Unofficial Portkey Archive

Fallen Angel

Chapter 14

"We were really worried," Clarissa moped as she curled up with her daddy on the hospital bed, Draco almost holding her in his arms, but his arms so laden in tubes, wires, bandages, and one strapped to a board while the other still in its cast that it prevented that.

"I'm sorry about all this, you know how I hate to worry you," he said, using his nose to rub against hers in an Eskimo kiss, comforting her the only way he knew how, nuzzling her like a wolf. Ginny eventually came in and had Ron scoop the sleeping Clarissa up off Draco's bed so she could finally talk to him, Ron having once again dropped everything in his life to rush to his sister's side, and Draco's. He hated to admit it, but he was actually growing fairly attached to the ferret. It was now a bright and early Sunday morning…it had been a long night.

"Hey," she said softly, coming up along side the bed.

"Hey," he answered in a mimicked light fashion, looking up at her with his red-rimmed eyes.

"You need to stop doing this. I know you love the attention of us tending to you and all, but seriously," she said and Draco smiled at her, using his fingers on his left hand to brush her thigh, unable to move more than that and glad he was on so many pain medications that he was pretty sure he could fly if he weren't strapped down to his bed, because he had just laughed a little and he knew his chest was too messed up at the moment to appreciate it.

"Sorry, you know me, have to make every day count, upping the last, trying to outdo myself," he said, voice soft.

"Ever been in a car accident before?" she asked, sitting down so Draco was no longer running his cold fingertips across her skirt and she could hold it in her two very warm hands.

"Can't say I have," he said, closing his eyes.

"Well, you can check that off your list then," she said, a sad smile unseen by Draco as he lay there. She waited for a moment, and when he didn't make another joke, she took a deep breath. "Do you remember what happened?" she asked. Draco, without making a sound and barely a movement, communicated his lack of elation at the topic choice. "Please, babe."

"I don't remember anything beyond talking to Michelangelo in the back of the library, and from what I understand that was around two. If the accident was on my way home then I guess I would have to say there is a bit of a gap leading up to the event."

"Michelangelo said you went ridged, that you had a memory," she said and Draco made an indignant whining noise he sometimes used with his mother when she tried to get him to do something he didn't want to do. Ginny knew he didn't want to talk about this, but pressed on. "Did you? Draco, this is important."

"I could have killed him," Draco said, unable to cry due to massive amounts of drugs in his system, but that feeling in the pit of his stomach and deep in his heart still as painful as any injury he could ever sustain.

"You weren't going that fast, you both had seatbelts on, it was a minor accident really," she assured, not wanting Draco to think of the worst when that's not what happened, not the case. She didn't want him to dwell on what-ifs or blame himself.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" he demanded, almost sobbing, his arms unable to hold and cover his face like he wanted, like he needed. He felt so trapped, not just because he was strapped down, but in a body that was failing him.

"It's called anterograde amnesia, Draco, and it is when new events contained in the immediate memory are not transferred to the permanent or `long-term' memory," Dr. Valensclaro said as he entered the room, closing the door behind him. Draco's face immediately shifted from agonizing confused sorrow, to wrathy anger. Ginny knew this temper and mood swing well.

"Oh-no, no, no. You get the fuck out of my room, you bastard," Draco said, trying to move but unable to. His ankles and wrists were strapped down to the bed and he had no use of his arms.

"I'm sorry, Draco, I never meant to hurt you, I have only ever had the best of intentions."

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," Draco repeated, pulling at his feet but unable to free them, the leather straps tight, and strong.

"Draco, don't, you'll hurt yourself. Please, Dr. Valensclaro was asked to come here -by me. Please," Ginny said, Draco looking over at her, victimized all over again.

"You asked him to come here? What the fuck?"

"Draco, he can help you."

"Help me my balls," he said, then rounding his head to look back over at the good doctor. "You are the one who told the Ministry that I'm barmy. These straps are cute, but I'm not one for brown leather. Didn't they have anything in black? They would match my shoes better," he growled, Dr. Valensclaro just sighing and shaking his head.

"Draco, you cannot remember what happened because you slammed your head against a car's window hard enough to shatter the glass and rip open your head, but you know far better than I do that you have suffered from blackouts in the past without the aid of massive head-trauma, and that is why I am here and not a healer. Your issue here is not physical, that is just a consequence. No, your issue is mental, and I think it's time we took a serious step towards addressing that," he said, sitting down in the only other chair in the room.

"I am not crazy, I didn't do anything loony tonight -I ran a red-light. That was just plain stupid on my part, now may I go? A concussion and some bruised viscera have never kept me in a hospital before, these straps are not necessary."

"They are, because you keep trying to leave," the good doctor argued.

"I have not, well, until now," Draco argued.

"Draco, you tried to leave three times, they had to sedate you," Ginny said, as though worried that he couldn't remember the fuss he had made a little over two hours before. Draco looked at her, his eyes then getting that familiar shadow of helplessness like he was asking her to tell him that that wasn't true, because if she did then he wasn't crazy.

"Draco, I think it's time we tried treating your…condition, with a few medications. Nothing drastic at first, just something to help you relax. Anxiety, mood swings, difficulty sleeping, blackouts, flashbacks, delusions, paranoid hallucinations, these are all things you have been suffering from, and they all stem from one common source."

"I am not schizophrenic," Draco snapped.

"Draco, just listen to me, I'm not belittling you, and I'm not your enemy here, being a Legilimens is just a double-edged sword. You need a little help relaxing, and coping, that's all, and that's why you came to see me in the first place, yes? A few pills a day, that's all I'm saying. A few pills and seeing me more than once a week and we could see some very positive results very quickly, Draco, I swear. I think doing some memory recall under controlled settings will help you. It's something I would certainly like to explore, it being clear that your repression is firmly established, but your memories that want to be acknowledged so strong that they are wreaking havoc on your brain. Hemorrhaging, memory loss…I think even your paranoia stems from this as your response to the helplessness you feel after every blackout. Just let me try to help."

"I don't want your help."

"Do it for me, Draco," Ginny said, grabbing his hand. "Do it for the baby," she said, leaning over while standing slightly so her stomach was pressing against his curled knuckles. "Do it for your mother, and your two children who are worried ragged as they sleep in the waiting room out there," she pleaded, looking so close to tears.

Draco looked at her, looked deep into her eyes, and felt his shoulders slumping while his heart sank.

"I never meant to hurt any of you," he whispered into her mind, Ginny letting a single tear slid down her cheek.

"I know," she whispered to him, kissing his knuckles again.

"Just some pills then? And some more chatting over tea?" Draco asked, not looking over at the man he was addressing, but looking down at his shackled feet that stuck out from under this pale blue blanket. His toes looked cold, they most certainly were.

"Quetiapine is an antipsychotic that I want you to try," he said, producing a pad and pen as though this had been is goal all along. Draco glared at them, but was distracted.

"Antipsychotic? You think I'm psychotic?"

"It's just some silly terminology, Draco, please," Ginny assured, rubbing his shoulder, not wanting him to find an excuse to back out of this. She knew that was what he was trying to do.

"Psychosis, Draco, is defined as a loss of contact with reality, which schizophrenia most certainly falls under."

"Just fancy words for calling me crazy," Draco grumbled.

"Not crazy, Draco, just a little unwell, but I'm hoping this will help. It can take seven to fourteen days for it to reach its desired effectiveness, and there are some side-effects, but nothing serious," he assured, Ginny immediately looking anxious. "Sedation is the primary one. Quetiapine is sometimes used on extreme cases of insomnia due to its sedation effects and the fact it helps fights the hallucinations that can result from the lack of sleep. You might be a little placid and sluggish, indifferent even, but still alert and yourself, I promise. Increased appetite resulting in minor all the way to severe weight gain can occur, but typically dry-mouth, headache, and night sweats are the complains heard most often and they are not serious enough for users to stop taking the pills."

"I can't put to words how overjoyed I am over this," Draco drawled, Ginny holding his hand again, the good doctor finishing the script and tearing the page away.

"Draco, this is the best thing you can do for yourself. Taking these pills will help you reach a state where you are sound of mind enough to address what it is that has lead you to this predicament in the first place."

"So you can cure him then?" Ginny asked. Draco dared not to look at either of them, the doctor's sigh not promising.

"There is no cure for psychosis, unfortunately, only treatment. Dealing with the things that drove him to this point will reduce the frequency and severity of his episodes, and with mild medication for the rest of his life he can be fully functioning and quite happy," he said, looking down at Draco then.

"There isn't some magic spell that you can mutter and cross-wire my brain to be a little less problematic?" Draco grumbled.

"A brain is far too delicate and complex a thing to treat with magic, Draco, why else would there be a psyche ward in St. Mungo's? Besides, if there were such a spell, you would undoubtedly be immune or resistant to it, only the most firm and sure of curses and hexes able to take on a full-grown werewolf and you know it, otherwise you wouldn't have a mark to show for you accident now, hours later," he said, Draco sighing, that true.

"The Ministry campaigning to keep me here then?" Draco asked, knowing no one wanted to lock him away more than the Ministry.

"Overnight for observation is what your chart reads, you are to be discharged in the morning," Dr. Valensclaro said, Draco looking over at him. "Don't look at me, I had nothing to do with it. Seems a Mr. Harry Potter is playing guardian angel for you and he pitched a right fit about two hours ago while you were so heavily sedated."

