Thanks to Guest for your kind Review of Chapter 8

***Chapter 9***

***Are We There Yet?***

Once there was nobody. It had been a long time ago, when he was barely seventeen, when days were dark as death. He thought of death a lot back then because – well, because death was all there was. Voldemort destroyed and he, Draco, was swept up in the destruction, as though a great tide came and carried him into a vortex in the middle of a deep black ocean. Oh, he didn't kill. No, he was too afraid, too cowardly to kill. But he brought death and destruction into Hogwarts when he opened the door to the Vanishing Cabinet and they came. They came because he was afraid of death, of being killed, of his parents being murdered, because he was too afraid, too cowardly to kill…

"Or brave," Astoria whispered. "Draco, to defy Voldemort and refuse to kill Dumbledore, even though you were terrified of what would happen if you didn't, that was brave. You have to be evil to murder. You're not evil.

That was the first time he began to think differently about himself. When he'd finally opened his eyes to realise everything he'd believed about pureblood supremacy was a lie, he'd thought it was too late for anyone to give a Knut about him. But it wasn't. Astoria was suddenly with him every step of the way. She pulled him out of the deep abyss of despondency and angry resentment he'd fallen into, encouraged him in his vague dream of being a Healer. Gave him belief in himself, happiness, even a son. He wasn't alone anymore. Except…

Scorpius's birth had weakened Astoria greatly. A blood malediction, a curse thrown at a Greengrass ancestor many generations before, resurfaced in Tori. Nobody knew how long she had left to live. She made plans for her demise just as Draco had for his own all those years ago. She wished for daffodils, she said, sunny and bright and filled with hope of spring and new beginnings.

Especially as there was another new beginning now. If the child lived...

They hadn't planned another baby and he was so afraid of losing his wife and new son or daughter, of being on his own. Astoria said he never would be, not with Scorpius, and, anyway, nobody knew whether or not Death was the end. There might be something after, she said, always the optimist, always calm and reassuring despite her illness, and they might be reunited once more. She might not die, she said, and, even if she did, he was brave. Remember? He would cope, and he would always have the help and friendship of Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny. Which Draco insisted he didn't want. Nor did he want to see them now, running towards him from St Mungo's.

"Draco! Draco, it's happened!" Since when did he give Hermione Granger, now Hermione Granger-Weasley and Minister of Magic, permission to use his given name and fling her arms around his neck? And, what was more, to leave his shoulder a sodden mess of tears?

She took a step back, her eyes widening. "Why is there a box on your head?"

"Why is there a bird's nest on yours?" He shot back. "And why are you crying?" He added suspiciously. In his experience, Granger didn't cry. Pansy had cried. All the time. She cried for everything, from losing an ear-ring to being yelled at by Snape, to whining Draco was ignoring her if he happened to glance away from her for more than two seconds. But Granger? Granger never cried.

"Oh, my Mum's probably crying 'cos she thought I'd turned into an um-aaaahhh," Hugo supplied an answer of sorts. "It's okay, Mum. I didn't."

Hermione didn't ask. She only scooped her youngest child into her arms and held him tight, biting her lip to stop any more tears.

Small wonder their offspring behaved as crazily as they did. All four of the Gryffindor lot were staring at him. And the Weaselette was looking misty-eyed and gathering the miniature Potters around her. Which was a tough call, as the two eldest miniature Potters were struggling against hugs and Dance-Yourself-Dizzy had broken away to perform pirouettes.

"What?" Draco demanded.

"It'll be fine, Draco," Ginny said.

"Mate, we're right behind you." Scarface clapped him on the shoulder while his sidekick Weasel Features nodded his agreement, grinning inanely.

He narrowed his eyes. "Yes, well, I'd feel a lot safer if you were in front of me."

"Don't be daft. You have to see Astoria first." Harry objected, totally missing the sarcasm. But someone had beaten them all to it anyway.

"Dad, Dad, Dad!" Scorpius was screaming urgently down from the top of the St Mungo's stairs that led to the private ward Astoria was booked into.

"You'd better come quick, Mr Malfoy!" His dark-eyed, wild-haired lieutenant had thundered down said stairs, her hair wilder than ever, and snatched hold of his hand to pull him to his as yet unknown fate. "Though I don't think getting there any quicker will help really," she added thoughtfully. "In fact, you're probably best taking it easy while you can. Being very, very, very old, I mean."

Rose accordingly abruptly slowed their pace, almost toppling him over in the process. Maybe he should consider a spell for staying upright when around miniature witches and wizards, he reflected. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd nearly tripped and did trip over Scorpius when he was learning to crawl. His son had had a habit of popping up in the most unlikely places.

"Rose! Leave Mr Malfoy to go see his wife alone!" Hermione said, aghast.

"No. No, it's okay," Draco's throat was suddenly dry. "The ward will have been spell-checked and cleansed of germs so it's probably best if they come with me." He needed some support. Okay, that support was highly dubious when they all had a talent for pulling him off his feet, but there you go. Or, rather, there you went.

The Gryffindor geeks were regarding him with astonishment.

"What? All of them? Even Hugo?" Ron's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. But the children had more important matters on their minds.

"Nah. The um-aaaahhhs can't come, Uncle Ron. They don't like hospitals in case they get sick." Albus carefully laid the empty box on the floor in a neat pile next to the other abandoned boxes while Hugo took advantage of his mother's distraction to leap down and hitch a lift on Draco's sleeve.

Rose was frowning. "Well, if it's been spell-checked, I suppose that's okay, but words like bed are pretty easy. I don't think any of them can spell words like hospitalisation and anaesthetic and sanatorium."

"Hey! I can spell all those," James objected.

