Year of Our Lord
Chapter Two
February

MISTRESS GINEVRA ZABINI:

Dear Angelina,

How have you been? Please tell me things have improved over there. Do I need to come straighten things out with your monster of a husband? Because I will, you know I will. Just say the word.

Speaking of husbands, you asked in your last letter how things were with mine. I have to say, I'm not entirely sure. At times, I feel like I could kill him in his sleep. You know what he's like – he says the most awful things about those of Muggle heritage. He's so pompous and rigid. He's never any fun; he doesn't ever do nice things for me. He's horrid to Dean – he insists we call him "Swill." I know I have no right to complain considering who you're married to, but Blaise just makes it so hard to be happy.

And then, out of the blue, he'll do something so unlike himself that I wonder if I even really know him. The other day I walked into the nursery and he was rocking Lucan in the chair, singing to him. I've never heard Blaise sing, but his voice is so lovely. Deep and rich, like earth. I watched them for a moment before he realized I was there, and he looked up and smiled. I so rarely see him smile. In the softest voice I've ever heard from him, he said, "Ginny – thank you for such a perfect son." I was sure someone had taken Polyjuice Potion to look like my husband. He is not the kind of man I'd describe as "tender." He doesn't say things like "thank you for such a perfect son." He put the baby down, then kissed me. Softly, sweetly. I was so stunned, I just went along with it. Then he wrapped his arms around my waist and whispered, "let's make another."

He looked so . . . normal, so unlike his haughty and formal self. He was unusually relaxed, almost familiar. He actually tucked hair behind my ear and kissed my freckles, murmuring about how he loves them. I hate to admit it, but it was so nice to have such affection that I immediately gave in. I felt guilty afterward, like I'd betrayed some part of myself for actually feeling a connection to Blaise for once. Which is absurd, I know, since he is my legally wedded husband until death do us part and all that, but still.

Lucan is doing well – he's just begun walking. We still have to hold him by the hands, but he loves being up and about. I can't believe he's growing so fast! How are yours? How is Susan? Please tell me everything is alright. I hope to see you soon, if ever Gregory will let you leave the house. We must sneak you out somehow.

Your friend,
Ginny

WITCH ABBOTT:

Dear Diary,

This evening, Pansy let me have a butterbeer to celebrate a successful first trimester. She acted as though she'd just given me a thousand galleons, and she forced me to thank her for it. I wanted to slap her. Still, I must try to make myself grateful. After all, I am lucky – I would rather have a baby for the Malfoys than any other family. Other women are angry they can't have children, and they take it out on their surrogates, slapping them around or worse. Pansy doesn't mind; she told me she was happy she was barren, because having a baby would ruin her figure. What an awful thing to say to a pregnant woman! And my first time, too! Even with Pansy's insensitivity, it's still an improvement from running the Lestrange's household. Bellatrix was a lunatic; Rodolphus a brute. But you've heard all about that.

The butterbeer was, at least, a change from the usual monotony here. Everything is so quiet; the house is so big, one hardly ever hears or sees another person. It has given me plenty of time to read, but one can only read for so many hours in a day. I suppose if boredom is my only complaint, I'm better off than most people. Poor Hermione. My heart breaks whenever I see her. I do my best to extend kindness when I can, and I hate having to call her "Slop" in front of the Malfoys. I accidentally called her Hermione in front of them once, but luckily Pansy was laughing at just that moment and didn't catch it. Whenever we're alone – and we were quite a bit when my morning sickness required frequent cleaning up – she doesn't talk much. She won't even look at me, but I always notice a fresh bruise or burn on her. They're never especially bad, but they're there. Poor, poor Hermione.

I think I'm finally ready to talk about the night I conceived. I couldn't record my feelings before because, well, I didn't really know how I felt about it. First, I should remind you what I felt before the deed. Frankly, I was terrified. Draco is one of the most powerful Death Eaters in government. He killed Dumbledore. I was convinced he would be rough and brutish about the business. I needn't have worried on that account. In fact, Draco seemed almost embarrassed. Not that he would be so obvious about it, of course, but I noticed his hands shaking as he unfastened his trousers, and he kept clearing his throat. Pansy didn't stay to watch like some of the wives do. She kissed Draco on the cheek, told him to be quick about it, and then left, closing the door behind her.

