Colin spoke. “Hermione, you have to tell us what’s
happened. We’ve been doing alright here, all things considered, but if they’re after you…we
need to know.”

“No one is after me,” Hermione said.

“Did Ron or Neville somehow manage to get you out?” Dennis asked.

“No.”

The brothers were getting suspicious, but who could blame them. Draco was getting worried
that this was all a very terrible idea. But he couldn’t intervene yet, as much as he struggled
with not having complete control.

“I know you’ve probably been through a lot, but…are you sure you’re alright?” Colin said. It
was clear to anyone who knew her at all that Hermione was no longer who she once was. Not
even close.

“I’m fine.”

“Is there anything you can do to prove to us that it’s really you?” Colin asked, reaching for
his wand. As he did, Hermione sprang into action, hexing Dennis who was closer to her, and
then began flinging spells at Colin. He managed to deflect them and Draco tightened his grip
on his own wand when Hermione’s wand flew into the air and far out of reach. Dennis hadn’t
been stunned and managed to disarm Hermione.

“Shit,” Draco thought. One of the conditions of intervention was that Draco could act if
Granger was disarmed or incapacitated. Draco flung the cloak from his body, not wanting it
to impede his movement and Colin froze.

“Colin, run!” Dennis cried from the floor. Draco stunned him unconscious and turned his
sights on Colin, who reluctantly turned and darted out of a wide-open window in the kitchen
before Draco could hex him. Draco followed after him, chasing him out into the fields. Draco
had a clear shot and easily took it, disarming Colin. A simple leg locker curse knocked Colin
to the muddy ground, forcing him to crawl in an attempt to get away. Draco stopped when he
finally got to Colin and loomed over him like a harbinger of doom.

“Malfoy…Please…don’t kill Dennis. Just say he got away. You can kill me. I won’t fight
you,” Colin pleaded.

“No one’s dying here tonight,” Draco said. Either the words or Draco’s odd vocal quality
surprised Colin.

“Is that really Hermione?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do to her?”

“You’ll find out for yourself, I’m sorry to say,” Draco said. He was confusing himself, with
his wand pointed at Colin. Why wasn’t he just getting this over with?

“Then just kill us.”

“We need you alive.”

Colin was beginning to panic. “I saw Winters at the Battle of Hogwarts…I remember…Harry
said he trusted her. She was helping us. She was doing it for you, Malfoy. That’s what they all
said. There must be some good in you if she—”

Draco cut Colin off with a swift kick in the ribs and spoke through his teeth. “Don’t ever say
her name.” He paused to collect himself. “I’m not happy about this either. In my opinion,
everyone’s better off with you dead, yourselves included. But those aren’t my orders. I’ll give
you the option of surrendering with your dignity. Otherwise, you leave me know choice.”

Draco came home earlier than Valeria expected. She rose to greet him, but he took one look
at her before going straight into the adjacent bathroom. She heard him retching but waited for
him to finish and clean up. He quickly poured himself a drink and she could see by how he
poured the liquor that he was trembling. She went to him slowly as he downed the glass’s
contents in one go.

“I thought no one was going to die this time,” she said.

“No one died,” he said shaking his head.

“Then what’s wrong? It’s usually not this bad,” she said. He looked at her, his hair falling in
his eyes a little, but she could still plainly see the pale look of dread and guilt that frightened
her to the core. “Draco, if something’s gone wrong, you have to tell me.”

“There is something I have to tell you,” he whispered, unable to carry this burden alone
anymore.

“Out with then, you’re scaring me,” she said. He took her hand and directed her to sit on one
of the armchairs in their chambers. He sat across from her, still holding her hands in his.

“After Finnigan’s execution, I went to see Weasley. I don’t know what had gotten into me;
I’ve been off since I woke up in St. Mungo’s. But he told me something he knew that he’s
somehow managed to keep hidden,” he started before taking a long pause. There was still
time to lie, but he couldn’t. “Konstantin has a son.”

Valeria’s heart dropped in disbelief. She almost didn’t understand the very words he was
saying. “That’s not possible…”

“It is. That woman, Jane. Sometime before the war. The boy’s around seven or so, I think—”

She pulled her hands away from Draco. “Jane? She didn’t say anything when she was a
prisoner here. She didn’t tell me…” Valeria recalled that night too vividly; the pain Jane
experienced by her own hand before the Dark Lord murdered her before her very eyes.

“Why would she have? She hid the child, adopted by a Muggle family right after he was
born,” Draco said.

“No. Konstantin wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have abandoned his child! He would
have said something!”

“He didn’t know, Valeria. Jane kept it from him too—”

“You’re wrong!”

“I’m not. His mother named him Konstantin Silvester Winters II. His Muggle parents
renamed him, but the name he was given at birth is the one that’s written at Hogwarts.”

That hit Valeria deep. “They changed his name?”

“They’re just Muggles. They don’t know what the name Winters means. They told me they
tried to find his biological family, but had no luck, obviously.”

“They told you?! You’ve met them?”

“And the boy too. I went to London because I didn’t fully believe Weasley and had to be
sure. I’m sure now. He looks like your brother. He can do magic. He’s absolutely
Konstantin’s son.”

Valeria reached back and struck Draco. She felt her mind unraveling itself at the seams, but
all she felt now was pain and rage. She had worked so hard to move on from her brother’s
death, weeping over his still-warm corpse. She had tried so hard to stand in Bellatrix’s
presence without murdering her on sight. But this was a betrayal that made her lose control.

“How could you know, how could you go see him, and not tell me!?”

Draco sat up again after being struck. He didn’t argue with her about whether or not he
deserved it. “Because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop you from seeing him, or worse,
taking him yourself.”

“That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

“If I can’t stop you, I will try to.”

“He doesn’t belong with them. He belongs with us! With me! His family!”

“The moment anyone else finds out, they’ll kill his parents. The Dark Lord will expand into
the Muggle world before long using the Mudbloods, and the boy is safer for now if he’s kept
hidden. He knows absolutely nothing about us, our world—”

“He needs to know! He has a birthright, an estate, a fortune. The entire bloodline rests on
him!”
“And he’s also the only Half-Blood Winters in how many generations?”

“Being a Half-Blood isn’t a crime! He will find out who he is eventually—”

“But for now, we have time to plan. We can have him sent to another wizarding school,
somewhere far away.”

“No! I won’t let you make decisions for my brother’s son,” she spat, seething with ire, heart
pounding out of her chest.

Draco remained calm. “Valeria, we cannot just tear that boy from the only life he’s known.
He’s a good kid. He’s happy. He’s loved.”

“He’s not theirs,” she said through her teeth. “Why are you being like this? What is wrong
with me wanting him to be with his family—”

“Because that’s exactly what they did to us!” Draco shouted louder than he had all night,
straining his voice and startling Valeria. She could see a faint glisten of a tearful eye that
Draco managed to hold back. “Our lives were like his, remember?! It was goddamn idyllic!
Then we were dragged under. Now look at us.”

“You always say that we were born into this, that it was inevitable for us. He was born into
this too, even if he doesn’t know it yet,” she said.

“But his mother got him out and she did that for a reason. Konstantin didn’t want any of this
for you, do you think he want the same for his child?”

“My brother is dead,” she spat. She hated when her brother’s memory was used against her.

“And so it falls on you to save his son,” Draco said, approaching her carefully, putting his
hands gently on his shoulders. “You don’t have to hold back for my sake or even the boy’s.
Do it for your brother.”

It broke her heart to know that Draco was likely in the right, and she tried to fight the
realization in her mind. She felt the selfish urge to take the boy into her care, but she also
feared what could happen were she to let him stay with his Muggle family. If she hadn’t been
so angry and anxious, she would have been curious about Draco’s passion for his position to
let the boy be.

“How can we keep him safe if we don’t bring him here?” she said.

“We will keep him safe. We just need time to plan very carefully.”

“And if that fails?”

He sighed. “Then we’ll have to get him. But for now, let him have a little more happiness.”
It was a tense few weeks in the Malfoy household as summer began to give way into autumn
once more. The start of the Hogwarts term saddened Valeria more than usual, given it was
only going to be a few short years until her nephew would attend the hollow institution.
Draco was in no better mood as the Dark Lord happily escalated his hunt for Muggleborns to
use as his disposable foot soldiers. They both knew, even in the times they refused to admit it,
that this was going to get worse.

When Draco returned to Malfoy Manor from a meeting looking pale as death one evening,
Valeria’s heart dropped.

“The Muggle Prime Minister is dead,” he said quietly.

 Intimacy
Chapter Notes

Will edit errors later!

CONTENT WARNINGS: Discussion of war and death. Consensual sexual content/very

mild smut.

Many Years Later

Konstantin Winters II never did return to his Muggle parents, the Thomlinsons. He thought
about it as an adult, many times, but it had been so long. How could he explain it to them?
How could they even begin to understand? He thought of sending them a letter or some sort
of evidence that he was at least still alive but resolved that this would do more harm than
good, raise questions that Konstantin could never answer. It was better for them, in the end,
to accept that the boy who went missing all those years ago was forever gone. It wasn’t far
from the truth anyway.

Konstantin discovered as an adult, to sate his morbid curiosity, that the Thomlinsons went on
a very public campaign to find him, asking the public to look out for a tall, oddly dressed
blond man with a gruff voice who went by the name Aston Martin. That made Konstantin
laugh, despite the grief he knew his Muggle family felt.

It was a gloomy day in London when Konstantin went to visit his childhood stomping
grounds for the first time since his childhood. He knew from what he discovered that the
Thomlinsons had long left the neighborhood. His childhood friends and neighbors eventually
did as well. Not too many upper-class Muggle families were keen on staying in a
neighborhood where a child was randomly kidnapped without a single trace. There was a
playground, now old and currently empty, that Konstantin spent countless hours playing in.
That’s where he was now, hearing the bustling city noise all about and the gentle creaking of
the chains of a swing set, as his cousin Scorpius lazily rocked back and forth.

Konstantin was fixated on an old, tattered poster plastered on post in the playground. His
missing poster, with his Muggle name, William Thomlinson and an old photograph. There
was an age progressed picture beside it that looked nothing like him now. That amused him
slightly. Konstantin almost envied that boy and the way he could disappear, eventually fading
from public memory. The wizarding world never forgot who Konstantin was. Other than
blood, that was the most important thing that Konstantin and Scorpius shared.
“Do you ever miss it? This place?” Scorpius asked, breaking Konstantin’s concentration. He
turned and approached Scorpius, who held in his hand a photograph of his own as he gently
swayed in the swing. It was good that the park was empty for they were an odd pair. They
dressed to blend in better with the Muggles, but they were still clad in dark clothes and
Konstantin could tell they were rather out of place.

Konstantin sighed. “Not really.”

“I would,” Scorpius said with a raised eyebrow. Konstantin knew well how bitter Scorpius
was, far too young to be so jaded, toward the wizarding world that had shunned him first.

“I never belonged here. Not really. There’s not much point in dwelling on it,” Konstantin
said. That was the simple version of his feelings, though they were more complex. The
sentiment, however, remained true. “Besides, I never would have known about you if I’d
stayed here.”

“But you might have been better off.”

“There’s no way to know that, Scorpius. It could have been much worse if they hadn’t
intervened.”

“How can you not hate them for what they did to your life?” Scorpius asked, genuinely
unable to understand Konstantin’s passive acceptance of the past. He looked down at the
photograph in Scorpius’s hands. According to the writing on the back of the image it had
been taken in Draco and Valeria Malfoy’s fifth year of Hogwarts, just after they had finished
their exams. They were smiling wide, proudly. Draco had his arm around her shoulders, and
she leaned into him a little. It was almost incomprehensible to look at and Konstantin knew
Scorpius felt the same unease with the image. They were both intelligent, Scorpius being
more book smart even while still a teenager. It was simply too hard to believe that the happy
children pictured were indeed Draco and Valeria. It was even harder to believe that these
children grew into what they became. Konstantin did feel guilty for not hating his aunt and
uncle, even knowing what Valeria had done to his own mother, but he could not bring himself
to feel anything but sadness for them.

“I just don’t think it’s helpful to resent them,” Konstantin said. He was trying to be delicate.
Scorpius was struggling enough and always had, but he also had a duty to be honest. Scorpius
saw Konstantin’s lingering gaze on the photograph that the former almost always had on his
person.

“This is the last picture where they’re actually smiling,” Scorpius said softly.

“Your parents were happy before the war.”

“These aren’t my parents,”

“They are, Scorpius. They were human too, just like us.”

“My parents were monsters.”

“They loved you.”

“If they loved me at all, they wouldn’t have had me in the first place.”

Konstantin’s heart broke once more for Scorpius, as it often did. Konstantin had long ago
been charged with Scorpius’s care, and he would have cared for him if it wasn’t asked of him,
but he often struggled with powerlessness. For he too had inherited a tarnished name and a
legacy of disgrace that so often left him at a loss for what to do and what to say.

“You will have a chance someday to be your own man, you already are your own person. You
are not them,” Konstantin said, repeating what he said so often to Scorpius.

“How can you say that when I look just like him?” Scorpius hissed through his teeth. The
resemblance was indeed striking with the blond hair and the pointed features that welcomed
shadows to dance around his face. Draco Malfoy’s genes were just as strong as his sins and
made an equal impression on Scorpius’s life. There were traces of Valeria in his appearance,
but the eyes were the most obvious. Scorpius had the same dark green eyes with so many
secrets of the self behind them. “That’s all anyone sees when they look at me. Don’t deny it.
You know it’s true.”

“He was a complicated man,” Konstantin said, not knowing what else to say. He knew well
just how painful Scorpius’s young life had been. He was a bright who had so much love to
give, but the world refused it at every turn. The bullying alone was relentless. Konstantin
remembered, with guilt, seeing young Scorpius step off the train in tears. Despite his guarded
exterior, was so incredibly sensitive, so reserved, and so very gentle that his cutlery never
clanged against his plate at meals. Yet the same delicacy was hardly ever returned to him.
The burden of his name, of his own face, was nearly too great to bear and Scorpius resented
his father just as much as he wanted him back.

“Evil isn’t complicated, it’s just evil,” Scorpius insisted and looked back down at the image.
“She’s so happy here and look what he did to her. He probably forced her to have me too.”

Konstantin shook his head. “You know the story, why he did what he did. It was because he
loved her.”

“It doesn’t matter that he loved her. It doesn’t matter that you say he loved me,” Scorpius said
before pausing. “I don’t know how he could live with himself.”

“That’s the thing. He didn’t,” Konstantin said.

Scorpius was quiet for a moment. “He destroyed the world for her.”

“And they saved it for you.”

December 2005
It was the Yuletide season in London. The Muggles outside and around 12 Grimmauld Place
were merrily engaging in the festivities all season, despite the turmoil and chaos their world
had seen the past years since the first assassination of the Prime Minister. Ginny Weasley
would read their newspapers and what was left of her heart sank for them. All their theories,
all their explanations, they would never suspect magic. Their ignorance allowed them to have
a hope that Ginny couldn’t muster anymore.

She had only received two messages from the mysterious J.D. since she had settled in the old
Black family home with Neville Longbottom. They had been trying so fruitlessly to do
something, anything. Some good in this world. Some memory of Harry Potter and the Order
of the Phoenix to preserve. J.D. was of little help. Their first message read,

Protect Muggleborns if at all possible.

They had tried. The Department of Purity managed to rebuild enough to track the surviving
Muggleborns quickly and efficiently. Neville and Ginny managed to save a few, but their
networks of resistance were decimated, and Ginny was limited in the magic she could do
with the ring on her finger that marked her as a blood traitor and tracked her use of magic.
Neville was freer in that regard, having evaded capture for so long, but their resources were
limited. Even if they could save them all, getting them to safety was next to impossible most
of the time. How could they care for them? Feed them? Protect them?

J.D. sent only one other message since,

Potter had a plan.

Ginny nearly ripped the parchment apart. How was that remotely helpful? There wasn’t even
a hint of details. She began to suspect J.D. was mocking her, trying to give her scraps of hope
until they were ripped away. She had searched her mind for more clues, but Harry hadn’t told
her anything, in order to protect her, but his protection was useless now. She tried not to
resent him for even after all these years she loved him still, but it was hard in those long, dark
and lonely nights not to feel anger at his short-sightedness, even if he meant all the good in
the world.

Neville knew nothing of a plan. Ron and Hermione probably did, but Ron rotted away still in
Azkaban, useless and impotent of action. Ginny grieved for Hermione, for though she was
freer to act, she was hollowed out and now hurting the same Muggles she had selflessly
dedicated her life to saving. Now she was Hermione Granger name only.

In the quiet reaches of her heart, Ginny had set her sights for vengeance upon Valeria Malfoy.
Ginny cringed to recall how Valeria had destroyed the Burrow with that one horrible spell
that was beyond Ginny’s comprehension. Ginny remembered being enveloped in Valeria’s
darkness, quite literally, at the time. It was nothing short of agony, mental and physical. It felt
like Ginny’s very soul was turning foul and rotting within her. It was worse than being
around Dementors, far more intense. Ruthless. Unrelenting.

And sitting before the Mirror of Erised, seeing Harry and calling out to him for days, but he
never responded. He’d just stare serenely at her, so close and yet so far away. Ginny didn’t
want to admit to herself that the ordeal had made her fear Valeria, but Neville told her that
fear was probably wise. Ginny went on a furious rant once, calling Valeria a liar and a traitor
to the right side. Neville had the kindness to remain calm, “She was always upfront, Ginny.
She always said she would never betray her own, that it was just for Malfoy. It shouldn’t
surprise us, what she’s become.”

Harry never wanted vengeance, not really. Despite how Voldemort ruined his life before it
even properly begun. Ginny was ashamed of her vengeful thoughts, but only for his sake.
She’d spend long nights looking through what images and memories she had saved of him,
begging him to give her some kind of sign.

Christmas was the worst. Ginny always loved Christmas. She and Neville spent their
holidays with ghosts.

Valeria hated Christmas still. The only improvement over the past few years since Lucius’s
promotion to Minister was that the elder Malfoys took over the famous Malfoy Christmas
party, meaning Valeria didn’t have to bother, nor was she troubled to make decisions about
dinnerware and ornaments. She still had her duties assisting Snape with potions and curses,
but her most recent pet project was solving the mystery of the golden snitch that was on
Potter’s person the night he died. She was working away in her laboratory in Malfoy Manor
when the door opened and slammed shut behind her, startling her out of her concentration.

“I’m going to kill my father,” Draco said, stomping into the room. Valeria smirked as she
turned to him. He gave her this speech at least once a week.

“What has he done this time?” she asked. Draco proclaimed his intentions to murder Lucius
almost weekly.

“Don’t laugh!” Draco said, angrily pacing the room. “I gave him a set budget for this party,
and he keeps begging for more money for more bullshit. Giving me lectures about how it’s
his money. It was his choice to sign everything over to me. His tradition is what took his
power away. Now, I have to let him invite the Estonians, Rasmus and his wife, for
‘diplomatic’ reasons and I don’t want those people in my goddamn house. He doesn’t fucking
respect me—”

Valeria rolled her eyes a little, still smirking. It struck her for a moment how similar this rant
was to the temper tantrums he threw when they were still teenagers. “He doesn’t respect
himself, Draco. That’s why he’s so content being the Dark Lord’s glorified puppet.”

“And he’s just informed me he wants a time at the party to celebrate ‘the new additions to the
cause.’ Can you believe this? Warrington is going to be honored for getting his wife pregnant,
and he’s just a damn security guard.”

“It’s just a ceremonial thing for one stupid night. It’ll be fine,” she said. Draco looked
unconvinced. He had been pricklier than usual. He had still been one of the Dark Lord’s
darlings, groomed for higher command one day, but his tasks now included helping plan and
direct missions for the Muggleborns, the Dark Lord’s fodder, to destabilize Muggle Britain.
Some of their allies on the continent were having success in a similar plot. It was
counterintuitive to the narrative that Muggleborns had stolen magic but twisted instead to be
that the Dark Lord allowed them to have magic for his purposes only. She could tell he hated
it and she refused to fully consider her part in it.

“Yeah, until my father starts turning the pressure up more on us. He told me it was
‘embarrassing’ that we haven’t had a child. He embarrasses himself enough on his own,”
Draco said with a scoff.

That had been eating away at Draco too. Valeria knew well had adverse Draco was to having
children of their own. He once said he’d rather die, though it wasn’t clear how earnest of a
statement that was. For her part, Valeria was torn. The thought of forcing an innocent person
into this world made her ill, but she was also determined to keep her and Draco safe and that
meant complying to the new order which prized tradition. Somewhere deep down, she knew
that they couldn’t put it off indefinitely, but that was too hard for her to accept. Looking at
Draco now, even in his frustration, she imagined that she would have happily had a child with
him in another world. She sometimes wondered what their child would be like if the Dark
Lord did not rule. Which parent would they favor? Would they have Valeria’s charm or
Draco’s arrogance? Would they be gentle and reserved or boisterous and ambitious? Under
the Dark Lord’s rule, the hypothetical child’s future would be predestined. If female, she’d be
given a thorough magical education, participate in dark tasks according to her skills. She
could perhaps be a Death Eater someday, should she desire and have the required skill,
otherwise she’d be raised to be a good wife to a high-ranking pureblood husband. If male,
he’d be raised to be like Draco, probably expected to join the Dark Lord’s ranks one day and
carry on his legacy with a sophisticated wife of good pedigree. She would have to raise them
like this, she knew, and it broke her heart.

The lack of possibilities for her theoretical son or daughter made Valeria sad. The nightmares
of the young man who resembled Draco but had her smirk had become more vivid, as if she
was hurdling toward that future without any choice or control.

Draco was firm on the matter. If there had ever been an accident, they would quietly contend
with the issue before having to register the pregnancy with the Department of Purity, which
was now a requirement to ensure the prosperity of pureblood lineages. Draco had once
claimed that despite all that he forced her to do, or was otherwise forced to do because of
him, bearing his child was one of the few things he could never force upon her. Valeria got
the impression that he feared for himself more than her. He could torture, he could kill, but
the prospect of being a father was an entirely foreign concept.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Valeria said, noncommittal. There was no point
in having the conversation about children once again. It always ended with vagueness and
uncertainty. Draco pinched the skin between his brow and sighed.

“Sorry. He just drives me insane,” he said before going over to her and giving her a kiss on
the cheek and glancing down at the golden snitch on the table before her, surrounded by piles
of opened books and parchments of notes. “Any breakthroughs on the snitch?”

“No,” she said, frustrated. “The etching has the answer, but once again Dumbledore’s riddles
mean nothing to anyone but him.”
Draco picked it up and absentmindedly played with it. “Dumbledore gave this to him, right?
Maybe he had to be the one to open it.” Draco was still so hesitant to say Harry Potter’s
name.

“Obviously,” Valeria said, having long already considered that factor. “Dumbledore was a
powerful wizard, but even his enchantments are breakable. I just need to think creatively.”

“I open at the close…” Draco read aloud. The way he looked at the snitch was distant and
nostalgic, recalling old memories. “You said this was the one from his first match at
Hogwarts?”

“Yes. I overheard him at the Burrow back then, but it’s still hazy to me,” she said, having
struggled to recall as much information she could from her stay at the Burrow before Potter
went on the run.

“He caught that one with his mouth.”

“What?”

“You have to remember!” Draco said. “He fell off the broom and nearly choked on the damn
thing, the idiot, and it still counted. How can you not remember, they were playing against
Slytherin for god’s sake? It pissed me off—”

“You know I never paid attention during Quidditch,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. “Well, seems like you should have, it might actually prove helpful in all
your snobbery.”

“It’s not snobbery to think Quidditch is the dullest—”

Draco laughed. “It was back then.” He paused and cleared his throat, putting on a high-
pitched mocking tone of voice that was even more comical with how rough his vocal quality
was. “Oh, Draco, Quidditch is awful and so very unsafe. What if one of those quaffles takes
my head off? What if a player crashes into me? Are we required to go to the match? I’m so
bored, Draco, save me!”

She playfully elbowed him in his side. “That is not even close to an accurate representation
—”

“Oh, bullshit,” he said. “You didn’t even care when I joined the team and played. Broke my
poor, young heart, you did.”

“You only joined the team out of spite.”

“And to impress you.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Maybe a little. I’ve always been a man of mystery, Winters. I guess you’ll
never know, but if you would have taken your head out of your ass in school, you might have
remembered how this snitch was caught in the first place.”

She took the snitch out of his hand and rolled her eyes. “Thank you so much for your help,
what would I ever do without you?”

Gifts, many of them purely decorative, were displayed under the giant, ornately decorated,
Christmas tree in Malfoy Manor. Valeria glanced at it on her way out of the house just a few
short nights before the grand party event. She regretted that there was a notable absence, a
regret she was adamant about rectifying, in a small way, now. Draco had given her the
address to her nephew’s Muggle home in London after he was certain he could trust she
wouldn’t do anything drastic without him. At the time, she just needed proof. She needed to
see the boy for herself to be sure. To make it real. She observed from a careful distance, using
magic to conceal herself when needed. She saw him playing on a neighborhood playground
structure with some other children, and she knew at once, with grief and joy, that the boy was
absolutely her brother’s son.

At play, he was wild with energy, running around the playground so fast that she could easily
imagine the child soaring through the air on a broom like his father one day. She visited him
more than once and she desperately wanted to leave something behind each time, but there
was little she could give that wouldn’t reveal the existence of the wizarding world to him or
worse, his Muggle parents. Even money was off the table as exchanging into Muggle
currency was done only very specific circumstances now.

This Christmas though, as the boy’s eleventh birthday was coming ever closer with each year
gone, she decided that she could leave something. As uncomfortable as it was to break into a
Muggle home like this, she was silent and employed the use of Harry Potter’s cloak to ensure
she would be unseen. It was late in the night, but the noise of the city and some of the strange
machines in the home still made noise, which Valeria found unnerving. She glanced around,
seeing photos of her nephew all over; at play, at celebrations, on vacations to distant places.
He was happy in all of them. That only made her feel more guilty about what inevitably
would have to be done.

She slowly crept up to the boy’s bedroom, neat and tidy for being a young boy’s room, and
found her nephew asleep soundly in bed. She did not disturb him as much as she wanted to
wake him and take him into her care out of fear. She was terrified about what he would soon
learn. About whom he would have to grow to be. It broke her heart to remember her brother,
who was just as lively in his youth as his own son. Konstantin loved the world and was
chomping at the bit to be a part of it as a child. Then it was all ripped away from him. Just
like what would happen to his son.

From her pocket, Valeria removed a small photograph. It was old, weathered, creased but the
image was still clear. She had found in Konstantin’s old room many years ago, tucked
secretly between another photo and its frame. There was her brother, no older than seventeen
with his arm around Jane Masters at Hogwarts and he was smiling shyly. The photograph was
close enough on their faces that the background wasn’t recognizable to anyone who was
unfamiliar with Hogwarts.
Draco had helped her charm the image so that it was still, like a Muggle photograph. Valeria
regrettably crossed out Jane’s message to Konstantin on the back and in its place wrote, Mum
and Dad. The best of us. She set it on his bedside table beside a lamp.

Draco had calmed down the night of the Christmas party. It was an astonishingly pleasant
event. Draco and Valeria played their part well for the paper and for the guests that mattered.
Now that it was late and the party was dying down, with many guests having already
departed, there room to breathe and relax. In a secluded parlor room, the Notts, the Zabinis
and the younger Malfoys gathered to blow off steam. Many of their Slytherin fellows from
their year had been excluded on purpose. No one wanted Crabbe amongst them. Theodore
and Tracey’s daughter, Ophelia Nott, was being cared for by one of the hired caretakers paid
to mind the invited adults’ children.

Valeria was wobbly, sitting precariously on Draco’s leg as he sat in an armchair, and he had
his hand firm on her waist to stabilize her. She swayed a little, laughing in her inebriation.

“You have the boniest ass,” Draco muttered under his breath, as he tried to adjust Valeria to
sit more comfortably on his leg. She leaned into him a little to steady herself.

“That’s not what you said about her rear in school, Malfoy,” Blaise said from the sofa,
Daphne’s legs stretched out onto his lap as she reclined. Draco’s face went as red as the wine
in Valeria’s hand as the others laughed at his expense.

“Tell me, Blaise, what words did he use?” Valeria said.

“An excellent question, Winters, I’m glad you asked,” Blaise began.

“Don’t you dare, Blaise—” Draco said sheepishly through his teeth.

“I seem to recall the adjectives ‘tight’ and ‘bubbly’ being used…” Blaise said. Valeria, and
the others burst into laughter, harder this time.

“Bubbly?! You called it bubbly!?” Valeria said, tears in her eyes from laughter.

“I was fifteen, alright?!” Draco said in embarrassment. “You’re lucky the women are here,
Blaise or I might just have consider killing you.”

“And what was your opinion of Draco’s assessment, Blaise?” Daphne asked, teasing her
husband.

“I only had eyes for you, darling. Valeria’s rear always was Malfoy’s concern,” Blaise said.

Draco gave Valeria’s rear a firm squeeze. “Still is.”

Valeria roughed up his hair in retaliation. “You’re disgusting.”

“Come on, it’s time for the next question!” Tracey said excitedly. The Notts were the most
reserved couple, but tonight they were quite cozy. Both were sat on the floor, Nott with his
back against a sofa and Tracey seated between his legs, reclining against him. Nott had taken
quite well to fatherhood, completely in love with his daughter and now, more obviously than
ever, his wife.

For the occasion, Tracey had enchanted a wooden box that, when opened, would display a
question in the air. When answered correctly, the floating words would turn green and
disappear for the next question. When answered wrongly, the words would turn red until
answered correctly. All the questions were trivia from their school years and now in the air
formed a new question,

Which Slytherin in our year was the first to have their first kiss?

“Oh, this is a hard one,” Daphne said.

“Harper, maybe?” Theodore said. The words turned red.

“It was Draco, right? He kissed Pansy when the Hippogriff got him in the arm!” Valeria said.
The words stayed red.

“She kissed me!” Draco said defensively.

“That’s right, she kissed him to make his boo-boo feel better,” Blaise said.

“Shut it, Blaise!” Draco said.

“Never a dull moment with Pansy and her antics,” Theodore said with a little huff of a laugh.

“Bless her,” Daphne said.

“Well, it obviously wasn’t me or Pansy or Harper or the rest of you lot, so who was it?”
Draco said.

“Maybe we should skip this question,” Blaise said. That caught Daphne’s attention.

“Was it you?!” Daphne said. Before Blaise could mutter out an answer, Valeria recalled a
memory. Draco groaned in pain as Valeria shifted on his leg, sitting up in excitement.

“It was Blaise! I caught him third year outside the library kissing that Hufflepuff girl at the
start of third year! What was her name…? Wendy! Wendy Gibson!” Valeria said. The letters
turned green.

“Wendy Gibson was your first kiss?!” Daphne said through her laughter.

“You weren’t supposed to tell anyone, Winters!” Blaise said, embarrassed.

“He swore me to secrecy in exchange for doing my Charms homework for a week,” Valeria
said.

“Because I knew I’d never live it down,” Blaise said.

“And you’re still right,” Draco said, no doubt imagining all the ways he was going to taunt
Blaise with this information.

It was one of those rare moments, in fact, Valeria couldn’t be sure if it’d ever happened since
the war, when the conversation did not drift into lamentation of what they all had collectively
lost. The innocence, their naivety, their friends and the fraternal bond that had been forged
during their time together in Slytherin. There was only happy reminiscence enjoyed with the
company of old, dear friends. A record played on its own in the background, the fire made
little more than a crackling sound as it warmed them in heat and light. The Dark Marks
stayed covered and for just these few hours there was no pain. It was a small taste of what it
could have perhaps been like in another world.

For his part, the only other time Draco came close to experiencing such soothing relief,
physically and emotionally, anymore was when he was intimate with his wife. That same
night, terribly late in the evening after all the guests had gone home, he held himself above
her in bed. Both had control of their faculties but were still feeling the buzz from the alcohol
they had imbibed, which made Valeria rather giggly as he ran his hand over her body.

He looked down at her. Her hair was undone and already a mess, loose and free. The
glamours she wore religiously were wearing off, her face imperfect and flushed. Her breath
smelled of wine just as his did of whiskey and in her laughing fit, he saw a few of her teeth
faintly stained by red wine. He remembered being attracted to her in school, in the immature
way teenage boys so often are. He remembered how strong those feelings were, unsure if
they were simply youthful lust or real love, but also being so afraid of even holding her hand.
He couldn’t help but find the memory of their first few goes at lovemaking, and how shy and
clumsy he was, endearingly funny.

Now he was in his prime, unshy and craving the feeling of being touched. He adored the way
she’d cup his face gently in her hands, looking at him like he was the only person in the
world. His adoration grew only stronger as her hands would move down his torso over his
scars and held onto his arms. With that, there was no way he could fight it even if he wanted
to; he was all hers. He tangled one of his hands in her dark brown hair and looked straight
into her eyes.

“You really are the most beautiful thing alive, you know that, right?” he said softly. She
laughed coquettishly in response, yet Draco still found it alluring. He was not able to last as
long as he would have liked this time. Not when she started moving her hips with his as he
held her up in his lap, one arm around her back to bring her as close to him as he could and
the other hand firmly on her rear. Not when her legs wrapped around him while he was inside
her. Not when she whispered how much she loved him in his ear. It was a rare moment where
Draco felt like he could surrender to anything or anyone, to love and be loved without guilt,
to worship her and her body the way she truly deserved. He would have done kept going
forever if their bodies allowed for it. He would have given anything to stay lost in her
forever.
As winter carried on, bringing with it the start of a new year, the Dark Lord was anxious to
expand his power, but he was not the only one. Lucius Malfoy, with all of his overblown
authority, had managed to allowance to enter the cells in St. Mungo’s where the now
emotionless Muggleborn victims were held. Lucius was just as haughty of a man as he was a
resentful one. He never admitted it to himself but being Minister for Magic was one of the
first moments he had not felt the stung of abject humiliation since the war. He had known
what his fellow Death Eaters thought of him. Although he admired Snape in some way still,
he never forgave his former schoolfellow for taking his place at the Dark Lord’s right side.
And then there was Draco. Draco had, indisputably, risen to his station and for this Lucius
was genuinely proud. He simply despised all else that came with Draco’s rise in power.
Draco had taken Lucius’s last scrap of authority, his own home, for himself and his damned
wife.

There was a point, when the children were still children, when Lucius wanted the best for his
daughter-in-law. Her addition to the Malfoy family was painful to enforce at first, but he
believed in time it would prove to be one of the most advantageous matches of the Malfoy
line. The Winters were just as absurdly wealthy, they had the same values, they were gifted
witches and wizards and their name still carried power, even as the family had been tragically
decimated. Valeria Winters was once the daughter of his very dear friend, but upon reflection,
observation and study of her records in the Ministry archives, he saw her as a monster.

Her cunning and ambition was clear. It was clear how she did not make choices for the
family, but for herself and Draco and, in turn, everything Draco did was for her. Lucius could
not shake the feeling that they would be the family’s downfall. He did not have it in him to
bring down his own son, but perhaps, if he could somehow end their marriage, Draco would
be free. He could focus on his responsibilities and there’d be no more secrets in the
woodwork of the home that Lucius still believed was rightfully his.

He entered Hermione Granger’s cell alone to find the young woman blankly staring at him,
unnerving as that was.

“I take it you remember me?” he asked.

She nodded.

“You remember my son and daughter-in-law, yes?”

She nodded.

“My son has been praised for how he discovered your whereabouts and managed to capture
you. Indeed, I fully believe in his talents. Yet, the reports I’ve read are strange. They’re oddly
incomplete. At the time, we were all so thrilled to have the last of Potter’s gang in our grasp
that we must have not noticed. Do you recall how you were discovered?”

Hermione, being incapable of having motivations based on emotions, simply nodded.

“As Minister for Magic, I order you to tell me how you were discovered. Spare no detail.”
 No One is Safe
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNING: Mild magical violence.

Spring 2000

Draco returned home from a meeting one night, seeking out his wife in the north wing as he
always did. The meeting had been pretty unremarkable compared to the horror of the
meetings at the height of the war. In fact, this meeting could have been described as oddly
bureaucratic. He should have been relieved, but he was uneasy about it, anxious even. He
didn’t know what was worse; witnessing and wreaking terror or becoming used to this new
world to the point where parts of his duties seemed mundane.

The blood on his hands haunted him nearly constantly, but not as much as the blood he was
bound to shed in the future. He had once been certain that once the Dark Lord got his
precious victory that he could take Valeria and they could hide themselves away, letting the
world carry on in its turmoil while they shut themselves inside. Lucius told him that once
they won, everything would be as it was. Draco had foolishly held onto to hope that that was
true. He had not expected to be so in the Dark Lord’s favor for handing over Potter and once
more Potter’s last words rang out in his head like a death knell, “Draco…You’re making a
mistake.”

Draco could not remember a single instance of Potter calling him by his given name alone.
He didn’t know what to make of that. He didn’t know what to make of anything. He stopped
hating Harry Potter long ago, but he almost regretted losing his resentments for perhaps
Potter would stop haunting him if he could still bring himself to despise his old rival. He
didn’t know what to feel about Potter now, only that he could not allow the dead man to be
right. This couldn’t be a mistake, not if Draco wanted to live with himself. He pitied Harry
Potter, and suspected Potter would hate that more than being the subject of Draco’s malice.
How could he hate the man with whom he trusted his wife’s well-being that night he pushed
Valeria into Potter’s arms at Malfoy Manor? The only anger he could muster was that he
expected Potter to ferry her to safety. That’s what heroes were supposed to do, right? Instead,
Potter dragged Valeria along on his insane plot and brought her right to the last place she
should have been. Draco didn’t understand why. Valeria’s memories were too hazy of those
weeks so she couldn’t tell him either. She believed Potter had kidnapped her and Draco had
no heart to tell her the truth.

He was so lost in the miasma of his own reeling thoughts that he didn’t much notice his legs
carrying him toward a distant sound that grew louder as he approached a sitting room in the
north wing. It wasn’t just noise, he realized. It was music. It was louder, a faster tempo than
the little music he heard in these walls anymore. He followed it until he reached the door and
slowly opened it, met with the unfiltered sound of music playing alone from a record. A wave
of warm air from the room washed over him as he stood in the doorway.

There was Valeria, back turned to him. She was moving to the music with a glass of wine in
hand. The sparkling, decorative, pins and hairclips that adorned her hair to keep it in place
had been discarded on the floor, leaving her hair loose and long. Her long, heavy skirts
swayed with her. She was drunk, sweaty, hair nearly a mess, moving unencumbered by
anything or anyone, figurative or literal. She was free. Finally. A little fucking free, Draco
thought.

It dawned on him a little that he loved her the most when she was free, at least those were the
times he realized how much he loved her. Even when she was a child, beholden to her
parents’ strict ways, such a dutiful daughter, there was something about her that would reveal
himself to him when they were alone. Even when they were students, she was free around
him and only him, with little exception. It was special, nearly sacred now, and Draco had not
realized this privileged position he held until it was far too late. It made it so bittersweet to
see her dancing now. The guilt of what he had done, stripping away the best of her to save
her. The guilt cascaded over him until there was a lump in his throat.

The more he loved her, the more he hated himself.

Yet he could not help but smirk a little, leaning in the doorway as he observed her move.
Before long, she spun around nearly spilling some of the wine in her glass. She stopped,
unembarrassed when she saw him and smiled. She started to laugh.

“The mermaids used to look at me like that,” she said.

Draco raised an eyebrow as he walked into the room. “You’ve definitely had enough to
drink.”

“No, at school. Sometimes if the moon was bright and the sky was clear, the lake was
brighter than usual at night. And sometimes, one of the merpeople would come by the
window if you were lucky. I saw them a couple times. They’d look at me the way you just
did,” she said.

“And what way is that?”

She laughed again. “Like I was in a cage.”

She said it as though it was the most ridiculous notion ever. As if to say, “Imagine being
confined to a body of water and look at me with pitiful curiosity, like I was the one who was
trapped.” In her drunkenness and what self-made fun she was having, she failed to notice
Draco’s face drop as he felt guilt strangle his heart in his chest.

January 2006
Nearly eight years of this. Nearly eight goddamn years.

Eight years since most of her family was murdered before her eyes. Eight years without Ron.
Eight years without a stable mother who was still held in St. Mungo’s now. Eight years she
was unable to save anyone, least of all herself. But Ginny Weasley supposed that Harry might
have been a little proud of her for having making it this far. Upon reflection, Ginny was
surprised that she was not one of the countless dead. Valeria Malfoy hated her, the feeling
being mutual, yet didn’t kill her the many times she had the chance. Ginny had never stopped
to wonder why.

Eight years of slowly giving it hope, watching every meager scrap slip through her fingers.
Eight years of obsessing over every possible way out as one could fruitlessly chase the
setting sun in the hope to stand in daylight for a moment longer. Ginny was standing in the
shadows as evening was surrendering to night, sunlight slowly retreating below the horizon.
She was in London near the address J.D. had given in his first letter in so long,

Konstantin Winters had a son. Protect him if you can.

Ginny’s heart choked with anticipation as her eyes landed on the unknown heir of the Winters
dark legacy that quietly stretched back for centuries. The innocently clueless child had his
arm stretched out in the small yard behind his home, running around and making sounds
mimicking Muggle machinery. Ginny realized he was mimicking Muggle airplanes that
mysteriously flew overhead like iron birds. Ginny felt a pang in her chest remembering how
her father always wanted to unlock the secrets of their flight.

Ginny’s hopes, that J.D. had been right about this boy’s parentage, were confirmed the
second she laid eyes on him. She had only met Konstantin Winters a few times in passing. He
was nice, charming and polite. Even her older brothers who had the misfortune of playing
against Konstantin in Quidditch had nothing bad to say about him until he died. Even Arthur
Weasley liked him, and the Winters, considering them the one example of decent, wealthy
pureblood families. The Winters had them all fooled for so long and they had played their
game well.

Ginny had seen images of Konstantin Winters after his death, for he had been fashioned to a
grand martyr. She remembered Valeria reading his final letter aloud in tears. If Ginny hadn’t
been so broken, she might still have sympathy for the dead man and what he had been
compelled to do in the name of family. It didn’t matter anymore, as very little did. What did
matter was that this child was so obviously Konstantin’s son that it was almost eerie. That
gave her what she needed, and she journeyed back to 12 Grimmauld Place with more strength
of spirit than she had in years. Finally, some leverage.

Neville, though, was displeased when she returned.

“Where were you? We agreed to tell each other about comings and goings,” he said sternly. If
there hadn’t been so much suffering, Ginny would have been impressed with Neville’s
transformation into a man who was so sure of himself, but she was in no mood today.

“I had to see for myself,” Ginny said honestly. They had been arguing about what to do with
the news of Konstantin’s son. Ginny saw it as an opportunity. The Malfoys, who were on top
of their empire of woe, only cared about family.

“J.D. said we’re too protect him, not stalk him. We don’t know who else knows about the kid.
You could get caught—”

“J.D. told us about him for a reason, Neville! We can use him. If we somehow got ahead of
them, they’d have to comply—”

“They don’t have to do anything. We’re too scattered, too weak. They could easily just kill us
if we draw that much attention. You really want to provoke the Malfoys? After what Valeria
did to you?!”

Ginny did not like being reminded of her confinement in Malfoy Manor and her heart
swelled with ireful hatred at Valeria Malfoy. “What choice do we have? We’ve only survived
this long on the backs of miracles. We actually have a chance to do some damage, attack their
weaknesses—”

“He’s not a bargaining chip, he’s a child. A child who seems to have no idea of who he
actually is,” Neville said, face dropping in abject disappointment. “You’re starting to sound
like them—”

“Because they’ve left us no choice! What else do you want to do? Lie here in wait like sitting
ducks? Waste away a few more years?!” Ginny shouted.

“I don’t want us to stoop to their level. We’re better than that!”

“Are we?! Look at where being better has gotten us!”

“We can’t keep fighting or we’ll tear ourselves apart,” Neville said after a long, plaintive
pause. “Just can we at least wait a little longer? Hold onto this until we can use the
information, and only the information, to our advantage? Maybe we’ll make a breakthrough
with Harry’s plan.”

Ginny was insulted by Neville’s insinuations, but the better part of her knew that he was at
least partially right, which was hard to admit. She didn’t want to stoop so low as to terrorize a
child, but she was so tired. So exhausted and so frustrated with her grief and powerless, that
even after all this time, never faded.

Draco did not find his wife dancing in a room when he returned home from yet another day
of trying to hold the world together. Nor was she in her laboratory. His parents and mother-
in-law weren’t home either. He was starting to worry when Tinky informed him Valeria had
simply wandered far out onto the grounds. After a long walk in the cold, he finally found her,
practicing her hand at spell work. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground and even
in the fading light, Draco saw patches of dead flora before her.

“You’ve been busy,” he said as he approached, gesturing to the patches of dead, wilted plant
life and grass.
“Sorry,” she said.

Draco shrugged. “No one comes back here to take in the views anyway. Your Dark Patronus
work? How’s the progress?”

“Improving, but not by much. Regular Patronuses can be used to send messages, even
transport objects in extreme cases. If I can’t conjure one of those, I at least want this to have
some use other than…killing plants. The damn thing is just so hard to control,” she said with
a deep sigh.

“You already proved it was possible with what you did to the Weasley home, which is more
than anyone else can say. You always struggled with charms anyway,” he said. She shot him a
nasty glare. “You know it’s true.”

“Maybe I’m just too tired.”

“I told you to talk to Daphne about the fatigue,” he said. Valeria had been complaining for a
while about feeling bone-tired. Draco noticed the change too and something was clearly off,
but he

“It’s nothing. I’ve been locking myself up in the laboratory too much is all. This spell is
taking more out of me than usual, but that’s to be expected. It requires pain…Feels like your
chest is being torn open, but it’s also a sort of…I don’t know, release?”

He put his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s just get you back inside. Try again when you’re
feeling up to it. Maybe study Charms properly,” he said, an attempt at a joke.

She rolled her eyes. “You try if you’re so good at everything. Let me show you.” He relented
to make her happy and to sate his own mild curiosity. She stood beside him to teach him the
form. “Now, you need to think of your worst memory. The one you avoid thinking about the
most. Remember the incantation and remember what it means.”

“Behold my pain,” Draco confirmed with a nod.

“Let’s see it then.”

Draco took a moment to ready himself, stiffening as he recalled the litany of horrible
memories he had to choose from. He quietly spoke, “Ecce Dolorem Meum” and at once, his
vision narrowed and he nearly winced from the freezing of his heart and the boiling of his
blood, at odds, yet united night. His brow furrowed as wispy black smoke came from the tip
of his outstretched wand, a dramatic sight against the golden sky in the setting sun. The
smoke coiled in on itself as it began to take form, growing larger in the air as Draco
surrendered his guard to channel more of his pain into the spell. His left hand was clenched
into a fist and the knuckles of his right hand were grasping so hard they were white.

He felt the pain in his chest Valeria warned him about, as if his ribs were being torn open by
giant claws as the black smoke took surer form. But there was relief, like a thorn being pulled
from deep in the skin. It was agony. It was release. A large, black viper formed in the air and
any grass or bush it touched withered into brown death. Draco felt tenser and angrier than he
usually was by far as the viper grew more, casting them both in shadow the sun could not
penetrate, writhing harshly in the air. Draco felt an a firm hand on his upper arm.

“Draco, enough,” she said, but Draco barely heard her. This spell consumed all his
concentration, the horror and the ecstasy as his mind raced through the catalogue of misery in
his mind. “Draco, STOP!” She grabbed him hard with both hands, and he violently jerked
himself from her. Thankfully, this was enough for the viper to let out a horrible shriek and
fade into the air after a few moments. Draco’s chest heaved and he bent over to put his hands
on his knees to catch his breath.

“Sorry,” he said through his breath as he stood upright. “That took me by surprise.”

“It’s alright. It’s intense, believe me, I know.”

“That’s certainly a word for it,” he said breathily.

“What were you channeling?”

“I don’t…I don’t want to talk about it. Can we just go inside?”

She nodded and hooked her arm in his as they made their way back into Malfoy Manor, not
glancing back to the destruction they left behind.

“Have you seen my parents? Your mother?” Draco asked.

“Your father’s been gone all day. Barely said a word to me this morning, but that’s nothing
new. Our mothers left quickly this afternoon. Yours was practically dragging mine out the
door. Probably off planning another goddamn baby shower, who knows. It’s been a peaceful
day,” Valeria said. “You alright? You’re paler than usual.”

“I’m fine,” he said. Draco could not put a finger on it, but he could not escape the feeling that
something was wrong. Maybe it was his fears over Valeria’s health, the stress of his duties or
even that damn Patronus still affecting him. He brushed it off as they settled in for the
evening and ate dinner alone. Valeria picked at her food, almost sneering at it, prompting
Draco to ask, “Is there something wrong with it?”

“Taste’s a little odd, smells strange too…” she said.

“Mine’s fine, but Tinky can get you something else, if you—” Draco began, but as if waiting
for a cue, Tinky popped into the little dining room in the north wing. Draco’s clenched
around his fork. “What have I told you about announcing yourself before you enter a room?!

Valeria looked at the house elf, his eyes wide and full of fear. “What’s happened, Tinky?”

“Mr. Snape is here, sir, he says he needs to see you both at once…It was very urgent, sir, he
won’t leave—”

Draco sighed. “Fine.” Tinky popped away immediately, and Draco sat back in his chair with
his wineglass in hand. “Is it too much to ask to have one peaceful night in my own house
without my father breathing down my neck?” Valeria laughed a little and before long Snape
burst into the room, a manic expression on his face, as Draco stood.

“There better be a good reason for—” Draco started.

“Where are your mothers?!” Snape asked, sweeping over to stand beside Valeria.

