Unofficial Portkey Archive

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Twenty-one

The day after Christmas was not a cheerful one, despite the bright sun and fresh snowfall. Everyone was back to work on the case, including Draco, which was not going over so well with his children. They definitely felt abandoned; first upset that they had to compete with the murder case, and now share their time with his "new woman," aka, Ginny. Draco was supposed to have the day off, as did most that worked for the Ministry, but those working on the case were lucky to have had Christmas Day off at all, there having been another attack on Christmas Eve Day.

Ginny walked up the front steps of Draco's place at nine that morning, she still having the day off, Réamann having gone in early. Draco and she had agreed the night before, while at the Burrow, that she really needed a chance to meet with the children, and since she had the day off she could spend it with them (like she had offered) in hopes of winning them over some. It seemed really important to Draco that his children accept and even like Ginny. She understood that his children were very much his whole world and really felt that she had to compete with them, for Draco's attention and affections.

She could hear loud music coming from inside and knocked with a frowned brow, not sure what to make of the scene just yet. Draco answered the door looking tired, the music suddenly so much louder now that that the door was open.

"Hey," he said, leaning out and giving her a kiss. "Come in," he sighed while stepping back to allow her in. Someone from the apartment above Draco was shouting out his window about the noise and Draco just sighed and closed the door with a snap. Ginny walked in slowly, clutching her purse strap securely as it hung on her shoulder. The music was really loud.

"What's going on?" she asked, shouting over the music.

"We've got the right to choose and…there ain't no way we'll lose it…this is our life, this is our song! We'll fight the powers that be just…don't pick our destiny 'cause…you don't know us, you don't belong!" the song lyrics blared as Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, like he did whenever he was fighting off his temper and/or a headache.

"Michael locked himself in our room and won't come out and won't turn down the music," Clarissa answered helpfully, sitting on the arm of the couch and kicking her feet happily. She was dressed in a red plaid dress, white tights and black buckle shoes. A red headband pushed her wildly curling hair back and a green turtleneck under the dress kept her warm. If she looked any sweeter Ginny would have gotten a cavity.

"Why? What's going on?" Ginny asked, looking over at Draco who was dressed for work and obviously late.

"I told him I had to work today and he got angry, I told him you wanted to spend the day with him and Clarissa and he stormed off…and locked himself in his room," he said, eyes still closed and hand still up by his face.

"He's that upset?"

"Apparently," Draco grumbled.

"I didn't think he would hate me this much," Ginny said meekly, looking down the hall where she could see the shadowed bedroom door that was closed.

"Oh we're not gonna take it…no! We ain't gonna take it!…Oh we're not gonna take it anymore!…Oh you're so condescending…your gall is never-ending…we don't want nothin', not a thing from you!… your life is trite and jaded…boring and confiscated…if that's your best, your best won't do!" the song screamed, going back into the chanting chorus of "not gonna take it" over and over.

"Do you hate me?" Ginny asked while looking over at Clarissa as she sat so contently on the arm of the couch, looking oh-so-cute. Her reaction to all of this seemed to indicate to Ginny that this was a fairly common occurrence in the house: Michelangelo locking himself in his room and blasting music loudly.

"Michael hates you so much, I sorta feel bad for you," she answered sweetly.

"Awright, you're not helping," Draco warned, pointing at his daughter from around Ginny.

"Draco, you think I should try talking to him?" Ginny asked, still talking over the loud music.

"He won't listen," Draco sighed, looking tired and apparently having already tried to talk to his son and get him to understand the basics: he did not love him any less, he had to work today, Ginny was a nice woman, he should give her a chance…all to no avail.

"Let me try," she insisted, the song ending and there being quiet for a brief moment. Everyone looked up as though hoping that was the end of it, but then another song shouted.

"Shot through the heart and you're to blame, darlin' you give love a BAD NAME!"

Draco groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose again and Ginny flushed.

"I think he knows your here," Draco said, voice soft enough to almost be overpowered by the song.

"Let me try at least, if I fail we won't be any worse off than we are now," she said, standing there with the music blaring.

Draco leaned in and gave Ginny a quick kiss, wishing her luck and giving her a "feel free" gesture towards the hallway.

"Would I be allowed to use magic to open the door?" she asked.

"Oh, sure, I already got an owl this morning from the Ministry after Michael locked himself in there," Draco sighed, the letter sitting on his coffee table. The letter was a warning to him, Draco, not to do magic, not the underage wizard that lived there (unknown to most of the Ministry) who had actually cast the locking spell.

The Ministry, obviously knew he had two children…they were werewolves after all and they were documented, numbered, and registered…but that knowledge was not common knowledge outside the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and Draco wanted it to stay on a need to know basis. Thusly, he was quite pissed at Michelangelo for casting the charm and creating a reason or excuse for more Ministry Wizards to invade his home and more Ministry Wizards to know about the children, let alone bust his balls, something the Ministry rarely passed up and opportunity to do.

Ginny passed Clarissa who saluted her with a smile as she sat on the couch arm still. She walked down the short hall, drawing out her wand. She pointed it at the doorknob and without a word unlocked it. Stepping in she found the room was wide but not very long. It was larger than Draco's and it was obvious Draco had taken the smaller room, allowing the children to share the larger, but the room was still cramped by the two beds and dressers. One bed was to the left, clearly a little girl's bed with the standard pink princess sheets, and the other on the right had dark blue bedding and Michelangelo curled up on it, his back to her. Ginny closed the door quietly, the music loud enough that nothing short of a slam would have been heard anyways, and moved over to the surprisingly little stereo box that sat atop the bedside table that was directly across from the door and shared between the two beds.

Muggle technology never ceased to amaze her, but not to the extent it did her father.

She turned it off with a tug of the power cord, the sudden silence shocking. Michelangelo rolled over, angry, but then glaring twice as hard upon seeing who it was that had turned off his song.

"Get out of my room," he ordered, still partially rolled over.

"I think we need to talk," she said calmly, unbuttoning her coat so that it hung open so she could be more comfortable.

"I don't want to talk to you," he said, rolling over and crossing his arms, his back to Ginny again.

"That's fine because you need to do a whole lot more listening than talking at the moment anyway," she said, placing her hands on her hips and standing up straight in the form her mother took while reprimanding her and her brothers and that she, Ginny, had adopted while disciplining her nieces and nephews.

Michelangelo stubbornly remained still and silent as though ignoring her.

"I think you are being a brat," Ginny scolded and Michelangelo sat up and turned looking outraged.

"How dare you come in here and-"

"You are being selfish, and acting spoiled, and not being fair to your father," she reprimanded not even mentioning to him how rude he was being to her since she figured that that was what he had been aiming for and there was no sense in rewarding that.

