Fallen Angel
Chapter 02
Draco and Ginny woke early, Ginny running to the bathroom before Draco was even fully aware of himself. She was either going to be sick, or she had to pee again. Draco, for the life of him, did not envy women. He was a bloke, and he was glad to be one, so glad in fact that if he had been born a girl, he would have seen to it that he was a male by now. He respected what Ginny was going through as best he could, but she would only allow so much of his sympathies before she would just start shouting at him that he had "no idea, no bloody idea!" what it was like or what she was going through, so he had stopped trying. That didn't stop him, however, from reading every parenting book out there. He was a father already, but that didn't mean he had a clue what he was doing or what to expect. He wasn't sure what he was getting himself into, but with Ginny there, and his mother, and hopefully the Weasleys, he was sure between them all it would get done.
Stretching, Draco lingered, needing to use the bathroom before dressing but having to wait on Ginny. He supposed the best he could do for her, while she went through all the hormonal mayhem, was not to complain about it. So she yelled at him a lot, and took up the bathroom for an hour at a time, and complained. He was known to be a complainer himself, he spent more time than the average man preening in the bathroom, and he might not be hormonal, but he was a werewolf, so he knew what having a bad time of the month was like.
Did it make Draco a bad father because a very small part of him was a little sad Michelangelo was coming home because that meant that opportunities for sex with Ginny would be fewer and farther between? Clarissa slept like a log, but Michelangelo was like a leaf. He woke up at the smallest of sounds. Clarissa being home never stopped Draco and Ginny form getting close, but Michelangelo would never allow it. Draco had thought he could get Michelangelo to be more accepting of Ginny by now, after six months, but nothing seemed to work, not even being the first to be told about the baby was enough. He knew his son was not about to make this summer easy.
Draco remembered that conversation. Before the world knew he had two children already, he had to tell his eldest that he was to be a daddy…again.
"Hello," Draco greeted, Minerva McGonagall approaching, apparently on her lonesome.
"You know, there are no rules against students receiving visits from their parents, on school grounds," she said, sounding annoyed as she joined Draco at his table in the Hogshead, in Hogsmeade.
"I have not stepped foot in that school in fourteen years, and I'm not about to now. I know it is a lot to ask of you, to take time out of your busy Saturday to escort my beloved son down here, after you betrayed me and left me to rot in Azkaban and all…but hey, let's just say I owe you for this," he said with a very pleasant tone and a smile that was not pleasant at all given the harshness of his eyes and the cruel undertones of what he was saying. Minerva had believed Draco had turned traitor in the last battle and that he had only proclaimed innocence as a means of avoiding incarceration. She did not know until months after the fact that what he had said was true and that she had, basically, promised him a pardon as payment for his redemption and services to the Order at his own great personal risk, and reneged on it.
Draco, like he had just said, had not entered the Hogwarts grounds since that night in the lightning struck tower where Dumbledore had fallen (literally), and he was not about to do so now. Minerva owed him, and he was going to exploit that.
"Fine, fine!" Minerva growled, ordering herself a drink.
"So, where is he?" Draco asked, seeing Minerva making herself comfortable but his son was still nowhere in sight.
"He said he needed to use the restroom," she said, accepting her drink that just magically (literally) appeared on the table before her.
"What are you doing?" he asked in bored tones as he eyed her.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't just sit here like you will be a part of this conversation, shoo," he said, waving his fingers at her in a shooing motion.
"I am his escort, I will be remaining with him-"
"I appreciate your concern, I really do-not…but I am his father and am more than capable of watching over him and see to it no harm comes to him myself. I shall call for you when your services are needed again to see him safely back to the castle."
"Draco, don't you dare sit here and…" she said but Draco looked like he was not going to have any of it.
"Fine, do what you like, you will anyways, no matter what any of us say," she snapped, standing and dropping a gold coin on the table for her drink. "I don't know what to say since `I'm sorry' doesn't seem to be enough for you."
"You're right, it isn't. Now be gone from me," he said in manner he once used for servants and House-elves, drawing much satisfaction from dismissing the woman like a substandard.
McGonagall was barely out the door when Michelangelo appeared timidly behind Draco, as though hiding from sight.
"Is she gone?" he asked.
"Yes," Draco answered.
"Thank God, that woman drives me mental. Having the ghosts stalk me, the paintings keeping tabs. She is always cornering me in the passages, asking if I need anything, if my secret is still safe, if I need more Wolfsbane. I swear, she is more uptight than you and Nana combined," he exclaimed in his drawling smooth voice that he had inherited from his daddy. In fact, he looked just like his daddy when he was that age. He had that same pointed face and heavy-lidded eyes that actually took work to make look friendly rather than harsh as they always seemed to be set at a glare. His skin was like warm milk and hair like spun sunlight. He was thin and kind of small for his age, just like Draco had been. As much as he looked like his father, smirk and all, there were still plenty of traits in him thanks to his mother. The most notable were all the curls. Michelangelo's head was a mass of tightly sprung ringlets. Their length alone and thus weight was what kept them from sticking up too much. They hung down across his forehead and in his eyes, over his ears and down the back of his neck. A more subtle characteristic he had inherited from his mother was freckles. Both he and his sister had them. No Malfoy had ever had freckles, and the Blacks certainly didn't have much of a predisposition for them, but they dusted the nose and cheeks of both Draco's children, helping them look less like living-porcelain dolls and more like adorable little cherub children. The freckles were most certainly misleading.
"You have me to thank for that, some what. I did ask her to look after you, but a lot of her overbearing attention is her trying to compensate for the guilt she carries and feels still."
"You still haven't forgiven her?"
"Maybe, but I can't clue her into that, or I won't get anymore favors out of her and I won't be able to visit you like this," Draco said with a smirk, his son able to appreciate his deviousness and smirk back. They were a pair of Slytherins, the two of them
"Yeah, well, it's ducky since I am the only student under third-year that has gotten to come down here, and no one as often as me," he said, picking at the label of the Butterbeer that appeared before him. "What is the purpose of this visit? Not that it isn't always nice to see you, but I didn't expect another visit until next weekend. You didn't mention in any of your letters that you would be coming up here, so it seems rather sudden to me, like something has come up," Michelangelo said, demonstrating, once again, his extreme perceptiveness and insight. He was small so most mistook him for younger than he was, but if they heard the things that often came out of his mouth, they would guess him to be much older than 12.
"Yes, well," Draco said, then picking at his own bottle's label but in a more nervous, less bored, way.
"What's up? Your arm okay? The Ministry not giving you a hard time? I mean, they pardoned you, they have no right to…" he said, starting to get heated in his father's defense but Draco raised his good arm to make an ease back motion to calm his concerned son.
