CHAPTER 9
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chicago, IL.
He hadn't found out the Dark Lord had been defeated until a full two years after Potter had reached out from the ashes of exile and destroyed the powerful tyrant.
Though the Muggle American's had abandoned isolationism decades ago, it was alive and well in their wizarding population. Between their disinterest in foreign affairs and the man's tendency not to speak with anyone but a few store owners when he popped into his former world for the odd item now and then, the knowledge had escaped him.
It had been one of these occasional acquaintances that had tipped him off with the information he'd convinced himself he didn't care to hear.
"Why are you still here, ya' coward?" the old hag from the Apothecary had cackled at him as he counted out the necessary payment.
He looked up, not a clue what she was referring to. "Waiting for my order, clearly." The handsome blonde sneered at the ugly witch, already uncomfortable with his surroundings and annoyed that someone would address him when he was careful to give all appearances of wanting to be left alone," Perhaps if you'd talk less and work more I could be on my way."
She seemed unfazed by his coldness. A clerk in an unsavory, dark arts part of town, she had no doubt dealt with much worse, "In the country, you fool. You have defector written all over you. The war's been settled in your country for years. All the rest have already gone back from where they came from. Why haven't you?"
Still, it wasn't until several weeks later when curiosity got the better of him did he actively seek to find out the fate of the life he and his wife had left behind.
Draco couldn't believe what he'd found.
As a boy, he couldn't fathom any possible future in which the Dark Lord could be defeated. He had watched his father, the most powerful man in his world, submit to a master, had stood aside as countless witches and wizards were struck down like expendable currency to his cause. The misfits that patched together the Light's resistance were a laughable speed bump before Voldemort's complete reign. A murdered old fool leading a team of children—and a handful of noble wizarding oddities like Nymphadora and the werewolf—seemingly from the grave. Riddle had long secured the purebloods, with all their ancient wealth, and had an critical edge that Potter's team could never touch. The despot was willing to sacrifice every single man, woman or child under his power in order to crush his opposition.
When he had taken Hermione away, he did it with the certainty that she'd never survive even the first stages of the take over. She might not have chosen him but she was safe and alive.
But Potter and Weasley had survived, and even though it had taken them the better part of a decade and the destruction of half of wizarding England, they had won.
If she had been with them…
Now, as Draco leaned against the door to their son's room and watched his wife tuck their six year old into bed, he wondered for the first time, if a different path could have led her to a happier outcome.
With the devotion she showed her family, he knew she loved him and her son, but maybe—if given the choice—she'd have been kissing the freckled cheek of a tiny redheaded child instead. Now that he knew that had been a possibility, the thought tore at him. He had been content with the life he'd scrapped together for them when he thought the alternative was death and servitude, now that he knew Hermione Black had missed out on everything Hermione Granger had loved and worked for, it all felt woefully inadequate.
Two pairs of eyes, one a match of his own and the other that perfect shade of amber flashed to him as he shifted into sight.
"Dad!" Alexander cheered, as eager as ever for a reason to stay up just a few moments later. The small platinum haired boy tried to scramble out of bed but his mother gave him a reprimanding stare that had even the stubborn heir of Draco Malfoy freezing in his tracks.
"Oh no you don't," Hermione laughed, pulling the blanket up to her son's chin and making a show of tucking it around the child tightly enough to resemble a maniac in a straight jacket, "I just barely got you in there. You get a story and then you're going to sleep."
His son looked to him, desperate for pardon, but Draco didn't dare go against his fierce wife's orders. Their son was as willful as all Malfoy men, and unfortunately felt just as entitled. But thanks to Hermione's influence, he was also respectful and affectionate; which had been a surprise for Draco, whose only father-son experience was between himself and a domineering Lucius.
"You heard the boss," he smirked, pressing a light kiss onto Hermione's forehead as he took a seat on the edge of the bed beside her.
Alexander formed his father's famous scowl at Draco's lack of support but quickly allowed it to morph into a smug little smile that made both parents nervous. "Fine," he sniffed, "But I want dad to tell me my story tonight."
The small family's patriarch paled and his wife dissolved into a fit of giggles.
While Hermione was a wildly creative and skilled story teller, spoiling the child with scenes from her imagination—which she unknowingly drew mostly from her own history—Draco had always contented himself with sitting back and listening along side his son. He hardly had a plethora of muggle stories to draw from, nor were the recesses of his mind filled with things child-appropriate.
He shook his head slowly, "I don't think-"
"Please, dad?"
Draco glanced to his wife for an out but the beautiful, unhelpful creature was already settling in next to the boy, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Go on, then," she prompted, "We don't have all night, love."
