Let me preface this by saying that at this point, Alexander is somewhere around 3-4 months. Remember, his mother only came to Draco with Alexander after she'd decided she no longer wanted him, so he's not exactly a newborn. He's old enough to have personality and respond to stimuli, but still young enough to require a lot of care and attention. If I make any mistakes regarding to what's normal for a baby at any given age, forgive me. I have zero experience with babies that young!

Thanks guys :)

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It was a long moment before I thought of something- anything- to say. "Breakfast?" I blurted out. True to form, I was bumbling and inarticulate, but Draco either didn't notice or didn't comment.

"Sure, he replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

More awake than I'd been at this hour in a long time, I led Draco down the narrow stairs and into the little kitchen. "I'm not sure what we have to eat," I said over my shoulder, realizing as I said it that it was true. Most mornings I slept right through the breakfast hour or didn't feel like eating much. As a matter of fact, I never felt much like eating anymore. As Hermione never hesitated to tell me, I was getting woefully thin.

Draco joined me in opening all of the cabinets, most of which contained only mouse droppings and dust bunnies. "Let's see what we have here," he muttered, his cheerful tone making plain that he was teasing me, but playfully. "Baking soda- yum. Canned green beans- tempting! Oh, here's a box of pasta- no, wait, that expired in 1989. Aha, here's the good stuff!"

Turning, I saw with mortification that Draco had found the one cabinet that was always in stock- the liquor cabinet. It was crammed with glass bottles and tumblers of all shapes and sizes, holding a rainbow of alcoholic beverages. Draco turned and quirked an eyebrow at me. "Party hard, Potter?"

"Something like that," I muttered, just as Kreacher appeared before us.

Saved by the house elf.

"Good morning, Master, mister Malfoy, baby Malfoy," he said cheerfully. "Should Kreacher make up some breakfast? Kreacher could make a fine breakfast- and something for the baby Malfoy, too."

"Yes, thank you," I hurried to respond, grateful that he, at least, was on top of things.

We sat down at the table, Draco putting Alexander into a highchair- my highchair- that Kreacher had found in the attic. The content little elf hummed as he flitted around the kitchen, making eggs, toast, bacon and pancakes. For Alexander, Kreacher had mashed some unidentifiable green vegetable into a creamy paste before leaving it up to Draco to do the actual feeding. It only took a few minutes of Draco simply holding the spoon full of mush in the general vicinity of Alexander's mouth for Kreacher to take pity on the poor, inexperienced man.

"May Kreacher makes a suggestion, mister Malfoy?" said Kreacher hesitantly, as if unsure whether offering parenting advice to a house guest was overstepping or not.

"Uh, sure," said Draco, clearly thrown off guard. I reminded myself that- according to Dobby- house elves in the Malfoy house were treated very differently than they were here, and Draco was probably unaccustomed to being addressed by one beyond 'yes sir' and 'no sir.' It was also worth noting, however, that he sat quietly when Kreacher spoke, intently watching as he demonstrated how to coax Alexander into opening his mouth so that he could slip the spoon of offensive food into his mouth while he was distracted.

Draco took over once again, and I watched him interacting with his son with no little amusement. His mouth was twitching a little, as if by subconsciously opening and closing his own lips, he could somehow make Alexander do the same. It was like Ron, who had a habit of twisting and turning his body whenever he watched a Quidditch match, as if he could really effect which way one of the players would move. In Draco's case, however, my amusement was amplified by the fact that Draco was making the most ridiculous faces, and seemed altogether unaware that he was doing so at all.

I tried to stifle my laughter, but one particularly contorted expression caused a snort to escape me. "What?" Draco asked, oblivious, turning from Alexander to look at me. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," I quickly lied. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I heard Kreacher snickering as he placed the steaming platters of breakfast food on the table before us.

Alexander- who I could already tell was an unnaturally smart baby- took advantage of Draco's distraction, however slight. He swept one chubby arm across the tray of the highchair, knocking the little ceramic dish with the last few bits of mashed vegetable- a meal I was fairly certain Alexander had not enjoyed- to the floor, where it shattered instantly.

"Shit- er, shoot," Draco swore, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be setting a good example for his son. "Sorry Harry, I'll fix that-"

"Don't bother," I said, waving it off as Kreacher started to wipe up the mess. "It was ugly anyway, I never liked it. Ginny was the one who picked it out, she-"

I stopped suddenly and felt my stomach turn over a few times. It was the first time I'd mentioned Ginny to Draco. It was the first time I'd said her name out loud, in fact, in quite a while. It was like during the war, when you couldn't say Voldemort's name. I was half afraid that if I said her name- a name I once tendered as dearly as my own- she might suddenly appear and rip my heart out again.

