Unofficial Portkey Archive

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Twenty-two

Working together after Draco and Reamann's little row was none too productive that day. Reamann seemed terrified of offending Draco, and Draco was being too easily offended over just about everything.

Draco decided to go home.

It was seven when he left. He had been at the Ministry since nine that morning. Anyone would be grumpy after ten hours at work, even if they didn't have to deal with Reamann and his constant insensitivity. How did Ginny put up with him? Or was Reamann's tactlessness reserved exclusively for him? Oh for him to be so lucky. Draco felt that it was guys like Reamann that gave all men a bad name. Draco didn't consider himself the "sensitive type," just a guy that didn't perpetually have his foot in his mouth or head up is arse.

Draco got home, ready for the worst, prepared to leap in and start defending people's feelings, but stepped into his living room to find Ginny and Clarissa sitting on the couch together, Michelangelo in his chair, looking a little unapproachable but in no way disrespectful. They were watching the telly, as a group.

"Daddy!" Clarissa exclaimed, getting up quickly to greet her father at the door with a barrage of "I love you"s. Ginny smiled at Draco and stood to move over to him, more slowly than Clarissa.

"Hey there," she said softly, greeting him with a kiss, Clarissa between them.

"Hello," he said, surprise readable on his face.

Despite his shock over not seeing his son and Ginny at each other's throats, he managed to realize, with a different kind of shock, that he really desired this, "this" being a proper family.

How he longed for something like this every night: for his children to welcome him home after work and for him to have a wife to greet him with a kiss.

Okay, thinking of Ginny fondly as a wife was mental, but still, he could not deny that the idea of having such a thing - having a woman, having a wife - was more than just a little heartwarming. It was such a welcome and pleasant feeling that it made Draco somehow forget how grumpy he was after leaving Reamann at the Ministry.

"We went to Diagon Alley and then Ginny took us to her old home where we got to fly!" Clarissa said happily, prepared to go into a long explanation of her day while still standing by the front door, arms latched around her father's very narrow waist.

"You took them to the Burrow?" Draco asked, looking at Ginny with shock.

"No one was home, Mum and Dad were at Bill's," she assured. "Come on, why don't we sit down," she offered, laughing slightly at Clarissa's enthusiasm. Draco smiled at her.

They sat together on the couch, Michelangelo still refusing to join in and be a part of the lovely little family moment.

Clarissa very happily went into a long-winded account of their day, and what it was like to fly and see magic, and meet other witches and wizards. Draco listened, looking up at Ginny every once in awhile to share a dreamily glance with her. Michelangelo looked sickened by the innocent exchange of unspoken affection.

"So I don't have to ask if you had a good day?" Draco teased, smiling down at his daughter. Clarissa laughed and elbowed him playfully while he reached around and tickled her side un-expectantly, then trying to accuse Ginny of being the one responsible.

"Did you have a good time, Michelangelo?" Draco asked, his son not saying a word since Draco got home.

Michelangelo shrugged.

"Eh, it was alright," he said indifferently, elbow on the arm of the chair, chin on his palm, him ignoring the scene to stare at the television with bored eyes.

Ginny looked at Draco and shrugged, giving him an "I tried," look. It seemed Michelangelo had settled on the silent treatment and stubborn refusal to acknowledge the situation as a means of dealing with it all. It was hardly what Draco wanted, but it was an improvement from that morning.

"Ginny, you said you had a gift for Daddy," Clarissa interrupted.

"Oh, yes," she said, fighting not to laugh at how much Draco seemed to perk up at that, his tired and hooded eyes gleaming a little with excitement.

"You two, go, open the gift," Clarissa demanded, standing from the couch where she had been sitting between them.

"We can do it right here," Ginny offered.

"No," Clarissa said firmly, her hands on her hips. "It has to be romantic, meaning just the two of you," she said, sounding suddenly very bossy. She grabbed Draco's and Ginny's hand and pulled at them, wanting them to stand but unable to force them with her slight weight and stature. "Go into the other room," she ordered, Draco and Ginny standing without the need of Clarissa pulling at them.

"Awright, awright," Draco said, making it sound as though Clarissa was twisting his arm over the matter. Ginny giggled silently as Draco lead her away by the hand, Clarissa at their heels, shooing them.

Draco and Ginny disappeared into his bedroom and Michelangelo rolled his eyes over at his sister.

"You know they won't behave themselves if they are alone."

"Maybe, maybe not, but you are a butt-head and so they need to go elsewhere so they can have a romantic moment opening gifts, you not there to ruin it," she huffed, sitting down on the couch in dignified poise she had picked up from her grandmother.

Draco and Ginny closed themselves in the bedroom and Draco found, already on his bed, a gift lying there, in red Christmas paper that was covered in candy canes and snowmen.

"How…festive," he mocked and she laughed.

"Shut up, it was the only paper we had left and it's perfectly suited for the occasion," she said, pushing him down to sit on the low mattress, joining him on the other side of the gift. Draco picked it up, it relatively light for its size and Ginny scooted closer.

"Gee, what could this guitar-shaped package be?" Draco laughed, Ginny smiling, watching him rip away the paper. He took a deep breath and then sighed, smiling at her, but looking a little guilty. "This is a very nice guitar; expensive," he said, looking at her with the partially unwrapped guitar across his lap.

"I saw yours there," she said, indicating his old beat up guitar in the corner, "and it came to me while out shopping last minute and seeing this one, that you would probably enjoy a nicer, newer, better one," she explained and Draco laughed softly.

"You don't even know if I'm any good, yet you spent a few hundred pounds on this?"

"I can't imagine a Malfoy, a stubborn breed they are, as being terrible at anything they endeavor at," she teased and me smirked at her.

"I suppose that's to be taken as a complement," he drawled while tilting his head.

"I bet you play well," she said confidently.

"I have been teaching myself for years," he admitted. Ginny smiled. "I can read music and I play piano and the violin, so I assumed that taking up another instrument would be only a mild challenge. After three years, however, I'm far from the best," he muttered, his attention down on the instrument, ripping the paper away fully and dropping it aside.

"Is there anything in-between? Can you not be an utter failure without having to be the best there is at something?" she asked.

"My attitude towards such things too black and white for you?"

"It just seems rather bleak."

"Sorry, it's hard to break myself of my father's standards," he said with a sad smile while admitting that.

"Was he tough, like, demanding?" Ginny asked, this being the first time Draco had ever spoken of his father to her. She seemed to recall him mentioning his father had a temper, but he had been speaking in regards to the House-elves at the time. She had met his mother, unfortunately, but Lucius Malfoy…as Draco knew him…was still an enigma to her.

"Well, if a grade was a ninety-nine he would ask why it wasn't a one-hundred, and if I were second best he would ask if being the `best loser' was satisfying," he divulged with a sigh.