"He what?"

"Harry is just looking out for you, Draco," Ginny assured, brushing his hair out of his eyes and smiling at him. He would be home in the morning, starting a medication that will hopefully reattach him to reality, and everything would be alright. She was left alone with him at that point and she was smiling. Draco looked at her indignantly and she was unable to stop herself from smiling more.

"I nearly die and you are grinning like you just scored a bottle of Felix Felicis," he accused.

"I'm just happy you're alright," she said, kissing his hand like he always did hers.

"I'm sorry," he said, knowing he was not exactly going in the right direction towards reducing her stress levels by cracking his skull open.

"I'm actually happy this happened," she said and Draco stared at her in that classic blank shock that he reserved just for occasions like this of complete disbelief. "No, I don't mean I'm happy you totaled the car, landed yourself in the hospital with massive head-trauma, and ripped my entire family up from their quiet evenings to rush here." She was almost laughing. "But if this was what it took to get you to finally agree to the help you need -finally see that you DO need it- then I'm happy it happened. It can only go up from here."

"Ginny, we have been saying that to each other for weeks now, that is can `only go up', `it can't get worse than this,' `don't worry, this is rock bottom'," he said, Ginny shaking her head at him.

"We made it through this one, and we are together, everyone is okay, I say this is on the up and up."

"Your optimistic ways disgust me," he said, Ginny laughing openly at him at that point.

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

It was really late, past visiting hours, and Draco was sleeping. He hated sleeping in hospitals. He hated trying to sleep while strapped down and covered in tubes. He hated the smell and the sounds -but he had finally fallen asleep due to the medications. He was blissfully unaware of those loathsome things…until he was jarred awake.

He gasped when his shoulders were grabbed; trying to orient himself but finding it difficult due to the mess he had unintentionally made of his brain earlier that night. He was left laying there in his bed, wide-eyed and panicked for a moment, before realizing the men standing around him were in Ministry robes. That didn't work at all to quash his fears and panic

"I was wondering when you would be by to see me," he said, trying to swallow his heart he had apparently hiccupped into his throat.

Had he really thought someone was trying to kill him as he slept in his hospital bed?

Yes.

"We had you held overnight."

"Obviously your intentions too nefarious to be conducted during normal visiting hours," Draco stated quite blandly, it all meant to hide his terror. He was strapped down, he couldn't even itch his own nose -much to his own displeasure and he had griped about in length already- he was feeling rather helpless. Was the only pillow in the room under his head? Silly question, the men around him carried wands; anything in the room could easily be transfigured into something to smother him with. He died in his sleep is what they would claim. Draco didn't want to die in his sleep. He hated magic right now. Looking around he wondered if there was a panic button, no matter if he could reach it, at least having one would be a kind gesture. Seems the nurses hadn't extended him that. Typical.

"We didn't want or need any interruption this time," the man who just entered the room said, Draco looking over at him and his face paling slightly.

"Hello, Adalwulf, how are you?" he greeted, hoping his voice did not sound as terrified as his eyes must have looked.

"Right bit better than you, I would say," he said as he walked up to be alongside Draco's bed, the room still dark but for the moonlight spilling in through the window to Draco's right. The men already in there continued to loom, as though their presence was only for intimidation. It was working, he would give them that much.

"Good to hear."

"You can dispense with the pleasantries, Malfoy, you know why we are here."

"I do," he said carefully.

"What have you to say for yourself?"

Draco just looked away.

"Well, as standard procedure we will have to-"

"You can't take the baby," Draco interrupted, snapping his head back to be looking at the man. "Please, I will do anything," he begged.

"Werewolves are strictly forbidden to breed, Malfoy, you know this, you knew better."

"It was not intended, a bit of an accident really, but please…don't punish Ginny for my mistake. It would crush her to lose the child, that's why we kept it quiet, so no abortion would be forced upon her. I know that was wrong, and I take full responsibility." He hated having to say that trying to avoid having an abortion forced upon them was "wrong" of him, but he couldn't let his true feelings on the matter be vocalized and expect them to be in any way understanding and compromising.

"If she hid it knowing full-well the circumstances then she too-"

"She didn't -doesn't- know," he said, eyes falling at that point, knowing he still hadn't told her about this minor problem their childbearing had caused.

"You didn't tell her?"

"I had hoped for plausible deniability on her part. She really, truly didn't know, I kept her hands clean in the matter."

"From what I understand the timeline of you two getting together and you two conceiving is rather tight. It did not occur to you when you started seeing her to use some kind of protection?" Adalwulf's tone was patronizing.

"We did, we used precautions, but nothing is one hundred percent," Draco mumbled.

"Abstinence is."

"You can't expect me, or anyone, to-"

"We expect you to respect and follow the laws, Malfoy. You signed an agreement nine years ago that you would remain chaste after it was awarded you the right to remain sterile. You were in Azkaban so we didn't press the matter of sterilization since we had gotten so much cooperation out of you," he said, not needing to say "William" for Draco to know exactly what he was alluding to, "but once out you just had to stick it in the first female that walked by, didn't you."

"It wasn't like that, it had been over three years…Ginny wasn't just any woman…please, you have to hear me out," Draco pleaded.

"You can feed us circumstances and excuses all night, Malfoy, but we are here to deal with the facts, the fact that you broke your agreement with us, that you helped conceive a child, that you endangered the integrity of the woman you were mating by potentially exposing her to the disease, and that you admittedly did all in your power to cover it all up."

"I will do anything to keep the baby, please."

"That isn't an option."

"Don't take the baby from Ginny, please don't, she has already lost a baby, a second would destroy her."

"Are you not simply thinking of yourself in this matter? You too have lost a baby after all."

"I will pay whatever fines, community service, public flogging, anything, please."

"You think a simple fine would cover this? Azkaban was what crossed my mind," Adalwulf said and Draco paled.

"No, not Azkaban, no, this wasn't intended, a mistake, it was just an accident. I did not break Ministry law with any intention-"

"But you still broke Ministry law. Really, Azkaban is the only place I can think to send a werewolf willing to spread their disease, other than maybe an executioner's block," he said and Draco's heart stopped for a second and then started pounding. He knew this, not only by the feel in his chest, but the machines he was attached to recording it, and seemingly displeased given the sounds they were making.

"Not Azkaban, I can't survive that place again."

"Is that supposed to be incentive for us to not send you there?" Adalwulf had a cruel smile on his face. His lack of compassion was astounding.

Draco closed his eyes and tried to think, finding that difficult with how extra squishy his brain felt at the moment. This was terrible. Around him were Ministry Wizards from the Beast Department, and Adalwulf was the head, the big man, a person who happened to hate Draco with such a passion that he was drawing some kind of sadistic joy out of watching him panic. The issue at hand was like before: Draco had impregnated a woman, never mind who, and there was now a baby werewolf well on the way. He understood their policies, this was considered no different than if he had -through his own negligence- infected a person, and thus their anger, but he couldn't abide by their method of dealing. They seemed to think he drew some kind of joy out of the fact that his children too were werewolves, like it somehow bonded them closer or that he tried for this when, in reality, Draco's guilt was immeasurable. He knew they would have forced an abortion on Ginny if they had had the chance, and because Draco had hidden this from them they had lost their window of opportunity -again- and were doubly mad. They seemed to have it in their head that he had tried for a baby, hidden that Ginny was pregnant, and was now trying to get out of it. That wasn't the case, any of it. He was willing to take their reprimands, fines, whatever, but he couldn't go back to Azkaban. Did they know he was apparently psychotic? Would mentioning that play to his favor?

"Please, I will pay you anything, do anything you ask of me," Draco said, hoping to strike up a deal. One thing that hadn't changed about the Ministry of Magic was their desire for gold. The Beast Department was underfunded, and those working within weren't exactly paid well. Extortion was the name of the game in that department, making the wolves -who oftentimes could not hold a job and could barely even support themselves- pay gross amounts of gold or otherwise face harsh penalties, for basically being sick. It was why wolves were often thieves, drug-dealers, and blackmailers. Sometimes they were bounty-hunters, or trappers selling furs. People had such low opinions of them because they really were rather deplorable given what they often did, what they were reduced to doing, to survive. Draco knew that he could buy his way out of this mess, the issue was: how much would they ask for?

"You attempting to bribe me?" Adalwulf asked.

"You trying to extort me?" Draco retorted and the man smiled.

"I have every right to toss your ass right back into Azkaban, an ass I hear the men there really liked, isn't that right?" he said and Draco fought the shudder that ripped through his body. He never wanted to be in such a position again as he was there. Solitary confinement never sounded so nice but for someone who had suffered the rapists who prowled the pit and showers.

"Well then why don't I have a talk with Harry Potter then, he would be the one providing me with a lawyer in the matter and everything," Draco said, that threat hardly masked, his eyes fierce as he looked up at them from his bed. It was difficult to look intimidating while strapped down on your back to a bed, bandages around your head, machines whistling in their fret over your heartbeat, but Draco was managing fairly well.

"Harry Potter," the man growled.

"I hear he has taken an interest in our little department as of late. He isn't being a pain in your arse is he? Not getting in the way of you extorting or treating us poor wolfies unjustly? Can't just throw me into Azkaban with him watching now can you?"