I must have looked petrified, because before we got to it, Draco offered me a bit of firewhisky. I accepted, having never had it before in my life. I figured if ever there was a time to have some, it was then. It burned going down my throat and I coughed a little. Draco smiled and poured some more. He drank as well. The firewhisky made my skin feel hot, and beads of sweat started pooling on my lower back. I took off my robe without a thought, then blushed when I caught Draco staring at my bare stomach. I curled my arms around myself, not sure if I should have been so forward. Draco cleared his throat, downed the last of his firewhisky, then spoke.

"Are you sure you don't mind this?" His voice was husky from the drink. I was taken aback by his question, but answered honestly, trying not to sound too mouselike.

"I don't exactly have a choice, do I, Master Malfoy?" I paused, and he stared at the floor without saying a word. "I mean, it's this or the Lestranges. And, begging your pardon, Master, but I'd rather do anything than return back there. That is, I'm happy to provide any assistance to your family that I can. I'm proud to serve the Malfoy family, Master." I was rambling, the firewhisky stinging my mouth with each word.

Draco set down his empty glass, then put his hands on my shoulders. "Alright, Witch Abbott. I understand." His hands dropped to his side and he sighed, staring past me and into the fire. "Well, I suppose we had best get started, then."

My stomach clenched and I reached out, grabbing his arm. I needed more time. I needed to distract him, say anything, for just another moment. "Master Malfoy, this child. It will be considered a pureblood, isn't that correct? Even though I am only half-blood. I just want to make sure I understand."

Draco nodded. "We do not recognize three-fourths blood, not yet. If the child is more than half pure, we must consider him pure. Until the population of pureblood witches and wizards increases, we must turn a blind eye to such things." He stopped for a moment and regarded me. Another sigh, then "Go lie down on the bed, Witch Abbott. And take off your pants. Please."

I did what he asked, sweat sheening my body. I took off my bra as well, for good measure. I wanted to get this over with, and anything I could do to help matters along, I would do. I had never done this before, never been with a man, but I knew enough about how things worked, had heard my friends at school describe their sexual encounters in silly, sordid detail. I wasn't afraid of Draco anymore; the firewhisky had melted away those fears. I wasn't afraid of the sex. I was afraid of no longer being the same girl, the same innocent person I was before. I'd clung to that; my identity got me through the war and the aftermath of it. I clung to the fact that, despite everything, the terrors we'd faced hadn't changed me. I was afraid to be different now.

There was nothing for it. This had to be done. I summoned my strength. Look for the silver lining, Hannah, I told myself.

Draco was handsome enough. He seemed far more decent than I had anticipated. He didn't seem like the kind of man who would put bruises on Hermione. Maybe that was always Pansy, then. Silver lining, silver lining.

Draco found the silver lining for me. His clothes completely removed, Draco gently grabbed my hips and pulled me toward the edge of the bed. The skin touched by his fingers tingled; goosepimples broke out on my skin and I felt my nipples grow hard. My breath caught. His slate grey eyes lingered over my body and his fingers followed, taking in my nakedness. I returned the favor; glancing over his pale, naked body, his lean muscles and smattering of blond, almost golden, pubic hair. He remained half-erect, so I sat up, then kneeled before him on the bed. He watched me without saying a word. I felt emboldened by the firewhisky and adrenaline and held his gaze with mine as I took him into my mouth. I could feel him stiffen as he let out a soft moan, his hands gripping my shoulders.

A few minutes later, he told me to stop. I stopped, waiting for him to tell me what to do next. He instructed me to kneel on my hands and knees, facing away from him, so I did. I wasn't sure what he was doing, but he ran his hand up the inside of my thigh, carefully pushing my legs farther apart. When he finally touched me, I gasped, and immediately felt warmth and wetness between my legs. He worked me for a few minutes with his fingers before running his member around one particular spot of pleasure. I felt a need I had never felt so intensely and couldn't help but pushing back against him. Finally, he entered me and I moaned, aching to feel him deeper inside of me.

Is this too sordid for you, diary? I'll wrap it up, then. When he was done, he told me to carefully roll over and lie on my back for a while. I had not orgasmed, though it had felt wonderful. Draco was cordial, almost robotic, as he dressed and left the room. We repeated this ritual – firewhisky, sex, politeness – for two more nights before Pansy insisted we increase our "sessions" to two times a day. I did not complain, though our lovemaking seldom varied. I always stimulated him with my mouth or hands first, he always took me from behind, and we never kissed. On the fourth night, I had my first orgasm as Draco simultaneously rolled one of my nipples between his fingers and stimulated that pleasure spot with his other hand, all while entering me over and over. I cannot even begin to describe the sensation, so I won't even try. I'm not sure which time resulted in the pregnancy, but I missed my cycle that month so we knew it had taken. Draco didn't visit me for sex again after that, and I found myself masturbating more frequently than I had done since my school years.