"I don't think that's fair."

"He just wanted me to try my hardest. He really was proud of me, really…he just couldn't show it," he said, sounding almost like he was still convincing himself of that. "I don't think he knew how to show it," he then elucidated.

"I think you sell yourself short," she said, reaching around to hug him from behind. "I hear you are also an excellent singer," she then went on to say.

"Clarissa telling you tall tales now?" he asked.

"I don't think she was lying. She said you were, well are, shy and that you would deny it and so I should not believe you, and demand that you sing to me," she said, smiling as Draco groaned. His daughter was demolishing all his defenses against Ginny. "And what is this I hear about an `eyebrow trick'?" she asked and Draco pulled away to look at her.

"Oh, she told you about that too, did she?" he asked, eying her intently but raising his left eyebrow, earning a giggle from Ginny.

"I didn't know you could do that," she laughed as Draco raised and lowered each eyebrow individually before relaxing them and smiling.

"Well, honestly, the story behind it is none-too-glamorous, or humorous…There simply isn't much to do in Azkaban. One has to find things to keep busy or you go…" he paused for a moment before smiling at her, "mental," he finished. It was a little sad really, but he had spent hours of days just practicing to get his eyebrows to move separate and distinctly. "I can throw playing cards like no one's business and with amazing accuracy, card tricks? I know them all. I can make the best shadow puppets, and I'm also rather flexible," he divulged.

"Really?" Ginny asked, intrigued by this last bit of information more than the rest.

"Yes. Years spent alone in a small cell left me plenty of time to stretch and see just how far I can bend one way, or reach something, or touch something. It even has some uses, it helps the ache sometimes."

"How flexible?" she asked, eying him mischievously, hoping he was reading her dirty thoughts.

"Maybe I'll show you someday," he teased, kissing her nose, knowing exactly what she was thinking and honestly intrigued by the possibilities himself, if he were feeling more up to it. As it was, he did not want to admit to too much, like saying he could do a split and then be expected to demonstrate such. Sure he could do back-bends and handstands and all that stuff, but he wasn't a performer either, ready to do a trick on comand...and he rarely felt up to it anyways.

Draco placed the guitar across his legs, strummed it once and smiled. He removed it from his lap and carefully placed it on the floor while twisting in Ginny's embrace to face her.

"Thank you," he whispered softly, kissing her. Ginny twined her fingers into his hair and held him close and he reached around to hold her. She pushed him down on the mattress, not breaking the kiss, and he allowed her to lie on top of him.

Draco lapped at Ginny's mouth as she reached down to undress him. He was about to remind her that his children were home, but she seemed to realize that herself and pulled out her wand. She cast some sort of silent charm towards his door and Draco looked up at her while sitting up on his elbows.

Ginny leaned down to lick his ear and whisper in it, her breath hot and thick.

"I can pull some strings at the Ministry…don't worry, you won't get in any trouble. I just made the room soundproof and the door is locked," she explained, pushing Draco down roughly at that point, intent on having her way with him despite his obvious discomfort.

Draco looked up at her, surprised and a little uneasy still. His children were watching a movie in the living room…that meant there was only a wall between him and them and Ginny already had his pants pulled down. Why was this so inappropriate and yet so enticingly erotic at the same time?

Ginny having so much control was a new experience for him. She got to do most of the work, and he got to lie there, wanting to do more but her not letting him. She reached up and pinned his arms down so he could not even hold onto her hips. He could have struggled more and broken her grip, but he didn't want to, his view of her, looking up at her, was just spectacular.

Panting and sweating, Ginny enticed more sound than ever out of Draco as he lay pinned below her, only able to rock his hips up to meet hers. Eventually allowed to sit up, Draco took advantage of this opportunity to grope, and feel, and grab, and hold, and nibble, and finger more than the other times before. Ginny was absolutely gasping as she straddled his lap and rocked on him while he sat there, nibbling and sucking on her neck where it met her shoulder. She was wearing the necklace, and that made a part of him very satisfied.

"Who would have thought…honestly?" Ginny panted some minutes later. "If some Master of Divination had told me back in Hogwarts that I would end up with you, Draco, I would have called them a loony," she laughed, Draco panting beside her, both covered in sweat and not touching because they felt so hot. Ginny's skin was tingling and Draco was shaking.

"Shagging a Weasley, I never would have imagined, even with you being a Pureblood," he panted.

"Excuse me?" Ginny said, suddenly sounding insulted and a touch angry.

"I didn't mean…" he attempted to touch her, but she just huffed and rolled over so her back was to him now. "No, please don't take that the wrong way, please, I'm sorry," he begged, rolling onto his side to lean down and kiss the back of her neck as she refused to look at him.

"And what way did you mean it, Draco?" she said, sounding accusatory.

"It just sort of came out of me, and it came out wrong. I did not mean: `ha-ha, we shall make little Pureblooded babies worthy of the Malfoy family tree,'" he said, sounding so pleading for her to listen to him. "I merely meant to point out the irony of it. You are a Pureblood, you are everything my family would have wanted and expected me to end up with, but you are a Weasley," he explained, hugging her from behind so he was now pressing his nude body against hers like they were spooning, only it was far less romantic than it should have been since Ginny was rocking her shoulders to try and throw Draco off of her. "I did not mean to come across like a supremacist. The irony was clearly only able to be seen from my perspective…I'm sorry," he said, kissing her neck again and holding tight.

"I can't help but feel you are one though," she grumbled, "that you still hold Purebloods in a higher regard than any other witch or wizard. I think I can see now where your son's attitude comes from." Ginny fought firmly against Draco's attempts to distract her as he kissed her neck.

"Ginny," Draco said softly.

"Was Michael and Claire's mother a Pureblood, Draco?" Ginny asked and Draco noticeably stiffened behind her, his surprise and discomfort from the sudden question very clear.

"Yes…a fourth-generation," he muttered quietly, meaning his wife's family had been of entirely wizarding ancestry, without any Muggle ancestors whatsoever, as far as her great-grandparents at least.

"Is that why you liked her so much? Is that why you like me so much?" she asked, trying to roll over and throw Draco off of her, but him not allowing it. He really was stronger than he looked. Ginny still knew very little about Draco's wife. No last name, nothing about her personality, and Draco wanted it to stay that way. Reamann knew and, honestly, Reamann's reaction was what he feared, that of pity, and Draco didn't want that from Ginny.

