A dark grey cloud drifted over a weakly- shining sun, casting a shadow over the faces of a mourning crowd. They were all dressed in black except for a very large and giant- like man, who was wearing robes of a deep plum color. Most of them were sobbing quietly, or not at all, but one older witch who was very well along in the middle was heaving great sobs, audible by all. A sleek cherry- wood coffin stood yards away from them, a headstone beneath it that read, 'Ginevera Molly Weasley, A life taken too soon'.
A tiny little witch of about four or five was standing by herself under a weeping willow tree, looking forlorn and watching the crowd, a single red rose in her hand. Not far away, someone was watching her. The man took note of her sleek strawberry- blond hair and brown eyes, her pointed features and lanky frame. He knew at once, with a heavy heart, that she was his.
A witch just a year older than the girl in the coffin quietly excused herself from the crowd, calling the man out of the shadows. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Hermione Granger hissed at him, wiping her eyes with a silken handkercheif.
"I have every much a right to be here as you do," he spat back, lowering his voice as he was aware of the child's eyes on them.
"Malfoy, we loved her," said Harry Potter, coming up behind them and putting a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder.
"Well, I've got news for you, Potter," Draco sneered. "See that girl over there?"
"You mean Ginny's daughter," Hermione put in, glaring at him.
"Yeah," Draco said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "She's mine."
"What do you mean, she's yours?" Ron asked, joining them, his face red and blotchy from crying.
"I mean that little girl is mine. I'm- I'm her father," he breathed, finally dropping his nasty demeanor. The girl, who could hear them clearly, just blinked at him.
"How? How did you...?" Ron stammered shortly, looking at Malfoy in disbelief.
"I- I was in my seventh year," Draco said, "and she had detention with me, and I- I made her." He looked up at them, his eyes tearing up. "I've never told anyone."
"You made her?" Harry yelled, "You made her have a child with you?"
Draco sank to his knees. "I didn't know that would happen," he whispered. His while body shook, weak from finally revealing his deepest secret, for never before in his life had he done something so vile as raping a woman. He'd watched Ginny carry the baby for nine long months at Hogwarts, he'd heard the things people said about her, behind her back and to her face. He could've stopped it, all of it, but he didn't.
"That's sick," Ron sputtered. "That is really sick." He shook his head disgustedly and walked away from them.
"I'm sorry!" Draco cried, "I'm sorry!" He was becoming hysterical; the weight of what he'd done to her all those years ago was finally breaking him. He grabbed the hem of Harry's robes. "Please, tell me, what's her name? What's my daughter's name?"
Harry kicked him away. "You're pathetic." He followed Ron. Hermione gave him a sympathetic but nasty look and ran after them. Draco sat on the grass, looking into the distance at the coffin but not really seeing anything, memories of what he'd done coming back to him like rushing water.
Ginny lay under him, whimpering and trying to crawl away, the dust on Snape's floor making her cough. She begged him over and over again to stop, but he pretended not to hear her.
The little girl, his little girl, walked over to him and shyly handed him the rose. "You're my daddy?" she asked.
Draco looked at her, a shaky smile coming to his face. "No, I'm not your daddy, I'm just your father. I don't deserve to be your daddy." He stood up, rose in hand. "But I love you anyway.
She took his hand. "Come on, we'll put that flower on mummy's grave." He followed her, feeling that he could deny her nothing. They walked past the group of mourners, her tiny hand clutched in his. He tried not to notice the sickened looks Harry, Ron, and Hermione were giving him. Everyone looked up at their approach, and let out a collective gasp. Molly Weasley gave a great shudder and almost collapsed. Suddenly, they all knew.
Draco layed the rose on Ginny's coffin. "I'm so sorry. I hope you can forgive me." He discretely kissed the palm of his hand, lightly touching it to the casket.
Half an hour later, as the crowd was beginning to break up and people began drifting back to their vehicles, brooms, and portkeys, Draco stood once more in the shadows, knowing he wasn't welcome among them. He regreted not being there for her, for Ginny, not helping her when he knew he could have. It was his fault, after all, that she never graduated from Hogwarts; the shame of what he'd done to her was too great, and after her sixth year she'd nver returned. But she'd never told anyone who'd done it to her, and this he marveled at. She had no reason to be kind to him, none at all, because he was never kind to her.
"I've got to go," his daughter said, looking at him with her doeful brown eyes, the eyes of her mother, the eyes that would haunt him forever. She strained on tiptoe and gave him a small hug, which he gratefully returned. "I'm to stay with Uncle Ron now. Will you come and visit me?"
"No, I don't think so." It almost broke his heart to tell her so. She nodded, seeming to understand, and turned to walk away. She looked at her father, who was now sitting against the weeping willow tree, his head in his hands. She trotted over to him and patted his head.