“They’re out. Who knows when—” Valeria began, but she was stopped by Snape grabbing
her hard by the wrist and pulling her out of her chair. Before she could even reach for her
wand, Draco had rushed over, grabbed Snape by the collar and held his own wand to Snape’s
chin.

“Don’t touch her,” Draco hissed through his teeth. From an inside pocket of his robes, Snape
shoved a piece of parchment aggressively into Draco’s hand.

“We don’t have time for chivalry, Draco, she needs to leave. Now,” Snape said. Valeria
watched as Draco unfolded and read the parchment, his eyes widening and darting quickly
about the page. She got worried when his face went pale and she swore she could see his
hand holding the paper tremble. She had not seen Draco panicked, truly panicked, in years.

“Draco…what’s…?” Valeria began, still in Snape’s grip. Draco crumpled the letter in his fist
and his expression grew dark enough to frighten her. Draco began shouting curses, straining
his rough voice.

“I’m going to kill him!” Draco shouted. Snape released Valeria and stopped Draco, standing
between him and the door.

“We need to move very carefully, but we won’t have time to plan until she’s gone—” Snape
said.

“Or I can kill him, and we can bury this! It’s the one thing, Snape! It’s the one thing I told
him not to do!”

“Draco, we can’t. I have to submit this, but we can get ahead of it and—”

“Will one of you explain to me what the hell is going on!?” Valeria shouted. Draco went to
her and cupped her face in his hands, bringing her so close to him that she could plainly see
the fear in his eyes.

“You need to listen to me, alright? You’ve been accused of High Treason—”

“What?!”

Draco tightened his grip on the sides of her face. “Listen. My father…he found out about how
you let Granger and Weasley go when you found them at the Winters’s Estate.”

“How?!”

“Granger,” Snape said. “He interrogated her and she told him what happened.”
“What?! Why would she…? I helped her!” Valeria said, trying to wriggle away from Draco’s
grasp to no avail.

“She responds to authority, by design, Valeria. He noticed gaps in Draco’s reports and went to
her,” Snape said.

Draco interjected. “He’s been suspicious about that for a while. Apparently, I didn’t make it
clear enough what would happen if he tried anything—”

Snape interrupted Draco’s fury again. “He submitted the accusation at the Ministry, but what
he didn’t know is that High Treason accusations go directly to me, which is kept secret in
order to protect me from attacks. The accusation is sound and if I have no choice but to bring
it to the Dark Lord’s attention. An accusation of a high-ranking Death Eater’s wife of your
standing will be taken very seriously, Valeria, which is why you need to go into hiding until
Draco and I handle it.”

Valeria felt suddenly nauseous as the news sank in. She would die for this, that much was
certain, and Draco perhaps would too, a thought she could not bear. This was it, wasn’t it? It
was over. Draco was a powerful man, as was Snape, but there’s no way they go up against the
Dark Lord for her and live. Her own kindness, her own mercy, was going to doom her. She
began to hyperventilate until Draco shook her out of it.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. Snape and I will deal with this. You go to Wales. It’s not
perfect, but it’s secure enough that it will be you enough time. No extra stops, do you hear
me? No extra stops. Tilly will take care of you when you arrive, and don’t you dare take one
step outside of that castle until I come personally to get you. Do you understand me?!” Draco
ranted in her face.

Valeria didn’t know what else to do but nod as her eyes began to fill with tears. She thought
she wasn’t afraid of death, but some instincts were too deep, and she was just as worried
about what was to become of Draco. After she nodded in confirmation, Draco crashed his
lips onto hers for a long kiss and Snape had the decency to look away. When Draco released
her, he gave her a little shove and one final order.

“I love you. Go,” he said.

The shove. It was strange. She felt the ghost of a distant memory, one she could not entirely
place. She could tell it was a painful one. A frightening one. She remembered Draco being
there, the same abject terror in eyes.

Valeria’s heart swelled with fear as she pictured her childhood home in Wales clearly in her
mind. It was a far distance, but she could manage it. She imagined it vividly, but her mind
was out of sorts, and memories invaded her thoughts. She remembered her brother. Then she
remembered his son.

She did not apparate to Wales. She apparated to London.

If she were to be captured and interrogated before execution, Konstantin’s son would be
discovered and she could not carry on, even to her death, with his fate uncertain. She could
fetch him now. Bring him to Wales. Protect the boy in honor of her brother. Draco could plan
for their escape, if needed, maybe. That was uncertain. All she knew was that she could not
risk leaving the boy behind.

She took a moment outside the Thomlinson’s home to catch her breath and tried to stifle her
nausea and fatigue that had lately plagued her. She noticed how much London stunk. Had it
always been so putrid? She began to cast enchantments that would muffle noise and conceal
her purpose. The guilt already threatened to consume her, but this was the only way. She had
to do this.

But she had erred, both in coming here and in not checking her surroundings. Even with all
her preparation in the seconds prior to taking a step toward the door, it was not enough. She
felt struck by a spell and then the world went dark.

Ginny Weasley could hardly believe her luck as she stood over the unconscious, but
otherwise unharmed, body of Valeria Malfoy. Ginny had dragged Valeria somewhere less in
the open and confiscated her wand. She had, against Neville’s wishes, taken to monitoring
the Thomlinson’s home for changes, waiting for an opportunity to act. She had not expected
to find Valeria there all the way in London on one of her excursions. Valeria knew about her
nephew, it seemed. It was curious why she hadn’t acted. But Ginny didn’t care about
Valeria’s motives now, for she had been victorious. She had something better than a lost
nephew. She had Draco Malfoy’s wife, the only thing in this world she believed he actually
loved.

She had to remember the bigger picture to keep herself from enacting vengeance on Valeria
now. Ginny hated her so much and she wondered what Harry would think of her methods, but
she didn’t want to know. She quickly collected herself and brought the limp Valeria back to
12 Grimmauld Place, managing to stay hidden. Neville was about to launch into another
lecture when he stopped, seeing the unconscious woman on the floor.

He looked back up to Ginny. “What the fuck have you done?”

 Before the Arrival of Hell
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Magical torture, mild non-magical violence, miscarriage,

somewhat graphic description of bodily functions, discussion of war, discussion of
death, foul language.

Many Years Later

Konstantin Winters II loved the courtyard of his ancestral home in Wales. The mountain sky
was vast above him and the crisp, wintry air that blew over him gently was oddly soothing.
The sweet aroma of lilacs filled the air from the tree in the courtyard that was in bloom no
matter the season or the weather. Konstantin knew the story, how his father had enchanted it
as a gift for his little sister and chose to be buried under it. Konstantin II had run his fingers
over the inscriptions on the gravestone dozens of times. He had looked at the austere portrait
fused into the stone even more. He only knew his parents through stories and images which
he often returned to. He was searching, but for what he could not say. How was it possible to
know a man who never knew of him?

He almost never said it aloud, only to close friends he knew would understand, but as
shameful as his heritage was, he was proud to be his parents’ son. As much as he wished they
could have been happy together, that he could have lived with them in the old wizarding
world, he still admired their sacrifices. His mother’s strength and foresight astonished him in
how she carried and bore him, only to give him away that same day. And how evil could a
man who laid down his life for his sister truly be?

He sometimes wondered what they would think of him now. Would his mother understand
his dedication to a legacy that was so poisoned? Would his father think of him as more than a
mistake conceived in a moment of weakness? His instincts told him that these fears were
unfounded, or was he deluding himself? All he knew was that when he looked at their
pictures that he did not see hatred or anguish.

“Mr. Winters?”

Konstantin turned to see Tilly approach with an envelope in hand.

“What is it, Tilly?”

She extended the envelope out to him. “Tilly found this in Master Scorpius’s schoolbag as I
was putting his things away for the school recess, sir. It’s addressed to you.”
Konstantin took it and thanked Tilly, dismissing her so she wouldn’t have to spend
unnecessary time out in the cold. He read the letter within, and his heart fell a little. It wasn’t
the first time he had received such a notice, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Scorpius
was to serve a few days’ detention after returning from the winter recess for getting into an
altercation, or a Muggle duel, as the letter called it. That would have made Konstantin laugh,
if he wasn’t worried about the conversation he would have to have with his cousin.

Konstantin wandered inside and sought Scorpius out in the usual place he found him.
Konstantin had taken his grandfather’s study for his own, but it also doubled as a library,
though there were plenty of other spots for books all over the medieval fortress he called
home. Scorpius was a voracious reader and was always welcome in the study. Konstantin
actually enjoyed those times together quite a lot. Scorpius would read in silence whilst
Konstantin worked. It was peaceful. It was the closest to normal they ever really got.

Teenage Scorpius was in the midst of a growth spurt whilst in the miserable throes of puberty,
that was even more noticeable as he reclined on a sofa with a book hand, one of the old
Muggle classics that Konstantin had stocked amongst the shelves for the simple fact that he
liked them. Scorpius enjoyed them too, finding them fascinating, but Konstantin guessed that
they were equally an escape. The ins and outs of the wizarding world were absent from
Muggle literature and Scorpius craved that most. Konstantin noticed how the sleeves of
Scorpius’s clothing were just a tad too short, ending before the top of his wrists. Scorpius had
envied Konstantin’s height, but it would seem he was catching up.

“We’ll need to take you shopping soon. You’re outgrowing your clothes,” Konstantin said,
taking a seat across from Scorpius. Scorpius shut the book and sat up, trying to pull his
sleeves down as much as he could.

“These are fine for now. I hate going shopping,” Scorpius said. Konstnatin knew he was
putting on a brave face, but it was the stares and whispers Scorpius actually hated. The way
people would gape at him, and sometimes Konstantin, like they could not believe the young
men were real. Konstantin gently extended out the letter to Scorpius.

“Tilly found this in your school things,” Konstantin said. Scorpius only briefly glanced at it
before handing it back.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. Konstantin would never say it, not until Scorpius was ready, if that day
ever even came, but it was the little gestures and patterns of speech that reminded him so
much of Scorpius’s parents. They had both inherited the famous Winters smirk, but Scorpius
rolled his eyes just like his mother and often spoke in the familiar bored drawl of his father.
“You’re meant to sign it, so just sign it and I’ll get it back to the Headmaster.”

“I thought things were going better this term. You know that we, people like you and I, can’t
act out like this,” Konstantin said using a gentle tone but still trying to make Scorpius
understand. “What happened?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Scorpius said, his body tensing slightly.

“Maybe not, but you at least need to talk to me. If no one else, you need to always talk to me.
I’m not angry, I’m not even disappointed. I just want to know so that if there’s anything I can
do to help—”

“Can you go back and fix time?”

“That’s not fair, Scorpius.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Konstantin sighed. “I know you. I know you don’t go around picking fights. Whatever this
other boy did, I know it must have been a lot to provoke you. Will you just tell me what
happened?”

Scorpius wouldn’t meet Konstantin’s eyes and his face fixed to a shameful sneer. Konstantin
supposed it was hard enough to get teenagers to open up, but Scorpius was an especially
guarded case. It broke Konstantin’s heart, for he knew the real Scorpius. That was the
Scorpius who cried when the injured bird he tried to save didn’t make it. The Scorpius who
spent hours picking wildflowers for a girl he liked, taking great care to only select the most
perfect ones. The Scorpius who would beg Konstantin to take him on broom rides before he
was old enough to fly himself, no matter the weather, for they both shared a love of flying.
That gentle soul who desperately wanted to love and be loved by all was in there still.

“You want to know why I hit him?” Scorpius asked, anger at the memory swelling up in him.

“I just want to know what happened.”

“I was running late to class when him and his stupid friends caught me on the stairs. They
took my wand. They shoved me against the railing. Then he drew a really shitty Dark Mark
here on my left arm!” Scorpius shouted pointing to the inner part of his left forearm. “But
that’s not why I hit him. His friends shoved me back to the platform of the other stair right
before it changed and threw my wand back at me, so I was stuck waiting while they laughed
and went on their merry fucking way.” Konstantin sighed and swallowed, trying to conceal
his own anger at the revelation of what the bullies had done to Scorpius. He couldn’t in good
conscience outright condone Scorpius’s violence, but he had a hard time seeing it as
unjustified.

“If it happens again, write to me and I will handle it,” Konstantin said. It had been wise on
his part to begin donating substantial funds to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
as soon as he was old enough to inherit his father’s fortune. Not only was it good for the
rehabilitation of his family name, but it also meant those in charge of the school had great
incentive to listen to him. That was the Winters’ way, after all; using generosity to take
advantage when needed.

“I wasn’t finished,” Scorpius said through his teeth. “I tried to get the mark off with my
sleeve, but the ink didn’t fade even a little. I tried spells, but none of the charms I know
worked. People were staring, so I went to the bathroom, but the water washed right over it
and it stayed fresh on my arm!” Scorpius stopped for a moment to keep his tears at bay. “I
scrubbed my arm raw until it was starting to bleed in some spots. Then I looked in the mirror,
and all I saw was my father with my mother’s eyes.”
Konstantin felt guilty, but for what specifically he could not say. It cut him deep to see
Scorpius suffer. He had a deep instinct to protect him, and he too was a bit bitter at a world
who could not see the unblemished good in Scorpius. “Scorpius, I’m sorry.”

Scorpius was not yet finished as he spoke through tears of rage. “That wasn’t why I hit him. I
had to go to the Hospital Wing, and you should have seen the look on Madam Abbott’s face!
She looked at the mark and then at me and then I had to give her the name Malfoy. She
looked at me like I was some horrible memory that she never wanted to remember again. So,
I thought if all anyone sees is my parents, then I’ll show them my parents. That’s why I found
him later and I hit him. That’s why I beat him bloody. Because that’s what my father would
have done!”

Scorpius was trying to be strong. His expression was one of anger and pain, as the two were
so often the same, as he swiped the unwanted tears off his face. Konstantin pulled a
handkerchief from his pocket and quietly gave it to Scorpius. That anger, born of suffering,
he recognized to be from Draco and Valeria Malfoy. Konstantin stayed quiet as he went over
to the large, stately wooden desk and rifled through old papers in one of the drawers.

“You can ground me or take my books away if you want, but I’m not sorry. And I will not
apologize,” Scorpius said.

Konstantin shook his head as he came over with a long roll of old parchment in hand. “I’m
not going to punish you for this. Don’t tell your teachers I said it, but the boy deserved it. You
were more merciful than I would have been.”

That soothed Scorpius some and he relaxed a little in the validation as he took the parchment
from Konstantin and began to read it. “My Father was an Extraordinary Man by Konstantin
Winters II,” Scorpius read aloud.

“I wrote that for History of Magic, when we covered the Second Wizarding War and the Dark
Age,” Konstantin said. “I was obsessed with trying to defend my own father, and my family
that is also yours. I didn’t like thinking I was evil. Flawed, yes, but so is everyone. It didn’t
make sense to me that I could come from them, so I took it upon myself, perhaps foolishly, to
try and find a way redeem some part of my father, even if it was just for myself. You don’t
have to read it now; you don’t have to read it at all.”

“So what does this have to do with me?” Scorpius asked. His tone was not rude, merely
curious.

“Out there in the world, they’ve made up their mind, and that’s fine. They have reasons and
they are not wrong. But they’re not the ones who have to live with it and carry on bearing the
same names. So, sometimes, it might help to try to find the good in them, because it was
there, Scorpius. I remember it well. They are irredeemable. They did unspeakable things,
many of which we may not ever know and that’s probably for the best. But there was
something more to them than that. Something they had no choice but to stifle down,
something they wanted more than anything to have back. You don’t need to delude yourself
about who they were, but you don’t have to live with their pain and the burdens of their sins,
if for no other reason than, I can confidently say, that is the last thing they would have
wanted,” Konstantin said.
Scorpius was not entirely convinced and that was fine to Konstantin’s mind. He was still so
young and had so much to learn. He still had plenty of time to grow and in Konstantin
opinion that was the greatest gift Draco and Valeria Malfoy gave their son. Scorpius looked
up from the parchment after a few passing moments of silence. A faint, but cheeky little
smirk formed on Scorpius’s lips.

“How do you think my father would have reacted to the guy at school?” Scorpius asked.

Konstantin let out a little huff of a laugh. “I can’t say for certain, but I do know that one word
from him, or even your mother, would have had that kid shitting himself.”

Scorpius laughed, the first time in a while. “I think you’re right.”

They both shared some laughter. It was black humor, improper and definitely would stay
between them. It was one of their own little ways to cope with the hell they had inherited. It
was not right to laugh at such things, but sometimes on cold nights like this when the wounds
of the past opened up fresh for a new generation, it certainly felt good.

January 2006

“Ginny, this is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

“We’re so fucked.”

“What was I supposed to do? Just let her go?”

“Yes. That is precisely what you should have done!”

“This isn’t ideal, no, but I see Ginny’s reasons. Who knows when we would have had another
chance to do something.”

“This ‘isn’t ideal’, you say?! It’s a fucking disaster, Luna! She’s not some Snatcher they won’t
miss, she’s Draco Malfoy’s bloody wife!”

“It’s been hours. If he knew where she was, we’d probably be dead already. We have time.”

“Yeah, and how much time? Once he figures out where we are, we’re all fucking dead!”

The voices around her, that Valeria vaguely recognized, sounded hazy and distant as she
slowly faded back into consciousness. She felt exhausted and nauseous. Her head was
pounding, her throat was dry, and she could barely comprehend the words she was hearing.
The voices stopped suddenly when she let out a small, involuntary groan as she lifted her
head slowly, her neck stiff and sore from her head hanging limp and unconscious for an
unknown amount of time. She sensed someone approaching as she blinked several times,
adjusting to light. She began to slowly take in the surroundings, clearly a charmed tent. She
tried to move her body, reach for her wand, but found that she was magically paralyzed, fixed
to the chair she had been put in, from the shoulders down.
“Shit. Knock her out again before she recognizes us,” one of the captors said. But the one
closest to Valeria did not heed this command.

“Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy. Did you have a nice nap?”

Valeria’s vision properly returned and saw that she was face-to-face with Ginny Weasley.
Valeria’s memories of the past few hours returned to her too, like waking up from an awfully
vivid dream only without the reassurance that what happened wasn’t real. She kicked herself
for being stupid enough not to follow Draco’s explicit instructions and going to London
instead. Then her heart dropped with fear for her nephew. As far as she knew, she was still a
traitor of the highest degree. It was over, that much was certain. Any acts now would be
simply death throes.

And Valeria started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Ginny asked with gritted teeth. Valeria couldn’t help it. She kept
laughing, enraging Ginny who swiftly brought her palm down to slap Valeria in the face,
which only briefly stopped her from laughing. The slap stung, but Valeria oddly enough
didn’t care. “What’s so fucking funny?!”

“You’ve just killed us all, Weasley,” Valeria said with a sick smile. Ginny brought her hand
up to strike again, but someone stopped her.

“What does that mean? Tell us what you mean!”

Valeria looked at the newcomer to see Terry Boot. “Ah, Boot…And I see Lovegood is with
us too. How’s married life treating you?”

“Shut up!” Ginny shouted. “Are you daft or do you not understand that you’re at our mercy
now?! This isn’t a fucking joke!”

“I see that, Weasley, very good. I’m sure you’re quite proud of yourself. Yet, somehow
you’ve managed to fuck this up royally and you don’t even know it. It’s rather funny,
actually. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. You lot always had the worst plans and even worse
timing.”

“We’ll ask you again,” came the unamused voice of Neville Longbottom. “What do you
mean that we’re all dead?”

“It’s been a while, Longbottom. I see you’ve aged out of your horrendous puberty rather
gracefully, congratulations,” Valeria said, though she was not entirely sarcastic.

“Enough!” Ginny shouted.

“You’re right. We probably don’t have much time, and if you really want to spend what
passing little remains of your time on this earth hearing me talk, so be it,” Valeria began. She
was in no mood, yet oddly resigned to her fate. “You see, the Minister for Magic who also
happens to be my lovely father-in-law has accused me of High Treason. What’s more is that
he’s correct. That makes me a dead woman walking—well, sitting—and you all complicit in
harboring a dangerous fugitive.”

They were all taken aback by this and paused until Luna spoke. “What are you accused of?”

Valeria laughed. “You’ll like this story, Weasley. See, I’m the one who discovered your
moron brother and his Mudblood girlfriend, in my house in Wales, and I gave them a head
start before I told Draco that I found them. It’s even worse because they had invitation from
me to be there, otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to use my family’s ancient ancestral
seat for their goddamn safehouse. So, I’m sure you can see, that because I didn’t immediately
dispatch or hand over two of the most wanted people in the world, I’m a traitor.”

“Why didn’t you hand them over?” Neville asked after a moment, surprised to hear the full
story.

“To be honest, I’m not sure, though I certainly regret it now. I needed information from them
and agreed to give them a head start.”

“What information?” Boot asked.

“Basilisk fangs for potions. Ironically used as a base to turn Granger into the soulless husk of
a woman she is now. She’s in good health, though, Draco says. She’s pleased the Dark Lord
with her ability to follow orders. She’s the one who killed the Muggle Prime Minister the first
time, you know? She was just following orders, don’t begrudge her too much for that. She’s
also the one who told Lucius the whole story of my treason. As much as I’d love to blame
her, Lucius wouldn’t have stopped, so the point is moot. He’s had it out for me for years.”

“Does that mean that Malfoy isn’t coming for you?” Ginny asked.

Valeria laughed. “That’s a stupid question and you know it. Draco has indeed changed a lot
since we were all children, but one of the biggest changes to his character is that he no longer
remotely cares about what his father thinks, says or does. He hates him, really.”

“Ginny, we should regroup. We need to plan—” Terry began.

“I’ll save you the trouble, Boot. This is going to one of two ways. Either the Death Eaters
find us first, and with most you having your magic being traced by those blood traitor rings,
the second you cast a spell that raises an alarm, they’ll find you and then me. At which point,
you’ll all either be killed on the spot or taken into custody and await interrogation, torture
and execution with me. Or, Draco finds us first, at which point you’re all dead and it will be
hellish to watch. The only way that doesn’t end with both Draco and I dead too, is if we flee.
The third option is to use me as leverage. Report that you’ve captured me and will comply,
and they might let you live, though they will question you and I doubt you’ll pass. It’s a moot
point as I know none of you have the stomach to comply with the Dark Lord’s laws.”

“It’s starting to sound a bit appealing,” Ginny snarked back.

Valeria looked Weasley dead in the eye and smirked. “And you’re starting to sound like me,
Weasley.” That comment made Ginny’s face drop.
“Ginny, maybe we should contact Malfoy, let him know where she is and run. Let them all
kill each other and wash our hands of this,” Boot said.

“If you contact Draco, I can maybe convince him not to kill you immediately, but I can
definitely not guarantee he’ll listen. But I’m not the one who owes any favors here,” Valeria
said.

“What are you talking about?” Neville asked.

“You didn’t tell them, Weasley? That the only reason Gregory Goyle isn’t tormenting you as
we speak is because I made sure he died, Draco was the one who killed him. I knew you had
something under your floor in that hovel of a house, I’m assuming you were hiding in there
Longbottom, but I didn’t say anything. I ensured that Lovegood and Boot were paired off
because I knew there was no one decent for either of you left. Seems you’re the ones who
owe me, not that I want your help nor is there really any point now,” Valeria ranted.

“You have no right to sit on some fucking high horse after everything you’ve done!” Ginny
said.

“And you’re an idiot if you still think the moral high ground matters! If it weren’t for me, you
would all be dead or worse. That was always your problem, all of you. You wanted to be on
the right side, the good side and shove it in the faces of everyone who did not have the luxury
of that choice! You can sit well on the graves of everyone you ever cared about and be happy
all you like because at least you were right!”

“I’d rather be able to sleep at night knowing that I’m not the one whose monster of a husband
tore the world apart for me!” Ginny shouted.

“Don’t feed into it, she’s just trying to manipulate you!” Boot said.

“I doubt you sleep so well knowing that being in the right got you lot nothing but death and
suffering. Since when has being morally absolved helped any of you? It didn’t help your
families at the Battle of Hogwarts and where are they? Rotted away to bone in shallow graves
in the forest! It didn’t help Granger or your brother, did it? And I know you remember how it
certainly didn’t help Potter when the Dark Lord burned his pathetic, limp corpse to ash—”

Valeria saw Ginny aim her wand and suddenly Valeria started screaming, overwhelmed with
agony. The excruciating level of the pain was not unfamiliar to Valeria, she knew that Ginny
had cast the Cruciatus Curse, but there was no way to become accustomed to the pain. She
writhed violently against her magical bonds, screaming, as her veins felt like they were
exploding, her organs twisting into knots and her skin peeling off.

“GINNY, STOP!” Longbottom yelled. But Ginny not yet relent. Valeria was unsure how
much time had passed before she finally did. Valeria caught her breath.

“You’re not mad at me, Weasley, not in the end,” Valeria began quietly, her throat sore from
screaming. She could see Longbottom’s face pale with dread. “You’re mad at yourself, all of
you are, for having been unable to stop it. I’m just a symbol.”
“Harry had a plan! He was going to end it once and for all until Malfoy—”

“What was his grand plan? Waltz in and kill the Dark Lord? Would he even have had the
stones to use the curse?!”

“You tell us! You spent time with them—”

“If Potter told me anything, I don’t remember, and I highly doubt the plan would have
worked, because none of his plans ever did!”

“What do you mean you don’t remember?” Luna asked.

“Exactly what it sounds like, Lovegood!” Valeria yelled.

“Because of you, we’ll never know! Harry trusted you!” Ginny said.

“I don’t recall that either, but I made my loyalties clear from the start, ever since you dragged
me into the plan at the Battle of the Department of Mysteries that got my father and brother
killed! You’re the one who put your faith in the wrong person and now you’re too late to
punish me for them, because it doesn’t matter anymore. We’ll all be dead soon!” Valeria took
a pause. “What would Potter think of you now, Weasley? Kidnapping, free use of the
Cruciatus Curse? Do you think the great, noble Harry Potter is smiling down on you right
now?”

Ginny aimed her wand again.

“She’s trying to provoke you, Ginny, don’t—” Boot started again, but Ginny’s rage could not
be quelled. She cast the curse on Valeria again, longer this time, and Valeria could hear the
scattered shouting, though she could not make out what they said through the noise of her
own screams of anguish.

Valeria took a deep breath when Ginny finally stopped, but to her shock, the pain had not
completely vanished. Valeria felt a violent cramping in her lower abdomen and her stomach
churned so hard she felt she was going to be sick. She winced through the pain, but it only
grew stronger.

“I know how the curse works, Winters. I know the pain stops when the spell is released.
You’re a terrible actress,” Ginny said.

“It’s not that, you stupid cun—” but Valeria cut herself off by turning her head and
involuntarily vomiting on the floor beside the chair she was stuck in. The cramping didn’t
subside, nor did the nausea. She was starting to feel hot and sweat as though she had a raging
fever and was wriggling uncomfortably, as much as her bonds would allow. It felt like an
exponentially more intense version of the usual mild cramping she would sometimes feel on
her cycle. At that thought, Valeria’s heart sank, as she began to feel something warm and wet
between her legs. “Something’s wrong.”

“You’re not going to trick us—” Ginny said.

“That’d be a waste of my fucking time! If Draco finds you before the other Death Eaters and
you’ve harmed me, I will not be able to reason with him on your behalf, believe me. So either
you can at least let me move or one of you is going to have to stick your head up skirts and
tell me what’s happening!”

“You’re not in a position to make demands!” Ginny shouted.

“Stop!” Luna interjected stepping forward. “I don’t think she’s faking. We’re not them,
Ginny.”

Ginny stared at Valeria mercilessly and it was plain that she was stubbornly trying not to
admit that Valeria was at least partially correct in her assessment of the direness of their
situation. She was struggling with the options, clearly, and Valeria waited in agony for Ginny
to make her choice.

“I’ll release her for now. Luna, check her out over there, there’s a small room,” Ginny said
quietly. She released Valeria from the magical bonds, and Valeria nearly fell out of the chair,
keeling over in pain. It was Neville who rushed to catch her, and he could feel her body
trembling too hard to walk, and so he lifted her. Valeria would have protested if she weren’t
in so much pain. He set her down on a small bed in the tent, partitioned off by a thick curtain,
and left her with Luna. Valeria could hear the others quietly argue on the other side of the tent
as Luna set to work.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Valeria asked through her hitched breath.

“After You-Know-Who won, and there was still a resistance left, I learned some healing
tricks,” Luna said. She cast a spell that Valeria did not recognize on her lower abdomen, and
Valeria watched as Luna’s face turned from one of urgent anxiety to pity.

“What’s happening?”

“Valeria…You’re pregnant.”

A chill ran through Valeria’s body as her heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t possible. She and
Draco had always diligent about magical prevention. She wracked her brain for an
explanation. The Christmas party…They had been drinking…Shit. As if this situation could
not get any worse.

“What’s wrong with it?” Valeria asked sternly, using all her strength to fight the tears that
were pricking her eyes.

“You’re about to miscarry. I can the stabilize it for now, but Valeria, if you don’t want this, I
can…I can terminate. It had happened a lot after the war. Not many people wanted to bring
children into—”

“No!” Valeria said through her teeth, realizing what this meant.

“Malfoy doesn’t have to know.”

“He’s the last person who wants this, believe me,” Valeria said. She couldn’t let this
overwhelm her emotions. She had to think bigger. “Lovegood, listen to me. They won’t
execute a pureblood carrying a legitimate pureblood child, not until it’s born at least. This
buys time. Stabilize it.”

Luna nodded and set to work casting enchantments that would prevent miscarriage, at least
for now. Valeria slowly felt she could breathe easier again as the pain in her abdomen
subsided.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? They usually say the parents are the ones protect their children, but
seems like this one is protecting you,” Luna said in her ethereal tone. Valeria was in no mood
for clever little adages but had no argument.

“I suppose you’re right. But we’re running out of time. Ginny using that curse has probably
been recorded and they’ll be investigating it shortly, if not already. Lovegood, I need my
wand so that I can contact Draco,” Valeria said, able to think straight now the pain had eased,
though she still felt weak.

“You know I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. You’re the not like the other ones. You’re smarter, you see the bigger picture.
If the Death Eaters find us before Draco does, you will have been guilty of harming a
pregnant, pureblood woman which is unequivocally punishable by a swift death. I can’t
promise Draco will be merciful, but it’s your only chance. Please, for your own sake, for their
sake if it matters to you, tell me where we are and give me my wand,” Valeria said darkly.

Luna looked into her eyes and Valeria remembered with grief that there were times in the past
that she actually kind of liked Luna. Luna’s expression was one of pity and unspoken regrets,
as if she was looking for a version of Valeria that was no longer there. Luna breathed as she
thought and eventually put away her wand with a very slight nod.

“Don’t move, don’t make any sound,” Luna whispered before going out beyond the curtain.
Valeria sat up a little on the bed in wait. She placed her hand over her stomach and tried to
swallow what her condition meant for her, for Draco. She had heard everything about how
joyful expectant mothers were, how in love they were with their children the moment they
discovered they were carrying them. Valeria felt none of that, only guilt, only sorry for the
potential new life she was going to curse by bearing them into this world. She heard curse
words and the sounds of panicked voices from without. Luna must have told them.

“Now there’s definitely no chance of reasoning with Malfoy!” Boot said.

“I told you, Ginny. I told you that you should have taken her back where you found her!”
Neville said.

“She didn’t even know she was pregnant; how could I have known?!”

Luna slipped back in through the curtain, having used the argument as a distraction. She
passed Valeria her wand. “We’re on an island in Woorgreens Lake. Be quick.”
Valeria immediately set to work contacting Draco, knowing she was in no physical condition
to apparate given the havoc the near miscarriage had done on her body. She used what
strength she had to try and use the one spell she knew could work. With all her concentration,
ignoring the raised voices, she watched as she cast the Dark Patronus, feeling the emotional
and physical discomfort that was ultimately the cost of the spell. With cold concentration, she
carefully worked to form a shadowy crow of accurate size to a real one and quietly she spoke.

“Draco, I’m on an island in Woorgreens Lake. I was taken by Ginny Weasley, Luna
Lovegood, Terry Boot and Neville Longbottom. I have not come to harm,” Ginny said. The
shadowy crow seemed to have absorbed her voice and waited in the air for her next
command. “Find Draco Malfoy.” The black bird moved on its volition and disappeared
through the cloth of the tent wall. Luna quickly snatched Valeria’s wand from her hand.

“You didn’t tell him,” Luna said.

“It will only him make angrier. He doesn’t need to know yet,” Valeria said.

“Now what?” Luna asked.

“We wait. Say a prayer for yourselves,” Valeria said, sitting back against the headboard of the
tiny, rather uncomfortable bed that was little more than a cot. Luna sat with Valeria in silence,
rather than going to her friends. Valeria had never seen Luna looking so grim.

“I forgave you, you know,” Luna said.

“For what?” Valeria asked. Her wrongdoings against everyone Luna loved were many. There
was no telling to which one Luna referred.

“For killing my father. You were right. It was mercy,” Luna said.

“I don’t want, nor do I need your forgiveness or anyone else’s, Lovegood. It doesn’t mean
anything to me.”

“It does to me,” Luna whispered. Valeria felt something resembling guilt for Luna. Was she
so far gone that any scrap of forgiveness offered to her didn’t faze her? The women sat in
silent, anxious wait for a few minutes, until a disembodied haunting voice filled the air all
around them.

“I know where you are. I will be there soon. If you hand over my wife, peacefully and
unharmed, I will hand you over to the Ministry and you will have time to make peace with
your ends before your executions. If she has been harmed, then hell arrives with me. If you
flee, I will hunt you and what is left of those you love down. I will not stop. I will find you.
And there will be no one left to mourn you. You have one minute.”

Even when it was magically projected, Draco’s voice still maintained the rough quality it
now had. Valeria was so relieved to hear it, despite the ominous threat. It was a short-lived
relief when Ginny stormed into the makeshift room and aimed her wand between Valeria’s
eyes.
“You bitch!”

The world went dark for Valeria once more.

 Choices
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Discussion of death. Description of blood/mild gore. Magical

violence. Physical violence. Magical torture. Discussion of miscarriage and pregnancy
termination.

Many Years Later

The Forsaken Children, that’s what Scorpius Malfoy and the others like him had been dubbed
by the wider Wizarding world. Scorpius didn’t appreciate the label, but he also knew it was
nothing that wasn’t true. In fact, it was probably the nicest way to accurately describe them.
They were the children of Death Eaters and those loyal to Lord Voldemort whose parents
were now either dead, fled or rotting in Azkaban.

Hogwarts felt haunted by unseen ghosts, as opposed to the real ones that inhabited the school.
But now, as Scorpius stalked across the dark grounds in his thick black cloak, hooded and
shrouded by night, he felt like he was the one doing the haunting. The ghosts of the past that
he inherited followed him like shadows, whether he liked it or not.

This was not the first time Scorpius violated the strict rules of not being out of the common
rooms at night. He had only been caught a few times and if he were caught tonight, what was
one more detention? He actually prided himself on his knack for staying hidden. His name
was so famous and his features so noticeable that he worked hard, both consciously and
unconsciously, to be as inconspicuous as he could whenever he could. He could walk almost
silently when he wanted to. He almost never raised his voice. He kept his head down. He
would not speak in class unless called upon.

His few friends, other Forsaken Children, sometimes endearingly called him Scorpius the
Silent. That moniker had grown on him and proved itself true. Scorpius spent many nights,
most of which he was never caught, in the castle wandering its halls, looking for secrets that
he never told. He liked the old rooms full of silent memories, the portraits that would share
with him stories of the past or things of interest in the school when he asked nicely. He was a
naturally curious person and learning things others didn’t made him feel like he had a little
more control of life than he truly did.

This was a night just like those when he was restless and anxious but for an existential reason
beyond specification. This was not a walk of curiosity but one of dread. The past followed
him like a looming shadow and since he could not undo what had been done, he knew only a
few ways to confront it and try to understand the unfathomable.
The door of Hagrid’s hut opened for him, and the old half-giant stopped dead to see him.
Scorpius lowered his hood, revealing to Hagrid a familiar face and secretive eyes. Scorpius
ignored Hagrid’s expression that he knew all too well, that of looking at a distant and rueful
memory.

“Malfoy? You shouldn’t be out’ta bed. What’re you doin’ here?” Hagrid said, trying to mask
the way he considered the surname a dirty word. Scorpius was used to that too.

“I want to go into the forest,” Scorpius said shyly. He kicked himself for being so socially
inept after he said it.

“Come on, I’ll walk you back into the castle—” Hagrid said with a sigh.

“I want to see the graves, Professor,” Scorpius said a bit more firmly, trying to muster
confidence. Hagrid stopped and looked at the young man in a way that Scorpius didn’t
recognize. Like he was staring back in time at something that surprised him. “I’m sorry, sir. I
just…I know what happened. I just—I just need to see it for myself,” Scorpius said softly,
debating whether he’d brave wandering into the forest on his own should Hagrid refuse.
Hagrid waited a moment and Scorpius felt a tinge of guilt followed by foolishness.

“Come in for a second,” Hagrid said flatly after a moment of debate, stepping aside.
Scorpius was surprised at the invitation and walked in, finding himself in the quaint, rustic
hovel that was oddly charming, in its own way. The oversized furniture alone was amusing in
a way only found in the wizarding world. Scorpius quietly took it in whilst Hagrid lumbered
about rifling through his things. “Sorry it’s probably a far cry from what yer used to.”

“I don’t mind,” Scorpius said softly, but honestly with a weak shrug. He watched the old
man, long since grayed, and wondered what he was like so long ago. “Did you…know my
parents when they were students?”

Hagrid stopped a moment, the question surprising him. “Aye. I did, but not well. Hope It’s no
offense t’ say your dad was unpleasant, but his dad was worse. Yer mum, well, she was
always polite at least. No good with Care of Magical Creatures though. I don’t think she liked
the class much.” Scorpius smiled a little. Scorpius never cared much for the class either,
though he kept that to himself. Scorpius looked out the thick glass window to see the
silhouette of the Astronomy Tower and Hagrid noticed. Hagrid paused again the way older
people do when they’re trying to find the words to explain the past to someone who was not
there. “She was beside ‘erself the night Dumbledore died. I’m sure you already know the
story.”

“I know what they taught us,” Scorpius said flatly, not wanting to think about it.

“Yer dad ran off with the others, the Death Eaters, and yer mum chased after ‘im,” Hagrid
began, almost sounding as though he were talking to himself. “When he was gone, she was
slumped on the ground. Tiny little thing, she was. The Winters were a stiff lot. It was a
wonder to see any of them with a hair outta place…It’s surprisin’ to think that I felt sorry for
both of ‘em.”
Scorpius didn’t reply as Hagrid gathered the rest of things and his gear for traversing into the
forest. He directed Scorpius to follow him out of the house to a small trailhead at the edge of
th forest fence.

“I reckon you can make us more light?” Hagrid said, holding up a lantern. Scorpius followed
his direction and cast Lumos as brightly as he could. Scorpius kept close to Hagrid as his eyes
adjusted to the darkness of the forest, the outside sounds muffled by the trees around and
above. Scorpius kept a close eye on Hagrid for while every little scuttle and cracking twig
would have made him jump out of his skin, he knew that if Hagrid was not nervous, he had
no reason to be either. It wasn’t a long journey and one that was taken in silence. The
makeshift trail opened up to a small, dark clearing. Hagrid stopped.

“Here we are,” he said quietly, his voice full of sadness. Scorpius took a tentative step
forward and to the center of the clearing where a large boulder had been placed with a plaque
on the front. Scorpius held his wand near it to read.

In this quiet circle of wood lies those who bravely resisted the tyranny of He Who Must Not
Be Named on 2 May 1998.

May they attain peace in eternity.

Let they, who were laid here to be forgotten, forever be remembered.

The message was followed by a list of names of those interred in this clearing, many of
which Scorpius recognized from history. He recalled there had been an effort to rebury the
victims, but it was decided not to disturb them. It was clear that the site was being tended to,
Hagrid in all likelihood. Despite the peacefulness of this place, Scorpius felt the unignorable
presence of dreaded darkness. He carefully tread by the graves, careful not to pass directly
over them. There were newer plaques erected as proper headstones, but there were older ones
by each that bore only initials of those buried there. Scorpius lingered on one bearing the
letter W for Weasley.

“Yer mum put those there,” Hagrid said.

“She did?” Scorpius asked, surprised.

Hagrid nodded. “Soon after…it happened, she came one night an’ asked t’ see ‘em. When the
new headstones were put there, I didn’t ‘ave the heart to take the old ones away.”

“Why would she do that?” Scorpius asked. Hagrid shrugged.

“She didn’t say. But I didn’t wan’ to take away one of the few good things she tried t’ do.”

Scorpius took a breath. “How many did my father kill?”

“Just two. Ernie Macmillan and Dean Thomas, there,” Hagrid said, pointing to another plot.
Scorpius went and stood by them. “They were classmates of ‘is. Muggleborn.”

That stung Scorpius. Scorpius had plenty of anger in his heart. He had acted out in rage too,
but being able to kill, especially at such a young age, was something he could not quite grasp.
What was more, he could not understand how he was the son of people who could.

“I’m sorry, Professor…about what he did. What they did,” Scorpius said softly.

“He didn’t want to do it. Not then, not yet,” Hagrid said. Scorpius turned to him as he heard
Hagrid choke back tears. “I was there, y’know, when…with Harry…when he brought Harry
to You-Know-Who. Yer dad was shakin’ so hard he could barely keep his wand straight.
Made me sick what they were makin’ that boy do.”

“You don’t feel have to feel sorry for him for my sake,” Scorpius said, trying to hide his
discomfort. He hated when people talked about the details of his parents’ crimes around him.
It made his heart race and his hands tremble.

“But it was before he became what he did. Back when ‘e was still just a kid. Sometimes I
think we failed ‘em, us and the teachers…if we had gotten to ‘em sooner. It might’ve gone
different.”

“What they were was their fault.”

“Maybe that’s true, ‘specially for later on. There was a time when they weren’t much
different from anyone else. It ain’t surprising t’ me anymore what they were made to do
turned ‘em so bad.”

Scorpius had a difficult time fathoming how his parents could be seen as victims. Clearly,
they were not the same as those originally massacred and dumped into the forest without
ceremony. Even if it was true at one time, he could not square it. He could not accept it,
though he didn’t know why it was so hard for him. It was easier for him to hate them. He
returned to the plaque in the center and, with a simple charm he had learned, produced a
small laurel of flowers that he fixed at the foot of the boulder. He had been born too late to
help and yet too early to see a healed world. This was all he could do, all he could bear to do.
It would have to be enough for now.

January 2006

They only had a minute. Neville’s heart raced and he gripped his wand harder than he ever
had. He hadn’t been audience to Draco Malfoy’s atrocities, his skill and abilities, at least not
much. But he knew the stories. At one point, Neville would have scoffed at the idea of
Malfoy being capable of such ruthlessness, but he could no longer rely on Malfoy being the
sniveling coward he was as a boy.

“I’ll face him alone, try to fend him off. Maybe I can convince him—” Neville began.

“If you go out there alone, you’re dead,” Terry protested, readying his own wand.

“And if you cast a serious enough spell, you’ll be traced. You heard what she said, they could
be after us already because of what Ginny did,” Neville said.

“I’m not letting you go alone. He’s going to kill us or turn us in anyway. We have to at least
try, Neville.”
Neville didn’t argue. Terry’s advice was foolish, but it was the best they could do. For his
part, Neville refused to go down without a fight. He was just as bitter and angry as Ginny
was, and even with how furious he was with her now, he at least understood why she had
done what she did. If the circumstances had not been so dire, Neville would have found it
oddly amusing how he seemed to be the least impulsive Gryffindor he knew. It was that same
impulsiveness born of righteous ire that led to Seamus’s doom. But what was there left to do?

The young men stood back-to-back outside the tent, waiting in horrible silence. The
protective enchantment that domed around the tent would not be enough, he knew. Draco was
now an expert at tasks as these, he knew well how to break such enchantments. All of this
was so sloppy, so haphazard, and Neville kicked himself for not having the foresight to do
more in the chaos of the time leading up to this. It was less than a minute now, but it was
surely one of the longest minutes of Neville’s life in the cold, silent night.

All Neville could hear was the sounds of his and Terry’s deep, anxious breath. Not a single
creature made a sound and even the gentle rustling of branches in the wind made him nearly
panic. Was Malfoy toying with them?

Fizzling. That was the best way Neville could describe the sound in his mind. A fizzling
sound came from overhead and he looked up into the cloudy night and above him saw the
otherwise invisible dome above them, formed by magical protection, crack with light at the
top. The crack grew until it stretched the length of the dome, splitting it in half and little
sparks of light, like embers, cascaded down to the earth, fizzling, and crackling as they fell.
They were vulnerable. They were out in the open and they were being hunted. There was a
pregnant pause of anticipation, for Malfoy had yet to reveal himself, though it was clear he
was near, and Neville felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

With a great whooshing sound that shattered the silence, a ring of bright green flames erupted
from the earth and encircled the space around the tent. Neville’s eyes had adjusted to the
darkness and the brightness of the bewitched fire nearly briefly blinded him.

“Are you a hunter or a showman, Malfoy!?” Terry Boot cried out into the night. “Quit the
fucking theatrics and face us like a man.”

Neville was about to chide Boot for provoking Malfoy, but he hadn’t the time. He glanced
over as a dark cloud, just a bit taller than a man, formed just outside the circle and quickly
took shape into a person. Neville could make out in the brightness of the flames a black clad
figure that stepped through the fire unharmed. As the green flames stretched higher and
danced about, Neville saw the face of Draco Malfoy. His enemy’s cold, ireful eyes were fixed
upon them and his face expressed nothing but chilling concentration. His sharp features were
lit by the menacing green color of the fire, making his eyes appear dark and set deep in his
skull. Neville had long stopped fearing much of anything, let alone Draco Malfoy, but the
sight of him, for a moment, made his blood run cold. Neville knew he would now be a fool
not to be frightened of him.

“I’ve been preoccupied directing and babysitting Mudbloods, Boot. Been a while since I’ve
been on a proper hunt. Thought I’d flex those muscles again,” Malfoy said bitterly and coldly
as he stalked toward them. Neville had not heard Malfoy’s new voice in person yet and it
made him all the more foreboding. Neville remembered the way Draco trembled with tears in
his eyes when he killed Dean and Ernie at the Battle of Hogwarts, how he had shut his eyes
tight as he cast the curses that spilled their blood out onto the floor. He recalled Malfoy how
Malfoy once swaggered the halls as if he owned the world. Malfoy owned the world now as
much as any mortal man could, but there was no pride in him, only wrath.

“Malfoy, she’s alive. She’s not hurt—” Neville began, but Draco flung a curse at him that
Neville deflected.

“Then why haven’t you brought her out?!” Draco said.

“We can explain!” Neville cried, but Draco cast another curse at the both of them which they
managed to shield against.

“I made it clear that I’m not here for explanations, Longbottom. I see you haven’t learned a
goddamn thing!”

Draco cast another curse and a duel broke out between the three. Neville and Terry were on
the defensive, trying to get a spell or two in, but Draco’s reputation for having grown into a
man of lethal skill was not exaggerated. Neville would have been impressed if he were on the
outside looking in. Neville noticed how Draco was holding back, not flinging the deadliest of
curses at them, which piqued Neville’s curiosity. Was he trying to fool them? Distract them?
Simply using them as a way to release his rage?

“Malfoy! The Battle of Hogwarts! I remember…you didn’t want to do it. Moaning Myrtle’s
bathroom, seventh year, you cried about her during that song—” Neville cried out. Neville’s
appeal to Draco’s empathy was an unwise choice, as with a sweeping motion, Draco cast a
spell that knocked both Neville and Boot onto their backs.

“You have no idea who I am!” Draco shouted with spite. “If you wanted to know, all you had
to do was ask.”

Neville was unable to reach for his dropped wand before Draco cast the next spell. He
watched as a large snake, formed by shadow slithered from Draco’s wands and swiftly moved
through the air toward them. It coiled itself around Terry first, enveloping him in wisps of
black clouds before finding Neville and doing the same. Neville suddenly felt paralyzed by
his own mind, frozen on the ground in darkness. He heard faint, dissonant voices speaking to
him and could not make out the words, but somehow his mind understood and responded to
them. He felt horribly cold, inside and out, overwhelmed with dread and mental anguish. He
felt conflicted, angry, full of guilt and sadness. He felt lonely, completely and utterly. He felt
desperate for any relief, any warm touch, any kind word that could be spared for him. He
could barely breathe as his soul felt as though it were coming undone, but still, somehow
holding itself together as it fought.

Pain. Total and unrelenting turmoil that existed solely in his mind. It wouldn’t stop. Neville
begged it to stop.
Meanwhile, in the tent, Luna had her hand on Ginny’s outstretched wand arm, which was
aimed at unconscious Valeria Malfoy.

“We have to kill her, Luna, I’m sorry,” Ginny said.

“No!” Luna cried out.

“She’s his weakness. If she’s dead, it might—"

“—Give him the excuse he needs to kill us! We can’t help anyone if we’re dead! She’s the
only card we have to play. Her child is innocent—”

“It won’t be for long, you know that! Who knows what kind of monster it’ll become, Luna.
This is for the best!”

“Harry wouldn’t want you to do this!” Luna shouted. “Harry wouldn’t want you to become a
killer. He wouldn’t want you to be like them—”

“He’s dead!” Ginny cried out in grief. “He doesn’t have to live with this. We can’t know what
he would have wanted!”

“Not this!” Luna said, breathing heavy. “Remember what she said. She said she doesn’t
remember being with Harry and the others. She barely remembers the Battle of Hogwarts—”

“How does that fucking matter? She was probably lying.”