Michelangelo looked at her, pale pointed face glaring through his curling bangs.

"Your father has to work today. Do you think he would go in on a day he normally would have been off for fun, or because he doesn't like being home with you and your sister? No. So stop giving him a hard time, he is stressed enough as it is," she lectured. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm not asking you to like me, but I'm asking you to show a little bit of respect because I know your father and grandmother raised you better than this and your father is out there, embarrassed," she scolded while pointing at the closed door, not sure Draco was "embarrassed" as much as angry. She felt she could take some liberties in saying that Draco would have liked his son to have made a better impression on her than he had.

"I don't-"

"Hush." Ginny cut him off, holding up her finger at him before placing her hand on her hip again. "Last night your father asked me if I were willing to spend the day with you two since he had to work. I agreed. He felt bad that he had to go in to help Mr. Rossiter, and wanted to make sure you two would have some fun," she said.

"Reamann Rossiter, your boyfriend," Michelangelo growled. Ginny's lips pursed together just a touch.

"I do not have to explain myself to you, and your father shouldn't have to explain himself either," Ginny said, a little outraged at Michelangelo's nerve.

"I'm not a little kid. I understand that you are sleeping with my dad, while in a relationship with another man." -Ginny fought not to look away- "I know what having an affair means," he said and Ginny flushed then. She hated it, she looked less authoritative, but she could not help it.

"Is that why you hate me so much? Because of the…nature…of your father's and my relationship?" she asked.

"No, I hate you because you are one of the people that sent my dad away, you are a Weasley, and a Blood-Traitor, and my father can do better than you…he deserves better than you," Michelangelo said coldly and Ginny looked taken aback. Was she just called a "Blood-Traitor"? She had not heard that term used in…years.

"Who taught you that?" she asked and Michelangelo blinked at her for a moment. "Who taught you the word Blood-Traitor or what it means?" she asked.

"Nana."

"Your father talks about Blood-Traitors?" she asked.

"No, he doesn't talk about anything that can be related to the war…"

"Do you think your father supports such things?"

"I don't know, Nana says…"

"Forget what your grandmother says," she snapped. "I won't have you sit here and call me such things. It's called hate speech and it's unacceptable. You don't even fully appreciate what it means or what you are saying. You were not even alive during the wars and when those ideals were held so high by some. The supporters of the Dark Lord said such things, and they are all in Azkaban as a result. I don't think your father would like hearing you say things that he had once said and wound up in Azkaban over."

"He wound up in Azkaban because you are all a bunch of lying traitors!"

"He wound up in Azkaban because he sided with the Dark Lord for a time, and though he redeemed himself, no one who could have helped him immediately after the war knew about that. Your father does not hate me for what happened, so I don't understand why you do."

"You are coming in here, and messing with my family. We have gotten along fine with out you, we don't need you, we do not need a mother," he shouted, looking angry, eyes looking hurt. Ginny understood then. She was less angry now, sympathetic towards what the boy was feeling.

"I'm not going to take your dad away, or convince him to spend less time with you, or be your mother, or replace your mother, or any of these things you are convinced I'm up to," she said, starting off softly. "I understand you are home for Christmas and this is supposed to be your time with him, and you feel I'm encroaching too much on your territory…that I'm throwing off your family dynamic that you have been accustomed to for the last three years, and I'm sorry," she said, trying to show her sincerity without coming across condescending.

"My dad may want a girlfriend, but he can do better than you. Don't flatter yourself by thinking I just want to keep him all to myself…I want to see him happy, and if dating a woman makes him happy I'll support him…but not you. He can do better than you, he deserves more than being some other man in some woman's life."

"You been talking to that nana of yours," she said, not making that a question, heart falling a little knowing Narcissa did not like her but now fearing that she would turn the children against her with her hatred and her bigotry, using the fact that the children obviously trust her and manipulating that. She was also getting a little tired of being referred to as "woman" by Michelangelo. It was insulting, and he meant it to be.

"She was angry and a little drunk, but she is still right," he huffed.

"Michael, I cannot explain all this to you, but please, stop. I don't need your blessing to date your father, but I would like it," she said.

"Well, you're not gonna get it," he retorted stubbornly.

"What do I have to do to convince you that I'm not going to hurt your dad?"

"Be an honest woman," he sad and Ginny sighed. Michelangelo certainly had a way of making her feel like shit. It was either a Malfoy trait, or a Black trait, or a mixture of the two. Whatever it was, Draco and Michelangelo apparently both had it.

Draco had expressed his desire to have an "honest" relationship too and she had been able to explain to him all the reasons they just could not have that. Somehow she could not explain that to the boy. How was she supposed to explain to him the tabloids, and their families, and her complicated relationship with Reamann, and her feelings she has for Draco, Michelangelo's dad?

Ginny took a deep breath.

"I really care about your father. I think he is a wonderful man and he wants to be with me as much as I want to be with him. Can't you at least be happy for him while hating me?" she asked, squatting down next to the bed to look up at him, not really pleading with him, but making a request so that he would feel like he was controlling the situation.

"I can't understand why he would do that," Michelangelo said in a frustrated huff. Ginny could see it in his eyes, Michelangelo had sat for some time trying but failing to understand what his father was doing.

"You are honorable, Michael. You believe in honest relationships, in the sanctity of love, and your father does too. That is a good thing, and you should never lose that," she said before taking a deep breath. "Your father and I are seeing each other exclusively, really, we are. Reamann is my boyfriend, but I am only maintaining that relationship so as to not have everyone find out your father and I are together…that's all. I care about Reamann and I don't want to hurt him, and I feel terrible about this…I'm sure your father does too…but at the moment, it's all we can do," she said, unable say she was just having a fling anymore, not since talking to Draco the day before after Narcissa had left. He was so much more than a fling, and she wanted Michelangelo to understand that, understand that Draco was special to her just like he was special to him. "Please, don't drive your father mental over this, he just wants to be happy, and you are making him feel guilty because he is trying to have a life outside of being a father," she said, speaking softly, pleading now, finally.

"I don't-"

"You said you wanted your dad to be happy."

"I do."

"Then come out of your room, give him a hug before he heads to work, and come out with me today along with your sister. Come-on, you can't pass up me buying you things."

"Trying to win me over with gifts? Buying my love?"

"Would that work?"

"No."

"Then no," she said simply. "It's just a treat, my way of apologizing for having upset you so much. Come on," she said, standing and offering him her hand.

Michelangelo stood very slowly, sliding off the edge of his bed, and glared up at her. He was not very tall, which made him look younger than twelve, but the look he was giving her was one that belonged on the face of someone much older than twelve. It showed he had a very strong understanding of the situation, and that he was very intelligent.