"You going to hide behind Potter like a cowardly bitch?"

"To protect my yet-born child? You bet." Draco' pride took a hit there, but he was in no way ashamed in admitting that he would do anything to protect his family. That was prideful all on its own.

"You will pay for this, heavily," Adalwulf said, Draco already figuring as much. Draco wasn't sure how he was going to come up with the money this time, but he would, by any means necessary.

He wouldn't let these men take Ginny's baby away from her.

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

"Ow! Balls, Ronald. I'm a person of delicate condition, not cheep luggage, careful!" Draco scowled as he was settled in his wheelchair by Ron. He had -much to Draco's protests- carried Draco up the front steps since Draco wasn't walking at the moment, but Draco seemed unappreciative of the effort, and so Ron felt little inclination towards being gentle in the end.

"Oh-shut-up, you irritating albino-ferret," Ron grumbled, as he turned to head back down the few steps to offer his arm to Ginny who was climbing out of the car. They had ridden home in Narcissa's car (interior expanded by magic so they could all fit plus Draco's wheelchair in the mini-coop) since Draco had demolished his car and they were back down to just the one. His car had been towed by Muggles but taken to a Ministry of Magic run facility due to the blood contamination. They were having a headache over Draco's accident. The nerve of him to bleed allover the Muggle concrete, what had he been thinking? Draco had few sympathies since he was the one with metal staples in his head. Staples, like the ones Muggles used in construction, only holding his scalp closed and skull together. Draco thought it was darling, in a purely sarcastic way.

"I thought you were supposed to be sedate," Ron then remarked, Draco wheeling himself quite expertly on the landing in front of the door. Only the large back two wheels used for pushing and steering of his chair were touching, the front two close to his feet were up in the air as Draco leaned back and moved backwards and forwards a little to maintain his balanced in what seemed like a well-practiced manner.

"Takes time for medications to kick in, take effect, and for side-effects to develop," Draco said as though he were some kind of expert on the matter, and really, he was given the massive amounts of drugs he used to take. Right now he was on so many pain-killers he was pretty sure he could fly, if he didn't have a lap-belt keeping him in his chair, tightened so graciously by Ron. Draco's broken arm didn't even protest his use of it in his current endeavors, which probably meant he was doing little more than aggravating injuries that he couldn't appreciate at the moment, but since he was so chipper, few were going to scold him.

"Come-on, Draco, lets get some food in you," Ginny said as she approached, arm linked with her brother, smiling down at Draco, glad to have him home, even if he was a wee-bit loopy at the moment.

"Good, I'm hungry," Draco said, spinning his chair but caught by Ron and pushed inside, Ron not about to wait for Draco to stop tripping, Ginny in no condition to be pushing Draco around.

"Dad,"…"Daddy!" Michelangelo and Clarissa practically squealed upon seeing who was entering. Draco's eyes were a little unfocused, but his smile was big as he welcomed he two babies into a hug, one under each arm as they practically tackled his chair.

"Hey there."

"How are you feeling?" Clarissa asked.

"So fucking high," Draco giggled, Ginny clearing her throat and motioning for the kids to not lean on their father so much who was possibly a little too delirious from the pain medications to be allowed to chat with his children right at the moment. Michelangelo managed a smile despite the red bruising on the left side of his face, still dotted with cuts, but Clarissa looked a little worried.

"Come on, some lunch? I'm sure everyone here is hungry," Ginny said, Michelangelo, Clarissa, and Ron all agreeing, Draco looking over his shoulder at something no one was sure was even there and no one really paying it much mind because, well, he was on a lot of medications at the moment.

Thankfully, Draco metabolized things quickly. Well, maybe it wasn't for the best, but it made him easier to talk to, between all the cursing.

"Oh, fuck!" he groaned, laying in bed, the pain back now that he had fallen from his drug-induced cloud. He had liked his cloud. He missed his cloud. He couldn't remember a damn thing that happened while in his cloud, but he was wagering all he had that it was better than what he was experiencing now, which was gratuitous amounts of pain and agony.

"You're alright," Ginny soothed, wishing she could do something more to make him comfortable, but there really being little else but being there to listen to him complain. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to talk, it hurt to move, it hurt to think, according to him, and she didn't refute that.

"Alright? I have fucking staples in my head. There is nothing altogether RIGHT about that!" he snapped, not at her but his pain forcing him to have to push past it, his voice and tone elevated as a result.

"They are keeping your precious brains in, sweetie, so show them a little gratitude," she soothed, blotting his chin with a rag. He was sweating, possibly just from the sheer amounts of pain.

"Grateful my bony arse. What is wrong with Muggles? Who was the first nutter to come up with the proposal, and who was the sadistic fuck who agreed it was a good idea to put STEEL STAPLES in someone? When should that ever be an option?"

"They are easier applied and easier removed that stitches, and stitches are good for closing wounds," she said oh-so-calmly, almost smiling, happy to have Draco to take care of…happy to have him good mood or not. She was happy to have him because he could have died. She rather have him in a perpetual bad mood for the rest of their lives then be without him. Maybe this was her setting up circumstances which would allow him to get away with just about anything, but she didn't care at the moment. Their baby kicked now and then, and that was a reminder each time how much she needed Draco.

"Sadistic, fucking masochistic, medieval bullshit," he rambled on, Ginny blotting away at him.

"I know dear. Other than excruciating pain, how do you feel?" she asked, growing more and more accustomed to, and therefore adapting to accommodate (aka be an enabler for) Draco's personality and sarcasm.

Draco coughed a little, groaned, moaned, and whined for a moment, and then opened his eyes to look at her.

"Lucky," he said and she nodded.

"Yeah," she agreed, glad he had been so lucky herself.

"No, lucky that I have such an attentive, caring, compassionate, and beautiful bedside nurse to take care of me," he said, knowing Ginny had thought he meant `lucky to be alive' and smiling at her.

"You are a flirt until the end, aren't you?"

"I will be trying to sweet-talk my way into you knickers on my deathbed, yes," he said, eyes glinting in a familiar way when his face could not.

"You are not as charismatic as you think you are, Draco."

"Like hell I'm not," he said, closing his eyes in a confident but pain filled way.

Ginny knew this was one of the only opportunities she would have to talk to Draco, before he would become sedate due to medications, and they were alone, so she felt the need to have a serious chat.

"Uh-oh, Ginny is getting anxious, whatever else could be the matter?" Draco asked, eyes still closed. Ginny huffed at him reading her and scolded him.

"You cracked your skull open you stupid prat, you shouldn't be taxing that scrambled egg of a brain of yours by reading me."

"Habitual, you know that. When you stop putting your hands on your hips whilst irate you can rag on me for my consistent tendencies."

"Smart-ass."

"Yes I am," he agreed, eyes still closed.

"I just wanted to talk to you about, you know, options."

"What kind of options? Sleeping arraignments now that I can't climb stairs, color schemes for the nursery, stalk investments and brokers?"

"About the press," she said and Draco's face soured a little, eyes still closed. "I know, but as you are well aware, this unhealthy obsession everyone seems to have of you has no end in sight and is feeding off this relentless and catastrophic bad press that is constantly being released. This accident is already all over the papers. Looking for more attention that Draco Malfoy is," she sighed.

"I know."

"So, I was wondering if you had any plans to, I don't know, produce some good press?" she asked delicately.

"Like what? Kiss some babies? You know I love babies, but people think it's a matter of taste, not affection. No one will allow me near their baby for kissy-good-press-reasons."

"I'm being serious."

"Seriously delusional if you think people will feast upon anything positive that involves me."

"People are fascinated by you, Draco, and I don't blame them, you have me enthralled."

"Thank god," he said, his right hand slipping out of hers to insert itself on the interior of her thigh and her slapping at it, Draco impossible, him smiling quite satisfied.

"And I think they would enjoy a chance to see, well, a different side of you, and your life."

"And what is your idea? I am to be so doped up on medications from now on; I can imagine any interview I give going something along the lines of me slumped in a wheelchair while blowing bubbles with my own drooling saliva."

"I was thinking of an interview, and eventually, you know, after the birth, a photo shoot?"

Draco opened his eyes.

"A what?"

"You will have time to heal up, it is only July, I'm not due until mid September…some pictures of you with the baby, front page of all the publications, an interview with the two of us where we -for once- get to tell our side of the story, tell it like it is-"

"No."

"Draco…"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not Harry-fucking-Potter, I do not sell my baby to the highest bidder for some praising publicity."

"It's not for the money, Draco, it's for us, so people can see that I'm not someone with some kind of bestiality fetish, and you are not a baby-eating monster. Let them see that we are a couple like any other, except you like your ears scratched," she joked, scratching behind his ear and Draco not wanting to reward her by showing how much he enjoyed that, but eventually succumbing and tilting his head.

"I don't like having photos taken of me," he pouted while Ginny slowly scratched.

"We would have a professional photographer, the photos would be nice, tasteful, flattering."

"I'm not photogenic."

"Oh, bullshit. I know you are, I have plenty of pictures of you, you just don't like the way you look despite my assurances that I do, so that can't be helped."

Draco kept his eyes closed that tried to think. He was likely going to need a great sum of gold very shortly if he planned on having this baby at all, so selling the rights to exclusive baby-photos would likely cover that, but something about the act made him feel dirty, like he was extorting his child, his children. He didn't like that idea, he didn't like his new baby being a cashcow, no matter what spin was placed on it.