“I remember what happened after we escaped Malfoy Manor. She went with them
voluntarily, came back to Hogwarts with them voluntarily. You remember. Hermione said her
memories had been erased and then restored. You said Harry had a plan. A plan she might
have known—”

“What the hell are you getting at?”

“What if it happened again? What if she knew, but can’t remember? We can’t get to Ron and
Hermione; she might be the only other person alive who knew.”

There were the sounds of dueling and shouting outside the tent and Ginny was on the verge
of panicking staring at her enemy’s face. “Whatever Harry’s plan was it doesn’t matter
anymore. It’s been almost a decade. I’m sorry, Luna, but she doesn’t deserve your sympathy.”

Luna pulled hard on Ginny’s arm and an altercation, where neither truly wanted to harm the
other, broke out between the women. Ginny managed to get the upper hand and stun Luna,
who fell unconscious to the floor. Ginny felt horrible, unbearable guilt in her heart at once.
She immediately regretted it and turned her wand on Luna to reawaken her, but then silence
fell outside. Not a few seconds later she heard the dreaded sound of muffled footsteps
entering the tent and approaching. Ginny said a quiet apology to Harry in her mind, hoping
he wasn’t watching from above as she turned her wand on Valeria and steeled her resolve.
Draco Malfoy had taken the love of her life from her and she was now determined to take his.
But she couldn’t do it. She knew the curse. She knew it so well. She had fantasized about this
for so long. But as Valeria laid there, defenseless and ignorant, Ginny felt her conscience eat
away at her determination. She heard the approaching footsteps and turned toward them as
they rounded the corner.

Face-to-face with the man she hated even more than Voldemort. He looked at her with a cold
gaze as he lifted his wand.

“Neville and Terry…did they suffer?” she asked with pained regret and guilt.

“I haven’t killed them. Not yet. But they are suffering.”

So they were alive. Ginny hid her relief.

“If you make another move, she dies, Malfoy,” Ginny spat. It was unknown to her if she
could even manage to kill Valeria before Draco acted, but she had to try and she had only
more thing she could use against him. “And so does your unborn child.”

She watched as the ferocious look in his eyes vanished and he quickly looked over at his
wife, before looking to Ginny again. He went pale and swallowed.

“That’s not possible,” he said low.

“Luna confirmed it. What happens next is up to you, Malfoy,” she said, enjoying the distress
she was causing him, waiting for him to choke.

“For once, Wealsey, you’re right,” he said. Before she could act, she felt Draco invade her
mind. Shit. Shit. Shit. He snaked through the memories of the past hours and saw it all. He
saw how she had tortured his wife. He lingered long on that memory, forcing Ginny to relive
the worst of herself over and over. He saw how Valeria had doubled over in pain after she had
been tortured and how Luna had revealed the pregnancy to them.

Ginny was off her guard when he finally removed himself from her mind. He hadn’t strayed
any further, thankfully, but it didn’t matter. The look he gave her made her heart skip a beat.
His brow furrowed and his face was twisted in a wrathful sneer.

“Congratulations, Malfoy, you’re a father. Is that enough for you? Is that what you wanted? A
nice, pureblood wife handed to you on a silver platter to be your broodmare? You’ve taken so
many innocent lives and now you’re bringing a new one into the hell that you’ve created.
How does it feel knowing she was forced to marry you and now will be forced to have your
child?” Ginny taunted.

Her anger had made her blind to wisdom once more and Draco let out a yell as he cast the
Cruciatus Curse upon her. She immediately fell to the floor, dropping her wand, writhing and
screaming in pain at Draco’s hand. She had no time to breathe when he released her, for he
grabbed her by the collar of her clothes, hoisted her up roughly and slammed her into the
wall. Bringing his face close to hers as she struggled against him, one of his gloved hands
reached up and tightened around her throat as he seethed.
“She needs help,” Ginny gasped as she struggled for breath. “Luna only stopped it for now.
She’s running out of time before that baby dies. You have a choice. Once again. You have a
choice.”

Ginny saw no mercy in his eyes, manic and wild with fury. Maybe even terror. He said
nothing, but she saw the debate in his face; take care of the rebels or help his wife. He pulled
Ginny from the wall and then with a swift movement, slammed her head into a small nearby
table, knocking her unconscious.

Draco stopped to breathe, his breath suddenly hitched and shaking. He was exhausted. He
was terrified. The past day had been enough. He turned to the bed in which his wife laid and
sat close beside her. The green light from the flames came in through the cracks in the tent
and illuminated its cloth walls, casting Valeria in dim green light. She was so blissfully
unaware in her involuntary rest, he had not yet the heart to wake her. When the Dark Patronus
of hers had reached him in Wales, while he was about the embark on a war path to find her,
the fear that gripped what was left of his heart nearly broke him. It had yet to subside, now
that he knew what he knew. Just a while ago she had been tortured by Weasley and he saw it,
reliving himself the moment on the Astronomy Tower when his own comrades did the same
to her. He had been too unsure then, too frightened to act, paralyzed by grief and despair.
Draco had hoped that version of him died long ago, but was wondering now whether he was
still the same lackluster and unworthy protector he once was.

He gently lifted her upper body to his, holding her limp torso to his chest, using a hand to
carefully cradle to back of her head and keep her as close to him as he could. He felt her
steady, unconscious breath against his neck, and it brought him some, but passing little,
comfort. He pressed his forehead to her head and felt his heart beat out of his chest. He was
so angry; he was so desperate. He was so distressed, so morose. So worried, so very sorry.
Above all he was sorry. He was paralyzed by all his unwelcome emotions; it was all he could
do to hold onto her as tight as he could. For without her there was nothing. If she died, he
would have dragged down the entire world for nothing.

Then there was her. The many parts of her. The little girl he grew up with. The teenager he
fell in love with. The young woman he married and whom it was his duty to protect. He
would have done it anyway. They simply knew each other too long. There was never a world
for him in which she did not exist. She was always just there, like the air around him. He
never let go of that sixteen-year-old boy’s fear that he would lose her because of his failure. It
was all that ever fueled him from the very moment the Dark Lord had branded him as a child.
It was all he knew. He was too far gone in his devotion. Maybe he always was.

How could he wake her now? How could he tell her of the plan to save her again that would
surely break her? How could he tell she, who now mothered his child, what she would have
to witness?

Draco’s grip on her tightened as he heard the sound of another approach, but he was relieved
some when Snape came into view. For a flashing moment, he saw Snape look at them with
pity.

“She’s alive,” Draco said quietly. “How’d you find us?”

“Word from the Ministry that there were two uses of the Cruciatus Curse by a blood traitor
here. I had a suspicion and took it upon myself rather than send a squadron,” Snape said.

“Good. That buys time,” Draco said quietly, lost and distracted.

“What have you done to Boot and Longbottom?”

“Dark Patronus. I was practicing to prepare for whoever I had to fight after you submitted my
father’s report. It can linger on people…I can’t explain it, but it makes them feel what you
feel and paralyzes them there.”

“Interesting, it works almost independently then—”

“I don’t want a Magical Theory lecture!” Draco snapped. “I need to fucking think!”

“You haven’t woken her up. You haven’t told her.”

“I wouldn’t know how if it were for me to tell,” Draco said. He was so weak in his exhausted
state that he was more vulnerable than he would have liked to be. “She’s pregnant, Snape.”

It was Snape’s turn to be surprised. “…Did you know?”

“Of course not! Weasley told me and I read her mind. She was telling the truth. She tortured
Valeria to the point where she nearly lost…it. Lovegood managed to save it, but only for
now.”

“You need to get her back to Wales. Apparating with her in that condition might be tricky but
should be safe if you’re careful. I’ll call for Healer Zabini—”

“No!” Draco said, his head pounding. “I’m not finished here.”

Snape approached and put his hand firmly on Draco’s shoulder. “Vengeance now will only
bring you both ruin, Draco. You have a duty to protect her. You have a duty to try to save
your child.”

Draco pulled away from Snape’s grasp, but internalized the advice against his will. He hated
that Snape was right. He wanted blood. He wanted them all dead; His four enemies here, his
father, some of his own fellows. If he had to kill everyone until he and Valeria were the only
two left and the world would finally be safe for them, he would do it. He hated the world
enough, surely. But he had to get her out of here. That was chiefly why he came here to begin
with. He stood and adjusted to lift Valeria into his arm as Snape stood aside to let him
through.

“I trust you’ll keep the pregnancy to yourself,” Draco said.

“Your secrets are always safe with me,” Snape said.

Draco carried his limp wife out of the tent and passed Longbottom and Boot, ignoring them
as he strode, leaving them there shrouded in black clouds. The fire illuminated the night in
pale green as he held Valeria tight enough to him to securely disappear into the darkness.
In Wales, he brought her immediately up the stairs to Valeria’s childhood room in one of the
towers. He took it upon himself unassisted to get her settled comfortably in the bed. He chose
not to wake her once more. He needed time to absorb what all had happened, decide how she
was going to learn of the plan and he needed time to swallow that he was, for now, a father.
He sent a very concerned Tilly to open the floo and await Daphne’s arrival. He sat by the bed
with his head in his hands while he waited.

It had been the one thing he had been determined to prevent. He viscerally remembered being
seventeen and realizing that the forcing of their marriage came with the expectation that they
would be forced to produce an heir. It was so vile, so vulgar, and all of the suffering as a
result would unfairly be put on her, by the nature of anatomy. It had been the one thing that
absolved him; that he would never force her to bear his child. He had been so careful, so
diligent. It was that one drunken night around Christmas that he hadn’t taken precaution. Just
one night.

He hated what he had done. He hated how happy the world would be, that his father had
gotten exactly what he wanted. And the child? Could he allow it to come into this world?
What would they inevitably grow into? How could Draco be trusted with the entirety of an
innocent life whom he had a duty to protect, but would also need to teach how to survive in
the world he damned?

Daphne came into the room, with a bag of tools and supplies. She had gone ahead of Tilly,
but Draco for once didn’t mind the interruption. She looked at Valeria fearfully and went to
her side. Draco stood as she began to examine Valeria.

“What’s happened?” Daphne asked sternly.

“I can’t tell you too much—”

“I don’t want to know anything that isn’t medically relevant,” Daphne insisted.

“Multiple uses of the Cruciatus Curse triggered a miscarriage. Someone managed to stabilize
it, but only briefly—”

“She’s pregnant?! The Cruciatus…? What the fuck happened, Malfoy?” Daphne asked,
shocked by the news.

“I told you what I could, just do something, will you?!” Draco said, in no mood for debates
or arguments. Daphne quickly set to work casting a series of complicated spells over Valeria
which produced different forms and colors of light that only made sense to Daphne. A couple
of minutes passed before Daphne spoke again.

“The body can’t differentiate between the curse, which causes pain without injury and only
damages the mind after prolonged exposure, and pain as a result of actual injury. The muscles
involuntarily react, contracting and relaxing as a result. In the case of the uterus, extreme pain
and muscular contraction can trigger a miscarriage. With real injury or trauma, the body will
sometimes decide it cannot carry a pregnancy and will attempt to expel it to aid the mother.
The same is the case with the curse,” Daphne said.
“So, she is…She is pregnant?” Draco asked quietly. He had vainly hoped it was some kind of
misunderstanding, that Weasley and Lovegood were wrong and what he had seen was false.

Daphne nodded. “You were right to call for me. What they did managed to stabilize the fetus,
but it was crude and incomplete. I can fix it now.” She paused. “Malfoy, I know you already
know, but I have to say that I’m obligated to register this pregnancy with the Department of
Purity as soon as possible. If you don’t want me to, rather if she doesn’t want me to, you need
to tell me right now.”

Draco did not have to ask what Daphne meant by the offer. Although Draco’s instincts told
him that it would be the decision that did the least harm in the long run, he knew that if
anything went wrong with their plan, at least the pregnancy would buy time. If Weasley and
the other rebels were interrogated, there was potential for the pregnancy to be discovered
which would land him and Valeria in the same trouble yet again if they were to terminate.

“Can you give us two days?” he asked. Daphne sighed in frustration. Draco knew he was
asking a lot of her. He was asking her to risk her own livelihood, perhaps more, over this.
“She and I need to discuss this, Greengrass. I’ve only just found out.”

“Legally, I can’t give you time,” Daphne began after a moment of deep thought. “But as her
friend, I will.”

“I really do appreciate it, Greengrass,” Draco said, relieved. “It might go without saying, but
please don’t tell Blaise. Not yet.”

“He’d support you, but the fewer people that know for now, the better,” Daphne said in
agreement. Daphne worked long and it was all Draco could do to wait. Daphne assured him
multiple times before parting that the fetus was now safe and Valeria was otherwise just fine.
He wrote a quick letter and then found a space beside his wife in the bed, bringing her
unconscious body to him once more, holding her close as her head rested peacefully on his
chest. Draco dozed in and out of unrestful sleep until, after dawn broke, the door of Valeria’s
room opened softly. Draco immediately went for his wand and aimed it and the intruder, but
was relieved to see Odessa Winters in the doorway, as noble and proud as he remembered in
his youth, thankful she received his letter without interception.

“Sorry,” he said, setting his wand aside. “It’s a reflex.”

“And an understandable one,” she said, coming over to the other side of the bed and brushing
hair out of her daughter’s face.

“What happened?”

“Bad luck,” Draco said, trying not to reveal too much. “She was intercepted. She made a stop
in London and some of blood traitors saw an opportunity.”

“Why was she in London? Did they hurt her?”

“I haven’t asked her yet,” Draco had a guess why Valeria was in London, against his express
command. He was too tired to be angry about it now. He was reeling too much still. He was
keeping secrets from both women, but none were his to tell. “Daphne examined her, she’s
fine. I decided to just let her rest before…”

“I understand,” she said with a sigh. “Probably for the best. She knows nothing then?”

Draco shook his head. “You’d be the one to tell her, as agreed. Have you heard from Snape?”

“He was handling something. He’ll be around later this morning, after he’s prepared
everything. His invitation is still good, so he’ll be able to arrive at his convenience,” she said.
The way Odessa spoke always amused Draco to some degree. Everything had to be more
formal than it truly was. It was hard to hear now and even harder to watch her tend to her
daughter knowing what he knew. “You’ll take care of her,” Odessa whispered, almost as if
trying to reassure herself about her decision.

“I’ve never had a choice, Mrs. Winters.” He said it with a slow nod and without a hint of
regret.
 A Mother's Blessing
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Discussion of death. Heavy themes. Discussion of pregnancy

termination. Discussion of violence.

Winter 1999

Odessa Winters had grayed young. She never tried to alter the color, rather wearing her silver
hair with dignified sophistication. There was never a hair out of place, not a single wrinkle in
anything she wore and like her children she wore magical glamours to conceal any natural
flaws in her appearance. Valeria liked to think her habits and choices were her own, but
seeing how she resembled her mother, apart from the difference in age and grayed hair, she
sometimes wondered how organic her habits truly were.

It was another night when Draco was gone on some nefarious task. Another night in those
early years of the Dark Age when Valeria would pace the lonely halls of Malfoy Manor in all
its haunting luxury while she waited to know whether he would live or if she would be
widowed by morning. Valeria passed the portraits of Malfoys past, the heirs and their equally
silent spouses. Her own image was on the far end of the entrance hall, nearer to the front
doors, painted in her place seated at Draco’s side. Another in a line of many that stretched
back centuries. She did not often stop to linger on their austere portrait and tonight was no
exception.

Valeria meandered the sullen corridors until coming upon a room with the door ajar, soft light
spilling over into the hall. Peaking in quietly she saw inside her mother sat on a large sofa
before a table with books and photographs spread out before her. Valeria never knew which
version of her mother she’d find; the grief-stricken mother and widow or the carefully
controlled socialite Valeria knew in her youth.

“Pacing again?” Odessa called out, barely looking up from the photographs she was fixated
upon. Valeria hadn’t realized she’d been noticed. Odessa smiled at her as Valeria stepped into
the room. “You do it a lot when Draco’s away. I heard you coming down the hall.”

“Sorry,” Valeria said.

“Don't be. I used to do it too whenever your father was off, then later with your brother,”
Odessa said. Odessa took a moment to take in Valeria before gesturing for her to join her.

“I just don’t know what else to do with myself.”

“It’s because you’re worried. It’s nothing complicated and it's alright to admit it,” Odessa
said.

“Father always said to reveal nothing,” Valeria said referring to the Winters’s way of
calculated presentation and interaction that ensured they kept their cards close. Revealing that
one was worried would surely be weakness in his eyes, Valeria believed. Odessa laughed a
little.

“You don’t have to hide from family, sweetheart,” Odessa said, before patting the space
beside her on the sofa. Valeria sat close with her mother and looked down at the photographs
as Odessa poured her a glass of wine. Valeria hadn’t seen these images in several years for
they were those of the Winters family almost exclusively. Pictures from decades ago, images
of Valeria’s childhood in Wales. She could not help but smile a little to see them. She reached
for one, a younger Odessa and Hieronymus Winters standing in the large main hall of the
Winters castle, Odessa proudly holding a baby in her arms.

“That’s Konstantin, barely two days old,” Odessa said with a warm smile as she went through
other pictures in the piles and handed two to Valeria. “This is you.”

Valeria saw nothing special about the picture. Her parents were a little older and Konstantin
was a child, around age seven he had to be. It was hard to think of oneself as ever being an
infant and Valeria did not recognize herself. Odessa looked at the image in the way that
parents often did, a way their children never quite understood or related too.

“I was a hideous baby,” Valeria said, noting the puffy, wrinkly skin that infants had, her being
no exception. Odessa, playfully, lightly smacked Valeria’s arm with a tap.

“You were not! You’re adorable,” Odessa said before handing her another picture. “This is
one of my favorites. Valeria took in the image of her young brother holder her infant self
while seated. He glanced to the camera and then back to the baby, a look of amused
confusion on his face as if he didn’t know what to do with what he held. Valeria laughed.

“I bet Konstantin was the easier baby,” Valeria said, remembering her brother’s easy-going
personality.

“Pfft, not even close,” Odessa said. “All the other mothers were jealous of how easy of a
baby you were. It was like you knew from the start that you’d get what you wanted easier
with a sort of mischievous compliance. Your father joked you were going to become ‘quite
the schemer.’ He was proud of that, of course. As for your brother had the loudest voice of
any baby I’ve ever known, and he liked to use it. Often.” Odessa took a moment to laugh.
“There was a wildness about him that I loved the moment the midwife put him in my arms.”

Valeria reached for another photograph after a moment of nostalgic silence. Valeria
recognized herself in this one, she was at least a toddler if not a little older. She was in her
father’s arms, and he held her hand in a waltzing position and spun her about before tipping
her upside down to mimic a dip in a dance. Young Valeria was laughing with a big, imperfect,
toothy grin. Valeria remembered fondly, which she had not recalled for a while, how she
would run to greet her father when he returned home and he would pick her up and swing her
around.
“You were the light of your father’s life. He loved Konstantin equally, of course, but with you
he always said, ‘Odessa, she’s going to be great. Just you wait. She’s the best of me’,” Odessa
said, almost as if she knew what Valeria was thinking. “I found this one of you and Draco
from when the Malfoys came over for Christmas one year.”

The photograph Odessa handed her was one of young Valeria and Draco sat by the Christmas
tree surrounded by gifts. Draco was handing Valeria a wrapped present with a sour look on
his face. Valeria laughed once more.

“He’s always scowling in every picture,” she said.

“Narcissa was trying to teach him how to share that year and made him be the one to hand
you your presents, so he would learn not all of them were his. He was not pleased about it,”
Odessa said.

“They tried,” Valeria said with a smiling sigh. It was hard to imagine a time when Draco’s
most pressing moral quandary was navigating the concept of sharing. Valeria reached for
another, taken in the courtyard of her childhood home. Konstantin had to be around thirteen
and he was holding a broom, floating just a little off the ground, steady with one hand and
had the other on young Valeria’s shoulder to keep her upright while she gripped the handle as
hard as a six-year-old could. In the image, she looked down at the ground and up to her eager
brother for reassurance. Hieronymus was in the background, seated nearby and smiling
proudly, if not a bit amused.

“Your brother tried so hard to get you to like flying, and Quidditch of course. It was his
mission every summer to help you overcome your fear,” Odessa said. “You were nice to let
him try, but you were always more at ease on a broom when he was there to help you.”

Valeria felt a deep sense of shame and loss. Konstantin surely wouldn’t have recognized her
now and she wondered whether he would still even love her, given the state of the world and
who she had become to survive within it. She would have given nearly anything just to have
his comforting hand on her shoulder again for even just a second. Valeria often found herself
in quiet mourning for the world that was, for the world that perhaps could have been, but for
now it was her brother that she mourned above all.

“I miss him so much,” Valeria said softly.

“I do too,” Odessa said, tears in her eyes. “There is no pain like that of losing a child.”

Valeria leaned into her mother, who wrapped an arm around her as Valeria curled up beside
her, much like she once did in childhood. Valeria could not help but let a few free tears fall. “I
just can’t help but think that maybe…it would be different if he were still here.”

“Of course you can’t help it. He was your older brother, and he would have done everything
to protect you and that's exactly what he did, isn't it? That was who he was from the start."

Valeria blamed herself for Konstantin's death. If she hadn't been there to begin with, had not
gone along with the ridiculous plan of Potter and his friends, Konstantin very well may have
lived still. Valeria’s breath hitched as more tears came, burying her face in her mother’s
shoulder, muffling her voice. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorr—”

Odessa shushed Valeria as she wrapped both arms tight around her. “As much as I want him
back and hate that he’s gone, the fact that he died for you, and for nothing else, makes me
proud. Your father and I must have done something right that he chose you in those moments.
He was loyal to his family. He was loyal to you. I know it hurts, but that also means that he’s
still with you, so long as you remember him.”

January 2006

Valeria awoke disoriented and bewildered to find herself in her childhood bedroom in the late
morning. She was grateful that the cramping had subsided, but she still felt parched and her
stomach was uneasy, but whether that was from pregnancy or hunger, she did not know.
When the door opened as she got her bearings, she scrambled for her wand only to set it
down when Draco came into the room with a metal tray of food and water. He quickly set it
down at her bedside table and sat at the edge of the bed beside her. She embraced him and
buried her face in his chest.

“It’s alright, you’re safe. You’re safe,” he whispered as he held her.

“What happened—?”

“Weasley stunned you before I got there.”

“What happened to them?”

“Snape handled it, so he tells me. He intercepted a squadron that was going to investigate the
use of the Cruciatus Cursed by a traced blood traitor.”

“You didn’t kill them?”

He shook his head. “My main concern was getting to you. I was planning on killing them, but
Snape outranks me, so it was his call. As far as I know, they’re still alive.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen and went to London. I thought…if they were going to come for me,
maybe they’d come for Konstantin’s son. I thought if I could fetch him and bring him here,
he’d be safer—”

“It’s alright,” Draco said. She was shocked that he was so calm, that he wasn’t even gently
admonishing her. Something felt wrong, but she was too distracted to parse it for now. “Since
it seems the blood traitors somehow discovered him, we’ll have to contend with that sooner
rather than later.”

“How did they find out about him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Granger or Weasley managed to let it slip before they were captured.
It’s not important for now,” he said, rising to bring the tray closer. “Drink and eat.”
Valeria downed the water and Draco magically refilled it two more times for her before she
even touched the food. She stopped before eating and looked at him then to the floor. “I have
to tell you something.”

He looked her in the eye. “I already know, Valeria.”

“How?”

“The Weasley woman told me. I read her mind, saw what she did,” he said before taking a
calming breath. “We called for Daphne, who saved…it.”

“Daphne knows?”

Draco nodded. “She’s giving us two days to decide what to do.”

Valeria was overwhelmed by her condition and the overall mess she found herself in that she
broke into tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know this is the last thing you want—”

He put his hand on hers and held it tight. “It is my fault, not yours.” He was trying to be
strong, she could tell, but he was fighting his own fears and Valeria still got the suspicion that
there was something he was not disclosing to her.

“Who all knows?”

“Us, Daphne, Snape and the blood traitors, of course.”

“We can’t terminate. Too many people know, and they won’t execute me if I’m pregnant—”

“You won’t be executed; we have a plan. But you’re right that too many know. If the blood
traitors get themselves in trouble again and I’m not the one to handle it, anyone could easily
find out during interrogations. We could erase their memories, but even that could draw
suspicion,” he said letting out a deep sigh. “It’s a bloody mess.”

“What do you mean you have a plan?”

Draco curled his lip inward as his body tensed. “Snape is altering Granger's and Weasley’s
memories. Your mother will tell you the rest.”

“My mother knows?”

“Only about the accusation of High Treason. I figured it was up to you whether you wanted
to tell her about your…condition,” Draco said. Valeria immediately started to get to her feet,
but Draco stopped her. “Eat first. You weren’t eating well already, and Daphne said you’ll
need to renourish as soon as possible.”

Valeria reluctantly heeded Draco’s advice and to her relief she was able to stomach what she
ate. Draco sat by, quietly, staring out the window, but she could see he was lost in the miasma
of his thoughts. He looked exhausted, nearly at his limits. He was so still, so oddly statuesque
in the light of day. If Valeria hadn’t been so famished, she would have lost her appetite with
worry about why he was not being forthright. But when she finished, Draco escorted her out
of the room, draping a cloak around her shoulders.

“She’s in the courtyard,” he said as they descended the tower stairs to the main hall of the
fortress and as they arrived, the great disembodied bell rung with a low hum, signaling the
arrival of a guest. Valeria tensed, but Draco calmed her quickly. “It’s only Snape.” Sure
enough, the great wooden doors of the entrance opened and revealed Snape approaching
across the bridge that rose out of the lake when guests arrived at the castle.

“Is it done?” Draco asked him.

“It is. How are you faring, Valeria?”

“I would like to know what’s going on—” she said becoming irritated with the secretiveness.
Draco put his hand on the small of her back.

“Draco, meet me in the study to talk,” Snape said. Draco’s jaw clenched and he nodded to
Snape, gently ushering his wife away to the entrance of the courtyard.

“I’m pregnant, not bedridden. You don’t have to babysit me everywhere I walk,” she said.
But Draco didn’t reply. He opened the door to the courtyard and looked at her sadly, eyes full
of regret and shame. “Are you alright?”

“Just talk to her. Please,” he said, barely above a whisper. He gave her shoulder a firm
squeeze before ushering her out and shutting the door behind her. Valeria looked out in the
bright light of day, bringing her cloak closer to her in the wintry mountain air. She crossed the
courtyard toward where her mother sat on a bench before the enchanted lilac tree and at the
foot of Konstantin’s grave as the wind blew loose petals of lilac flowers all about, filling the
air with sweetness. The purple of the flowers was striking against the dusting of fallen snow
and the dull, neutral color of the fortress’s walls.

“Mother?” Valeria said. Odessa turned and smiled softly, hooded by her cloak. She patted the
spot on the bench beside her.

“Come sit. I’ve put a warming charm on the bench to keep us comfortable,” Odessa said.
Valeria obeyed and Odessa sat close beside her and held onto one of Valeria’s hands in her
lap with both hands. Odessa was looking at down at Konstantin’s grave, lingering on it, and
Valeria did the same. After a period of silence, Odessa finally spoke. “Was there ever anyone
who least deserved to die?”

Valeria was agitated with how cryptic everyone had been this morning and was in her own
state of heightened fear. “Mother, please. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“You will let me speak without interruption, yes?”

“Yes, just please tell me. I can’t take much more of this.”

“I was with Narcissa, visiting her sister. Narcissa was acting strange, insisting we spend the
night. I don’t think she knew, not yet. I think she was just doing as Lucius asked of her. I
couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. I slipped away, returned to Malfoy
Manor where I found Severus and Draco arguing, frightfully. You were already gone,”
Odessa began calmly.

Valeria’s heart sunk that that was how her mother found out about her crime of mercy. “You
must be disappointed in me.”

Odessa turned sharply to her. “No, Valeria. Never.” She paused. “Mind what I said about
interrupting. You know it’s terribly rude.” Odessa spoke with a soft, sad smile that faded
when she turned back to look at her son’s resting place. “I demanded to know what was
happening. They said your name whilst arguing. They were reluctant, sure, but if it has to do
with my daughter, then it has to do with me. They told me what happened, and that Lucius
was working against you. Your father’s dearest friend.” Odessa said Lucius’s name as though
it were a vile word and shook her head with bitterness. “And so, after they finally revealed it
all to me, I realized there was no way out, save for one. Severus agreed to alter the memories
of the Granger girl, Weasley’s too…” Odessa took a deep, sharp breath. “And also, mine, so
that I may take your place.”

Valeria’s blood ran colder than the air around her as she stood sharply. She had not even
digested Odessa’s words before involuntarily shouting, “No!”

“That way, Lucius will be revealed as having conspired against you and his own son, who has
the Dark Lord’s favor, as does Severus who will assist in presenting the new truth later today
—”

“NO!” Valeria cried out again as Odessa sat on calmly. “That’s not…It won’t even work!”

“It will and it’s the only way,” Odessa said.

“No. I refuse. I won’t let you do this!” Valeria said through her teeth.

“It is not your decision to make.”

“Yes, it is! I’ll confess. I’ll turn in myself in now!”

“And you know that none of us, especially Draco, will allow you to take a single step outside
these walls if you try,” Odessa argued.

“Did Snape talk you into this!?”

“It was my idea,” Odessa said.

“I don’t care! I won’t let you and if anyone tries to stop me, I’ll—”

“Valeria Terpsichore Winters!” Odessa said in a scolding tone that brought Valeria back to
childhood. “Sit down.”

Valeria’s heart was pounding, and she obstinately refused to obey until she saw the look in
her mother’s eyes and could not control her tears. She sat back down and trembled at her
mother’s touch as Odessa put her arm around Valeria’s shoulder to bring her close.
“I can’t…Father and Konstantin…they both died because of me. And for what? For nothing!
I can’t let you do it too. I can’t…” Valeria sputtered out as she wept.

“Konstantin did not die because of you. He died because your father and I failed him. I see
that now and I’m ashamed that I only realized how we forced him to become something he
was not by seeing what our failures have also done to you,” Odessa said, trying not to weep
herself. "I shouldn’t have let them keep me away from you; I was too far gone after we lost
them. I should not have let your marriage happen, for your sake and Draco’s. You were both
so young and you still are. You forget how young you really are. I was too late to save my
son, but I will do whatever needs to be done to save you.”

Valeria was outright sobbing and shook her head. “There’s things you need to know.
Konstantin, before he died—he never knew—he had a son. He has a son…”

“What?”

Valeria nodded and choked through her tears. “He lives with a Muggle family in London.
Around ten years old, maybe? I didn’t tell you because I thought I was keeping him safe. I’ve
seen him, mother. He looks like Konstantin. He wants to fly. Just like him.”

“Who is his mother?”

“It was that woman that Konstantin saw in school; Jane, the Muggleborn. She gave him away
to the Muggles. They use a different name, but she named him Konstantin.”

Odessa was silent with shock for a moment, tears rolling down her face. “That boy’s poor
mother…”

Valeria was shocked to hear such sympathies, knowing her mother had before supported
pureblood supremacy. “There’s something else. It’s why I can’t let you do this. I’ve only just
found out…I’m pregnant.” Odessa was doubly shocked as Valeria sobbed harder than before
and she brought Valeria to lay her head in her lap, swooping her cloak to cover Valeria like a
blanket before holding her close. “I don’t know what to do…I can’t do this. I can’t do
this.” The thought of enduring pregnancy and suffering the grizzly agony of labor and
delivery without her own mother to depend upon frightened Valeria beyond measure.

“And so two lives will be saved,” Odessa said wistfully. “You will then soon understand why
I’ve made this choice, and just how easy a decision it is for a mother to make.”

“They won’t execute me before it’s born—”

“And they will treat you as though you’re merely an incubator for that child until then. You
know Draco cannot not raise it alone. You know he wouldn’t last long without you—”

“But I need you—”

“I know. I know I am once again putting too much on your shoulders, but it falls to you to
care for Konstantin’s son and the child inside you. Just as I have a duty to you, you have a
duty to them, and I will not let my grandchildren suffer if I can help it.”
“I don’t know what to do…”

“You need to listen to me now. You must do everything for your family. That is all we have.
That is all we do. We care for our own, Valeria, and we go for the throat, just like your father
always said. There is no mercy, no kindness, left in the world save for that which you make
yourself. And it is your responsibility, as unfair as it is.”

They stayed in silence, crying softly together as Valeria never felt more like a child in her
adult life. The wind blew lilac petals and their fragrance all around them from the tree that
was her brother’s gift to her; as if he too was reaching out to envelop them. She was sorry, so
very sorry; to her brother, her father, her mother, her nephew, her husband and the child she
carried now. The list went on. She was sorry for everything and a part of her wished she had
died during the war with the others rather than carry on as those she loved were slowly torn
from her. One by one. She regretted resenting her own mother, as justified as that bitterness
was. Then came anger. So much rage at the world, herself and her own powerlessness.

The door to the courtyard creaked open and Valeria sat up at the intrusion. Draco looked
down at the ground near him for shame. Snape too wore a grave expression, though his face
did not betray him so easily as Draco’s did.

“Odessa, we are running short on time,” Snape said. Valeria stood immediately as Odessa
slowly rose.

“No! We will take as much time as we need—!” Valeria cried out. Snape glanced over to
Draco who hesitantly stepped forward.

“Valeria, it’s time—” Draco said.

“No! Not yet!” Valeria shouted.

“Valeria!” Odessa scolded sternly, coming to Valeria and taking her face in her hands.
“Remember what I said. Remember this now; You are a Winters. You must act like one. Do
you understand?” Valeria said nothing. Upon impulse, she threw her arms around her mother
and sobbed. After a moment, Odessa spoke again. “Severus, I’d like for you to do it out here,
so I can be by my son. I don’t want her to see.”

“Whatever you ask, Odessa, it’s yours,” Snape said.

After a moment, Valeria felt someone try to gently coax her from her mother’s arms, which
only made her protest harder. Draco said nothing as he secured his arms around Valeria and
firmly, though not roughly, pulled her away from Odessa. Draco was speaking to her, but she
refused to listen, unable to even comprehend his words over the sounds of her own protests.
She shouted vile things at Snape. Like a child, she cried out for her mother, who looked at her
in tears and with grief as Draco dragged Valeria away. She struggled hard against Draco, but
he was stronger, even able to lift her when she attempted to literally dig her heels into the
frozen ground.

She felt warm air as he brought her through the doorway and he kicked the door shut,
keeping his hold on Valeria. She continued to struggle and cry out, sobbing, as he pulled her
into Hieronymus’s nearby study. He gently urged her in with a little shove, not enough to
cause her to lose her balance, but enough to give him the opportunity to magically secure the
door to prevent Valeria’s escape. She rushed to him, beating her fists into his back before he
turned to her, and the blows began to hit him in the chest.

She was not hitting hard enough to do damage, though a couple of her blows made him wince
for a moment. He didn’t fight her. He didn’t try to stop her. He allowed her to take her rage
out on him, even as her blows weakened. Even as she screamed in his face; “How could you
do this!?” “How could you not tell me!?” “How fucking dare you?!” along with all manner
of obscenities. He felt numb to all of it from the weight of his crushing guilt.

He put his hands on her shoulders when her blows softened enough to barely even be felt and
helped her slump to a floor in a heap. He sat with his back against the door, holding her
fiercely as she trembled and sobbed.

Draco spent the hours after Snape had departed with Odessa after altering her memories
alone. He tried to get some sleep on a sofa in a forgotten room while Valeria locked herself in
her parents’ master chamber in one of the towers. He didn’t begrudge her that. He wanted
time alone anyway. Time to sleep. Time to think on the mess he was in.

He had sent his own mother-in-law, a woman he had known his entire life and one of his
mother’s dearest friends, to die in his wife’s place. She had volunteered, but that hardly made
it easier to cause Valeria so much pain on top of everything else. There was no sure way the
plan would even work, but it was all they had time for. He ruminated upon Odessa’s two
explicit conditions: “Take care of my daughter and kill Lucius.”

The latter was already going to happen. If the plan went as it was meant to, there was no way
the Dark Lord would suffer the insult Lucius had done against his own pureblood kin.
Loyalty and fraternity. That mattered. The Dark Lord’s reign depended upon the prosperity of
a pureblood magical population. Draco was waiting for Snape to call him, to request that he
be the one to implement his father’s punishment. His mother would not take it well. What did
it say about him that he was so eager to kill his father?

Odessa’s first request was the harder one to grapple with. He had tried for so long to do
whatever it was he could for his wife, but he knew he had bungled each attempt at every turn.
He was surprised they were still even alive, everything considered. Still, what he told Odessa
had been true. Even if he wanted a choice in the matter, he had none. Not since a price was
on Valeria’s head should he had failed the task assigned to him when he was sixteen goddamn
years old.

His nephew by marriage would be eligible for Hogwarts soon. When the Ministry discovered
him, the boy’s Muggle family would be slaughtered, Draco knew. As long as Draco got to
him first, perhaps he could reduce the bloodshed. Draco feared that if the Muggles were
killed, the Dark Lord might grow bolder in targeting the general Muggle populace, not just
their politicians. Their world was already reeling in ignorant fear at the assassinations. He
couldn’t stomach anymore. Removing the boy from his home, insisting he go by a name he
never knew he had, bringing him into a world he was already unknowingly a part of was the
lesser of two evils, surely. It had to be.

As if taking a child into their care wasn’t enough, Draco was on the precipice of becoming a
father in his own right. He felt nauseous at the thought. He remembered the nightmares
Valeria had, of a boy that resembled him proudly brandishing the Dark Mark. He nearly
shuddered to think his own child would follow in his footsteps, just as his own father had
thrust upon him long ago, for the sake of their own survival.

He just had to make it through the night. That was all. The rest would have to come later.

The obnoxious magical bell rang, announcing the arrival of guests to the estate and Draco
reluctantly got up. It was dark now, well past evening and he waited in the entrance hall of
the castle as the great doors opened to permit Blaise and Theodore to enter.

“You look like absolute shit,” Blaise said as the doors shut behind them.

“Yes, it is a fine evening, Blaise. Thanks for asking,” Draco said flatly and unamused.

“Mind telling us what the hell we’re doing here?” Theodore asked.

“I can’t share much. Not yet. I’ll be meeting with the Dark Lord tonight and your only job is
to ensure that no one other than myself or Snape enter this castle and that Valeria does not
leave.”

“Has something gone wrong?” Blaise asked.

“More than you know. Valeria’s up in the master chamber. Just make sure she’s safe once I’m
summoned and I’ll be back before morning. I’ll share more with you when I return, if I can.
You’re the only other people I trust. I’m asking, off-duty, as your friend.”

“We’ll do whatever we can, Malfoy,” Theodore said earnestly.

Draco was relieved to hear it. He allowed them to settle in as he ascended the stairs toward
the master chamber and knocked upon arrival. “Valeria, can I come in?”

He heard the lock unlatch and he entered. She must have used her wand, for she was seated in
an armchair at a coffee table with photographs from the Winters’s past before. Draco didn’t
have the heart to glance at them as he slowly approached her. She kept her head down.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he began with no response or acknowledgement. “I need to know
what you want to do about the pregnancy. If I tell the Dark Lord…there’s no going back.”

“Why does he have to know?” she asked through her teeth.

“Because it could help towards the case of killing my father.”

“I thought you would do that anyway.”

“He will die, that’s almost a certainty now,” Draco said. “It’s whether by my hand or the
Ministry’s that’s in question. If the Dark Lord knows his plot nearly got a pureblood woman,
carrying a pureblood child, killed, my father’s crime is doubled and far more personal. If he
knows my child almost died—”

“Our child,” she corrected.

“Of course,” Draco said with the sigh. “But I’m the one with more authority and anything my
father does against you or my child, he does against me. I need the Dark Lord’s permission to
kill him. My father’s still the Minister after all and a high-ranking Death Eater, despite his
worthlessness.”

She looked up at him, eyes bloodshot, face tear stained. It broke Draco’s heart a little to see
her like that once again. “What do you want to do about it?”

“It’s your call in the end, not mine. All I want is to keep you alive, just like I promised.”

“We promised,” she whispered.

Draco nodded. “Just like we promised.”

Valeria was silent for a moment, and he watched as Valeria’s hand drifted over her abdomen,
which made a pit grow in his gut with anxiety. “I’ll keep it. For my mother.”

Draco was quiet. It was probably the wisest choice, given that the blood traitors knew. It
would be an even bigger mess to go and scramble their own memories or kill them outright.
They could be dealt with later. It was all just too much. He was too spent. But this was it. He,
of all people, was going to be a father. Before he could find the words to say, he felt a
familiar pain on his left arm and lifted his sleeve to see the Dark Mark slithering on his skin.

“I have to go. Nott and Blaise are here, just in case. You can ignore them if you want. Just
stay in the fortress and don’t let invite else here for now,” Draco said before turning to go.

“Draco. Make Lucius suffer,” Valeria spat. He looked at her and nodded.

“No one wants that more than me.”

Snape greeted Draco when he arrived at the old Riddle mansion, derelict and falling apart. It
was a chilly night and Draco was happy to be out of the cold, but the manor’s air was filled
with foreboding dread that he could not shake.

“How’d it go with Odessa?” Draco asked.

“Well. She fully believes it was her who intercepted them in Wales, as do Granger and
Weasley. Granger does not recall speaking with Lucius in the first place,” Snape said,
relieving Draco some.

“How is he tonight?” Draco asked.

“Amiable. He accepted Odessa’s confession and my evidence against her. He believes Lucius
conspired against Valeria and delivered false information for his own ends.”

“Where is she now?”

“Azkaban. Awaiting execution to be scheduled,” Snape said with a hint of sadness in his
voice that he was trying to hide. Draco swallowed his own sickness at the thought. Snape led
him down the old, dusty corridors that stunk of dust and old, long gone death. Draco could
feel the presence of death, old and new, easily now. Snape stopped as they approached a door.
“Are you ready?"

“I just want to get this over with,” Draco said. Snape nodded and swung the great doors open
to a large dining room. In the center was a dusty, half-rotted wooden table that Draco was
sure was once magnificent. At the end, as if on a throne, sat the Dark Lord, Nagini close and
coiled around the back of it. Draco gave a low bow of respect before stepping forward.

“Draco. Severus told me you have suffered quite an ordeal,” The Dark Lord said, feigning
sympathy.

“It has been a stressful time, my Lord,” Draco said.

“Betrayed twice…I must hand it to Odessa; I didn’t think she had it in her.”

“No one is more ashamed to have missed her treachery than I am, my Lord. I am relieved that
she will be put to justice,” Draco said, choosing his words very carefully.

“Yes, she will be dealt with. I do expect you and your wife to attend the execution. It will be
somewhat public, for the world the needs to see that no traitor, no matter their influence or
pedigree, will be tolerated.”

“A wise decision, my Lord. I can speak for my wife when I say she is most shocked and
aggrieved by her mother’s actions,” Draco said, again speaking carefully, though he was
dismayed to hear that Valeria would have to see her mother die.

“But we are not here to discuss her, are we? Severus says you wish to be the one to dispatch
Lucius. I am somewhat ashamed to say that your initial suspicions about my appointing him
to the office of Minister were correct and it was short-sighted of me to overestimate Lucius's
utility.”

“Snape speaks true, though I can assure you I did not ask your audience to gloat,” Draco
began. That answer pleased Voldemort, for his mouth twisted into a satisfied sneer. “My
Lord, my father has done me great offense. My wife has been a good and faithful servant for
many years, and she is beside herself at his accusation that he made in jealousy of my good
standing with you. Not only this, but my wife and I have recently discovered that she is
expecting our child.”

“Well, this is wonderful news indeed.”

“We are overwhelmed with joy, my Lord. However, we are quite insulted and horrified
knowing that, had my father’s plot come to fruition, our child would have died with her. It is
for this reason that I ask to be the one to kill my father.”

Voldemort was quiet for a moment. “It often happens, more than you might think Draco, that
sons grow to outdo their fathers. This is not common knowledge, but should I allow this, you
and I will have something more in common, for I killed my father too for a slight he made
against me. For that reason, I will grant your request.”

Draco hid his discomfort at the Dark Lord’s comparison. “I humbly thank you, my Lord.”

“I will order Lucius into confinement in Malfoy Manor, yet again. You will wait until after
Odessa’s execution. Two incidents involving your family at once could make our ranks
appear weak and we could use the extra time to make arrangements for his replacement. You
will therefore dispose of Lucius quietly.”

“That is wise.”

“You may take your leave, Draco. Pass my best wishes to your wife on her pregnancy,” the
Dark Lord said.

Draco bowed low once more. “I will. Thank you, my Lord.”

When Draco arrived in Wales, his friends tried to get more information out of chiefly out of
confusion and concern. Draco dismissed them without revealing much of anything. He didn’t
know where to begin. He had the house elf bring him a bottle of whiskey as he sat alone in a
guest room. He wasn’t ready to see Valeria yet. He doubted she wanted to see him
anyway. He needed to sleep. He couldn’t rest. He needed to vent his rage. He was too
exhausted to move. He needed an outlet for his grief. He couldn’t even bring himself to shed
a single tear, though to his shame, he tried. All he could do was stare up at the ceiling made
of medieval stone and lift the bottle to his mouth every few minutes as the fireplace crackled
and put on shadowy shows across the walls.

His mother always knew what to do. As a child whenever he was sad or upset but too proud
to give voice to such emotions, she would come to him with a favorite food and comforting
words. There was a time, not even that long ago in the grand scheme of things, that he could
call upon his father’s aid whensoever he needed. He had heard of parental dedication to their
children spanning into adulthood, but he knew too that he could not depend upon it. Not
anymore.

Even as the room started to spin when he’d shut his eyes and his miserable thoughts grew
murky in the haze of drunkenness, he knew that he and his wife could rely upon no one.
Those that could be depended upon were gone, or otherwise soon would be. Not even his
parents, who once loved him so fiercely. It was clear, though still hard to accept, that no
matter how much they endured or how much they suffered, their cries would fall upon
powerless ears until, one day, there’d be no one left to hear.
 The Products of Our Fathers
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Multiple character deaths. Magical torture. Grief/loss of

parents. Discussion of death and violence.

July 1992

The Malfoys were in Wales for another visit, a frequent occurrence over the course of
Konstantin I’s life that he had long grown used to. But with the Malfoys came his parents’
expectation that he be available to participate in entertaining them. At nineteen years old, the
last thing Konstantin wanted to do was sit around entertaining his parents’ friends, especially
with his little sister and Draco swinging back and forth from civil to bickering, like a
pendulum that had gotten out of control.

The evening had dulled to a quiet where the adults retreated to a sitting room in the castle to
talk and partake in a couple glasses of wine. Odessa had insisted Konstantin join them, an
inclusive gesture to make Konstantin feel more grown up, and he abided by her wishes for
her sake. Lucius had questioned Konstantin thoroughly about his position at the Ministry, and
Konstantin did his best to answer politely, but the last thing he wanted to discuss was work.
Nothing bored him more than international magical politics, despite being told he had natural
diplomatic instincts by his superiors. It was proud Hieronymus who gave Lucius more
detailed answers. The relationship between Konstantin and his father had improved since he
had been forced to break up with Jane, and Konstantin knew that his father was simply proud
of him. Still, it saddened Konstantin more than he cared to admit to sit around and talk while
Odessa and Narcissa chatted and gossiped.

“GIVE IT BACK!”

“I TOLD YOU I WOULD IF YOU DIDN’T TELL ON ME!”

The shrill young voices of Valeria and Draco arguing once more broke the peaceful lull of the
evening and drew nearer as their argument continued. Hieronymus rose and swiftly opened
the door to the sitting room and as soon as he did, Valeria and Draco came into the room,
trapped in a vicious game of tug of war over…a pillow.

“Sweetheart, what’s going—” Hieronymus began.

“FATHERDRACOSTOLEMYPILLOWFROMMYROOMAND—”

“IONLYBORROWEDITBECAUSEIWANTEDABETTERONE—”
They were screaming simultaneously so the adults couldn’t make out what it was they were
trying to say. Hieronymus rolled his eyes.

“Quiet, now, both of you. Valeria, what is it now?” Hieronymus asked. Konstantin saw
Draco’s face grow red, though whether it was from anger or embarrassment was hard to
determine.

“I went into my room to grab a book and I saw that my best pillow wasn’t on my bed! I
looked everywhere for it and passed the room Draco’s staying in and I found it on his bed!
And he wouldn’t give it back!” Valeria said, still mostly shouting.

“I told you that I was just borrowing it!”

“Borrowing without asking is stealing! You’re a thief! And a liar! And it is not proper for a
boy to go into a girl’s room!”

“You weren’t even in there! You’re the one who barged into my room without asking!”

“The door was open and I could see it on your bed! Now it’ll have to be cleaned and it’s my
best pillow!”

“You have so many pillows, there’s barely room on your bed. You’re supposed to share with
your guests!” Draco shouted.

“It’s the best one! I don’t share with people who steal from me!” Valeria shouted. Konstantin
was trying very hard not to laugh. Valeria turned to Hieronymus again. “Then he held it
hostage, he wouldn’t give it back unless I swore not to tell and he wouldn’t let go of it all the
way the stairs and—”

“She pulled on it so hard that I almost fell down the stairs! I could have died!”

“Then at least you wouldn’t be able to take my things anymore!”

“See, sir?! She wants me dead over a stupid pillow!” Draco said to Hieronymus.

“If it’s so stupid, why did you steal it?!”

“BORROW!”

“STEAL!”

“BORROW!

“STEAL!”

“BORROW—Ow! STOP IT!”

Valeria had begun beating Draco over the head with the pillow as hard as her body would
allow, which frankly wasn’t much. Before they could be separated, Konstantin burst into
laughter at the sight, unable to contain it anymore. This was the most entertaining thing that
had happened over the course of the Malfoys’ visit so far. Valeria and Draco stopped when
they noticed Konstantin laughing and Draco went pink with embarrassment.

