Author's Note: Just to warn you, this one-shot contains some very sensitive topics. This is not a fic for the faint-hearted. That aside, I hope you do enjoy reading it.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Lyra

"You're here."

Draco slowly turned around at the soft voice, his features schooled in a look of indifference. For a second, he merely stared at the petite frame of Hermione Granger, her bushy hair blowing erratically in the February wind. She looked pale, and not merely from the bitter cold; he could see the fear in her eyes, the worry in the biting of her lip and the nervousness in the wringing of her hands. Even back in her Hogwarts days, he had been able to read her like an open book; a Gryffindor through and through, she unreservedly wore her heart on her sleeve.

"And you're late." His reply was short and brittle.

Granger flinched slightly at his tone but remained calm, reigning in the normal urge to snap back. "I'm sorry," she began, her eyes fixed somewhere just beyond his shoulder. "I – I got held up. Ron and Harry they – they don't know I'm here." Her voice had gone oddly quiet at this admission, almost as if she was ashamed by it.

Draco raised an eyebrow. Interesting…

"Keeping secrets from them are we, Granger?" He taunted. "I thought the three of you told each other everything."

The brunette flushed red at his snide remark and weakly shook her head. "No," she mumbled, face downcast. "Not everything."

Draco pressed his lips into a thin line. Of course she wouldn't have told them… everything.

She was looking at her feet now, shuffling them from side to side in a display of agitation. A deep frown marred her forehead, a clear sign that the witch before him was lost in thought. Knowing how long that could take, Draco took it upon himself to bring the brunette back into the realms of reality.

"Why are we here, Granger?"

"Why are we here, Granger?"

Hermione jumped, startled out of her reverie by Malfoy's question. He sounded bored, annoyed, impatient – a clear sign that he did not want to here. Neither did she for that matter, but…

She stared up at him, completely dumbstruck and at a loss for words. Her brown eyes were wide, frenzied and her mouth hung partially open. Against the man in front of her – cool, calm and composed – she felt and looked like an utter moron.

This was going to be hard. Harder than even she imagined.

"We – we – we need to go – to go over there," she stuttered, nodding her head jerkily in a direction somewhere over Draco's shoulder.

Following her line of sight, Malfoy looked behind him. "The cemetery?" He questioned, his pale brows knitting together briefly. "Why do we need to go in there?"

Hermione's jaw clenched as a lump formed in her throat. She swallowed down the urge to cry. "We just do."

Squaring her shoulders and jutting her head out proudly, which was a clear echo of her Gryffindor past, and expressing a silent determination to hide how much this was affecting her, Hermione quickly marched past the blond and entered the cemetery.

She didn't need to look behind her to know that Malfoy was following; though he refused to show it, after knowing him for thirteen years Hermione was very much aware of when his curiosity was piqued.

I cannot be weak.

"I didn't always live in Oxford," Hermione began pushing open the cemetery's gate. "Up until the age of five, I actually lived here. But then my parents were given the opportunity to open up a dental practice and, naturally, they jumped at the opportunity." She looked back over her shoulder and sent Draco a tight smile. He continued to remain stoic and expressionless. The lump began to form yet again. "As young as I was, I – I never forgot what it was like to live here. That was why I – why I thought this place would be best…"

She veered sharply to the right, skidding on some loose ice as she did so. A dry chuckle from behind had her glaring at her unlikely companion, her cheeks flaring red in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

"Have some respect," she snarled, her voice breaking, a traitorous tear sliding down her cheek. "We are in a – a cemetery."

For a second, Malfoy looked at her in shock. In the next his face was a mask once more.

"What is this about, Granger?"

Though he wouldn't admit it, Granger's behaviour was beginning to scare him; it was erratic, all over the place, on edge. Though not completely new to him, there was something almost feral about it this time.

But why?

"What is this all about, Granger?" He asked again, watching her carefully as she calmed down. "Why are we here?"

For a few minutes they just stood there in silence, save for the sound of fallen leaves scattering across the floor in the cold wind, Draco waiting impatiently for an explanation. The sooner she explained all of… this, then the sooner he could leave. As much as he could hide it from Granger, he couldn't deny it to himself that there was something about this place that didn't sit comfortably with him.