I saw out of the corner of my eye that Kreacher was watching me with trepidation, wondering, no doubt, if I would break down- go on one of those terrible drinking binges again- as experience had taught him I was likely to do. It was tempting; I knew that in a few shots, I would forget how much she hurt me, and a few shots after that I would forget her very name- but Draco's eyes were on me, too, searching. So I pushed the bottle from my mind and shrugged, picking up a piece of bacon and picking at it for no other reason than to have something to do.

Draco likewise began to fill his plate, and that teeter-totter moment passed. We ate in silence for a few minutes, interrupted only by Kreacher's offer to entertain "the baby Malfoy"- he refused to call him Alexander for some odd reason- in the other room, and Draco's accepting it. After a while, Draco cleared his throat.

"How is Ginny, by the way?"

I was choking, either on food or emotion, and it took a minute before I could draw in a breath, let alone speak. "Hell if I know."

"I knew you guys had split up- it's, well, it's all over the media, of course, but- no one really knows what… happened."

"The media happened," I snapped, and it came out so much like a hiss that for a moment I was afraid I'd spoken Parseltongue, before I saw that Draco's face was marked only by confusion, not fear.

My eyes darted to the cupboard door behind which my collection of bottles lay. Just one drink-

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's totally fine," Draco said slowly, like a person trying to calm down a madman who was threatening to blow up the building.

I rubbed a hand across my eyes. "No," I said. "No, I owe you an explanation. We're roommates, after all," I said with a wry grin.

"If you're sure," he said simply.

"A while ago," I began, "the Daily Prophet printed an article about me supposedly having slept with a whole slew of witches, even after I was married to- to Ginny."

He looked at me. "Was it true?"

"No."

"But she believed it."

"No, no," I said. "It wasn't that, it's just-" I paused, trying to find the words. "Ginny never liked being the center of attention. She was used to being behind the scenes- a support, not a figurehead. She hated when people would talk about her or ask her questions or make a big fuss over her."

"So she married 'the Chosen One'?"

I sighed. "That was just the problem. She didn't deal well with the amount of press she got for just being there at the Battle of Hogwarts, let alone the attention that being my wife brought about. The negative publicity was the hardest, though. When Rita Skeeter posted that story about those women… she couldn't take it anymore. So she left." My hands were shaking. I needed a drink, just one, to calm my nerves a little…

"I always knew I had a good reason to hate the media," Draco said. "I've seen the shit end of that stick, too," he added, "when the war was over, and everyone kept expecting me to become the next Voldemort…" He paused, then dropped his head into his hands, exactly as he'd done the night before at the bar. "I suppose between you and me, this place will be swarming with media soon, once the news about Alexander gets out," he grumbled.

"Actually, no one knows I live here," I said.

"How'd you manage that?"

I shrugged. "The spells on the house are airtight. It looks like the same old ruinous house that people have been passing for 18 years now to everyone but my closest friends and people I invite in. And even if someone saw a person coming or going from the lot, their memory would be altered so that they forgot all about it."

He nodded. "Impressive."

"All Hermione."

"Well in any case, that'll come in handy once the story comes out."

I frowned. "How would they know about it?"

"What?"

"Well, I'm not telling, and Kreacher's not telling, so if you don't say anything, what's to stop you from waiting to talk about it until it's on your terms?"

He was shaking his head before I'd even finished. "Astoria will make sure that everyone knows, trust me," he muttered.

"Why?" I asked, leaning forward. "Wouldn't that be bad for her?" Draco obviously didn't follow my train of thought. "Well, why would she want to go around saying that her husband slept with other women? That's going to reflect badly on her, too, don't you think?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "She'll spin it so that she's the poor victim of a faithless monster. Like that's the truth…"

"What is the truth?"

He didn't answer, and I could see that the tables were turned now, and he was the one digging at old wounds. Maybe it won't be so bad, I thought, if I'm not drinking alone. That's not as bad, right? I stood, walked to the cabinet, and brought back a bottle with two glasses, one of which I offered to Draco.

His eyebrow quirked up again. "Isn't it a little early to be drinking?"