"Come-on, babe. You will be better, and will have put on a little weight. We will have a beautiful baby, our families all supportive and overjoyed. Why not share all that with the world?"

"I just don't feel it is any of their damn business," he pouted.

"Not doing this will not make everyone suddenly forget and neglect us, Draco, and people are going to be out for a shot of our baby, relentlessly. Giving the people what they want will help us. This is for us, for the baby, for our families."

"I can't wait to have this baby," Draco said, raising his right arm to place his hand on Ginny's stomach, opening his eyes to look at it longingly. He was in so much trouble, it was ridiculous, and yet, still, after everything, he still couldn't imagine taking it back. He wouldn't undue this for the world, because he wanted this baby so bad. Maybe he did belong in Azkaban for this, because he had wanted a baby with Ginny, he just hadn't actually planned on it. It had just happened. Sometimes dreams do come true.

"I'm excited too," she said, Draco's hand on her belly, their baby less than two months away now. Draco knew he needed to tell Ginny about the predicament at the Ministry, about their blackmailing him, attempting to sterilize him, about their intent on taking the baby and wishing to have forced an abortion on her, but he would wait. Ginny was stressed enough, and he knew the welfare of their child did hinge greatly on Ginny's health. She was far too stressed, far too worried, far too restless and anxious for a woman in her seventh month. Draco would see to it that she got the rest she needed, so that all this trouble they had suffered through so far would not have been in vain.

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

"No, no, no," Draco said urgently, Connor stopping in what he was doing as he held his dainty teacup in his hands, Draco grabbing his hand to direct him. "You fold your tea, you do not stir it like some kind of trite potion," he said, helping Connor. The spoon -without touching the sides of the cup and therefore clinking- was gently swished back and forth three times. Connor had come by after work to see how Draco was doing now that it was Tuesday and Draco was nicely settled. Draco had been about to have his afternoon tea, so he had invited his stepson to join him. It was apparent, however, that Draco disapproved of Connor's methods.

"Sorry," he muttered in an abashed tone, having simply stirred his tea at first and inciting a look of horror on his step-father's face.

"And you gently drag your spoon across the lip of your cup, you do not tap it," Draco said, eyeing Connor as he was about to do just that and stopped, watching Draco drag his spoon and then mimicking. Draco placed his spoon on the right side of his saucer and held it there gently with his thumb for safekeeping, and Connor, again, mimicked.

"I did not realize there was such a strict etiquette in taking tea," he said, jolly and Scottish, Draco oh-so-crisp and British if not a little highly medicated.

"The term to `take tea' is used by the lower classes and considered a vulgar expression by the upper. We drink tea, we do not take it," he said quite crisply, Connor nodding his head a little as though showing he was learning, looking away however because it was a little odd to be schooled in such things. "It is important to know if you are to be a part of this family," Draco said before taking a refined sip of his tea. He couldn't look more proper despite the fact that his one arm was in a cast, his hair was a mess with a bandage wrapped around his head, and he was lying in bed. "You should have seen all the terrible habits I had to break my Ginny of. I swear her parents raised those children in a barn," Draco said, shaking his head as he returned his cup to its saucer, the spoon so perfectly held in place there wasn't a shift or clatter. Connor was struggling to lift his cup while pinching his spoon to the saucer with the other hand at the same time. He was sure he was going to either spill, or drop the spoon. Which was worse etiquette?

"I hardly have aspirations to be a part of your family, Draco," Connor eventually said, trying hard, however, to copy all that Draco was doing in his well-mannered tea drinking, and failing, Draco seeing the effort, however and appreciating it.

"That's a shame really, my son was certainly interested in getting to know you," he said and Connor blinked at him, spoon finally falling and him jumping a little, fearing hot tea was to follow and almost sloshing as a result of that twitch, Draco pursing his lips together but in a way that almost looked like he was trying to hide a smile at the expense of Connor's struggles.

"Sorry," Connor muttered, fetching his spoon.

"By the way, did you see my head? I was fiddling with a mirror earlier, the cut looks like some kind of wonky smiley face, Michael says it looks like the Batman logo," Draco said, inclining his head in an almost joking way but Connor really didn't want to see Draco's jolly gaping head wound and really wanted to get back to what Draco had said moments prior.

"Anyways," he said quite poignantly, "Michael wants to get to know me?" he asked, Draco leaning back.

"He is curious about your mother and I told him you hadn't any answers for him and it wasn't really right to pound you with his questions even if you did, and he apparently agreed, or I think he agreed. I don't know, my Saturday is a little muddy come about that time. Gaping head wound and all," Draco said, vaguely indicating his head with a wispy circular flutter of his hand before taking a sip of his tea.

"So, then, he knows about me."

"My son is damn smart, and persistent to a fault. He was at the library with me and used his knowledge of his -your- mother's last name to look her up, discovered her past and was rather displeased with what the books had to say. Then he heard your name used and was able to piece together your rather strong physical similarity to him and correlate some kind of relation."

"What was his reaction?"

"Um," Draco said, clearly thinking hard and seemingly struggling. "I think he thought you were his uncle at first. I remember telling him you were his half-brother, and him being shocked and asking more about his mother, but I don't think I answered him much, I can't imagine I would at least. Again, not sure. He and I haven't said a word on the matter since, and I am kind of not looking forward to the time when his curiosity boils over and he is forced to ask me despite how I am feeling. I can see it in his eyes, his need to know. He's just trying to let me rest right now, thus why he isn't interrogating me, yet."

"Should I…" Connor started to say but stopped and Draco looked over at him.

"I'm not sure you talking to him on the matter of your shared mother is a good idea. Despite the fact that you never met the woman you seem to really hate her and think her a bad person. I'm not saying that is without reason given that she basically abandoned you, but I really don't want my son to hate his mother."

"Even though she abandoned him too?"

"She died."

"So today you are sticking with the `she loved us until the end' version of events then?" Connor said, letting his bitterness show.

"Yes." Draco said quite curtly, sipping at his tea.

"I hope your antipsychotics help you stop swaying between reality and your perceived reality."

"Forgive me, which one is the reality? I forgot that you were there and all," Draco snapped, glaring just a little.

"I wasn't, but look at the facts, Draco, rather than your selective and biased memories of her. She did cheat on you, and did leave you and your children right before she died, and did the same to me. The only reason you can't accept that is because of your psychosis I'm sure, hopefully your pride not making you that stupid," Connor boldly said as Draco glared at him.

"You're right, it does seem silly to make you a part of this family," Draco said so blandly it was cold, sipping his tea with closed eyes, Connor looking over at him in hurt, Draco obviously furious over his words.

"Draco," Connor said but Draco said nothing more. Connor eventually sighed, placed his tea on the silver platter where the rest of the tea set sat, and left the room. He was confident that Draco was just on too many drugs at the moment to really be held accountable for everything he said, but his words still hurt.

Going down the stairs he kept his chin and eyes down, so coming upon Michelangelo surprised him. It was a near collision which Connor excused himself without looking up at first, but when Michelangelo didn't let him pass he looked to find the boy before him, looking a little battered from the accident still but otherwise collected and firm. The boy's independent and almost arrogant spirit was plainly visible.

"Hello, Michael," Connor said, looking down at his little brother, hoping he didn't sound completely awkward.

"Hi," he said, still blocking the way.

Connor stood there for a second, not sure what to do, or say, and Michelangelo wasn't being any help, not moving aside or volunteering any words.

"Uh, I was just seeing your father."

"I know."

"He seems like he is recovering nicely."

"He springs back every time, he calls himself a weed," he said blandly.

"Could…could I get by?" Connor then asked, looking over his shoulder and seeing the landing but knowing there was no other way downstairs but for this stairwell.

"You have tea?"

"With your father," he said, backing up a step.

"Well, then how about just a chat then," Michelangelo taking advantage of that ground gained by moving forward two steps, putting himself closer to Connor and forcing the man to back up. Once moving Michelangelo kept going, Connor left no choice but to reach the landing.

"Your father expressed his wishes that I not talk to you," Connor said, looking up and knowing Draco was on the floor above them.

"What my father doesn't know won't hurt us, come on," he said, guiding the way but not taking the lead so that Connor would follow because he wasn't confident that the man would. Michelangelo took Connor to his bedroom, almost had to resort to physically pushing the man in, and closed his door. Walking over to his desk he turned on his lamp to illuminate the room, and pulled out the chair so that Connor may sit on something that wasn't his bed if that helped him relax any. He also reached into the back of one of his desk's cubbies and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He held it out to Connor, one fag protruding in offer.

"No thanks," Connor said, holding up his hand and Michelangelo shrugging while pulling one out with his lips and tossing the pack aside. Connor took a seat while Michelangelo walked by, lighting his cigarette, shaking out his match and flicking it across the room while leaning on the edge of his high bed.

"So," Michelangelo said after taking a dreg from his cigarette. "You are my brother then?" he asked, just jumping right in, no pretenses, no small talk.

"Uh, half-brother, yes," Connor said rather uncomfortably.

"I hear you are actually older than my dad."

"By a handful on months, yes."

"That's wicked. I don't envy the either of you for that, but you have to admit it's funny."