"Before I tell you," Granger ground out, wiping furiously at her eyes. "I need to show you something. After that, Malfoy, I promise to explain everything."

Her eyes were set, determined, brooking no argument. To finally get the answers that he was unknowingly starting to seek, he would have to obey Granger's wishes.

Draco felt his lips curl in displeasure, which deepened even more as his stomach began to churn with ill-anticipation. His heart rate had increased, and a small trickle of sweat had begun to make its way down the back of his neck and spine.

"Very well, Granger," he finally replied, with a sharp nod. "Lead on."

The brunette Gryffindor pursed her lips together, and began to walk once more. This time, Draco nearly found himself slipping as he hurried to keep up with the muggleborn. There came no laughter from her lips, though, no signs of amusement at own his embarrassment. It was clear that Granger had one purpose, and that purpose lay hidden among the tombstones of this small village's cemetery.

As to why Draco was here, though, and what he had to do with it all, was another matter altogether.

Another right and they had left the path, the sound of ice-covered grass now crunching under their feet.

"We're here."

Granger came to an abrupt halt, her entire body rigid. Draco stopped a few metres behind her, unsure as to whether or not he should go and stand by the brunette's side or stay as he was.

Hermione turned round to look at him one more time, and the Slytherin was shocked to see that the determination and fight that had danced in her eyes only a matter of seconds before completely diminished. Granger looked lost, hollow, defeated – an empty shell; nothing like the witch that he once knew.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she whispered, her eyes shining with tears. "I should have told you, I know, but…"

She stepped aside, and as he took in the sight before him, Draco felt his heart momentarily stop.

Lyra Elisabeth Granger

February 11th 1998 – 3rd March 2001

Always precious, always loved.

Heaven needed another star.

Outwardly, he appeared unfazed; standing tall, shoulders back and head raised, his entire profile suggested that nothing was amiss. However, his eyes betrayed him. The feelings of anger, shock, confusion and betrayal were fractured throughout his pale grey irises, allowing Hermione to catch a glimpse of the tormented soul within.

Hermione felt guilt consume her and any justification that she had ever had for hiding the truth away from the man before her seemed to crumble into dust. It was too late now though, the damage had been done; all the Gryffindor could hope for was a small slither of understanding from Malfoy…

And the chances of that happening were near on impossible.

"What is the meaning of this, Granger?" His voice came out hoarse and raspy, the disbelief evident in his tone. He gestured frantically to the gravestone before them, though he refused to look at it directly.

Hermione swallowed. "Do you – do you remember that night? The night before the final battle?" Draco nodded stiffly, his jaw twitching as he tried to check his anger. "Well, as a – a result of that – that night, we had a daughter."

"Correction," Draco hissed, "you had a daughter."

Hermione flinched at his tone, but didn't correct him or react to his anger. She knew that he was bound to be angry, cold and distant – he was Draco Malfoy, after all – and she also knew that she deserved his fury.

"I called her Lyra," Hermione continued, smiling softly as she knelt down by her daughter's grave, grazing over the lettering. "During my pregnancy and subsequently Lyra's birth, it was still far too dangerous for her true parentage to be revealed. I didn't even tell Harry and Ron who her father was." She shot him a look, deep with meaning. "However, I always thought that one day I'd finally be able to introduce the two of you – that is, if you had wanted to have been a part of her life. So, aware of your family's tradition, I chose a name that could be deemed suitable without arising suspicion. You see, Malfoy, it wasn't as if I didn't want you to know Lyra – at the time, it just wasn't feasible. Surely you understand?"

By the look he shot her, it was clear that Malfoy didn't. "Well, I guess we will never know now," he snarled, viciously. "I was never given that chance."

His shock and disbelief had given way to anger; a deep and burning fury that raged through his entire being, making his blood boil. He felt cheated and dictated; as yet again somebody else had made decisions for him, thinking them to be for the best.

"We were only eighteen years old," Granger argued feebly. "We'd just fought in a war; you were dealing with making amends for your family's crimes, whilst Harry, Ron and I were still looking over our shoulder every five seconds in case a rogue Death Eater tried to kill us. I did what I thought was best – not for you, not for me but for Lyra."

