There is nothing, thought Draco Malfoy, like relaxing with one's wife at the end of a hard day of assassinations and torture. He closed his eyes, enjoying the comfortable feel of the pillow beneath his head and the woman in his arms. He was drifting off to sleep when she stirred slightly and spoke.

"I have a surprise for you," Pansy purred into his ear.

"You're pregnant," he guessed. The next second he was rubbing his neck, which had been slightly strained when Pansy jerked her arm out from underneath it in order to sit up.

"That's what you always guess," said Pansy angrily. "Every time I tell you I have a surprise for you, every time I start a sentence with 'do you know,' every time I even quirk my eyebrows..."

"That was just that one time," Draco replied defensively.

"...that's what you always say," Pansy continued. "Have you no use for me if I don't prove to be as fertile as you always imagined a wife should be, or is it only that you have no imagination at all?"

Draco sat up with a sigh. "Of course it's not."

"Not which?"

After a quick mental review of his two options, Draco was able to respond with confidence. "Not either. I have mountains of imagination, and you are quite useful. In fact, even with my mountains of imagination, I can't imagine life without you. Who would pick up my socks?"

Pansy shot him a particularly nasty look and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "So buy another house elf," she sneered.

Draco rolled over onto his back and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Droplet of my blood, it is far too late for this. If I'm going to keep you from being a widow, I need a good night's sleep before we dispense our own particular brand of vigilante...oh, for lack of a better word, let's call it justice."

"Vengeance."

"Ah, yes. That is a better word. But then, we'll have to drop the vigilante. I'm not sure if such a thing as vigilante vengeance exists, and even if it does, it sounds far too ridiculous to strike terror into anyone's heart."

"Stop talking nonsense," said Pansy.

"Come back to bed," said Draco. I had no idea what an adverse effect marriage can have on one's sleep cycle. Lucky she doesn't pull this often...I'd probably have gray hairs...

Pansy turned her head away haughtily.

"Fine," Draco said, yawning. "I give up. I can't guess. I'm a horrible guesser. What, pray tell, is the surprise you have for me? I know you're not pregnant, since that was my first guess, and we know how horrible I am at..."

"Oh, of course I'm pregnant," Pansy snapped.

Draco was sitting up before he realized he had moved. He was suddenly very much awake.

"And I knew you'd say that," sniffed Pansy, "you always say it, but it would have been nice if it were a surprise."

"Trust me," said Draco. "It's a surprise. Look at my face," he said, turning her around by her shoulders. "See? Utterly shocked."

Pansy burst into hysterical giggles at the sight of his wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression. "You...look...like Goyle taking a...practical exam!"

Draco winced. "I'd say we're about even now," he said.

Pansy suddenly put her arms around him and squeezed him in the special post-argument way she had that always reminded him of an anaconda. As usual, he began stroking her hair, acting as if his ribs didn't feel on the verge of snapping. As usual, after a few minutes of hair-stroking Pansy relaxed her death grip.

"Parents," she said, and Draco ignored the quiver in her voice.

"When I think about it," said Draco, "it's the most shocking news I could ever receive."

Pansy squeezed him again, and he felt her breathing becoming fast and shallow.

"Oh, go ahead," he muttered against her hair. "I won't tell anyone just this once."

And he squeezed back as Pansy suddenly burst into tears.


Over the next few weeks, Draco longed for the good old Death Eater days. He missed the Lestranges. He missed Crabbe and Goyle. He missed his father. He even missed the Death Eaters who had come out of Gryffindor. At least they came out. He wanted someone to brag to, but being hunted by your old friends and despised by your old enemies didn't make bragging as enjoyable as it once would have been.

He was sitting behind a hedge, wet and cold and in a foul mood, waiting for someone he didn't like to pass by, when someone he didn't like tapped him on the shoulder.

He whirled around, but his Stunning Spell was skillfully blocked. He glared at the intruder.

"Wotcher, Malfoy!" she said cheerfully.

"Nymphadora," he said.

Nymphadora Tonks grimaced, but she was used to being the only member of the Order of the Phoenix whom Draco addressed by given name. Gone were the days of "Bloody...it's Tonks, Malfoy, Tonks!" Draco suppressed a nostalgic sigh. He had never anticipated that things would go this far.

"How did you find me?" he asked.

"The Order knows all," said Nymphadora eerily.

Draco folded his arms impatiently.

"But seriously, you were seen," she said. "Neville was patrolling around here and spotted you."

"I was seen," repeated Draco flatly. "By Longbottom. Longbottom saw me."

Nymphadora nodded. "And Luna was worried," she said, "so I came by to check up."

"Luna. Luna Lovegood. Was worried about me." Never, never, never did I imagine things would go this far.

"Yup," said Nymphadora. "And no wonder—not that she'd be worried about you, we would have all been surprised if it were anyone but Luna..."

"The point," said Draco.

"Don't you think you should lay low for a while? For Pansy and...everyone?"

Draco snorted. "Lay low? Here I am, sitting out in the wet, cold and hungry, talking to you. I don't think I could get much lower. And half a moment," he said, changing tracks as abruptly as his brain had, "what do mean by dragging Pansy into this?"