"Funny -haha, or funny -interesting?" Connor asked, Michelangelo smiling.

"See, I like that," he said, taking another breath from his cigarette and looking at the tip as he lowered his hand, mindful of the ash near his bedding. "You look really bothered, do I distress you so?" Michelangelo then observed and asked, Connor having been looking around the room from his seat and turning his head to look back at the boy on the bed.

"No, no, it's not that. I just never thought I would be sitting in here, talking to you is all."

"You known about us for a while then, for that wonderment to set in?"

"You are observant, like your father."

"I'm teaching myself Legilimency, like my father," Michelangelo smiled and Connor blinked. "Like to keep that quiet though, shh," he said, using the hand he held the cigarette in to press a finger against his lips in a "shh"ing motion before placing the cigarette in them. "So, have you?" he asked, barely moving his lips so as to not drop the cigarette.

"Have I?"

"…known about us for a while?" Michelangelo repeated, looking a little irritated that he would have to.

"Oh, yes, sorry. Um, yes, yes I have," Connor said, nodding, realizing he should just try to make a conversation out of this, that all the discomfort was due to himself, the boy obviously cool and confident.

"How did you find out? The Ministry certainly did all in their power to keep us baby Malfoys on the DL."

"DL?"

"Down-low," he clarified and Connor nodded.

"I got'cha. Well, my mumbee and pop-pop told me," he said, Michelangelo just looking at him. "Um, they are my, well, our grandparents," he said, realizing that he needed to explain.

"And how did they know?"

"I think she owled them about it, or the Ministry did. Somehow they were told that their daughter had married a man while in Azkaban and had two children with him."

"Actually, they married after she was out of Azkaban, my father was still in obviously. I was born outside of Azkaban, as was Clarissa, but it wasn't until after I was born but before Clarissa was, that they married."

"I didn't know that. I thought they married while both still in Azkaban."

"Nope. I'm a bastard through and through, but Clarissa was only conceived one, not born one."

"Do…do you remember her?"

"Do you?" Michelangelo almost snapped back.

"I was born the same day she left. Technically I met her, but only because in the process of having me I came out of her," he said, smiling rather sadly. Michelangelo nodded. "You didn't answer my question," he then accused.

"Ooh, how astute of you," Michelangelo commended while taking a breath of cigarette and looking at it in boredom as he thought through his answer. "Yes, I remember her. I was just turned three when she died."

"Really?" Connor was suddenly very interested and leaned in some.

"It's not like she and I had any shared deep seeded moments that have stuck with me over the years, I was a toddler. I just remember her, as in, her presence, her hair, her scent. I remember one Easter. I'm not sure why."

"Easter?"

"Yeah, a few weeks before she died."

"Could you…I mean, could you tell me?"

Michelangelo looked over at him and saw Connor looking a little needy and a little abashed, but under all that eager. Michelangelo recognized that in himself, that desire to know his mother, and could relate and find comfort where he hadn't with Clarissa because she had no desire to know. Michelangelo felt an instant connection. He couldn't deny him. Leaning over until he tipped gently onto his stomach, able to reach his ashtray as it sat on the far-side of his mattress then, Michelangelo took a moment to think while favoring his bruised right side.

"Well, I was a toddler, toddling around. I remember the Easter-egg hunt, the eggs hardly hidden, but me wondering around looking for them with my basket, missing them and everyone telling me to go back, look higher...but that is not what I remember so clearly."

"What is it that you do?"

"Lunch," Michelangelo said, looking down and smiling at his fag for a moment, like the memory brought him some warmth and happiness. "I remember sitting on my mother's lap. Clarissa, in this impossibly frilly ruffle dress, was two at the time and was being passed around to everyone, as always…and I remember my mother looking down at me, and smiling. She said I was a good boy for feeding myself and not making an awful mess. I remember smiling a lot, and I remember her hugging me around the middle as I used her lap as a booster seat to reach the table. I remember her breaking off a chocolate bunny's ear and giving it to me."

"That is a lovely memory," Connor said, brow frowning however because he had no such thing shared with his mother. He had wonderful memories shared with his mumbee and pop-pop, but lacking a true mother hurt.

"Yeah, well, lot of good it does me," Michelangelo scoffed, flicking his ash into the tray.

"I think it creates an irreversible bond. I'm jealous of you for that."

"It just creates a stinging loss and abandonment issues," Michelangelo refuted, taking a long dreg of his cigarette and then pounding it out before he could possibly be done with it. He seemed to be using the pounding as an outlet for some of his frustration.

"She didn't abandon you, Michael," Connor said. Though not really believing that, he honored Draco's wishes that he not give Michelangelo a reason to hate his mother. "She died."

"She abandoned you," he argued.

"I think if it more like I was given up for adoption. She was young; a lot of single young mothers do that, in hopes of their child having a better life. The only difference was I was with my grandparents, not strangers," he said, for the first time defending his mother, for the first time giving her that much credit and he was taken aback. It wasn't hard, was it, to defend her. He supposed, not knowing her intentions made it easy to take her actions and deduce what you like from them. He had decided years ago that she had not wanted him; could that have not been the case? He kind'a felt like he never would know, forever be unsure and a little lost.

"You don't believe that," Michelangelo accused.

"I'm uncertain of that," he refuted, being honest with the boy that was clearly trying to read him.

There was a knock on the door. Michelangelo didn't move and Connor looked over, but it was Clarissa who spoke as she entered.

"Hey," she said, her voice still high but a little less chiming without her father there to appreciate it.

"Hey," Michelangelo responded, Connor back to being a little stiff with apprehension and unease. He was looking at his little sister, and while he felt capable of making a connection with the boy, he was unsure of how to handle the young girl given how he had seen her acting with Draco. She was all bubbles and giggles…what did he know of such things?

"You remember Connor," Michelangelo said, sitting up so he was no longer sprawled on his stomach and Clarissa joining him on the bed. He was a little stiff moving.

"How could I forget," Clarissa said, eyeing him in a way that hinted at maturity her pink outfit seemed to deny her on principle. The large bow tied in her hair, the capri-denims, the pink top and glittery belt and white leather sandals, she looked so young, except for those eyes. "Hello Connor. Michael says you are our brother, is that true?" she asked and Connor raised his eyebrows but then nodded. "Wicked," she then said, looking at Michelangelo and elbowing him like she had believed -until now- him to be playing a prank on her.

"You have nothing to say on it?" he asked, surprised by how well both the children were taking it, watching them punch each other in the arm.

"What would you have me do, pitch a fit? I can't see why, but I could oblige if it would give you some peace of mind." She smiled sweetly.

"No, that's quite alright," he laughed.

"You have a very interesting face," she said and Michelangelo snorted a laugh, not having dared be so bold but Clarissa clearly having no problem just blurting something like that out.

"Thank you?" he said, sounding uncertain.

"What's with the…" she said, trailing off, just pointing at her own face in a circular motion in her inarticulate state.

"Claire," Michelangelo said under his breath.

"What? Just because you don't have the balls to say it doesn't mean I don't," she teased, Michelangelo hitting her in the arm again, her retaliating.

"Piercings," Connor said for her, interrupting his squabbling siblings, knowing her question was something a lot of people stared at him for, and was one of the first things he was often asked about.

"Yeah, what's with them," Michelangelo added, laughing, showing he had "the balls".

"I'm not sure."

"Well, there has to be a reason, you didn't just fall face-first into a jewelry bureau and leave anything that stuck there there," Clarissa said, Connor smiling, Michelangelo chuckling.

"I like them. I started with an earring when I was twelve, and I just added more over the years," he said with a shrug.

"How many do you have?" Clarissa asked inquisitively, tilting her head and her voice doing that thing that Draco seemed to love so much, that chiming thing as she batted her eyelashes.

It was hard to resist and Connor had to wonder if Clarissa consciously did it or not.

"I have three in my eyebrow, each side, two in each side of my nose, three in my lip and one labret, two in my tongue, two on my upper-lip called a Monroe…lets see," he said, actually reaching up to touch the bridge of his nose. "One bridge, and fifteen in each ear," he said, tallying them all off and thinking he got them all. Today he wasn't wearing all of them, the left eyebrow bare and only two of his bottom lip piercings in, snakebites as they were called.

"That's 51," Michelangelo said, surprising Connor.

"You do that sum in your head?"

"Simple addition," he shrugged. "What do Mumbee and Pop-pop have to say about your head so full of holes?"

Connor chuckled.

"They love me for exactly who I am," he said, knowing his look was a little ostentatious, but his rather humble demeanor compensating for that, mostly.

"Who?" Clarissa asked, laughing, having missed the explanation Connor gave the first time.

"Our grandparents," Michelangelo explained, Clarissa gasping.

"We have grandparents?"

"Yes," Connor said, nodding.

"Oh, will we be meeting them?" she asked, Michelangelo looking over at Connor, not having asked but certainly wondered that himself.

"Well, I mean, they are quite old, don't go out much, but as their grandchildren, I'm sure they would cherish a visit from you sometime," he said, unable to say more due to Clarissa's girly squealing of delight.

"Oh my god, that is so neat. We get a brother, and two grandparents, all in one day!" she said, practically beside herself.

"Do you not have grandparents on your father's side?" Connor asked.

"We have our Nana, but our grandfather died before we were born," Michelangelo said, shrugging.