Lyra. Her daughter. His daughter. Their daughter.

He still didn't know what to make of Granger's revelation. The fact that he had fathered a child – a child he would never have the chance to know – had still not quite registered with him. His head hurt, and everything he had learnt was in a jumbled mess.

Perhaps there was some truth in Granger's words, but since then six years had passed. He should have been allowed knowledge of this sooner. As to whether or not he would have chosen to have been a father to Granger's little girl had he known about her, was a different story.

At eighteen years old, he would admit, possibly not. He had hardly been able to look after himself back then, let alone another human being. He still should have at least known about her though, surely.

"I'm not lying, Draco," Granger pleaded, perhaps scared that he would try and deny Lyra's parentage. "Lyra's your daughter, I swear."

"Have I denied it as of yet, Granger?" For one thing, the Gryffindor wasn't a liar. That much he did know of her. "You've had six years to let this all sink in; I've barely had ten minutes. And, on top of all that, to find out that she's actually dead – it's a lot to take in Granger. In fact, it's more than that –it's impossible."

He watched Granger flinch at his callous and unfeeling tone, tears running down her face unashamedly. In that moment, he didn't care that she was hurting – he had never cared before, so why would he start now? No, in this moment, it was all about him and how he felt. The Gryffindor beside him didn't even come into the equation.

"What you've done, Granger, is unforgivable. Keeping her from me at the beginning, I can see that. I don't like it but, in time, I'm sure I'd have been able to understand. But the fact that you still kept her from me, three years after she had died – that is what I can't forgive you for. No matter what you thought, no matter the situations surrounding her birth, surrounding me – you should have told me."

"I'm sorry…"

I'm sorry.

It was all she could say. It didn't fix anything – how could it? – but that didn't stop her from meaning it. Hermione knew she had messed up; she didn't need Malfoy snarling at her to realise that. Couldn't he see that she was still hurting too? Just because she had had time to come to terms with what had happened to her little girl, that didn't make in any harder. Every single day was a new torture. The pain was still fresh and never-ending; the gaping hole a never-ending chasm.

"I just did what I thought was best for her," Hermione uttered once more. "It wasn't to hurt you, Draco. It was to protect Lyra. And then it got to the point where I was finally able to tell you, but then…" she trailed off as the memory of that dreaded day came to mind.

"But then what?" Malfoy asked, his voice cold, his eyes sharp with bitter resentment.

"But then she got sick."

She closed her eyes as an image of her two year old daughter, bright brown-eyed and golden-curled, smiling up at her in curious innocence, formed in front of her. Just behind the toddler, Hermione could just make out the face of the healer who had broken the news to her of Lyra's illness. She had looked awfully pale that day, her face all clammy from the fever that had been plaguing her daughter for weeks, but despite all that, Lyra had always remained a positive child.

"Granger?"

Hermione's eyes flew open, and she met Malfoy with a shattered gaze. For a second she thought she saw a touch of concern in his cold, grey eyes but then the blinds were drawn and he was staring at her with a look of undisguised impatience.

"Lyra had something called Magicae Talionis. It's an incredibly rare disease that occurs sometimes when a child who is born with magical abilities is unable to deal with their powers. Their body rejects the magic, and in turn the magic retaliates and eats away at them, draining the child of all forms of energy. There is no cure for it." She bit her lip. "Yet again, Lyra became my priority – she was always my priority – and any thought of telling you went out of the window. My main focus was her."

"You should have found the time to tell me though," Malfoy argued, his tone low and soft. There was no bite to his words this time, just raw honestly.

"I was all over the place, Draco," Hermione replied. "I could hardly think straight. I had just been told that my daughter was dying – she only had a matter of months to live – and somehow I had to find a way to keep on going through that time; I had to find a way to be strong for her." She let out a shaky breath. "I did tell her about you though. I even showed her a couple of photos . I know she didn't get to know you, Malfoy, but at least she knew who you were – she knew her daddy. Please believe me when I say that I had wanted you to know before now. No matter our past, Draco, I never wanted to hurt you like this – not over someone as precious as our daughter."