"Now, Weasley, that's just not fair," Draco pouted, preventing Ginny from rolling him off of her while sounding hurt. "I cannot help the way I was raised, and it takes a lot of work to try and rewire how one's brain automatically thinks. Yes. A part of me still does hold a certain respect for witches and wizards who are Purebloods. Is that what you wanted to hear? Yes," he said firmly while holding her tight against him. "But I have also learned the value everyone else has. I can tell you that being a Pureblood in prison is no bloody picnic and grants you no special treatment. If anything it was harder since everyone seemed to have something to prove and that it was their personal duty to make sure I realized I was no better than any of them. It was a harsh but humbling experience," he said darkly and Ginny stopped fighting against his hold on her. Draco had never mentioned his time in Azkaban before either. "I have lived in a Muggle neighborhood, worked with a Squib and a Muggle-born and interacted on a personal level with Muggles and Half-bloods on a daily basis for three years. I have learned that my preconceived ideas about them were not only wrong, but unfair."

"Draco," she said softly.

"If I were truly a blood-supremacist that would mean you are a Blood-traitor and I wouldn't be fucking you because you would be something worse than even a Muggle-born," he said harshly.

"Draco…"

"Yes, Weasley?" he said, sounding only a touch bitter.

"I'm sorry," she said, rolling and Draco allowing her to now, but in a way that meant she rolled while in his arms so they were front to front, facing each other while on their side. "I shouldn't have jumped on you like that, or said what I did. It wasn't fair."

"No, it wasn't," he said not looking her in the eyes.

"I just, I hear Michael spew such supremacist talk and, then when it seemingly slipped out of you…it just hurt my feelings… Michael hurts my feelings…"

"I know. I will have a firm talk with him, I swear. You have my mother to thank for that. He knows I do not tolerate such talk under my roof, and Clarissa doesn't seem as tainted by the idea, but… Michael …he just seems so drawn to the idea. He is a lot like me."

"No kidding," Ginny interjected.

"He feels victimized and wounded and draws some sort of value and power from the idea of blood-supremacy…he gets that from my mother," he explained softly. Ginny could tell that Draco felt "victimized" and "wounded" too, but he didn't seem drawn to the idea of blood-supremacy (anymore) as much as he was just terribly bitter. Maybe being a werewolf did that to him. It is hard to hold strong to ideals of blood-supremacy when you are not even human anymore.

"Will you forgive me?" she pouted in a cute way, wigging her hips against his a little, rubbing herself against him.

"Maybe," he muttered, leaning down and kissing her throat. "You are going to have to make it up to me. My feelings are quite wounded," he said, rubbing right back against her. "But not right now," he said, rolling away from her suddenly, leaving Ginny to groan and pout.

"Draco," she whined, wanting to keep going.

"No, no, my children are in the other room, probably wondering what it taking us so long…"

"I'm sure Michael has some idea," she said grumpily.

"All the more reason we should cool it," he said, gathering his clothing up from the floor as she squatted down. He stood with a groan and Ginny sat up on her elbows a little to look at him. She liked looking at him. "Sex makes me achy," he complained, taking a few stiff steps before flopping down onto the mattress to start dressing.

"You alright?" Ginny asked, crawling over to him to talk into the back of his neck and kiss it tenderly, wrapping her arms around his ribs.

"I think I threw out my hip," he grumbled as it obviously caused him some amount of pain to pull his knickers and then jeans on.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, still kissing his neck. She pushed some of his slightly tangled hair away to kiss more skin but discovered a mark on his body she had never seen before, a mark she had somehow missed in the times she had roamed his body. There was a small tattoo there, about an inch high and three inches across, near the hairline on the back of his neck. It was just a number.

"369?" she asked and Draco stiffened. He tilted his head back to force his hair to slide and cover the tattoo again. "What does that mean?" she asked, curious about the number and over Draco's reaction.

Draco heaved a sigh. "That's my identification," he said heavily.

"Your what?"

"My number, assigned by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures: Beast Division," he explained softly.

"This is because you are a werewolf?" she asked, pushing his hair away to look at the simple mark again in horror, the black ink so harsh beside his white skin and hair.

"Yes."

"They gave this to you?" she asked, speaking of the Ministry, and he just nodded. "That's terrible," she exclaimed.

"It could be worse," he said and she dropped his hair to look at him though he refused to turn to her, unable to see how anything could be worse than being branded in such a way. "They, at first, were tattooing the interior of the left ear, just under the top crease…God that hurt," he sighed. "The idea was that it would be an identifying tag when we are…shifted, but as a person it was hard to hide. They went back and painfully removed the tattoo and instead placed it on the neck. It's a little easier to hide for us, and it's not that hard to find when we are shifted, though not as easy as it had been on the ear because you have to part the fur," he explained, sounding numb and indifferent.

"I can't believe they tattoo you guys, I had no idea," she said, sounding outraged. Draco took comfort in that, but knew her being upset would fix nothing so he twisted a little to plant a kiss on her, to sooth her.

"It's awright," he said, holding her face with his one hand. It really wasn't. It was a terribly insulting thing to have to endure, be held down and branded and tagged like an animal, but he was thankful it was now in a place he could conceal it, only a white scar in the shape on his numbers remaining on the interior of his ear should one look close enough to notice. Really, he was outraged more for his children than for himself. So young and innocent, never having asked for this (not like he had himself) and yet they were marked too.

There was a reason they each had such long hair. His and Clarissa's were the longest, Michelangelo's curls barely reaching past the tattoo, all so that people wouldn't be able to see the mark while they were out on the street. It was like having a scarlet letter, only they had done nothing wrong. They were victims, yet they were shunned. It was not fair. Draco felt guilt because he had done this to his children. They were shunned because of him.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked meekly, knowing their romp had caused him some pain.

"It was worth it," he assured, not answering her question, standing and limping over to his dresser where his cane stood. He leaned on it for support as he one handedly tried to shake out his shirt so it would be right-side-out.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked, watching him struggle on stubbornly, too proud to ever ask for assistance.

"Sex could kill you, you know," he said, looking at her and she looked a little surprised. "Do you have any idea of all the things a body goes through when having sex? The heart races and arteries constrict causing the blood pressure to skyrocket. The pupils dilate, core temperature rises, breathing becomes rapid and shallow, and the brain fires bursts of confusing and conflicting electrical impulses. Secretions erupt out of every gland, and muscles tense and spasm. It's violent and rigorous and potentially lethal," he said oh-so-seriously. Ginny looked at him, not sure if he was joking or not. "It's a damn good thing that it's fun, otherwise no one would ever risk it," he sighed as he managed to pull his shirt on and lean on his cane more.

"You have a seriously bleak outlook on life, don't you," she said while shaking her head and looking right at him.

"I rather like to think of it as just me being well informed," he retorted with a smirk.

"Of course you would."

Ginny cleaned herself up a little and within a few additional moments she was dressed and presentable. Draco grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles before dropping it away slowly and leaning down stiffly to grab his new guitar.