Nymphadora pulled several faces that Draco supposed were meant to convey something of great import, then said, "In her condition..."

"What condition?" Draco asked.

Nymphadora rolled her eyes and sighed. "I just don't think a child should have to grow up without a father. Although maybe with a father like you..."

Draco was so stunned that he forgot to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about. "How did you know?"

"Please," she said. "Am I a Metamorphamagus or not?"

As this was clearly a rhetorical question, Draco waited.

"Metamorphamagi don't just know how to change their shape," she continued conversationally. "We have an innate awareness of the people around us. We can memorize faces with photographic accuracy. We can tell when someone's developing a pimple. We can..."

"Bore the stars from the sky," said Draco. "The point."

"I saw Pansy the other day. She's pregnant, right? Her face is a little fuller, and she's looking more furtive than usual," she said, "which is saying a lot."

Draco sputtered in a mad effort to come up with a snappy reply.

"Right," said Nymphadora. "You're not on your best game, either. Distracted. I snuck up on you, in case you've forgotten."

"I was trying to," growled Draco.

"One of you is going to get yourself killed. Or your spouse. Or both. All three, if it comes to that. The entire Malfoy family." A dreamy, faraway expression came over her face. Draco cleared his throat. "As I say," she continued. "Luna was worried."

"Tell Lovegood I don't need her pity," sneered Draco.

Nymphadora's lip curled in contempt. "You should have said you don't deserve it," she said. "I wouldn't have argued with that." She Disapparated with a pop, leaving Draco, wet, cold, hungry, and in a fouler mood than ever.


It was a full week before Pansy found out. She had entered a stage in her pregnancy in which she found herself subject to inexplicable cravings, the chief amongst which was dusting. A speck of dust anywhere in the small house she and Draco shared caused her to fall into a veritable frenzy of housecleaning. When the first fit had come on, Draco had been out tracking a former Death Eater who had said some rather unfortunate things involving the words "turncoats" and "Malfoys." He had come home and immediately assumed that Pansy had been kidnapped or killed and that the house had been taken over by someone else—perhaps a horde of liberated house elves, revenging themselves upon the man who had so carelessly blown up a whole manor full of house elves.

Naturally, this had proven to be a ridiculous assumption. Still, even after several days of this, it made Draco nervous to come home to a clean house. Something wasn't quite right. A Malfoy's wife shouldn't have to clean like a common servant.

Draco looked around the spotless entryway and felt a twinge of guilt. If I hadn't left the Death Eaters, we would still have the manor. And house elves.

What "we"? Your wife would have been kissed by Dementors. In case you've forgotten that.

He supposed, after all, it had been a fair trade.

Pansy came down the stairs. Her face was set in an unfriendly expression, and she refused to make eye contact.

"Good evening," said Draco warily.

"There was no blood on your robes," said Pansy stiffly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"There was no blood on your robes. Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

Draco suddenly remembered what he had told Pansy yesterday. The part about the vicious hand-to-hand struggle that had left his opponent bleeding from several deep wounds. The part that he should have omitted, considering that he had actually been wandering around the countryside for hours, cursing small forest creatures and avoiding all human and/or magical beings. Which was what he had been doing ever since his talk with Nymphadora.

I didn't want her to find out like this. A Dark wizard who doesn't kill or curse anyone.... What would father say?

It occurred to him that a truly confident wizard shouldn't care two Knuts for his father's opinion, let alone the opinion of anyone else. Even his wife.

He sauntered over to the sofa. "Have a seat," he said.

"Did you think I wouldn't..."

"I heard you the first time," he said, throwing himself nonchalantly onto the sofa and patting his lap. "Have a seat."

"And I heard you the first time," she said.

They stared at each other across the room. True, that isn't as great of a distance as it once was...

"I tell you everything," she said.

"Now where," said Draco, "would be the fun in that?"

"Draco."

Draco looked into the cold fireplace. Not one ash.

"I'm done," he said to the empty grate. "All the way, this time."

Silence.

Sounds of the house settling.

More silence.

"Why?"

"Same reason as last time," said Draco, "if you must know."

Pansy walked slowly over to sit beside him on the couch. They stared into the empty grate together for some minutes.

"You shouldn't have to do that," said Pansy. "We shouldn't have to do that. We could be top-grade assassins for years. You're the most brilliant curse-caster I've ever met."

"Of course I am," said Draco. "But as...someone recently made clear to me, it would be hard to pass on all of this knowledge from beyond the grave."

"You? Caught? Killed? Unlikely," scoffed Pansy.

"You're a distraction now," said Draco brutally. "The two of you."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "All right. Just promise me it's only a hiatus. And for Merlin's sake," she added suddenly, "you don't have to get a job, do you?"

Draco shuddered. "We may not have the Manor," he said, "but I made sure we wouldn't have to sink that low. Although," he added slowly, "it might be a bit of fun to try for a job in the Ministry...not right away, of course, because I'm trying to stay out of sight for a while."

"Wait," said Pansy. "Are you telling me you can barely leave the house?"

"I hadn't really worked that out..."

"For the next six months or so, it'll be just you and me, cooped up alone together in this house?"