FILTH:

Things certainly took a turn toward the absurd today. We – that is, Percy, Luna, and I – all discussed Percy's orientation. It did not go well, but I learned some interesting things about my masters. Let me explain.

Yesterday, I was cleaning the study when Luna joined me. She's rather large now; with only two and half months left of her pregnancy, give or take, and this being her third child, she's already quite round. Her movements are slow, but her demeanor is as charming and as friendly as ever. As I dusted, she sat and began talking to me. Of course, she's always overly familiar with me. Only Percy maintains the proper distance between us as master and servant. The more distant he is, the friendlier Luna becomes, it seems. I'm not sure which is better, if I'm being honest. I appreciate the effort on my mistress's part to make things easier for me, but frankly, her friendliness only seems to make a mockery of our present situation. At least with Percy, I know where things stand.

Anyhow, Luna confessed that she was beginning to grow suspicious of Percy's reluctance to show her any physical affection. She wondered if I had any ideas on the subject. I weighed my options: I could tell her that I suspected Percy prefers men to women, or I could let things take their own course. After all, it really is not my place to divulge his secret – if indeed I am correct – especially not without proof. Perhaps the smart thing would have been to keep my mouth shut on the matter, but of course, I did not. I suppose I felt I was sparing Luna's feelings by telling her what I believed to be the truth, that the longer things went on as they were, the more wounded she would feel by his neglect. Lack of physical affection aside, the two had become quite close friends. For the first year or so there was some awkwardness – their antithetical personalities seemed completely incompatible in every respect – but as Luna tends to do, Percy's wife won him over in the end, the dear. I believe she has become a great source of comfort for him. In any case, I felt she deserved to know.

She took it rather well, in fact. She said, "Oh, of course. I should have figured it out much sooner!" and got up and left. That was that, I thought. It was not that.

This morning, Luna sent for me to join her in the parlor. By the time I got there, Percy was already with her. They ceased their conversation, and a tense silence filled the room. Finally, Luna broke the silence.

Addressing her husband, she got quite to the point: "Percy, are you a homosexual?" The poor man nearly spit out his coffee. He immediately flushed scarlet.

"I – what? I don't know – what can you mean?" He stammered, avoiding her eyes and mine.

Luna patted his knee affectionately. "It's fine if you are. Justin is gay as well, aren't you, Justin?" She turned to me, her moonlike eyes serene, absolutely unaffected by her husband's mortification. And now it was my turn to be mortified – how long had she known? How had she known? I couldn't find the words to reply. Luna went on. "I knew you were the first time we made love. My hands had no effect, and when I used my mouth, it only worked once you closed your eyes. I assumed you were picturing a man. It's quite fine," she added, misjudging my embarrassment as guilt. "I'm not offended or anything. I, myself, enjoy both men and women."

Percy and I pointedly avoided eye contact. The humiliation was palpable; I kicked myself for saying anything to her. I wished she would stop talking, I wished she would let me leave, I wished she would just stop talking.

She did not. "Would you like it if we all made love together? We could do it for the next baby, or now, if you'd prefer. You two could make love, and I could watch. Or we could all do it together. Or I can leave, if you two would like to –"

Percy mercifully interrupted her. His face was a tomato with ginger hair. He had to set down his coffee to keep it from spilling onto the carpet; his hands were shaking so much. "Luna, my dear, that won't be necessary. I'm quite sure you are mistaken about our Justin, here. And in your condition – no, it will not do. Please, don't trouble yourself on this point." I could have kissed the man.

Luna smiled. "If you say so, my love. I don't mind though – if you change your mind later. I just want you to be happy, of course." She patted her belly, stood up with minimal fumbling around her protruding stomach, then left us to drown in awkwardness.

For a moment, Percy almost looked as though he were going to make an attempt at conversation, but then decided against it. "You may go, Justin," he said quietly. I watched him for a moment – the sadness, the loneliness in his eyes, the remnants of a blush on his neck and ears, the way he fidgeted with his spectacles as if they could hide him. I felt a stirring of affection for him that had not been there before. He seemed almost darling, just then. I turned and left before I got myself into any trouble.