I didn't look him in the eye as I poured myself a glass. It's never too early when you drink from sun-up to sundown. I swirled the glass, watching the eddies of amber liquid until he spoke again.

"The truth," he said haltingly, "the truth is that neither Astoria nor I knew the person we married. In Astoria, I saw someone who wasn't afraid of me, who still stood by me after all I'd done. Beyond that, she was beautiful, and she was pure-blooded. At eighteen, what more could I want?

On Astoria's part, well… she believed the press. She'd watched me at Hogwarts as I entered into the ranks of the Death Eaters. She adored me, always told me how I was the greatest wizard she'd ever known. Like the press, she thought that I would grow more powerful, achieve the type of reign that Voldemort did. She married me not for love, but for the promise of power that she thought being my wife would someday afford her.

"For the first year or so, she was wonderful. Whatever I said, she supported. She was always telling me how I was destined to do great things. But then she started to realize that I wasn't trying to rise to power in any capacity. She became bitter, then angry, then downright cruel. She would constantly tell me how worthless I was, how I was a disappointment, how Voldemort should have killed me the moment I couldn't kill Dumbledore-"

He might have wiped away a tear, but it was too quick for me to tell.

"I stayed with her because I couldn't face the shame of divorcing my wife because she thought I wasn't good enough. How do you explain that?" His voice cracked, and he was silent for a minute as he visibly tried to regain his composure.

"Then one night, we had a huge fight- she tried to kill me, but her aim was off, and the curse barely missed me. I disapparated, went to a bar, got drunker than I've ever been. And then, along came Leila, this beautiful woman- I know that nothing excuses what I did that night, but- but in that moment, it didn't feel wrong, Harry."

He shook his head, letting out a deep sigh. "The rest is history, I guess. Leila showing up on our doorstep with Alexander was all the excuse Astoria needed to divorce me. She knows I won't contest it, not after what I did, and she knows she can get money out of me…" He gave a sad smile. "I've already lost my job, my home, and my dignity, why not my fortune, too, right?"

I looked up sharply. "What do you mean, you lost your job?"

He sighed again. "I'm sure you know that, because I'm part Veela, I was made an ambassador to Bulgaria shortly after graduation?"

I nodded.

"Well, since Leila didn't know where I lived, she thought to stop by my office, since I'd mentioned that to her. Now, a questionable past in a very dark period of history can be forgiven by employers. But a current scandal involving an ambassador? Not so much. I received an owl with my pink slip* just minutes after I left the house with nothing but the clothes on my back- and Alexander."

My drink was gone, and I felt calm enough to offer solace. "You'll find another job, Draco." He didn't meet my eye. "Listen, you're damn good at what you do, and you know it. Other people know it, too, and they won't let some silly little drama get in the way of hiring you, I know it."

Draco appeared to remain unconvinced. "Thanks," he said.

"You just have to get out there and look, that's all."

"How am I going to do that," he asked, "when I have a baby to look after?"

"I'll look after him. And Kreacher can help."

He shook his head. "Harry, I can't ask you to do that. You have a job of your own to go to."

"I- I haven't really worked in a while, actually," I said, face flushing.

Those gray eyes searched my face once again. "What? Why not?"

What was I supposed to tell him? That they'd fired me? That I'd shown up plastered** too many times? That it was only out of respect for all I'd done for the wizarding world that they even did it quietly?

I couldn't bear the shame of telling him that.

"Let's just focus on you for now. Kreacher and I will help take care of Alexander so you can find a job, alright? It'll all work out, I promise."

I turned my back so he wouldn't see me cry.

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*Pink slip= a notice of being fired from your job
** Plastered= extremely drunk, beyond the point of functioning

(Just in case the slang confused anyone, I know I have international readers.)

I actually adore this chapter. Not because anything particularly interesting happened, but because of how much you find out about the characters. Harry, we see here, has a serious drinking problem that he's using to cope with the pain of Ginny's abandonment. Draco, on the other hand, has a past wrought with people who didn't understand him and what I would consider emotional abuse, yet he still accepts the consequences of his actions, even feels guilty about hurting the woman who never loved him an iota. And beyond all of that, you see how Draco has this innocent, almost childlike side to him, and Harry is already developing a tenderness for Draco that leads him to want to conceal his alcoholism and unemployment, as well as to watch everything Draco does with a tender, observant eye.

But I digress. Long story short, these are two pretty incredible characters, I'd say, and I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know them as I wrote this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it, too!