"Not necessarily," said Draco. "I..."

Pansy's fingernails dug into his chin as she turned his face to hers. "Just us?" she said persistently. "Alone?" she said, digging her nails in a little deeper. "For months?"

Draco pried her hand off. "Careful, or there will be blood on my robes," he smirked. "And who has time for cleaning?"


For the next several months, Draco managed to keep Pansy from cleaning anything. I may not be killing people anymore, but at least my wife won't be getting her hands dirty with common housework. Since he himself refused to learn any cleaning spells, the house quickly reverted to its former state of disorder. He was on the verge of heading out to find a new house elf when one showed up on their doorstep. Apparently, her masters had set her free one too many times. She was thrilled when Draco told her he would never dream of liberating a house elf, that it was positively grotesque. So that was a problem solved.

Next on his list was convincing his wife that they did not need to choose a female name. Certainly the child would be male. He would not allow it to be anything but male. Not, as he explained to Pansy, that he had anything against girls in general, but girls could not be proper heirs, despite the newfangled ideas that were becoming popular in some circles. Other circles. She had conceded his point, but had countered by asking if the production of another potential heir would be such a horrible thing.

"Kindly," he said, "do not try to throw me off with silly questions."

"If you wouldn't begin with such a silly premise, I wouldn't be forced to resort to silly questions. The child could very well be female."

"I refuse," said Draco, "to discuss this any further. You may be jinxing our chances as you speak."

"Fine," said Pansy. "I'm able to come up with female names on my own. There's Rose, and Lily, and Violet, and..."

"Flower names?" said Draco incredulously. "What is this, the Malfoy Family Garden? Besides, Lily is a hideous name."

"I like it," said Pansy.

"I don't," said Draco. "It was Potter's mother's name."

"And how do you," asked Pansy, "know what Potter's mother's name was?"

"Oh, everyone knows that," said Draco.

"I didn't."

Draco waved the issue aside. "Not Lily," he said. "If it must be a girl, she might as well not have a weak name."

"And what would you suggest?" asked Pansy. "Dracaena?"

Draco pretended not to be intrigued.


He had never heard anyone scream like that, and he had heard more than his fair share of screaming. Part of him recalled that Pansy had not wanted any charms or spells at this time. ("I'm a Malfoy. We can handle pain.") The other part of him was beginning to think that the euphoria of becoming the mother of a Malfoy had had an adverse affect on her mental capacity. Because he had never heard anyone scream like that.

"Are you sure," he asked during a momentary lull, "that you don't want..."

"Do we have any Skele-Grow about?" she asked.

Poor thing. Obviously quite addled.

"If we don't, I suppose we could get some easily enough. But I don't see what..."

She grabbed his hand. "Then I don't need anything."

He gazed at her curiously. Now what could she have meant by....

And then the next wave of screaming came, and the snapping in his hand eliminated all confusion on that point. Grimacing, he stood firm. She was a Malfoy, all right. So was he. The satisfaction filling him almost overwhelmed the pain. No child of theirs could ever be weak. It would violate all known laws of the universe.

Another scream, louder and longer than those that preceded it; an instant of silence; a shrill cry.

"Is that it?" Draco asked the midwife, whose presence he had nearly forgotten until this moment. "Is that him?"

"No," answered the midwife. "It's her."

"Ha!" said Pansy.

A few moments more, and the midwife handed the child to Draco. "Incredible," he said. "I made this..."

"HA!" said Pansy.

"Pay no attention to your mother," he whispered. "Belladonna Malfoy. Welcome to the outside world."


"You seem to be an old hand at this," said Pansy. "Been looking after small children behind my back?"

Draco shifted his daughter in his arms. "Touch someone else's mewling infant? I think not."

Pansy tilted her head to better observe her husband and child. "It just comes naturally, then?"

Draco shrugged.

"It has nothing to do with practice of any kind?"

Draco stood very still.

"With pillows and such?"

Draco became very interested in calming the already sleeping Belladonna. Pansy came up to him and ran a hand through his hair. "Just this once," she said, "I won't tell anyone."

"It wouldn't do, would it," said Draco defensively, "to be dropping my firstborn. It might ruin her looks."

"She's already disfigured," said Pansy. "Look at her nose."

"Her nose," said Draco, "is her most attractive feature."

Pansy shook her head. "Her hair," she countered, "is her most attractive feature."

"You can hardly see her hair," said Draco, looking down at the thin covering of white-blond hair on the infant's head.

"You can see too much of her nose."

"Leave her nose out of it," said Draco. "It's mine."

"It's mine, actually," said Pansy.

"I am the master of the family, and as such all things belong to me," replied Draco calmly.

"I hope you don't mind if I skip the genuflecting," said Pansy. "I'm still a bit sore from producing the master's offspring."

"I'll make allowances," agreed Draco. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

"I could never say," murmured Pansy, "that you didn't do anything for me."

They settled onto the couch together, the whole Malfoy family. And even though he knew that daughters couldn't be proper heirs, Draco felt that he would be willing to give everything to this small female child, and that nothing he had would be good enough.

First thing in the morning, he'd have to go out and see what he could find for her.