“IT’S NOT FUNNY, KONSTANTIN!” Valeria screamed at her brother. Before Konstantin
could argue that it was indeed funny, Hieronymus grabbed the pillow from the children and
lightly tossed it onto a nearby armchair.

“Valeria, violence is not the way to solve these sorts of problems,” Hieronymus said. Lucius
had risen and approached to stand beside Hieronymus.

“She is right, Draco. It is wildly improper for you to enter a girl’s room like that. I think you
owe young Miss Winters an apology.”

“But she hit me!”

“And you deserved it!” Valeria cried.

“Valeria…” Hieronymus scolded.

“Draco,” Narcissa spoke up. “Apologize to Valeria for stealing her pillow.” Konstantin could
hear in her voice that he was trying not laugh.

Draco crossed his arms indignantly and hesitated before muttering, “I’m sorry for stealing
your pillow.” Valeria stuck her tongue out at him and wore a satisfied smirk on her face.

“Valeria, would you like to apologize to Draco for hitting him with—” Odessa paused to
contain a snicker. “—a pillow.”

“No.”

“Valeria…” Hieronymus scolded again.

Valeria sighed. “I’m sorry for hitting you with the pillow.”

“There, that’s better,” Hieronymus said. “Now, I think it’s time for both of you to head
upstairs to your rooms. Would you agree, Lucius?”

“Quite right you are,” Lucius said. The two children departed, still seething, but both
defeated by their parents. Hieronymus tasked Tilly with cleaning Valeria’s pillow.

“These kids are going to be the death of us one day, Winters,” Lucius said, giving
Hieronymus a friendly pat on the shoulder before returning to his seat.

“Sometimes, I think you just might be right,” Hieronymus said with a laugh. The boredom of
the evening returned once again and after a little while, Konstantin managed to dismiss
himself without either of his parents asking him to remain and keep visiting with the
Malfoys. But Konstantin was restless from the mundaneness of it all and hatched a little plan.
He grabbed a quaffle from his old Quidditch supplies, packed neatly in a trunk under his bed
and instructed Tilly to have both Valeria and Draco meet him in the courtyard.
Konstantin waited, tossing the ball in the air, remembering fondly his years being one of the
best players Hogwarts had ever seen up to his time; his proudest accomplishment to date.
When the children arrived in the courtyard, they were refusing to speak to one another,
sulking as they walked.

“What do you want?” Valeria asked with a childish sneer. Konstantin tossed the quaffle to her
unexpectedly and she almost didn’t catch it, nearly letting it fall to the ground.

“Pfft, nice going,” Draco muttered under his breath.

“Shut up!” Valeria hissed.

“What you two need,” Konstantin said, raising his voice a little to halt the oncoming
argument. “Is to work this out over a friendly game.”

“I don’t want to play right now, especially not with him,” Valeria said, rolling her eyes.

“That's too bad. I guess spending the rest of the evening stuck in your rooms is loads more
fun,” Konstantin said. The children glanced around, not wanting to admit that being confined
to their rooms was boring them out of their minds. “That’s what I thought. Draco, you stand
on that side. Valeria, over here,” Konstantin directed, taking the quaffle from Valeria as he
ushered her to her position across from Draco. “Now, when I say ‘friendly game,’ I mean it.
Each time you pass ball to the other, you have to say something nice about the other. It can be
anything you want, it just has to be nice and you have to mean it, and I will hear no
arguments about it or else I’m sending you back to your rooms again. Draco, start us off.”

Konstantin tossed the quaffle to Draco, ensuring it would land right into his hands, a skill
Konstantin had become quite excellent at in his years playing Quidditch. Draco looked at the
quaffle in his hands, deliberating, before getting ready to pass the ball.

“You have nice hair,” he said, though there was bitterness in his tone. Valeria managed to
catch the ball and thought for a moment as well.

“You are…good at Charms,” she said before passing the quaffle.

“This would be more fun if we could play on brooms,” Draco said.

“I agree, but alas, our parents would kill me if I let you two fly around at night. Give it
another go, Draco,” Konstantin said.

“You're good at dancing.”

“You have decent handwriting,” Valeria said, as she passed the ball.

“You're really good at Potions.”

Back and forth they went, reluctant at first, but before long the compliments ceased and the
two were simply playing. Konstantin smiled a little, a bit proud of himself for having tricked
them into having fun and making up after their fight. The compliments were never the entire
point of his plan, he just thought that to get some of their energy out and actually have some
childish fun together. It wasn’t too long after that Konstantin joined the game, and the three
were enjoying a friendly game of passing the quaffle around. It was simple and it was
freedom.

January 2006

Unlike the severe, grave portrait of Valeria and Draco hung in Malfoy Manor, the portrait of
the Winters family hung in the main hall of the small Welsh castle did not convey the same
sense of foreboding darkness. It was a subtle difference, for the figures in the family portrait
hardly ever moved and remained silent, just as the marriage portrait did. Yet, it was painted
with a certain dignified regality that only the once great and powerful Winters family could
claim. It had been painted when Valeria was about to begin her fifth year and she stood with
serene pride behind her seated mother in the image.

Valeria saw this painting each day during her and Draco’s stay in Wales in the weeks leading
up to her mother’s execution. Each day she was faced with the fact that soon she would be
the only figure in the portrait that still drew breath. The time left until this was dwindling
now to hours on the morning of the execution and Valeria stared at the painting once more
through a sheer black veil she wore, along with a ceremonial belladonna flower pinned to her
chest.

She awaited Draco as he was finishing final preparations that he had not shared with her,
logistical matters that she had neither the interest for nor the emotional capacity to handle.
She noticed him burying himself in work to soothe his anger, handling every and all things to
cushion the blows to her, as he always did. What he had not shared with her were the
details. He had not shared how he was burning copies of the newspaper as they arrived, rife
with gossip over Odessa’s betrayal and Lucius’s treachery. How he had been fielding letters
left and right, many of which shared sympathies, others asking for comments and
information. How he had appointed Theodore Nott to the task of executing Odessa, as Nott
had volunteered, to guarantee that Odessa would not suffer.

They hadn’t discussed the baby. Ironically enough, the child was the least of their worries
right now. Draco had registered the pregnancy with the Department of Purity, but they were
otherwise keeping the news quiet, even to their friends for now. The only time the baby came
up was when Valeria had discussed her follow up appointment with Daphne to ensure
everything was going well. “It’s strong. Not many fetuses would have survived what
happened at this stage of gestation, at least from what I know,” Daphne had said. That
brought Valeria some comfort. She hoped the child would grow to be much stronger than she
was.

In her complex cocktail of emotions; her anger, grief, sorrow and fear, she had not taken time
to consider Draco’s feelings about the upcoming death of his father. There was a time, long
ago, where the notion was unthinkable. Draco adored his father, wanted to emulate him in
every possible way. He once saw Lucius as the greatest and most powerful man in the world.
While the love for his father had long since vanished, the memories surely had not, and
Valeria knew well that part of the boy he was lived in him still. She saw it sometimes. It was
there when he would laugh with a little huff. It was there in how he crossed his arms with an
informal confidence that sometimes bordered on rudeness. It was there in the way he took
care of details behind her back in silent devotion.

Though she knew she’d never see that boy again, she was still grateful for him, in spite of it
all. She was relieved to see him when he came down the stairs in his Death Eater regalia, sans
mask, and he reached behind her back to gently grasp her shoulder. From his pocket he
retrieved a vial of Tranquila Sensus and handed it to her.

“Will it be bad for—?” she asked.

“Daphne said it was fine. I asked,” Draco said. Valeria quickly drank the potion down and felt
the sensation of a chill running through her entire body before her heart rate steadied. Colors
were less vibrant, and she had a strange emotional disconnection from her surroundings. She
hoped it would be enough. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll never be,” she said.

When they arrived at the location, Valeria felt Draco’s grip on her shoulder tighten some. All
of high pureblood society was in attendance and they all stared as Draco and Valeria made
their way up the center aisle. Valeria did not know what their expressions conveyed, for the
other women wore sheer black veils like hers and Valeria had her gaze fixated squarely on the
platform. Valeria took her place in front beside Draco. Daphne was nearby and she looked at
Valeria with sympathy and sadness, but not pity. The crowd was eerily silent in the cold
winter morning, which was odd given that executions were generally treated almost as social
events. But today was different for a pureblood woman of a storied name, who for years
served as the leader of the Dark Lord’s propaganda machine, had committed the gravest of
crimes in the Dark Lord’s eyes and her execution was a warning to the rest of them.

The crowd shyly leered not only at Valeria, but at Draco. Lucius’s confinement was known
now and Narcissa too was notably absent, and the rumors spread of his own conspiracy of
treachery. Everyone secretly wanted to know, secretly feared, what Draco was going to do in
response. Draco knew he could not afford to show weakness, for there were those amongst
the Death Eaters, and others of equal ambition who did not possess a Dark Mark, who might
have seen an opportunity to seize power for themselves. Though for now, no one dared to
ask. It was one of the times Valeria was grateful for Draco’s reputation.

Valeria could see Bellatrix Lestrange with her husband out of the corner of her eye and knew
the vile woman was going to enjoy this. Even with the potion in her system, Valeria’s feelings
were strong enough that she felt rage boiling up in her despite the substance’s effects. Yet
again she fantasized about how she would someday kill Bellatrix Lestrange until more
figures came marching up the center aisle.

Snape strode forward with a neutral expression as always, accompanied by Theodore Nott
who kept his gaze forward. They both took their places on the platform and moments later
came forward two snatchers who led Odessa Winters up to her place on the stage. It was a
small shock to see Odessa in simple prison garb with no glamours and her hair unkempt.
How far a woman of such stately grandeur had fallen. For her part, Odessa stood on without
fear. Draco stood close just behind Valeria as Snape took a step forward.

“For the crime of High Treason by aiding and abetting known fugitives, the Mudblood
Hermione Granger and the blood traitor Ronald Weasley, you, Odessa Winters have been
sentenced to death on this day in this place,” Snape said.

Valeria swallowed and felt something stir within her. The potion was strong, but perhaps not
strong enough.

“Do you have any final words?” Snape asked.

Odessa locked eyes with her daughter and wore the faint ghost of a soft smirk. “By any
means necessary.”

It was just then that Valeria felt a great sensation of peace wash over her. She felt
disconnected from her own body and to the events at hand. Most sounds dulled to a low
muffle at best, save for Draco’s voice which, though spoken in a whisper, sounded clear as
day.

“Look away, just with your eyes, not your head. Look up and slightly above,” he said. Valeria
followed his instruction without a second thought, as if she were compelled to do so without
option otherwise. “Remember the Black Lake. When we would sit by the shore in the sun in
Autumn. Remember that place, our place. Remember how content we were.” Valeria
involuntarily did as she was commanded, and a soft smile formed on her lips to think on
when the world was full of exciting possibilities. When it was safe. When they were free.

Valeria heard a muffled thud and saw movement on the periphery of her vision. She didn’t
mind. Perhaps a part of her had known what happened that moment, but Valeria was not
curious to know now. She only wanted to remember, as she was told to do. She wasn’t sure
how much time had passed before Draco spoke again.

“We’re going to leave now. Stay at my side. Speak to no one,” Draco commanded again. As if
floating, she walked with him as he instructed. She did not even notice the crowd watching
them depart and before she knew it, she was back in Wales.

That was it. The lavish woman who could once charm a crowded room with such graceful
ease met with an unceremonious end unbefitting of her.

The sensation of peace left Valeria suddenly and without warning. With a cruel abruptness
her mind was returned to her. Even though the potion’s impact lingered, the reality of what
happened overwhelmed her and she looked up at Draco, standing close, looking at her with
so much melancholy tenderness that she could not resist the urge to be close to him and
buried her head in his chest. The sobs came only when he immediately held her, burying his
fingers in her hair, as if he was using his very form to absorb her, shield her from any and all
things.
“I’m sorry…” he whispered, repeatedly, more emotion in voice than there had been in a
while. “It’s over…It’s over…You’re safe…”

It did not feel over, and truly in his arms was the only place she felt remotely secure now,
enveloped in the sanctuary of his battered form and broken spirit whose love was poisoned
only to be wasted on her. She was the reason he killed, tortured and had an ocean’s worth of
blood on his hands. She hated herself for what she did to him, to her mother and would likely
do to her own child by nature of her unworthy existence. Yet Draco still enfolded her in his
mercy; what little he had left of it was hers alone and her heart ached for the memory of who
he was.

“You didn’t tell me that was your plan,” she began after several minutes. “You used the
Imperius Curse on me.”

“I didn’t want to give you the chance to refuse,” he said. She knew what he meant. In a
display of pride only weakly masquerading as strength, Valeria might have wanted to bear
full witness, perhaps in a way to honor her mother. However, she knew her mother wouldn’t
have wanted her to see the sight regardless.

The Malfoys were allowed to claim Odessa’s body and perform her funeral rites with some
dignity, so long as it was done quietly. Another difficult day, in which Valeria allowed herself
to fully grieve without the aid of potions or magic to soothe the pain, Odessa was laid to rest
beside her husband in the Winters family cemetery, nestled in an ancient stone circle deep
within the remote vastness of the Welsh mountains. They were accompanied by a few
friends; the Zabinis, the Notts and their daughter, a few of Odessa’s old friends, though
Narcissa once more did not attend, which was for the best.

Draco stood on at his wife’s side, knowing that he too was just a few short days away from
burying his father. He had hated him for so long, yet the end of a parents’ life was something
difficult for a child of any age to grapple with regardless. For there was a time when Draco
was proud to be his father’s son. There was a time when their family was happy, so content
that it bordered upon idyllic. That life was just as buried as all the others who had died so far,
but yet the memories and the accompanying feelings, the yearning to have it back, stubbornly
lingered.

“If you need to take some time, mate, we can handle things for now,” Blaise said, standing
with Nott and Draco off to the side whilst Valeria mourned with her friends.

Draco shook his head. “I don’t have time. I’m sorry to say that I once again need another
favor.”

“Anything, Malfoy. Anything,” Nott said. Nott was not much to reveal much of himself.
Even when he was focused, he always wore a distant expression. Yet now he looked so
terribly guilty that it surprised Draco to see it.
The next morning Valeria embraced Draco before he departed Wales for Wiltshire. He trusted
her enough on her own for now, even whilst embroiled in her own grief.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” she said softly at the great doors of the castle. Despite how much he
knew she wanted Lucius dead, she at least still had sympathy left for Draco. “I’m sorry you
have to do this.”

“It’s what he deserves, and it has to be me. I’m just sorry I let it go on this long. When it’s
done, we’ll need to soon move back to Malfoy Manor.”

She nodded. “Don’t worry about that right now. Besides, it’s hard to stay here anyway, with
all of them gone.”

He released her hand without much more of a word and departed, shortly thereafter arriving
at the gates of Malfoy Manor which swung open for him on their own accord. He stood on,
staring out at the estate in wait. The only home he had ever known had become both
sanctuary and prison. When Blaise and Nott arrived soon after, at the agreed upon time, they
followed him to the manor. Draco approached the front doors slowly and with all the
determination he could muster. He had not taken a potion for this task, though Valeria offered
to brew him some quickly. He needed to feel the gravity of what he was doing and what he
had become, just this once at least.

Draco did not make his presence known, but instead headed straight for the study with his
comrades. At the door, he turned to them. “I’ll have the house elf fetch my father. Stay out of
sight until the door is shut and then guard it. Whatever you do, do not let my mother in. Do
what you need to do if she tries to break in, just don’t hurt her.”

Blaise and Nott agreed to their solemn task and left Draco to go into the study alone. He
summoned Tinky and instructed him to send Lucius to the room. He shed his cloak and his
gloves, cracking his knuckles as he stood by the tall window, gazing absentmindedly over the
vast grounds. The Malfoy estate had been his legally for some time, yet even as Draco had
insisted on his lawful ownership, a part of him now felt the place was not fully his until his
father’s death. Eventually too, this place would be passed to his own child that Valeria carried
now. He mourned in grave silence for the happy memories of childhood here that his own
child would never have. Not in this world.

The minutes crawled on like years until Lucius slowly opened the door. “Draco…”

Draco turned to see his father, a shell of himself, perhaps more like a ghost. He was trying to
smile, but it wouldn’t have fooled anyone. Lucius kept close to the door as he shut it behind
him and Draco went to the liquor cabinet.

“Have a seat, father. Drink?”

“Yes, thank you,” Lucius said as he sat, his anxiety clearly soothing some. Draco took a deep
sip of his own brandy, refilling it full once more, before handing Lucius his own. Draco sat
across from his father in an armchair, setting the drink down on a table beside him.

“Where’s mother?” Draco asked.

“Resting. She has not been sleeping well as of late,” Lucius said. Draco had not wanted
Narcissa in the house for this. “I’m glad you’ve asked to speak with me privately after all this
nasty business. I do understand that I owe you, and Valeria, an apology for it all. Odessa…I
thought I knew the woman. I should not have underestimated her. She must have scrambled
that Mudblood’s mind to make her believe Valeria was the traitor. At least justice was done.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. He was no fool. Lucius was trying once more to weave a web of lies to
save himself. Draco leaned forward with a slow sigh, resting his elbows on his knees to look
at the floor between his legs. He was trying to halt his anger from erupting too soon, his
father’s voice grating on him. It was clear Lucius believed that Odessa’s sacrifice to save her
daughter was his ticket out of this and that Draco would allow the lie to remain for his
father's sake. Still, this was harder than Draco had anticipated. To his shame now, it was
harder than massacring the many innocents he had himself personally slaughtered.

“You’ve been stripped of your position as Minister,” Draco said. Lucius was silent a moment,
no news had gotten to him in his confinement.

“It pains me to hear it. I enjoyed the work, but in the end all I want, all I’ve ever wanted was
to have my family back,” Lucius said. Another lie. Lucius had always wanted more. There
was a prolonged silence between them while Draco kept his eyes on the floor. “Are you
alright, son?”

“Valeria is expecting,” Draco said. It took a moment for Lucius to absorb the news, but a
beaming smile stretched across his face. “You got you wanted.”

“Well, this is wonderful news! Your mother will be overjoyed to hear—”

Draco couldn’t stand it any longer. “About how you nearly murdered your own grandchild?”

Lucius’s face fell. “Draco, that’s not fair. I couldn’t have known. I was only doing my duty, I
just had the wrong information.”

“Enough of the lies, please,” Draco said, raising his head to face his father, anger rising.

“I haven’t lied to you—”

“You always have. I did everything you asked of me and I believed you when you said it
would get better. You lied. And then you try to have my wife killed, your closest friend’s own
daughter, and for what? So you could try to have control me again? Because you were bitter
about me having power than you? I haven’t been influenced by you for years. I was never
going to be good enough for you otherwise, was I?”

“You’re my son, my only son. I have only wanted the best for you.”

Draco pulled down his collar, revealing the rough, jagged scar across his throat. “Was this
what you wanted for me? Or this?” He stood and lifted his shirt slightly at the side, showing
the scars from the Sectumsempra curse. He took a couple steps and held out his hand,
showing his wedding ring. “Was this what was best for me?! Or even this!?” Draco yanked
up the sleeve of his left arm and towered over his father, shoving the Dark Mark close to
Lucius’s face. “Was this what you wanted for me?” Lucius was silent and turned away from
Draco, infuriating the latter. “LOOK AT IT!” Lucius reluctantly obeyed, flinching at Draco
shouting in his ear. “For once, father, tell the truth. Is this what you wanted for me?”

Lucius’s lip quivered as he looked down at his son’s arm. “It was your duty to our
traditions…to our family—”

Draco lowered his sleeve and stepped away. “I was sixteen!” he bellowed. “You got to
choose, you didn’t even give me the chance to know what I wanted!”

“But look at how far you’ve come. Your skill, your accomplishments. You have the Dark
Lord’s favor; you are wealthy beyond measure, everything a man could ever want. This
house, this legacy, this entire family, it’s all yours. You have a child on the way with a
respectable wife—”

Draco leaned over and brought his face close to Lucius’s. “And you tried to kill her…right
out from under me!”

“I told you that I didn’t have the full truth! I thought we were beyond our past disagreements
—”

“And I told you years ago that if you ever tried to do anything against her, that I would kill
you,” Draco said through his teeth, going over to down his brandy. His throat had grown sore
from shouting.

“You can’t…Draco, you can’t mean that…I’m your father!”

“And that is the only reason I haven’t done it yet. I wanted to give you the chance to tell the
truth and die with some dignity, if you have any left. But you will not leave this room alive.”

“You’re about to become a father yourself, think about your child—”

Draco’s rage erupted within him at the mention of his unborn child. “You will never meet
them. If I must bring a child into this world, then I will ensure that they will be safe from you.
I'll be dead before I let what you’ve done to me happen to them.”

Lucius was pale with shock and fear. He began to grope for his wand, but Draco disarmed
him swiftly, faster on the draw. Lucius’s wand flew into Draco’s hand and the latter promptly
snapped it in two.

“The Dark Lord will punish you—”

“He already gave me his blessing. It’s over, father. Please, just make your peace and let it be
done.”

There were voices outside and scuffling, followed by pounding on the door. “DRACO!
DRACO, PLEASE!” Narcissa cried out. Lucius rushed to the door while she screamed. He
tried to open it to no avail, then slammed his fists against the wood calling out for his wife.
Draco froze for a moment. The sounds of his mother’s cries especially struck him somewhere
visceral. He remembered the screaming, all of it; The Battle of Hogwarts, the way his victims
over the years would plead for their lives if they had the chance, Valeria’s screams—all the
times he heard her scream. It threatened to overwhelm his senses when he magically
compelled Lucius across the room away from the door. Lucius got to his knees as Draco
positioned himself between his father and the door, aiming his wand at Lucius.

“Draco, don’t do this…if not for me than for your mother. Listen to her, Draco. She won’t
last long without me,” Lucius begged.

It took all of Draco’s constitution not to tremble as his heart beat like a drum in his chest. He
remembered how he felt atop the Astronomy Tower, aiming his wand at Dumbledore while
Valeria screamed, begging him not to do it when he was just a teenage boy. Snape had saved
him that night, but Draco knew no one would save him now. No one even could.

“DRACO! DON’T! HE’S YOUR FATHER! PLEASE, DRACO!” Narcissa’s agonized shrieks
rang through the room despite the door being closed as Nott and Zabini tried to peacefully
subdue her. Lucius stood slowly, his face contorting as he trembled.

“If you do this, you’re no son of mine,” Lucius hissed.

“I wish that were true, father,” Draco spat, and unable to contain his rage, cast the Cruciatus
Curse on his father, unleashing a lifetime of resentments and fury upon Lucius. Narcissa
wails combined with Lucius’s, both ear-splittingly loud. But Draco maintained focus. He
hated his father for poisoning his young mind, for abandoning him when he needed a father
the most, for being so deep in the Dark Lord’s plans that it fell onto Draco’s shoulders to save
the family when Lucius failed. He despised him for forcing him to marry at seventeen, for not
stopping any of this. He could not forgive him for almost tearing the one person he loved
more than anything away from him; the woman Draco volunteered to become a savage for.
He could not forgive him for almost robbing his unborn child of a chance at life. To Draco’s
surprise, he felt an unfamiliar paternal instinct to protect the child already. Above all, Draco
blamed his father for the villain he became when that was the last thing he wanted.

When Draco finally relented, Lucius got his bearings whilst Draco breathed heavily. Narcissa
was still sobbing, torturing Draco further, but he had to keep his composure. “Do you have
anything else you’d like to say?”

Lucius sneered, manic with terror. “You don’t have it in you, do you? You’re dragging it out
because you know you can’t. All the blood you’ve shed, and you can’t bring yourself to do it.
You always had weakness in you, and believe me, it will destroy you, along with your wife
and child—”

“Avada Kedavra.”

A flash of green light illuminated the room for a second, followed by a loud thud that made
Draco’s stomach heave as Lucius Malfoy fell dead to the floor. Draco stood on, hearing his
heart thumping and his hastened breath as Narcissa let out a bloodcurdling wail, having heard
the thud from outside the room. Draco looked up at the window as she screamed, seeing his
reflection, the face that so resembled the corpse on the floor and he only saw a monster in the
glass.
He felt his legs go weak from under him as he steadied himself on the stately desk near him.
He dry-heaved, trying to stop the feeling of violent twisting in his gut at what he had done.
His mother, his poor mother, wailing and sobbing without end. When he gathered himself
enough to walk, he went to the door and opened it. Narcissa pried herself out of his friends’
grasps and stopped when she saw Lucius before letting out a horrible cry, her face red and
wet with snot and tears. She flung herself on top of her husband, her hair undone obscuring
both of their faces as she sobbed. The sight, the sound of her cries, broke Draco’s heart and
he swallowed his own tears at his mother’s pain.

Draco slowly approached, putting away his wand. He gently reached for her arm.
“Mother…” he whispered, but she aggressively tore herself away from him and looked up at
her son.

“Don’t touch me,” she said slowly through her teeth and shaking breath, tears flowing freely.
The suffering she wore on her face and in her eyes paralyzed Draco. The way she had
flinched at his touch cut him deeply as well. “Leave us, Draco…leave us. LEAVE US!” she
repeated as Draco hesitated.

Draco swallowed and abided by his mother’s wishes, keeping his head down and turned
away. He shut the door behind him, muffling her sobs. He quickly dismissed his friends, who
hesitated but did as they were told, leaving the manor without further delay. Draco left not
long after, unable stand being in the house any longer now. He was in a haze as he walked out
of the front gate, taking the time to calm himself before apparating away. He wondered about
his own unborn child. Would they hate him enough to kill him in his own house one day?
Would that not be what he deserved?

He found his wife waiting for him in Wales. She didn’t ask him what happened. She didn’t
have to, for it was plainly written in his expression. It was Draco’s turn to break down, to be
held and to weep into her arms like a child. And so he did. And so he was now a kin killer
and the last Malfoy man alive.
 Fatherhood
Chapter Notes

This is way too long and chaotic, I'm sorry.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mention of consensual sexual content. Death. Descriptions of

violence. Non-magical violence. Grief/mourning. Suicidal thoughts/ideation. Discussion
of suicide. Kidnapping.

Many Years Ago

Heartbreak found Pansy Parkinson young, though childish and innocent enough. Pansy was
an insecure girl. She knew it, she knew it so deeply that she gave her all to hide it. Put on a
brave face, make everyone believe you’re better than you are until, maybe, you’ll believe it
too.

Pansy Parkinson had made a roster of predictions of who each of those in her year of
Slytherin house would eventually wind up with whom. She said it was a silly joke, take the
piss out of the boys a little, but in her heart of hearts, it was a declaration. She had put herself
with Draco Malfoy, because “it made sense.”

Pansy Parkinson thought her crush on Draco Malfoy was a secret. Everyone knew, at the very
least suspected, but no one mentioned it much, either out of politeness or simply not caring
enough to bother. In the end, many years later, Pansy realized upon another night of defeated
and lonesome self-reflection that it was perhaps not Draco she wanted but rather what all
teenagers wanted; to feel seen, to be known and made to feel special if only for a little while.

But how could she have ever felt that way with Draco Malfoy when she saw he how he
looked at Valeria Winters? For a long time, Pansy was in denial. They’ve known each other
since they were born, their parents are friends and that’s why they’re close, they’re constantly
arguing anyway so it’d never work between them. But she still felt the thorn of young,
unrequited love’s first heartbreak wrap tight around her heart sometimes.

Pansy felt it when she saw Draco drape his cloak over Valeria’s shoulders one cold, wintry
morning on the way to Herbology, when she had forgotten hers running late to class. Pansy
felt it when she sat at Draco’s side with his injured arm, but he only looked over his shoulder
to see if Valeria was watching. She felt it when she saw them having a private laugh over
some inside joke from their visits over the summer recess.
Pansy would often wonder what Valeria had that she didn’t. The glamours simply made her
look more perfect, not necessarily prettier. And without them, as Pansy had sometimes seen
in the privacy of the girls’ dorms, Valeria looked like any other girl her age underneath. Her
poise was her own, but didn’t that just make her kind of uptight? Valeria was smart but she
was atrocious at some subjects and Pansy had bested her in them. In fact, with the amount of
times Draco and Valeria had spats over asinine nothings, Pansy couldn’t understand what
Draco saw in her.

But Pansy still saw that it was indeed something, as painful and mysterious as it was to her.
Pansy wanted to hate Valeria in her shameful envy but couldn’t bring herself to do it. They
were friends, they all were. So Pansy mourned as quietly as she could from afar, especially at
the Yule Ball where she was certain she had seen the precise moment that the boy she had
perused for so long fell in love with someone else before her eyes. Her jealously was almost
unbearable.

But that envy collapsed into pity when she saw the cost of having Draco Malfoy’s affections.
The abject humiliation of being his teenage bride. The loss. The brutal punishment for every
act of kindness. The endless loneliness. The tragic, venomous, devotion of loving nothing
else in or of the world except for one singular person. How it ate Pansy’s longtime friends
hollow. How it transformed them into monsters. Monsters who once made snow angels
together on the Hogwarts grounds.

Pansy Parkinson should have known that Valeria Winters and Draco Malfoy had been cruelly
fated for one another. Perhaps it had been spelled out in the stars, but then again prophecies
never cared for people like them. Her grace for the monsters they made themselves to be fled
from Pansy’s heart when they casually sacrificed her for the world they had set into motion.
They discarded her to maintain their place, to follow the demands of the hell they built for
each other.

Pansy Parkinson despised herself to remember how she once loved the boy with eyes the
color of gray that appears in storm clouds as a ray of sunlight bursts through. He who held
the heart of the girl he loved, once so full of dreams, until he gripped it to dust. She felt old
wounds reopen deeper and sharper to recall how they fell in love worlds apart from who they
were now.

What did Pansy lack to be so unworthy of a fraction of such love, albeit bitter, albeit cursed?
Why did she get to move on while Pansy withered and died?

February 2006

From the obituaries of The Daily Prophet:

Lucius Malfoy, Former Minister for Magic, passed away in his home of Malfoy Manor in
Wiltshire on the week of January 25. Lucius was born on 18 December 1953 to Abraxas and
Laurentia Malfoy (Rookwood). He attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
where he was a member of House Slytherin. He was a devoted Death Eater having served the
Dark Lord in both the First and Second Wizarding Wars and afterwards remained dedicated
to the cause until his treachery brought shame upon himself.

He was preceded in death by his father and mother. He is survived by his wife Narcissa
(Black), his son Draco, his daughter-in-law Valeria (Winters) and his unborn grandchild.

Private services are to be held at Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. The Malfoy family asks for
privacy during these times.

A RAY OF HOPE FOR THE MALFOY FAMILY

Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy have shared with The Prophet the welcome news that the couple
is expecting their first child, due in September of 2006. Just a year shy of a decade of
marriage, this long-awaited news comes as the Malfoys are coping with their recent shocks
and losses. We at The Prophet hope that this new arrival brings them much deserved joy and
we invite the Wizarding World to extend our collective congratulations to the Malfoy family.

Despite the life growing inside her, Valeria felt desperately lonely. Draco had been distant in
his preoccupation. She knew his reasons had little to with her, but she could not help but feel
betrayed. She had lost her mother too and it fell upon her to nurture and bring a life in this
world alone, if Draco kept behaving like this. Perhaps he was upset about the pregnancy, it
had been her decision not to terminate which had always been the plan should the unexpected
happen. Maybe she was asking too much of him to father a child.

She wandered the halls of Malfoy Manor as she often had all these years, though it was far
less calming now that she couldn’t drink herself into a stumbling stupor as she would
normally have done. She envied Draco for that. He’d often return to their bed at night reeking
of whiskey. His nightmares were getting worse, waking in the night panting in a cold sweat.
She’d calm him, but he was often so restless that the only way he could get exhaust himself
to sleep was intimacy. He was distant, but less so, when he slept with her. She let herself take
what pleasure was to be had before her body changed too much. Above all she needed to be
reminded he was there.

She needed him now, more than she cared to admit. She needed him as a husband, as the man
who fathered her child. Yet she’d stop herself from making her needs known. How could she
ask anything of him while he contended with killing his father on the precipice of his own
fatherhood? How could she ask for his comforting presence when he could not even soothe
himself? How could she demand his attention when his own mother refused to look at him?

Narcissa refused to meet her son’s blank, unfocused gaze as she stretched herself on her
husband’s grave directly after Lucius Malfoy had been buried, wailing into the cold, lifeless
soil that covered his coffin. She flinched from his touch as she shed tears that Draco could
not muster, only accepting the comfort of her sister who had been allowed onto the Malfoy
property just this once.

Draco dismissed Valeria early from the funeral attended only by the Malfoys and Bellatrix,
and she did not need to be asked twice to retreat into the empty house of which Draco was
now undoubtedly the patriarch. The Malfoy cemetery, ancient and bleak, was far back in a
shady grove on the seemingly endless stretch of the estate’s grounds so she could not observe
them from afar, even if she had cared to. Valeria wandered the halls once more, dressed in her
mourning clothes, walking past the portraits of the Malfoy ancestral line, stopping at Lucius
and Narcissa’s. They were noble, but happy in their portrait, young and energized with the
power of their great station in their youth. The synthesis of two great bloodlines who looked
forward to the future.

Valeria had once liked Lucius. As a child he was always nice to her, almost as if he were an
extended part of her own family. Hieronymus loved telling the same stories from their
schooldays, over and over, the way nostalgic parents often do. It had always been farcical to
Valeria’s young mind that she would step into Narcissa’s place as the lady of the house and
Draco into his father’s. Even though Draco ruled and managed the estate for quite some time
now, a part of her felt like she was playing dress-up as an older woman. But Lucius was gone,
Narcissa a pitiful dowager and the newest addition to the Malfoy legacy grew inside Valeria’s
body. Valeria still felt young, stunted, despite her state and how much her spirit had eroded.

“Proud of yourself, Mrs. Malfoy?”

Valeria turned to see Bellatrix Lestrange, seething as she approached. In the little the two
women spoke over the years Bellatrix had seldom called Valeria by her given name. She
began the Mrs. Malfoy bit shortly after Valeria and Draco were married to mock her, but now
it was a tired insult that hardly meant anything. Bellatrix’s eyes were wild with barely bridled
mania as ever, but there was this time genuine sadness in her expression. Valeria said nothing
as Bellatrix stalked toward her.

“How does it feel seeing what Draco has done to his mother and all because of you?”
Bellatrix hissed.

“Draco did what he did because Lucius left him no choice,” Valeria said matter-of-factly. She
did not fear Bellatrix Lestrange, but her heart found new life for how much she hated her.
Bellatrix stood before the marriage portrait of Valeria and Draco as she sneered at Valeria.

“And he’ll pay for it. He’ll pay for murdering his father and then there’ll be no one left to
save you,” Bellatrix said.

“Is that a threat?”

“You’ll have to wait and see, Mrs. Malfoy. I can’t touch you, but I made no vow about
Draco.”

Valeria remained calm, looking at Bellatrix with curiosity. “You resent him, don’t you?” The
suggestion angered Bellatrix, but Valeria kept talking. “It’s alright, Lucius did too. You must
hate that Draco is being positioned to take over for Snape. The Dark Lord’s right-hand man…
that’s all you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it?”

“You would do well to remember that we are all simply the Dark Lord’s servants.”
“The Dark Lord may rule the world, but it’s Snape who runs it. And what will become of you
if you did manage to kill Draco? What will the Dark Lord do to know you murdered one of
his most favored, his future right hand? I’d love to see what he’d do with you, who would
leave Draco’s poor wife widowed to raise a fatherless child. Who then do you think the Dark
Lord would have raised to follow in their father’s footsteps, just to replace you?”

“Lucius was wrong about many things, but not about you. Ever since you fled the
Department of Mysteries, tagging along with Potter, aiding him, I saw exactly who you were.
It was plain the Winters were traitors when your filthy Mudblood loving brother turned his
back on us—”

Hieronymus Winters’s words rang out clear in her head as rationality fled from her mind;
When in doubt, go for the throat.

Valeria moved swiftly and accurately, grabbing hold of Bellatrix Lestrange’s neck and
shoving her backwards into the portrait of herself and Draco. The figures didn’t react, just
stared on like ghosts.

“How does this feel?” Valeria spat as her grip tightened around the vile woman’s neck.
Valeria’s heart raced with anticipation. Something about this felt good, it felt right.
“Remember when I did this last time? The curse I used in the drawing room? It’s one of my
fondest memories. You have no one to blame but yourselves, Bellatrix. You wanted this for
us. You made us like this.” Bellatrix fumbled for her wand. “Go ahead, try and kill me. You’ll
drop dead if you do, which would be disappointing, as I’d rather kill you myself. Maybe I’ll
just get it over with now.”

Bellatrix tried to gasp. She struggled to defend herself, but knew if she so much as struck
Valeria, she would die. The sound of Bellatrix struggling for breath was music to Valeria’s
ears and she brought her free hand back to strike Bellatrix, but as she did, she felt an iron grip
clasp onto her wrist that pulled her back from Bellatrix. Valeria turned to see Draco’s dead
eyes piercing into her. Bellatrix slumped to the floor, coughing and gasping. Draco stepped
between the women and pulled Bellatrix to her feet by her collar. He held his wand to her
chin and brought his face close.

“Remember your vow,” he spat darkly. Bellatrix’s breath heaved as she stared with hatred at
Draco. He released her and put his wand away. “Go tend to my mother.” Bellatrix was getting
her footing as she dry-heaved. “GO!”

Bellatrix walked away as briskly as she could. Valeria enjoyed seeing Bellatrix helpless and
humiliated, but the satisfaction left her when Draco turned on her.

“Don’t provoke her,” he said sternly.

“She came to me,” Valeria hissed.

Draco sighed, pinching the skin between his brow as he often did. “Please, just don’t make
this harder than it already is.” He left her there without so much of a word, walking up the
stairs with his head down. Valeria locked herself in her laboratory to work, but after hours
passed with no progress on the golden snitch, she needed another distraction. There was a
spacious guestroom in the north wing that she and Draco decided would be their nephew’s
after they stole him away from his Muggle home. Valeria had been trying to prepare it but
was at a loss of what more to do other than make it comfortable. She didn’t know this boy
and he too had not the faintest inkling of the magical world.

The door creaked open and in walked Narcissa, her eyes sunken in and looking like walking
death. Valeria and Narcissa had not spoken since she and Draco moved back into Malfoy
Manor. She wasn’t even supposed to be in this wing, but Draco had eased his rules some for
his mother’s sake. Valeria felt dread at Narcissa’s appearance, especially after her altercation
with Bellatrix.

“Do you need anything, Narcissa?” Valeria asked genuinely, trying to extend some kindness.
Narcissa only looked about blankly, as if seeing ghosts that were invisible to Valeria.

“Do you ever regret marrying my son?”

The sudden question took Valeria aback, but she remained calm and tried to speak gently. “I
can’t really regret something that wasn’t my choice to begin with.”

Narcissa took a moment. “I’m ashamed to say a part of me was happy when it happened.
More relieved, actually. If my son was forced to marry anyone, I wanted it to be you. Draco
always liked you, I could see it before he did. It could have been perfect. For all of us.”

“I’m sorry about Lucius,” Valeria said after an uncomfortable silence.

“Are you?”

“For your sake, yes,” Valeria said, honestly.

“And for Draco’s?”

“Yes.”

Narcissa paced about the room slowly, without any purpose. “I can’t bring myself to
understand, maybe you do, how he could kill his father.” She choked on her words as she
swallowed a small sob.

“Because of Lucius, I and your grandchild almost lost our lives. And my mother, your friend,
took our place. He was bitter, resentful—”

“I know what he was!” Narcissa snapped angrily, though her rage was not chiefly directed at
Valeria. “You know what Draco is, and you still love him, don’t you?”

Valeria swallowed. “Yes.”

“Then you already understand. You don’t need me to tell you how one can still love a man
despite what he becomes.”

“Draco is not Lucius.”

“No, he’s not. Perhaps he’s worse.”

“He’s still your son.”

“My son couldn’t kill Albus Dumbledore even though there was a price on all of our heads.
When I saw him standing over his father’s corpse, I could not see my son. Nor do I now.”

Neither woman said much else. There was not much else to say, but Valeria understood
Narcissa more than she cared to admit. Narcissa mourned two men today, the husband and
the son who she did not recognize anymore. Narcissa looked down at Valeria’s abdomen
before she left the room.

“Take care of that child. Pray it does not become its father.”

The next few weeks were hellishly busy for Draco, but perhaps it was better that way.
Dolores Umbridge finally got what she wanted, promoted to Minister for Magic. The
announcement of the pregnancy in the newspaper had been a good move on his part, for now
all anyone was curious about was the expected child and not the circumstances of Lucius’s
death. Yet Draco knew that the outside world figured it was him who assassinated his own
kin. No one dared mention it, not even Blaise or Theodore who witnessed the aftermath.
Everyone save for the Malfoys moved on with ease from Lucius’s demise, from Odessa’s
phony treachery. Draco wondered if he would fade into similar obscurity so quickly when his
time came.

For tonight, he had bigger problems. He was counting down the time when he was destined
for London to retrieve Konstantin’s son. The timing could not have been better, nor could
have it been worse. The arrival of a previously unknown heir to the Winters’ name would
distract the world further from what he’d done. But then he would have a child who didn’t
know them in Malfoy Manor, another life to be responsible for.

It was too much. Draco could have lived with being married and eventually dying, likely in
the line of duty. That was the best he could have hoped for, but the stakes were getting higher.
He had far more to lose now, and it paralyzed him. He insisted on doing this task alone, not
wanting to put his pregnant wife in any danger, much to her chagrin. Draco was the one who
had previously met the boy, and for that he was the only person who should retrieve him. He
tasked her with preparing the manor for him, instructing Tinky on how to aid in the boy’s
care. She had wanted to fill the room with some Muggle things he might like, and Draco
watched her face fall when he reminded her of the ban on Muggle artifacts. They had gone
through Draco’s own childhood objects to put in the room for his use. That was something, at
least.

It was too much, and Draco did not want to live anymore.

Every exhale was released with the disappointment that he would inhale again. Every
heartbeat ticked like the second hand on the pocket watch his father had given him, every
second was agony. He felt venomous. All he touched rotted away at his fingertips. His
mother couldn’t bear to look at him. Most of the world either hated him or was terrified of
him. He had slept easier before knowing he would never force his wife to endure mothering
his heir, and he had failed in this too, just as he had in everything.

He had volunteered to relinquish the shards of his already broken soul for the sake of one, but
he realized now that souls were cheap, none more so than his. How much more did he truly
have in him to give?

He didn’t want to be a father. He didn’t want to be a son, a patriarch or a husband. At fifteen,

he would have been delighted to know that Valeria was the girl he would marry, but he didn’t
want to be married to this Valeria, the girl he damned the world for. Imagining who she could
have been, he would have married that woman in an instant.

He loved her still against his will. It would be easier to drink the poison from Valeria’s stores
he now held in his hand if he didn’t. Surely it would be better if he drank it. He wouldn’t be
able to hurt anyone anymore, his child wouldn’t have to suffer to have him for a father. His
wife would be safe in Malfoy Manor without having to remarry. The nightmares would stop.
He wouldn’t see the blood he shed whenever he closed his eyes. It was so simple. Just a few
drops away from nothingness. Draco didn’t care what awaited after death, he hoped and
prayed it was only a black void. He wanted nothing more than to be left behind.

He sat in Valeria’s laboratory with the vial in hand, dressed for war to kidnap his nephew. He
had set an hourglass on its head and the sand dwindled, counting down to Draco’s time of
departure late into the night. Lucius haunted him as Draco blankly watched the sand fall.
Lucius’s words haunted Draco as much as Potter’s did. Weakness. Perhaps he was right,
Draco was weak. He always was. Too weak to save the world. Too weak to live in the one he
created.

It was Draco’s vows that stopped him. The solemn promise made on a freezing night in an
alcove of some forgotten Hogwarts corridor. To the end. He had to keep her alive until the
end. His wedding vows, at the time all for show, yet he meant them still. The day was a cruel
farce, and he would have been forgiven for not taking them seriously. But he did. Every day,
he did.

He nearly dropped the vial when the house elf popped into the room.

“Dammit, Tinky!”

“Tinky is sorry, sir. Mr. Snape is here to see you…”

Snape knew tonight was the night, so though Draco had half a mind to send him away, he
allowed Tinky to bring Snape in. Snape wouldn’t have come tonight if it weren’t important.
Snape had a graver expression than usual when he came into the room and Draco was sure to
have stashed the poison he had fiddled with away.

“Have you prepared everything?” Snape asked.

“As much as we can,” Draco said with a sigh. “What do you want?”

“Just to check in on you. You haven’t been yourself since…your father.”

“I’m fine,” Draco said through his teeth, as he despised invasive questions.

“You weren’t all there at Umbridge’s inauguration, you barely even spoke with your wife,”
Snape said.

“I’d been drinking,” Draco said honestly.

“That’s not new,” Snape said, eliciting a scoff from Snape’s jab at Draco’s drinking habits.
“You’ve always done this, Draco.”

“What?”

“Retreat into yourself when you’re scared.”

Draco gave Snape a dark look. “Don’t talk to me like you’re my father. I certainly don’t need
another one.”

“Believe me, that’s not a position I would ever want. You were, however, my pupil and I feel
no shame in telling you what you need to hear.”

“Oh, and what’s that? I don’t need a fucking lecture—”

Snape took a few quick steps forwards and slammed his hand down on the in front of Draco.
“You are neglecting your family, the mother of your child—”

Draco stood, fuming at being disrespected in his home, bringing his face close to Snape’s.
“Like you would have the faintest idea of what I’m up against!”

“More than you know,” Snape said with an angry sneer. “You can mourn your father all you
like, but you have a duty to that woman and your child that she carries. Whether you like it or
not, you’re the man of this house and you must act like it.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing all this time?!”

“You’ve done what you can so far, but now more is demanded of you.”

Draco wanted to argue with Snape. He wanted to throw a tantrum in retaliation, but he didn’t
have the energy, especially knowing that Snape was right. He curled his lip inward as he
avoided Snape’s knowing gaze.

“They deserve better,” Draco said. He regretted it immediately. It was as if the words escaped
him outside of his control.

“Perhaps. But you’re all they’ve got,” Snape said before taking a breath. “I still remember the
frightened child who begged me to save her life. For her sake, for your child’s and nephew’s
as well, it’s your turn.”

Draco swallowed. “I’m a product of my father. Who’s to say my child won’t be the same?”

“You are the consequence of your father’s actions.”

Draco though for a moment. “Not much of a difference, is there?”

“Lucius handed over his only son to the Dark Lord, whether that was a conscious choice or
not. You have the opportunity to spare your child that same fate, Draco.”

Draco saw the sand run out in the hourglass on his periphery. He sighed and downed a vial of
Tranquila Sensus. “I’m out of time.”

It was a crisp night in London when Draco apparated quietly into the Thomlinson home. The
whirring of idle appliances unnerved him as he quickly cast spells to silence his steps. He
stood for a moment, taking in the happy home the family had built, cheerful even in near
darkness. He hated himself for being the one to tear it apart, but the boy would be eligible to
attend school this coming autumn and if Draco didn’t do this now, the parents would surely
be murdered, the retrieval of the boy more violent than it had to be. If Draco was compelled
to destroy his nephew’s young life, the least he could do was keep the only parents he’d ever
known alive.

He passed the family’s photographs, their treasured memories, as he silently crept up the
stairs and into the parents’ room. He stunned them unconscious and, in his mind, he
whispered an apology. He went through the stylish modern home, so very out of place in his
fine, old fashioned robes, until he got to the boy’s room.

The boy did not even stir as Draco entered. There was a small nightlight near the bed that
made stars gently move across the ceiling. The model airplane that Draco repaired for the boy
years ago sat on the bedside table, as was the photograph of his biological parents, charmed
to stillness, that Valeria left behind for him once. The boy was taller than before, older, but
still no less innocent. He resembled his father even more now. Draco pointed his wand at the
boy’s head and cast a simple spell that would keep him asleep. Draco stowed the photograph
in his pocket as well as the model airplane. The boy slept beside a stuffed bear and Draco
carefully put the boys arms around it to hold the toy before lifting him into his arms as gently
as he could and apparating away.

The Thomlinsons would awaken in the morning to every parent’s worst nightmare; their son
vanished without a trace. No forced entry, nothing save for a few toys taken with him, no sign
of struggle, not even the hope of a clue as to where he went. They never gave up searching
for him, even decades later.

But Draco arrived at his eerily quiet home with the boy sound asleep in his arms and brought
him up in the north wing to the room that had been prepared. Valeria stood as he entered, for
she had been waiting anxiously for their arrival. She quickly pulled back the covers of the
large bed so Draco could lay the boy down and she tucked him in. He did not even stir.

“It was uneventful?” she asked.

Draco nodded, setting the model airplane, that was surely illegal to have but he could not
help the impulse, on the bedside table. “It was surprisingly easy.” Draco removed the
photograph from his pocket and removed the charm so the image could move again before he
handed it to her.

“He looks so much like him…” Valeria mused as she watched the boy sleep, setting the
photograph by the airplane.

“Have you thought about what to say to him in the morning?” he asked.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I still don’t know what to do,” she said. Draco saw the
guilt on her face in the dim lantern light and put his arm around her shoulders, bringing her
closer to him.

“We’ll do it together. I’ll be right here.”

They stayed there the rest of the night, unable to sleep, waiting for the inevitable moment the
boy awoke, in dread. Draco was grateful Snape agreed to assist with informing the rest of the
world of the news, but that could wait for now. All that mattered to him were the people in
this room, this solemn little sanctuary where a little peace was still found. He looked around
the room at the things that Valeria had placed in the room that were meant for children, many
of them being Draco’s things that he had long since grown out of. It pleased him a little that
those things were being given to another.

