Chapter 9: His is the Sacrifice

Harry knelt on the brittle grass at Snape's side. He held Draco's right hand tightly in both of his own, clutching it to his chest, and stared down at his lover's ghastly, bloodied face. People moved all around him, their voices battering at him, with Dumbledore in the middle of it all issuing instructions.

"Kingsley and Arthur are in command, here. Direct your questions to them. Minerva, if you would get the students back to Hogwarts? No, Molly, you may not speak to Harry, not now. Go with your children and see to their comfort. I will speak to you all when I have a free moment."

Harry heard it all but paid little attention. Dumbledore would keep them away from him, and it wasn't as if they needed him anymore. Not now that Voldemort was dead. All that mattered to Harry now was Draco—now when it was too late.

The Slytherin lay brokenly in Snape's arms, his head falling back over one supporting arm, his lashes so clogged with blood and gore that Harry couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed. Beneath the bloodstains and black fabric that wrapped him, his skin was marble white and deathly cold. The fingers Harry clasped did not so much as twitch, even when Harry let his wizarding power flow through their linked hands and into the other boy's body. Glittering fire danced over Draco's face, blurring its lines and giving the illusion of warmth, but it was only an illusion. There was no life behind the shimmer of power and the chill, porcelain skin.

"What happened?" he asked, thickly, his gaze lifting to meet Snape's dark, frowning eyes.

"He burst the link." Snape pushed himself upright, shifting his hold on Draco as he did so. He moved stiffly, as if badly bruised.

"Overloaded it?" Dumbledore asked, now stooping over Draco from the other side.

Snape nodded. "I've never seen anything like it. He threw himself into the link, didn't even try to control it, and it just… exploded. The blast must have tossed us twenty feet."

"He's still breathing."

"Just barely. It's slowing and his heartbeat is growing weaker."

"But he's here with me!" Harry protested. "I can feel him!"

The pressure in his head intensified, and the warmth of a familiar presence increased, telling Harry that Draco was, indeed, there with him and trying to reassure him. But the body in Snape's arms did not stir. Harry stroked his hair and leaned down to kiss him. The cold, blue lips beneath his did not move.

Harry sobbed in pain and backed off, pressing one shaking hand to his mouth. He had a sudden, gut-wrenching vision of his recurring dream—of Draco smiling up at him in the moonlight, as Harry the Dementor bent to claim his lips and his soul at once.

Turning agonized, appalled eyes on Dumbledore, he said, "He's in my head, isn't he? He went through the link and can't get back."

"I believe so, yes."

"What went through?" Snape growled. "His wizarding power, obviously, but he could live without that. His mind? Is he talking to you, Potter?"

"Not exactly, but he's here."

"We can examine that question at more leisure, when we've got Mr. Malfoy back where he belongs," Dumbledore interjected.

"Make another link," Harry said urgently. "One from me to Draco. Then he can go back through it, into his own body!"

The old wizard frowned down at the tangle of black fabric and cold, white limbs lying in Snape's arms. "Eventually, perhaps, but his body is failing. If we put his—his spirit, I think we'll call it—back into it now, he'll die."

Harry sobbed again and felt hot tears burn his eyes. "He can't. Not now."

Dumbledore nodded toward the boys' linked hands and the shimmer of power obscuring Draco's face. "You can stop it, for a while, at least. Use your power, Harry. Keep him warm and breathing. Keep his body alive, while we work out how to help him."

Harry instinctively pulled Draco's hand closer and bent to press a kiss to his knuckles. The power flowing out of him into the other boy was much stronger than usual, and the strands that twisted about their bodies were not gold or silver, not even the two colors woven together as he had seen so often before, but a unique and beautiful color all their own.

"Draco is helping," he murmured, feeling a rush of gratitude and love, in spite of the cold horror congealing in his stomach.

"Excellent. Severus, I need you to do something for me. If you would let Harry take charge of Mr. Malfoy…"

Maintaining the flow of power at full strength, Harry let go of Draco's hand to lift his body from Snape's arms. He felt strangely light and fragile, and Harry winced as he gathered him up close, afraid that he would accidentally crush him if he held him too tightly. Snape scrambled to his feet and drew away with Dumbledore, leaving Harry alone with his love for the first time.

Gently, carefully, Harry cradled Draco's tousled, filthy, silver-blond head against his shoulder and bent to kiss him. As before, the unconscious boy gave no sign that he was aware of Harry's presence, but the power flickering around him had warmed his lips until they felt almost human.