Ginny led the way out of the room and back into the living room where Michelangelo and Clarissa were sitting quietly, Michelangelo looking bored and Clarissa apparently happy to see them.

"Wow, is that what Ginny got you?" Clarissa asked, looking at the guitar Draco held in his left had as he limped into the living room.

"Yup," he said, smiling, leaning on his cane.

"That is so wicked," she exclaimed as Draco set it down on the coffee table. "You gonna play for us more then?" she asked.

"Maybe."

"Were you playing for her in the other room?" she asked, assuming that was what took them so long, that being the obvious explanation to her.

"He was strumming something," Michelangelo muttered without looking away from the television, looking bored with his chin propped up on his hand still. Unfortunately Draco was within hearing, and caning distance, and smacked him on the head.

"Enough of that," he said in an irritated voice, Michelangelo pouting and rubbing his head.

"Draco," Ginny sighed, not wanting Draco to cane his son in front of her, even if Michelangelo was seriously asking for it.

"Come on, you, we need to have a talk," Draco said, pointing at Michelangelo and crooking his finger in a come-hither motion, wanting his son to follow him before turning and walking off to the kitchen. Ginny and Clarissa looked at Michelangelo as he got up and groaned and sighed and moaned the whole way. He disappeared through the doorway, Draco already waiting. Clarissa gave Ginny an "uh-oh" look and Ginny felt a little uncomfortable. Was Draco going to scold Michelangelo? She really didn't want to overhear that.

A few moments passed and they heard no raised voices, so Ginny got the impression that Draco was keeping his voice down in whatever he was saying.

"Did Daddy sing to you?" Clarissa asked, surprising Ginny since she had nearly forgotten for a second the little girl was sitting with her while so concerned over Draco and Michelangelo.

"Oh, no," she confessed.

"Then what took you two so long?" she asked.

"He played the guitar a little for me," she said, fighting not to blush. She did not want to say Draco had sung since she had yet to hear his voice and did not want Clarissa asking what she thought. She was sure Draco was good at playing the guitar and that would be easier for her to lie about.

"He is so good," Clarissa beamed. "He's teaching himself, did you know that?"

"Yeah, he told me."

"I swear, there is, like, nothing my dad can't do," he said so seriously that Ginny laughed softly.

"Really?" she teased skeptically.

"Well, actually," she said, getting a mischievous look on her face then and smiling. "There is one thing he can't do," she confessed, ready to divulge the information should Ginny show interest. Ginny leaned down a little, like they were sharing a big secret, and smiled.

"What?" she asked.

"He can't whistle," she giggled. Ginny looked at the girl, saw she was being totally serious, and laughed then.

"Whistle?" she repeated.

"He can, like, do anything and everything there is on this planet, but he just can't whistle. He says it's his only flaw," he divulged and Ginny couldn't hold back her laughter then. She was positive Draco had more flaws than just the inability to whistle, but she would say nothing on that to Clarissa. It was cute, and Draco obviously built up quite admiration in her.

"Can you whistle?" Ginny asked. Clarissa puckered her lips and whistled a perky tune before her lips broke into a smile and she could not whistle anymore.

"I can too," Ginny laughed, whistling a few notes then herself. Clarissa laughed.

Ginny was happy she and the girl had made some sort of connection. If only she could think of a way to win Michelangelo over too, life would be so much easier.

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

"You are being a serious troll, you know that don't you," Draco reprimanded has he leaned on his cane, Michelangelo standing before him.

Draco could recall many memories like this one as a boy, but the setting was far from where he was now. Draco could remember standing in front of his father's desk in the study, his father looming before him. He had to stand up straight and keep his hands at his sides the whole time his father reprimanded. He never yelled, but Draco sometimes wished he had because disappointment was always so much harder for a child to handle when hearing it in their parent's voice. Lucius always carried a sort of angry disappointment in his tone when telling him off.

Draco now stood before his son, reprimanding him in nearly the exact same way, something as a boy he swore he would never do. He had promised himself that his children would be allowed to stay up late, and have ice cream for breakfast, and fly their brooms in the house, because those were all the things he had been unfairly denied. Draco knew though, in hindsight, his parents had only done what they had to: been parents to him, and he could not resent them for it, but he did make sure that his children never feared him like he had his father. When Michelangelo slouched or fidgeted during a reprimand, he need not fear the swing of his cane, and it was not only because Draco needed it to lean on for support.

Michelangelo stood, facing his father, standing tall but chin down.

"You are being unfair to her. I know things started off…badly, and that is entirely my fault, and I am truly sorry about that, but the level of disrespect you are showing her, and me, is completely unacceptable. Did I raise you to treat women in such a way? Did your nana teach you to talk like that to me?" he demanded.

"No sir," Michelangelo muttered, still looking down.

"I understand you are not happy about all this, and I'm not asking you to like it, but I am asking you to show respect. Be mad at me for all this, but not her."

"Ginny told me to hate her, and to be happy for you. Now you are telling me to respect her and be mad at you, and you are both saying I'm being unfair either way," he said, looking up at his father, them both keeping their voices low.

"Michael-"

"I don't think any of this is fair to me. Have you thought about that? I mean, that mess on Christmas Eve night aside, I think you spending Christmas with her, or running off on your little dates with her, and neglecting Claire and I for this case, is terribly unfair," he said heatedly.

"I do not mean to make you feel abandoned. That's the last thing I would ever do, and the thing I have been worried about most when it comes to how you two would respond to this idea. Ginny and I are dating, but that doesn't mean I'm not your father anymore, that I won't be here still."

"But you're never here anymore! You are working late, you are on a date, you are going to a ball…I thought coming home would mean I get to see more of you, not less," he said, sounding hurt now. Draco's brows creased, crumbling under the pressures of being a father. He could not handle his children being unhappy.

"Michelangelo, I'm sorry," he said softly. "What do you want me to do? Stop working on the case? People would die. Stop seeing Ginny? Then I would be miserable. I want you and Claire to be happy. You two are my everything, but I have to be happy too. I have based my happiness purely around yours and your sister's happiness for years. I have been happy because I knew you two were happy…but that is not enough…now that I have been with Ginny, as brief a time as that has been, I realize just how unhappy I was."

"You mean Claire and I don't make you happy?" Michelangelo accused.

"I'm saying…" Draco said, taking a deep breath, his son's words cutting him deep as he was just abut to admit to something terribly personal, "I have been lonely," he confessed watching Michelangelo's face for his reaction. Michelangelo's glare seemed to soften around the edges slightly and Draco knew his son was taken aback. "I have never had the chance to really be with a woman. I was young, then in Azkaban, then out but shunned and a fulltime dad."