A fair while after dawn, the boy began to stir. Draco brought another chair over to sit beside
Valeria, placing himself closer to the boy. Valeria agreed that since he had met Draco in the
flesh, Draco should be the one closer. The boy’s eyes, so very much like his father’s blinked
open and after a moment of silent confusion, landed squarely on Draco with fear.

“Mr. Martin…? Where am I?” Konstantin, or William as he knew himself, asked.

“You’re in my house in Wiltshire. I promise that you’re fine, you’re safe—”

“Where are my parents?”

“They’re safe too, at home in London,” Draco said as gently as he could.

“Can they come here? Can I see them?” the boy asked, clutching his bear a little harder as he
sat up.

Draco let out a long exhale. “I’m afraid not. It would be dangerous for you and for them.”

Tears filled the boy’s eyes, as he looked about the unfamiliar room. “When can I go home?”

Draco could sense Valeria tense beside him as his own heart jumped into his throat. The boy
asked an honest question, he deserved an honest answer. “I’m sorry, you can’t.” The boy
went pale and Draco slowly reached for the photograph of his parents and handed it to him.
“Do you know who they are?”

“It says they’re my mum and dad. How are they moving…?”
“It’s magic. Remember what I told you about the things you can do? You can do magic, so
could they, as can I,” Draco said. “That’s your father and your mother. This is my wife, your
father’s sister and your aunt.”

It was then the boy seemed to notice Valeria for the first time, he was shocked by the scar on
her face, to which Valeria took no offense, but in his fear, he made no mention of it. Valeria
nodded to the boy with tears in her eyes. The boy looked back to Draco. “You’re my uncle,
Mr. Martin?”

“I am. My name is not Martin, I had to give you a false name before to keep you and your
parents safe. My name is Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. Your aunt’s name is Valeria, and your
father’s name was Winters. Konstantin Winters. The same name your mother, Jane Masters,
gave you,” Draco said slowly.

“My name is Will,” he insisted.

“The Thomlinsons gave you that name, but you were born Konstantin Winters,” Draco said
before taking a pause. “There are things you need to know. We’re not from the world you
know, and you will learn about it in time. For now, you need to understand that you and your
parents were in great danger, and we had no choice but to bring you here to stay with us.
We’re very sorry, but—”

“How were they in danger?”

“There are people who can do magic and those who can’t. The world we live in is not kind to
those who can’t. Once they found out about you, they would have hurt your parents—”

“Why—Why me?”

Valeria spoke up softly. “You are the son of my older brother, his only child, which makes
you the heir of the Winters family and, in this world, that is an important name.”

The boy began to cry. “I don’t understand.”

Valeria extend her arm to hold the boy’s hand. “You will in time, I promise that—”

The boy slapped her hand away and threw his toy at Valeria’s head. “I want to go home!”

“It’s too dangerous, we can’t—” Draco started slowly, trying to calm him.

“I’ll call the police!”

“You can’t. They won’t come here—”

The boy began to scream, shouting for help as he sobbed. Valeria stood and put her hand on
Draco’s shoulder.

“Go. I’ll stay with him.”

Draco was reluctant but left as the boy continued to cry and scream, begging to go home.
Draco took a moment to breathe in the corridor outside the room. He knew the feeling of
shouting for help that would never come.

Over the next several terrible days, young Konstantin remained in justifiable distress. Valeria
spent time with him, trying to explain in terms he could understand, slowly sharing with him
the ways of the wizarding world and what it had become. It was taking a great toll on her, he
saw. She wept to Draco at night over her powerlessness to do what was right by her brother’s
son. Konstantin hardly left his room, despite being told he was free to explore the house with
anything off limits, behind locked doors. Narcissa, fortunately, had the good sense to stay
away for now, but she was too embroiled in her grief to venture out of her own wing of the
manor, let alone meet the boy. The only thing Konstantin was amiable towards was Tinky, so
the Malfoys ensured Tinky had plenty of time to tend to Konstantin with anything he should
need.

Valeria didn’t want Draco to interfere, but he couldn’t let this go on indefinitely. An idea
came to him, and he rifled through the deceased Konstantin’s things that Valeria had brought
from Wales for the boy to have. He had Tinky escort the young Konstantin to the terrace
behind the manor that expanded out to the estate’s grounds. Draco stood from the metal
outdoor chair as the boy sheepishly approached with Tinky. He thanked Tinky and asked
Konstantin to sit across from him, careful to keep a polite distance between them.

“Can you look me in the eye, Konstantin?” Draco asked as the boy sat stiff, looking down at
the stone.

“My name is Will,” he said bitterly as he looked up at Draco.

“You have every right to be upset, but while I’m not sure how things are done in the Muggle
world, in this house we don’t throw things at pregnant women,” Draco said. Valeria reported
Konstantin’s habit of throwing things at her when he got more upset.

“I didn’t know…”

“She didn’t want to burden you with that on top of everything else.”

“Are you going to punish me?” Konstantin asked.

Draco shook his head. “No. But I do want to make a deal with you, man to man. You can be
as angry as you want, but you must take it out on me. Not her. She was really close with your
father and she’s never recovered from his death.”

Konstantin softened, looking a little guilty. “I just want to go home.”

“I know. We’re both very sorry that you can’t. Your parents were…they were very brave
people, and your mother gave you away to keep you safe. But you’re older now and since
they can’t protect you, we will. Our world…it’s full of very bad people—”
“Like you?” Konstantin asked.

Draco tried to hide his shock at the comment. He hung his head for a moment and gritted his
teeth before looking the boy in the eye. Honest questions deserved honest answers. “Yes, like
me,” Draco began. “But there are others, leaps and bounds worse than me. They will hurt
your parents if we send you back. Your parents, your magical ones, would not want this for
you, that I know. But they would want it to be us to keep you safe and that’s exactly what
your aunt and I are going to do.”

Konstantin was lost in thought for a moment. He still was struggling to accept this,
understandably so, but he was softening. Draco would take what he could get. “What now?”
the boy asked.

Draco turned back to the ornately crafted iron table and picked up a large, long box he had
taken from the elder Konstantin’s collection of things. “If you’re up for it, I can show you
more about who you really are, if you’ll let me.”

“What’s that?” Konstantin asked looking at the box.

“Come over to the grass and I’ll show you,” Draco said. Konstantin obeyed, keeping a bit of
a distance as Draco set the box down in the grass to open it up towards him. Konstantin
looked at it with a raised eyebrow.

“A broom…?”

“Your aunt tell you about Quidditch?” Draco asked, crouching down beside the box.

“A little, I think. It’s like football? My dad, the magical one, was good at it?” Konstantin
said.

“Pfft, she told you he was good? He was one of the best,” Draco said. He took the broomstick
out of its velvet lined box and stood. “This was your father’s most prized possession. It’s not
the newest model, but it’s a fine broom. And I’ve got a feeling he might have passed his
talent to you, along with this, which is now rightfully yours.”

“I don’t know how to play.”

“You’ll have to learn how to fly first. Who knows, you might like it better than that Muggle
game.”

“There’s no way Quidditch is better than football.”

Draco laughed a little. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

Konstantin was wary, but his curiosity was piqued. “Can I learn how to fly now?”

“I didn’t bring this all the way out here for nothing. Will you let me show you?”

“Yeah."
“You have to do exactly as I say, alright? Promise?”

“I promise,” Konstantin said. “What if I fall?”

“I won’t let you. That’s my promise. Come stand over here,” Draco said, directing Konstantin
onto the grass gently and setting the broom down beside him. “Now, hold your hand over it
and say, clearly and with authority, up.”

Konstantin extended his arm over the broom and looked to Draco who nodded to him
encouragingly. “Up.” The broom flew into Konstantin’s hand as if it already knew who the
boy was and Draco saw a spark light behind his eyes. “Woah…Was that good?”

“Good? That was impressive. Looks like I was right; it’s in your blood.”

“What now?”

“You mount it, one leg on each side,” Draco said. Konstantin did as he was instructed and
looked up to Draco with anticipation. Draco removed his wand to be ready to interfere with
magic if needed. “Now hold on tight to the handle and, very slowly and gently, kick a little
off the ground.”

Konstantin hesitated a moment, but eventually found his courage and did as Draco said. His
face lit up as his shoes left the ground, hovering a little in the air. “I’m flying…”

“That’s just the start,” Draco said. “Keep the handle straight and lean forward a little, nice
and easy.” Konstantin was more eager now and complied, beaming as the broom moved
forward in the air. Draco could not help but smile a little to himself. He allowed Konstantin
to go a little higher and a little faster. He recalled his own father teaching him how to fly, but
the pain of that memory subsided as he watched Konstantin on his own father’s broom. It was
first time either he or the boy had smiled in days.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Draco had been so focused on monitoring Konstantin that he hadn’t noticed Valeria storm out
onto the terrace, her eyes wide with worry. She had been resting, the symptoms of pregnancy
beginning to take their normal toll. Before he could get a word in, she began scolding Draco
immediately.

“What if he falls?! He’s too young, Draco, are you mad?! Oh, God, He could get hurt—!”

Draco, keeping a watchful eye on Konstantin, put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Val,
look at him. He’s having fun.”

She looked up and stopped, watching Konstantin fly easily. Draco had not lied about being
impressed before; Konstantin was taking to this as if he were born for it, like he already knew
how to do it. “Is that my brother’s broom?”

Draco nodded. “Now it’s his son’s.”

The boy braked in the air. Draco hadn’t even taught him how yet. “Can I go higher, Mr.
Malfoy?”

“Absolutely not!” Valeria said.

Draco let out a huff of a laugh. “Just Draco is fine. You heard the lady, no higher for now, but
we can get you more practice. How about after your lunch I take you for a ride around the
grounds, show you how it’s done.”

“Really?!”

“Draco,” Valeria scolded through her teeth.

“Let him have this. It’s working,” Draco whispered back.

“Fine,” Valeria called up. “But not too fast!”

Draco recalled, watching how at home young Konstantin was on a broom of his own, how he
himself had felt the first time he rode a broom. He was free, he was in control, he could feel
the magic within him. But there was something more magical about watching Konstantin
discover the same feeling himself. Draco forgot his sins, his fear of fatherhood, how his
mother refused to look at him. It was easy to forget how precious of a miracle magic was
when all Draco did was harm with his abilities. He knew that he and Valeria could not give
Konstantin the same awe-inspiring wonder of their own youth, but they could give him this.
Perhaps for now, it could be enough. Just for these precious minutes, it could be enough.
 Bully
Chapter Notes

Life has been busier for me than expected and messed with my schedule. Expect slower
updates for the next couple weeks here. My apologies. This is a boring chapter, but this
thing grew bigger than I thought it would so we need to slog through some stuff.

CONTENT WARNING: Discussion and mentions of rape/non-con. Very mild violence

(no gore.) Foul language.

Many Years Later

This was it, the proverbial end of the line. Konstantin Winters II had fought his way up the
bureaucratic ladder for months to get here. One man’s signature on one single piece of
parchment was all he needed to end this red tape nightmare. Brutus Saville was the Head of
the Department of Recovery, formally and infamously known as the Department of Purity,
and he was Konstantin’s last hope. The Department of Recovery was dedicated to finding and
documenting what had become the many missing persons from the war and the following
Dark Age. The department took censuses to rectify incomplete or unaccounted for records,
they structured rehabilitation programs for Muggleborns who had been used in Dark Age
experimentation and offered government assistance to those most grievously harmed by the
past. It was a difficult and demanding place to be that was often mired in so much tragedy
that their few triumphs were loudly proclaimed.

The Department of Recovery also handled adoptions of magical children and that’s why
Konstantin sat across from Brutus Saville at his desk now. Konstantin had filed appeal after
appeal after being denied over and over again, navigating the winding administrative maze of
the Ministry alone. Brutus gave Konstantin a sympathetic look. The Forsaken Children were
infamous and the most difficult children to home. Konstantin was lucky that he was of the
older generation of that group.

“Is he staying with you now?” Brutus asked flatly, maintaining a professional demeanor.

Konstantin looked back at his young cousin, still under age ten. Konstantin had requested a
muffling charm be cast over where the two grown men sat whilst Scorpius quietly occupied
himself with a book, more than content to ignore the adults. “I didn’t bring him here just for
show. I’ve been minding him since I left school.”

“That hasn’t been properly documented or approved,” Brutus said, a slight scolding tone to
his voice.
Konstantin set the thick leather folder he held with a firm grip in his lap onto the desk, laying
its various parchment contents out flat. “I have all the other required paperwork. Here’s the
Surrending of Rights from the former guardian and here; his parents explicitily state that—”

“Mr. Winters,” Brutus began gently. “It’s not just the documents, though I commend you for
being so thorough. You’re only eighteen years old—”

“I’ve inherited my father’s fortune in full. I have the Winters estate in Wales. I can give him a
home, with his own family. He will never want nor need for anything—”

“You didn’t let me finish. I was going to add that the Ministry has a…policy against placing
children, particularly pureblood children of Death Eaters no less, with those who have or
have had close ties with Death Eaters. Your record is against you in this and I’m afraid you’re
not eligible—”

“You mean my father’s record. My grandfather’s record. Men who never even knew I
existed,” Konstantin said, deeply insulted.

“We simply have found it for the best to keep those with such associations, no matter the
specific circumstances of affiliation, separated until we can ensure no organization by those
of questionable allegiances,” Brutus said as if reciting from a manual, though he was trying
to have compassion.

Konstantin took a deep calming breath. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Foul language will not help your case, nor convince me, Mr. Winters,” Brutus said as if
though he were the one who should be most offended.

Konstantin stood from his seat and leaned over the desk. “My mother was Muggleborn! You-
Know-Who murdered her himself! I’m the first Half-Blood Winters in centuries and my
father’s reasons for taking the Dark Mark in the first place are known and well documented.”
He pointed back to Scorpius. “His great aunt murdered my father, for God’s sake. I have
absolutely no rational reason for trying to turn him into a Death Eater, even if that were
possible! He’s not even ten years old!”

“And if I only had to consider my thoughts and feelings on this matter specifically, I would
sign this in an instant and encourage you to pursue Magical Law for a career,” Brutus said.
“But my hands are tied. It sets a potentially uncomfortable precedent—”

Konstantin looked at Brutus with disbelief. “Uncomfortable precedent? If I don’t take him,
he’ll be placed in one of those awful, dingy Ministry operated charity houses. Please, Mr.
Saville, you know better than anyone how hard it is to find homes for Death Eaters’ children.
They don’t call us the Forsaken Children for nothing. But him? No one would even dream to
consider taking him. No one will give him a chance as soon as they hear his bloody name.
He’s known me his whole life. At least let me try. You can do regular visits, even surprise
ones.” Konstantin desperately fumbled for some blank parchment. “I’ll write you a personal,
permanent and irrevocable invitation to my estate. You can set any rules you want. You can
interview us, both of us, to make sure I’m in compliance if it helps soothe any doubts. Just…
don’t make his life harder than it already has to be. That’s all I’m asking.”
Brutus shifted uncomfortably. “I would that I could. Unfortunately, I cannot—”

“How much?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How much do I have to give you to sign that document?”

Brutus sighed. “Because you are young, Mr. Winters, I’m going to consider this attempted
bribe of a Ministry official a slip of youthful naiveite.”

Konstantin was so desperate. “Is it your job you’re worried about? I can give you so much
gold that you’d never have to work again. If you’re worried about doing a stint in Azkaban, I
can give you enough money for the best lawyers in the Wizarding World or to be smuggled
out of the country to start a brand-new life—”

Brutus shuffled the papers and shoved the folder back towards Konstantin. “I think we’re
quite finished here.”

“Wait!” Konstantin said as Brutus stood. He hadn’t wanted it to come to this, but what else
was he supposed to do? He could not leave Scorpius in the Ministry’s cold, clinical clutches.
Konstantin had been given a duty by and for his own blood and that still mattered to him. He
would use any means necessary to fulfill his duty. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure
Scorpius wasn’t watching and found the young, solemn boy still engrossed in a book. Deftly,
Konstantin pulled his wand from his pocket and aimed it at Brutus. “Imperio.”

Brutus contentedly signed and filed the one-page parchment comprising the custodial
document.

May 2006

The Malfoys kept to Malfoy Manor unless they had to be elsewhere over the passing months.
Helping Konstantin adjust, slowly revealing to him the nature of their world with honesty yet
carefully, was their priority. Draco kept himself busy with work as he continued his rise in
rank, more had been placed on him along with the duties he already had. He threw himself
into keeping himself, and therefore his family, in the upper of echelons of power. The cost
was the additional responsibility and being sucked deeper into the Dark Lord’s regime and
maintaining it. Narcissa still resided in the manor, keeping to her own wing, not having
spoken more than a few sentences to Draco still, only going out to visit her sister. Draco
almost wished she would go to live with Bellatrix, just so he wouldn’t have to keep worrying
about her and seeing her suffering.

While Draco locked himself in the study for the day, Valeria had taken Konstantin to Diagon
Alley. It was near the boy’s birthday, and he had been expressing an itch to see more of the
magical world, which Valeria and Draco had been wary of allowing. Valeria had taken
Konstantin to Wales to visit the home that he would inherit when he came of age and to visit
the grave of his father. Konstantin, to Valeria’s surprise, had felt right at home in the lake
bound fortress. He adored the beautiful expanse of the Welsh mountain valley, and he was
insatiably curious about the castle full of history, forgotten secrets and hidden passages.

But he wanted more. He had become fully invested in discovering who he was, what he
would one day be capable of. There were not many places left in wizarding Britain that
weren’t full of darkness, but Diagon Alley was the mildest and Valeria knew well where to go
and what to avoid by now. Valeria held her nephew’s hand tight as they strode through the
streets, letting Konstantin stop in whatever appropriate shops piqued his interest. With the
Muggleborns being rounded up little by little for the Dark Lord’s use, there weren’t any more
Wandless begging on the streets, which Valeria felt guilty about being relieved by.
Fortunately, no one gave them more than friendly greetings as they tread. No invasive
questions, no unsolicited comments. That was another advantage of the Malfoy reputation, no
one dared to approach without good reason.

But Vincent Crabbe was an especially hopeless idiot.

As Konstantin was tugging on his aunt’s hand to go see the animals in the menagerie, Valeria
looked up seeing Crabbe approach with a stupid, toothy grin that forced her to remind herself
not to roll her eyes.

“Long time, no see, Valeria. I was wondering when Malfoy was finally gonna let you out the
house,” Crabbe said, stopping before them.

“I’ve been dreadfully busy,” Valeria said.

He looked down at her abdomen. “Pregnancy suits you. You carry it well, at least better than
my wife,” Crabbe said with an insulting scoff about his own wife. “Know what you’re having
yet?”

“Not yet,” Valeria said. She absolutely despised the changes her body was going through,
despite them being perfectly natural and being only five months along. Draco spared no
expense in alleviating as much discomfort that could be bought. No demand, no desire was
too frivolous. Even so, Valeria had proclaimed that no matter what, she was never enduring
this again and Draco heartily agreed, given that they were already going to be caring for two
children.

“Well, if it’s a girl, you can always try again. It’d be a shame to see the Malfoy legacy get
married off to some other family,” Crabbe said.

“I can assure you that whatever we have, they will be able to decide for themselves what they
want to do with their own legacy, Crabbe,” Valeria said, anger flaring up within her. Draco
had reassured her that the sex of his child was the least of his concerns. He didn’t give a
damn about his legacy. “It’s been lovely to see you again. Give our best to your wife. We
need to be on our way—”

It was then that Crabbe noticed Konstantin standing close to his aunt, staring up at the oafish
brute Crabbe had, to the surprise of no one, grew into. Crabbe smiled down at Konstantin, but
Valeria disliked the way he looked at the boy, firming her grip on her nephew’s hand.
“You must be the famous Winters boy. It’s like lookin’ back in time at your own dad. He was
a legend, y’know,” Crabbe said.

“Konstantin this is Vincent Crabbe, one of your uncle’s old acquaintances from school,”
Valeria said coolly.

“Oh, that’s not the truth, is it? Your aunt I ran in the same circles in school and your uncle
and I still get on,” Crabbe said. It was hard to tell whether Crabbe believed that or not. Given
how often Draco would rant and rave about how useless Crabbe was at most everything,
Valeria almost started to laugh at Crabbe’s assertion.

“How do you do?” Konstantin said shyly.

Crabbe laughed. “Said like a true Winters, manners and all. You really are your father’s son.”

“I’m sorry to cut this short, but—” Valeria began.

“I get it, I won’t keep you much longer. I was actually wonderin’ if you’d do me a favor.”

“Depends on the favor,” Valeria said sternly.

“I’ve been tryin’ to get a hold of Malfoy, but he’s a hard guy to get a meeting with these days.
Any chance you can give ‘im a nudge for me? Maybe remind him of how I helped him hand
over Potter—”

At the sound of Harry Potter’s name, Valeria interrupted. “And what is this meeting
pertaining to?”

“Afraid that’s not women’s business. Death Eater stuff,” Crabbe said, perhaps stupid enough
to forget that there were several marked female Death Eaters. Valeria was on the verge of at
the very least rudely dismissing Crabbe when another voice called out to her. Valeria turned
to see Antonia Rookwood approaching, holding the hand of her daughter, Lavinia. Antonia
reached her free hand around Valeria for a friendly embrace.

“I was wondering where you were, we’ve been looking everywhere,” Antonia said with a
laugh. Antonia was a few years older than Valeria and had married Augustus Rookwood’s
son, Caius, during the war. “Oh, hello, Crabbe. Sorry to interrupt, but Valeria and I are on a
bit of a schedule.”

“So sorry, ladies,” Crabbe said but his stupid voice made even polite farewells cringeworthy.
“I’ll leave you to it. Keep in mind what I said, Valeria.” Valeria only nodded to Crabbe with a
forced smile as he went on his way.

“Looked like you could use a rescue,” Antonia muttered with a smile.

“Thanks. Appreciate it,” Valeria said. She did not know Antonia well at all. By nature of her
husband’s and father-in-law’s positions in the regime, Antonia had attended many events that
Valeria was also present at, including the Malfoy Christmas party, but apart from that Valeria
preferred to keep her social circle as small as she could. Antonia smiled kindly down at
Konstantin, who has relaxed himself some once Crabbe strode away.
“And you’re none other than Konstantin Winters, aren’t you? I went to school with your
father. Had the most embarrassing crush on him second year,” Antonia said with a laugh. “It’s
wonderful to meet you in the flesh, young man. I’m Antonia Rookwood and this is my
daughter, Lavinia. You two must be around the same age.”

“Hello,” Lavinia greeted shyly, a cute little girl with a dimply smile. Konstantin warmed to
her immediately as the two shook hands.

“We’re here for his birthday. He can pick out anything he wants—” Valeria began, but
Konstantin eagerly interrupted her.

“I want the fastest racing broom I can get!” Konstantin declared proudly.

“—Within reason,” Valeria finished.

“Well, happy birthday!” Antonia said cheerfully.

“We were just about to head into the menagerie,” Valeria said.

“Mind if we join you? Caius needs a new owl, so I was heading that way as well.”

“By all means.”

Antonia and Valeria let the kids wander the shop and look at the animals, while they kept an
eye on them from a polite distance.

“They’re getting on well,” Antonia observed. “There aren’t a lot of kids her age. It’s nice to
see her make a new friend. And for him too. I can’t imagine coming here after being raised
by Muggles for so long. It’s such a blessing you found him.” Valeria nodded mostly in
agreement, seeing the way Konstantin came to life, interacting with another child his age,
ignoring the rest of what Antonia implied. It sparked an idea.

“Listen, Antonia, I know we don’t know each other that well, but maybe, if you wouldn’t
mind that is, you could bring Lavinia to Malfoy Manor sometime. He could use a friend his
age. Might help him adjust as we move forward,” Valeria said.

Antonia lit up at the idea with a smile. “I’ll speak with Caius, but I’m sure he’ll agree with
us. Look out for my owl.”

Valeria entered Draco’s study to find him leaning over in his chair, the desk covered in papers
and parchments. She saw he was tired when he looked up at her, sitting back in his chair and
picking up the glass of brandy he had been nursing.

“Konstantin has requested a broom ride for his birthday. I demand that it happen before
sundown,” she said.

Draco huffed. “Will I ever escape the demands of the Winters family?”
“No,” Valeria said confidently as she sat opposite him in front of the desk.

“How was Diagon Alley? Get him that broom he wanted?”

“Not until he’s older,” Valeria said. “He got his own owl instead. A massive gray owl, but it
was what he wanted if he couldn’t have a broom. Named it Skywalker.”

Draco raised a brow. “Odd name for an owl. It sort of fits, I suppose.”

“Apparently, it’s from some Muggle film, you remember what a film is right? From Muggle
studies? Something called Space Battle, I think?” Valeria said.

“Why would there be battles in space? How does that even work?” Draco asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. He tried to explain the plot, but it was all Greek to me.”

“Should we let him name his pet after some Muggle thing?” Draco asked.

“If we haven’t the faintest idea what he’s talking about, we can be fairly certain no one else in
our world will,” she said with a shrug. “He made a friend too. Caius and Antonia
Rookwood’s daughter, Lavinia. I’ve invited Antonia to bring Lavinia over sometime if that’s
alright with you.”

“I don’t see why not. My mother will stay out of the way, her routine hasn’t changed in
months,” Draco said with a sadness he was trying to hide. Narcissa had been deteriorating,
they both knew. She as eating less, spending time either in her wing of the home or out at
Lucius’s grave.

“There’s one other thing,” Valeria said, knowing Draco would not want to dwell on the
subject of his mother. “Crabbe approached us. Says he wants to meet with you.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Did he say why?”

“Said it wasn’t a woman’s business,” Valeria said.

“I swear I’m going put him on Azkaban guard duty if he doesn’t stop,” Draco muttered,
rifling through piles of papers and tossed a letter from Crabbe to Valeria. “It’s probably just
about the damn promotion he’s been begging for. Have a look. He misspelled the word
promotion, for fuck’s sake.”

Valeria laughed, reading the poorly written letter and indeed Draco was right. “Doesn’t Snape
usually handle this stuff?”

“The bastard’s pawned it off on me, saying he’s too busy managing Hogwarts. I think he just
doesn’t want to hear it anymore from every idiot who casts a few Killing Curses and thinks
they’re owed something for it. Still, if Crabbe is bold enough to approach you in public like
that, he probably won’t give up. Wonderful.”

“Snape’s passed off more work to me too. Curses and poisons, same as usual, yet he won’t
give me the time of day when I ask for help with that damn golden snitch.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know what to do with it either,” Draco said.

“He was close with Dumbledore, if anyone would have a clue, it’s Snape.”

“He was spying on Dumbledore,” Draco corrected. “Dumbledore might have been a gifted
wizard in his time, but you can’t pretend that a lot of what he did made any sense. It’s
probably just another one of those.”

“Maybe. But I can’t get it out of my head. Weasley said that Potter had a plan.”

Draco winced a little at the sound of Harry Potter’s name, but quickly collected himself.
“Whatever it was, it was either absurdly stupid or pointless. Probably both. Don’t take
anything Weasley and her ilk said seriously.”

“You’re probably right, but I don’t like the idea of them possibly knowing something we
don’t.”

Draco thought for a moment. “Give me some time. I might be able to look into it.”

Valeria realized just how accustomed to the darkness of her life she had become when she sat
with Antonia Rookwood on the terrace on a crisp, sunny spring day whilst Konstantin
showed Lavinia the Malfoy peacocks that wandered about the ground near the manor. It was
rare for Malfoy Manor to have much life in it at all and Valeria found herself quite content to
take some time to breathe.

“You’re going to have your hands full soon with him and the new addition. Still, you and
Draco must be thrilled,” Antonia said.

“We are,” Valeria lied. They were both truly terrified.

“They’re going to be lucky. Having you two for parents, there’ll be nothing that child can’t
do. Konstantin too. He’s such a sweet boy, good head on his shoulders,” Antonia said. In that
observation, she was correct. Konstantin was indeed full of kindness, even at his most
rambunctious. She almost wished Konstantin hadn’t been so full of goodness, for she feared
it would make his future so much harder for him.

“I’m glad he and Lavinia are getting along so well. They’re already thick as thieves,” Valeria
said.

“Me too. Who knows, they could have their wedding out here one day. That would be
something special now, wouldn’t it?”

And there it was. Valeria kicked herself for not having picked up on it before. She was so
relieved for Konstantin to have a friend that she had ignored how odd it was that Antonia had
approached her out of the blue after not having spoken much to each other over the years.
Yet, just a few short months after a boy her daughter’s age became known to the Wizarding
World, the heir to a great fortune and storied name raised by one of the most powerful
families in the regime, Antonia suddenly made herself, and her daughter, known.
Valeria would have been slightly offended at Antonia’s less than altruistic motives if she
didn’t understand her reasons. Antonia feared for her daughter. Most everyone, regardless of
station or occupation, were required to marry, with rare exception. The daughter of a
respectable pureblood family certainly would be and there were few boys her age and even
fewer who a parent would find to be a desirable match in the future. Antonia wanted to forge
a bond now with Valeria, who had still been charged with arranging most all of the marriages
each year, pairing together young men and women she had never met, trying her best to abide
by their wishes.

Valeria looked at the children again, playing and exploring out of earshot and she could not
help but see herself and Draco in them, back when they were young and still innocent,
blissfully clueless to what the future held.

“Do you think they’re talking about us?” Lavinia asked, observing her mother and Valeria
chatting away.

“I dunno. Probably adult stuff. My aunt and uncle talk in private a lot, always saying it’s for
grown-ups,” Konstantin said. He looked at his aunt, the eerily perfect face she had marred by
the long scar that ran across it like a jagged crack. He leaned in to whisper to Lavinia “Can I
ask you something? Do you know how my aunt got…that scar? They haven’t said and I
didn’t want to ask…”

Lavinia leaned in too. “No one knows exactly what happened, other than the people who
were there. During the war, they nearly caught Harry Potter, you know him, right? He was
the Dark Lord’s enemy who only wanted power for himself. They brought Harry Potter here
and there was a fight. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but all I know is that Bellatrix
Lestrange is the one who gave her that scar.”

Konstantin’s heart sunk. His aunt had gone over who the important people in this strange new
world were, particularly their relatives and how they were all connected. She told him how to
interact with each person. He knew the name of Bellatrix Lestrange and his aunt had been
honest with him that it was her who was responsible for killing his father.

Draco finally emerged after Valeria had bid farewell to the Rookwoods, meeting her in the
grand foyer as Konstantin contently went back to his room in the north wing. Draco ruffled
Konstantin’s hair a little as the boy scampered passed him on the stairs.

“Looks like that went well,” Draco said.

“It did. Konstantin was already asking when Lavinia can come over again. Antonia has set
her sights on him already.”

“How so?”

“As a future marriage prospect,” Valeria said with a sigh.

Draco’s face fell a little. It could never be as simple as a mundane playdate, of course.
“Should we let this go on, then?”

Valeria nodded. “They like each other. He needs a friend. He has a long time to decide what
he wants.”

“We thought we did too.”

“That was different.”

Before Draco could make further comments, Daphne arrived as planned, the great gate
having allowed her to pass. She handed Valeria a small box as the two made some small talk
about the pregnancy.

“Those will help with the more uncomfortable symptoms and are safe for the fetus,” Daphne
said, referring to the box. “Did you have any questions for me, Malfoy?”

“Don’t mind me, ladies. Just waiting here for Crabbe,” Draco said, and he noticed Daphne’s
face briefly express disgust and dread as her body tensed.

“Why the hell is he coming here?” Valeria asked with equal disgust.

“He wants more responsibility so I’m likely going to give him some. Hopefully, he’ll fail
dismally, and we can put this bullshit to rest.”

“What kind of task?” Daphne asked.

“You know I can’t tell you that, Greengrass,” Draco said.

Daphne sighed in frustration. “I don’t care what the task is. I only just want to warn you that
Crabbe might not be the ideal choice.”

“I already know he’s not the ideal choice for much of anything—”

“I’m not talking about how much of a moron he is."

“Then what?” Draco asked.

Daphne shifted her weight a little. “Look, I shouldn’t say much either, but you probably
already know. Crabbe has a…reputation for taking advantage of his power to…violate his
female targets.”

Draco froze for a moment as Valeria recoiled a bit in disgust. “What do you mean?”

“It started with the Wandless prostitutes, before the Mudbloods started being used as soldiers.
Some of them would come through St. Mungo’s, but it was all covered up. Blaise has heard
things too, from some of the other Death Eaters of what he’s done to prisoners and the like.
He’s vile, Malfoy. I’m only telling you to be careful.”
“This is the first I’m hearing of it,” Draco said, aggravated and upset with the sudden
information.

“You weren’t technically his superior. I guess they handled it in-house,” Valeria said.

“If you call covering for him ‘handling it,’ sure. Just keep an eye on him. At least under your
authority, you’d be able to do something about it. I’m going to get going before he gets here,
but I’ll see you soon for another check-up, Valeria.”

Draco instructed Valeria to lock herself and Konstantin up in the North Wing for Crabbe’s
visit after Daphne departed. Valeria accused him of being overly dramatic in his measures,
but she played along to soothe his worries. Draco stood in wait until Crabbe arrived shortly
thereafter and led his former friend upstairs to the study to meet.

“I’m assuming you’ve already spoken to Snape,” Draco said as he set a glass of brandy down
in front of Crabbe and took his seat, leaning back in the high-backed desk chair.

“And he sent me to you.”

“Then what is it that I can do for you that Snape can’t?”

“Pretty simple. I’ve done everything that I was told all these years and I think I deserve more.
I’m not sure it’s fair that you, Nott and Zabini get all the glory when it was me and Goyle that
caught Potter with you.”

Draco clenched his jaw. “You did assist, of course, but you were rewarded for that. That’s
how you got the Dark Mark in the first place.”

Crabbe’s large face reddened with anger. “And I’ve done even more since! Come on, Malfoy,
we’re mates. I’m only asking for the same chances you’ve gone and given your other
friends.”

“That’s all well and good. However, I’ve hears some disconcerting rumors about your
conduct, particularly with Mudblood women and the women you’ve tortured and interrogated
under orders.”

Crabbe laughed. “Yeah, well, you know how it is after a fight or a mission. Just does
something to a man, y’know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“You mean you’ve never even thought about it? You of all people can have any woman you
want and you’re fine being stuck with just the one—”

“I haven’t thought about it nor have the men I command.”

“Since when did you care about Mudbloods, even the whores?”

“I don’t. I care about the law; the Dark Lord’s law that we are all expected to uphold,
especially those of us with a Dark Mark. I don’t I think I need to remind you that one his
earliest decrees was to make intercourse of any kind with Mudbloods is equal to bestiality
and subject to some very unpleasant punishments. I’m sure you can understand my wish to
ensure those under my command follow our laws in all aspects of their lives.”

Crabbe was visibly displeased with Draco’s words, but a sick smile crept across his face
which made Draco’s stomach sink. “Is that right? Do you hold yourself to the same
standards? If I remember right, murdering another Death Eater without cause or permission is
also against the law.”

“To what are you referring?”

“You forget all your old friends, Malfoy? All that power gone to your head already? Strange
how Goyle suddenly went missin’ at your Christmas party just a few minutes after your wife
wandered off. Everyone knows what you do to people who look at ‘er the wrong way. You
might be faithful to her, mate, but it almost makes me wonder if perfect little Mrs. Malfoy
doesn’t do the same for you—”

Crabbe was an idiot. The insinuation should not have upset Draco, given Crabbe’s legendary
lack of wits, but it struck him somewhere visceral, and he reacted. Crabbe had been leaning
forward a little, resting his arm on the desk. Swiftly and quickly, Draco pulled from his belt
the dagger that his aunt had long ago given him and stood to stab Crabbe’s sleeve and pin it
down to the desk, just a hair shy of Crabbe’s skin. Draco grabbed Crabbe’s collar roughly.

“Are you actually trying to blackmail me, Crabbe? You have once chance to answer
honestly,” Draco said, surprisingly calm.

“Yeah. ‘Spose I am. Should have done it a lot sooner, y’know. I know you made Goyle drink
that unicorn blood after Pansy offed herself. He told me. It ain’t that hard to figure out what
happened to him. Your own friend.”

“I can assure that whatever happened to Goyle, he did it to himself.”

“Maybe. Some of us aren’t so sure. But, if you’re willing to help me out here, I’m sure I
could forget about it.”

Draco released Crabbe and slowly sat back down. There was no way Crabbe had half the
brains necessary to figure out that he was responsible for Goyle’s death, which meant that
Crabbe wasn’t working alone. Along with Crabbe’s wording and the confidence with which
he was blackmailing Draco, it was clear that Crabbe had at least partially been put up to this.
He didn’t want Crabbe around any longer than he needed to be. He wanted as little to do with
Crabbe as possible, but for the moment Draco decided he had to keep Crabbe close, just until
he could uncover what was behind this.

Draco shuffled through some papers and handed Crabbe a small file as he pulled the dagger
from his sleeve.

“We’ve been working on some preliminary reconnaissance, which I’m letting Nott take the
lead on until we have more information. Looks like someone’s managing to smuggle things
out of Britain and to France with non-magical means,” Draco said.
“Like what? Like with boats?”

“Yes, Crabbe. With boats,” Draco said with a sigh. “Looks like some Muggle company is
also involved, which is interesting. We need to know who is smuggling what and why. I don’t
think to remind you how delicate the political situation with France is at the moment, so the
utmost discretion is paramount. If you’re interested, I can probably find a spot for you in
gathering some intelligence. However, Nott will be superior, and you will need to obey his
every order to the letter. How does that sound?”

Crabbe smirked. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it, Malfoy?”

 His Name Means Death
Chapter Notes

Sorry for another long, dull chapter. This story has way too many moving parts and I
have to get through them.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Discussion and mentions of rape/non-con. Discussion of

violence/gore. Mild non-magical violence. Blood.

Many Years Later

In the bleak midwinter

Frosty wind made moan;
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long, long ago.

Scorpius shifted his weight, holding his candle to the hymnal in his hand. The little light
flickered with warm hues as Scorpius sang along low and quietly with a bored drawl that
Konstantin would often lovingly tease him for. Scorpius never liked Christmas, but was
keeping his complaints to himself for once on this cold, Christmas Eve night. Neither he nor
his cousin were people of faith, but Konstantin loved to go to the little church nestled in an
ancient Welsh village each Christmas Eve for the candlelight service. Apparently, his Muggle
family had taken him each year, the one habit from his old life that Konstantin retained.
Scorpius felt like a fraud, an intruder amongst these devout Muggles who worshipped a god
over magic.

Scorpius looked up, only moving his head slightly. He and Konstantin were in the rearmost
pew and he met eyes with a young woman who had to be around his age, unremarkable but
with a charming face. She blushed and turned away as quickly as he saw her. That made
Scorpius smile a little and boosted his ego as he stood beside his taller, older and objectively
handsome cousin. But Scorpius’s gaze landed on the nativity at the front of the church. The
wooden statues were carefully arranged and Scorpius saw Mary kneeling, her devoted eyes
on Christ in the manager. The paint had faded and the wood was weathered, but still,
Scorpius’s heart sank to see the Madonna so deeply in maternal love with her divine son.
 Angels and Arc Angels
May have traveled there.
Cherubim and Seraphim
Thronged the air.
But only his Mother,
In her maiden bliss,
Worshiped the beloved
With a kiss

Did his mother look at him with such adoration upon his own birth? Was his arrival met with
celebration and cheer? Was he wanted? Could she not bear to tear her gaze away from him
like the Virgin before him now, beholding him with the same contended thankfulness?

Did his mother love him? How could a woman so venomous love anyone?

He didn’t want to be reassured with platitudes. He wanted to feel it. He wanted to know it. It
was the most shameful secret of his heart that he missed his parents, not simply having
parental figures in his life, but his parents themselves. How many lonely nights had Scorpius
cried alone, wanting nothing more than the sweet, nurturing embrace of a mother. How many
times when Scorpius’s nerves rattled him had he wanted only the unfaltering encouragement
and guiding word of a father.

Would they have given him that? Would they even have been capable?

What can I give him,

Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd,
I would give a lamb.
If I were a wise man,
I would do my part.
But what I can I give him,
Give him my heart

Scorpius the Silent was an apt nickname to Konstantin’s mind as he had not even noticed his
cousin not keeping pace with him on the snow-blanketed path leading to the Winters castle
back in the valley. He turned as they drew near to their home, seeing Scorpius washed in the
moonlight that lit up the night as it reflected off the snow. Scorpius wore a pensive
expression, walking slow.

“You’re falling behind, mate,” Konstantin called out.

“I don’t know why you apparated us so far from the lake,” Scorpius complained.

“The fresh air is good for you. A short walk never hurt anyone.”

“I’m freezing my ass off.”

Konstantin laughed. Scorpius was a moody teenager in a way that reminded Konstantin of
Draco Malfoy; the way the man muttered his complaints under his breath and treated minor
inconveniences with unnecessary dramatics. But Konstantin was careful. The school term
had been harder for Scorpius than previous years. Fifth year had its infamous academic
challenges, but it was also the year Scorpius had begun to fight back against his tormenters
with the support of his few close friends; other Forsaken Children who protected each other.

“Something on your mind?” Konstantin asked.

Scorpius was quiet for a moment. “Christ came to be the savior of the world. That was two-
thousand years ago. Doesn’t seem very saved to me. What’s the point if there’s still terrible
things that happen? Maybe some people aren’t worth redeeming.”

“Well, innocent people don’t need to be redeemed, do they? Redemption is meant for the
guilty. Isn’t that the point?”

“Even the guiltiest?” Scorpius asked.

“I imagine they’d need a savior the most.”

Scorpius curled his lip inward in thought, but chose not to say any more as he continued
toward the castle, the lights from within shining bright under the stars through the medieval
windows. Konstantin loved the sight. He loved this remote valley with its open skies and
endless hills. Scorpius turned when he sensed Konstantin wasn’t following.

“Can we go now?”

“Just taking it in,” Konstantin said.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “You see it every day.”

“Makes it all the more lovely, doesn’t it?”

Scorpius turned with a moody groan, muttering under his breath. Konstantin remembered the
boy Scorpius once was and how he used to spend hours outside no matter the weather. He
had an idea and bent over to form a snowball in his hands and threw it, landing it squarely on
the back of Scorpius’s shoulder. Scorpius stopped in his tracks and turned, an indignant
expression on his face.

“Seriously?” Scorpius asked, but before he could say or do anything else, Konstantin landed
another snowball on him, coating his black coat in white speckles.

“Going to let me win that easy?” Konstantin called out, preparing to throw another, but
Scorpius darted out of the way in time. Konstantin was not going to relent, so Scorpius fired
back with snowballs of his own, pelting his cousin as much as he could. “You’ve gotten
better since the last time we did this.”

“Or you’re just old and slow!” Scorpius playfully taunted. The battle raged, the silent air
filling with their laughter and playful taunts. The winter winds had formed little banks of
snow drift and Scorpius landed on his back in one after losing his balance, Konstantin having
thrown a snowball extra hard. Konstantin jogged over to where Scorpius lay and reached his
hand down to him.

“Sorry about that one,” Konstantin said as Scorpius grabbed onto his wrist. But Konstantin
realized his terrible mistake when a sly little smirk formed on Scorpius’s face, just like his
mother, and the latter yanked on the former’s arm. Konstantin was met with a face full of
snow as he landed in the soft bank. Scorpius had already risen when Konstantin turned back
over, and Konstantin saw Scorpius standing in the moonlight and laughing.

Truly laughing, wearing a broad, toothy smile. His face was turned up to the sky for once as
he laughed. For these few precious moments of juvenile frivolity, Konstantin saw who he
believed to be the true Scorpius that was so often carefully hidden behind his grave façade.
His white hair was tussled by a gentle breeze, and with abandon he laughed in the wind with
his face turned up to the stars he was named for. Konstantin took time to cherish this fleeting
moment, looking upon Scorpius with quiet pride. He then took another second to feel sorry
for his aunt and uncle, for he wished they could see the magnificent young man they had
given life to.

June 2006

Valeria was lying down once more. She hated these check-ups. They made her feel like she
was little more than subject for observation. On top of the records being submitted to the
Department of Purity to track the pregnancy’s progress, she felt like a mere incubator. The
truth, she knew, was that in the broad view of the regime, that was indeed what she was now.
Fortunately, Daphne was Valeria’s primary medical professional and had kindly agreed to do
these examinations at Malfoy Manor, making Valeria much more comfortable. Draco,
naturally, had spared no expense in Valeria’s care. No request or demand was too frivolous in
his mind.

“Everything is well. The fetus is strong, just like I said at the beginning. Are you sure you
don’t want to know the sex?” Daphne asked as she finished her examination.

“We haven’t decided if we want to know or not,” Valeria said. Daphne rummaged around and
wrote on a piece of parchment before sealing it in an envelope and handed it to Valeria.

“When you’re ready, if you want, it’s written there.”

Valeria fiddled a little with the envelope in her hand, somehow feeling that if she were to
open it the fact that she was soon to be a mother would become all too real. “Does the
Department of Purity know?”

“Yes. As required,” Daphne said as though it were unfortunate. “They have it on file, but they
won’t reveal anything publicly.” Daphne stopped for a moment. “In fact, I myself had to
register my own bundle of joy with the Department as well.”

Valeria sat up. “You’re expecting?!”

“So it would seem,” Daphne said, visibly conflicted.

“Was it planned, or…?”

“Mostly planned, yes. I’ll be honest, the rest of us were sort of following your lead. We knew
when you had a child, the pressure would be on for the rest of us.”

“Daphne, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was always inevitable. Besides, and this may just be the hormones talking, but
I’m sort of happy about it. Does that make any sense?”

“It does,” Valeria said. In an odd way, she was looking forward to meeting her child and
having the uncomfortable state of pregnancy be over. Over the months, Valeria noticed her
thoughts drifting to wondering with a weak sort of excitement about who this child would be.
“Do you think we have a chance of being decent mothers…in spite of it all?”

Daphne sighed. “I think that’s something we’re going to have to choose to do, every single
day.”

Valeria nodded, looking down at the envelope in her hand. That night was Draco’s birthday,
and to her surprise he wanted nothing more than a quiet evening at home. He was anxious
tonight. He knew his friends and comrades were out gathering intelligence, but the situation
with France was so fragile, which complicated the matter. To distract him, they sat in bed that
evening, the large bed littered with books as the two were hunting for decent names for their
child. Valeria shifted as she flipped through a book, trying to get comfortable.

“I look a whale,” she said with a defeated sigh.

“You look pregnant, not like a whale,” Draco said.

“I’m only going to get bigger.”

“Temporarily. Besides, I think it’s sort of cute.”

“You try having it kick your other organs all day long if you think it’s so damn cute.”

“I’ll pass, thank you. Does it really kick you that hard? It’s not even fully a baby yet…”

“Feel for yourself. Daphne agreed it’s pretty rambunctious,” Valeria said, moving her book so
Draco could touch her abdomen. He reached carefully, as if she were made of glass, and very
lightly touched his hand to her abdomen over her night gown and waited. Before long,
Valeria felt a strong kick against the inside of her skin, a feeling she would never grow used
to, and Draco laughed aloud and smiled as he felt it too.

“That’s so bizarre…” he said with some degree of awe.

“It gets old quick,” she said. “Are we about settled on names?”
“We decided on Aquila Eurydice for a girl,” Draco said, referring to the list they had been
making of possible names.

“I don’t know if I like Eurydice.”

“You picked it.”

“I’m allowed to change my mind.”

“Well, Aquila is suitable for the Black family tradition and it’s the Latin part of the name, but
lucky you for you, there’s no shortage of Greek names to satisfy the Winters tradition. We
can table that one until you’ve decided,” Draco said.

“What about Perseus for a boy? I don’t think there’s been a Perseus in either of our families,”
Valeria said.

Draco sneered. “What if he got called Percy? Absolutely not.”

“Alright then, how about Rigel?” she asked.

“Sounds too much like Nigel.”

“You know, you can offer your own ideas instead of just vetoing mine.”

“What about this one?” Draco asked, holding over a book of various celestial bodies so
Valeria could see. “Scorpius.”

“Really? Of all the names…”

“I don’t know, I sort of like it. It flows with the surname. I can't explain it, I just have a
feeling about it.”

“I don’t know how I feel about naming our child after an insect,” Valeria said.

“Scorpions are arachnids. And he’d be named after the constellation. I’m not named after a
literal serpent,” Draco said. Valeria mulled it over, repeating the name in her head and she
started to come around to it.

“It does have a certain intimidating quality that I suppose I like. We don’t have to decide
tonight.”

“The book for fathers I read said deciding on a name early is good. It helps you bond with it
before it’s born.”

“You read a parenting book?”

Draco sighed. “In my spare time.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Valeria asked with a laugh.

“Because I knew you would laugh at me, just like you are now.”
“Alright, fine. So, if we like Scorpius, what about the middle name? Don’t Malfoy sons use
their father’s name as middle names?”

“No. I don’t want that at all,” Draco said with a soft sadness in his tone. “Scorpius Draco
Malfoy doesn’t sound good anyway. Pick a Greek name you like.”

Valeria flipped through a book on Greek mythology for a while until showing something to
Draco. “What about Hyperion?”

“It flows well,” Draco said, leaning over to read. “Ah, one of the Titans. Father of the sun,
moon and the dawn. Interesting.”

“I know we don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, or who they are at all really, but I don’t know. I
have a feeling.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Scorpius Hyperion…” Draco glanced down to the envelope
and picked it up, turning it over in hand. “We can open it. Get it over with. Decide on the
name here and now.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“I told you I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, though a girl is rather terrifying.”

“And why’s that?” Valeria asked in a low tone.