Harry stroked his hair, dropped another kiss on his lips, and murmured, "We're almost home, Dragon. Just hold on a little longer.

I will.

Harry's head snapped up, and he instinctively looked around for the source of that beloved voice, even though he already knew where it had come from. It wasn't really even a voice, just words formed in his head with no breath or sound behind them, but he recognized it instantly.

"Draco!" he gasped, half-laughing, half-sobbing in relief. "It's going to be all right. We'll find a way to save you."

I'm not afraid. You're here.

Ron sat hunched in a chair beside Hermione's bed, holding her hand and watching her sleep. He was supposed to be in bed, himself, but he wasn't really hurt, just cold and sore, and he couldn't bear to be alone. So the minute Madam Pomfrey had disappeared behind the screen at the back of the ward, he'd kicked off his covers, climbed out of bed, and padded past a row of humped bodies in white-framed beds until he found Hermione.

She was still unconscious, but Ron felt less lonely when he was within reach of her and less anxious when he could watch her steady breathing. It reminded him that someone he cared about had survived this disaster and would heal from her injuries. Hermione, at least, would come back to him.

In the sleeping quiet of the hospital wing, he could hear muted voices from the other side of the screen: Harry, Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, that healer from St. Mungo's with a face like an angry turtle, but no Malfoy. No caustic remarks or back-handed compliments. No snide reflections on the stupidity of Gryffindors as a breed. No laughing digs at Perfect Bloody Potter. Ron could understand few of the words spoken, but he could guess what they were talking about, and the lump of grief in his guts hardened until his entire body ached with it. He wanted to cry from the pain, but what right did he have to cry? Malfoy wasn't his lover. He wasn't even his friend—or hadn't been, until recently. He wasn't really losing anything but a sparring partner. It would be hypocritical to cry now, after all the months he'd spent tormenting Harry and Draco, trying to drive the Slytherin away or, at best, ignore his very existence. Malfoy would laugh if he could see him now. Laugh and call him Weasel in that wicked, drawling way he had, then taunt him for his poverty and his sloppiness and his freckles and…

Tears began to drip down his face, falling onto his hand, where it clasped Hermione's. He gulped and wiped his nose on one sleeve, but the tears kept coming. He needed a handkerchief, but he was dressed in hospital wing pajamas with no pockets, and he never remembered to bring a handkerchief with him when he left the dormitory, anyway. His sleeve would have to do.

He lifted his arm, pulling Hermione's up with it, then froze when he saw her eyes open and fixed on him. Slowly, he lowered his arm again and offered her a wan smile. She just blinked.

"Hey," he said, softly.

Her gaze shifted toward the screens at the far end of the ward. Her face was stark white and taut with pain. "Are they back there?" she whispered.

"Yeah. You, umm… you remember what happened?"

"Some. I saw what Harry did. And I saw Malfoy…" She swallowed painfully. "He looked dead. Is he?"

"I don't know."

"You should be with Harry. He can't do this alone."

"I can't." The tears began to flow again, and Ron made no attempt to hide them from her. "I can't watch it."

"Oh, Ron."

"You know what I did, Hermione. You know it's all my fault."

"No. You were Imperiused."

"That's what Ferret said, but…" He broke off and wiped furiously at his face, his features twisted with pain. "Harry won. Voldemort's dead. We got out of Azkaban alive. I should be happy. Why do I feel like I'll never be happy again?"

"Please, Ron," she whispered, her own eyes now bright with tears, "please go help Harry."

"Soon. I promise. I just have to… have to look after you, first. Can I get you anything? A drink of water?" he asked, hopefully.

Hermione blinked at him for a moment, nonplussed, then gave him a soggy smile and squeezed his hand. "That would be good."

The usual crowd of worried teachers were collected around the bed, with the vital addition of Madam Fox. Harry knelt on the cold marble beside it, one hand resting on Draco's head and the other clasping his still fingers, wizarding power dancing before his eyes, obscuring his view of the pale face lying so close to his. But he didn't need to see Draco's face to know how close he was to death. The moment they reached the hospital wing, Professor Dumbledore had formed another Blood Link, allowing Harry to pour into Draco some part of their shared power. Now Harry was watching everything the healers did through the link, watching the empty body in the bed fade inexorably away.

"Just a little more power, if you please, Mr. Potter," Madam Fox murmured.

Harry obediently loosened his mental grip on the link, letting more power stream through it.

"Is Mr. Malfoy behaving himself?"