"We have the Weasleys as a sort of Grandparents, but it's not the same thing," Clarissa said, Michelangelo all too ready to agree there as he nodded his head. "So, are you going to stop skulking around the shadowy edge of the family then?" she then asked and Connor felt his face fall a little, thinking about what Draco had said upstairs. He knew there was a large possibility that Draco would not even remember what was said, but it still hurt. Now with Clarissa and Michelangelo wanting to meet their grandparents, it seemed like Connor was stuck in a position between them and Draco, and feeling a bit trapped.

Both children seemed to pick up on Connor's crumble.

"Something wrong?" Michelangelo asked.

"I thought you could read me," Connor challenged, though not in an arrogant way.

"I can read your emotions, not thoughts, and I can tell you are upset, just not why."

"It's nothing, just something your father said," he said, shaking his head.

"Don't take to heart anything Daddy says at the moment, he is on a lot of drugs," Clarissa comforted. Connor nodded but still the feeling stuck with him.

"Dad has never reacted well to medications or drugs," Michelangelo added, Clarissa nodding.

"He's been on them before?" Connor was stunned.

"Oh yeah," Clarissa said, drawing out the phrase and widening her beautiful eyes some.

"When he got out of Azkaban he did a lot of drugs, tried to hide the fact from Nana and us, but it was obvious," Michelangelo explained.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Clarissa nodded. "We were living with Nana, Dad just moved in after being released, and we thought it was just drinking at first, which no one liked but could understand because of all he had been through, but we realized it was more when he started losing weight rather than gaining it. He started doing drugs after he broke his hip and pelvis, because of the pain, and it just spiraled downward from there."

"He overdosed one night, and I found him. I remember everyone saying he tried to kill himself. I know that's not true, my father is just deliriously oblivious to his own limits. Nana cracked down on him, however, threw him out, wouldn't let him see us. It is the only time I can ever recall her yelling. They were screaming at each other," Michelangelo said, Clarissa taking over at that point.

"That was a bad time. Dad wound up on the street. The stupid Ministry wasn't paying him anything while he worked, all the money coming directly to us in child support so Nana eventually took pity on him and let him come back if he was sober and clean."

"I'm pretty sure he has been drug free-ish since," Michelangelo said in closing.

"ish?" Connor questioned, Michelangelo again speaking in some vernacular he didn't understand.

"Well, I would like to think he is clean, but he heads the local pack,"

"Werewolves," Clarissa interjected.

"And they all peddle and do a lot of drugs. It's a toxic environment. Having us taken away from him by Nana was a nasty blow, but a necessary one. It scared him straight and he has sacrificed a lot for us, been the best father he could possibly be…but he can also be extremely narrow-minded and short-sighted. When the pain gets too intense and the stress too much…well, you know," Michelangelo said with a shrug.

Connor was shocked by how seemingly desensitized the two children were to their father's bad habits, by such a world in general. They talked about drug abuse and over-dosing like it was just a fact of life. They spoke of screaming fights and their father living on the streets like it was humdrum. Then again, being werewolves, given the things they have witnessed, suffered through, endured, maybe it was just that commonplace.

"You don't think drugs are…like, okay do you?" he asked, worried.

"No," Clarissa said, shaking her head and Michelangelo shrugging because he himself smoked. "We have seen it kill members of the pack we have known our whole lives and cared about, and we have seen what it has done to our father whom we love," she said. "We don't like some of the things he has done, but we don't hold his past against him like the rest of the world does. He did it, learned from it, moved on, that's the best anyone could ask of him," Clarissa said quite simply. Connor had to commend the children for being so loyal, and yet so prudent.

"And I'm surprised Dad hasn't killed you yet for smoking," Clarissa added, looking over at her brother.

"He can't, otherwise he would be a hypocrite," Michelangelo argued and Clarissa swatted him again.

Connor laughed, liking his new siblings, though worried that he might have to be the stern older-brother if Michelangelo was going to follow in his father's footsteps and make bad decisions. He was sure he was going to be breaking a lot of knees when it came you boys and Clarissa.

"Oh-my-god, you know what?" Clarissa said, sounding suddenly excited like a thought had just struck her. "We have home movies, Dad pulled them for Ginny to view but with everything that has been happening we all haven't had the opportunity to sit down and watch them. We should all watch them together, you should join us, Connor" she said and Michelangelo rolled his eyes, not wanting to watch the films where he was dressed like a nancy-boy. They had seen a few in the past, and they were embarrassing.

"Oh, I don't know," Connor sighed.

"I'll fetch the movies and Ginny, Michael, you and Connor set the telly up in dad's room and we will have a viewing night. Move it," she said, hopping off the bed and hurrying towards the stairs, already calling for Ginny.

"No arguing with a Malfoy woman," Michelangelo said, stretching carefully given his bruised liver and over-all sore body, scratching his head and following in the direction his sister had run off, confident at that point that Connor would follow.

Connor sat there for a while, smiled at himself, and then finally stood.

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

"Michael, don't hit your sister!" a woman scolded from behind the camera, a very curly haired toddler before the lens, turning to place his hands behind his back as his younger sister held the top of her head and cried. They were both so blonde they were almost white, with pale eyes and skin, dressed in pastels and sandals. Clarissa continued to stand there and cry until she fell on her bum to scream. Nymphadora seemed to step in then, scooping up the younger Clarissa and assuring her it was fine. Michelangelo looked towards the camera and grinned and Narcissa -who was filming- tisked at him and told him no. Michelangelo saw a butterfly then and toddled off, clearly not paying attention.

"My children were once so adorable," Draco sighed as he lay in bed, Ginny under his right arm, Clarissa carefully snuggled on his left, barely touching him due to his aches and pains. Michelangelo and Connor had the end of the bed, and there they all lounged and watched the films. Michelangelo groaned every time he came on, and Clarissa giggled at her own mini-likeness. Ginny laughed and enjoyed it, and Connor appreciated the chance to see the family in such an intimate way. Draco seemed to hold no grudge from earlier.

Draco enjoyed these films, but in a sad way. He had missed all these events in their originality due to his incarceration, and had only seen these (made by his cousin for his benefit) when she would visit him. Azkaban was not like Hogwarts, Muggle technology did work, and Nymphadora had had little issue with investing in a computer laptop that could play movies on disk and ran on a battery so that she could show him these. They were painful to watch then, as they were today, but he had needed them. His brief visits with his children were hardly enough.

"We are damn adorable still," Michelangelo scoffed and was nearly pushed off the bed by Draco's foot which was under the covers.

"Michael, Michael, look at the camera," Nymphadora could be heard saying from the television, Michelangelo her target but him clearly too distracted to pay her much mind. Michelangelo on the bed groaned again as he flopped his face into the covers and Connor laughed. "Michael, look at your auntie, hey there," she said, little Michelangelo finally looking up at her and grinning at the camera, toddling closer while raising an arm as though to grab at it.

"Hey there, you want to say something?" she asked, Michelangelo already turning away to be distracted by something else but Nymphadora's hand reaching into frame to grab his wrist and hold him there. "Hey Mikey, how about you say something to Daddy?" she suggested and that got Michelangelo's attention for a moment.

"Dabby," he said, almost saying `daddy', the excitement there in his eyes at his daddy's mention.

"That's right, `Dabby'. What do you want to say to Dabby?"

"No, budder-fwy…" Michelangelo muttered, apparently wanting to find his lost butterfly friend.

"You want to tell Dabby you love him?" she coached, reaching into view again to keep Michelangelo there. Michelangelo looked up, his curling hair so tight and springy at that age, not that it had relaxed much in all these years. He used his whole hand, the whole palm, to smush his hair to the side where it did not stay, in attempts to getting it out of his eyes.

"Dabby."

"Yes, tell Dabby you love him."

"Luv him," Michelangelo said in distraction, looking away.

"Say I love you Dabby."

"Luv you Dabby," Michelangelo said, looking right into the camera for a second before turning and trying to toddle away despite being held onto and ending up falling down as a result. The camera scene changed and gave Ginny the opportunity to look over at Draco who was very obviously trying not to tear up. He looked over at her with his bottom lip stuck out and she smiled at him, kissing his nose.

"God, these are the kinds of movies you drag out to embarrass us in front of our friends at birthday parties," Michelangelo moped, blankets pulled up to his mouth so that his words were muffled some.

"Or your prom date," Clarissa added.

"Oh no, that's what the naked bath photos are for," Draco teased, both children letting out mortified moans as Draco grinned, Connor laughing.

"Clarissa baby," Narcissa could be heard. "Remus, turn her around," Narcissa directed, Remus Lupin being the one holding Clarissa in his arms. He was always the best at getting her to stop crying. Remus was sitting in a lawn chair, with Clarissa in his arms. He placed his hands in her armpits and turned her so that she could stand on his lap, supported under the arms, her frilly dress hiked up some so her little ruffled bloomers could be seen. Her lips were always puckered when relaxed, so she looked ready to give a kiss at a moment's notice. She stood there in her ruffled ankle socks and white little buckle shoes. Her dress was white and pale pink, bows and ruffles to excess. There was a pink elastic headband in her wild blonde hair with a bow attached, it barely enough to keep the curls from engulfing her precious features.