He stood there for a moment in his black t-shirt with the solar system across the chest and baggy blue-jeans, and without a word, and without accepting Ginny's hand, Michelangelo walked out of the room. Ginny sighed, supposing this was the best she could hope for, and followed after him. She came out the end of the short hallway to see Michelangelo giving Draco a hug around the middle and muttering quietly to him, excluding the two girls in the room from the conversation. Draco seemed to be listening, nodding slowly. Ginny neared and Michelangelo fell quiet.

"Thank you," Draco muttered quietly, still holding Michelangelo against his front. Ginny just smiled, not sure if she got through to the boy, or if the boy would ever not hate her at this point, but glad she had talked him out of the room.

"Dad, do you have to go?" Clarissa whined, moving over to them from the couch to cling.

"Yes, and I'm really late," he said, tugging gently on the back of her long hair as she looked up at him and hung on his left hip. "Ginny will watch you for the day," he explained and Clarissa looked over at Ginny. Ginny was feeling a little awkward but smiled. "Awright?" he asked, looking between the two of his children. They both nodded obediently. "I love you," he assured them as he gave them both one last hug before heading out.

Ginny followed him to the door and they wanted to share a kiss but Michelangelo was staring daggers at them, or just her. Draco gave her a quick smooch before looking right back at his son to see him easing down some under his father's much fiercer gaze. He closed the door and left Ginny in the uncomfortable silence of his wake.

What was she going to do with her boyfriend's two children? They were not so young that she could put on movies and play games with them, but not quite old enough that she could try talking to them like full adults.

Oh, this was awkward.

---------------------------

"Nine! Nine attacks!" Reamann ranted, pacing in front of Draco while Draco sat quite comfortably at his desk, feet propped up, content in watching the younger wizard work himself up, "and one on Christmas Eve no less!"

"I don't know why you're surprised," Draco said nonchalantly. "It was a week, another attack was due."

"But on Christmas?"

"No rest for the wicked," he said with a shrug.

"You would know all abut that, wouldn't you," Réamann fumed and Draco glared at him very intently for a moment. "I'm sorry, I'm stressed, and I'm taking it out on you," he said with a deep, cleansing sigh.

"I noticed," Draco said curly, not looking too happy with Réamann's apology.

"Listen, alright, I know, I'm a jerk sometimes," he said.

"Only sometimes?"

"Malfoy, you are a jerk more often than sometimes, and you can't just let me apologize, can you," he said, a little grumpy and very tired. It was late afternoon and he had been running around all day.

"I never forgive anyone, it's a rule of mine," he said and Réamann looked ready to argue and Draco pressed on, "Furthermore, I'm supposed to be home right now, but I am stuck here helping you out…but I'm not letting my irritability spill out all over the place," he said, raising his voice just a touch to demonstrate just how irritable he could get if Réamann really wanted to push it.

"You act like you're so put upon, but you're not the one being called out of your bed at four in the morning to work a crime scene-"

"I'm up by then anyways."

"And then working late every night on the case-"

"I'm here now aren't I?"

"You don't even care about the Muggles!"

"Of course I don't," Draco said, using the same nonchalant tone throughout while Réamann got angrier and angrier.

"Then why the bloody hell are you here?" he demanded, his Irish accent so much thicker when he was angry and shouting.

"Because we have an agreement - I help you, you give me potions…"

"A lot of help you have been," Réamann snapped and Draco's head very slowly rounded on Réamann, daring him to expand on that thought. "I have been giving you potions, but you have yet to make one solid lead on this case."

"Oh, I'm sorry Réamann," Draco said, his voice light and condescending. "I did not know you expected me to do your job and solve the case at the same time," he said, his eyes harsh and sparkling with his anger.

"You are not doing my job for me."

"Just writing up all your reports and summaries, and reviewing the evidence, and drawing together theories and leads…tell me Réamann, what exactly do you do on this case while I'm busy doing all the work, fetch coffee?"

"I have to work with the Muggles and collect the evidence and-"

"Oh, so you talk to the wee Muggles, and you write some notes…and you complain that I'm not doing enough for this case?"

"You are dragging your feet!" he accused.

"I'm what?" Draco drawled.

"You do not want this case solved because you don't want the potions I'm supplying you to stop."

"How dare you imply that I would -"

"And," he continued, ranting, not allowing Draco to speak. "I think you're pasty-pureblood-arse gets some sort of satisfaction out of Muggles getting hurt!" he accused but immediately realized he had gone too far by the look on Draco's face.

"Réamann," Draco growled, speaking Réamann's name so low and smoothly it was obvious that much effort was being directed towards not standing and screaming in Réamann's face at that moment. "Understand this, because I will not repeat myself…again…" he said, standing ever-so-slowly from his desk to be right up in Réamann's personal space. Somehow Draco could limp around, weigh a hundred and some change soaking wet, and be more than three inches shorter than Réamann, and still be intimidating at that moment. "I know you do not honestly believe me when I say I was not a Death Eater, because you know the Dark Mark cannot be extended to, or received by, the unwilling…but if you ever imply that I would sit around and watch seemingly innocent people get hurt and die, simply because I draw some sort of delight or satisfaction from it, there is going to be a really serious problem between us," he said, talking so calmly that it caught Réamann off guard that Draco shoved him firmly.

Réamann stumbled backwards a little and straightened.

"Don't shove me," he warned, ready to shove him back and Draco realizing this and already defending himself, defending himself quickly in a way that made Réamann freeze. Draco moved backwards so that he was suddenly couching on top of his desk, holding out one hand, a hand that was flexed and the fingernails were lengthened into something like claws.

Réamann looked at Draco, heart pounding.

"Draco," Réamann whispered, backing up some, very afraid at that moment of the other man as Draco kept his eyes locked on him, eyes that looked so human while a wolf, and looked so inhuman while a man.

Réamann had not seen Draco behave or act, in all the time they had spent together, like anything less than human. It was actually pretty easy to forget that Draco really wasn't human if you forgot why he had a limp and why he was so sick all the time…but right now, looking at Draco and his very instinctual response to being physically threatened, he was harshly reminded that Draco was far from human, and that he hadn't been human for years.

Draco eased back some, coming down off the desk carefully and tucking his hands in his open robe's pockets. They stayed there for a moment, and when Draco withdrew them, they were just hands.

"Jesus Christ," Réamann managed after a moment as Draco sat at his desk, leaning his chair back a bit. He seemed embarrassed by his reaction to Réamann coming at him. He refused to look at Réamann, and Réamann couldn't stop staring at him.

