The child was beautiful, Draco could admit that. He had Hermione's nose. Draco loved her and everything about her. But this child, this baby boy, he hated him. He couldn't stand the boy, and yet here he was sitting on the floor, looking at him. The now one-year-old boy was crying his fucking eyes out. He hated the sound of it, he was so sick of him already! Draco didn't understand why he was even crying, he had a fucking cake in front of him – wasn't he happy with that? The cake was expensive too, filled with different colors and flavors. Why couldn't this fucking child just take a fork and eat it. Why was he the one taking care of this ugly creature?
Draco tugged at his hair. "Shut the fuck up!"
The boy stopped crying and looked at him curiously with tear-filled eyes. The boy almost looked like he loved Draco. Ha, this fucking boy didn't even know him, so what was he lying for?
'Blow your fucking candles and get this over with, you bastard.'
Then, he cried again.
"Shut up!" Draco shouted. "Shut up! Shut up!"
They battled with their shrieks, filling the once silent room with ear-piercing screams.
"Draco!" A feminine voice called from upstairs.
And he spat the words he'd always wanted to say ever since she wronged him.
"Fuck you!" he shouted, his throat aching and raw.
She quickly ran downstairs and proceeded to look at him with a judging look, as if she had the fucking right to judge him, as if he was the one who betrayed her, as if he was the one who fucking destroyed everything they've worked hard on.
"Draco, what's wrong – "
He stood up in rage. "You!"
"You and your demon spawn!" He went closer to her, shouting the words in her face, wanting for her to feel the pain. "Get out of my fucking house!"
Draco took the crying toddler in his own arms and threw it in his whore of a mother's arms. Then, he aggressively pushed them out of the door, out of his house, out of his life. At last.
He sighed when he slammed the door. He kicked it just to hurt himself, and then he cried.
It still hurt him, it happened a year ago but the pain was fucking fresh. The boy was just a mistake. A mistake that was going to stay in his home for ten more years. He didn't want the fucking child at all. Draco didn't want to be a father to that fucking child. He wouldn't teach him anything about life, he didn't have time for father shit. He wasn't teaching him how to ride a broom, he wasn't teaching him how to fight, he wasn't going to heal him if he got beat up, he would not give him advice about girls – he was not going to teach him anything. That was not Draco's job, after all. He was just a fucking funder.
He remembered the day he found out Hermione was pregnant. He was so happy – the gladdest he'd ever been. He had pictured what the child would look like – he imagined that the boy would have blond hair like him, gray eyes like him, and pointy features. He planned all the things he would tell him, he bought story books, he bought the most expensive crib, the most authentic toys, he painted the baby's room himself. It was all so perfect, and now, it was all fucking lost.
A mistake. A fucking mistake, that was what Hermione told him. She had given birth, and he saw that the baby had red hair. Fucking red hair. A Weasley, complete with freckles and brown eyes. Draco found out that he was right, the baby was a boy – and he was wrong, he wasn't his.
He remembered all the love he'd felt when she was pregnant disappearing when he first saw the boy that was supposed to be his. He even asked for a paternity test, just to make sure, just for a little bit of hope. The baby wasn't his, it turned out. Then, he recalled thinking about what he had done wrong to deserve that kind of betrayal. Oh, wait, he did fucking deserve this! He was a fucking Death Eater, maybe this was how God punished him. He apologized to all the Gods that could exist that night, still foolishly hoping that the baby would turn out to be his the day after. That was possible right? Magic was possible, after all, and all those fucking preachers always say that nothing was impossible.
He was wrong, of course a baby couldn't change his genetics overnight.
He remembered Hermione's explanation. She said that she was drunk, and ended up having sex with her ex-boyfriend. She fucking cheated on him because of alcohol, how fucking convenient for them – to finally have an excuse to have sex. He wasn't an idiot. He knew that Hermione had still loved Ronald fucking Weasley when they conceived their fucking spawn. Draco knew that Hermione dated him out of pity. Draco cursed every whore in existence, Draco cursed whoever invented wine in the first place.
He remembered wondering what his role was in all of this. Could he still be a father to a baby that wasn't his? Yeah, he could, he was just full of resentment. Could he love that child? Yeah, he could, he was just full of resentment. Could he ever forgive Hermione for being drunk and having sex with the ex-boyfriend she was still in love with? Yeah, he could, but he was too damned full of resentment.
He remembered Hermione and the newborn being shunned by Weasley. He remembered her begging for him to take them back. He remembered looking at the child, and thinking that he could earn his love if he couldn't earn his mother's.
He remembered waking up in the middle of the night because of his never-ending cries. He remembered feeding the boy after an exhausting day. He remembered all the antique furniture the child had broken. He remembered feeling warmth in his chest when he first called him 'pa.' He wasn't his fucking 'pa' though, he was not at all related to him, he looked nothing like him. He wasn't the fucking 'pa.'
He remembered talking to the baby, telling him that he fucking hated him. He remembered wanting to slap him for the broken furniture. He remembered wanting to explain why he hated him but could not because he didn't understand. He remembered regretting taking them in. He remembered contemplating suicide just to avoid the responsibilities of being a father to a baby that wasn't his baby. He remembered actually grabbing a knife to slash his wrists. He remembered deciding not to do it because the child held on to his leg.
It was so fucking hard, so fucking difficult to hate the only person who loved him, so hard to look for a blond head but instead find a red one. But he couldn't let the boy go, he was the one who took care of him – not his real father. He was the one who bought him three gifts for his first birthday, he was the one who bought him the most expensive cake money could buy. He was the one who washed off his shit, he was the one who got pissed on, the one who got kisses after a long day, the one who understood every blubber and stutter that the child says. He just wanted to be the child's father so bad.
He heard a knock on the door he was currently leaning on. He knew it was Hermione and her child, they probably went back to Weasley's house and got rejected again.
He sighed, wiped off his tears, and stood up to open the door.
Draco didn't even took a glance at the woman, his arms went straight for the child.
He picked him up and felt the child's arms wrap around his neck. Draco knew that this was home.
"Pa," the boy said, and tears fell from his eyes again.