"No, no, it has nothing to do with that and my arm is fine, the infection is still clearing up," he assured, Michelangelo a total mess with worry over his father when he learned he had been shot last month, and then again when he learned his father had collapsed due to the infection that had set in to the poorly tended wound. Michelangelo was just a boy still and already he hated the Ministry with a passion. He had some legitimate reasons why too, which almost made it worse.
Draco took a deep breath, black circles around his slightly sunken in eyes showing just how ill he was still. "How is school?" he asked.
"You are avoiding my question."
"No I'm not."
"Yes you are."
"I am not, I am delaying it, tell me about school," Draco deflected, honestly interested but stalling at the same time and not hiding that fact.
"Everything is going fine, like I said in my letter yesterday. Not much has happened between then and now."
"You said you had Quidditch play today?" Draco prompted. The school, for first years and those not on the teams, allowed the field to be used when no one else had it booked. Often times, on weekends, there were small games, few coming to watch but plenty willing to play. It was sort of a free-play and a means of practicing for the hopefuls of next year. Michelangelo was one of those hopefuls. He wanted nothing more than to make the Slytherin Quidditch Team in his second year like his father before him and his father before that. He showed great promise for a first year, but Draco felt the need to inform his son that it was highly unusual for someone to make their house team before their fourth year, them usually having to tryout at least twice before getting a spot on the team if they prove good enough. Michelangelo wouldn't hear it, however, convinced he could do anything his father could do, Draco unwilling to tell his son that he himself was unsure of his capability of doing what his father had done, which was buy him onto the team.
He had been skilled, but not so much as a Seeker but as a Chaser, but unfortunately, the only open position had been Seeker and, well, the rest was history. Once his and Harry's rivalry on the Pitch was established he couldn't go and change positions, it would be like accepting defeat, so instead he was served defeat every match against Gryffindor. Was that better? In some ways yes, in others Draco wished his Malfoy Pride would cut him some slack so he could do the smart thing for once. It seemed that Michelangelo had that proud streak in him too, and though Draco knew the dangers of that, he let his son run his course, the problem with the pride being Michelangelo wouldn't accept his offered advice anyways, so it was a waste of effort on something as inconsequential a thing.
Michelangelo humored his father with a play-by-play for a while; Draco excited for his son's team victory and proud of him, but soon Michelangelo grew bored of entertaining his father in his one-sided conversation and wanted to know what was up.
"Well," Draco said, thinking about how he could get onto the topic without just blurting out the situation. "I was hoping to learn from you how you are adjusting to the whole Ginny situation," he started off by saying.
"Fine," Michelangelo said just a little too readily. Draco just tapped the side of his own nose with his pointer finger, that being his sign between him and his children when he wanted the truth, them all knowing he knew when they lied. "Dealing," he said then, still being vague but honest at least.
"You okay with these plans I have made? I have tried my best to make you a part of them and include you in everything while you are here." he said, already having written to his son about moving into number twelve by summer.
"Yeah, I mean, I'm still getting used to Ginny, but I won't miss that apartment," Michelangelo said, smiling at his father's bashful chuckle, knowing their home was less than glamorous or even humble. Michelangelo and Clarissa had lived with their Grandmother while Draco was in Azkaban, and then moved in with him once he got his own place, even though his apartment was a step down from where they had previously been. The children wanted to be with their daddy. The first time he had been able to hug them, hold them, pick them up, he hadn't put them back down. The first few months they lived together they all shared his bed, him -possibly more then even the children- needing the closeness. Nine years without any physical human contact was a long time.
"How are you adjusting to Ginny? I mean, you think you could cut her some slack yet?" Draco pushed. Michelangelo, like him, did not respond well to being pushed, or being told what to do. Malfoys were a stubborn breed too, on top of being prideful and arrogant. It all made for a bad combination really.
"What is going on? You never talk to me about Ginny, never. I never ask, you never divulge. What has happened? You two break up?" he asked, sounding just a touch too hopeful.
"No," Draco mumbled.
"Oh-god," Michelangelo said and Draco looked up at him. He hadn't figured it out had he? Damn his son being so much like him, for being so smart. "You two aren't getting married are you?" he asked and Draco blinked. Okay, so Michelangelo hadn't guessed, but he was damn close so the tightness in his chest did not lift.
"No, well, I mean, I asked her…"
"You asked Ginny to marry you? What, and she said no?" Michelangelo asked as he leaned across the table so his arms were pinned under his chest as he inclined towards Draco, sounding stunned at first that he would ask her, and then outraged that she would have the audacity to refuse him. This woman was supposed to love him and she would say no? Who did she think she was?
"Yes, I offered to marry her, and no, she didn't really say no, but…" he said, trailing off. Michelangelo could see the hurt in his father's eyes, though he hid it well. Draco was sad that Ginny had refused him, and Michelangelo hated her for that.
"What's going on?" he asked again, expecting a real answer this time.
"You know that I love you and Clarissa to pieces and bits, right?" he started by asking.
"Of course, we are bloody adorable," Michelangelo said smartly though in a dismissive way, like his cuteness was never a question as he leaned back to thump his back against his chair. Draco sighed.
"Well, I have wanted to add to the brood for, well, years now," he then attempted to explain. He had given Michelangelo "the talk" already and yet that seemed so much easier than this. Talking to his son about masturbation and sex was one thing, talking to his son about his own sex life was another.
Michelangelo looked at his father with very intent eyes, waiting for Draco to just say what he came there to say.
"Ginny and I are…without having really planned it or discussed it…but still very responsibly mind you…with a safety net and the maturity to handle this…" Draco rambled on, now caught between telling his son he was never to have sex, ever…and just owning up to what happened because he himself had had sex.
"What?" Michelangelo demanded.
"Ginny and I are going to have a baby," he then just said, admitting to it in a very hushed voice so that it wouldn't carry. Not that there were ever many in the Hogshead anyways, still, the walls had ears.
Michelangelo did not respond verbally right away. He mostly just stared with pursed lips. That was something his grandmother had clearly taught him. Draco, trying to be the adult in the situation, did his best not to slump and fidget under his son's gaze like a child that had behaved naughty, but it was difficult. His children and him had a very open relationship, but that seemed to gave his children this sense of control over him, like they had equal say in all he did just as he did them.
"I can't believe…I mean, are you serious?" Michelangelo finally managed.
"Yeah," Draco said heavily.
"Oh my God, like…wow. What did Nana have to say?" he asked.
"You are the first I have told," Draco admitted and Michelangelo looked shocked all over again.
"Are you joking?"
"No. Ginny told me, and now I have told you."
"Why me first?"
"Because your opinion is what matters most to me at the moment, because you are here so I can't tell you at the same time I would the rest of the family, because I think you deserve to know given all the grief we have caused each other over me dating Ginny," Draco said simply.