"I do not like it when people stare at me, Réamann, or accuse me of nasty things, it makes me feel icky," he said, talking calmly as though he had not just gone a little beastie on the other man and threatened him with a terrible fate.

Réamann just stared at him, unable to look away as his heart settled to a more relaxed pace in his chest.

"I ask for nothing, but maybe a little respect, Réamann."

"Draco…I'm -"

Draco continued on, cutting Réamann off.

"I know so many less fortunate than I. I am a werewolf with a job - do you have any idea how unusual that is? Dolores Umbridge, years ago, was instrumental in the passage of restrictive anti-werewolf legislation that makes it almost impossible for us to get jobs to this day," he said and Réamann blinked at him not understanding where this line of thought was going or what Draco was trying to say.

"Harry has -"

"Potter has helped changed the laws a bit, made it so we are supplied with Wolfsbane and forced to report to a `support' witch or wizard, but he cannot change how the public views us. It is illegal to fire someone on the grounds that they are a werewolf, but it happens all the time," he said, looking angry. "I can despise the Ministry all I want, and hate them for ruining my life and treating me like vermin, but they have given me a means of providing for my family, and you must understand how important that is to me," he said, looking and sounding stern.

"I understand that," Réamann muttered.

"As it is, I don't know how long I will have this job. When my probation is over and I'm a `free man'…or wolf…will they still employ me once it's not mandated? Will they kick me out in the cold to fend for myself? I need this job Réamann, and I would not compromise that, not for potions. So don't you ever accuse me of dragging my feet when I take my job as seriously as I do," he nearly shouted and Réamann felt sickening guilt.

"I'm not sure if you're aware of this," Draco continued more calmly, "but there aren't a lot of people fighting for werewolf rights. The bigotry we suffer is incomparable and unimaginable," he growled.

"You are not foreign to the act of handing out bigotry though, Malfoy," Réamann pointed out softly, not meaning to be smarmy about it though Draco certainly took it that way.

"Oh yes, you are so right," Draco said in a bitter and sarcastic tone. "I was a sod and a git while in school. I threw out a few offensive slurs and I was a bit of a bully when I was a young teenager. Obviously I deserve this now, after ten years in Azkaban and losing my family and friends in the war, I deserve this additional shitty treatment," he scathed, eyes practically burning in his livid rage.

"No, I did not mean it like that, I mean, oh hell," Réamann said, dropping his head. He had meant it that way, but not to the extent Draco was taking it. He was implying that Draco now at least could appreciate how he made so many others feel while in school, but he supposed it was hard for Draco to take his tough situation as some optimistic moral learning experience, and really, could he blame him?

"What goes around comes around, but this is more than just my own hurt feelings, Réamann. This is my life, this is my children's lives people are screwing with!" he seethed. "Make me feel bad, make me regret listening to my mother and believing all my parents taught me and following my father's example unquestioningly, but don't punish my children, don't punish me just because I had been foolish when young!"

"I'm sorry, Draco. I did not think before I spoke, as always. I did not mean it that way," he muttered. Draco seemed to ease down some, but he still looked emotional. What had been anger before, however, now looked like utter vulnerability and despair. If Draco broke down Réamann would not know what to do. He wouldn't be able to handle Draco being so emotional, so depressed.

"Why does it bother you so much whenever I show a touch of real human emotion?" Draco asked suddenly, knowing exactly what Réamann was feeling. Réamann could not deny his thoughts and feelings when Draco could read them so easily, and so he sighed. "Is it so much easier for you to take advantage of me when you think of me as some unflappable prat that hates Muggles and is a Death Eater, rather than to see me as a person, with feelings?"

"I, I just -"

"You read so much about me, and you see me so level headed and standoffish all the time, that you and are unnerved whenever I let my walls down," Draco answered for him.

"I'm sorry."

"For being so unwilling to give me a chance even though you feel there is good in everyone? Good in everyone but me, even after all the help I have given you, and how much trouble I have sustained because of it."

"Yeah…for that."

"I don't hate Muggles, you know," he said bitterly, remembering what Ron had asked him just the night before. He felt like he was repeating himself, which he hated doing, but Réamann hadn't actually been there to hear it.

"Yeah, I know," Réamann said softly, knowing that now, not questioning that anymore. Even if Draco didn't "care" about them, he couldn't go as far as to say Draco "hated" them. "When, when did that change?" he asked then. Draco looked at him and Réamann recoiled a little. "I don't mean to be rude...I believe you, I really do," he urged, holding his hands up in an easing down motion. "You don't hate Muggles, but when did that happen? When did you realize that what your parents surely raised you to believe about Muggles was not necessarily true?" he asked, Draco looking down.

Réamann certainly had a way of asking the most personal of questions without realizing it, or thinking first apparently.

His legs burned, his sides were cramped up, and his lungs were starting to seize up, but Draco did not stop or even slow. He was dodging between the trees, running faster than was probably wise through the dark forest, his mind set on only one thing, and that was getting away.

He hadn't listened to Snape that afternoon after he had received the Mark, when his old mentor had warned him not to go to his mother. Draco had been curled up on the dungeon floor, bleeding still, alone, crying when Snape had approached him after the Dark Lord had left him there with his threat. Draco was outraged, hurt, confused, conflicted…he just wanted to see his mother.

He had Disapparated to his home in total disregard to the warning, looking for comfort from his mother. She had greeted him, and stood there, arms around him, holding him for a long time while letting him curl his arms up to his chest and be held, and protected, and loved…but the Ministry had showed up quickly.

They had set traps all over the manor, waiting for him to possibly show up. They had been alerted of his arrival, and they had made it so he could not Apparate away after having passed through the wards. They had reversed them, so instead of letting no one in, they didn't allow anyone out…that was why he was running now. The Ministry was after him, and they would not let him get away so easily.

Passing through his own family's wards had made him incapable of Apparating, he had already tried desperately. Unable to Apparate, he was left with few options. His home was out in the middle of the countryside, there was no where he could go. He wanted to get to London, and disappear in the flurry of the city, but London was more than a hundred and forty kilometers away from where he lived, he had no hope of getting there on foot.

Still running, Draco could hear the crunching of distant Ministry Wizards, in pursuit. He feared wizards on brooms, coming down on him from above more than anything at that moment. He stumbled, twisting his ankle and fell into the crisp, dry leaves of summer's past. He did not linger despite the pain he felt in his ankle, knees or hands. He pushed himself up off the ground and kept running, his robes tangling in the underbrush and tearing but him paying it no mind, pulling hard to move due to the pain in his ankle and the resistance his snagging robes were creating.