"What about mum?" Michelangelo, probably for the first time in his life, muttering those three words. No one talked about "mum" in that house, Narcissa always needed to get a drink at her mention, and Draco's eyes got hollow. Clarissa and Michelangelo had learned to just not ask, but he was asking now. Draco looked a little wounded and did not know if his son was ready to know about his mother quite yet. He was twelve, but was twelve too young to try and explain what a nymphomaniac was, or what it felt like to be taken advantage of to feed such a need? Could he tell his son his mother had abandoned him and Clarrissa after his nana got out, to die only months later?

That was a harsh truth Draco didn't even want to fully believe still, let alone share with others, especially his son.

"Your mother and I were…not meant to be, and we never got to be together…bars always between us," Draco said sadly. "I spent ten years so lonely, and the last three happy just to be free-ish, and being with you…but you have to understand my need for a little companionship."

"Why her?" Michelangelo demanded.

"What's wrong with her," Draco asked, a little heated now. Anger what he clung to because he was feeling vulnerable. It always made him feel better, but he hated letting it surface when he was dealing with his children. He did not want them fearing his temper like he had his father's. Still, he remembered what Ginny had said in the bedroom, about her feelings being hurt by Michelangelo's attitude and supremacist dribble, and Draco was angry. Not entirely at his son, but his mother, the woman who had filled his son's head with such garbage like she had him. It had taken him years, several near-death experiences, a few harsh beatings (among other things) while in Azkaban, and a lot of work to overcome all his parents had done to him and raised him to believe. He hated to think what damage had been done to his son already.

"She is a Weasley, she is a Gryffindor, she is in another relationship already, she…"

"Is a Blood-Traitor?" Draco asked, his voice low in a sort of warning that made Michelangelo recoil just a little, honestly about to have said that and realizing it would have been very bad. He could not lie to his father about his intentions, he knew that, and he knew he was in trouble. He did not want to be in trouble.

"I did not mean -"

"Do not try and lie to me, young man, or I will get angry," Draco warned. Michelangelo eased back and lowered his chin. He knew it was impossible to lie to his father, a man that could read minds and feelings. "I did not raise my son to hold to such ideals," he then went on to say, carefully keeping his voice smooth and calm but so disappointed and harsh. It was official; he had become his father, only he was defending the Muggles, not putting them down. "I did not realize this was such a problem with you. When I got that owl a few weeks into the school year, McGonagall claiming you had called a student a Mudblood -"

"That was one time -"

"And that you had received a week's worth of detentions, I figured it was nothing. Now I realize you seriously buy into all that garbage," he said, talking over his son so that he could not try and defend himself.

"I don't understand, I mean, you…"

"I talked that talk for years," he scolded. "It's really easy to feel superior when putting others down. I got so much satisfaction and self-worth out of that, but when it came to walking the walk, and acting like the Death Eater I had been raised to be, I couldn't do it."

"I'm not trying to be a Death Eater," Michelangelo breathed, looking a little scared at the prospect, at the accusation.

"You are certainly talking like one. I spent ten years in Azkaban because of words like that. All that saved me from a lifetime in that place was they couldn't prove my actions…whatever they were," Draco muttered that last, not about to divulge his past to his twelve-year-old son. "Do you want to go to Azkaban?" he asked.

"No, I mean, they wouldn't…"

"The Ministry learned their lesson after the first war. They cut people breaks, they let people plead their case and protest their innocence…and because of that a lot of guilty Death Eaters walked. When it came to the second war, they were not about to let that happen again. Once bitten, twice shy. They would not bat an eye at throwing someone away for spewing such things." Draco was trying to scare his son, and by the look on Michelangelo's face, it was working. He did not honestly believe the Ministry would throw a twelve-year-old in Azkaban for saying a "bad word" but then again, he had only been under-age and seventeen when he was locked up, and Michelangelo had a lot going against him already being a werewolf and Malfoy and all. Even if it was an empty threat, Draco was sure Michelangelo saw the seriousness of the situation.

"I…I'm sorry," Michelangelo muttered, looking away. "I just, I don't like you being with her…she is with someone else…"

"I know," Draco said softly.

"How does that not bother you?"

"It does."

"Then why are you putting up with it?" he asked, looking at his father, his need to understand very apparent on his face, the only problem was, Draco did not know what to say.

Why was he putting up with it? Why was he willing to be the other man, or Ginny's dirty little secret at the very least?

Michelangelo seemed to pick up on his father's inner struggle.

"You really like her that much?" he asked. Draco looked at his son. Was it that obvious?

"Michael,"

"You deserve more than this, if you're giving that much," he said, displaying his wisdom beyond his years. In many ways Michelangelo was a brat, and in many ways he was very perceptive and knowing.

"Ginny and I have been together for a week. There is time to figure out exactly what we are and what we mean to each other. I only ask for your blessing so that I may continue," he said softly.

Michelangelo considered him for a long moment.

"I only want you to be happy," he sighed. "I'm sorry," he then said. "I am not being fair, or nice, to either of you."

Draco smiled in a sort of sad way and held his left arm out to his side while still leaning on his cane, welcoming Michelangelo to give him a hug. His son did and Draco was thankful that he had not truly become his father. His daddy had not given him many hugs, and certainly not after having reprimanded him.

Ginny and Clarissa looked over as Draco and Michelangelo reentered the living room. They were not talking, and though neither looked angry, there was a very real heaviness they brought into the room with them. Ginny stood.

"I ought to go, I mean, it's late and…"

Draco just grabbed her hand and pulled her into a kiss, fierce but just a press of lips. Michelangelo sat back down in his chair and Clarissa blushed a little while pretending not to look.

"Thank you for watching them today," he said softly, still holding her hand, face up close to hers.

"I, I enjoyed myself…really, it was nothing."

"I'll see you tomorrow," he whispered into her face, not even making it a question, suggestion, or request. Ginny took an unsteady breath and tried to not let all the sex show on her face. Draco had the sort of whispering voice that made womens' clothing fall off, which wasn't a problem except for the fact that the children were in the room.

"Yes," she managed with only a breath.

Draco escorted Ginny out the door, opening it and leaning on it as she turned to mutter more goodbyes. He eventually closed the door, shutting out the cold, and turned to the children in the room with him.

"Is it supper time?" he asked. Clarissa beamed and got up to rush to the kitchen, the routine initiated and them all about to cook dinner together. Michelangelo got up more slowly and Draco lingered, so close to the kitchen door already, waiting for him. Michelangelo managed a meek smile as he approached and Draco held out his arm again.

They together walked into the kitchen, Draco's free arm down around his son's shoulder as he walked slowly with his limp.

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

Thursday went by in a flash, Draco working in the hall and receiving a dozen notes a day from Reamann asking for information on this and that and everything in-between. Draco got the impression Reamann was avoiding him. Not that he cared, but he kind of, sort of, maybe felt a little bad. He did not know why, because Reamann had been such an arse to him, but he felt he might have, maybe, overreacted…again.

