it's as simple as that
It was as simple as that; Pansy had left him. Had left him with a newborn baby that he had no bloody idea how to care for (something to do with baby formula?).
The last time he'd seen her, she'd been snuggled up against him, murmuring that yes, she loved him. The baby had been sleeping peacefully, for once – not bawling like she usually did.
He'd been naive enough to believe that everything would be OK.
Pansy, she hadn't been quite right after the war. They'd lived together in her flat, for a while; they'd been madly in love back then.
When she had told him that she was pregnant, he had first been ecstatic, and then apprehensive; Malfoys didn't do bastard children. He had gently suggested that they marry; the child could be an heir, and they loved each other, did they not?
She had vehemently refused; after a brief discussion with Mother, he had gone and rented a spacious villa for them in Greece, near the sea.
(She had mentioned at some point that she had always wanted to see the Mediterranean.)
During the pregnancy, she had gotten from bad to worse. He berated himself, now – he had let this slide right under his nose, mistaking her sudden emotional shifts and outbursts to be in the norm.
The birth and the aftermath... Well, he supposed that her leaving him was part of the aftermath. Pansy had barely spoken after the difficult birth of their daughter, or even eaten much, for the matter – only the Healer's stern words and the later force-feeding of her made her consume a bit of nutrients.
And so barely a week after Megara's birth, Pansy had left.
The proof? A note, pinned to their bed frame:
I'm leaving. I really need a break – don't bother looking for me, darling. Goodbye.
-P
He had stared at it in horror, his heart pounding against his ribcage; he had collapsed on the floor the next second, a horrid feeling of something like grief expanding in his chest.
Pansy had left him.
He repeated it in his mind, trying but failing to get it to register. He glanced at the door, half hoping that Pansy would barge in at any moment, smiling to show her bright white teeth, kissing him and telling him that she had only gone for a walk at the beach.
He only rose again when the baby's cries sounded. It was mid-afternoon; she was hungry.
With a sigh, he made his way to the guestroom, where she had been sleeping in her cot. She quieted a bit when he loomed over her; he realised that he must have seemed like a tower, tall and thin. She looked so angelic, even half-screaming; the little bit of blonde hair on her head was curly, like Aunt Bella's had been. The color, however, was darker than the standard platinum blond; her hair was pale strawberry blonde, he supposed.
Her eyelashes were long, like Mother's; the shade of her eyes matched his perfectly. Her face was pale, pointed; her smirks would be well-developed, one day, he thought, as he contemplated her mouth, full lips and all.
It was uncanny how gorgeous his daughter was, really; she could have been an aristocrat of the highest pureblood families; but yet, in the eyes of the dying, blood supremacist society, she would be nothing, really – nothing but Draco Malfoy's bastard child.
And the best thing was that there was no trace of Pansy Parkinson on her.
He wondered vaguely what to give her, but then he saw a half-filled bottle of baby formula on the kitchen counter. He reached for it, opened the top, and sniffed. With a grimace, he poured it out – he really should have thought of a house-elf, but the ones at the Manor at the moment were only kitchen elves – and rinsed it.
He soon found more baby formula. He decided to test his luck; he did his very best to prepare it, and then he secured the lid. Making sure that nothing was leaking out, and that the liquid was not too warm (he knew something else about baby care, at least), he picked up his daughter and began feeding her the formula.
She sucked, hungrily; he had a small smile as he looked down at her.
A little hand found itself grabbing a long, pale, slender finger.
His eyes widened, but he relaxed. The only word that could describe the warm feelings inside him at that moment was magical; magical, because he just knew.
He just knew that he was the dad to his little girl; dad, daddy, father; knew he would be the one she would go to when she was sad, or sick (at least when she was young), like he had done, before his childhood had ended and he had gone off to Hogwarts; knew he would be the one to ward off those boys (because with his genes, and Pansy's, she was bound to attract a herd), threaten and let her to only the possible suitors.
Draco Malfoy knew that everything would be alright, somehow.
(Or, at least, it was now. That was enough for him.)
Hmm. I think this was pretty OK, for my first Draco/Pansy... :P
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