Draco ran, stumbling slightly and then nearly falling out of the woods. He was suddenly on a Muggle road and a vehicle swerved to avoid hitting him on the dark highway. He had spilled out right in front of them. Draco was on his hands and knees on the pavement in the red taillights of the stopped car, panting and shaking from the surprise. A head leaned out the car window and shouted at him.

"Are you alright?" he asked earnestly, the man fearing he may have hit him.

Draco, looking back at the woods, felt panic wash over him. The wizards were close and he was out in the open.

"Hey, kid, are you alright?" the driver called, opening his door in preparation to step out and see for himself. He was shaking from the surprise and the fear that he might have just struck someone with his car.

Draco scrambled to his feet causing the man to stop in mid-motion as he put one leg out of his open car. Draco hurried over to the passenger side, still panting and shaking, left ankle screaming, legs burning and fumbled with the door until he figured out how to work the handle. It was like a carriage. He climbed in and slammed the door, bracing his back against it while suddenly looking right at the man behind the wheel whose door was still open and leg still out on the pavement as he sat there, staring.

"What's going on, are you…?" he tired to ask but Draco's panic stopped him.

"Just go, make this thing go," he said, daring a glance back out the window.

The man looked at Draco, at the strange boy that he had almost run over and had climbed into his car, for a moment but then pulled his leg in, closed his door, and eased the car out of park. Draco gripped the seat as the car moved forward, the man a little heavy on the gas so as to hopefully ease the boy's nerves, making him think he was getting far away, and quickly, from whatever he was running.

Draco was winded, rocking slightly in his seat, glancing back periodically though the road was curved and he could not see where he had come out anymore.

"What are you running from?" the man asked, looking over at Draco who sat beside him, still a panicked mess all covered in sweat, dirt and blood. Draco didn't respond right away and the man let him collect himself for a while, but when Draco showed no sign of relaxing, if anything looking more wound up, he asked again.

"Boy, what are you running from?" he asked.

"Nothing," Draco panted, looking back.

"That must be a whole lot of scary nothing," he said, looking back then too and not seeing anything following behind them on the dark road. "Are you hurt?" he asked, indicating Draco's bleeding left arm where his robe and shirt sleeve were split open up to the elbow, and scuffed cheek and hands. Draco had fallen several times while running through the woods and a few branches had slapped him across the face, cutting him. His left arm was still bloody from the Dark Mark he had received and Draco only seemed to just then realize that.

"I'm…I'm fine," he managed, grabbing the bottom edge of his white dress shirt and tearing it, taking a strip of the material and wrapping it around his arm to stop the bleeding. It was not bleeding much anymore, but he did not want to see what was there under the blood should he wipe it away.

"What happened? How did you end up all the way out here?" he asked.

"My family lives out here," he said, tucking the edge of the material under itself to hold tight. He was still dressed in his school robes, he hadn't the opportunity, since fleeing Hogwarts two nights ago now, to change.

"You can't be serious. No one lives out here," he said, speaking of the specific road they were on. Draco was silent and looking away.

He was in a Muggle car, with a Muggle. He never would have imagined…but then, the Ministry would not imagine it either; they wouldn't think to follow the car, right? He was safe for the moment, right?

"How did you get hurt?" the man asked, looking ahead on the road, Draco bursting out of the woods mere feet in front of him having rattled his nerves so that he was being more careful now. He doubted any more distraught and bleeding teenagers were going to come stumbling out of the woods right in front of him, but he couldn't ease his shaken nerves.

"I'm awright, I'm not hurt," Draco said, the lie being rather pointless since the Muggle man could see all the drying blood.

"You are hurt," the man said, reaching over to touch Draco's arm and Draco pulling away sharply, pressing his back against the door and looking more than a little defensive. He would not let the man touch his blood, Muggle or not, no one deserved to share his curse.

"I'm not going to hurt you, kid, I just want to see..."

"I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"Just some family troubles," Draco mumbled.

"Family issues? Those are some pretty rough family issues given the state you're in," he commented, looking Draco over quickly before focusing on the road again.

`Yeah, well, my family…" Draco said breathily, not sure how he could explain to the man what "family" he was talking about.

"Things a little rough?" he asked. Draco looked at him, and after a moment, the man looked over at him.

"Yes," he answered, looking out the window then.

"I had a pretty rough childhood. My father drank a lot," he confessed as though trying to show some understanding without implying he knew what he was going through.

Draco just glanced over at him.

"You have somewhere to go?" the man finally asked, realizing he couldn't just drive home with the distraught teenager he found on the side of the road in his front seat…or could he?

"Where are you going?" Draco asked and the man looked at him.

"Don't you have any friends, any family I can take you to?" he asked, Draco's face fell slightly and he did not have to answer the question. "Would you like me to take you to a hospital?" he offered and Draco shook his head. "The police?" he offered and Draco shook his head very quickly then.

"What do you need?"

"I need to get to London," Draco said, not sure what was in London. The Leaky Cauldron, the Ministry of Magic, Saint Mungo's…all places he could not go. Where could he go?

"I can take you there," he said, Draco looking at him.

The car ride was…interesting. Draco had never been in a car before, and it seemed to be evident to the man he was riding with. Draco nearly flipped out when his left elbow hit a button on the door and the window started to go down.

The man had gotten a good laugh out of that but Draco looked flushed and a little embarrassed.

"You never ridden in a car before, kid?" he asked. Draco said nothing, pouting very intently at the dashboard after the man righted the window with his own switch on his door.

The man could tell, by the way Draco spoke with such a cultured and upper crust accent, and by the way he was dressed, quite nicely other than the blood and tears, that Draco was not a common English boy. Yet he seemed so foreign, and strange, almost new. He couldn't imagine where this boy had come from.

"My name is Derik, Derik Hammond," he said, finally introducing himself. Draco looked over at him, eyes a little wide, then back at the window, saying nothing. "This is the part where you give me your name," the man said, trying to be friendly but Draco not grasping the humor. He just stared out the window now that the trees were gone and there were hills on all sides.

"Angel," he finally said, not sure why he didn't give the Muggle man his name, or first name. It wasn't like the man would recognize him, or go to the Wizard Ministry, but still…he felt better not giving the man his first name. As odd a name as "Angel" undoubtedly was, "Draco" was odder.

"Well, Angel, I will take you to London, but it is a large city…there somewhere specific you would like to be taken?" he asked. Draco just shook his head mutely.

The car ride was not long, and sooner than Draco had anticipated it, the man, Derik Hammond, was pulling over to the side of the street, city all around them. Draco fiddled with the door for a moment, trying to get it to open and finally managed clumsily. He climbed out, prepared to just close the door and disappear, but the man leaned over to talk to him.