"Nana is going to fly off the Quidditch Pitch over this."
"I know, thus why I am appealing to you first. I really need your support in this since we both know and understand the hell I am going to get from the family, mine and hers."
"But," Michelangelo said, sighing. "I still don't like it that you are even with Ginny," he said, back on this topic again, this underlying problem.
"I know, but if you would but give her a chance," Draco beseeched.
"I did, I tried. I just don't like her and I don't know any other way of getting you to understand that then by just bloody flat out say it: I don't like her!" he snapped.
"Tone it down," Draco reprimanded, knowing his son was upset but not about to let him talk to him in such a way.
"I have respected your desire to see her, but a baby? Dad, are you serious? You can't be having a baby with her. I mean, physically you can, but you know what I mean…people will flip! The papers will go nuts, even more so than when they discovered you were seeing her…and the Ministry-"
"Michael, I know. I have a greater grasp on such things than you, I think," he said, tired and a headache already in place as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
Michelangelo leaned back to bump his back against his chair as he crossed his arms and waited for…something, for his father to jump up and say "fooled you!" or for someone to wake him up from this nightmare, but as the minutes ticked by, it seemed less and less likely that either of those two things were bound to happen.
"I want you to give Ginny a chance."
"I did already."
"I want you to give my relationship with her a chance," Draco sighed.
"I tried."
"What do you want from me?" Draco then demanded, not wanting to snap at his child but at wit's end here.
"I want you to just be my dad, I want things to be how they were, how it was when you came home and had nothing but our love. You didn't need anyone else then, I don't need a mother," he said and Draco looked down guiltily at the sound of his son's desperation in communicating the longing he had for when it was just the three of them, Clarissa and them, just the three of them loving and taking care of each other. "I don't like you dating her, or asking her to marry you, or having a baby with her. Don't I get a say in this? This is not only your life you're messing around with!"
"Michael, we have been over this, I am the father here, and I don't have to ask you for permission to do anything."
"I don't want Ginny living with us."
"She has no where to go."
"If she hadn't cheated on her boyfriend she wouldn't have been kicked out of her house!" Michelangelo snapped but Draco slammed his drink down on the table in an irritated sort of way that caused Michelangelo to flinch and stop.
"That's enough," Draco warned, not about to hear this anymore. "You're disrespect towards me is inexcusable yet I always let it slide, but I won't when it comes to Ginny."
"Sorry," Michelangelo mumbled, still looking angered.
Ginny came back into the bedroom, drawing Draco out of his memory and he gave her a kiss before heading off to wash up himself, not mentioning the little "daydream" as he liked to call it because they worried her. Learning that he fell totally motionless and largely mute while gazing distantly in these "daydreams", and that he exhibited purposeless agitation, worried him since he had gone and read up on Schizophrenia and learned that those were some of the more "severe" symptoms. He hadn't told Ginny what Dr. Valensclaro had said. Firstly, he didn't want to believe him, desperately didn't want to believe him. But also couldn't worry Ginny in such a way in her condition. He had learned that being pregnant did not mean she was "broken" and though he had questioned if it were safe for her to do just about anything -from ride in a car, to vacuum- while pregnant at first, he knew now she was fully functional in most any way, but still, he couldn't tell her he was quite possibly extremely mentally disturbed.
It had been four months ago that he talked to Michelangelo, and the boy hadn't warmed up to the idea of Ginny yet, but he was adjusting…slowly. Okay, so the boy wouldn't talk to Ginny but when left no other choice, and he was pleasant enough when he wasn't being an angsty brat of a teenager, but Draco took it all in stride. He was sure, once the baby was born, Michelangelo would hold him or her in his arms and feel like it was all okay in the end because he had a little brother or sister now. Few could resist the allure of a tiny baby, even the Dark Lord had succumb to the cuteness of a baby Malfoy, sparing his, Draco's, life when he could have easily killed him that night he was born. Instead he named him. Draco couldn't complain about the name given what options were laid out that night as for his fate.
Dressing smartly since he knew he was gong to get his picture taken a lot today (vain, him? You bet,) Draco stepped out to grab some breakfast Ginny was making him. Three meals a-day: doctor's orders, or just Ginny's…either or. He still only ate small portions, and it always took him forever, and he had already gained all the weight he felt he really needed to gain, but refusing, even with the excuse of being late, wasn't an option with Ginny standing there with her wand drawn, hot skillet within reach.
"I say, is all this attention really necessary?" Lupin asked as he stood with Draco on Platform 9 3/4, waiting for the train to arrive. Draco was dressed in a lightweight set of black robes, sleek and new, so as to keep his skin covered. He was out in public, but even so, at home as well, he tied to keep his arms covered so as to hide his scars, and he was not a shorts and sandals kind of chap in the first place. His fitted shirt was black, as were his tight jeans and boots. He was standing there in a sort of leaning pose, arms crossed, head slowly surveying the crowd while his eyes were shielded by black sunglasses. He had a little bit of gold again, and he couldn't resist buying some snappy threads right away. He had lived in rags for years, he and his children deserved better than that, and hey, so did he, and now they had it.
"I would say they will all get over it, in time, but look at all the attention Potter gets years later with having done nothing significant in a long time," Draco drawled, lips barley moving as he stood with his good friend. Remus Lupin was not only part of his family through marriage (he had married Nymphadora Tonks, Draco's cousin) but he was his two children's Godfather and guardian should anything ever happen to him.
"Be nice, Draco," Ginny warned though lightly as she stood on his other side, her robes full and swishy, a clever pocket spell put to good use to hide her pregnant belly. The same spell used to deepen pockets and expand the interior of things like cars and closets, was cast on the interior of the front of her robes, so her stomach vanished into this deep unseen chasm in front of her, creating the illusion that her robes were falling flat. It was tricky since everything from a dump to a gust of wind could ruin the illusion, but Draco was impressed by Ginny's ingenuity. He had nearly forgotten after years in Azkaban why he had fallen in love with Ginny from afar all those years ago in Hogwarts. She was, after all, a very clever and powerful witch.
"Yes ma'm," Draco drawled, smirking in his signature fashion because Ginny couldn't say anything about him giving her attitude with so many people around, many of them watching them and several taking pictures. The smirk had sparked a sudden round of flashbulbs going off.
The train was to pull up soon, but until then, Lupin and Draco chatted quietly, trying to act like they were not the center of attention on the platform. Draco had always resented Harry's celebrity, but there were few times he envied it. Well, maybe he had envied the attention, but not the trouble. People were insane. There weren't many better looking people out there to stand around and stare at, but certainly there were more important things for them to focus on…well, thinking on that…Draco smiled at his own conceitedness. People found him interesting, who was he to argue?