Draco, hating the feeling of guilt, decided to be grumpy instead. He answered, as best he could, all Reamann's notes, sending him texts and theories, all the while wondering how long it was going to take someone to figure out that he was Reamann's "informant." Draco knew it was only a matter of time, Sebastian already suspected him, and should the Ministry at any time pull their heads out of their own arses to maybe fixate on something other than this case, they would surely come down on him and do a full on investigation. Draco did not have much to hide when it came to his knowledge of the case, and knew that was not what they were going to bust him for should they bother. He knew they would very easily discover the deal he and Reamann had made, his aid in exchange for potions, and Draco was not looking forward to being sent back to Azkaban. In fact, he was downright scared. What seemed so harmless a week or more ago, now seemed ominous and risky.

Draco was feeling like shit but was too afraid to ask Reamann for a potion.

It was taking more potions now to get the same effect. Draco understood this as being an accumulative effect, his body was building a tolerance, a resistance to the antidotes he was taking. A single potion was not getting him through a whole day anymore and the low once the ache came back was so much worse than before. He was caught, once again, in the awful cycle that bordered addiction, and yet knowing this was not enough and he could not stop himself or prevent it from taking hold.

The only thing that stopped him that day from driving himself crazy with guilt, worry and anxiety, was Ginny. She came down before her lunch and spent some time with him. Coderdale was mysteriously absent throughout Ginny's visit, and Draco did not take advantage of that…right away…but when Ginny started playing with his hair, raking her fingers through it slowly from behind and then parting it to kiss the back of his neck, he set aside his worries, and ignored his aching, to enjoy his "alone time" with Ginny.

Friday meant Draco had to go to his Probation Witch and Support Wizard in the morning. He did so, and lied through his teeth again to Laura, only compounding his guilt, and accepted bitterly from Marcus his flasks of Wolfsbane for the week, getting two large ones since his children were home with him of course.

Draco returned to the hall to find half a dozen notes from Reamann.

He sighed grumpily, set his flasks down on his desk and swatted the notes out of the air with his cane. Bending down the get them turned out to be harder than plucking them out of the air likely would have been, but it was a little late at that point.

"Been a busy week," Sebastian said with a smile as he leaned in the doorway some feet away. Draco froze in his collecting of the notes and felt his insides wiggle in a nervous way.

"That awful case has the whole Ministry hopping now that they are no longer denying that it's happening," Draco said, his back to Sebastian still. It had been in the Evening Prophet Wednesday, the day after Christmas and the report in the Prophet wondering what all the Auror activity was about, that the Ministry had finally admitted to the attacks, making a plea to all the readers that anyone with any information come forward.

"Yes, quite. I was thinking to myself, while up in my lush office," he said mocking Draco's department, "that I bet you would be getting a lot more work, everyone sending for information on this, and that," he said lightly, walking into the room. Draco looked over his shoulder and glared at him, Sebastian being too friendly to have any sort of good intention in mind.

"I have gotten a lot of notes from the Department of Aurors, yes," he said, Sebastian standing right next to him at that point so that Draco's neck was craning up at him at a nearly painful angle.

"Oh, let me get that," Sebastian offered, noticing the note just underfoot and the crumpled planes in Draco's hand that he had already gathered.

Draco eyed Sebastian with suspicion as he stood stiffly, managing not to groan, but barely. Sebastian picked up the note he had been partially stepping on and the few others that were left and straightened with a pleasant smile on his face.

"Why are you here, Sebastian," Draco demanded, knowing they were not chums, knowing Sebastian did not need texts, and knowing Sebastian was being nice as a means of being insulting.

Sebastian's face remained pleasant and smiling as he opened up one of the purple paper airplanes. Draco took a sharp intake of breath through his nose, knowing exactly what Sebastian was doing then, even though he couldn't read the man's thoughts.

"Oh, look, a note from Reamann Rossiter," he said, holding up the first note and then dropping it on the desk to open another in hand. "And this one too, and this one," he said, opening note after note, breaking the little wax Ministry seal each time. "This one too, oh, and look, this one is from him as well," he teased, his voice light and amused. Draco was standing there, glaring at Sebastian through his limp curtain of hair, hugging his elbows so that his arms were crossed over his stomach, planes pinned there.

"Congrats, Sebastian, you can read," he scathed.

"Oh, come now, Malfoy…but it does seem that I have discovered Reamann's little informant. Just as I had suspected, it was you."

"It was not difficult to figure out. The number of days that had gone by and no one came to me on the matter, I figured no one had looked into it. If someone had it wouldn't have taken but a moment to figure it out, but the way you are talking, so proud and triumphant, it almost sounds like you have solved some great mystery. I'm sorry if I am shooting your accomplishment down slightly or something -"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Sebastian snapped. "I knew it had to be you all along, but I have been too busy to look into it until just now. No, it was not hard to figure out, and you just admitted it to me now, saving me the trouble of enquiring further," he said, sounding as though he had somehow manipulated Draco into giving something away. Draco didn't see it that way, nor did he honestly care what Sebastian thought on the matter, but he was worried about what Sebastian was going to do with the information. Surely the man would not be this happy if he weren't about to do something terribly nefarious.

"Am I in some sort of trouble for helping the Ministry out and volunteering my expertise on the matter?" he questioned.

"You admit then that you have some sort of expertise on the torturing and killing of Muggles?"

"I have knowledge of the Dark Arts," Draco answered flatly.

"These attacks, I have been looking into them, they are all recreations of attacks from the two wars. All those attacks were done by Death Eaters."

"I'm aware of the connection."

"Yet, looking over all Reamann's notes and theories, essays and reports…that I assume now were all actually written by you…you do not make a single mention of the similarity, or the pattern," he accused.

"There is not pattern, the attacks have been random and -"

"There is a pattern and you know it," he snapped. Draco pursed his lips together. "The attacks are all recreations of Death Eater activities. You knew this, probably from the beginning, yet you steered innocent little Reamann away from that possibility from the start."

"What possibility?"

"That Death Eaters are behind this."

"That is not possible," Draco said firmly.

"Really? And how is that? Who else would attack Muggles in such a way?"

"There are no Death Eaters left. They are all either old and in Azkaban for the remainder of their lives, or dead."

"There is you."

"I do not like what you are insinuating," Draco seethed.

"You are covering up for someone, aren't you?" he accused.

"Who would I be covering up for? Who do you honestly think is out and capable of this, who is someone I'm willing to risk my own arse to protect?"

"Well, that is true, you have always worried more about your own arse than anyone else's."

"Self-preservation over selflessness."