"Angel," he said, causing Draco to freeze, not slamming the door yet. Draco looked at the man as he reached into his back pocket while leaning over, pulling something out. "You don't have any money on you, do you? Here," he said, offering Draco a handful of paper notes he had only seen a few times in his life. Muggle money…he had never handled Muggle money before. Draco looked reluctant to take it, but the man shook his hand at him a little encouragingly and Draco reached out for it.

Draco looked down at the money, however much it was he was not sure, but then over to the man, furrowing his brow at him.

He did not understand…why was this man, this stranger, this Muggle, being so kind to him?

Draco looked down at the money again and then back to the man with the honest and genuine concern on his face.

"Thank you," Draco said, really meaning it but unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Here," the man said, scribbling something down on a piece of gum-paper and handing that too to Draco. "You give me a call if you need a place to stay or something comes up, alright?" he said, Draco blinking at him. "You have me worried," he said, not even smiling then.

Draco, one hand full of paper money, the other holding a series of numbers that Muggles used as some sort of identification code to contact each other using some device called a "telephone," and looked at the Muggle man for a long moment.

"Thank you," Draco said again, feeling a deep appreciation that he had no words for. There was a familiar stinging in his eyes, almost like he was going to cry. It was stress, really, it was…but no one had ever been so kind to him before, and this man, this Muggle man, did not even know him yet was being so helpful and caring.

Draco was not accustomed to this kind of kindness. It certainly was not something he had been raised to extend to others.

"You take care of yourself, Angel, and give me a call later, just so I know you are okay so I can sleep, alright?" he asked, taking his car out of park.

Draco nodded, not sure how he would go about "calling" the man but feeling it had something to do with the telephone number he had been given, and Draco realized he was going to have to take a crash course on the subject if he was going to do what the man asked.

Derik Hammond drove off, leaving Draco on the curb, dressed in his open, black, Hogwarts robe that barely concealed his torn shirt and bloodstained uniform, and felt a little helpless and yet reassured and warm at the same time.

"Nice cape," a fellow teenager praised as he walked by with his friends, walking backwards after passing Draco to give him a double thumbs up.

Draco looked at the young man, confusion plain on his face. He looked away, knowing he would start attracting negative attention quickly if people were to notice his blood, so he started walking, hoping to find a place to lie low for a while.

Walking as briskly as his sore ankle would carry him, he found himself, very quickly, outside a pub.

"Oh thank God," Draco muttered, ducking inside, grateful for the shelter it provided and the promise of alcohol.

Inside, it was dark and music that Draco did not recognize played. Smoke hung thick in the air and only made Draco's insides hurt for a cigarette of his own.

Taking in the look of the place quickly, Draco headed straight for the bar. He hopped onto a stool and pulled his robes closed around him so no one would see the dirt, tears and blood.

"What can I do 'ya for?" the man behind the bar asked, barely giving Draco a glance.

"Vodka, neat," he said, leaning his elbows on the bar top, his palms on his forehead.

His drink was set before him and Draco looked at the crumple of Muggle money in his hand and wondered if he had enough, or how much he should give the man.

The bartender looked at him, really taking in his appearance, and though he was not second-guessing his decision to serve Draco, he did look a little concerned.

The man sitting next to Draco leaned over and plucked the top note out of Draco's open hand and dropped it on the bar top for him. The bartender swept it up and moved down the bar without a word. Draco looked over at the man that had apparently helped him and the man smiled.

"Usually, when I can't figure out how much to give the man, I reckon I have had enough," he said coolly, putting a cigarette to his mouth then.

Draco just looked at him for a long moment before tucking his money away and reaching for his glass of cold vodka. No ice, he didn't need to waste the space in his glass.

"That's a pretty serious drink, sure you can handle…?" the man started to ask but Draco just threw it back, all of it, and set the glass down. The man shrugged, puffing away at his cigarette again.

Draco sat there, rocking just a touch. The man next to him kept glancing over to him from his drink, noticing Draco apparent anxiety.

"Hey, you alright?" he asked.

"What do you care?" Draco snapped, glaring at the man, not used to strangers giving a hoot either way how he was and nervous and uncomfortable as all hell being in a Muggle bar, surrounded by Muggles, wanted by the Wizard Ministry, newly marked by the Dark Lord. It was a lot to deal with all at once.

"Hey, hey, ease down, I was only voicing a little concern for you…no need to bite my head off," the man said smoothly, his speech very slow and drawn out before he put his cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag. His accent was unusual, one Draco had only heard a few times in his life. Was the Muggle man American?

Draco looked at that cigarette with hungry eyes and the man realized this.

"You need one?" he asked, holding out his pack that he produced from somewhere behind him, likely his back pocket.

Draco took one without a word and even accepted a light from the man. Draco turned away a little to face the bar properly, smoking with a nervous need.

The man did not seem put out by Draco's lack of gratitude but simply tucked his cigarettes away and went back to his drink. The bartender eventually found his way back to them and asked if Draco was okay. Draco refused to answer and once the man was gone he couldn't help himself.

"Why does everyone keep asking me if I'm okay?" he asked, clearly talking to the man beside him, sounding moody and defensive as his right leg bounced up and down.

"Because you look as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs," the man said casually.

"Why do any of you care?" he demanded.

"Human nature I guess," the man shrugged and Draco blinked at him. "Don't tell me this is the first time in, say, your whole life, that people have voiced a little concern for you," he asked.

Draco just looked away.

"My name is, Carl," the man said, putting his cigarette to his mouth to hold out his then empty hand across his chest while still leaning on the bar.

Draco looked at him, and his hand, for a long moment before extending his own.

"Angel," he muttered quietly as the man shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Angel," he said, putting the cigarette back to his lips.

"Thanks for the fag," Draco muttered.

"That's what you kids `round here call a smoke, right?" he asked and Draco blinked at him. "It's no problem," he then said smoothly, "I'll count it as my good deed for the day," Carl said, taking a sip from his drink again.

Draco sat there, unsure of what to make of this…experience. He had been raised to believe Muggles were low-class brutes. They were supposed to be dim-witted and violent, but so far, all he had seen was that they were mildly friendly, and willing to be kind, and even helpful, to complete strangers.

He couldn't have been wrong about Muggles, could he have been?

Surely his parents wouldn't have lied to him, or led him to believe things that were not true…but how could he explain away what he had come across tonight?

Draco realized then that he had never really met and dealt with Muggles before, his parents never would have allowed him to be exposed to such "filth." He had known Muggle-borns from school, and not knowing what they were beforehand he wouldn't have been able to tell them apart from a Pureblood or Halfblood. If Muggle-borns were so much like witches and wizards, but raised by Muggles, was there then that great of a difference between them, between Muggles and Magical-folk?

He had never thought of it that way before.