"I don't understand why she would up and leave, I mean, this is not easy for any of us to live with, but she had been dealing for years and always seemed so upbeat. I would dare to say this is very unlike her," Lupin said and Draco nodded slowly, listening. Ginny's ears tingled with curiosity as she eavesdropped. Who were they talking about? Tonks was right there with them.
"I don't understand it either. I just saw her last week, she seemed causal and normal to me, no sense of distress or anxiety, and I would know after all, I wasn't trying to stop myself from reading her."
"It has me worried," Lupin confessed, his prematurely aged face worn with concern.
"Has anyone contacted her family, I mean, Fergie's family was considerably more understanding than most."
"I know."
"Who are you two talking about?" Ginny asked, lost and now hearing a name she did not recognize she had to inquire.
"This woman we know, we call her Fergie down at the pen," -short for "penitentiary" where the werewolves the Ministry had documented and numbered hauled up for the full moon- "she seems to have run away," Draco explained before Lupin interrupted to finish.
"But many of us," he said, meaning werewolves, "think something sinister went down, like she was kidnapped or hurt. She wouldn't have run away, the Ministry keeps such close tabs on us that she wouldn't risk the trouble she would get into for not reporting in for the moon, and she was a pretty thing, relatively new, so it is not entirely impossible that she was grabbed by someone, you know the sorts of things people do when they corner themselves a werewolf," he said darkly. Ginny swallowed and nodded, knowing what he meant. Werewolves were hardly considered people to this day. Though there were laws in place to protect their rights now that did not change public opinion or the fact that for years they were classified as "Creatures of or near Human intelligence" at best. Firing someone for being a werewolf was considered "discrimination" now, but there were always loop holes. They were late too often, accused of stealing from the office, something, and life on the street was even harder. Since werewolves struggled to get or keep jobs, and were forbidden to interact with Muggles, they were often poor and homeless, and when cornered by a bigoted witch or wizard, well, lets just say that their fait was not that of a kind euthanasia like a stray dog's would be.
Lupin and Draco were not above such torments and bigotry, but they handled it in stride, but she couldn't recall anything truly terrible happening to either of them in years, so hearing about something bad happening to someone they both knew chilled her to the bone. She had to resist placing her hand on her stomach, where Draco's unborn pup moved as though it too were fretful of the world it would shortly be thrust into.
"The Ministry looking into this?" she asked, not really wanting to stay on such a dismal topic on such a beautiful day, but unable to resist the idle hope of some reassurance.
"The Ministry? Search for a missing werewolf? Are you mad?" Draco drawled, looking at her like he seriously worried over his wife's sanity.
"What Draco is trying to say is, the Ministry may defend our rights on paper, but you would be hard-pressed to get them to stand from their desks for a wolf. They will only make a case of things if she misses a full moon, and then only because they would consider her a rogue, a `danger to the community'."
"You mean, they wouldn't care if she was in danger, but the second she is a threat to someone else, they will do something? Ginny asked, shock readable in her voice. Draco found Ginny's innocence and naivety in the matter heartwarming but a little depressing at the same time.
"That's about it," he said, not letting his anger break through his placid mask.
The train could be heard long before it could be seen, so Draco dropped the topic there and stopped leaning to prepare for his son's arrival. There would be pictures taken, flashes blazing. There was a reason he was wearing sunglasses, and it wasn't only because he looked smashing in them.
Phinnaeus was the first of their party off, and he greeted his mother and scared father with a hug. Several pictures were taken. Fleur was just as lovely as she had always been. Having had four children and fourteen years pass her by, she looked marvelous. Not a drop of weight ever clung to her but for where it made her look that much sexier. She was tall, and dignified, and beautiful. She was a model when she wanted to be, a mother most of the time. Bill, on the other hand, once so strapping and handsome, was still good looking but in a very distinctive and rugged way. Draco was thankful that when Greyback had attacked him he had saved his face. Bill hadn't been so lucky. The scars were "character building" for sure, but sort of in the same way Ginny said his apartment had "character", meaning it was a nice was of saying "ghastly". Bill was unbothered by his looks, compromised or not. For a guy once so good looking and with such a beautiful wife, he was the least shallow man Draco had ever met.
Michelangelo was off the train after his quasi-cousin and was greeted by flashbulbs, a lot of them. He managed to not glare, too fiercely, as he threw his bag's strap up on his shoulder properly and stalked over to his awaiting father. Draco wanted to give him a hug but Michelangelo was at that stage, at that age, where hugs were not "cool". There would be a time, once he was a man, that they could hug again and it not compromise Michelangelo's masculinity, but right now, Michelangelo would be mortified if Draco had hugged him in front of all those people. So Draco did it. He grabbed his son by each shoulder and pulled him into his chest to hug him because he was not about to get his picture taken a hundred times after getting up early to not get a hug out of it all. Michelangelo would survive, he might not speak to him again in that time, but the boy would carry on.
"Good to see you home, son," Draco said, sounding just like his father, affectionate while oh-so proper at the same time. He wasn't even trying; it was just like he fell into that role, him wanting so much to be his father.
"Yeah-yeah, like I had a choice?" Michelangelo grumbled, happy to be home but too stubborn to show it. Draco could sense how his son felt, and other than horrified at being hugged and it being photographed for surely the whole world to see come evening, he was glad to be home, glad to see him. Michelangelo had sprouted since entering Hogwarts, and the last few months had seen him shoot up a few inches.
"Michael!" Clarissa squealed with glee as she ran up to him and hopped up with her arms wide open to hug him around the neck and laugh. Flashbulbs erupted all over again. "Good that you are home!" she giggled, knowing she was only adding to her brother's humiliation. She didn't care, she liked the attention. She had stood over by one of the pillars, smiling and holding the bottom edge of each side of her knee-length blue sundress out like she was going to curtsy, and posed and smiled and spun around for the cameras to bath her in their flashes and praises. They asked her to look this way and that while telling her she was very pretty and what a lovely little dress she had on, asking if her daddy had picked it out for her, which she had happily replied "yes" to. She blew kisses and winked and giggled and played up to the cameras with a sort of natural ease and comfort.
Draco didn't know where Clarissa got it from. Ginny knew, and she had to laugh at Draco for being unable to see how much Clarissa acted like him, but in a distinctively more girly-fashion.
"Alright, alright, come on everyone, let's stop congesting the platform. Boys, could you get the trunks?" Mrs. Weasley said, looking to her sons Fred and George to pick up the school-things.
"Sure thing, Mum," the answered, drawing their wands as they headed off to the baggage car before too many people clogged up the area and delayed the family's departure.