“Because I know for a fact she’d grow to be just like you. Not sure if I have the strength to
handle two of you.” Draco laughed as Valeria playfully swatted him on the arm. “Though, no
matter what it is, I hope they’re more like you than me.”

“Do you want to find out?” Valeria asked after a moment.

Draco handed her the envelope. “You decide.”

Valeria took a breath before she opened it. Draco watched her eyes dart across the unfolded
parchment within and a soft, proud, maternal smile formed on her lips. Draco awaited the
determination anxiously and his heart beat hard as she met his eyes again.

“You’re going to have a son,” she said. Draco was shocked, just as shocked as he would have
been if it were a girl, but still. A son. He shouldn’t have been so surprised, as there hadn’t
been a girl born to the Malfoys in generations. Still, a son for his only child, just as he was to
his own father. Some dread filled Draco’s heart as he feared history repeating itself.

But now was not the time. He was not going to ruin what little joy they could gain from these
circumstances by lamenting his unworthy life. He looked down at Valeria’s abdomen, amazed
by something so commonplace and primal as the cycle of life. But this was a life that he had
a part in creating and that was proving to be the most humbling realization he ever had, even
as the foreboding responsibility weighed heavily upon him.

“Scorpius Hyperion?” Draco asked.

Valeria nodded. “Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.”

It was one of those fleeting moments that felt mercifully normal as they both reflected in
silence together in the excitement of having a son. They did not allow themselves to fear who
their son would have to become. For now, he belonged only to them.

Their contentment was rudely interrupted by Tinky popping unannounced into the room
appearing distraught.

“How many goddamn times do I have to tell you not to do that?!” Draco shouted, startling
the house elf more.

“Tinky is very sorry, sir, but Misters Zabini and Nott are here, and Mr. Zabini is very angry.
Tinky fears he may be violent—”

Valeria watched for fear as Draco’s face paled and he nearly leapt out of bed to quickly
change into his Death Eater garb as Tinky turned away to hide his eyes.

“Did they say what happened?” Draco asked.

“No, sir. Mr. Nott was trying to calm Mr. Zabini. They were both yelling…” Tinky said.
Draco muttered obscenities as he finished lacing his shoes and stood, his heart thumping and
head pounding already. He knew this was bad, feeling a pit grow in his gut. He turned to
Valeria, sitting up alert and searching his expression for reassurance.

“You do not leave this room,” Draco ordered.

“Draco—”

“No arguments. You’re staying here,” Draco said, moving past Tinky and straight for the
door. Draco walked as fast he could through the manor without running, mind whirling with
the worst possibilities of what could have happened. He could hear Blaise’s voice, shouting
incoherently, as he rounded the staircase and made his way down to the grand foyer where he
found Theodore struggling to restrain Blaise without magic. They both looked filthy, which
made Draco’s heart sink. This was a simple observation mission and it was beyond evident
that it had gone terribly wrong.

“If you tell me to calm down one more time, I’ll kill you, Nott!” Blaise shouted, his voice
echoing harshly off the cold stone walls.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Theodore hissed.

“Blaise!” Draco called out as he neared the bottom of the stairs. “What’s happened?”

Draco had never seen Blaise like this as the latter turned to face him. Blaise took everything
in stride, to the point it was sometimes unnerving. His duties had taken their toll, as they had
on everyone, yet Blaise had always managed to maintain a demeanor of nonchalance that
never betrayed him. Except now. Draco didn’t know what to think when he saw the wild look
in his friend’s eyes.
Nor did Draco have time to make sense of the scene when Blaise wrenched himself out of
Theodore’s grasp and lunged at Draco. Blaise brought his fist down with all his might on
Draco’s face and he heard his nose crack as blood flew from his nose and mouth. Draco
staggered backward as his head spun, but Blaise did not relent in his blows. One across the
eye. Another nearly dislocating the hinge of Draco’s jaw. One more was about to land before
Draco managed to fumble for his wand and cast a spell that forced Blaise away from him.
Theodore grabbed a surer hold of Blaise as Draco grounded himself, hand over his bloodied
nose and the vile taste of his blood in his mouth. Draco despised the smell of blood. He
closed his eyes tight through the pain of the beating and his mind forced him to see himself as
seventeen years old again standing in the Great Hall of Hogwarts as the blood from the
massacre flowed across the floor and to his shoes.

“DAPHNE TOLD YOU!” Blaise shouted his voice audibly strained from his outbursts. “SHE
FUCKING TOLD YOU—!”

Draco spit some of the blood from his mouth onto the floor. “What the fuck is wrong with
you?!”

“She told you not to let him—Crabbe—!”

“I can’t do anything until you tell me—!” Draco began, his already harsh voice more nasally
sounding now.

“We were right about Mudbloods being smuggled out of Britain to France,” Theodore started
before Blaise could start shouting again. “It was Fleur Delacour—Weasley—She was using
some Muggle boating service, that’s why it went undetected for so long.” Theodore
swallowed. This was getting to him too. Nothing ever got to him. “Crabbe defied my orders
to stand down and observe. He attacked them—”

“He fucking slaughtered them,” Blaise said, who had gotten to his feet and approached Draco
with barely contained rage. “He tore them apart limb from limb. Montague tried to stop him
first and Crabbe killed him.”

Draco’s stomach lurched. Montague had a daughter. He was as decent as a man in this world
could be. Draco stood stunned and his entire face throbbing as he absorbed the news of what
Crabbe had done. It was only then he noticed the blood still wet on his friends' black robes.
“The woman…Delacour…”

Blaise’s face twisted in revulsion. His lip quivered as he struggled to say it aloud. “What
Crabbe did to her was worse.”

Draco looked to Theodore who was trying to hide his own disgust and shock. “He tortured
her. And…Blaise barely got Crabbe off of her.”

Draco felt his blood grow hot in an instant with fury. He didn’t need to ask what Theodore
meant. “Where is she now?”

“St. Mungo’s where my pregnant wife has to once again tend to one of his victims,” Blaise
spat. “Ever think about that, Malfoy? How she would have to clean up to your mess?!”
“I told him…I ordered him—!”

“And you thought he’d listen?! You’re the Superior. This was your mission—!”

“It was an observation mission. I couldn’t have known—”

Blaise laughed. “He was your fucking friend. You know what he's like. Don’t fucking lie to
me. Not to us. We’ve done nothing all these years but follow your orders, get you out of
every mess you got yourself in. I had to restrain your mum while you murdered your own
father, for god’s sake!” Blaise paused a moment. “She wouldn’t stop screaming…None of
them stopped screaming.”

“Malfoy, this is bad,” Theodore said calmly, a hand on Blaise’s shoulder. “You know how
fragile things are with France. Delacour works with the French Ministry of Magic,
advocating against us. She’s a war hero over there. She has a son by the Weasley she
married…” Draco remembered Bill Weasley clearly. The Dark Lord had murdered him in
front of everyone in the massacre at Hogwarts. Draco remembered Fleur and her widow’s
wail that night. “We couldn’t send her back. She’s our hostage now and—”

“France will see this as an act of war, Malfoy,” Blaise spat. “And it’s all your fault.”

Before Draco could speak, he heard a voice from the top of the stairs. “Uncle Draco?”

Draco looked up at young Konstnatin still in his pajamas, his boyish face pale with confusion
and fear. The pit in Draco’s stomach grew as he took a step toward the stairs.

“Konstantin, please go back to the north wing—” Draco said as calmly as he could.

“You’re hurt…” Konstantin said.

“I’m fine. Just a misunderstanding, I promise. Just go back upstairs and—”

“Konstantin!” Valeria said, suddenly rounding the corner at the top of the stairs and she
rushed to him, giving Draco a dark look before getting between the men and Konstantin,
bending over as well as she could to block the boy’s view. She was saying soothing words to
him and pushing his hair out of his face, but she managed to get the boy to go back to his
room while Draco looked down in shame at the floor. He heard the sound of her slippers
against the floor as she descended the stairs. She stood between Draco and Blaise.

“I told you. Not in this house. Not when he’s here!” She said through her teeth. Draco did not
have words as he looked at her with guilt. She turned to the other two men. “What the hell is
wrong with you all?!”

“Valeria…” Theodore began before informing her of what had happened by the sea. Draco
stood in shameful silence as his mind raced. When Theodore had finished, it was clear she
was just as revolted by the news. “Where’s Crabbe now?”

“He ran before I could kill him. Like a fucking coward,” Blaise spat.

“I’ll hunt him down,” Draco said.

“He could come here. I can take Konstantin to Wales and—” Valeria said urgently.

“He wouldn’t know how to break the protective enchantments. We’ll get a security detail
here. Don’t frighten the boy more,” Draco said.

“If his life is in danger, Draco—” Valeria started again. But Draco couldn’t allow it this time.
Sending Valeria and Konstantin could alert Crabbe that Draco was after him. Draco was
certain now that Crabbe hadn’t been working alone. Crabbe was always volatile, but he
wouldn’t have begged for a promotion just to defy orders and cause such a calamity. Not
without cause. Not without the assurance that he wouldn’t die for it. The Malfoys had to lay
low.

“Where’s Snape?” Valeria asked.

“The Ministry, trying to get ahead of the French retaliating, forming a plan with the Dark
Lord,” Theodore said.

“I should be there,” Draco said, about to head for the door, but Valeria stopped him.

“You can’t leave us here!” Valeria protested.

“We don’t have time, Valeria!” Draco said, louder than he intended. He caught his breath and
spoke more calmly. “Just, please, stay here. I’ll be back soon. You two, go home to your
wives. Get some rest.”

The two reluctantly departed, Blaise’s hands still formed into fists, and Valeria set to work
mending Draco’s face, just a few simple healing charms was all it took, but the stressed
mania did not leave his expression even after the pain had subsided.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No. This is between Crabbe and me. Just do as I tell you to do,” Draco said.

“Maybe Snape should handle this. He has equal stake if things go south with the French—”

“No. This is personal. Crabbe knows I killed Goyle.”

“How did he manage to figure out—?”

“That’s the other problem. I don’t think he did. He wouldn’t have waited this long to do
something, he’s too dense to scheme like that. Someone had to have told him. Someone who
knows what they’re doing,” Draco said through his clenched jaw.

“Who? Who would even think to try—?”

“I don’t know!” Draco shouted in frustration. “I don’t have a damn clue, but I need to find
out.”

Valeria paced the hours away in the north wing after Draco left in a rush, often stopping into
check on Konstantin who was sound asleep, but she had to be certain he was safe for her own
sake. She remembered Fleur. Of all the Weasleys and their relations, Fleur had been the
kindest to her. Valeria remembered seeing her somewhere else by the sea, but the memory
was otherwise a blur of a place so distant yet eerily familiar. No matter how she hard tried,
Valeria could not place it. She thought about Fleur’s son and felt her own son move inside her
body. She was unsure of what made her feel sicker, the side effects of her condition or the
description of what Crabbe had done.

And Konstantin had seen. It was just a broken nose, an injury that looked worse than it
actually was, but still. It would not be long until Konstantin witnessed worse. It was
inevitable. No matter what she did, there was no way she could protect him in perpetuity.
Draco was only sixteen when he was handed over to the Dark Lord for his terrible bidding.
How old would Konstantin be? How long would he be permitted to remain a child? What
would her dear brother think of her if he could see how corrupted and powerless she was to
do anything right by his son? Had she not already hurt him enough to tear the boy away from
the family his mother had given him to for his safety? Konstantin was like the rest of them by
blood, doomed generations ago by ancestors who gave their legacies to darkness. But he was
different. He had known peace.

How long could this go on before they all unraveled?

In the morning, Valeria received an owl from the Ministry.

Valeria,

Crabbe has been located. Take Konstantin and go to Wales immediately. I will fetch you both
when this business is done. My mother is with my aunt and I don't expect her home anytime
soon.

-Draco

Valeria knew better by now than to ask more questions, as much as being kept in the dark
worried her. She could not stop thinking about Fleur, so much so that she hardly slept. She
did not follow Draco’s orders, instead contacting Antonia Rookwood, who happily agreed to
let Konstantin spend time with Lavinia at the Rookwood home that day. Konstantin too was
delighted to see his friend. Valeria immediately made for St. Mungo’s to meet Daphne in her
office. Daphne was clearly exhausted as she stared down at her paperwork before noticing
Valeria.

“Daphne…I’m sorry,” Valeria said. Daphne did not appear angry, but clearly shaken. Her
eyes were puffy, though it was apparent she was trying to hide it.

“What do you need?” Daphne asked quietly.

“I need to see Delacour, erm, Weasley, I mean.”

“Why?”

“I just want to talk to her.”

Daphne was reluctant but agreed, leading Valeria down into the bowels of the hospital where
the most notable patients were held. Across from Granger’s cell was Fleur’s, which Daphne
opened and allowed Valeria inside. Once Valeria heard the door latch and lock behind her,
she took a good look at Fleur. Beautiful Fleur. Valeria had always been a tad envious about
how tall and naturally gorgeous Fleur was, though not so much as to ever admit it. Valeria
vaguely recalled Fleur’s happiness at her wedding and felt pity to see her like this now. Fleur
was disheveled, her joy long gone. Her expression was hardened and cold as she met
Valeria’s eyes.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Fleur said in a thick French accent.

“Your attacker will face justice,” Valeria said, not knowing what else to say.

“Whose justice? Yours? There is no justice in this country anymore.” Fleur looked down at
Valeria’s abdomen and shook her head. “Your first?”

“Yes.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy.”

Fleur shook her head again. “Another monster.”

“You will not speak that way of my son,” Valeria hissed, the words escaping her lips without
thought.

“You are not so much a fool to think that he will not become like his father.”

“Draco is the one who is taking care of Crabbe for what he did—”

“And then what will become of me? Escorted back to France with an apology letter? We both
know that is not going to happen.”

“It’s…not up to me,” Valeria said, shifting her weight.

There was a spark in Fleur’s eyes. “It could be.”

“What?”

“You can get me out of here. There are ways out if we can get the coast. You and I, we can go
to France,” Fleur said, desperation growing in her tone.

Valeria was stunned by the suddenness and madness of the idea. “And be put on trial there?
Start a war with the Dark Lord—?”
“I can get you immunity, you will be granted asylum if you help me escape. Think about your
son. He would not have to grow up here. He would have a life. A real one. A life that is
worth living.”

“I have a nephew that I can’t leave—”

“He comes too. Valeria, you know things. You can help us defeat him—"

“He can’t be defeated.”

“Harry Potter had a plan, remember?”

“You know his plan?”

Fleur shook her head. “If I did, I would have seen it done long ago. But you, you were part of
it—”

“What are you talking about?”

Fleur was stunned for a moment. “But you helped him. You helped Harry.”

“Never,” Valeria insisted, her nerves threatening to overwhelm her.

Fleur was confused, but her expression retained desperation. “It does not matter. We can still
help each other. You get me out, I will get you out. We can end this. I remember. I remember
you did not want this. You can save your son.”

Valeria felt Scorpius move inside her torso again, perhaps responding to the anxiety that
bubbled within her. The prospect tempted her. She could spare Konstantin, as her brother
would have wanted. She could ensure that Scorpius would never know the pain she had
known since childhood. Away. Far away.

But Draco.

“I cannot leave my husband,” Valeria said.

Valeria watched Fleur’s last hope leave her eyes. “You would choose him over the safety of
the children?”

“I—”

“In France, his name means the same as death,” Fleur said through her teeth.

“He is the only reason I’m alive.”

“He is the reason you ended up like this. I felt sorry for you. You were a scared little girl, and
no one trusted you. They didn't know what to do about you. I told them. I told them not to
blame you. I protected you—”

“I am just as guilty as he is, Fleur.”

“I know. Because you’re throwing your one chance to do what is right away.”

Valeria swallowed, feeling her hands tremble. Was she making a mistake? No. Fleur’s idea
was a fool’s errand with no guarantee of survival. If they were caught, there’d be only
suffering. She couldn’t risk it even for the children’s sake. She would have stayed if Scorpius
was born and she could send Konstantin away too. She had never lived without Draco, not
since they were infants themselves. As she had known for so long, there was no life she could
fathom that did not include him.

Valeria turned her back on Fleur. “Goodbye.”

Fleur shouted after her, but Valeria quickly knocked for Daphne to open the door. Valera took
a moment to gather herself while Daphne stayed quiet. Valeria looked across the hall to
another cell, Granger’s cell. She could not help her instincts.

“I need to talk to Granger.”

“I have things to attend to. I can’t stand here and babysit you all morning—”

“It’ll be quick, Daphne. Please.”

With even greater reluctance, Daphne relented and let Valeria into Granger’s cell. It was the
first Valeria had seen of Granger in years. In truth, she had in her cowardice not wanted to see
so close what the potion of her making had transformed Granger into. It was plain now,
though. Granger looked at Valeria vacantly without any spark or hint of who she once. The
brightest witch of her age was numb as death.

“Do you remember me?” Valeria asked, trying to keep her emotions to herself.

Hermione nodded. “Mrs. Malfoy.”

Valeria stepped close, bending as much as she could in her condition to speak quietly with
Granger. “Potter had a plan. Do you remember?”

Hermione looked blankly at Valeria, but tilted her head just a tad as a flash of memory
appeared in her eyes before disappearing. “No.” She paused and spoke as if the words she
was saying were not her own. “In my bag. It’s in my bag.”

Granger clearly had no bag on her person leaving Valeria lost as to what she meant.
Something was wrong. The nagging feeling that she did not have all the pieces, that she was
forgetting something, which had been at the back of her mind all these years felt now more
urgent than ever. Ginny. Fleur. Granger and Weasley. They all mentioned things, events, that
Valeria could not find in her mind no matter how hard she had tried.

She could not help it. As dangerous of territory as this venture might have proven to be. She
had to know.
 Baptism by Blood
Chapter Notes

This is too long. I'm kicking myself for not breaking this whole thing into multiple parts,
sorry.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Graphic depiction of violence. Blood and gore.

Discussion/mention of rape/non-con. War. Mild consensual sexual content. Foul
language. Descriptions of corpses. Alcoholism mention.

June 1998

Following his victory at Hogwarts, Voldemort took a special interest in Draco. Given how
Draco had been the one to deliver Harry Potter, the Dark Lord decided to invest in Draco’s
potential. And it was then, during the time between the end of the war but before the Dark
Lord’s new order had been firmly cemented, that Draco found himself in hell.

The Dark Lord wanted to fashion Draco in his own image, at least so Snape told Draco. Each
task was a test to push Draco to his absolute limits and then force him beyond them. It was
training, Draco would later realize. The Dark Lord was forming him to be a killer, an efficient
and ruthless one. To Draco’s later shame, the plan had for the most worked. Draco, along
with some his Slytherin classmates who showed potential, were conscripted into joining the
older Death Eaters in hunting down and slaughtering what remained of resistance forces that
were refusing to comply.

In those days, brutality was becoming Draco’s routine. He’d rise late in the day and barely
ate. Valeria tried to give comfort, but how could she when she so often wept to him in
mournful anguish for a life she knew she could never live. He had to be stronger. He had no
choice. Before he’d leave for war each night, Draco slept with his wife. It was the only thing
that reminded them they were still alive when words lost all purpose. Then Draco would
depart only to return more broken than the night before, sobbing through his torment until his
exhaustion overcame him, only to have rest interrupted by the vivid violence of his
nightmares.

Freshly eighteen years old, this night was no different than any of the others. It was hard to
keep time straight anymore; they all blurred together. All blood looked the same after a
while. Draco and his comrades hunted their enemies like some twisted game deep in a forest
far north of Wiltshire. Draco was dueling with all his might, firing curses and blocking the
hexes his opponent flung at him. There was fire in the distance and screaming from all
around, the omnipresent symphony of cruelty. With one more spell, Draco managed to disarm
his opponent and he stopped for a moment to get a longer look at with whom he fought to the
death, squinting in the foggy moonlight to see them. Rather, to see her.

Draco’s heart sank. Women were the hardest for him to kill. He saw the woman stand frozen
in fear at losing her wand. Death raged around him as he considered letting her escape. He
had done it before, multiple times, and the Dark Lord had tortured him for his mercy. Draco
never told Valeria about what was done to him when he was kind, it would have broken her
already fragile heart more to know it. There was only way he could allow this woman before
him now to keep her life.

“Surrender!” Draco called out to her through a strained voice he could not help. The Dark
Lord would forgive those who surrender, though never let them go unpunished. At least they
would live. “Please. Surrender. Please,” Draco thought to himself, silencing begging her to
let him spare her. The woman stood still before letting out a rageful wail and rushing Draco.
She was faster than Draco expected and in his exhausted, silent pleas for her to surrender,
hesitated to act. She managed to tackle him to the ground, his wand falling from his grasp. He
felt her cold hands wrap around his throat and tighten and she pinned him down.

She tore off the Death Eater’s mask he wore and tossed it away. Her grip weakened and
Draco coughed for air as she looked down at him in recognition.

“Malfoy…?”

Angelina Johnson, her face was close and clear now. Draco felt dread again. Another fellow
student. He had played against in her Quidditch. Draco saw her face twist in grief and rage as
she cried out, leaning forward to put more weight on her hands as her thumbs pressed down
to close his windpipe. Draco’s hands instinctively gripped her wrists as he struggled against
her grasp.

He could let her do it. In just a few more long, agonizing seconds it could be over. He could
surrender and never have to do this again.

He heard his wife’s voice in his mind, though he could not make out her words. It drowned
out all other sound; the screams in the forest, the fires crackling as they burned, Angelina’s
cries as she pressed on his jugular. He couldn’t leave Valeria behind. He couldn’t abandon the
woman whose safety was all that had mattered to him for too long for him to consider
anything else.

A primal survival instinct overtook Draco as his vision started to darken. He bucked his hips
as hard as he could manage in his weakened state, causing Angelina to roll off him and Draco
tried to catch his breath as quickly as he could, coughing and chest heaving, as he climbed to
straddle Angelina. He had one hand on her throat as she swatted and scratched at him. He
was trying to get a surer grip on her, but he hadn’t recovered from being nearly strangled to
death. He felt his knee butting up against a rock and slowly reached for it. He felt its weight
as he lifted it clumsily, straining in the chaos.

He shut his eyes and the next sound he heard was the cracking of Angelina’s skull. Over and
over. He felt outside of himself. Even as he could feel her blood splatter onto his face, he did
not feel he controlled his own body. This wasn’t about bravery or courage. There was no
nobility. No virtue. This was survival. Animalistic, vicious survival. He felt Angelina’s
muscles seize and tense under him with each blow until she stopped struggling. She went
limp under his hand.

Eyes still shut as tightly as he could manage, he took a second to breathe. His stomach
lurched as he smelled the blood under his nose, and he tasted it on his lip. He tried to wipe it
away with his gloved hand, but that only made it worse. It sent him back to Hogwarts, the
massacre. The fire. The blood. The horrible smell. That smell made him lose his mind. He
tried to stand, his whole body starting to violently shake as he released Angelina’s throat. He
wasn’t sure his legs would even be able to hold him up as he tremored.

“Malfoy!”

He looked toward the voice, one he recognized. A voice of relief. He saw Blaise and
Theodore running to him. They had tried to stick together before but had been separated in
the madness of violence. He inadvertently looked down at Angelina, seeing the horrific sight
of his own lethal brutality. His peripheral vision went dark, and he felt like his heart stopped
beating then and there. His body fell as he fainted, caught by Theodore who roused him to
wake again a few seconds later.

When Draco fully came to, he sat up. Blaise had taken the body away, not far, but at least out
of Draco’s immediate vision. Blaise handed Draco his wand back before using his own wand
to vanish the blood away from Draco’s face. Blaise remembered Draco once mentioning how
much he couldn’t stand the smell of blood.

“It’s alright, Malfoy. It’s done. We got you. It’s just us,” Nott said in his tone of flat calm.
Draco’s stomach lurched again, and he moved to vomit on the ground, his friends holding
him up by the shoulders. Draco could not form words, as hard as he tried. All that escaped
him was gasping sobs, as though he were trying not to drown. He felt himself being roughly
brought into Blaise’s arms in a tight, masculine hold.

“Get it out now. Don’t let them see. Don’t let anyone else see.” Blaise said quietly as Draco
broke down. “We don’t have a choice, mate. We don’t have a choice.”

June 2006

Blaise had done more for Draco that night than either man really knew. There were things
that Theodore and Blaise saw Draco do that had never been relayed to Valeria. She didn’t
need to know. Perhaps Draco was too ashamed to tell her. Perhaps he did not want to relive it.
The fact that Draco’s oversight, his hubris of thinking Crabbe could be properly controlled,
had caused his friends unneeded turmoil, made him ill.

He sat at his desk in his study. He had downed a bottle of Tranquila Sensus to soothe the
uneasiness of having to murder another former friend. He washed it down with whiskey,
more than was probably wise, and toyed lazily with the dagger that his aunt had given him
while he waited for Crabbe to answer his summons. It irked him that this would not be over
with Crabbe’s demise. Snape had made that much perfectly clear. “The Dark Lord wants
another war,” Snape had told him. The mess with France was just the opportunity the Dark
Lord had wanted, Draco feared. Snape, along with an eager Umbridge, had told Draco the
plan, at least the plan thus far, and Draco, with no other choice, agreed, though it sounded
like a fool’s errand to him.

But what mattered now was finding out who Crabbe was truly getting his orders from. That
was all Draco cared for now, international politics be damned. This felt personal, and if that
was so, protecting his wife and son was all that concerned him. Draco stayed neutral, quietly
setting down the knife, as Tinky escorted Crabbe into the study, who sat across from Draco
looking quite pleased with himself indeed.

“Glad you wanted to see me, Malfoy,” Crabbe began. “I have some complaints about Zabini
and Nott and how they execute orders. They were about to let that French cunt and the
Mudbloods escape. It’s a good thing I did somethin’ about it or else we’d never have caught
—”

“You defied Nott’s orders and mine.”

“Because the moron was going to let her go, I just said!”

“You raped Fleur Weasley,” Draco said flatly. Crabbe was stunned for a moment, but then let
out a chuckle and shrugged.

“You know how it goes. Like I told you last time.”

Draco curled his lip inward and sat back in his chair. “Would you like to know why I killed
Goyle?”

Crabbe was taken aback. “You’re admitting it?”

“Seems important to you considering you blackmailed me with it,” Draco said with a casual
shrug. “I killed him in the act of attempting to rape my wife.” Draco was not revealing the
whole truth to Crabbe, how Valeria had orchestrated her own attack on the, albeit correct,
chance that Draco would intervene in time to stop it.

“That don’t sound like him.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“Mudbloods and traitors are one thing, Malfoy, but Goyle wouldn’t have gone for a married
pureblood woman unless she was askin’ for it,” Crabbe said. If Draco had not downed that
potion earlier, he would have likely killed Crabbe then and there. “Unless they were havin’
an affair.”

Draco laughed. “You honestly believe Valeria Winters would have ever given Goyle the time
of day if we weren’t all in Slytherin together?”
Crabbe was visibly shocked at how callously Draco spoke of Goyle. It was clear a part of
Crabbe still mourned his friend. “You killed him without a trial. You wouldn’t want that to be
made known, do you?”

“No one will know.”

“If you try to punish me for the mission, they will,” Crabbe said with a satisfied smile,
reveling in what he thought was his own cleverness. Crabbe’s remark confirmed for Draco
what he had already guessed; that Crabbe acted so outside of his orders because he believed
he would not suffer for it.

Draco laughed with a small huff. “I’ll ask again; do you honestly believe I’d summon you
here, tell you what I have and let you go free?” Crabbe’s face paled. “You’ll die in a few
minutes, Crabbe.”

The two men stared each other down, Draco with unsettling calm and Crabbe with disbelief,
each waiting for the other to move first. It was Crabbe who stood, using the desk to steady
himself as he reached for his wand, but Draco’s skills were honed while at war, and the near
decade of death that preceded this moment, and he was faster. He brought the knife down,
stabbing into Crabbe’s hand and pinning him to the desk. Crabbe cried out in pain. Draco
ignored Crabbe’s screams and drew his own wand. He easily slipped into Crabbe’s mind and
searched for the true culprit behind this. He saw plenty he didn’t wish to see, speedily rushing
through until he saw a cloaked figure in a darkened alley. When she lowered her hood, Draco
immediately recognized his aunt.

“Isn’t it strange how Goyle supposedly drank himself to death, yet he seemed perfectly sober
by all accounts at the Malfoys’ party? Odd how no one saw him leave at such a crowded
event…” Bellatrix said with a sickly sweet voice.

“I dunno,” Crabbe said. “He must have slipped out.”

“Then why do I recall seeing Goyle follow after Valeria, only for Draco to return alone and
his poor wife suddenly too ill to mingle with her guests?”

“That was a bit weird…But Draco’s my friend—”

Bellatrix cackled. “Does he think so? He seems much closer to Nott and Zabini. Giving them
opportunities, they’ve risen with him in ranks. Yet you and Goyle were the ones who helped
him deliver Potter. Surely, he couldn’t have done it without you two. Does that bother you,
Crabbe?”

“Sometimes…”

“At Goyle’s funeral he didn’t seem that grieved, did he?”

“He’s always like that.”

“Still,” Bellatrix hissed.

“He’s not…He’s loyal to us. His friends. He always has been—”

She laughed again. “The boy you got chocolate frogs with at Honeydukes died long ago,
Crabbe. You are talking about a man who murdered his father practically in front of his own
mother. He cares for no one, other than himself and his lying, traitorous whore of a wife.”
Bellatrix stopped for Crabbe to take in her words. “My sister will never recover from seeing
her son slaughter her husband. Valeria has been pulling all the strings on Draco’s actions
since they were schoolchildren. If you help me get Draco out of power, I will see to it that you
will be properly rewarded for everything. Wealth beyond your wildest dreams. Immeasurable
power. Perhaps even a prettier wife…”

Draco could feel his rage boil, though the potion dulled it significantly, as he watched Crabbe
consider Bellatrix’s offer.

“What do you want me to do then…?”

“The Unbreakable Vow I was forced to make prevents me from acting against Valeria, but not
Draco. We will oust them together. But the only thing that you need to remember about Draco
Malfoy is that he will do anything to preserve his position. Tell him what you know about
Goyle and then act as you please. He won’t be able to touch you and the fallout he will have
to contend with will provide us room to act.”

Crabbe nodded, his lips curling up in a vicious smile.

That was all Draco needed. He removed himself from Crabbe’s mind. Crabbe was truly
frightened now, trembling in pain at the state of his hand. He fumbled for his wand again, but
Draco easily disarmed him and snapped it in half, discarding the pieces. Draco firmly
grabbed the knife’s handle.

“That was always your problem. Too dense and too eager. Unfortunate combination,” Draco
said before twisting the knife stabbed into Crabbe’s bloodied hand. Crabbe cried out in
anguish. “I killed my father in this very room, you know? Bad memories. I don’t want the
memory of killing you in here.” Draco pulled the blade out of Crabbe’s hand whilst the latter
screamed again, holding his wrist. Crabbe stumbled backward and stared with hatred and
fury at Draco.

“I’ll kill her, Valeria…and your kid with her. The Winters boy too. I’ll—”

Draco let out a tired sigh. “One more time, Crabbe; do you honestly believe I’d let you onto
the property with my family in the house?”

Draco didn’t move as Crabbe took tentative steps backward toward the door. He then took off
at a run and fled into the corridor. Draco followed behind at a normal pace using the blood
drops on the floor for guidance.

“How does it feel to be the hunted one, Crabbe?!” Draco called out. “It’s been a while since I
was on a proper hunt.” Draco heard the sound of doorknobs being rattled. “Though, I did
make it easy on myself. I had the house elf magically lock every door in this house, save the
study, after you arrived. There’s no way out.”
Crabbe did not respond, and Draco followed his blood trail all the way down to the grand
foyer where Crabbe was wrestling with the main doors. Draco leisurely descended the stairs
and passed the portraits of his silently watching ancestors as he went. Crabbe was an animal
backed into a corner, clutching his injured hand. He rushed for Draco, who stepped out of the
way and stuck his foot out to trip Crabbe, sending him to the ground.

“A lot like we used to in school, eh?” Draco said as he turned Crabbe onto his back, referring
to their years spent bullying. “Those were the days, weren’t they? I should have realized how
good we all had it back then.”

“We’re friends!”

“That was a long time ago, Crabbe. I really am sorry it came to this—"

“Draco…my daughter…” Crabbe said weakly, tears filling his eyes. That gave Draco the
briefest moment of pause as he remembered his own unborn son.

“Speaking as a man who would have been better off without his father, she’ll be fine,” Draco
said, tucking his wand away and taking the already bloody knife in his right hand. Crabbe
cried out desperately, but Draco brought the blade down and stabbed Crabbe. Something
monstrous overcame him, some sick bloodlust that needed to be satisfied. This was personal,
even as Draco’s mind flashed back to the brutal murder of Angelina Johnson, he couldn’t
stop himself from indulging his cruelty. The Dark Lord’s methods, Draco’s baptism by blood,
had worked. Draco looked down at the blood pooling on the marble floor and saw his own
reflection in it and he felt something foul in the pit of his stomach.

Draco had only a moment after he stopped to catch his breath to look over and see his
wedding portrait splattered with blood. The grave images of him and his wife, back when
their marriage was a mere playact. Little did those figures know it was only the start and the
blood that covered them now was inevitable.The front door creaked open behind him, filling
the dim hall with the assaulting late-morning sunlight.

Narcissa was certain some fairytale monster had invaded her home, unable to make the sight
out clearly in the stark brightness of the light filling the hall. The figure rose from the corpse
he loomed over with inhuman movement to meet her gaze, its shadow stretching long and
menacing across the floor. What she saw was worse than a vicious creature of terrible legend.
Her son, face and clothing strewn with blood, met her eyes with a look that made her blood
run cold and broke what little was left of her heart as she could not help but see him once
more standing over her husband’s body.

Before she could speak, he marched toward her, blade still in hand. That look in his eyes,
Lucius’s eyes, of frenzied death was the same she remembered Draco wearing when he was
barely eighteen and returning home from the battles of the early Dark Age. She used to fear
for him all those anxious nights, but as he turned on her, standing over her stinking of sweat
and blood, she was now terrified of him.

“Did you know?” Draco said, the threat clear in his tone.
“Know what?” Narcissa asked flatly. She would not admit fear in her disgust of Draco. He
grabbed her wrist hard with his bloody hand to hold her still and looked into her eyes. Before
she could react, Draco had already invaded her mind, combing through her thoughts and
memories in a manic search. He lingered long through her conversations with her sister.

He had calmed, but only some, when he finally left her mind and released his grip. He was
breathing heavily, thinking fast. He was so distant, so far away. Narcissa could not see him as
her son, as much as she tried. That’s when the anger finally came, the rage she had diligently
contained all these months.

“You violate your own mother? Invading my mind like I’m one of your helpless victims—!”
she shouted, deeply shaken by what Draco had done.

“You will cease all communication with Bellatrix starting immediately,” Draco said.

“What?!”

“She’s working against me…I saw it in Crabbe’s mind…I had to be sure you weren’t a part
of it too.”

“And what if I was?” Narcissa said. She nodded toward the corpse of her son’s childhood
friend. “Would you have done that to me too?”

“Mother, don’t—”

“You will not tell me whom I can and cannot speak with—!”

“I will!” Draco shouted over her, startling her a little. “I cannot risk her getting to you too.”

“Whatever Bella has done, I will speak to her—”

“You will not! I will lock you in your wing if you don’t cooperate!”

“Draco…you’re scaring me…”

“You should be scared!” he said. “We’re on the verge of another war and I am the only one
who can protect this family—!”

“You’re not our protector, you’re a tyrant!” Narcissa yelled. “Draco, please. Bella will listen
to me…Just please…let me see her…”

“I’m sorry, mother, but you only have her to blame for this,” Draco said. His apology
sounded genuine as Narcissa’s eyes filled with tears. Her husband was dead. Her dearest
friend, Odessa, was gone too. Her son was gone in all ways but in body. Bellatrix was the
only person left Narcissa had to go to for any comfort, for understanding, for support. She
knew Bellatrix had been angry, but Narcissa firmly believed she could get to the bottom of it.
The fact that Draco could take away her one solace just as easily as he could take someone's
life broke Narcissa.

“Please…you’ve taken so much…Don’t take this too,” Narcissa pleaded through tears.
“For now, it’s best you stay in the manor. If you have to leave, I’ll have to get you an escort.
I’ll have to read all your letters and—” Draco was speaking matter-of-factly, trying to hide
how much he did not want to do this, Narcissa could tell. Yet it only filled her with
bewilderment to the point where she hardly recognized the young man before her.

“You don’t have to do this—”

“I do! What do you think will happen if Bellatrix manages to get to me—”

“I don’t know! But anything is better than this.”

“Even if it means she makes me from favor? If I die? Your son?” Draco asked. He was
softening as he looked at her. Narcissa didn’t have an answer. The truth was that she didn’t
know, and it made her feel shame to realize she must have been the worst mother alive to
wonder if her life would improve if Draco was dead. He took a calm step toward her and
reached for her. “Mother, please. You have to understand.”

Narcissa quickly pulled out her wand and pointed it at him as she recoiled away from him.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” she spat. It was only then that Draco discarded the knife he had
been holding like it were an extension of his hand. Draco took a step back. Narcissa tried to
recognize him. She remembered the boy who wept into his arms for fear and dread the night
before his wedding day. It withered her spirit away to realize she would never see that boy
again.

“You are not my son,” she said through her trembling in despair and anger. It hurt to say the
words aloud, but for her it was the truth. Even as she saw his numbness leave him, his heart
breaking to hear his mother’s words, she stood by what she said.

Draco had no words as he watched his mother retreat into the house. He had half a heart to go
after her, he wanted to, but the plan with Snape was clear. He had bigger things to attend too
and then his aunt to contend with. Surely his own mother would come around eventually.

Neville Longbottom stalked through the lonely halls of 12 Grimmauld Place which he had
filled with plants. The plants were dual in purpose. They brought Neville comfort and
provided a way for him to occupy himself whilst he hid from the world he was impotent to
save. They also provided sustenance, a way for him and Ginny to eat while in their state of
absolute destituteness. He was nervously going around and pruning them in the grim house,
alone as Ginny had distracted herself trying to rebuild the Burrow near the cursed ground
Valeria had sullied years ago.

They had not heard from J.D. in so long, not until today, when he (perhaps she) wrote that
morning, Expect a visitor. Do as he says.

The message had made Neville anxious. He did not know what to believe or what to trust,
especially seeing as no one had a hint of an idea of who this person was. He passed the
drawing room, lost in thought, but something out of the corner of his eye made him draw his
wand as he jumped out of his skin.
“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Neville said, aiming his wand at the intruder. Draco
Malfoy didn’t look at Neville, his eyes fixed on the Black family tapestry, using his wand to
make changes to it.

“Have some respect, Longbottom,” Draco said calmly. “Remember whose family this house
belongs to.” Neville took a tentative step forward, heart racing, wand aimed squarely at
Malfoy until the latter turned and rolled his eyes, putting his own wand away. “Put it away. I
was just updating it. You’ve really let this house go to shit since you started squatting here.”

Neville, nervous to take his eyes off Draco, looked at the tapestry to find newly added
connections to the Malfoy branch of the tree. He added Valeria Winters and from them had
preemptively added the name Scorpius Malfoy.

“How did you know where we are!?”

Draco ignored the fact that Neville had not lowered his wand and took a seat in a dusty
armchair. “After you kidnapped my bloody wife, did you honestly think we’d let you carry
on without a hint of supervision?”

Neville was stunned. “You…you never came for us after…”

Draco sighed. “In case you don’t remember, I had bigger things to contend with. Believe me,
I was planning on coming to kill you all, but Snape ordered me against it. You should send
him a Thank You card for smoothing that over for you.”

Neville recalled how after Draco had attacked them, they all awoke in 12 Grimmauld Place.
Neville had been so angry at Ginny for risking their lives like she did that he had not really
stopped to consider how lucky they had been. “But you did nothing. Snape didn’t do
anything. No one did…”

“It’s been almost a decade since the war. Do you think the Dark Lord gives a shit about any
of you anymore? I mean, I wouldn’t go around making yourself known, Longbottom, you’re
still technically a wanted man. We just have our eyes on bigger things these days,” Draco
explained casually.

“So why are you here, then?”

Draco removed a flask from an inside pocket from his cloak and drank deep. He handed it out
to Neville who raised an eyebrow at the gesture. “First, if I was here to kill you, I would have
done it already. Second, poison isn’t really my style. It’s just whiskey, harmless as poison
goes. It's the best you can get these days. It was my father's favorite. I wish I could see what
his face would look like if he saw me drinking his best whiskey from a fucking flask,
wouldn't that be funny? Go on then, indulge me, My wife can’t drink with me, and I hate
being the only in the room drinking. Makes me feel like a drunk.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“It takes a lot more than this to get me drunk these days, unfortunately. Do it. Humor me
before I change my mind and decide to kill you anyway,” Draco said. Neville hesitantly came
over and took the flask from Draco’s hand, taking a small sip that made his insides burn. It
disgusted him to have his lips touch the metal that Draco’s also had, but he just needed the
Death Eater out of the house and if this satisfied him, then Neville felt he had little choice
otherwise.

“I don’t think you came here for a friendly drink,” Neville said.

“Believe me, I don’t like being here either,” Draco said and Neville noticed his enemy’s eyes
dart back over to the tapestry for a moment. “How long have you known about Delacour
smuggling Mudbloods and traitors to France?”

Neville’s blood ran cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking—”

“Doesn’t take Legilimency to see you’re lying, Longbottom. I don’t make arrests much
anymore, so I’m not going to take you to Azkaban for it. I just want to know.”

“A while,” Neville said flatly, fear rising in his heart. Neville had known. He had considered
going many times, but couldn't leave everyone else behind. He might have been mostly
useless, but he would be the last man standing if it came to that. He decided that long ago.

“Figures. I admit using a Muggle boating service was clever. Went completely under our
noses for a while. Unfortunately, it’s grown into a bigger problem, one of international
importance. That’s why I’m here.”

Neville felt nothing but dread. “Fleur—”

“Currently our hostage in St. Mungo’s, no thanks to this,” Draco said, tapping a large wooden
box that sat beside him on the side table. “As you can imagine, France is unhappy. We need
to get ahead of it. If it were up to me, I’d say we show no mercy, but matters of this level of
importance are decided by Snape. And he favors a diplomatic approach, which is bad news
for me as I’m a better soldier than a diplomat.”

“You mean a better monster.”

“One man’s soldier is another man’s monster, it’s all just semantics in the end,” Draco said
with a shrug, taking the flask and drinking more. Neville could not determine if Draco
Malfoy was a little drunk or simply insane.

“What’s in there?” Neville asked, gesturing to the box.

Draco smirked. “I was wondering when you were going to ask. It’s a peace offering, of sorts,
for you. It’s meant to assure you that I’m a man of my word, at least for now. See, my men
were only supposed to spy on Delacour’s illegal business, gather information, given how
delicate the matter was. I mistakenly thought something so simple would go smoothly, even
with Crabbe tagging along to test his aptitude for high clearance work. Crabbe took it upon
himself to attack them and he…” Draco’s face briefly twisted in disgust before releasing a
heavy sigh. “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard what he does to the women he captured.”

Neville felt sick. “He raped her.”

“To put it mildly, yes,” Draco said. “I pride myself on being able to stomach most things by
now, but I cannot tolerate that, nor do our laws.” Draco opened the lid of the box. “So, I took
care of it. Don’t worry. The box is enchanted to prevent rot.”

Neville peered inside the black box and had to swallow vomit. Crabbe’s head lay inside the
box. Neville recoiled away, shouting profanities in shock, as Draco closed it once more.
Neville looked back at Draco’s nearly dead eyes, the man’s expression giving away nothing.

Neville struggled to find words. “Wasn’t he…your friend?”

Draco scoffed, but something in his eyes betrayed a hint of sadness. “He was useful. Until he
wasn’t.”

“Mind telling me what the fuck this has to do with me?”

“It doesn’t really, but I’m happy that you’re alone here, because who I really need is Weasley.
More specifically, I need her cooperation.”

“If you go near her—” Neville threatened.

“For fuck’s sake, relax, Longbottom. No harm will come to her if she cooperates. All you
have to do is convince her.”

“Convince her to do what?”

“Snape is coordinating a diplomatic visit to try and mend this without starting another war, at
least not one where France fires the first curse. The French will be invited to dinner at my
house, as part of their visit, to work out terms, but we need to demonstrate that we’re not a
threat and that all is well in wizarding Britain under the Dark Lord’s rule, even if it’s just a…
difference of culture.”

Neville was gob smacked. “What does that have to do with Ginny?”

“Delacour committed a crime on our soil so we cannot release her, yet France expects their
darling war hero and advocate against us returned to them. We won’t, but we will at least
make a show of negotiating. I’m not pleased about my own damn home being used for a
glorified stage play, but it’s out of my hands. Weasley is, or was, Delacour’s sister-in-law and
the aunt of her son. Weasley attending dinner and this diplomatic meeting might help reassure
France that all is well and even blood traitors are treated civilly.”

“You…you want Ginny to lie?” Neville asked with a scoff of disbelief.

Draco nodded. “To put it simply, yes.”

“That doesn’t tell me why you’re here. If you wanted Ginny you could just take her and force
her to do what you need her to do; I know how much your lot loves liberal use of the
Imperius Curse—”

“Hence why I need her cooperation specifically. This will be a wandless meeting, no magic
from either side. I won’t be able to control Weasley, which is why I need you to convince her
to cooperate.”

“I’d probably have the same luck doing that as you would trying to convince her yourself,”
Neville said truthfully. Draco stood and went to the table at the center of the room which a
large plant sat on. Draco shoved the plant to the ground even as Neville protested, which
Draco ignored as he dumped a large coin purse of galleons onto the table.

“I figured you’d say that. I admit to not paying that much attention in Herbology, but while I
was touring what you’ve done with the place, I saw most of your plants aren’t decorative.
You’re surviving off them, aren’t you?” Draco said. Neville didn’t respond. “Pathetic. I didn’t
count these coins and I admit I don’t know how much food costs, but this is enough to get
you through quite a while, isn’t it?”

Neville looked down at the glittering coins and remembered hunger. He had been somewhat
malnourished for so long that the pangs of hunger hardly bothered him anymore. But they did
make themselves known in his gut as he imagined the sheer amount of food he could buy
with the money before him. Draco removed his wand and pointed it at a small cluster of
galleons and Neville watched as they magically melted and evaporated into the air.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s your choice, Longbottom. Honestly, this gold is more trouble than it’s worth. In fact, it’s
probably cheaper for me in the long run to get rid of it than it is to go to the trouble of storing
it. Funny how the numbers shake out like that,” Draco said. He melted and evaporated
another cluster of coins. “How much are you willing to lose?”

Neville wanted to be strong. He wanted to be virtuous and insist there was no amount of
money that could bend his will to Draco Malfoy. But when he watched Draco make his own
riches disappear, Neville saw food disappear. Supplies disappear. The ability to help others
vanishing before his eyes. Draco aimed for another cluster.

“Stop!” Neville said and Draco obliged with a smirk. “I’ll talk to her. I don’t think she’ll
comply, but—”

“Then how about this: If she cooperates and doesn’t make a single error during, I’ll make
sure her mother is released back to her,” Draco said with a sigh.

“You can do that?” Neville asked in surprise.

“Like I said, Longbottom, none of you really matter to us anymore as long as you’re quiet
and if we’re heading for another war, we’ll need the bedspace in St. Mungo’s. Shouldn’t take
more than a couple minutes to authorize the paperwork,” Draco said, only the smallest hint of
dread in his tone.

Neville remembered all the times he comforted Ginny whilst she wept over her inability to
help her mother. It had been so long, and Molly Weasley had been so fragile to start that
Neville wondered if it would help or hurt Ginny to have her back. But he owed it to Ginny to
try. He had to at least take what he could get in hopes it would keep him alive long enough to
help someone else, anyone else.
“I…I’ll try,” Neville agreed. It hadn’t sunk in yet that he agreed to assist Draco Malfoy of all
people. He knew how dangerous it was to have Draco for an ally and he felt sick with guilt
over what he was agreeing too. But perhaps there was a way, or there would be one someday,
if he could just manage to stay in Malfoy’s good graces for long enough…

“Good. I’m sure I don’t have to narrate the consequences to you if Weasley fucks this up,
which I personally believe is a strong possibility at this point,” Draco said, pushing the gold
toward Neville and going over to grab the box containing Crabbe’s head. “Have to take this
with me though, sorry you can’t keep it. Oh, one more thing.” Draco fumbled for something
in his pocket and tossed Neville a vial. “You’ll be getting more information about how this is
going to go, but give that to Weasley and she can take it before she’s escorted to my house on
the date of.”

“I thought you said there was no magic.”

“No magic during, not prior. Don’t look at me like that, you moron. I told you poison wasn’t
my style. I take that shit all the time. It’s called Tranquila Sensus and all it will do is numb
Weasley’s emotions, so she doesn’t throw a goddamn tantrum. Valeria makes those for me,
and you can trust her work is flawless. Nothing to worry about in there.”

“You take potion to numb your feelings?” Neville asked with some disbelief. He saw Draco
react to the question, regretting what he said about the potion.

“We all have our ways,” Draco said quietly before moving to leave the room in a brisk hurry.
“Thank you for making this easy. I’m already dreading trying to convince my wife of this
plan.”

“She doesn’t know yet?” Neville asked and Draco stopped in the doorway.

“That’s what I’ve just implied, isn’t it, Longbottom? God, you haven’t gotten any smarter
even after all this fucking time, have you? She has bigger things to worry about for now.
She’ll know soon.”

“Your child?” Neville asked nodding toward the tapestry. As if Neville had accidentally set
off a bomb, he saw Draco’s eyes become wild with fury.