Some time later, Draco stood in the back of the pub. A few drinks in him, he was no longer shaking. Having limped to the bathroom, his ankle still hurting badly enough that he almost would have liked to hop on his good one, he had cleaned himself up so that other than his ruined uniform he kept hidden under his tattered robes, the dark circles under his eyes, and the cuts on his left cheek, he looked relatively decent and presentable.

He held the phone receiver in his hand, looking between the buttons on the contraption that hung on the wall before him and the gum wrapper in his hand, trying to figure this all out. He had put coins in the slot like he had watched a Muggle man do, and he slowly dialed the number on the wrapper like he simply assumed he should. There was silence in the receiver for a long moment as he held it to his ear like he had observed the other man do, but he then heard a sudden ring in his ear. Draco jumped and nearly dropped the phone, but recovered quickly, getting only one odd glance from a nearby man who was cradling his drink.

Draco licked his lips nervously as the phone rang in his ear.

"Hello?" a man asked, answering the phone from his end of the line.

Draco had only a moment to marvel at this before a gloved hand reached around him and clamped over his mouth. Draco gasped and the phone was dropped, left to swing and the man on the line repeating "hello?" over and over again, sounding worried.

Draco kicked and struggled a little as someone much stronger than he held him from behind, one hand clamped over Draco's mouth and pinning him to their chest, the other hand holding Draco's left wrist.

No one in the pub looked up or even acknowledged the struggle. Draco was pulled out of the building and no one stopped it. Draco knew a spell when he was amidst one. He was dragged down the street and into an alleyway between two buildings, all the time struggling and trying to shout but muffled by the gloved hand.

"Draco," the man holding him said, releasing him and letting Draco spin around while looking prepared to take a swing at him, shaking still.

"Snape?" Draco asked, looking at his teacher and mentor with surprise.

"I never would have thought you, of all people, would associate with Muggles," he said, not sounding disgusted, just a little surprised having finally found Draco after much searching.

"I just realized that there were statistically, and proportionatly, as many decent Muggles as there are witches and wizards…" he said, crossing his arms. "There is a Muggle man I send a Christmas package to every year," he explained, never having forgotten Mr. Derik Hammond, not even after spending ten years in Azkaban. The man, surprisingly, in those eleven years after he had dropped Draco off on that corner, had not forgotten him either. Draco had found him, feeling guilty for having never successfully contacted the man again to reassure him that he was alright and apologize for whatever sleepless nights he had caused the man due to worry, and had something close to a friendship with him ever since. Draco didn't have friends, not really, but that man and he shared something special.

There was always a certain bond formed between two people when one saves the other's life.

Derik had been genuinely relieved to see "Angel" again, alive and…well, after so long. Draco was just relieved to find someone that was happy to see him since so few seemed all that pleased that he had gotten out of Azkaban.

"Really?" Réamann asked timidly, feeling like a jerk.

"Really," Draco said flatly, not feeling the need to explain himself to Réamann any. Réamann did not need to know about why he didn't hate Muggles anymore, he did not deserve to know that, but it was important that Réamann understood now that Draco was not about to take anymore of his bullshit.

----------------------

Ginny held Clarissa's hand as they strolled through Diagon Alley. Clarissa was much easier of the two children to win over. Offering to take her to the magical market was enough to make them brand-new best friends.

Clarissa held her hand tight, pointing to everything, a grin so wide on her face Ginny wondered if her teeth hurt from the cold. Clarissa's cheeks were pink from the wind but the color gave her a very bright and joyful appearance. Her hair was tucked up under her winter hat so that the most identifying Malfoy feature of hers was hidden. She was bundled up and wrapped in a bright, knit scarf that was twice as long as she was tall (so while wrapped around her neck it was still in danger of dragging on the ground) with bold rainbow stripes. It was apparently a gift from her "Aunt" Tonks, Ginny able to recognize her friend's eclectic style easily.

Michelangelo walked on Clarissa's side, his pride not allowing him to have as much fun as his younger sister. He was in his Hogwarts cloak that looked new and Slytherin scarf, a black wool hat over his hair to keep it covered and his identity obscured. Anyone seeing Ginny and recognizing her as she passed would simply assume she was out with two of her many nieces and nephews. Ginny wondered how much Draco had paid so that his son could apparently have new uniforms and a nice cloak, and why he would spend so much if he were so obviously tight on gold. She had a feeling it had something to do with Draco's pride in not allowing his son to go off to Hogwarts in secondhand robes. He certainly understood and knew first-hand just how mean kids could be about such things.

"Can we get some ice cream?" Clarissa asked.

"It's freezing out, you couldn't possibly want ice cream," Ginny laughed.

"Hot fudge on top, to warm us up," she grinned. Her father had brought home ice cream from Diagon Alley before and Clarissa had fallen in love with the bubblegum flavor.

"Well, how about you, Michael, anything you would like to eat?" Ginny asked, looking over at the standoffish boy.

"Whatever," he muttered, looking in any direction that wasn't Ginny.

Ginny sighed and moved along. She treated Clarissa to ice cream and let Michelangelo order some brownies. Ginny stayed away from the sweets, already feeling her Christmas dinner hitting her hips. Holiday weight: every woman's nightmare.

Ginny ushered the children into a pub to get warm while she had a drink. She sat down with them near the front, by the frosted over window so that the cool winter light shone on them and shadows of people on the other side moved past.

"Thank you, Ginny," Clarissa chimed, her spoon frozen in her ice cream, the weather outside so cold she now needed to wait for the ice cream to soften a little…that is, if Ginny hadn't drawn out her wand to use a very weak warming charm on it to make it instantly soft enough to eat.

"Wow," Clarissa beamed having never really gotten to experience much casual magic in her life. She might have been the daughter of a Pureblood, (Ginny unsure if the children themselves qualified as true "Purebloods," but knew their mother had been a witch at least) but with Draco and Narcissa both forbidden to do magic and their wands destroyed, (Narcissa's by the Ministry, Draco's during the final battle) the children had been raised knowing but never really seeing magic.

Michelangelo looked over to the magic, but seemed far less impressed, or at least unwilling to show it.

"You're welcome," Ginny said, folding her arms on the tabletop to lean on them, the children sitting across from her. "You two having a good time?" she asked. Clarissa nodded readily, spoon in her mouth and whipped cream at the corner of her mouth, and Michelangelo firmly ignored her.

"Michael, you're being really rude," Clarissa scolded.

"And you are being a sell-out," he retorted as though Ginny were not sitting right there.

"Why are you so unwilling to give her a chance?"