Trunks, owls, and children now in tow, The Weasleys, Malfoys, and Lupins, headed back to the Burrow for a picnic. The family was so massive now that Fred and George had to fund the "little get-together". Tables had to be rented, food ordered, seating arranged, and plenty of activities arranged to keep all the grandchildren occupied while the adults tried to mingle without too much worry. Draco had never been to any such family gathering before. He had been to garden parties, but they were nothing like this, nothing less then painfully proper and hushed, women talking softly, separate from the men who smoked and talked a lot of business while string quartets played softly amidst the garden fountain and peacocks. Draco had spent those parties attempting to avoid his admirer, Pansy, and try to sneak into the alcohol the adults had but never shared. Draco had attended a Christmas with the Weasleys, but it had not been with the family, just the friends. It had just been Ginny, Réamann, Harry, Hermione, Tonks and Lupin, Neville and his wife Orla, and Ron and Mrs. Weasley. It had been nice, but Draco had passed on Easter, because the full moon had landed so close to the holiday that year that he had been able to use it as excuse as to not meet the massive family. Now, he was out of excuses and means of delaying this, and Draco was a little nervous.
The Weasley brothers had all had something to say about Draco getting their sister pregnant, and though he hadn't been beaten quite like he had when they learned she and him were dating, they had put the fear of God in him. More accurately, they put a good healthy fear of wands in him. Five months had brought the blokes around a bit, and they turned out to be rather fun and welcoming, but still, Draco was a Malfoy in a sea of Weasleys, and he stuck out like a sore thumb in the mass of redheads.
"Uncle Draco?" little five-year-old Bridget asked him as they stood in the kitchen of the Burrow but an hour later.
"Yes?" Draco asked, looking at the puny redhead at his knees. She was a spawn of Percy's. He knew her name, and whom she belonged to only because of his Legilimency. He wouldn't have had a hope of knowing anyone apart without this sixth sense of his since five of the six Weasley brothers had bread so hurriedly. There were already twenty-three grandchildren, and that was without Ron having had any children of his own yet. If you count Hermione and Harry's, and then Ginny's, the family was showing no signs of slowing down either.
"Clarissa told me you make pancakes," she said, a digit tucked into the pouch of her cheek as she talked, looking up at him with brown eyes that seemed to be three sizes larger than they should have been for her little face.
"I do," he said, being joined by a few more runty-redheads.
"We want pancakes," another chirped. Cian: son of Fred.
"There is a lot of food outside already," he said, more little redheads crawling out of the wood work. Dermot: son of Charley, Elva: daughter of George, Kelan: son of Bill, Padraic: son of Percy, and Torin: son of Charley, all came to stare up at him. From the moment Draco had stepped into the home, everyone three feet and smaller had become enthralled with him. The older children seemed only mildly interested in their new "uncle Draco" with all the games and fun to be had outside, but the smaller ones who needed more attention and watching, the ones too young to know and fear a werewolf, flocked to Draco like he was some Pied Piper for midget redheads. He had thought he lost them by the sofa but they had found him, and again they were all about him, threatening to trip him up or be stepped on.
"This is not my home, I don't think it is my place to cook anything," he attempted as Molly walked by, unconcerned with the situation.
"Oh, I don't mind dear, just don't make a mess," she said as she vanished out the back door to join those outside. Draco stared at where she had just gone and sighed as redheads pawed at his knees.
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"Where's Draco?" Ginny asked Angelina as she looked around, unable to find her blond-man anywhere. Even with Angelina's dark skin and hair, she did not stick out quite like Draco did. Maybe everyone was just more accustomed to having her around, or that the platinum hair was just that much more light-catching, but amongst the redheads, she fit perfectly it seemed.
"Entertaining the young'ins inside," Angelina laughed as she sat there on a lawn chair as the children chased the gnomes about. She and Fred had made some beautiful red-haired, medium-skinned, bark-eye babies. Ginny stood with a heave and made her way into the back door where she found Draco with all her littlest nephews and nieces. He was cooking, something she always found amusing, but not for his skill (he was quite talented) but because it was always a sight to see. Draco Malfoy cooking like a Muggle. You expected him to have servants do such a chore, or at the very least use magic, but no, not him, not anymore anyways. There he was, entertaining the children just like she had been told, with a pan and a spatula he had dug out from one cupboard or another.
"Can you flip them? Like, way up in the air?" Padraic asked, watching as Draco did something he had never seen in his life, cooking the Muggle way.
"I sure can," Draco boasted, tending to the cooking batter.
"How high?" Torin asked, one of the smallest and yet able to sit there and talk and wonder.
"Real high," he said as he demonstrated, using the spatula to flip the pancake up into the air and catch it on plate he had grabbed with his other hand with practiced ease that left the wee children in awe.
"Wow!" a few of them exclaimed as Draco flipped pancake after pancake on to the plate (only not that high this time,) cooking them fast for each to have one and not fight. They were all perfectly formed and the same size even, so the children couldn't complain over favoritism. Ginny was impressed.
"I told you, there is nothing my dad can't do," Clarissa gushed, the little Weasley children all munching but nodding in agreement as they each held the simple pancakes in their hands and ate away at them, some making more of a mess with their crumbling than others.
"Very nice," Ginny praised as she moved over. Draco looked up in what seemed like surprise that he had more of an audience then he had first thought, but smiled when he realized it was only Ginny and she was not teasing.
"Thank you," he said, planting a small kiss on her lips.
"I bet there are things you can't do," Kelan, the oldest one of the bunch said.
"You think so?" Draco said confidently, almost challenging the little boy to think of something he couldn't do.
"I bet you can't…ride a horse, backwards!" he said, thinking hard for something difficult in his own mind. Draco just smirked and Ginny caught that shadow of his old-self reemerge.
"Frontwards, backwards, you name it, I can do it," Draco said confidently, his horses being his first true love.
"I bet you can't…talk backwards!" he attempted, already flustered by his new uncle's buoyancy.
Draco paused for a moment, looked up, and then smirked again.
"Try I if can I bet…" he teased. He could write backwards, but speaking it was a whole other story.
Kelan looked flustered so another child spoke up.
"Tap-dance?"
"Since I was small," Draco smiled.
"Juggle?" another propositioned?
"You bet."
"Can you draw?"
"Art is always a matter of opinion, and mine is of the finest if you ask me," Draco laughed.
The small children seemed enthralled by their uncle's perceived greatness, and Ginny had to hide a smile behind her hand as Draco basked in the affections of the ankle-biters.
"Yeah? Well, you can't do magic!" Kelan then blurted out and Draco's smile wilted a little as he turned to look down at the young boy who had been so daring.
"He can to, he just doesn't. He went to Hogwarts and was top of his class!" Clarissa leapt in, defending her daddy with figurative fists flying.
"Alright, Kelan, we had our fun," Ginny said, Draco seemingly unbothered by it what had been said beyond his initial reaction. "Where is your daddy, outside?" she asked, attempting to dispense the little-ones to whom they belong.