"Don't worry, father, everything will be all right." Brown eyes locked with grey. "and my name is Laetitia, Laetitia m- something. Mummy told me once or twice but I can never remember." She ran away, hurrying to catch up with Hernione and Ron. Draco watched her leave, knowing the little girl's sweetness had come from her mother.
A tiny little witch of about four or five was standing by herself under a weeping willow tree, looking forlorn and watching the crowd, a single red rose in her hand. Not far away, someone was watching her. The man took note of her sleek strawberry- blond hair and brown eyes, her pointed features and lanky frame. He knew at once, with a heavy heart, that she was his.
A witch just a year older than the girl in the coffin quietly excused herself from the crowd, calling the man out of the shadows. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Hermione Granger hissed at him, wiping her eyes with a silken handkercheif.
"I have every much a right to be here as you do," he spat back, lowering his voice as he was aware of the child's eyes on them.
"Malfoy, we loved her," said Harry Potter, coming up behind them and putting a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder.
"Well, I've got news for you, Potter," Draco sneered. "See that girl over there?"
"You mean Ginny's daughter," Hermione put in, glaring at him.
"Yeah," Draco said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "She's mine."
"What do you mean, she's yours?" Ron asked, joining them, his face red and blotchy from crying.
"I mean that little girl is mine. I'm- I'm her father," he breathed, finally dropping his nasty demeanor. The girl, who could hear them clearly, just blinked at him.
"How? How did you...?" Ron stammered shortly, looking at Malfoy in disbelief.
"I- I was in my seventh year," Draco said, "and she had detention with me, and I- I made her." He looked up at them, his eyes tearing up. "I've never told anyone."
"You made her?" Harry yelled, "You made her have a child with you?"
Draco sank to his knees. "I didn't know that would happen," he whispered. His while body shook, weak from finally revealing his deepest secret, for never before in his life had he done something so vile as raping a woman. He'd watched Ginny carry the baby for nine long months at Hogwarts, he'd heard the things people said about her, behind her back and to her face. He could've stopped it, all of it, but he didn't.
"That's sick," Ron sputtered. "That is really sick." He shook his head disgustedly and walked away from them.
"I'm sorry!" Draco cried, "I'm sorry!" He was becoming hysterical; the weight of what he'd done to her all those years ago was finally breaking him. He grabbed the hem of Harry's robes. "Please, tell me, what's her name? What's my daughter's name?"
Harry kicked him away. "You're pathetic." He followed Ron. Hermione gave him a sympathetic but nasty look and ran after them. Draco sat on the grass, looking into the distance at the coffin but not really seeing anything, memories of what he'd done coming back to him like rushing water.
Ginny lay under him, whimpering and trying to crawl away, the dust on Snape's floor making her cough. She begged him over and over again to stop, but he pretended not to hear her.
The little girl, his little girl, walked over to him and shyly handed him the rose. "You're my daddy?" she asked.
Draco looked at her, a shaky smile coming to his face. "No, I'm not your daddy, I'm just your father. I don't deserve to be your daddy." He stood up, rose in hand. "But I love you anyway.
She took his hand. "Come on, we'll put that flower on mummy's grave." He followed her, feeling that he could deny her nothing. They walked past the group of mourners, her tiny hand clutched in his. He tried not to notice the sickened looks Harry, Ron, and Hermione were giving him. Everyone looked up at their approach, and let out a collective gasp. Molly Weasley gave a great shudder and almost collapsed. Suddenly, they all knew.
Draco layed the rose on Ginny's coffin. "I'm so sorry. I hope you can forgive me." He discretely kissed the palm of his hand, lightly touching it to the casket.
Half an hour later, as the crowd was beginning to break up and people began drifting back to their vehicles, brooms, and portkeys, Draco stood once more in the shadows, knowing he wasn't welcome among them. He regreted not being there for her, for Ginny, not helping her when he knew he could have. It was his fault, after all, that she never graduated from Hogwarts; the shame of what he'd done to her was too great, and after her sixth year she'd nver returned. But she'd never told anyone who'd done it to her, and this he marveled at. She had no reason to be kind to him, none at all, because he was never kind to her.
"I've got to go," his daughter said, looking at him with her doeful brown eyes, the eyes of her mother, the eyes that would haunt him forever. She strained on tiptoe and gave him a small hug, which he gratefully returned. "I'm to stay with Uncle Ron now. Will you come and visit me?"
"No, I don't think so." It almost broke his heart to tell her so. She nodded, seeming to understand, and turned to walk away. She looked at her father, who was now sitting against the weeping willow tree, his head in his hands. She trotted over to him and patted his head.
"Don't worry, father, everything will be all right." Brown eyes locked with grey. "and my name is Laetitia, Laetitia m- something. Mummy told me once or twice but I can never remember." She ran away, hurrying to catch up with Hernione and Ron. Draco watched her leave, knowing the little girl's sweetness had come from her mother.