"I have to turn you in to the Ministry, Malfoy. They are going to look into you, more than they have so far with that hair of yours on the scene, and they are going to get to the bottom of this," he said, Draco not having been cleared as a suspect as of yet, even though the hair had been a dead-end lead. Thankfully the Ministry's plea for help in the Prophet had not named him as a suspect to the magical community. Draco could only imagine how much harder life would have been if they had. He had a feeling he had Tonks to thank for everythuing, her working the case but looking out for her baby-cousin too.

"There is nothing at the bottom of things, I am not the one behind all this."

"Well, so far you have been manipulating this investigation away from the idea that Death Eaters are involved when it is a justifiable lead, you have been tampering with files," he accused and Draco opened his mouth to deny that, having never done any such thing but Sebastian continuing, not allowing him the chance. "And we found a hair of yours at one of the scenes. I don't know, Malfoy, things certainly seem to indicate you are covering something up, like, say, your involvement in all this."

"I have nothing to do with any of this! Reamann Rossiter came to me a few weeks ago, asking for my help, believing my knowledge of the Dark Arts would be of some use. He just wanted the promotion this job offered. I have done nothing but answer his questions, pose theories, and give insight -"

"All in hopes of covering your own tracks."

"I am not a Death Eater, you goddamn bastard! You have read the transcripts of my trial and you know the whole thing was entrapment and a gross misuse of Ministry influence. I just got out of Azkaban, what would make you think I would do something like this, risk everything I have and end up back in that hellhole…just to attack some Muggles?"

"Funny thing about crazy people, Malfoy, is they don't always do rational, sensible, things," he answered coolly and Draco flushed.

"Why are you down here?" Draco demanded again. If Sebastian really was just going to turn him over to the Ministry, he would have done so while taunting him, Ministry Guards in tow. Him being down there, alone, gave Draco a very strong suspicion that something else was going on. He wished he could see into Sebastian's thoughts, but he was being blocked and Sebastian was not looking him in the eyes, wisely.

"I want you to stay out of this case," he said and Draco blinked at him.

"What?"

"I would have the Ministry tear your life apart, but that would be at the expense of this investigation. You stay out of this and I won't see to it that you spend the next three years in Azkaban, for what you have done already," he warned, not saying what Draco had done already and Draco not sure if Sebastian was bluffing or really did know about the potions, but was not about to call his bluff and risk tipping his hand and be wrong. Three years in Azkaban was a long time. A day in that place is like a lifetime.

"What am I supposed to do? Some of these notes are from others in the department and my job dictates that I do what is needed of me."

"Send up your texts, but if I catch Reamann with one more thesis or report written by you, if I see one more silvery hair anywhere in the vicinity of this case, you are going to regret not taking me up on my offer."

Draco glared at him, Reamann's notes in his hands, in Sebastian's hands, and open on the desk beside them. What could he do? He couldn't protest his innocence any more, Sebastian wouldn't believe him. He couldn't abandon Reamann on the case and hope that it would be solved anytime soon, but he could not bear the thought of going back to Azkaban. He had not set foot on that rock since his probation, not even to visit anyone inside. He did not know how his mother managed all those years to visit him after getting out. He was thankful of course, but he couldn't do it himself with anyone still in there.

Draco dropped his glare, and tilted his chin down a fraction, not about to verbalize his agreement to Sebastian's orders. Sebastian got the idea though and smiled.

"Good boy," he praised, sounding as though he were talking to a dog and resisting the urge to pat Draco on the head rewardingly.

Draco resented this, and hated that he was being bullied off the case, and was pissed that Sebastian would implicate him in it, but he couldn't do anything about it. Sebastian was right when he said there was enough evidence to create enough suspicion that a serious Ministry investigation into him could take place. He was sure if they looked into it they wouldn't be able to pin the case on him, unless they wanted a scapegoat again, but that wouldn't stop the attacks. If they were to look into it, however, they would see the exchange of potions between Reamann and him and three years in Azkaban was not worth telling Sebastian to go fuck himself.

Sebastian left Draco to stand there, his Friday thoroughly sucking.

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

Ginny was in a room at St. Mungo's. Hermione was with her and Ginny was leaning over the small sink in the sterile room, looking in the rectangular, wall mounted mirror, dabbing at her neck.

"God, I have so many hickies I look like I was making out with a squid," she complained and she tried to cover them with spells and makeup, aggravated that Hermione insisted that there was no magical cure for them. Ginny was sure her friend was lying and this was her way of objecting to her relationship with Draco.

She had gone down to see Draco before her lunch, like she had the day before, and he had seemed so upset and frustrated, but he would not tell her what was wrong. She thought he wanted to be left alone because he had made an inkwell explode from his own aggravated surging power, but he had used her to apparently get out some frustration. Sore and limping before their romp, he looked downright ill afterwards. Part of the reason Ginny was at St. Mungo's now was in hopes of getting him a potion. The sex had been his idea, but it really did look like the act was going to kill him one of these times.

"You need to be careful," Hermione hissed.

"We are being subtle, and careful, and -"

"No…I mean, yes about that, but what I meant was you need to be careful with all this sex."

"We are using protection," she said.

"Ginny, I'm talking about something far more serious than a pregnancy," she sighed and Ginny blinked at her, not sure what could be more serious than her finding out she was expecting her secret and forbidden lover's baby. "Gin, he could get you sick," she warned.

"He and I already talked about this," Ginny argued. "He made it very clear to me all the risks before we ever got intimate with each other. His Support Wizard told him that condoms would protect me, and -"

"Ginny, I'm not just talking about that, but this," she said, pointing at the marks Draco had left on Ginny's skin.

"They are just a few hickies," Ginny tried to argue. Boys had left hickies on her before, and she had on them, they were nothing serious, just a little embarrassing.

"Gin, I can see teeth marks on the one on the back on your neck. He didn't break the skin, but he bit you hard enough to leave a bruise."

"'Mione,"

"You can't let him take nips at you like that."

"He didn't mean to, it's just all part of the moment, and…" she said, not wanting to admit that Draco seemed to lose a little bit of himself whenever they hooked up. It wasn't anything scary, per se, but he growled a little, and bit a little, particularly the time they had tried the position where he was behind her. It had been amazing while a little hard on her knees, and he had certainly enjoyed himself, that time maybe more than any other time they had hooked up, but it had been a little alarming for her when he had bit the back of her neck. She knew that it all had to do with him being a werewolf, so talking to him about it would probably mortify him. It didn't bother her enough to mention it, not enough to upset or embarrass him in such a way when he seemed to be less withdrawn recently.

"Ginny, if he bites you, you could get sick."