"Hey there you," Ginny said once she had Draco to herself.
"Hey," he said, nuzzling her a little with his nose like he always did.
"How is your day going so far?" she asked, knowing Draco had been stuck fleeing from the rugrats all morning.
"Your family is really kind, I now know why you cherish them so much," he said, his nose behind her ear.
"I take it your family isn't like this?"
"Like what, massive? No," he said and Ginny smiled, closing her eyes as she did so. "My family is little, so a get-together is just the handful of us, and my mother is very particular about manners and etiquette." There was a loud gleeful scream of a child from outside. "That would never be allowed," Draco said and Ginny laughed.
"I'm happy you are here with me," she said as Draco hugged her from behind, his nose still in the hair behind her ear sending shivers down her spine.
"I'm glad you would have me," he said before getting a devilish grin across his face. "Remember the last time you and I were here?" he said, speaking of the Burrow in general and not the kitchen in particular.
"Draco," she giggled as Draco's hands moved from holding her pregnant tummy to lower.
"I don't think, with so many people here, that they would miss us if we were scarce for, oh, an hour or so," he teased.
"An hour? Draco…" she started to protest with a giggle at the thought of rolling around in a romp with Draco for an hour, but Draco had her by the arm and was already leading her towards the stairs.
It was hot in the kitchen; they needed to go somewhere where they could have less clothing on.
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Michelangelo sat in the living room with Phinnaeus and a few of his cousins that were closest to their age but was being distant.
"I don't get what's with you and this attitude," Phinnaeus said as Michelangelo continued to look the other way, chin perched on the palm of his hand and elbow on the arm of the beaten up couch. His legs were also pulled up so he was almost squatting, knees up by his shoulders but bum firmly planted on the cushion. "I mean, I met you and you seemed so nice, now you are always moody," he said, the cousins that didn't know Michelangelo yet looking on and listening, waiting to hear the boy finally talk.
He didn't.
One whispered "Not `moody'…`moony'," with a giggle in response and Michelangelo's jaw clenched slightly but otherwise he made no acknowledgement of the hushed comment.
"What's your trauma?" Phinnaeus demanded after more silence from the blond boy.
"I am not your friend, Phinn, so why do you care?" Michelangelo snapped.
"There, got you to talk," Phinnaeus jeered while pointing. Michelangelo rolled his eyes before looking away.
"Way to manipulate the situation, you are truly just too cunning for me," he said, making it ironic that he was the Slytherin of the bunch and not as crafty, but also paying no complement to the other boy either with his jab.
"Why are you such a git?"
"Why do you care, one way or the other?"
"We are family."
"We are not," Michelangelo growled.
"Your father is dating my aunt. That makes us cousins, or step-cousins."
"My father is not married to Ginny so we are step-nothings, and furthermore, I am a Malfoy, not a Weasley, and I am not about to act all chummy to humor you or anyone else whilst sitting in the place I don't want to be in the first place."
"What the hell? I heard you were a brat, but this is too much. You are no better than us, Michael. You are not richer, smarter, or superior."
"I will argue with you on the smarter point, and in relative then the superior," he drawled.
"Ohh, the werewolf boasts himself as superior," Phinnaeus taunted and Michelangelo glared with lividness.
"Care to expand on that?"
"No, not at all," Phinnaeus retorted but said nothing more for one of his cousins started to bark, mocking Michelangelo.
Michelangelo did not hesitate to leap forward from the couch to slide over the coffee table and wrap his hands around the other boy's throat and start choking him.
"Wanna try barking now? Huh? Do'yah? Not so easy when you can't breathe!" Michelangelo yelled at the boy, face pink with rage as his curls fell in his eyes, his elbows locked as he pinned the boy under him to the floor and shook him by the throat slightly, just so he thumped against the floor.
Phinnaeus was up the second after Michelangelo was over the table and he was pulling at his shoulders, thus causing his cousin to be shaken.
"Stop it, Michael! Let Derry up! I mean it!" he yelled, not getting any response and not getting the boy off. "Get off you freak!" he shouted at him, successfully ripping the boy-werewolf off his younger cousin who rolled over to chough, unable to cry as he struggled to breathe again.
Michelangelo's eyes were not every human looking at the moment and he glared at Phinnaeus. He heard him call him a freak, and Phinnaeus knew this, and looked a little scared as he protected his other cousins in the room where there were no adults. He stood there with his arms out as though to hold back his younger relations, not that they would try and get past him to Michelangelo.
"A freak am I?" Michelangelo growled.
"Michael, I did not mean…I was just wondering what happened to you is all. You seemed so different for the first half of the year, then that article was published and you weren't the same after that."
"You try having your whole world turned upside-down and losing all your friends because they think you are a freak and maybe then you will understand without having to ask stupid questions," Michelangelo growled. His teeth looked a little sharper than usual, than normal.
"They weren't really friends if they would abandon you like that," Phinnaeus argued but Michelangelo didn't look calmed.
"Then I have never had any friends. Forgive me if I seem less than comforted."
"I would have been your friend, like I said, we are family, or like it."
"I don't recall you ever extending me a hand of friendship while at Hogwarts where all your little friends could see you. What, I am good enough to pity in private, but not enough to be your friend when there are witnesses around?" he barked.
"It's not like that…"
"Yes it is. You have your little Gryffindor friends, you don't need me, and I certainly don't need you. I don't need friends that call me a freak, and I don't need a whore mother," he said and Phinnaeus narrowed his eyes at the insult to his aunt Ginny. Michelangelo stalked off to sulk somewhere else alone, and Phinnaeus turned to Derry on the floor and reached down to him, talking softly.
"Hey, are you alright, Derry?"
----------------------
Ginny sighed very contently as she laid there, Draco down below her belly, stimulating her in a way that made her legs sway open and closed around his shoulders slowly like a butterfly's gently flapping wings.
"How long have we been away?" she asked, her voice breathy and soft.
Draco, too busy to talk, just made an indistinct noise of not being sure; reaching up to hold her thighs open gently so as to stop them from bumping him.
Ginny breathed deep and steady as though to maintain control of herself, but she started to pant and bit her bottom lip to not make more noise.
They were in her childhood bedroom again, on the bed that squeaked too much. Ginny couldn't help but feel naughty, partially because this was her parent's house and nearly her whole family was there, down stairs, but also this being the place she had conceived. Not on the bed, but on her little desk just across the room. She and Draco had snuck off during Christmas dinner and Draco had fucked her. There was no other way of putting it, because any other words would not have covered it. It had been amazing, it had hurt a little, and it had apparently been a little too vigorous because their condom had failed them.