"Go on then," Rose challenged.

"I don't feel like, though."

"This way, this way!" Scorpius was standing at the top of the stairs, waving his arms as though signalling landing clearance to a low-flying aircraft.

"Scorpius, I know where it is. I work here," Draco said tightly, placing a hesitant foot on the first step, as did his army of protectors. They looked round at each other as if going into battle. He knew he should be hurrying, but he dreaded what awaited. The odd behaviour of the four most annoying people on the planet (if you discounted another six less than a million miles away, that was) had already alerted him to the fact something was greatly amiss. And he didn't want to face what that something might be. Especially as Scorpius was running in and out of Astoria's room, looking flustered and pulling all manner of strange expressions. Maybe the longer he delayed it...maybe it wouldn't have happened….maybe…

"Rose. What am I going to find in there?" He whispered apprehensively, desperate times calling for desperate measures and accidentally using her real name. A sure sign of just how worried he was.

"Can't tell you." Eldest Granger shook her frizzy mane of explosion-in-a-mattress factory hair. He wasn't surprised Trimblefeathers was clinging on for dear life. "Probably best you see for yourself."

He nodded. At least he was being given moral support, There was the Scary Six. And Trimblefeathers. And Bubo was perched on his shoulder. The little witches and wizards had even left their beloved boxes behind. He only hoped the umaaaahhhs inside were alright and...Wait! He had to remember umaaaahhhs were only a product of Slytherin cunning and their imagination. Dear Merlin, the scary ones had gotten so far inside his brain he was even beginning to think like them now.

Except for Scorpius (who had abandoned the flight path to run up and down the stairs and breathlessly hasten them on, pulling on his hair so distractedly it now looked as though he'd been in the same mattress factory explosion as Eldest Granger, then run through a tornado as an encore) they all stood on the first step, Draco, Lieutenant Granger, Potty Heads One and Two, the Mad Professor and Dance-Yourself-Dizzy. Well, okay, Dance-Yourself-Dizzy was up and down between the first and second step due to a sudden dancing affliction, but that was by the by. They were ready. At one side were Eldest Granger and the two Potty-Heads and at the other Dance-Yourself-Dizzy and Mad Professor. They were holding hands and...Oh, God, they were holding hands! How the hell did that happen? Their powers were great indeed.

They took the second step. Dance-Yourself-Dizzy very skilfully took both steps three times, while hanging precariously on to Draco's fingers, and even though between them his arm was being weighed down by a non-fee-paying passenger swinging on his sleeve. He could hear the whispers of the Gryffindors behind, but he didn't care.

"He's not going to cope with it all on his own, though." Huh! What made the Potteress such an expert? He was Slytherin. Shrewd, resourceful, clever. He could cope with anything. Couldn't he?

"Why not? He seems absolutely fine to me." That was the Weasel.

He sneered a particularly impressive sneer at the comment, which was unfortunately wasted on wittering Weasley, as he had his back to him. It wasn't that Draco either agreed or disagreed. It was just that he always opposed anything Weasley, Granger, Potter and Weaselette did or said on a matter of principle. After all, he was absolutely fine. Wasn't he?

And then he smirked a hugely impressive smirk (which again was, so very, very sadly lost to wizardkind forever due to him still being the wrong way round) when Weasley gave a pained yelp, obviously subjected to one of Granger's infamous arm slaps. Should've been a punch on the chin, then he'd really have known about it.

"He is most certainly not absolutely fine, Ron Weasley He..."

Draco prepared to sneer…

"He does look okay, though, Hermione."

"For Merln's sake, Harry, don't be so dense! He may look okay, but it's all a front." Damn, now he had to disagree with Granger, as a matter of principle and disagree with Potter, as a matter of principle. Sneer or smirk, smirk or sneer, or go for gold and gag at their Gryffindor concern? This was becoming very confusing.

There was a sudden tug on his sleeve. Mad Professor was staring at him. "Is the wall being nasty to you? Shall I tell my Mum to shout at it?"

"Harumph!" He cleared his throat. "Such extreme measures are wholly unnecessary."

The scariest little wizard continued to stare at him, his brow furrowing, his mouth opening dangerously in question.

But they had reached the top, Draco, the two mini Potty Heads, the dancing-obsessed little witch, his lieutenant and his non-fee paying sleeve passenger. The door was already wide open, thanks to the whirlwind burst mattress on legs masquerading as a small boy with white-blond hair, who/which was running frantically in and out. And, unless he wished his companions to crash into the wall, Draco would have to let go of them to enter.

With a shudder of fear, he let go.

It went well. Somewhat. The sleeve passenger made a safe landing. The dancer soft-shoe shuffled to a halt. The two mini Potters were only saved from bumping into each other by the admirable quick reflexes of his lieutenant, obviously a future Seeker star, who pulled them both back upright just in the nick of time.

But still the lanky wizard hesitated to look into the room, terrified of what he might find.

Instead his eyes gazed beyond the bed where he knew his wife lay and to the window. A lazy summer breeze was floating leisurely inside and in the distance, under the blue gossamer-clouded skies, beyond the grassy slope and the blossom-laden trees, he could see a rippling river of gold.

The daffodils.

The daffodils, where they had stopped that afternoon and he had paused to watch his child and the child of his former arch enemies playing happily together, and to dwell on his own lost childhood. He might be much older now, but without Astoria he would be lost once more. Forever.

"Dad, Dad, Dad!" there was an urgent voice at his elbow. "What are we going to do?"

And there was a terrible cry. No. More than one. Several high pitched wails piercing his eardrums. So finally, because he had to some time, he looked down.

And that was when he saw…

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'll tell you next chapter! :D