"Night, daddy," he mumbled sleepily, "love you."
"Love you, too, little prince", he replied, brushing his lips over the boy's forehead.
Draco sat there, at the edge of his son's bed, watching him sleep peacefully, his blond curls sticking out over the top of his dragon and snitch patterned comforter. Custom made and from the finest of fabrics known to mankind, of course. Nothing but the best for his son, his first born, his heir, his heart, his life.
Sometimes, he still couldn't believe he was a father. He had a son. A blond, towheaded, curious, brilliant, perfect son. He'd do anything for this little boy. Set the world ablaze and destroy worlds if it meant keeping him safe, keeping him happy. Nothing and no-one was ever going to take him away, not again. He had made sure of it.
He eased himself from the boy's bed and quietly made his way out of his room before gently closing door. Intent on returning to the Manor for the night, he quietly made his way towards the stairs, hoping to get out as quickly as possible, when a voice sounded up the corridor.
"You could have waited until Sunday to do this," a voice hissed quietly, "why did you have to take him today, for the whole day when I only have him one weekend a month!" He tensed momentarily, but didn't stop making his way down the stairs, "that's not fair, Malfoy," the voice continued.
That made him stop mid stride.
"Not fair", he mocked, "you know what's not fair, Granger," he turned then, eyes cold, lips sneering. "Not informing a man that he has a child, that is not fair. Keeping said child from him for five fucking years, that is not fair", he snarled lowly.
She didn't say anything then. She never could.
"I'm sorry," she whispered as he turned to continue down the stairs. He ignored her, but she followed. "I am sorry. You know I regret it."
Silence.
He was at the door now, removing his cloak from the coat rack.
"You only regret that you didn't get away with it", his voice flat and uncaring, he didn't even look at her, "you're only sorry that mother saw you two that day and became suspicious enough to start asking the right questions."
"You've already taken him from me and I barely get to see him –"
"And I didn't see him for five years."
Silence.
"How long are you going to punish me for that," her voice broke with her effort to keep tears at bay, "how long will you make me suffer for my mistakes?"
"For as long as it takes me to forgive you," he wrapped his scarf securely around his neck and tucked the ends under his cloak.
"When will you forgive me?"
Silence.
He opened the door, December winds entered, making the small entryway instantly frigid.
He stepped out.
"Never."