“Never mention my son. Ever. That goes double for Weasley. Make sure she remembers
that,” Draco said through a clenched jaw before leaving Neville alone with his gold.

Draco was tired as it was growing late in the day and he had hardly slept, but he had followed
Snape orders to bring Longbottom on board, which Draco had a sick feeling in his stomach
would not go as planned in the long run. Hopefully, that would be enough to convince Snape
that Bellatrix needed to die. He set the box down on the headmaster’s desk with a heavy thud
and opened the lid, presenting the grizzly contents to Snape. Snape sneered in revulsion as he
looked away.

“Where’s the rest of him?”

“Sent it back to his wife,” Draco said with cold callousness.

Snape sighed. “You could have a little more tact in these…delicate matters—”

“You said France would want proof justice was done, here it is,” Draco said, shutting the lid
and having a seat across from Snape. He took out the flask and drank down another gulp of
whiskey.

“I’d prefer to have you sober—”

“I did what you asked, I’ll drink if I want. I convinced Longbottom to convince Weasley
without violence, just like you asked. You should have seen the look on his face when I
started making the money I offered him disappear.”

Snape let out a beleaguered sigh. “When I said you’ll trap more flies with honey, I didn’t
mean—"

“At least money rhymes, that’s close enough. I don’t care, Snape. I have a bigger problem,”
Draco said before informing Snape of what he had learned in Goyle’s memories of Bellatrix
conspiring against him. Snape thought for longer than Draco had patience for before speaking
again.

“You cannot act against Bellatrix. Not yet,” Snape said, angering Draco.

“You’d rather have me dead?”

“No. I will handle this with Bellatrix. You cannot afford to make more enemies right now, not
when we’re on the precipice of an international war—”

“I don’t give a fuck about the war! France can burn for all I care! I need to protect my family
—!”

“Bellatrix is not Vincent Crabbe. She’s intelligent, calculating…You’ve already killed your
father, Draco—”

“Then killing her will be all the easier. And those reasons are precisely why she has to die
before she can do anything else to threaten me or my family,” Draco insisted.

“She is your family, Draco.”

Draco ignored Snape’s point. “I’ve proven she’s working against me, surely the Dark Lord
won’t tolerate her acting against one of his most favored—”

“Murdering his most outspokenly loyal servant will be worse for your favor than letting me
handle it,” Snape said, pausing at the look on Draco’s face. There was something wild in him,
like an animal backed in a corner. Desperate for violence. “Are you alright?”

Draco heard his mother’s voice disowning him again. He heard Crabbe begging for his life.
He felt his hands around Angelina Johnson's throat. “I’m fine.” He took another moment to
breathe. “The Unbreakable Vow prevents Bellatrix from hurting Valeria, but not me or—"
“Draco, at some point you’re going to have to let yourself trust me. I promise I will keep you
safe from her. I’ve known her a long time and I have the authority to—.”

Draco couldn’t take it anymore. “My son! Once he’s born, there’s nothing stopping her from
hurting my son.”

Snape sat back. “Valeria’s having a boy.”

“Just found out,” Draco said. The two men shared a look of understanding. A boy meant an
heir. A boy meant that the wheels that turned Draco’s young life would start turning all over
again to the same ends. Snape leaned forward and, in a gesture that truly shocked Draco,
placed a comforting hand over Draco’s, gripping it a little. There was more pity and sincerity
in Snape’s eyes than Draco had ever seen.

“I promise that I will not allow anything happen to your son, Draco. You’re exhausted,
you’ve been drinking. Go home to your family. Get some rest. Focus on the task at hand with
France and be there for your wife. Her job is harder than yours.”

Draco approached the Winters estate in Wales without the reassurance or permission he had
wanted from Snape as the sun began its daily descent. He felt bone tired and powerless as he
hung his head in the mountain breeze. His mother had disowned him. He was not allowed to
follow his instincts to protect his family without risking worse. Another war approached and
Draco felt his nerves rattle at the thought of having to go to war again.

He heard a cry; a shout that made his blood run cold until he realized his instincts were
wrong. It was a cry of joy, one that grew louder as he drew nearer to the picturesque fortress
nestled in the lake. He saw first his wife, sitting in a chair with her wand ready in hand,
looking up. Following her gaze, he saw young Konstantin flying on his father’s broom. He
wasn’t dangerously high, but higher than he had gone before.

“Uncle Draco! Uncle Draco! Look, no hands!” Konstantin called out upon seeing Draco
approaching. Konstantin released the handle of the broom and flew forward a little with his
arms in the air, spread like an eagle. Draco was impressed that the boy maintained such
perfect balance and control, but Valeria was not convinced.

“Both hands on the handle! We talked about this!” Valeria called up in panic.

“Oh, you’re no fun,” Konstantin retorted with sass.

“Listen to your aunt, Konstantin!” Draco called up, coming to stand beside his wife.
Konstantin obeyed and continued his flight, clearly having the time of his life.

“Crabbe?” Valeria asked quietly.

“Dead,” Draco replied flatly.

She nodded. “I have things to tell you.”

“So do I,” Draco said. He quietly explained what all had happened since they had last parted,
and Valeria was carefully controlling her reactions given Konstantin’s presence. He reassured
her of Snape’s assistance with Bellatrix to quell Valeria’s impulse to murder the woman
herself. If looks were anything to by, she was just as displeased about Snape’s command as
he was. Then he revealed to her the diplomatic plan that he, Snape and Umbridge had
carefully devised the night before.

“Draco,” Valeria said with a scolding tone. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”
 Parabellum
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Violence. Character death. Some blood/gore. Amputation.

Discussion of war.

No Time. All Time.

At the end of it all, there was only one thing Draco Malfoy wanted his son to understand.

For there was so much. Too much for Draco to ever explain. Abraxas Malfoy had once told
his grandson “A man is only as good as his word.” But Draco didn’t have time for words.
There were too many words. There was too much for Scorpius to know, and Draco concluded
that he did not want to burden his son with explanations. That was naught but noise
distracting from the unfathomable. There was only one thing Draco wanted his son to
understand about him.

He was terrified of wolves.

He had nightmares about them as a child. He saw their shadows on the hedges on the grounds
of Malfoy Manor when it was only the shadow of a tree branch. He thought he heard howls
outside his window at night when it was only the wind. Large hounds made him tense and
nervous. Werewolves made chills run down his spine. He could hardly stand to look at Fenrir
Greyback.

He thought he would outgrow it. He thought it would one day become as silly as imagining
monsters under the bed.

Until the day the wolves came, but not for him. They came for her.

His fear never left him even as he fought them. He drove the wolves away. Always. He never
stopped, not waking nor sleeping. He had to drive them away from her, for her.

And all he needed in return was to trust her with his heart. His goodness, his humanity. His
way of kissing her shyly and gently, feeling her hot breath that smelled of wine on his skin.
His way of looking at his feet when embarrassed and then right back up to her for assurance.
His willingness to surrender to tears in her chest. The way he could just smell the lilacs on
the air and feel peace. That’s all he asked; Save this. Save this, please.

If she could do this, he could drive the ravenous wolves away.

He’d let them pick his bones bare with gnashing teeth, the rotten scraps of his hope shred
apart in their snarling jaws, but so long as she held his heart still, he would never die. Their
hunger was never satisfied, no matter how much they ravaged, but Draco would never stop.
He would keep driving the wolves away. It was a tall order, he knew, and he was sorry. But
he let the wolves tear him apart over the years, knowing they could never eat his heart and
swallow it whole. Even if his heart was locked away in some dusty, secret place that no one
could find, as long as she held it still

Selfish as he was, it was inevitable his heart would grow too heavy to hold. It was inevitable
that her strength would one day crumble under the weight of the burdens of so wretched a
life. It was then that Draco would relieve her of the duty that he demanded in greed. When
the wolves would inevitably devour him, there’d be nothing left of him, if she could not carry
this one last piece of him.

It was then Scorpius that took Draco’s whole heart. A gentle hold full of the potential of
young life could do so much to revive a strangled spirit. It was Scorpius, born of her, who
held the last of Draco Malfoy.

And so Draco could continue. He could carry on for eternity as the only thing standing
between his love and the wolves. Draco could battle forever, allowing the rest of him to be
eaten alive, until all he knew how to do was drive wolves away.

History would tell Scorpius what his cursed father did, Draco knew. He need not make
mention of his sins nor explain them with powerless and convoluted words. Draco needed
Scorpius to know only that he held his father’s heart safely whilst Draco fought to the death,
against his terror and against his will, to drive the wolves away.

Draco never conquered his fear of wolves.

August 2006

Being eight months along and having to make preparations for the visit of the French made
Valeria more irritable than ever. Umbridge had been in and out of Malfoy Manor over the
passing weeks, nitpicking at everything she saw in the house and offering petty criticisms,
thinly veiled as helpful suggestions. The French too wanted to ensure the location was secure,
by their definitions, and the Malfoys were forced to consent to an inspection, smuggling out
the darker artifacts in the home for safekeeping, just in case. Valeria missed her mother.
Odessa had always handled matters like these and was better at it than her, at least so Valeria
believed.

Draco wasn’t helping matters, though he was doing his best. He interrogated Valeria regularly
about her condition and was behaving towards her with more vigilance than he had in a
while. “Mind the stairs, Valeria.” “Make sure there’s no shellfish on the menu.” “Are you
sure you should lift that? Just use a levitation charm, for god’s sake.” It was tiresome, but if
it helped soothe his many recent worries then she was willing to tolerate it, at least for now.
Valeria could not wrap her head around the fact that they were doing any of this at all when
Draco had said, after far too many tedious meetings with Snape and Umbridge, that the Dark
Lord still wanted a war. Draco insisted on doing what they were told and focusing on the
baby afterwards.
Umbridge had wanted Narcissa involved in the event, but Draco refused. Narcissa was still
confined to Malfoy Manor on Draco’s orders, despite Snape having calmed Bellatrix for the
time being. The prospect of another war, more glory, had excited Bellatrix and turned her
attention to the future. Draco knew it was a temporary solution, but it would have to do for
now, despite his ire and urge for vengeance. Valeria noticed how Narcissa had been speaking
with her son even less than before. Draco told her what happened with Crabbe, how the sight
had upset her, but that’s all he would share.

The house was brimming with activity the day of the French’s arrival to Malfoy Manor. They
had been touring Britain, being shown sanitized versions of all the most impressive places in
the Dark Lord’s regime; the opera house, the Ministry, Hogwarts, but Malfoy Manor was the
crowning jewel of their extended visit in Britain. Hired help was moving all about getting
everything perfectly in order as final preparations were made. Valeria was called down to the
gates, a long walk for her at this point in her pregnancy, and she met two young men, just
freshly out of school, just outside the estate’s gates. Each man held onto to one of the arms of
a deeply unhappy Ginny Weasley.

“Mrs. Malfoy, you’re absolutely glowing,” one of the young men said, being overly
complimentary.

“No trouble with the escort, I presume,” Valeria said. The young man smiled. They were both
fresh and eager to make their mark and earn a spot in the Dark Lord’s ranks. Valeria imagined
her own son being the same way some day.

“No, madam, everything has gone smoothly. She gave us no trouble,” the other said, handing
Ginny's wand to Valeria. Ginny was allowed to pass through, but the young men lingered as
the gates shut once more.

“I’ll be sure to tell my husband how well you’ve fulfilled your duties," she said. That
satisfied them enough for them to happily depart. Ginny and Valeria walked together slowly,
Ginny keeping her eyes on the ground. Valeria felt her skin crawl in the unpleasantness of
their meeting. “I assume you’ve been told what’s expected of you.”

“They were thorough,” Ginny said through a clenched jaw.

“Good. I’m taking to you to a spare room. Speak to no one,” Valeria said as the great doors to
the manor house opened, still bustling with activity.

“Aunt Valeria!” Konstantin called rushing up to his aunt with a broom in hand, speaking
quickly and urgently. “I’m done with lunch. Can I please fly for a little while? Please, please,
please, please—?”

A young woman, part of the hired help that had been assigned to minding Konstantin whilst
Tinky had his hands full, rushed up out of breath behind the boy. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, he
got away from me. He’s rather fast.”

Valeria smiled, noticing crumbs from lunch still on Konstantin’s clothes and started brushing
them off. “Indeed, he is. You can fly for a little bit, but only if you do not run away from
Charlotte anymore. And if I look out the window and see you flying higher than the first
floor, no more brooms for a week.”

“But Uncle Draco said—” Konstantin said with a pout.

“I don’t listen to him and neither should you,” Valeria said, half-jokingly.

“Alright,” Konstantin said, admitting defeat. He looked over at Ginny, seeming to have just
noticed her now that his primary concern had been dealt with. “Hello!”

Ginny was so quiet that Valeria had nearly forgotten her too. Valeria saved face in front of her
nephew. “Konstantin, this is Ginny Weasley, one our guests tonight. Weasley, this is my
nephew.”

“H—Hello,” Ginny said, unsure if she should speak, taken aback by how cheerful the boy
was given the circumstances.

“How do you do?” Konstantin said with a polite little bow.

“Go on, have fun. We’ll fetch you when it’s time,” Valeria said. Konstantin didn’t have to be
told twice as the woman watching him lifted her skirts a little to keep up with him. Valeria
gestured for Ginny to follow her, apologizing for the interruption. Valeria led her up the stairs
and through the corridors to a room, secluded from the busyness of the preparations. Valeria
secured the door behind them and turned to Ginny.

“You will stay in this room until you are called, it will be locked and guarded. The windows
cannot open and are enchanted not to break, so don’t bother trying to escape. You are
permitted one glass of wine per hour upon the arrival of the French. You will not speak until
you are spoken to. You will answer any and all questions within the parameters of the
guidelines that have already been explained to you. You will not speak to anyone alone unless
one of our own is present,” Valeria said, not waiting for Ginny’s response. She opened a large
wardrobe. “You may choose from any of these garments. They’re my old things, but they’ll
do. There’s a seamstress around here somewhere if adjustments are needed. Ring that
handbell on the table there if you need anything, and someone will assist you. Some women
will be up near the time of arrival to help you get ready. If you step out of line by even an
inch your mother will rot in St. Mungo’s. Are we perfectly clear?”

“Yes,” Ginny said with a hateful sneer.

“Good,” Valeria said. She went over to the bed and bent over, struggling some to get
something out from under it. Ginny raised an eyebrow watching her.

“Do you…do you need help?” Ginny asked tentatively.

“What part of ‘do not speak until spoken to’ do you not understand?” Valeria spat, lifting a
box and bringing it over to the table in the center of the spacious guestroom. “I’m pregnant,
not incapable.” Ginny eyed the box as Valeria came close to her. “We don’t have much time.”
Valeria opened the box and carefully took out its contents; a few books, an old locket that
was partially broken, a mangled golden cup, and a twisted metal crown.
“What is this stuff?” Ginny asked, bewildered and a bit fearful.

“I was hoping you could tell me. I talked to Fleur a few weeks ago, after her capture. I also
talked to Granger, who barely knew who I was but told me to look in her bag. Theodore Nott
got me into the Ministry where her belongings still remain. These were some of the things in
her bag that hadn’t been confiscated or destroyed. I can’t explain it, but…they felt important.
Do you recognize them?”

“These are Hermione’s things?”

“They were, yes. You can touch them if it helps. They won’t hurt you, but be quick about it,”
Valeria said. Ginny looked over the things, trying to make sense of them, but nothing rang a
bell in her mind. Only sad memories.

“I don’t know what any of this is,” Ginny said.

“You said Potter had a plan, right? Granger always struck me as a practical sort of person. I
don’t know why she would carry around random trinkets of junk if they weren’t important.”

“We didn’t hear from any of them at all. I haven’t the slightest idea—” Ginny stopped herself
as she glanced down at the tiara and a flash of memory came to her. “The Room of
Requirement…”

“What?”

“When you all; you, Harry, Hermione and Ron, came back to Hogwarts, Harry said he was
looking for something to do with Ravenclaw. Something old and valuable, like a…”

“Like an artifact?” Valeria asked.

“Right,” Ginny said weakly. “Luna, remember? It was Luna who thought it might be a
diadem that was once Rowena Ravenclaw’s.” Ginny looked at Valeria who was lost in
thought, searching for the memory Ginny mentioned but could not place it.

“Why would Potter destroy a priceless artifact?” Valeria said.

“That’s all I know. That’s all he got to tell the rest of us before…Ron and Hermione would
probably know if their minds hadn’t been…” Ginny said, trailing off sadly. Valeria began to
quickly repackage the items into the box. “What are you doing?”

“You’ve told me all you know, that’s enough. Mention this to no one, understand? No one.
Not your mother, not Longbottom, not Luna. No one,” she ordered, shutting the box and
taking it to the door.

“Why do you want to know?” Ginny asked. Valeria stopped at the door and turned to give
Ginny a dark look.

“Don’t speak unless you are spoken to, Weasley,” Valeria said, before marching out the door,
the lock and latch clicking behind.
Valeria stood with her head high, her shoulders back. Elegant, still and calm; just as she had
been trained from birth. Her hair was tied back tight and her robes modest and dark in color.
Draco was also in dressed in his finest, badges and medals displayed prominently on his
chest. Konstantin was downright adorable in his dress robes. Draco stood to her left and her
nephew to her right. Konstantin was copying his aunt, seeming to enjoy the excitement. He
didn’t know the full truth of the matter. All he knew was that the French were visiting.

Draco leaned over to whisper in Valeria’s ear. “If this gets too dull, I can always kill
Umbridge. I think both us and the French would be entertained by that.”

Valeria tried not to laugh, knowing he was joking, and sharing the sentiment of being fed up
with Umbridge breathing down their necks over the weeks. The Malfoys stood proudly
before the front door of the manor as figures came into view down the long path. Leading the
group was someone tall, absurdly tall and Valeria already knew Minister Olympe Maxime
before getting a clear look. After Fleur Weasley’s escape to France, Olympe had been elected
as the French Minister for Magic, championing France’s commitment to combatting the Dark
Lord’s influence on French soil and its citizens.

She travelled with other French officials, escorted by Nott and Zabini whose wives were
inside with the others. Draco stepped forward and gave a polite, slight bow as they stopped
before the Malfoys.

“Madame Minister, it is an honor to welcome you to Malfoy Manor. If you’d allow me to

introduce you to my family. My lovely wife, Mrs. Valeria Malfoy and our nephew,
Konstantin Winters II,” Draco said politely. Draco was an intimidating man, that was certain,
but compared to Olympe’s height and the disdain with which she eyed the Malfoys, Draco
looked no more threatening than a kitten.

“You’re tall!” Konstantin blurted out with a grin. He clearly meant it as a compliment, but
Valeria saw the surprise on Olympe’s face and put a gentle hand on Konstantin’s shoulder.

“My apologies, Madame Minister,” Valeria said with a smile. “My nephew is still adjusting
from the Muggle world and isn’t as practiced in our customs yet.”

“It is alright, Mrs. Malfoy. In France, we believe that children should remain innocent as long
as possible,” Olympe said, looking Valeria up and down with suspicion before turning back
to Draco. “May we forgo these pleasantries, Mr. Malfoy? We have a had a long few days, and
are anxious to finish our business and part ways.”

“As you wish, Madame Minister. I invite you inside,” Draco said, clearly tense but trying to
hide it. He opened the great doors to the grand foyer, where the other prominent guests
waited; Daphne, Tracey, Snape and Umbridge, amongst others. Ginny was there too, keeping
as far away as she could without looking out of place in Valeria’s clothes and her own red
hair pulled back tight. She was accompanied by an escort, more of a guard in truth, wearing
dress robes to blend in. One of the hired child-minders quietly took Konstantin’s hand to
bring him to a separate wing of the manor, his part in the introductions over. In the center of
the hall, on a table, was an ornate box that Draco approached, removing his wand.
“As agreed, there will be no magic from this point forward. My wife has enchanted this box
to store our wands so that you may retrieve no wand save for your own. This box will be
guarded by one ours and one of yours, as agreed,” Draco said, placing his own wand within.
Olympe nodded to one of her men, who stood beside the receptacle. Each person there took
turns placing their wands within as gestures of good faith. “Now we may all relax and go into
the parlor room for—”

“Mr. Malfoy, your home is so impressive, I was wondering if your wife would be kind
enough to give me a tour,” Olympe said, surprising everyone.

“You flatter me, but with the size of the estate, I’m afraid a tour could take all week,” Draco
said.

“A short one then. Just the, uh, highlights, as you say. Yes?” Olympe said. Draco looked at
Valeria, worried about deviating from the itinerary, but she nodded to him.

“Of course, as you wish, Madame Minister. We will reconvene shortly in the parlor,” Draco
said, leading the others out of the room, Umbridge in particular looking quite unhappy about
the development. Valeria had a sinking feeling since Umbridge arrived that morning and
could not tell if it was anything other than how much she detested the woman.

“What would you like to see first, Madame Minister—?” Valeria began but Olympe walked
down the hall to the Malfoy portraits and Valeria picked up her pace to keep up with the
Minister’s long strides. “Yes, here you will see all the portraits painted of the Malfoys going
back centuries, several generations. This is mine and my husband’s from a few months into
our marriage—”

“I have eyes,” Olympe said flatly, examining the portrait. “You have no scar here.”

No one ever mentioned Valeria’s facial scar, not to her face anyway. Valeria was taken aback
by Olympe’s directness but swallowed her annoyance. “The scar came after.”

“I know you must think I do not remember you, from Hogwarts, but I do. Snape pointed you
out as one of his best students. I remember your brother coming to France several times on
behalf of your Ministry, the old one. He was quite charming, a perfect diplomat. His son is
lovely too,” Olympe said.

“He is,” Valeria agreed.

“I remember you at the Yule Ball with that boy,” Olympe began with disgust, referring to
Draco. “I don’t think you saw how the rest of us noticed, at least once, how taken you were
with him.”

“It’s a fond memory,” Valeria said genuinely.

“I probably would have forgotten you, given all that happened, if it had not been for hearing
the Malfoy name over and over, all these years. I remember the pictures in the papers at the
beginning. The headlines in France were different; Valeria Winters, Forced to be a Teenage
Bride. It’s a rough translation, but you see my point. When she escaped back to France, Fleur
told me about you. She could not believe it, she would say. She told me how pitiful you were.
A scared little girl, all alone. At the mercy of the monsters—“

“I wasn’t alone. I had him.”

“That’s worse then, isn’t it?” Olympe said to Valeria's shock. "Your pictures were so sad,
heartbreaking really. Your potential, your youth, wasted. ” Olympe mused, staring at the
painting.

Valeria swallowed her true thoughts. “My husband was forced just as I was.”

“Maybe. But that’s how it is with women, isn’t it? They treat us the most cruelly, then take
advantage of the sympathies, only to do it all again.” Olympe paused. “The victims, the ones
that made it to France to seek asylum, they told us about you too. Formidable dark witch.
Cold, cunning. Ruthless. All I saw in those pictures and articles during the war was two
frightened children playing pretend in others’ games of power. Same as you are in this
painting. Forgive my surprise then, to find you just the same. You are still a frightened little
girl, but you are no longer playing pretend in the grander games, are you?”

Valeria was stunned by the forwardness of Olympe’s words. “With all due respect, Madame
Minister, you are here to discuss terms with Britain, not opine about me or my past.”

“And whose terms would those be? Your husband’s? Your vile Minister’s? Snape’s? Your
Lord’s?”

“It makes no difference to me, nor is it my place to have a say in international politics,”
Valeria said.

“Yet you are used as a symbol of ideal womanhood in this regime, on display for all the
wizarding world to see.”

“It is an honor to have my efforts be recognized.”

“You are many things, Mrs. Malfoy, but you are not a fool. If there’s one thing I remember
well of the Winters family, it is that they never rolled over to die.” Olympe paused to turn to
Valeria, staring down her nose at her. “I will give you one chance, more than you deserve. I
will ensure you get to France to claim asylum. I will grant you full and complete immunity
on the condition that you use your intimate knowledge of the workings of the Dark Lord’s
regime to help us bring him down once and for all, to prevent him from taking over the rest
of Europe. Your nephew, and of course your child, will be safe. You must decide now, Mrs.
Malfoy.”

Valeria smirked. “Fleur made me the same offer when I saw her. I’ll tell you what I told her; I
will not leave my husband behind.”

“The offer does not extend to him.”

“I’m aware and for that I must decline. It is for the best, I assure you. If I were to accept,
Draco would not stop until every man, woman and child in France was dead.”
“Think carefully. Think of your child—”

“My son is safest being where his father can protect him. For the benefit of these
negotiations, I’ll keep this conversation to myself.”

“I don’t believe that this is what you want.”

“What we believe doesn’t matter. All you need to know about me is that my loyalties have
always been the same, since before any of this.”

When the women returned to the parlor, Draco was visibly relieved. A string quartet played
as the awkward mingling carried on. Valeria quietly told Draco what happened, keeping away
from other guests as she did. He didn’t react, wisely enough. The guests' wine was helping
ease the tension, but only by a hair. It was clear the French were revolted to even be in their
presence. Valeria’s attention moved between guests, making a point of speaking with
everyone on neutral subjects, even her friends, to put on a convincing show. The pregnancy
worked to her advantage as a conversation piece. She saw Ginny keeping her glass close,
standing by the wall and Valeria went to her, pulling her away from the guard's observation.
Valeria smiled friendlily, though her words and tone relayed the opposite sentiment.

“You’re supposed to be mingling,” Valeria said.

“What the hell am I supposed to say?” Ginny said, so clearly out of her element that it would
have been comical if the stakes weren’t so high.

“What we all have to say; that you’re a happy woman, grateful for all the Dark Lord has
provided for us. And smile, for god’s sake,” Valeria said, smiling herself. Ginny tried to
smile, but her expression looked pained. “You’re hopeless.”

“It’s not like this was my idea, you bitc—”

A bell rang announcing the start of dinner to Valeria’s immense relief. The dining room was
in its full grandeur, just as it had been years ago during the many parties and events that had
once been hosted in the manor. Draco sat at the head of the table, Olympe at the other, to
Umbridge’s dismay who firmly believed she should have the highest seat. Ginny sat
unhappily to Draco’s left, as a special guest, Valeria to his right.

The conversation remained uncomfortably neutral as food was served, as if the building were
burning and all were ignoring it, waiting for someone else to mention it. That is, until
Olympe opened her mouth once more. This time, her target was Draco.

“Mr. Malfoy, your nephew seems quite happy here. I’m surprised you’ve welcomed a half-
blood orphan so fully in your home,” Olympe said. Valeria’s grip on her steak knife tightened
until her knuckles were white.

“All thanks to our Lord’s great mercy,” Umbridge interjected with her grating voice. “He has
been incredibly gracious to overlook a few of the Malfoys’ embarrassments.”
Draco’s thin veneer of cordiality dropped in an instant and he spoke darkly, glaring at
Umbridge as if he could will her to drop dead with his eyes. “He is not an embarrassment.”

Even Ginny looked worried, sinking into her chair, as if trying to hide behind her food.

“What my husband means is that despite my brother’s pre-war scandals, his son remains the
heir to one of the most renowned names in the wizarding world and for that we are grateful
that the Winters legacy shall continue. We have no doubt young Konstantin will accomplish
great things with the undeniable collective power of both the Winters and the Malfoys behind
him, as I’m sure you agree, Minister Umbridge,” Valeria said, trying to unclench her jaw as
she spoke.

“Young Mr. Winters certainly has quite an example to model after in you, Mr. Malfoy. I
wonder if it causes you fear, as a man who has killed his own kin,” Olympe said.

“The circumstances with my father were unique. It was my duty, as always, to see that the
Dark Lord’s justice was done,” Draco said nonchalantly.

“How does your mother feel about this justice you speak of? I’ve noticed you did not present
her to us like the rest of your family,” Olympe said.

“Perhaps we should ask her,” Umbridge suggested.

“I’m afraid my mother wasn’t feeling well this morning,” Draco said.

“It’s no matter, Draco, we wouldn’t keep her long—”

“I believe trotting out a widow to eulogize about her husband is against the codes of conduct
one expects from the French Ministry of Magic, am I correct, Madame Maxime?” Snape said
before Draco could interrupt.

“Yes, Severus. We do not approve of petty games to torture the already victimized. Hence,
why I find it curious that you have somehow managed to coerce the poor Weasley woman
into attending this meeting,” Olympe said. The tension was palpable as Valeria turned to
Ginny, who had been perfectly docile, barely picking at her food. Her jaw was clenched, and
she was sitting as though she wanted to melt into her chair and wither away. The women’s
eyes met, fear was clear in Ginny’s gaze, and it was as though she briefly looked to Valeria
for guidance. Valeria gave her a dark look to silently say, “Don’t fuck this up.”

Dolores Umbridge laughed in a high-pitched chuckle. “There must be a misunderstanding.

Miss Weasley volunteered to join us this evening. Isn’t that so, Mrs. Malfoy?”

Valeria was looking Ginny in the eye as she spoke. “Yes, Ministers. As Fleur Weasley’s
former sister-in-law, Miss Weasley here was delighted to assist in setting the record straight,
so to speak, about what life is like under the Dark Lord.”

“I think Miss Weasley can speak for herself,” Olympe said coldly and then turning to Ginny.
“First, let me say how sorry I am for your many losses.”
Ginny was struck. Hardly a soul had offered her such sympathy in so long that it bewildered
her to hear it now. She saw Valeria’s eyes again, finding the vile woman’s stare dark and
desperate. Ginny swallowed before speaking. “That’s kind of you. But my family was made
entirely of blood traitors. They are not worth mourning. Not anymore.”

It was plain to anyone with an ounce of sense that Ginny was not sincere, though she was
trying to be convincing. Olympe was not surprised by the response, but her expression
revealed a deep and pitiful sadness. “Yet you fought with them. With Harry Potter, did you
not?”

Draco winced slightly at the sound of Potter’s name, but no one noticed as all eyes were on
Ginny. Ginny shifted in her chair. “Harry abandoned me, with Granger and my brother. I
didn’t see them for almost a year. He told me nothing. When he was defeated, it was clear
that I was the fool to trust him. He fooled us all. He only wanted power for himself. The Dark
Lord…he saved us.”

Valeria felt relieved. Ginny spoke the words, the official story the Dark Lord’s propaganda
machine had spread, as if she were a child forced to recite her prayers. It clearly pained her to
say it aloud. Pain didn’t matter. Pain was a given. It was non-negotiable.

“You are satisfied with this? The ways of life here?” Olympe asked.

Ginny nodded weakly; the ring magically secured to her finger that marked her for aa traitor
glistening in the candlelight. “I am grateful for the Dark Lord’s forgiveness and for the life he
has given us all.” The room fell silent as dinner was finished and the plates were vanished
away.

“Looks like its time for dessert,” Umbridge said cheerfully.

“Forgive me, Minister Umbridge, and I am sorry too to the Malfoys for cutting their
hospitality short, but we are not here to break bread. We’ve danced around each other long
enough, it has grown tiresome, as I’m sure you’d all agree. I would like to address the matters
at hand,” Olympe said.

“And what are your terms?” Snape asked.

“We are in the final stages of solidifying our alliance with the Magical Congress of the
United States of America. Once this is finalized, a war with France would prove quite
difficult for you,” Olympe said.

“The Americans are notoriously prickly. We too have friends there—” Umbridge began.

“I’ve found them rather agreeable. I think that their reservations are a result of their
confidence. They do not engage in matters unless they fully believe they can win,” Olympe
said.

“We are glad you’ve found friends in the international magical community,” Snape began.
“But we have no intention of starting a war between our two powers, rather we are gathered
here to prevent one.” Valeria noticed Umbridge’s lip twitch. In fact, Umbridge’s expression
made Valeria entirely uneasy. Something was wrong. Valeria looked at Draco and he gave her
a concerned look as well. If Draco was worried, then everyone had reason to be worried.

“Alright, Severus, here it is. We demand justice for the assault on Fleur Weasley by one of
your officers, Vincent Crabbe. We expect her returned to us otherwise unharmed and without
her mind or faculties magically altered as soon as is possible. The Dark Lord will withdraw
all forces and efforts of expansion or occupation in continental Europe. Britain shall retreat in
full, keeping your matters and your ways confined within your national border. All assault on
Muggles shall cease immediately. We also request that an opportunity be given to all enemies
of your state to seek asylum in France. This is the only way you will avoid war. If even one
of these is not met, then I’m afraid the time for discussion shall soon end,” Olympe said.

The room was silent, the ticking away of a large clock was the only sound heard. Valeria’s
heart beat out of her chest. There was no way any of these terms would be agreed upon.

“The Dark Lord has already dispensed his justice. In fact, this is his gift to you. Draco, would
you do the honors?” Umbridge said. Draco snapped his fingers, prompting Tinky to pop into
the room trying to carry an ornate box which he placed carefully on the table before Olympe.

“It was my error that caused the attack on Delacour and so it was my responsibility to correct
it,” Draco said as Olympe tentatively opened the lid of the box, only to gasp and recoil at
Crabbe’s head sitting within. Blaise tried to contain his disgusted sneer.

“I should have expected barbarism to be your meaning of justice,” Olympe spat, shutting the
lid and having one of the other officials with her take the box out of her sight.

“Vincent Crabbe was punished in accordance with our laws. As Fleur Weasley committed her
crimes on our soil, and she became a citizen of ours upon her marriage to William Weasley,
I’m afraid that we cannot agree to deliver her to you until her case is carried through our
courts,” Snape said. Olympe’s face dropped, it was the first sign of fear the woman had
showed.

“And France does not get to determine what the Dark Lord can and cannot do outside of your
own borders. It is far too late to withdraw from Europe at present without causing more
political instability, as I’m sure you know,” Umbridge said in a sickly-sweet voice that made
Valeria’s skin crawl. “I’m afraid what you ask is a gross overreach of your power, as our
citizens committing crimes on our soil is for the Dark Lord to determine. Certainly not
France, nor any other magical governing body.”

Olympe was enraged but containing it. “Then unfortunately, it seems we are at an impasse.”

“Indeed, it is unfortunate,” Umbridge said.

“Perhaps, we can offer an alternative—” Snape began.

“Enough, Severus,” Olympe spat. “I have seen enough. This visit has been nothing but insult
and vile shows cruelty. I’ve seen how you treat your women, indoctrinate your children. This
nation stinks of death and France will not stand to have it go on any longer. Perhaps the
gravest insult is that your Lord, as you call him, was too much a coward to face me himself.”
Umbridge smiled. “Why Madame Minister, if you wanted to speak with him, all you had to
do was ask. Draco, your left arm, if you’d be so kind.”

No.

Valeria’s heart sank and her insides twisted in fear. Scorpius began to move within her,
violently, responding to her terror. Ginny’s eyes were wide, Valeria could see her hands
trembling. Snape was sitting still, his mind turning quickly, trying to find a way out of this.
Valeria looked to Draco. He was hard to read for most, but Valeria knew. She could see. He
was paralyzed by his own fears. He hesitated. Valeria saw him hesitate. He didn’t want to do
this. Umbridge noticed too. Tracey and Daphne, who had been as silent as their husbands this
entire time, looked to Valeria for reassurance she could not give. Nott was gripping his wife’s
hand tight, the first she had seen Nott shown this much worry.

“Draco, is something wrong?” Umbridge asked cheerfully. Draco moved, bringing his left
arm up onto the table. Olympe and the other French officials started to shout, demanding
their wands.

“We agreed to no magic, Madame Minsiter,” Umbridge said.

“If you summon him, you violate our—”

“Oh, but you said that we present cannot do magic at this meeting. You said nothing about
calling for assistance,” Umbridge said, nodding to Draco.

No.

Draco lifted his sleeve, trying to keep his hand from shaking as the Dark Mark that branded
him revealed itself. He pressed his index finger to it hard and the ink began to writhe and
slither with life. Almost immediately, the firelight dimmed and, in the air, materialized clouds
of wispy black smoke forming into a dark shape in the room. Ginny began to pant, making
noises of panic as chaos rang out. She felt a hand clamp down hard on her wrist.

Ginny heard the unmistakable sound of Draco’s voice, speaking low and quiet. “Don’t.
Move.”

The Dark Lord, accompanied by Nagini, emerged from his cloud of smoke that seemed to
feed on all life and light in the room. With one lazy wave of his wand, the French officials
found themselves paralyzed in their chairs. His red eyes seemed to glow with sinister delight
as he smiled.

“I apologize for my late arrival, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. I hope you don’t think of me as rude to
infringe on your hospitality like this,” the Dark Lord said. Valeria didn’t move a muscle, as
hard as that was with her unborn son moving anxiously in her womb. “Oh, dear, it seems we
missed dinner. Such a shame. I’m sure Mrs. Malfoy prepared something quite splendid.” The
Dark Lord turned to the French at the other end of the table, Nagini slithering on the floor
beside him. “I instructed Dolores to summon me if negotiations appeared to be going south.
It saddens me that our two great powers cannot come to an understanding. I was looking
forward to joining forces. What we could have accomplished together…But you have made
your decision and I respect that.”

Nagini hissed terribly.

“Poor Nagini. She’s in a foul mood as I neglected to feed her this evening. Better late than
never, as the saying goes. Nagini, dinner.”

Nagini lunged for Olympe and her screams of agony filled the room to the point that it made
Valeria’s ears ring. Nagini was vicious and Valeria tore her gaze away, meeting frightened
eyes with Ginny, whose face was pale as death. The massacre continued. The Dark Lord
personally slaughtered each and every one of the French officials until the screaming stopped
and the terrible silence of death was all that remained.

The Dark Lord levitated the box containing Crabbe’s head back to Draco, setting it down on
the table before him. “Rodolphus will approach your gates tonight to take this off your hands.
He will be escorting the Delacour woman back to France where she will become Minister in
my name and under my control. Severus, you will come with me. We have much exciting
business to discuss. Thank you, Dolores, for your assistance tonight. I will not forget it.”

Valeria was struggling in her condition, dragging Ginny, who was panicking and sobbing, by
the wrist through Malfoy Manor. Disorder had erupted as soon as Snape and the Dark Lord
departed. Draco gave Umbridge hell before he needed to evacuate the hired help out of the
house. Tracey was in a primal state of trembling shock. Blaise had to hold Daphne up as they
left the manor. Tinky, in tears, had been charged with cleaning the dining room. Valeria had
Ginny retrieve her wand from the box in foyer and dragged her deeper into the manor. Valeria
shoved Ginny into her potions laboratory and secured the door before she pushed Ginny
roughly to sit in a chair and dug around in her shelves and stores.

“Please…please let me go…” Ginny wept. “My mum…”

“Your mother will be returned to you, now keep quiet. We don’t have time,” Valeria said,
approaching Ginny. She held the wrist of Ginny’s right arm roughly and looked the panicked
woman in the eye, their faces close. “There will be war. Seems that was the plan all along.
The first to be conscripted for fodder will be Mudbloods followed by—”

Ginny looked up at Valeria in realization. “Blood traitors.”

Valeria nodded. “This ring has a Trace, but the Ministry won’t investigate unless you use
suspicious spells. Still, it will make it easy to find you if they decide to make you go to war.”

“It doesn’t come off—”

“No, it doesn’t. It’s also cursed. If you remove the finger itself, a necrotic curse will reach up
your arm and through the rest of your body. You’ll be dead in a day,” Valeria explained
quickly before pausing. “Unless, the hand is removed first instead.”
Ginny’s eyes widened. “H—How do you know?”

“Because I helped Snape design them, Weasley,” Valeria said quietly, and Ginny noted a hint
of regret. “I can take the hand. I don’t have much for the pain. Any of the stronger anesthetic
potions are lethal if I get the dosage wrong and I’m not trained as a Healer. I know enough to
keep it from bleeding out and getting infected, but—”

“You can’t take my hand!”

“The choice is yours!” Valeria shouted. “But you need to decide now. Either we take the hand
now, while everyone’s distracted or you’ll be just as disposable as a Muggle soon enough.
Your pure blood will keep you safe for a while, but not forever.”

“I won’t fight. I’d rather die—!”

“Yes, we all know, Weasley. But as you’ve just seen, if the Dark Lord wants something, he’ll
find a way to get it. If you’re asked to fight, you will fight, unless you can’t be so easily
found.”

“Will it…even work?”

“It’ll buy you time. That’s all I know. It’s up to you.”

Ginny was paralyzed in shock and disbelief. Valeria’s hand gripping her wrist was the first
human touch she had felt in so long. “Why are you doing this? Why are you…trying to help
—”

“Don’t ask questions when the answers don’t matter. You’re a liability; a thorn in my
goddamn side. Getting you out of the equation entirely benefits me just as much as you. With
any luck, and if you do the smart thing for once, you and I will never cross paths again.”

Ginny looked down at her hand. The red ring that marked her for so many years, preventing
her from doing anything worthwhile in this nightmare. She recalled the nights she twisted
and pulled on the ring until her hand was swollen and swore, trying to pry the damn thing off.
But her hand. Her wand hand. The hand that once held Harry’s…

She looked up into her enemy’s eyes. She would lose her hand, but she would be as free as
she could be while still trapped in hell. Freer than she had been since she was a teenager.
Freer than Valeria Malfoy could ever dream of being. It wasn’t much, just a flash of a
moment, but for that split second Ginny felt dreadfully for Valeria. She didn’t realize it then,
but a quiet part of her heart knew that Valeria was choosing to give Ginny something she
could never give herself.

Ginny swallowed and exhaled a trembling breath. “Do it.”

Valeria gave her what she could for the pain, but Ginny couldn’t imagine it did much with
how much her arm now hurt, bandages wrapped where her hand was just minutes ago. Ginny
wept, her muscles throughout her body shaking violently, sweating and her blood on fire.
Valeria was not gentle as she shoved Ginny’s wand into a pocket of the confining dress robes
Ginny wore. Valeria removed a long pin from her head, her hair cascading down as she did
and held it to Ginny.

“A temporary portkey. One way and only you can use it. It’ll take you to Longbottom,”
Valeria said. Ginny couldn’t move, and so Valeria placed the hairpin into Ginny’s left palm
and she was gone.

It was late into the wretched night when Draco came to the master chamber, after giving
Snape hell, having not known for certain that this had been the Dark Lord’s plan all along.
Umbridge had conspired, she too wanting to make her mark on history as the Minister who
led a world wizarding war. The highest officials of the French Ministry were dead. There was
no way out.

He found his wife calmer than he had expected. She was seated on the balcony in her
nightwear, staring vacantly out over the grounds of the dark estate. He approached with
caution born of shame, removing his cloak to drape it over her shoulders in the cool summer
breeze. He could smell autumn on the air, ready to cool the world again. She barely moved as
he stood, impulsively running his hand through her hair now down and loose. He loved her
hair.

"It's our anniversary," she said softly.

"I forgot."

"Me too."

“You checked on Konstantin?” he asked quietly.

She nodded. “He didn’t notice a thing.” That was a relief. Draco didn’t how they would have
begun to explain anything to the boy if he knew what had happened within these very walls
just hours ago.

“Good,” Draco said.

“Another war?” she asked after a moment. She spoke so quietly that Draco thought it was a
whisper on the wind.

Draco nodded. “Yes.”

“Will you have to go?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said truthfully; it was simply too early to tell. “Probably not until he’s
born.”

He heard her breath hitch and looked down to see her come to tears in the pale moonlight.
“You can’t leave us.”
He got to one knee before her, reaching up with one hand on her face to wipe her tears as
they came. “I never have. I never will.”

“How many more wars will there be?” she asked.

“The first one never ended, darling,” Draco said low.

“Konstantin…Scorpius…” she let out a small gasp through a sob. “How long until they have
to…? How long until they come for them too?”

“Look at me. Right now, look at me,” he said until she obliged. He adored her dark eyes,
once so full of life and sweetness. He spoke through his teeth as he brought his other hand to
rest gently on her belly. “Nothing will ever happen to them. I’m only going to say it once; I
will kill everyone else in this world before I let anything happen to them. Don’t ever think
otherwise, don’t you dare.”

Draco felt it, his son moving beneath Valeria’s skin as he spoke, eager to be born as he
prepared to leave his mother's body and enter life. It only strengthened Draco’s resolve. As
terrified he was of fatherhood, as clueless he was as how he was going to raise his son, he
knew only that the worst of this world would never reach the children.

“Promise?” Valeria sked weakly. A man was only as good as his word. He carefully brought
her closer to embrace her, her cheek resting in on his shoulder, the scent of lilacs in her hair
filling the air as the wind wafted. For a moment, he felt sixteen again, trembling as he
showed her the Dark Mark for the first time in some forgotten alcove at Hogwarts, promising
to keep each other alive.

“Promise.”

It was one finite moment of peace in the calm eye of a raging storm that would never cease as
Draco prepared to go back to war. He heard the howling of wolves in his mind as they were
about to descend one more time.
 Borning Cry
Chapter Notes

Forgive me for breaking up my usual chapter structure.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Bullying. Crude/Foul language. Magical violence. Childbirth.

Mention of blood/gore. Mention of war. Mention of torture and murder.

Many Years Later

Scorpius dreaded his birthday every year. The only thing he looked forward to was turning
another year older and that much closer to getting out of Hogwarts.

Even still, he could not help but envy his peers, those whose parents would send them gifts
and care packages throughout the year and on their own birthdays. Konstantin did his best, he
showered Scorpius with gifts, expensive and thoughtful. But Scorpius had asked his cousin
years ago to not have them sent to the school as Scorpius’s worst tormenters would try to
steal them anyway. Otherwise, receiving packages on his birthday just drew attention that
Scorpius did not want nor need. Scorpius’s main concern was to avoid Sullivan McLaggen,
who had chosen Scorpius as his nemesis early in first year and made no secret of how much
he despised Scorpius Malfoy. He got away with it too, given that McLaggen’s father was the
Minister for Magic.

Konstantin never mentioned it, but Scorpius was too perceptive not to notice how much the
boys' loathing of each other caused problems. Konstantin worked close with the Ministry
advocating for causes that Minister McLaggen was heartily against and did all he could to
make Konstantin’s work unnecessarily difficult. Konstantin had raised hell after previous
incidents over the years between Scorpius and Sullivan, and each time the tension between
Konstantin and the Minister grew.

Scorpius figured that if he could go unnoticed by Sullivan, as much as possible, that he

wouldn’t be responsible for making Konstantin’s life harder. It wasn’t his fault, not in the
grand scheme he knew, but Scorpius could not help but feel incredibly guilty watching his
cousin try to pretend nothing was wrong every time.

Still, Konstantin was never going to let Scorpius go a single birthday without doing at least a
small thing. Scorpius appreciated the gestures so long as they were discreet. He was sat in the
library now, taking the time after dinner to be alone and read, waiting for the day to be over.
Scorpius had nicked a book from Konstantin’s study over the summer and given the strictness
with which the Dark Arts, even academically, were forbidden, he only felt safe opening the
book in lonely corners of the library where no one would pay mind to him.

The Dark Arts, while commonly shunned for their potential to do a great deal of harm,
promise but one simple thing: Power, even to the powerless, read the introduction to The
Mystery and Majesty of the Dark Arts. It had been the property of Konstantin Winters I, then
Scorpius’s mother’s, that much he knew. Scorpius was ashamed of his interest in dark magic,
for the obvious reasons, but he could not help his curiosity. He could not help but being
drawn to the prospect of power when he felt so helpless in most aspects of his life. He flipped
through the pages, finding handwritten notes in the back that Scorpius had to read with effort
given how bad the penmanship was.

Dark Patronus

‘Ecce Dolorem Meum’

‘Behold my Pain’

When in doubt, go for the throat.

That was all Scorpius could find in the book on the subject, and it was clear the words were
not meant for him to read, but he still found himself drawn to the idea of such a Patronus.
Light and Darkness, two sides of the same coin.

But there was another reason he had come to the library to pass the time. A letter from
Konstantin had arrived this morning and Scorpius wanted to open it with as much privacy as
he could get, when he was ready. He slowly pulled the envelope out of his bag, setting the
book aside, and carefully opened the envelope so as not to make noise with the paper. He first
pulled a parchment with an old Daily Prophet clipping stuck to it. It was a photograph taken
in some grand room. Valeria Malfoy was seated in the center, all in white, with her husband’s
hand on her right shoulder as he stood beside her. Scorpius was curious to see young
Konstantin smiling serenely, unlike the stern-faced adults pictured, dressed finely to the point
where it looked a little silly.

But Scorpius’s gaze lingered on his mother’s arms, rather what she held. Swaddled in fine
fabrics was a baby, sleeping peacefully with a head full of white hair. Scorpius saw the way
his mother’s fingers move ever slowly in the picture like she was clutching Scorpius for dear
life. Her eyes, Scorpius’s eyes too, revealed something desperate and furious; a vicious
predator who would fight tooth and nail to protect her young.

More curious than anything, a large red X had been scrawled across the photograph.
Scorpius’s eyes went to the words in the letter, which he should have read first.

I remember it. It was a good day. Your birthday was a good day, Scorpius.

It still is.
 Love,

Konstantin S. Winters II

The light of the lantern revealed a square shadow still inside the envelope. Scorpius carefully
withdrew it, shocked at what he saw.

His parents, the same people though they somehow bore no resemblance to the first image.
His mother reclined in bed, her hair a bit disheveled, her eyes betraying exhaustion, but she
was smiling, fully, almost laughing. It was the first time Scorpius saw an image of her
smiling since the photographs of her as a teenager. His father was seated on the bed, close
beside her with his arm around her, leaning over to look down at the baby in her arms,
wrapped in a soft looking blanket. He was smiling too, looking to the baby and then to his
wife. He for once was wearing something with a low enough collar that Scorpius could see
the large, rough scar across his father’s throat.

With slightly trembling fingers, Scorpius turned the picture over to find the words, in much
neater writing, Scorpius. Four Minutes Old.