"He's not contagious while in his…human form," Ginny said, her stomach tying into knots at saying that, saying `Human form' …It seemed degrading to talk about him in such a way, but it was true. She sometimes forgot that he was not "human"…he looked and acted it most of the time, and had only let slip on a few instances were it was apparent that he truly wasn't, but she was comfortable with the idea that he was a werewolf so long as she could pretend it wasn't an issue. She really wasn't being all that big and open-minded about it by denying it, but she was being better about it than most because she was not simply rejecting him. Right? So why did she still feel so disgusted with herself?

"Gin, he is a Greater-wolf. He is more contagious than the average werewolf. He wouldn't be able to infect you, but he could very possibly taint you."

"You are just trying to scare me into ending it with him," Ginny accused.

"I can't deny that I feel it would be best to end this, but Gin, this isn't just for Reamann's sake, or to avoid your family's wrath, or a spot of bad publicity, it's for your own good," she urged.

"So when were you going to tell me you and Harry have been shagging?" Ginny suddenly asked, Hermione visibly recoiling at the question.

"What?"

"When were you going to tell me you and my ex-husband were having sex?"

"Gin, Harry and I…we are not…we…" Hermione stammered, tucking a section of her bushy hair behind her ear. She was supposed to be on duty, checking patients, but she was putting that off to help Ginny and talk to her. Now she was being interrogated.

Ginny looked at Hermione, waiting to hear the answer, waiting to see how Hermione would try to salvage the high ground she was attempting to cast stones from.

"What makes you think that Harry and I are seeing each other?" she asked.

"Please, you can try and act innocent, and trust me, whatever you two were doing you hid it well because I was unaware, but you can't lie or hide things from Draco when he is curious," she said, crossing her arms under her chest, looking stern, like her mother.

"Draco told you that Harry and I are seeing each other, and you believe him?" Hermione asked.

"Tell me right now that you are not. Look me right in the eye, Hermione, and tell me you are not having sex with my ex-husband," she demanded, her jaw set, eyes focused. Hermione looked at her with her frowning brow and looked away, unable to even look Ginny in the eyes. "And you feel you are in any position to say anything about my relationship-s," she said, making her "relationship" plural at the end.

"Harry and I are different. We are two adults that are seeing each other in an honest way. Neither of us is in a relationship already!" Hermione fumed.

"You are my best friend and Harry is my ex-husband, and you are shacking up with him behind my back, and yet feel you are is some position to make me feel guilty over my relationship choices?"

"Harry and I have been friends for almost twenty years, and it's not like he and I planned this! We were friends, through thick and thin. He was there for me when things didn't work between Ron and me, and I was there for him when things didn't work out with you, or with Miranda…and it just sort of happened," she said, flushing in the end.

"I don't care who you choose to shag, Hermione, so long as you grant me the same liberalism. You are an adult, live your adult life, but don't expect me to be so nonjudgmental while you stand here and shit all over my choices," she fumed.

Hermione sobbed and Ginny was left off balance. She did not mean to make her cry. They were shouting, they were both angry, they were both hurt of course, but they weren't supposed to start crying. They were supposed to argue, and have their row, then make up and be best friends.

"'Mione, I'm sorry. You just got me so mad. Don't cry. We are both being stupid trolls," she urged, stepping towards her friend. Hermione sobbed and placed on her hand on her stomach as she hiccupped back her tears.

"Ginny," she managed between two hiccups. "I'm pregnant," she confessed, hand still on her stomach, tears still in her eyes. Ginny's face drained of color and her freckles stood out sharply.

"What?" she asked.

"I haven't told Harry yet because I just found out this morning. You are the first I have told," she sobbed.

"Oh, `Mione, don't cry, please," she begged, hugging her friend, their argument forgotten now that she had to deal with this new problem.

"You don't understand, I'm really excited over this, but, he and I…we, we are not married, neither of our families know about us," she said, talking about her own parents and Ginny's, since Harry had no family but the Weasleys. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley never adopted him, but Harry was their son as far as anyone was concerned. The fact that his and their daughter's marriage dissolved did not change that. He would forever be an honorary Weasley brother.

"I'm happy for you, Hermione, I am. I know Harry will be too. He has wanted children for so long," she said, tearing up then herself. It was then Hermione's turn to hug and comfort her friend.

There was much crying for a while, then hiccupping, then finally silence.

Ginny and Hermione were sitting side by side on the examining table that stood against the wall.

"You and Harry, huh?" Ginny finally asked.

"You and Draco, huh?" she asked back.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," Ginny confessed, her hickies still so plain on her neck.

"You are falling for him," Hermione accused and Ginny said nothing, not even to deny it. It was true. Draco had become more than a fling within days of seeing each other, and now she was tumbling into dangerous territory that was beyond affection, something that bordered a much more serious feeling. "You are looking at him as more than a fling now."

"It was what I thought I wanted."

"But it's not what it is."

Ginny said nothing.

"When was the last time you had sex with Reamann?" she asked. Ginny flushed. "Not since you have been with Draco, probably some time before," she assumed and Ginny only flushed further. "There is no spark left in that relationship and you have given up on it. When are you going to clue him into that?"

"He is too busy to notice that he doesn't care anymore," she sighed.

"He does care," Hermione assured.

"He does, but in that comfortable `she will be there waiting for me when I get home' sort of way that just makes me feel used and underappreciated."

"You think he wants out as much as you?" she asked.

"I don't know what he wants. I can't even remember the last time we truly talked. Talked about something that wasn't about the case, or him asking about Draco, or this and that and the other thing."

"I think," Hermione said and Ginny looked over at her. "I think you need to get back to the Ministry and get this potion to Draco. If he looks half as roughed up as you after your sexual escapades, he's probably about to collapse," she said with a soft smile, her hand back on her still flat tummy.

Ginny smiled at her friend.

Was this Hermione showing her support, maybe even giving her blessing?

They were best friends, until the end.

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

Author's Note:

Thanks you House for the little quote about how dangerous sex can be/is. It was recalled from memory, so it is not word-for-word, but it is very much from the one episode of House I saw.

The term "Pureblood" and "Half-blood" are really quite complex.

-Pureblood: A witch or wizard of 'pure' wizarding ancestry, without any Muggle ancestors whatsoever as far as can be determined.

-Half-blood: A witch or wizard with at least one wizarding parent but at least one Muggle parent or grandparent.

Then what about someone who has had witches and wizards in their family, exclusively, for, say, 5 generations? Are THEY Purebloods? Are they still considered Half-bloods? I'm not sure. Attempting to follow canon is hard sometimes when it is kind of vague like this. I say that Christina is a "Fourth-generation Pureblood" as a sort of denomination of Pureblood status.

There is some correlation drawn between the Nazis tattooing serial numbers on their concentration camp victims, and the Ministry numbering and marking their werewolves. It is all part of the persecution and intolerance theme that is quite prevalent throughout the Harry Potter books with the Blood-supremacy and such.

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