He felt sick, chilled to the bone with all that he had learnt in the last half an hour. He had been a father – a "daddy" according to Granger – without ever knowing it, and the revelation had left an unbearable feeling in his gut. Every single word the woman before him had spoken was true, and deep down a part of him was trying to understand that all she had done had been for the little girl she had lost. It didn't stop him from being angry, though, and in that moment it was the only feeling he could express.

Anything else would make him feel weak.

"I need you to leave, Granger." He murmured, and he watched as her head shot up in surprise. "And I need you to leave now."

"What?"

"You heard me, Granger – now go."

"But – but – but we need to talk." Her voice was suddenly shrill, wild and frantic. "You can't just leave it like this. She was your daughter, Malfoy – surely you want to know all you can about her. She's just as much a part of you as she was of me. You just – you can't go about and act as if none of this ever happened, Draco, you just can't."

The anger that was bubbling deep inside of him wanted to argue that he could, but Draco also knew that such an utterance would be a lie. So, keeping this line of thought in check, he spat out, "I never said that, Granger. I just want some time on my own. This is not something one can take in quickly – especially when it's just been dumped on them like this. I need to think, Granger; I need to sort everything out. Now, please –" he curled his lip at the forced term of politeness "– can you just go?"

"But when are we going to talk?" Granger bit out desperately, almost as if she hadn't heard what Draco was trying to say.

"When I am ready, Granger," Draco replied calmly, despite feeling anything but. "And not before. I need some time."

Jerkily, Granger nodded her head. "Okay then," she muttered. "I am sorry though, Draco – really, I am. I know I should have told you sooner, but…"

The Gryffindor let out a deep breath, wiped at her eyes and then stood up straight, a determined and fierce glint back in her eye. Without uttering another word, she turned on her heel and left, finally giving Draco the solace that he had so dearly craved.

Turning his back on the brunette witch, Draco let out a shaky gasp of air as he finally looked at the grave of his daughter, drinking in the sight of the pure white marble properly for the first time.

Lyra Elisabeth Granger

February 11th 1998 – 3rd March 2001

Always precious, always loved.

Heaven needed another star.

Nervously, almost as if he were scared to do so, the young blond man took a few steps forward, sinking down as he did so to kneel before the tombstone. The grass was cold and wet, and he could feel it seeping onto his trousers, but for all he hated the feeling nothing could tear him away from his current position. In a similar action to Granger earlier, he allowed his fingers to trace the name of his little girl.

"Hello there, Lyra," he whispered, his voice catching slightly. "I'm your fa –" Draco stopped, cutting himself before he could finish his sentence. It didn't sound right. Taking another deep breath, he allowed himself to start again. "Hello there, Lyra," he crooned softly, "I'm your daddy."

And then, with a gasp it hit him. Draco's shoulders began to shake.

From over by the gates, Hermione stopped and turned back to look over towards her daughter's grave one final time. She felt her breathing hitch and her heart groan at the sight that befell her eyes, and she had to resist the urge to return to the place she had just left.

He needs this, she reminded herself silently. He needs time to be alone.

With a small, sad smile Hermione turned away, leaving the bent up figure of Draco Malfoy to mourn over the daughter that he never knew. To mourn over the little girl that he'd never been given to the chance to love…

Author's Note: So… I did tell you that this story was most definitely not for the fainthearted and that it would deal with extremely difficult issues. This is an idea that I've been working on for months now as I really wanted to do it justice – as to whether that is the case or not, I leave up to you. Though I've never experienced anything like this (I'm not going to be having children for a while), I found this incredibly hard to write at times as I really wanted to bring across some of the raw emotion that the two characters may/would have been feeling. This occurred especially towards the end, I felt, as the story built up.

I may do a sequel to this – it's been left kind of open, as you can see – but I'm not going to make any promises as of yet. If it's a sequel it may be a short story, or just another one-shot, I'm not too sure right now. We'll just have to see, and at the moment it's unlikely that it's going to come anytime soon.

Anyway, please let me know what you thought with a review as it'd be really appreciated. Thank you for reading,

VickytoriaGreengrass