"Claire baby, say hello," Narcissa encouraged the little girl who was a year younger than the toddling Michelangelo. She could stand on her own, and walk aided, and was probably about eighteen months in the footage. Ginny knew, however, that Clarissa had been late in walking because she had been premature and slow in growth and development for the first months, so tiny for so long. Everyone had been a little too willing to just carry her around; at this point she was too accustomed to their catering to even try on her own.

Clarissa squealed in a giggling delight while bending her knees and straightening them a few times to bounce in place.

"Pretty little Clarissa," Narcissa cooed, Clarissa giggling and smiling, happy as a honey bee.

Ginny looked over at Draco who was leaning over some to whisper something into Clarissa's hair as he rubbed her arm, and she smiled, apparently responding with `I love you' so Ginny could only assume Draco was praising her in some way. Ginny looked back at the television and saw the precious little Clarissa being encouraged to walk by Remus who allowed her to hold his two fingers, one in each hand, leading her forward in eager steps. She seemed so bold while holding onto someone, but would simply sit down the second they let her go. Her arms up kept her little dress raised, her ruffled bloomers for all to see. Ginny could understand why Draco wanted a baby girl so bad after seeing just a few minutes of these movies, and now more than half an hour into it she almost wanted one too if she promised to be even a quarter as cute as Clarissa.

"Come here Claire-bear," Nymphadora called, trying to get Clarissa to let go of her husband's hands and come to her on her own just a few steps away. "Come on pretty girl, let's show Daddy what a good walker you are, come on," she said, squatting there in what Ginny couldn't believe, but an actual dress. Tonks was not one to wear dresses, not white sundresses for sure, but there she was, in a simple white dress with a cloth tie in the back. Her hair was a soft shade of lavender, eyes bright blue, feet bare. It was amazing how much she looked like Draco's family when she wasn't messing with the structure of her face, when she wasn't morphing her features. She had that same pointed nose, and a heart-shaped face that was not quite as long but still just as thin as the rest of her family.

Clarissa showed desire to go to her aunt but her feet seemed to be getting ahead of her seeing as she was still holding onto Remus as he remained stationary. She let go with one hand and reached out, "dah!"ing again for Nymphadora to take her hand and help her, but Nymphadora just held her hands open but close to herself, wiggling her fingers.

"Come here, come to your auntie," she cooed, Clarissa looking to Remus, then to Nymphadora. She grew distracted for a second as Michelangelo toddled into view, holding was looked like a frog and looking delighted. Clarissa wanted it, reached for it, and Michelangelo turned away.

"No!" he shouted, holding the chubby frog tightly, hands up by his chest. Clarissa started to cry, and leaned into her uncle's knees for a second while stomping her dainty feet, but Narcissa called out from behind the camera.

"Clarissa, no crocodile tears," she said, knowing Clarissa was not hurt, or even upset but for the fact that Michelangelo had something she clearly wanted. Clarissa stopped crying immediately and looked poutingly at her uncle, then over at her aunt. She reached out again.

"Dah!" she said, that being her word for her aunt, since Nymphadora was far too difficult a name for a baby to say, Nymphadora knowing Clarissa's call and ready for her. Clarissa looked uncertain as she pushed away from her uncle's knees, and basically only stumbled forward rather than actually walked, but she did it on her own so was praised endlessly for it once welcomed into her aunt's arms.

"Yay! Claire-bare walked all by herself," she praised, blowing raspberries on Clarissa's pink cheeks and getting her to practically scream her giggles. Remus came over to join his wife and congratulate Clarissa some too; Clarissa eating up the praise and the camera's attention like it was nourishment, looking right into the camera lens. Nymphadora pointed at the lens and waved, Clarissa mimicking somewhat. It was obvious why Remus and Nymphadora were content with having had no children of their own, they had played a substantial role in raising Draco's two.

"Your daddy is in there, you want to give him kisses? Give him kisses," Nymphadora encouraged, allowing Clarissa to lean forward, Clarissa kissing the camera lens, it being a blurry gesture, but her face bright and grinning once a few inches away again and back into focus.

Ginny felt Draco's hand rubbing her tummy then and she found him looking at her when she turned, the look in his eyes so loving and deep it was moving even after the displays of love and affection she had just witnessed on-screen.

"I love you," he whispered to her, his voice always lower when he used hushed tones.

"I love you, Draco," she said, them kissing and turning back to the television where there was an exclamation from it.

"Oh no," Remus laughed, Michelangelo toddling into view, knees covered in muck, hands empty but dirty and fingers spread wide, a splatter of mud on his cheek as he pouted.

"What happened?" Narcissa asked, coming into view, Nymphadora the one with the camera now.

"Mikey, did you lose your hopper?" his uncle Remus asked, Michelangelo not crying just looking so sad over the fact, all mucky and his grandmother a fuss with his state, grabbing a cloth napkin from the picnic table and squatting down in a pale pink almost suit-like dress and jacket, white high-heeled sandals on her feet, her blonde but whitening hair pulled back into a serious bun. She was thinner than ever, even looking a bit older here than she did at the present. She licked the corner of the napkin and started wiping at Michelangelo who had to be held there by the wrist as he protested the cleaning process his grandmother offered.

"When was this?" Ginny asked, realizing something just now.

"August of 2001," Draco said, kicking at Michelangelo again because he was moaning to Connor about how embarrassing this was to have to watch.

"What was the occasion?" Ginny asked, noting everyone dressed up to some extent.

"My mother's release from Azkaban. She got out in the beginning of August, after a three year sentence. Claire would be two in about four months here, Michael three in about five," Draco said, Connor listening, the video carrying on much the way it had been so far, focusing mostly on the children, but the adults each taking turns talking to Draco through the camera, this being done for him after all.

Ginny didn't ask, she didn't want to ruin the moment, but she was confused as to why one person was conspicuously absent. Draco knew exactly what she meant to ask, however, and smiled sadly.

"My wife was not invited," Draco said, the children both looking back towards the television as though not listening, though they clearly were, but Connor looked over. "This was a party for my mother, and my mother and Christina hated each other."

"Are you serious?" Ginny asked, caught off guard by Draco actually using her name. That was something he never did.

"I think hate is, well, too gentle a word for their feelings towards one another really," Draco said as an afterthought, Ginny looking over at Connor who looked surprised too. "Besides, Christina was a bit camera-shy, she didn't appear on most of the films, was more content being the one behind the lens," he said, seeming really indifferent over the matter.

"You have films of her?" Michelangelo asked, looking right around at his father. Draco just nodded silently, Clarissa looking up at him in her own astonishment.

"Did, did your mother ever say why she hated…Christina so much?" Connor asked, trying to not let the conversation get hung up by that clear revelation, though not really ready to say "my mother" to Draco in the context that they were talking about Draco's wife. Ginny was still not filled in on the situation yet, but she wasn't stupid. She had asked Draco if Connor was a relative of his dead wife and Draco had said yes. She was not sure how they were related just yet, but she had a feeling, and she didn't want to dare make a question of it for risk of sounding stupid, or worse, being right.

"Oh-yes," Michelangelo said, Clarissa nodding.

"My mother is far to, well, civil to ever admit to animosity towards someone while sober," Draco explained.

"But she is drunk a good amount of the time so there has been ample opportunity for her to share her thoughts on our mother," Michelangelo explained, Clarissa and Draco nodding.

"Well, what were her reasons?" Connor pressed, Ginny curious as well. She knew Narcissa hadn't liked her much from the start either, but she had grown to be tolerable, and now apparently likeable, but she wondered if her feelings changed when she was drunk. Ginny wasn't an insecure woman, but she was a little dubious now.

"I think larger than the fact that we were unmarried when we had Michael and such, my mother and Christina had never liked each other, and being forced to be civil by the ties of marriage did little to grow them on each other."

"They knew each other prior?" Ginny asked a little baffled. Draco looked over at her with raised eyebrows.

"Of course. Remember, she was sixteen years older than me," he said and Ginny just looked at him not sure what she was supposed to deduce from that.

"Nana married our grandfather at eighteen, right out of Hogwarts, and had Dad at nineteen," Michelangelo explained, knowing the numbers, Ginny looking over at him and thinking on that.

"You mean your mother and our mother went to Hogwarts together?" Connor asked, Ginny looking at him, it not a mystery now how Connor was related to Christina, but that being why she was staring.

"There you go," Draco said, a little unenthusiastically. He hated having to talk about his late wife, but he knew it was kind of important that he did. What his children knew was minimal. They knew more dates and drunken rants from their grandmother, than they did truths and circumstances. Draco knew he owed it to them to share things with them now, now that everyone was growing older, now that he and Ginny were a family, now that Connor was trying to make a place for himself amongst them. These videos were just the first step to a long touchy process.

"They were years apart though," Ginny said, recovering from her shock over Connor rather well and wrapping her mind around the other revelation at hand.

"That means very little in a school with a student body as small as Hogwarts and you know it, Ginny," Draco said, looking over at her. "They were both in Slytherin and three years apart. They saw enough of each other to establish an abhorrence."

"Did she, your mother, ever say why they didn't get along?" Ginny asked, looking to Draco for the answer though possibly one of the children knew.

"My mother was a tart," Connor said, taking a wild stab in the dark there as to the reason and everyone looking at him.