She wore the emerald necklace Draco had given her then, now and it glinted in the sunlight coming in through her bedroom window that was high up so no one outside would see in. Ginny loved sex in the daytime, something about the sunlight warm on her skin, or seeing it shine off of Draco's made it magical and almost surreal. She liked it better before she put on all the weight and looked like a big pregnant cow, but Draco, as evidence of what he was doing now, didn't seemed turned off by her appearance, so she did not complain…too often. In fact, Draco seemed more and more willing to sleep, make love, roll in the sack, romp, and fuck her, the more pregnant she got.
Draco, though he had been twelve years celibate (not by choice) was developing into quite the lover nowadays. Just six months had done a lot to mold their relationship, and given opportunity for him to perfect his art. His Legilimency was to thank for that. Being able to read her in depth to an extent no average man could, gave him insight into what she truly enjoyed, and let him know when he did something right, and he could do that more. What he did now, with his tongue and lips, and just a little bit of his teeth, was something she had never experienced with other men before Draco and her throat was dry and tight in a way she couldn't explain. It was like when he would deeply kiss her, but he was now on her intimate parts. He could tease her like this for half an hour until she was ready to flip him over and take him like he had enticed her body into wanting so badly, and he always enjoyed that part, enjoyed her topping him as he would rock his hips up to meet her with a furious need. More pregnant now, however, made that a little harder, or just a little slower. That wasn't Draco's favorite position anyways; he favored taking her from behind, with his body laid out over hers as he would hold her around the middle to him and thrust. This worked standing, kneeling, or laying flat on the bed, and that was how he had her now that he had moved away from below her tummy, only they were on their left sides, him behind her as though spooning but in a far less cuddly way and a much more grunting and sweating way.
"Oh," she moaned over and over as she braced her hands and forearms against the wall she was facing, Draco's chin hooked over her shoulder to kiss at her ear every now and then between his panting. He was still really quiet in bed, but he had gotten better with the biting, though it was a regular occurrence now for him to have sharp teeth or fingernails. It seemed all his control either had to go to no biting, or no shifting. Ginny preferred the no biting since her friends had seen one of Draco's "hickies" the afternoon after a particularly fabulous evening with him and had freaked out. She was still weary of his claws and teeth, but she trusted him not to hurt her.
Draco groaned and Ginny moaned, again and again, getting a little louder each time. Draco knew she had put a muffelo charm on the room so no sounds of their sex would drift, but still, he did not want her to start screaming. It made him worry that he was hurting her. How could he tell if she was screaming because it felt good, or because he had just gouged her with a claw that he had dug into the wall before them at the moment? Legilimency helped but he was still paranoid of hurting her without meaning to and scaring her away.
Ginny's body started in its familiar tightening, indicating she was climaxing, and Draco stopped moving to allow her to milk his body of all it had to offer as he tilted his head back and sighed. It was so hot in that room, they were both sopping with sweat, hair a mess, sheets sticking to them as it was also twined around their legs.
They laid there for a moment, panting, and eventually pulled apart to allow their skin to cool. No need to cuddle, they each enjoyed that from time to time, but both were more content to just lay separate and cool down after most romps.
"I love you," he said, his still rather bony chest heaving up and down as he panted. He had muscle now, but his sternum still jutted out awkwardly like his ribcage had a slight deformity.
"I love you more," she challenged, still laying on her side so her back was to him, but able to tell he was smiling, beaming, glowing. He always did after sex, and she couldn't deny she wasn't radiant as a result herself.
---------------------------
Draco sat out in the garden, lounging casually in one of the reclining lawn chairs like he was sunbathing, but he was in long-sleeves and jeans. It was all lightweight, but it was still hot and it looked smothering. His sunglasses were in place and Draco had a certain strut about him that Ginny knew was a result of his sexual escapade but the rest of the family just took as his usual arrogance.
"You don't talk much, do you," Fred asked, Draco looking over at him while his hands were still folded up behind his head. He said nothing. "You always had something to say in Hogwarts, yet here you are, silent."
"I haven't anything to say," Draco said, looking over at him and a little confused as to what was expected of him. Did they want him to be boisterous and irritating. He could be if they demanded it of him, but he figured they would appreciate him just relaxing and being his now usual quiet-self more. Damn Weasleys were impossible to please.
"So, what happened? I never heard of a successful personality transplant before," Percy interjected, coming to sit with his brother.
"Oh, I don't know, it went well with you," Fred jeered, elbowing his once so stuck-up brother.
"Har-har," Percy responded sardonically.
"It is just a result of Azkaban," Draco said, shrugging, looking back up to the sky, arms still folded up, eyes closed behind his glasses. "Be glad that it made me quite rather than having the opposite effect. Blaise Zabini still will randomly start screaming without realizing it. It would actually be kind of funny, if it weren't so sad. It's why he and I do not spend more time together."
Ron appeared, and while Draco was obviously close-eyed and oblivious, sat on him.
"Oi!" Draco grunted upon being crushed beneath the much larger man.
"Oh!" Ron exclaimed in mock surprise, "Sorry mate, I didn't see you there. You are so quiet…"
"Yeah, yeah, get off me you brute, you are squashing my precious organs," Draco grunted. Ron didn't exactly leap up from Draco but did eventually stand to look down at Draco who played dead at that point.
"Oh dear, Ron, you have killed him," Percy laughed.
"No sense in getting our hopes up," Fred sighed wistfully as Draco sat up stiffly and glared at Ron who looked quite pleased with himself. Of all the brothers, ironic that it was Ron that had warmed up to Draco the most.
Ginny was at the table covered in food, Draco was being picked on by her brothers (in a non-malicious manner) but the mood suddenly took a turn for the worse when George stalked out of the house, his sobbing son Derry in tow.
"Malfoy," he called, getting most of the adults to turn their attention in that direction due to the use of Draco's surname, something the family had refrained from doing for some time now. Draco looked up from his conversation with Ron and looked puzzled, even behind his dark lenses, as to what he could have possibly done.
"I need to talk to you about your son keeping his goddamn hands of my kid," he growled, everyone then looking to the little Derry whose neck was red and starting to bruise. A quick spell would fix him right up, but clearly it was being left for just a brief moment as evidence.
Draco looked utterly shocked and bewildered as did the rest of everyone on the lawn, but his face quickly darkened in anger as he tilted his chin down. Where was his son?
-----------------
"What the bloody-hell has gotten into you?" Draco scolded, not quite yelling because he never did, but he was damn angry and both Ginny and Clarissa were sitting in the car, feeling completely uncomfortable while they were enclosed in such a small space, unable to escape this.
Draco was driving, Ginny was shotgun, Clarissa was behind her, and Michelangelo behind him. Clarissa was very intently looking out the window as though deaf, Ginny was looking at Draco periodically with pleading eyes as though begging for him to wait until they got home to yell at the boy, and Michelangelo in the back, arms crossed, face so angry. He did not answer his father, so Draco continued.