Resigned, he struggled to come up with anything that could entertain his two companions. Looking just a touch out of place in his expensive suit, he leaned across the bottom of the brightly colored, train-themed bedspread and internally berated himself for feeling such embarrassment.
He sighed, "How is it these things start when your mother tells them?"
"Once upon a time," the boy informed him importantly.
"Right," Draco rubbed at the nape of his neck. Perhaps it was out of his building sense of guilt or simply due to the state of his thoughts of late, the story that came to him was more of a confession than anything else and was unwilling to be repressed.
"Well… once upon a time there was- there was a prince."
His wife bit back a burst laughter at the start of his clichéd fair tale. Draco pointedly ignored her.
"He wasn't a good prince. The- kingdom he belonged to was very dark, monstrous even. They prayed on the other kingdoms and had a ruler that would lie and cheat and kill anyone he needed to in order to get the power he wanted. The Dark King."
"Draco!" Hermione squeaked, her hands immediately over he son's ears, "He's only six!"
Alexander swatted her away petulantly. "I want to hear! Go on, dad," he urged.
Draco gave her a chastised look, a silent promise to keep everything clean and received her nod of reluctant acceptance. "The prince did everything the Dark King asked of him, no matter how terrible, because-"
"Did he kill people? With a sword?" his son interrupted, leaning forward with excitement.
He tried not to meet his wife's glare as he answered honestly, "That was part of it, yes. The prince led most of the King's- raids, searching out people from other territories that were trying to stop the Dark from taking over.
"He followed his king blindly for many years, more afraid of the Dark's wrath than he was of the damage his deeds were having on his soul."
He paused, his eyes flashing to his wife for a fraction of a second, checking for any signs of recognition or familiarity, "But as he grew older, the prince fell in love."
The small boy groaned in disgust, his body plummeting back into the bed like the sudden loss of interest in his father's tale had made him weak. "This is a girl story," he declared.
"Want me to stop?" Draco lifted a pale brow, "You can go to sleep right now, if you'd like." Alexander shook his head quickly. "As I suspected. Anyway, the problem was not that the prince had fallen in love, but rather, whom he fell in love with.
"She was the princess of the Light, his kingdom's sworn enemy. The girl was the head of her people's resistance, as pure and kind as the Dark King was wicked and they loved her for it. She was their strength."
His eyes were on everything but Hermione as he remembered. "The princess hated the prince because of what he was and the evil he served …so for a time, he watched her from afar."
"Why would he love her if she wouldn't even talk to him?" Alexander demanded with a child's practicality, more interested than he'd ever admit.
"He didn't want to love her, she represented everything he was raised to hate. But she was so beautiful, so good, that he couldn't help but be drawn to her. He managed to stay away from her though, to leave her alone. He probably would have been able to keep himself from her his entire life if it wasn't for the war.
"You see, the Dark grew in power with every passing year, and when they were finally strong enough to take over, they attacked the kingdom of Light, bent on the destruction of everyone that stood in their way. Unable to fight, the princess and all the leaders were forced into hiding."
"They hid? They didn't even fight back?" Alexander snorted, his thoughts so much like his father's at a younger age.
"They didn't stand a chance," Draco stressed, "And the prince knew that too. He know that if his princess were caught, she'd be killed and he grew resentful of the Dark King. He didn't want to hurt people any more, he only wanted to be with his love.
"It wasn't long before he decided to leave the Dark 's ranks, but he refused to go knowing that she could have been caught and hurt while he was away. The prince searched everywhere for her, desperate to find her before others from his kingdom could. But he was too late."
This time it was Hermione herself who interrupted his tale with a small gasp. For a moment, he thought he might have triggered a memory but her blushing face held only silly concern for his story's heroine. Though his charms had held their entire adult lives, it was hard for him to imagine her not being able to remember their former world when it was discussed under such a thin veil.
He had never felt regret over the choices he'd made for them , but it bothered him a great deal that she wasn't able to remember herself as the brave little force he first fell in love with.
"She had been captured," the handsome blonde thought back on that day, "was being tortured by people he had had once considered family."
Alexander swallowed hard, "Did they… kill her?"
Draco shook his head, "No. The prince killed them and saved her life. He- convinced her to run away with him and they both left the war and their kingdoms behind," he finished like it was the sweetest ending that ever was.
His wife and child gaped at him, wide eyed and still as stone.
Both males startled lightly when Hermione erupted with vibrant peels of laughter.
She had hysterically tears rolling down her cheeks by the time she had calmed her giggles enough to speak. "Oh Draco," she smiled at her husband indulgently, "That's has to be the worst story ever told."