"You weren't woken up to the sounds I was," he grumbled and Ginny blushed. Apparently Michelangelo had woken, heard the "noises" of Draco and her sharing Christmas Eve together, and had tried to, and eventually did, go back to sleep. Clarissa had slept thought it but had then wandered into Draco's room and created the commotion that had woken Michelangelo for a second time. Ginny was still, understandably, embarrassed over all that.

"You are just being a stupid git," Clarissa fumed at him, a dab of hot fudge now in the other corner of her mouth.

"Alright, alright you two," Ginny spoke over them at last, easing them down. "No fighting. Thank you, Clarissa, for defending me, but Michael doesn't have to like me, just so long as he is respectful," she said as she reached across the table with a napkin to dab Clarissa's mouth clean while Michelangelo grumbled.

"Daddy really likes you," Clarissa said, almost as though throwing that fact up in Michelangelo's face.

"You really think so?" Ginny asked softly.

"He wouldn't fight with Nana if he didn't," she said.

"They're still fighting?" Ginny asked, feeling and sounding guilty as she folded her napkin and leaned back.

"She saw the Prophet," Michelangelo said moodily. Ginny sighed.

"I don't mean to be such a disruption in your life," she assured, looking more to Clarissa than Michelangelo, hoping to at least maintain the girl's support, the only support she seemed to have at the moment from the family.

"You and Daddy have known each other for a long time?" Clarissa asked, licking at her ice cream covered spoon.

"We knew each other years ago…we are just sort of getting to know each other again…or properly," she said, not really wanting to lie to herself and say she knew Draco all that well all those years ago, but not really wanting to admit to the children that she was still really in the early stages of getting to know him.

"Yeah, we heard you two getting to know each other, the other night," Michelangelo said and Ginny blushed again. He wasn't about to let that go was he?

"Stop that, Michael, your just jealous because you don't have a girlfriend to snog," she fumed and Ginny fought not to smile. Clarissa thought that all that had happened between Draco and her that night was kissing?

Michelangelo clearly knew otherwise, he had said as much moments before and in his bedroom earlier, but despite how upset over it as he was, he apparently was unwilling to shatter his younger sister's innocence.

"Yeah, well, I can do better than puckering up with a Weasley," he huffed, a little blush on his cheeks.

"You need us to help you?" Clarissa then offered Ginny. Ginny leaned in a little. "We can tell you things about Daddy, things he likes," she said, seemingly excited over the prospect of being of some assistance.

"You would do that for me?" Ginny asked, glancing over at Michelangelo.

"Sure…what do you need to know?" Clarissa asked, leaning in more, deciding to exclude her brother from the business.

"Well, what's important to know about him, do you think?" Ginny asked, humoring the girl but enjoying this chance to maybe find out more about Draco, things he might not reveal about himself on his own, hearing it from someone who knew him so well. It was also a rather touching bonding moment between her and Clarissa.

"Well, he's a good singer," she confessed and Ginny smiled at her.

"Is he now?"

"Oh yes, he used to sing to us when we would visit him, and he sings along with me on movie night sometimes," Clarissa confessed, practically whispering across the table at Ginny. "You should have him sing to you," she suggested, "it would be so romantic," she gushed.

"You think he would," Ginny whispered back, grinning at the girl's enthusiasm.

"Oh yes…he is bashful but don't let him mislead you. Just beg and pout and bat your eyes and he will do it…he will do anything for you if you beg just right," she said, knowing how to manipulate her father best of anyone other than possibly Narcissa.

"Really," Ginny laughed.

"I don't think Dad would be happy to hear you are telling his…girlfriend…the best ways to manipulate him," Michelangelo interrupted, talking at a normal volume that seemed so much louder because of all the whispering.

"We're women, it's what we do," Clarissa said with her nose up in the air. Ginny laughed. Clarissa was going to be a real heartbreaker. Draco must have been painfully aware of that.

"Well, where do we want to go next?" she asked the two of them.

"The Quidditch shop!" Clarissa beamed brightly.

"You like Quidditch?" Ginny asked.

"Not really, but Michael does. He hasn't stopped talking about it since getting back from Hogwarts," Clarissa explained. "I know he wants to try out for the House Team next year, and wants to go to the shop, but he won't ask you, because he's a total Hippogriff," she said, rolling her eyes and Michelangelo huffed.

"You like Quidditch?" Ginny asked, looking over at the boy then.

"Clare made that quite clear just now, I would assume," he replied curtly.

"You know, I played for my house team," she said, trying to hopefully make a connection with the boy. She really wanted them to like her, and more than for the reason that it was important to Draco.

"What position?" Clarissa asked.

"Seeker for half a year, filling in for the old one that got thrown off the team in my fourth, and then a Chaser the following year," she explained, not mentioning Harry Potter. She was trying to make amends with Michelangelo, not bring up more reasons for him to dislike her.

"Were you any good?" he asked, a little curious despite himself.

"I won a few games in my time," she said with a smile.

"Dad won't let us have brooms," Clarissa sulked. "We live with all Muggles, so you can understand why, but it's not fair," she pouted, looking moodily down at her ice cream.

"You're right, that isn't fair," Ginny agreed.

"I have flown. First years get flying lessons and I am one of the best in the year. The best of anyone that hadn't flown before," Michelangelo said proudly while maintaining his dignified and standoffish poise. Ginny saw so much of Draco in the boy, it was amazing. He truly was his father's son.

"I haven't flown," Clarissa moped.

"Well," Ginny said, leaning in across the table a little to drop her voice. "What if we went to the Quidditch shop, then ducked out of here. I can take you two someplace where we can fly," she said and the children, even Michelangelo, stared wide-eyed.

"Are you serious?" Clarissa gasped.

"You are not teasing us?" Michelangelo asked skeptically.

"Come on, eat up and we will have more time to fly," she said, unable to resist a broad grin at the children as their readable excitement swelled and they each finished their treats quickly.

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Author's Note:

Thank you Twisted Sister for the song "Were Not Gonna Take It" and Bon Jovi for the song "You Give Love a Bad Name". Apparently Michelangelo is fond of 80s Muggle rock music. What a coincidence, so am I. :)

I hope you all still love Michelangelo after this chapter, I know I sure do. Clarissa is just so sweet, she makes me sick. Réamann was a dickwad again, but I still love him, he is important to Draco's character development, how else would I find excuses to have fun flashbacks? Draco got a little beasty, I couldn't resist, he was coming across too human to me for a while.

I used a little reference to the first X-men movie with Draco in the car during the flashback. Him jerking away from Derik and Derik saying "I'm not going to hurt you, kid," is from the scene where Rogue is in the truck with Wolverine. I didn't set out to copy it, but it just sorta came out that way and I didn't like it written up any other way, so I left it. It's all good, that movie rocks.

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