"Yeah, that's about it," Draco sighed. He had hoped to be a little more delicate in delivering that fact, but he supposed he owned it to them all to take care of the hard part while Connor volunteered to take care of the easier part of the telling. "Connor is the direct result of Christina's, uh, wayward behavior…and my mother, a Prefect, Head Girl, and the type that looked down on such manners, did not associate with her or her circle," Draco explained as gracefully as possible.

"I didn't know that," Clarissa chimed, looking up at her father.

"Yeah, well, some people do some pretty irresponsible things when they are young," Draco said, in her defense, sort of. Michelangelo shifted, feeling like he was being implicated by his father then, Connor feeling a bit on the spot but there because he had placed himself there by forcing Draco to have to explain.

"It's good to hear you talking of her, Draco," Ginny praised, Clarissa looking back towards the telly, Michelangelo and Connor following suit and talking quietly amongst themselves.

"It kind'a feels good to actually talk about her," Draco admitted, surprised by this since it had always hurt him in the past to simply mention her.

The video went fuzzy for a moment, then it picked up again, a different scene this time, indoors, much darker with yellow fire and candle-light, Christmas music playing in the background.

"Happy Christmas!" Nymphadora, Lupin, her mother Andromeda and father Ted all said at once, noses all a little red from eggnog as they stood together, arms around each other. The camera lowered some towards there knees to see Michelangelo toddling around again, a little bigger than before in the last video, but not much. He was sure of step and faster as a result, and he ran past with some shiny parcel ribbons and bows stuck to the top of his head of curls thanks to everyone sticking them there.

"I don't remember ever seeing this one either," Clarissa said, snuggling close to Draco and trying not to hurt him with her desire to be cuddled.

"I remember this," Michelangelo added, sounding distant as he became very engrossed in the film.

"This a special one?" Ginny asked.

Draco patted Clarissa's arm while nodding.

"These were made for me to view while in Azkaban, I didn't make a habit of showing them once out. I most certainly never showed you guys this one," he said, a tightness in his chest and a queasiness in his stomach. He had promised Ginny some "happy memories" though, after having shared some of his most darkest secrets, so he was viewing these again, his children only having been shown a select few for laughs, him sometimes watching them privately when no one was around.

"Why?" Ginny asked.

"Because mum was there," Michelangelo said, able to recall this experience if but vaguely. This was the only Christmas he remembered with his mother.

Clarissa looked over at Draco with a surprised face, Ginny too, Connor doing the same, Draco sighing and nodding.

"Mum is on this tape?" Clarissa asked, sounding shocked.

"Briefly, mostly behind the camera," he said, Clarissa looking back at the screen and hearing Narcissa talking to Michelangelo who was running about, and her telling him to slowdown before he fell.

"I didn't think you had any photos, let alone footage of her," Ginny said quietly to him, though looking at the screen herself.

"I don't leave them lying about, but I do have them," he said, having known the moment he had selected this particular tape to view that Christina was on it. Though he was uneasy, and nervous about it, he had chosen this tape, and this occasion, to let his children finally see it, because he realized that Michelangelo had some severe issues over the absence of his mother. Draco had never meant to harm his children, but by protecting himself he had hurt them, and he hoped this would make it up to them, this treat, just a little. Connor too, he figured, would enjoy the chance to see and hear the mother he never knew, maybe hate her less if he understood that she wasn't quite as cold-hearted as he had always painted her to be.

Draco held Ginny's hand tight.

Ginny watched as the small family merrily gathered to sing, and talk, and pass the babies around. Clarissa was once again in a dress so frilly it was ridiculous, but this time the ruffles were just the underskirt. The dress itself was a red and greed plaid, in honor of her Scottish mother who was directing the camera and had likely dressed her. The bust of the little dress was a deep green sort of velvet with a red bow in the center. The sleeves were a matching plaid and exceedingly puffy. Clarissa was bigger now, walking and standing on her own now without a problem, just turned two if Ginny's understanding was correct. Clarissa had a bow in her hair, as always, and stood there in her little black buckle shoes and red tights, looking at the camera, smiling and pulling at her dress.

"Say Merry Christmas Daddy," a woman requested from off camera, her voice different than any they had heard up until that point, her voice Scottish.

Draco's hand tightened. Connor looked over at them for a moment as though unable to believe his ears, Michelangelo and Clarissa entranced.

Little Clarissa muttered something inaudible that only barely resembled "Merry Christmas Daddy," that clearly too difficult for her to say, but her smiling anyways, like she had done well in her own opinion. She sat down with a simple flop onto her bum and pulled at the bow in her hair and Nymphadora scooped her up.

"No, no, leave that there," she laughed, straightening the bow and giving Clarissa raspberry cheeks again, Clarissa practically screaming in delight.

The camera's picture shook for a moment, and there seemed to be some arguing all muffled by the hands grabbing at the device, but eventually there was a triumphant "ha!" from Ted as he now had the camera, apparently stripped from Christina. She was turned away, and blindly swatting at the lens, apparently not thrilled with being on film.

"Happy Christmas, Christina," Ted said, laughing and Christina shoved at him. "Come on," he said.

Clarissa was sitting up now on the bed, staring at the television, Michelangelo silent, Connor just as enthralled. Draco's hand on Ginny's was very tight and unrelenting. She could tell he was nervous about this, but a part of him seemed excited too, like he wanted to know his children's reactions to seeing their mother for the first time. Well, more than a picture that is. Michelangelo had seen a few pictures of her in those books he had read, but Clarissa was without exposure to her yet as far as Draco knew.

Turning slowly, like some kind of staged reveal, Christina looked at the camera, looking right into the lens as though right at each of them as they watched.

She stood there in a red jumper and black jeans, wild hair clashing with the jumper badly, but then few colors complementing that particular shade of orange. Her hooded green eyes were narrowed with her lack of amusement, pouting full lips pursed slightly. She had a long face, long neck, long arms, long body, long legs. Even without someone else in the shot for comparison it was obvious she was tall.

Ginny saw, for the first time, the `other woman' in Draco's life, and though she could see some similarities shared between the two of them, she realized for the first time that Christina actually looked quite different than her. Ginny had a round face, brown softer eyes, relaxed more ginger hair, and a fuller body. Other than the red hair, fair skin, and freckles, really, they didn't seem all that much alike at all, which Ginny found a relief in many ways. She could tell, through the snug red jumper, however, that Christina was a well-endowed woman, as was Ginny, and Ginny got the impression that there was one physical thing that she and his wife shared that Draco had undoubtedly enjoyed equally.

"Wish Draco a Merry Christmas, come on," Ted coached, like they did with the children when they had the camera pointed on them.

"Merry Christmas, Dre," she said, accent thick and rolling, glare softening considerably though it obvious there was a sigh in there, like she was giving in so as to not have to spend more time in front of the lens than necessary.

"She was beautiful," Clarissa said, sounding a little breathless as she laid eyes on her mother for the first time.

"You look just like her," Draco said, Ginny for the first time able to understand what Draco meant by that. She had always felt the children were a spitting image of him, but having now finally seen their mother, she could appreciate Clarissa's looks in comparison. She had her mother's hooded eyes, but her father's color. Her chin was her father's, but her cheekbones were her mothers, though both were equally high. The freckles were there, as where the curls, the most obvious inherited traits, but those full lips, those long legs, Clarissa did look quite a bit like her mother. Michelangelo too had her hooded eyes and curls. He looked more like his father, the children both having his nose which certainly dominated their resemblance over-all, but their mother was there in them, in a way Ginny, and likely they themselves, had never appreciated before.

Little Michelangelo appeared onscreen then, in his mother's arms. He was in a pair of denim shorts, red knee socks and little black shoes just out of view. His jumper was green with a leaping reindeer on it, nose blinking red. He was grinning, this being not only Christmas but his third birthday as well. Christina had her cheek pressed right up against his, and was smiling, turning her upper body from side to side slightly while hugging him in an affectionate way.

"I remember that," Michelangelo said quietly, Draco's foot nudging him slightly, but in a loving and comforting way this time, because he knew Michelangelo was crying.

Author's note:

OMG, working two jobs, 14 hour days, 7 days a week is KILLING me. Wondering why there were no updates in a while? Answer: I NEED TO SLEEP SOMETIME!

Anyways, I hope you liked that chapter. A little bit of angst near the beginning with the hospital, the medications, and the ministry showing up and blackmailing Draco, but I think I rounded it off nicely with lovely Connor coming back, Michael and Claire bonding with him and HOME MOVIES! This chapter makes me cry, I swear. I LOVE writing about babies. Draco and Ginny will have lots of babies 400 BABIES because I love babies.

Draco is crazy, BUT the car accident served a purpose, it got Draco to finally start taking care of himself. I can almost promise you with absolutely NO certainty that nothing bad will happen to Draco for a while. I think he is all funned out for a while. Some of you were confused with the last chapter and asked "whoa, what happened? He was in the library, now a car accident?" the point of that was, Draco couldn't remember what happened, so we didn't know what happened. He had a memory and was in an accident, we got to see that memory. If you wondered what happened in that memory, Draco was raped. I'm so nice.

Alright, review! I am tired, I haven't spelt in three days, I just got off of work and thought of you guys. Instead of sleeping, or eating (which I haven't done yet today) I am reading over a 28 page chapter and posting it. I NEED reviews or I will DIE!

Die? Yes, die.

I'm fragile.

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