Harry nodded. They were all so worried that Draco would try to get back through the link before they had healed his wounds, but Draco himself was in no hurry to leave the comfortable safety of Harry's mind. Harry gathered, from the unfamiliar emotions invading his own, that he could see through Harry's eyes, which meant that he could see as clearly as Harry did how terrible his injuries were.

Viewing those injuries from inside the link, Harry was all too aware of what had happened to his body. The baby had taken everything—strength, nourishment, magical power, everything—and in return had torn him apart like an old sack. Bellatrix had made a token effort to heal his most critical injuries, but she done no more than close the ragged edges of the wounds to stop him from bleeding to death. Only pure stubbornness on Draco's part had kept him alive until he found Harry again. But instead of helping him, Harry had taken the rest of his power, his strength, his spirit and used them for his own ends.

The vision of a dementor flashed into Harry's mind again, but he pushed it ruthlessly away before Draco saw it. The warmth he identified as Draco's presence wrapped around him brainstem, holding him, and he smiled in spite of his fear.

You're not a dementor, Harry.

Harry lifted the still hand he clasped and dropped a kiss on its knuckles.

Neither is Lily. She didn't mean to hurt me.

Harry felt a surge of terrible longing fill him at the thought of Lily that was definitely not his own. He still barely grasped that the baby was real and had not even begun to process the fact that she was his. That agonizing need to find and touch and hold her had to come from Draco.

She's here, Harry reminded him.

Can I see her?

Let them save your life, first.

Don't let me die without seeing her, Harry. The words were simple, but the pain behind them made Harry gasp out loud.

I won't let you die at all.

Madam Pomfrey looked up from her work and said, "Are you all right, Potter?"

Harry nodded but didn't trust himself to speak.

"We're nearly done. Hold on for a few more minutes."

"I'm fine," Harry murmured.

He could see Madam Pomfrey conjuring a pair of flannel pajamas to cover Draco's scarred body and cold limbs. As Harry watched, she lifted his left arm—the hacked end healed smoothly and the adamant had reattached—and pulled the blankets up around his chest. Then she laid the hand on the blanket. With the blood cleaned from his face and lashes, he looked as though he were sleeping peacefully.

Madam Fox gave a final wave of her wand, sending a puff of heat up from the covers, and turned her beady gaze on Dumbledore. "That's all we can do, for now, Albus. I'd say it's time to get Draco back in his own head."

"I agree."

"No!" Harry protested, turning reproachful eyes on the healer. " It's too soon! He's too weak…"

"And weakening still more as we stand here. There's only so much magic can do, Potter," Madam Fox said, her face stern but kind. "He has to heal on his own, as a whole person, not an empty shell."

"But…"

"The longer his body stays empty, the less likelihood there is that we can get him back into it," Dumbledore added, firmly.

Harry knew that they were right. He could feel the emptiness and stillness of Draco's body and knew that it couldn't survive like this for much longer. Only his power, fed through the link, was keeping it alive now. But he could also feel the pain coursing through that empty body and shuddered to think what Draco would suffer when he was forced back into it.

I want to go.

No, you don't. Trust me.

I have to go, Harry. I can't stay here forever.

Just a little longer. Please. I can't watch you hurt like that.

You'll help me.

The warm arms were wrapped around him again, and Harry wanted to burst into tears but couldn't do it in front of all those teachers. Instead, he rose to his feet and bent over to brush a kiss to Draco's still lips. They were no longer cold, but they did not move to welcome his. He had to do it, if he ever wanted to hold and kiss his lover again. He had to let Draco go.

Then another thought occurred to him, and he straightened up. "He wants to see Lily."

Madam Pomfrey looked startled and faintly disapproving. "The baby?"

"His baby," Harry corrected her.

"I've repaired his eyes, but I can't restore his sight," Madam Fox said, frowning. "Even with the link, you won't be able to make them work."

"I know. I mean before he goes back through the link." She just stared at him, but Dumbledore was smiling as he realized what Harry was saying. "He can see her through my eyes."

The Healer's brows flew up to her hairline and she looked appalled. "He's been watching all of this? Merlin's Balls!"

Harry paused for a moment, listening to Draco's words in his head, then brought his gaze back into focus and smiled slightly. "He says, 'Don't worry, Auntie Genie, I've been sitting in the corner, reciting rude limericks. I didn't see a thing.'"

Madam Fox gave a short, sharp laugh and shook her head.

Dumbledore nodded to Madam Pomfrey. "Fetch Lily. She should be here with her parents."