"You could have seriously hurt him! What kind of impression are you trying to make with this family? Are you trying to ruin this, because if you are, congratulations, I think you have."
"Draco, don't say that," Ginny said softly.
"Oh, like your family doesn't think I'm the worst father in the world? I know they just can't wait to invite me to another gathering," he barked at her, not mad at her but snapping at her anyways. It was that temper of his rearing its ugly head.
"I'm sure there is a…"
"A what? A reason why my son would choke your nephew? I can't really think of any, I don't know Ginny, can you? He is your blood-relation, you tell me."
Clarissa sobbed a little from the back seat. It had gone from Draco yelling at Michelangelo to fighting with Ginny, and she liked neither, but hated this more than that. She looked over at Michelangelo with tearful eyes of hate. She hated him at the moment, because she loved Ginny and hated that Michelangelo was ruining things. She felt he had done this on purpose, because he hated that Ginny and their father were dating. She thought this was him trying to break them up, and Michelangelo looked angrier than ever.
"Phinn called be a freak and Derry started barking at me," he announced suddenly, answering his father's question so Ginny didn't have to. Ginny couldn't think of a good reason for Michelangelo to choke her nephew, and Draco certainly refused to see anything about it acceptable, but that exclamation shut everyone up for a brief moment. Clarissa looked at him, shocked now but tears still in her eyes, Ginny turned in her seat a little to look at the boy and then Draco, and Draco's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly.
"Why didn't you say something then, when Phinn and Derry when to their dads?" Draco asked, not wanting to admit that maybe he had been wrong, and that Michelangelo had had a legitimate reason for choking Derry, but only because he didn't like the idea that there was ever a good enough excuse to choke a ten-year-old.
"Because the stupid Weasleys wouldn't have believed me."
"Hey, Michael," Draco warned, Ginny up in the front and pursing her lips together like she was resisting the urge to say something. "I won't have you talking like that about Ginny's family."
"She's a stupid Weasley too," Michelangelo humphed, crossing his arms to look out the car window.
"That's it, you are officially grounded this summer, the whole summer," Draco said firmly and Michelangelo's jaw dropped in outrage as his arm loosened.
"You can't be serious!" he fumed in outrage.
"What would you have me do?" Draco growled, staring at the road ahead fiercely. "You won't respect me, you don't respect Ginny, you do what you will regardless of my authority and seem to expect to still have all your privileges even after you misbehave? Today you seriously misbehaved, Michael."
"He called me a freak! Derry was barking at me! What would you have done?" Michelangelo demanded, sounding so angry he could cry.
"I would have gone to my father and had it sorted out. They would have gotten in trouble, but because you decided to take care of it on your own, in the manner you chose, now it is you that is in trouble."
"This fucking sucks," Michelangelo said, nearly under his breath but Draco hadn't missed that and Ginny gasped just a tiny bit, knowing Draco was seriously not going to react well to that.
"What did you just say?" he barked, looking over his shoulder, despite the fact that he was driving.
"You heard me," Michelangelo said, scared now that he had gone too far, but too stubborn to back down at this point. Draco turned back around, lips pursed together so tightly in his lividness that they were drained of what little color they normally carried as he slowly shook his head and breathed very steadily, like he was counting silently. Ginny peeked over her shoulder at Clarissa, to assure the little girl that she was not alone in the car in her discomfort.
Michelangelo was the first out of the car when they pulled up to the apartment building that they were supposed to be vacating that evening, but their plans clearly delayed now given this recent development. The boy was up the stairs, in the house, and stalking towards his room before Draco could even toss his belt off in his anger and kick his door open. Ginny gathered Clarissa up and walked slowly with her up the stairs, letting Draco go first, knowing he was about to have a few choice words with his son.
They took their time, and when the girls finally entered they just saw Draco sitting there on the couch, looking as cantankerous then as Ginny had ever seen him, loud music blaring from Michelangelo's room that was obviously locked.
"I'm just a kid, and life is a nightmare. I'm just a kid, I know that it's not fair. Nobody cares `cause I'm alone and the world is having more fun than me. What the fuck is wrong with me, don't fit in with anybody. How did this happen to me? Wide awake I'm bored and I can't fall asleep, and every night is the worst night ever…" the song blared and Ginny sighed.
"Claire, sweetie, why don't you skip down to your Nana's for a few hours," she said, Narcissa living just a building over from Draco and a few floors up. Clarissa nodded and Ginny squeezed her hand tightly before leading her to the door. She watched Clarissa from the door until the girl was safely inside before turning back to Draco. While he had looked positively livid but a moment ago, now he had his hair gripped by its roots and he had a tear welling in each eye.
"Draco…" she said, heart falling upon seeing him. Draco tilted his head down so his palms pressed against his forehead to hide his face from her as she approached. "Don't cry," she begged, Draco not a big weeper, but a man that did cry sometimes.
"Your family hates me, and now…"
"They don't hate you, no, Draco, they have been progressively warming up to you for months," she argued.
"They can't like me all that much if they turned on me so quickly today," he argued, taking a deep shuddering breath as though to try and suppress his tears but unable to keep them from finally freeing themselves from his lashes and dropping onto his thigh.
"Draco, they were just worried, and shocked…I mean, you were just as mad…"
"They were mad at me, not Michael," he sobbed.
"No,"
"They were, they are. Fuck," he sobbed, shaking his tensed hands at that word before gripping his hair again.
Ginny wrapped an arm around Draco and tried her best to comfort him, unsure of what she could say that would assure him that her family really did not think him a terrible father, all the while unaware that Michelangelo was at her back, peeking around the doorway that lead from the living room to the bedrooms and bathroom. He was looking guilt ridden and meek, seeing his father cry.
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Author's Note:
Let's see, we had a fun flashback with McGonagall and saw how Michael feels about Ginny and the baby (which many of you asked about), there seems to be a foul plot afoot (it's not mine, I just washed them!) Draco and Ginny got a busy (smut), we saw Lupin again (yay!), and Ron (squee) and we learned that Draco enthralls little children (lol). Clarissa is a darling with her love for the Paparazzi.
Damn, Michelangelo is such a little bastard…god I love him. We all have had to endure this wonderful phase boys go through, but never has it been a Malfoy. Please don't hate Michelangelo, his character is just fleshing out a lot, and it is changing considerably. I feel bad for him more than anything given what a rough time he had at Hogwarts in those final months. You can't deny he is a little Draco, but if you haven't guessed, there is a certain amount of his mother in him, because you KNOW Draco never would have had the balls to say things like Michael had said to HIS father.
Anyway, another fun chapter. I am getting into the swing of things again and I'm excited.
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