Scorpius’s muscles felt heavy and adhered to the chair, as his heart rate quickened for a
moment. He could not understand how these were his parents. His mother was a stoic woman
with the intimidating facial scar and a bewitched complexion that made her look like a living
statue and something lethal lurking just behind her eyes. His father was a menacing, grim-
faced man with the sharp features Scorpius inherited and just a hint of mania in his
expression, like a coiled viper about to strike.

The people in this picture were joyful. They looked at the baby and to each other with
unconditional and enduring love. There was something beautiful and pure that challenged
Scorpius’s assumptions about his parents and his desire to hate them for all they were and
did.

But Scorpius did not have time to parse out his difficult feelings with no easy answers when
Sullivan McLaggen crept up on him and snatched it from his fingers.

“What have you got there, Cockroach?” McLaggen said to the amusement of his giggling
friends. Cockroach was one in a long line of many names Sullivan taunted Scorpius with;
Insect, Vermin, Pest.

Scorpius quickly hid the book away in his schoolbag while McLaggen and the others burst
out laughing at the photograph. Scorpius stood sharply and drew his wand.

“Give it back, McLaggen,” Scorpius said through clenched teeth.

“Aw, missing mummy, Cockroach? Don’t worry, she doesn’t miss you. She’s better off given
how pathetic you turned out,” McLaggen said.

“Just give it back.”

“I don’t think I will. It’s for your own good, you know. She’s just putting on a show here, my
dad said she was good at that. Don’t get it in your head that she wanted you. A cunt like her
couldn’t love anyone but herself anyway,” McLaggen said.

Scorpius felt his blood boil and his heart pound. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Ooooh, I struck a nerve, didn’t I? It doesn’t take a genius to know mummy didn’t want you,
after all where’s she been all this time, hm? You know your dad forced her, right? He forced
her to marry her and forced her to have you, everyone knows that. How’s that feel, Pest, to
know mummy probably wanted you dead the moment you were born—?”

Scorpius raised his wand to McLaggen in his rage, but the quiet of the library was disturbed
suddenly by McLaggen’s shouts as the bully shoved the picture in his pocket.

“Someone help! Malfoy’s gone mad! He’s trying to kill me!”

Scorpius did look quite bad as Hypatia Daniels, the librarian, rounded the corner and stopped
to see Scorpius’s wand aimed between McLaggen’s eyes.

“Wand away now, Mr. Malfoy!” she demanded. Scorpius hesitated but obeyed.

“Madam Daniels, we just stopped to say hello and he started threatening us. I think he’s
reading about dark magic. He was defensive and just lost it on us! That book he’s got is
probably banned!” McLaggen said, demeanor changing to that of a worried victim.

Madam Daniels looked over at the desk Scorpius had been reading at. “That looks like a
Herbology textbook to me.”

“Then he’s lost it. I’m sorry, Malfoy, but I’m worried about you. You should go to the
Hospital Wing for a mental check before you hurt someone—”

“Back to Gryffindor Tower, Mr. McLaggen. I appreciate your input, but faculty remains in
charge of determining proper disciplinary measures. Go on, all of you,” Madam Daniels said.
The boys obeyed and McLaggen smiled triumphantly at Scorpius as he passed, patting his
pocket where he stashed the photograph, before Daniels turned on Scorpius. “I’m going to
have to take this to your Head of House. I was hoping you were beyond this by now and I’m
afraid your disciplinary record is going to work against you.”

“But he—”

“No excuses, Mr. Malfoy. Drawing a wand at others outside of staff supervised classwork is
strictly forbidden. The rules are clear.”

Scorpius fought the angry tears that he could feel coming. There was no point in telling her. It
wouldn’t matter. No one ever did anything about it anyway and Scorpius had long stopped
trusting the faculty of Hogwarts for aid.

“Am I free to go?” Scorpius asked, giving up on this fight.

“Yes, best get back to the Slytherin common room. Curfew is coming up shortly.”
Scorpius unintentionally let a few tears fall, but at least they came when he was walking the
corridors of the dungeons alone on the way to the common room. He managed to pull himself
together before entering. He hated showing weakness, even to his few friends. He was going
to go up to the dormitories for some more time alone, but stopped seeing a few of his friends
gathered with concerned expressions around Adelaide Montague, her eyes bloodshot and full
of tears.

“Looks broken,” Matthias Zabini said, gently holding Adelaide’s swollen wrist.

“What happened?” Scorpius asked.

“McLaggen happened, what else is new?” Edric Harper said quietly to Scorpius. “He caught
Adelaide in the hallway. Wouldn’t leave her alone. Grabbed her and shoved her into the wall.
Messed up her arm.”

“Ada, we have to take you to the Hospital Wing,” Benedict Montague, Adelaide’s twin
brother said, a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder. Adelaide shook her head as she cried,
hunched over her wrist.

“Abbott can fix it quickly. We don’t know the right spells,” Matthias said. “We’ll go with you
if you want—”

“No!” Adelaide insisted. “That woman hates me.”

Graham Montague had tortured and murdered Hannah Abbot’s father during the war with
France.

Scorpius handed Edric his schoolbag. “Take this upstairs for me, will you? I forgot something
in the library, I’ve just remembered, and I don’t won’t to carry that thing back and forth
again.”

“It’s close to curfew, mate,” Edric said.

“I’ll be back in time.”

Scorpius was betting on his prior knowledge that McLaggen liked to play loose with the
curfew rules. Even when he was caught, he and his friends usually got off without so much as
an hour’s detention given his father’s influence. Scorpius’s tears had left him and in their
place was only fury, a dark sort of rage filling him with the urge to destroy. He hated the
prospect of rolling over and accepting the injustices. Why should he? He had lashed out
before. He had beaten his bullies bloody, though that was only a couple times and he only
narrowly avoided expulsion.

Scorpius no longer cared. He only endured his torments out of shame for who he was, but
that left him powerless, and he despised that feeling most of all. In his darkest moments, he
caught himself fantasizing what his life would be like if Lord Voldemort still reigned. It
would be terrible, bloody and miserable, but at least no one else would have dared look the
wrong way at Draco Malfoy’s son. Perhaps all along he had been fighting against the truth of
who he was. Monsters only beget monsters, after all.
Scorpius surrendered to his darkest impulses as he sought McLaggen out in the courtyard that
he knew his bullies liked to frequent and dominate, the setting sun making the sky glow with
red. When in doubt, go for the throat. Scorpius found McLaggen and a few of his friends
sitting together and enjoying themselves, quite loudly. Scorpius drew his wand as he hastened
his approach.

“You’ve managed to surprise me, McLaggen, congratulations!” Scorpius called out calmly,
full of cold concentration, all eyes turning to him. “Even I didn’t think you’d sink low
enough to attack girls.”

McLaggen and his friends laughed as the former stood to meet Scorpius. “And what are you
going to do about it, Vermin? Go crying to your cousin again?”

“You should be thanking me for not doing to you what my parents would have, considering
how much you love to remind me all about them,” Scorpius said with a devilish little smirk.

McLaggen drew his wand and grabbed Scorpius roughly by the collar of his uniform. “You
should take time to think about what you do next. I bet I can convince my dad that your
cousin isn’t a fit guardian, then you can spend your summers in a charity house with the rest
of pathetic friends—”

Scorpius cut off McLaggen by spitting in his face, right in the eyes. McLaggen leapt
backward in disgust as Scorpius stepped forward again and swung to bring his fist against
McLaggen’s jaw as hard as he could. Scorpius stood over his nemesis, wand aimed squarely
at his head.

“Give the picture back and turn yourself in for what you did to Adelaide,” Scorpius
threatened darkly.

McLaggen laughed, rubbing his jaw. “I need to correct what I said. I can have you taken from
your cousin and get you expelled—!”

Scorpius shrugged and spoke with a familiar bored drawl. “Oh, please do. Honestly, the
sooner I can get out of this goddamn place the better. Now give me the picture back.”

McLaggen got to his feet and took the picture from his pocket. “This?” McLaggen took it in
both hands and shredded it into papery pieces he discarded on the ground. McLaggen aimed
his wand at Scorpius, his friends joining in the stand-off, well outnumbering Scorpius. “You
need to think long and hard about who exactly the fuck you think are—”

“I’m Draco Malfoy’s son,” Scorpius said low as he grounded himself. “Ecce Dolorem
Meum.”

Wisps of black smoke spewed from the tip of Scorpius’s wand, taking the crude shape of a
large bird that swooped suddenly on McLaggen. His friends shouted and stepped back as the
patches of grass and flora the smoke touched turned brown with death. The spell took all of
Scorpius’s concentration, realizing he was in over his head to know how to properly control
it, but he stood firm. His anxieties, his insecurities were gone. He never felt stronger or surer
than now, all the power in his very hands. He was determined to infect McLaggen’s mind
with the cruelest form of empathy, to force his enemy to behold his pain.

He was enjoying this.

That was until McLaggen’s friends were begging for him to stop. Scorpius then relented, the
black smoke dissipating to nothing in the air around them. McLaggen was pulled up by his
friends, uninjured, but pale with shock and fear, tears in his eyes. Scorpius smirked to see him
so weak and humiliated. McLaggen’s friends held onto their friend, rushing him towards the
castle. One of them shoved Scorpius roughly as he passed.

“It’s over for you, Malfoy,” McLaggen said through panting breath. Scorpius watched them
go, putting his wand away when they were out of sight. The guilt started to creep in as
gathered the pieces of the photograph to magically fuse together once more. His father’s face,
happy and smiling. Scorpius looked just like him and he resented his father all the more for
it. His mother, his cold and cruel mother, who could not possibly be capable of the love he
saw from her in the image.

Scorpius held the picture in his hand, his rage subsided and clarity returning as darkness fell
on the Hogwarts grounds, awaiting his inevitable punishment. Lonely tears came to him
again as he stewed in his bitterness.

Scorpius hated his birthday. He hated being reminded of how his parents gave him the gift of
life, only to abandon him in the world that they destroyed beyond repair.

September 2006

Scorpius was born while Paris burned.

Fleur Weasley unleashed hell as the Dark Lord’s puppet under Rodolphus’s control. Britain’s
magical forces swiftly invaded. France was all but fallen. But the wars, present and future,
were the furthest things from Draco’s mind as he paced a lounge room in Malfoy Manor.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor, Malfoy,” Nott teased a little as Draco paced lost in
thought. Nott had been enjoying Draco’s anxieties over Valeria’s labor, having been in a
similar position not long ago with the birth of his own daughter. Draco, Nott and Blaise had
been banished to a separate wing of Malfoy Manor whilst Daphne, along with other
midwives, tended to the birth. Tracey, who had not left her house since the slaughter of the
French, was there for support and was the chief messenger back and forth between the men
and the women.

“There’s nothing in this house that can’t be fixed with magic,” Draco said, continuing his
pacing. Blaise rose and poured brandy in a glass, thrusting it to Draco.

“You need to relax. She’s in the best hands money can buy,” Blaise said. Draco knew his
friend was right, but the reassurance did little soothe him.
“Valeria will kill me if I turn up drunk when the time comes,” Draco said, setting the glass
down without drinking. “I need to be ready in case I need to do something—”

“You did your part nine months ago, Malfoy. Take my advice, there’s nothing for men to do
at this point,” Nott said.

“Not to mention it takes a hell of a lot more than one brandy to get you drunk these days,”
Blaise said. Draco was going to argue, but decided against it, taking a deep gulp of the drink
and nearly spit it back out after being startled by the door to the room bursting open with
vigor.

“Uncle Draco, they’re here!” Konstantin said as he rushed into the room, struggling with the
weight of his travel bag. “Lavinia and Mr. Rookwood are here! I saw them coming up the
drive!”

The Rookwoods had agreed to take Konstantin for a couple days so the boy could at least
have fun while Draco and Valeria were preoccupied. It was well past his bedtime, but house
rules were ignored given the circumstances.

“Great, we should go meet them. All packed?” Draco asked.

“Yes!”

“Did you pack the important things like your aunt told you? Not just games and pumpkin
pasties?”

Konstantin looked a little guilty. “Well, not just games and pumpkin pasties…”

Blaise stifled a laugh and Draco smirked. “Alright then. I’m sure the Rookwoods will let us
know if you’ve forgotten something. Let’s go meet—”

“Wait,” Konstantin said, reaching into his bag. He carefully pulled out a small bouquet of
lilac blossoms, tied together neatly with a piece of string and handed it to Draco. “This is for
Aunt Valeria. You said these were her favorite. I took them from that tree in the gardens, I
hope that’s alright.”

Draco was struck by the gesture and took the flowers from Konstantin with a smile. “She’s
going to love it. That was…very thoughtful of you.”

“I’ve got one more thing!” Konstantin said proudly, wearing the sassy Winters smirk he
inherited from his father. From within the bag he handed Draco a folded up piece of
parchment. “Aunt Valeria bought me quills with different colors and they make drawings
move! This is for the baby.” Draco carefully unfolded the parchment to see a multicolored
child’s drawing of Malfoy Manor with figures standing outside smiling, holding hands. “See,
there’s us. You, me, Aunt Valeria, the baby and Tinky! Up here, in the clouds, there’s my
mum and dad, and grandma and grandpa Winters. I labeled them since I can’t draw very
well.”
Draco had a strange feeling in his heart. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but it felt like it was going
to explode as he looked at the drawing. The scribbles moved a little, some waving, and all
smiling. He couldn’t find words as he looked at it, nor make sense of how it made him feel,
but he was smiling as he looked at it. Without even thinking, he was smiling.

“It’s so the baby can know who we all are when he gets here. I know he won’t be able to read
yet, but this way at least he can keep it all straight,” Konstantin said as Draco was still
stunned in silence. “Do you like it?”

“Konstantin, this is…” Draco began, smiling as he noticed how Konstantin had failed to spell
Hieronymus correctly, not that many adults had ever gotten it right on the first go either. “I
think this is the best gift you could have given the baby.”

Konstantin smiled broadly at a job well done. “Are you alright? You seem nervous?”

“Your aunt’s having a baby. It’s normal for a new father to be a bit nervous. I promise your
uncle is just fine,” Blaise said.

Konstantin reached out and leaned forward, hugging Draco warmly as the latter was still
mesmerized by the drawing. Draco was taken aback by the gesture, frozen for a moment
before slowly returning Konstantin’s embrace. “It’ll be alright, Uncle Draco.”

“Thanks,” Draco said quietly but sincerely. “We should go meet the Rookwoods, let me grab
your bag for you. Looks heavy.”

Draco took Konstantin out to the front doors after carefully setting the gifts aside. Lavinia
and Konstantin were thrilled to see each other and excited for Konstantin’s stay. Draco and
Caius shook hands and shared one of those one-armed embraces that men often did.

“Congratulations, Malfoy. You’ll make a fine father,” Caius said.

“I appreciate that. I’ll need all the luck I can get. I’m worried enough about how it’s going
already,” Draco said.

“Better get used to that. From here on out, you’ll never stop worrying again. You get the
greatest gift you could ever ask for, only to be afraid for them for the rest of your life. Bit of a
curse, really,” Caius said. Draco did not want to believe it, but knew Caius was right. He had
already been feeling it for months, on top of the fact that he hadn’t stopped worrying since
Valeria’s life was put in his hands a decade ago. Caius handed Draco a small basket in his
hands. “My wife asked me to give this to you. Things for your wife that Antonia insists are
must-haves for new mums. Lavinia also put something in there.”

“It’s a dragon for the baby!” Lavinia said cheerfully, having been eagerly chatting with
Konstantin. “Not a real one, don’t worry!”

Caius laughed. “She wanted to give the baby something, I hope that’s alright. Just one of her
stuffed animals from when she was little.”
“That’s very nice of you, Miss Rookwood. Thank you,” Draco said, smiling at the beaming
girl as he took the basket from Caius.

With Konstantin off with the Rookwoods, there was nothing else to do but wait. Draco had
never been a patient man and certainly never learned patience as a child. When he wasn’t
pacing, he was practically squirming in his seat. Even as his friends tried to entertain him, he
sat up at every noise he heard, hoping it was Tracey arriving to deliver another update. The
hours crept along so slowly that Draco swore he could feel himself aging prematurely.

“Fuck this. I’m checking on her,” Draco said, standing and going to the door only to be
stopped by Nott.

“Believe me, you’re far more useful staying out of the way than you are bursting in there,”
Nott said.

“Daphne says it’s pretty bloody business. You may not even want to see,” Blaise said.

“Either I’m going to be there or Valeria will have to throw me out herself,” Draco said,
managing to shake Nott’s hand from his shoulder and set off through the corridors up to the
room where Valeria labored. He heard screaming that made his blood run cold. His mind
flashed through all the times he had heard Valeria screaming in agony. His instincts took over
and he ran for the room. She was dying, surely. That’s why Tracey hadn’t been down in
hours. There was no other reason she could be screaming like that.

He burst into the room to a chaotic sight of midwives rushing around; linens, vials of liquid,
tools and bowls of water on every possible surface. His eyes landed on Valeria, head back
and eyes shut, breathing hard.

“Malfoy? What the hell are you doing?! Get out!” Daphne said, rushing up to him.

“She was screaming…why was she screaming!?” he asked angrily, his heart pounding with
worry. Daphne rolled her eyes.

“Because she’s about to give birth, you moron!” she yelled. “Look, just wait a little longer
while she gets her strength back to keep pushing and Tracey will fetch you when we’re ready
for you—”

Valeria groaned in pain again. “Daphne!”

But Draco rushed past Daphne and to his wife’s side. Tracey was there, holding Valeria’s
hand and securing a wet towel on her forehead, but politely moved out of Draco’s way when
he came over. Valeria was breathing hard, eyes tight shut as she grabbed the towel on her
head and flung at where Tracey had been, but where Draco now was, managing to slap the
towel squarely on Draco’s face.

“No more fucking towels, Tracey!”

Draco tossed the towel away. “Val, it’s me.”

Valeria’s eyes opened in horror to see him. “Draco, no. I can’t let you see me like this.”
“That’s your concern right now?! Are you mad?!” Draco said.

“You’re not helping, Malfoy! Get out!” Daphne shouted, going to the other end of the bed to
tend to the matter at hand.

“I won’t leave unless she orders me to, Greengrass!”

“Daphne…it’s fine. He can stay,” Valeria said through her exhaustion.

“If he starts up again, I’m tossing him out. Your only job is stay with her right there and out
of our way, Malfoy—” Daphne said, interrupted by Valeria groaning in misery again.

“Isn’t there something you can give her for the pain?!” Draco asked.

“We’ve given her all we can. Trust us, Malfoy, this is all normal,” Daphne explained
unhappily as she examined Valeria. “It’s time, Valeria. You need to push again.”

Valeria shook her head. “I can’t…You’re going to have rip me open—”

“He’s in position and he’s ready to come out. Trust me, this is the easier way—” Daphne
insisted.

“I can’t!” Valeria cried in tears.

“Here, this helped me. Draco, support her back, just like so, to hold her up and then hold her
hand,” Tracey said carefully directing Draco to hold Valeria upright. “Valeria, just push.
Don’t worry about sitting up, Draco’s got you—”

Valeria looked desperately into Draco’s eyes with tears streaming down her face and his heart
broke that he had no power to take away the pain. “I’m sorry, Draco. I can’t do it…I can’t do
it…”

He brought his face close to hers. “You’re the only one who can. He needs his mother. He
needs you.”

“You need to push now! Deep breath in and push!” Daphne said. Draco held Valeria in
support and he could feel the wealth of strength in her body used for this one task. Every
breath, every muscle all at once and he was amazed by her, by what her body was doing now.
It was so common, so primal, yet so profound that Draco felt himself change. Her head fell
back as she cried out, her cries mixing in the air with Daphne’s encouragements and Draco’s
whispered reassurances, drowning them out as every of her ounce of her energy was
dedicated to her son.

Draco hated the screaming, but he ignored it for her sake now. It struck him how life began in
violence. All were born in sweat, tears and blood to a symphony of screaming. This was
messy, unrefined, and gorier than death. Valeria pressed down on her muscles once more,
crying out, as she felt Scorpius was ripping her apart. Draco never felt weaker by
comparison, guilty for having done this to her. Draco hated the screaming.
He hated the screaming up until her cries were joined by a sound that he would never forget.
The most moving sound he would ever hear. It took a moment to realize what it was as
Valeria’s weight collapsed into him in relief.

Scorpius Malfoy let out his borning cry.

The violence of giving life crescendoed into this; that Scorpius took his first breath of life in
this world with a scream. Valeria wept as she rested against Draco. The chaotic stress in the
room was gone in an instant, replaced swiftly with a profound joy that Draco had never felt
before. He held his wife close and kissed her head while Daphne and the midwives tended to
the medical matters at hand.

“You’ve done it, darling. You’ve done it,” he said softly, almost in disbelief himself. She
weakly grabbed hold of his arm and spoke with shaking breath.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“They’re just cleaning him up and—”

“Go get him,” she ordered.

“I’ll stay with you.”

“You have to make sure he’s alright!” she insisted.

“I’m sure he’s fine—”

“Draco, please. Go get him,” she pleaded. He looked over to the women crowded around the
surface they brought the baby to and felt afraid.

“Shouldn’t you hold him first?” he asked.

“I’ve been holding him for almost a year. Go hold your son, Draco,” she said, still in tears.
Hesitant but obedient, Draco carefully unraveled himself from her and took petrified steps
towards the women tending to Scorpius. They parted for him and he found the baby,
swaddled in soft linens, pink and wriggling with life. Magic certainly expedited the demands
of post-birth. Draco had killed, maimed and tortured. He had spent many years staring death
in its face. Yet, he had never been more terrified in his life to face his son for the first time.

“Ten fingers, ten toes. He’s all there, Malfoy,” Tracey said warmly as she stepped beside him.
“I think he’s ready to meet mum and dad.”

All the knowledge Draco had read in the parenting books all these months left him in an
insntant. “I…I don’t know how to pick it—him—up…”

With a little laugh, Tracey carefully guided Draco on how to pick up and hold the infant
properly and Draco’s heart swelled, almost painfully, with vigor as Scorpius wriggled a little
into his chest. Draco felt he was being reforged into a new whole after being broken for so
long. He looked down and Scorpius returned his gaze, looking up as though he already knew
Draco which shook the new father to the core. Draco felt his arms tremble a little, though his
hold on the infant was true. Scorpius was so tiny that it was hard to believe he would ever
grow into a man. He felt so fragile, yet there was something in his newborn eyes that was
stronger than anything Draco had ever seen.

Valeria looked over as Draco slowly made his way back to her, unable to take his eyes off
Scorpius. In all her pain and soreness now, this moment would prove itself to be the one she
cherished most until the moment she died. She watched Draco look down at the bundle in his
arms, smiling beautifully. She watched Draco Malfoy fall in love with their son then and
there, his love plainly written on his face for all to see and the strength of his adoration
unmatched. A man like him guarded his love so deeply that he caged it away, out of sight
from the world for its own protection. But for now, Draco Malfoy was not that man. He was
beguiled thoroughly and completely as he gently lowered Scorpius into her arms and took a
seat beside her on the bed once more.

She felt herself become complete as she held the infant. “Hello, Scorpius…”

With his infantile mobility, Scorpius managed to turn his head to look at directly his mother,
her own heart skipping a beat at the sight.

“He knows your voice…” Draco whispered in equal awe.

“You try,” Valeria said.

“I don’t want to scare him. My voice isn’t exactly pleasant…” Draco whispered.

“You’re his father. You won’t scare him. Say hello.” Draco cleared his throat a little. “Hi
there…son.”

Scorpius turned his head again, looking at his father with no fear, only interest and curiosity,
if such emotions can be read in an infant’s expression. Valeria laughed, a few more happy
tears falling from her eyes.

“Draco, he’s wonderful,” she said.

Draco ran his hand through her thick, disheveled hair. “He’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Valeria touched Scorpius’s fine, platinum blond hair that was second to none in softness. “No
one will ever doubt he’s a Malfoy. Those genes are damn strong.”

“No, he looks like you. Save for the hair, he’s all you. Look, he’s already smirking,” Draco
said.

“I think he’s just moving his face around.”

“We’re going to have to agree to disagree.”

The flash of a camera took them briefly away from adoring Scorpius, finding Tracey standing
nearby with a satisfied smile.

“Tracey! I told you no photographs until I’m at least presentable—” Valeria said.
“That’s just too bad,” Tracey said. “Trust me, you two should see yourselves right now.”

Draco was secretly happy the moment had been captured on magical film. For he had never
been in love with Valeria than he was now. The only girl he had ever loved, the girl he had
known since childhood and pined for as an adolescent was now the mother of his child, and
the most beautiful woman he had ever been fortunate enough to see.

There would be time to fret and muse over what parenthood meant for them. There would be
plenty of time to fear for their son. There would ample time to sit, flabbergasted at how
people as awful as them could create something so pure. There’d be time to be frustrated by
the regime’s propaganda machine using this to uphold the Malfoys as the ideal family. The
time for questioning whether they deserved the blessing that Scorpius himself was, for
wishing the dearly departed could share in this joy, would come sometime, likely sooner than
later. Just as ruin came to magical Paris, Scorpius was born under the stars he was named for.
The sun didn’t need to rise anymore on Malfoy Manor, for Scorpius himself put its light to
shame.

But for now, they allowed this moment to be what it was; bliss. Unadulterated, uncorrupted
bliss. Scorpius would never know the waves he made within his parents’ hearts. The
lamentable inability of children to fully conceive of their parents’ love was true ten times
over for the newborn boy. Scorpius could never know the greatness of the grace that his
arrival, he himself, had bestowed upon the unworthy. But it is better this way, for children’s
hearts are often heavier than adults remember, and such things are the burdens of parents.

It was the first gasping breath after nearly drowning. It was the first meal eaten after a period
starvation. It was a comfortable rest after prolonged turmoil. Relief was what this was, the
sweet and uncompromised soothing of suffering. For so long, it had been only the two of
them. They were the only ones who, in the end, ever mattered to each other. But love only
multiplies, inherently incapable of division, and it multiplied instantly beyond the limits of
human comprehension in this moment.

It was Scorpius who, so small and fresh to life, had changed the course of future.

It was Scorpius who was all that could have been.

It was Scorpius who was the final rejoice of Draco and Valeria Malfoy.
 Black Widow
Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGS: Character death. Suicide. Mention of war and violence.

Mention of blood.

Narcissa wept when Andromeda left.

Narcissa begged Andromeda to leave Ted Tonks. It would be a blight on the Black name for a
time, but it would eventually fade to little more than an embarrassing bump in the ancestral
road. She, Bellatrix and Andromeda had always been the three sisters, the three witches.
They had always been together. To have her family split apart, both by Andromeda’s
departure and the conflict it tore through the Black family, it broke Narcissa’s heart. The
pressure would be greater than ever for Bellatrix and Narcissa. They needed to be capable
witches. They needed to marry well at the cost of anything else, lest their legacy fall into
shame.

Narcissa Black was many things. She was a woman who loved so fiercely but hated just as
equally. A woman of endless devotion who would just as easily turn her back on her loyalties
if it served her. So when her beloved son was born, she dedicated herself to ensuring he
would always stay. That he would make the family proud so that he would never stray.
Andromeda could tear the family asunder, but Narcissa would always be whole if she had her
son.

She begged her dearest friend, Odessa Winters, to divulge the secrets of her poise and pride
that she maintained when Konstantin became a man. Odessa was a paragon of unfaltering
grace and Narcissa had always been drawn to her for it. Even when her firstborn son grew
into maturity, Odessa showed no despair for the little boy who once needed her so much.
Odessa would simply smile with a sad manner of pride and tell Narcissa, “It’s what we raise
them for.” It would one day break Narcissa’s heart to see what she raised her only child for. It
broke Narcissa’s heart back then to realize that one day her son would not need her.

But that day would not come as soon as she believed it would. When Lucius’s protection was
gone, Narcissa realized her true potential to defend her child. She ensured the sanctity of
Draco’s soul by the surest and darkest means she could. She ensured the life of Valeria
Winters who Narcissa always adored.

Draco wept in his mother’s arms when he was ordered to marry Valeria Winters. Narcissa
many years later could still feel the way he trembled weakly as he clung to her; just as he did
when he was a toddler. He sobbed, the sweet boy who did not want to hurt the girl he already
loved. Dark curtains had been drawn in an instant on what was, to Narcissa, a darling and
innocent teenage romance. And now her boy would have to be a man far before his time, far
before he could ever dream of being ready. And it broke Narcissa’s heart to be so accursed as
to slowly watch her son die.

Narcissa watched Draco die when he handed over Harry Potter to his doom. She watched in
horror in the ominous moonlight as the spark of Draco's soul was snuffed out in his glittering
eyes. Again, when he emerged from the Battle of Hogwarts covered in blood. Again, when he
came home from each skirmish and battle splattered with blood and unable to speak; broken.
When he murdered his own father. Narcissa’s dear husband was her guiding light, even as he
deteriorated. Draco was a monster. An unfathomably revolting toxin of a creature was who
her son now was.

It broke Narcissa’s heart to realize what she had done.

She recalled the day Draco was born when she first held her grandson in her arms. It broke
Narcissa’s heart to remember the innocent infant Draco had been and to know he was gone.
And soon this innocent infant, who so resembled his father, would sooner be gone too.
Scorpius was the dying beat of Narcissa’s heart.

Narcissa’s heart broke to see her daughter-in-law become a mother herself, cursed to suffer
the same fate of watching her son become mangled and twisted beyond recognition. To know
so viscerally the love born of motherhood, only to have it torn from her chest along with her
heart. It felt cruel to bear witness to that young, motherless girl who doted on her son and
nephew without falter. Narcissa realized that Valeria was but a lamb raised for slaughter in
service to her elders’ dark ambitions. Narcissa had known Valeria from her birth, even as she
was carrying Draco herself. Narcissa cursed her naïveté in her younger years to secretly hope
Draco and Valeria would marry.

But it broke Narcissa’s heart beyond the power of the faintest hope to watch Draco with his
son. All she saw was the way Lucius adored Draco as an infant. All she saw was the wheel
locked in position, poised to turn again.

January 2007

Draco cherished coming home. He spent his time helping Umbridge and Snape orchestrate
the war in France. Each day, with a small nod of his head, he gave his approval to end
unknown numbers of lives and destroy even more. Each day made him sicker.

But then he’d come home, and he would walk up to the nursery first and foremost.
Sometimes he’d stand in the doorway as the west facing windows were filled with setting
sun. Valeria would be there, holding their son, her hair long and loose, bouncing him and
slowly turning round and round, softly singing and smiling in adoration. Scorpius liked to
pull on the pins she would keep in her hair to maintain the tight updo that became a quiet
uniform. He also liked to play with the waves of soft, dark brown hair that smelled like lilacs,
treasured sweetness wafting through the air she passed through. Like father, like son.

It was a sight that would make any father, any man, enormously proud, but Draco, as he
would take a moment to watch, standing in the doorway, only wanted to be worthy.
He came home light one night, numbingly exhausted, only to be rushed by Konstantin with
an embrace that immediately made Draco feel lighter of heart.

“And how is the future greatest broomman alive?” Draco asked, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“I’m alright, but I’m worried about Aunt Valeria. I think something’s wrong,” Konstantin
said.

“What’s happened?” Draco asked, trying to hide the severity of his concern for the boy’s
sake.

“I don’t know. She’s barely been out of the nursery all day. Mrs. Zabini was here earlier. I
saw Aunt Valeria come out for a moment when I was playing hide-and-seek with Tinky and
she said she was fine, but she looked like she’d been crying.”

“I’m sure she’s alright. If anything bad had happened, she would have gotten word to me. I’ll
check on her.”

That satisfied Konstantin enough and Draco made his way to the nursery right near their
bedroom. The door was closed, which was odd, and Draco slowly opened it to find Scorpius
swaddled and held in his mother’s arms as she sat near the window in the rocking chair. She
had still been crying some when he came, and she saw the concerned look on his face as he
made her way to her. He crouched down in front of her, putting his hand on her leg.

“What happened?” he asked.

Valeria nearly started weeping again, so ashamed to say. “I set him down on the chaise for
one second to grab something and I heard…a horrible thud…and when I turned around,
Scorpius had rolled off onto the floor,” Valeria said, tears coming again. “I summoned
Daphne immediately and she said he’s fine, that it’s common, but I don’t know…I’m not sure
—”

“Valeria, if Daphne says he’s fine, then he’s fine,” Draco said, attempting a comforting tone.

“What if she’s wrong? Some injuries might not present until later and—”

“Look at him, he’s sound asleep, not a care in the world. I’m sure it was frightening, but you
don’t have to worry.”

She inhaled sharply through her tears. “He’s not even a year old and I’ve already hurt him…”

At that, Draco gently went up to cup her face and dry the tears that had fallen as best he
could. “Look at me. You’re his mother. I know you, you will never hurt him. I know that you
can’t.”

She looked at him, trying to believe him, intense sincerity in his eyes. “Won’t we have to?
Someday he’ll have to…he’ll have to become like us and if he doesn’t, they’ll hurt him
instead—” She couldn’t get any more words out as she began to sob.
“Listen to me. No one will ever touch him or Konstantin. We’d kill them all. You know that’s
true. I know you know that,” Draco said.

Valeria believed him, fully and completely. She feared for her son and nephew every
moment, even while she slept, and the fears only grew with each passing day. She knew that
the clock was ticking, just as it had for Draco and Valeria, unbeknownst to them in youth. Her
heart ached unbearably to know that the boys, kind and caring boys, would soon be forced to
rise to their stations and become whatever the Dark Lord wanted them to be. Draco and
Valeria would be responsible for having to mold them into new monsters, or else the boys
would not survive.

But for now, Konstantin could still be the wild-hearted boy who adored magic and all of its
possibilities. Scorpius could remain the purest of them all, her treasured son who loved to
play with her hair.

Draco spoke with a whisper. “You’re exhausted. Let me take him for a while. Get some rest.”
He must have sensed her hesitation to speak again. “Nothing will happen. I promise.”

Scorpius stirred, but only for a moment, as Valeria carefully passed him, with reluctance, into
Draco’s arms. Draco had a way with their son. Scorpius was always calm when Draco held
him. Valeria kissed her son and husband before walking slowly the short distance to the
master chamber. She was certain to leave the door just a tad ajar.

It was true that young Konstantin was infatuated with magic. He never felt anything like
soaring through the air on a broom. It had been so much and so suddenly, yet that at least felt
absolutely right. He felt as though he were destined for it. He felt he was on top of the world.
He had wanted to be a pilot, but surely flying a plane could never beat flying on a broom. But
magic itself fascinated him too. He’d happily sit with his aunt for hours watching her work
on things. She’d often to do tricks with the cauldrons and potions, making the smoke take
amusing shapes in beautiful colors.

Konstantin had a desire to explore this new world of fantasy and possibility. It helped him
leave his old life behind to indulge in learning all he could. He managed to imagine himself
as a sort of hero, whisked away on a noble quest and living a double life. Or like a superhero
with a secret identity. The source of knowledge Konstantin trusted most was his friend
Lavinia. His aunt and uncle withheld truth, Konstantin knew, even though they believed it
was for the best. Lavinia at least was wiser than he was. She told him about the time before
the Dark Lord, from what she had heard. It wasn’t always like this. There was a world before
where his parents lived. Perhaps there could have been one where they were together and the
three of them would have been a family. For now, he was alone; a young boy who knew no
better and was trying to understand what he had been thrust into.

As such, Konstantin often broke his bedtime rules and would explore the manor at night. His
aunt and uncle were smart enough to securely lock anything too dangerous. He’d hold his
lantern as high as he could to see the portraits who looked at him with an eerie curiosity. He’d
wander the old, long out of use, rooms that once held parties and important gatherings.
Tonight though, he noticed something strange. The door to his aunt’s laboratory was
unlocked. Konstantin entered, careful not to touch anything and looked around. He noticed a
few vials in a previously locked glass cupboard looked as though they’d been shifted around.

Noticing nothing else, Konstantin carried on until encountering the next strange thing on his
wanderings. The doors to the south wing, Narcissa Malfoy’s wing that she shut herself away
within, was also unlocked. Konstantin was filled with a mischievous excitement, having
hardly been inside this part of the house at all. He crept down the corridors and although the
wing was not too unlike the others, he still was rather pleased with himself in his
adventuring.

That was until he felt the draft of an icy breeze as he turned a corner. A third strange door,
this one was slightly ajar. Konstantin’s amusement fled him and he felt the hair on his neck
stand on end as he was rooted to the spot. He took a nervous step forward, heart thumping.
Something was simply not right.

He held up his lantern as best he could, despising the wizarding world’s lack of electricity, as
he slowly pushed the door open. But when he saw a silk covered lump on the floor, he
dropped the lantern, shattering the glass and snuffing out the light. Konstantin’s eyes
struggled to adjust quickly in the moonlight, as the haze from the snuffed out smoke lingered
in the air. The lump hadn’t moved at the sound of the clatter. The silk covered object had long
blonde hair.

“…Mrs. Malfoy…?” Konstantin spoke with a lump in his throat. He took a step closer. He
saw a hand limply outstretched on the cold floor; a glass vial having rolled not far from the
open palm. Konstantin leapt backward with a gasp and took off out of the room at the fastest
run he could muster. He managed to navigate his way back to the common part of the manor
in the dark, unfamiliar corridors, his chest tight with shock.

He darted up the stairs, nearly tripping as he went. He ran to the master chamber to find the
door slightly ajar. He took a second to breathe through fearful tears before barging into the
room. He saw a lump tucked in under the covers in bed. He ran and grabbed on, violently
shaking his aunt awake, startling her. She lunged for her wand and set the tip alight with
magic. Her expression was frightened, but morphed into one of concern when she saw
Konstantin.

She brought him close. “What’s wrong.”

Konstantin blubbered through his words. “It’s Mrs. Malfoy…something’s wrong…I think
she’s hurt…I…I’m sorry…”

Valeria’s heart felt as though it were strangling itself. “Where is she?”

“Her room…I…I didn’t mean to—"

“Tinky!” With a pop, Tinky appeared in the room and Valeria turned to him as she quickly
got out of bed. “Get him something to eat and drink. Whatever he wants. Sit with him and be
sure he doesn’t leave this room.”

Tinky was shocked, but nodded. “As you say, Madam…”

Valeria put on a dressing gown over her nightdress and had Konstantin sit in the bed. “I’ll be
back soon.”

Konstantin nodded with hesitance before Valeria left the room at a brisk pace, turning into a
run when she was far enough away from the master chamber and nursery. She stopped in her
tracks as she passed her laboratory, the door still ajar. She rushed in, looking the place up and
down for abnormalities. Her heart sunk when she saw the glass cabinet was open and the
contents moved. The cabinet that was almost always locked. The poisons cabinet.

She ran even faster to the south wing and through the corridors, calling out Narcissa’s name,
hoping to rouse her. Valeria got the bedroom and with her wand illuminated brightly, found in
the cold, pale light Narcissa Malfoy’s corpse.

Valeria fell to her mother-in-law’s side and shook her with tears in her own eyes. She cried
out for her at the top of her lungs, but the woman remained limp. Valeria saw an empty glass
vial glisten near the body. She saw the label; a particularly magically potent poison derived
from rue and hemlock. Valeria sat on the floor beside Narcissa in defeat, trying to breathe.
How could she tell Draco that his mother was dead by her own hand?

They were well and truly alone. All their guiding figures were gone. They were the last of
their families, save for the two young boys in their care.

Valeria’s eyes moved to a small table where she saw two envelopes. Rising to look at them,
she found one bore her name and the other Draco’s. She could not help herself, desperate for
an explanation or perhaps some guidance, she tore the one addressed to her open.

Valeria,

A part of me believes it is to you I should apologize the most. I should have done more to
protect you. I tried to shield you. I tried to ensure that you would be safe. I loved your family.
I loved you as my own daughter. I tried to raise a good man. But he was taken from me before
I could finish the job. You know that; you must.

I am sorry you will have to watch your son turn into his father. I’m sorry I raised the man you
were forced to marry. You were so young. Both of you. So young. Too young. How could we
have known?

I see how dearly you love Scorpius. I know you will do everything you can, like I did. It won’t
matter, but you will not be able to resist the urge to try, as is the fate of any mother. You might
as well hold onto him as long as you can, by any means necessary.

Bury me with Lucius.

Farewell.

—Narcissa Black Malfoy

Valeria wept a little as she sped through Narcissa’s weighty words. A part of her resented
Narcissa all these years. A part of her clung to Narcissa when her own mother failed her. She
set down the letter with a trembling hand, swallowing as she prepared herself to face Draco.
She readied the stately bed and carefully levitated Narcissa’s corpse onto it, granting the
woman some dignity in death. It would have been the twist of the knife for Draco to see his
mother sprawled out on the floor, the poison so strong that it killed her quickly where she
stood.

Valeria made her way back through the manor to the nursery where she assumed Draco still
lingered. She slowly opened the door with a shaking breath, her eyes dry and exhausted. In
the pale moonlight she found Draco lying on his back on the chaise, his hand gently resting
on Scorpius's back as the infant slept on his father’s chest.

It was a pretty picture to witness. A preciously rare moment of pure peace and comfort that
Valeria would have to destroy. She sat across from them, taking them in as she tried to steel
her nerve. It could have only been a few seconds or maybe several minutes, but Valeria’s leg
muscles quivered as she rose all the same. She gently lifted Scorpius into her arms, close to
her chest and carefully bent down to rouse Draco awake.

Draco looked up at her groggily as his eyes blinked open. He sat up and swung his legs over
while smiling softly at Scorpius. “See, I told you nothing was going to happen, didn’t I?”

Valeria swallowed and could not speak above a rough whisper, followed by a gulp.
“Draco…”

He looked up at her face, going pale to see the state of her. She began to weep, clinging to
Scorpius as she trembled, when Draco’s eyes met hers. He rose to meet her urgently. “What’s
wrong?”

“Draco, I’m sorry…” she gulped. “Your mother…she’s…she got into my laboratory. One of
the poisons was missing. It was with her when I…Konstantin found her and I…”

Valeria saw Draco’s heart break. Again.

He left her there without a word. Valeria slumped into a seat and gently rocked her son as she
cried. When Draco came into the room which his mother lie dead in, he let out an audible sob
as he stopped in the doorway. He cried out incoherently at the top of his lungs as he slammed
his fist into the doorframe. He rushed then to his mother’s side. She was already cold. He
dropped his head, his forehead meeting her chest, as he wept.

His outstretched arm touched the envelope Valeria had set by Narcissa’s side. Draco tore it
open, struggling to hold the letter still in his hands.

Draco, my son,

It pains me to begin this letter with an apology, yet that is what is owed to you. I am sorry I
did not do more to save you. It was as though the more that I did, the more you suffered. It
broke me to watch what they did to you. It shattered me to know that I had a hand in it.
I always hoped you’d forgive your father, but even then, I knew it was in vain. Your bitterness
is boundless, and your malice is bested only by few. You had no heart to have anything but
hatred for your own father.

You killed me just as you did him the day you slaughtered him.

Even worse, you have brought a new life into this world. You will do what is best for him,
raise him to thrive and give him every resource he needs. And it will backfire upon you, just
as it did for your father. You will force your wife to watch as the child she labored to give life
to becomes a monster.

I won’t ask you to forgive me. I made up my mind when I saw you looming over the corpse of
your once childhood friend, covered in his blood. I lingered for my grandson. To give your
wife the motherly aid she needed in that early stage. But I cannot live to watch you two
deform him too.

I say all this not to curse you, nor to spite you. I am writing to you with an honesty that I
owed you long ago.

Against everything I now am and everything I hate you for, I still love you. It is a
contradiction I can no longer bear. This is necessary and overdue.

For the man I loved is gone. So is the son that I lived for.

Farewell, my once darling boy.

—Narcissa Black Malfoy

Hours passed. Scorpius slept peacefully near the bed in his bassinet. It had taken quite some
time to get Konstantin to sleep. She softly spoke to him and held him close, trying to comfort
him, but there was little else to be done. Konstantin slept at her side while Valeria sat upright,
caught between the urge to act and the paralysis of fear. She was exhausted, but there was no
way she would be sleeping tonight. She sat in the low light, seeing Narcissa’s corpse every
time she blinked.

Until slowly the door creaked open. Draco was clear enough to see, even in the dim light. His
eyes were glistening and bloodshot as he turned to look down at the floor. He shut the door
softly behind him, holding a piece of crumpled parchment tight in his fist. His whole body
was tense, yet sulking, as if a great boulder sat upon his shoulders.

“How is he?” Draco’s voice cracked quietly after a prolonged moment of silence as he
nodded toward Konstantin.

“Very shaken,” Valeria admitted. Draco nodded slowly before going silent again. His eyes
drifted toward the bassinet, his gaze lingering on it as if daydreaming. Then his cold, gray
eyes met hers. He moved his lips slowly as if to speak, struggling to find the words he
sought.
“Valeria…how much longer can this go on?”

His tone carried a soft desperation. He spoke as someone about to surrender. There was a hint
of the old Draco in his voice, like the frightened boy lived in him still.

Valeria gave him no answer.

Narcissa’s funeral was just as modest, though much quieter than Lucius’s. A few of
Narcissa’s old friends came to pay their respects, but none lingered long around Draco more
than to give polite condolences. That was all the same to him. Bellatrix had been informed
but not permitted to attend the funeral. Draco had no desire to see her, as much as he knew it
would enrage Bellatrix. Fortunately, the Dark Lord had her occupied on the field in France,
letting her take out her rage in the slaughter of innocents. For now, Draco stood, looking
blankly at the grave, freshly filled with dirt. Konstantin had clung to Valeria, who had
handled the arrangement, but the boy did embrace Draco and bury his face in his cloak. That
meant something dear to Draco.

He saw Valeria, veiled in black and a constant presence at his side. She gently swayed with
Scorpius in her arms, shielding him from winter's chill. His mind drifted darkly. Would she
one day grow to hate Scorpius the way Narcissa loathed Draco? Would she ever break
Scorpius’s heart to tell him so, just as Narcissa’s letter shattered Draco’s? Would she ever
abandon Scorpius the way Narcissa did him?

He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t fathom it. Not her. Not with the way she looked at their son.
The four of them were all what was left. They were all what mattered. His father dead and his
mother laid to rest beside him. Draco may as well have killed both of his parents whom he
once so loved and admired.

It was clear Draco would never fully recover as the months passed. Malfoy Manor was
lonelier than it had ever been. Valeria once hated sharing the house with the Malfoys and her
own mother, but now it was far too empty, or perhaps she herself was. The past was gone and
now the Malfoys were fully and surely put in charge of the future alone. Valeria had accepted
that fate long ago, but it was one thing to do so when the only cost was her own humanity.
Now there was Konstantin and Scorpius to consider. She’d watch Draco coming home so
world weary, drinking heavily and saw Scorpius’s future. Her innocent son was so happy, so
gentle. Konstantin was so bright and loved the world so deeply. She lost herself in her fear of
having to watch them become monstrous, just as it had ripped her apart to see Draco descend
into darkness for her sake.

And now, Draco was a kin-killer whose mother took her own life in resentment of him. Draco
was a father who would doom, even unintentionally, the children in his care to his own fate.
And it was all for her and for a foolish promise they made to each other as children, before
they could even fathom what it meant. That promise was everything. It was the reason they
held on this long. But Draco was slipping and so was she.
The question Draco asked her the night Narcissa died loomed over Valeria with foreboding
dread. How much longer can this go on? How much longer could they go on? Valeria
redescended into her obsession with Ginny’s words about Potter’s plan. She spent hours,
between childcare and assisting Draco in managing their estates whilst he managed a war
studying old texts, trying to find a clue, trying to find an answer. She experimented with
Potter’s snitch, its riddle the bane of her existence.

She was broken from her concentration one day when the door opened. She smiled to see
Konstantin enter, carrying a small tray of baked goods.

“Tinky was about to send this up, but I told him I’d take it to you,” Konstantin said with
boyish charm. He had been doing well after being the one to discover Narcissa’s body,
though it took time. He was more attached to Valeria and Draco since, keeping closer to
them, which they didn’t mind. It relieved Valeria that Konstantin’s instincts had him flee to
them for shelter. He set the tray down and took a seat on the stool beside her.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you,” she said, setting her work aside.

“What are you working on?”

“I wish I knew,” Valeria said. “An old problem I haven’t been able to crack. Take a look if
you like.” Valeria passed Konstantin Potter’s golden snitch engraved with the words I open at
the close. “I’ve been trying to open it, but it’s enchanted with that riddle.”

“Cool!” Konstantin said, holding the snitch up to the light. “Where’d you find this?”

Valeria spoke carefully. “It was Harry Potter’s. Who knows, it might just be a sentimental
gift, but still.”

“So he caught this one?”

“So it would seem. The records state that Albus Dumbledore gave him the one he caught in
his first match. It was rather comical, I remember. He caught it in his mouth,” Valeria said.
She never paid attention much during Quidditch matches at school, but that memory always
stuck out to her.

“Maybe you have to kiss it to open it,” Konstantin said with a cheeky grin. Valeria was about
to laugh with him before his words sunk in. The close. But Potter was dead, his corpse burned
away to dust save for the small amount of ashes that she had taken after the Battle of
Hogwarts as some sort of macabre memorial. “OR!” Konstantin blurted out again before
growing a bit more somber. “Since he’s…dead, it opens at the close of his life. But maybe not
since he died a long time ago and it still won’t open.”

Valeria’s mind was assaulted by epiphany. The odds were slim, and it was certainly not what
Dumbledore meant, but she could perhaps get around the old headmaster’s intentions with
dark magic. It would be difficult, a very abstract solution to such a vague problem, but that
was the advantage of the dark arts. That's what they had been designed for; bending and
breaking the rules of magic to the farthest limits. This was the closest thing to a breakthrough
she had in so long, everything in her bade her to follow her instinct.
Valeria looked at Konstantin with surprise, wisdom from the mouths of babes. “Not when his
life ended…where.”
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