With a tight, worried nod of her head, Madam Pomfrey moved around the screen, disappearing down the ward. Harry perched on the edge of the mattress and looked down at the pale, peaceful face of his love. He wanted Draco back so desperately that he thought the pain of it would kill him, but at the same time, he wanted to keep that warm presence and soundless voice in his head, sharing his every thought and feeling. All the times he'd made love to Draco and felt their power flow through their joined bodies, he'd thought that was as close as two people could get—as close to being one heart, one soul as the laws of nature allowed—but this was a whole new level of closeness, of intimacy, and his entire being thrilled to it. He couldn't have both. He knew that. He had to choose—or, more to the point, Draco had to choose and Harry had to live with it. But either choice promised some kind of pain and separation.

Madam Pomfrey came back around the screen, interrupting his musings, with a bundle of soft fabric in her arms. It squirmed, and an imperious cry came from it.

"She's due for a feeding," Pomfrey said, as she held the bundle out to Dumbledore. "A few more minutes, and she'll be screaming the roof down."

"Give her to Mr. Potter."

Madam Pomfrey turned and held out her hands to Harry. He blinked down at the tiny creature lying in a nest of hospital-wing flannel across her palms, arms flailing, slate-blue eyes staring accusingly up at him, and he automatically reached to take it. His one lesson in holding an infant served him well. He settled the baby in his arms, the fragile head tucked into the crook of his elbow, while the little body lay along his forearm, snuggled to the warmth of his body. He had half a second to gaze at her and think how beautiful she was, how much like Draco, then a rush of emotion hit him so hard that he momentarily forgot how to breathe.

Disbelief. Wonder. Fascination. Terror. But over all of it, a joy such as he had never felt or even imagined before. He gasped, and his eyes blurred with tears. He reached to touch the baby's smooth, white cheek, his hand moving of its own volition, and she turned at the touch, her mouth opening. Before he quite knew what was happening, his knuckle was in her mouth, and she was munching on it happily with her toothless gums. Harry laughed, a great fountain of love rising up in him, and lifted sparkling, tear-bright eyes to Madam Pomfrey's lined face.

"She likes my finger."

"She's hungry. She thinks it's dinner."

He looked down at the baby again, fully aware that most of the emotion filling him was not his own but enjoying it anyway. If Draco could love the creature that had almost destroyed him so completely, then how could Harry resist her?

She's perfect, Dragon.

I wanted her to look like you.

Even his voiceless, soundless words were overcome with emotion, and they brought fresh tears of happiness to Harry's eyes.

She deserves better than that.

If she looked like you, no one could doubt that she's yours. He hesitated for a moment, then added, She is yours, Harry. I swear it.

I know.

And he did know. Whatever questions and doubts had plagued him when Narcissa Malfoy first turned up at Hogwarts with Draco's baby, they had vanished the moment he held that baby in his arms and looked at her through Draco's eyes. Or Draco looked through his. Or whatever was happening right now. Maybe the eyes belonged to them both, equally, as did Harry's heart and mind and wizarding power. They were one person, after all, for this blissful moment.

Draco's words came to him again, shattering the peace that filled him.

Voldemort blinded me so I'd never see her face.

Harry felt a jolt of horror and pity that evaporated as quickly as it came. Draco wasn't asking for pity. He was stating a fact—a fact that was irrelevant now, because he was seeing his baby's face in spite of all the Dark Lord had done.

Just one more thing he got wrong, Harry said.

I've seen her. Now it's time for me to go.

Not yet. Let's just sit together and hold her. See how happy she is? She knows you're here.

I'll still be here. And I'll still hold her. Hold both of you.

What if it doesn't work? What if you leave me and just disappear?

It'll work.

Draco…

I have to go, Harry. I can't live as an afterthought.

Harry heaved a sigh, knowing that Draco was right and he was defeated. I love you, Dragon.

I'll be all right.

With another sigh, Harry lifted his gaze from the baby to Dumbledore and said, "He's ready to go."

"Very good. Give Lily to Madam Pomfrey…"

"Can't she stay?"

"Of course. But not, I think, in your arms. Just take her for a minute, Poppy, if you would."

Lily did not like being taken from Harry's arms. She began to fuss the moment he shifted his hold on her, and her cries grew louder when Madam Pomfrey took her. Harry felt a stirring of distress—his own, he thought—and a new urgency. Draco wanted to get back in his own body, where he could hold his daughter and soothe her cries himself.

Harry watched as Madam Pomfrey conjured a bottle and began to feed the baby. Then he turned back to Professor Dumbledore and asked, "What do I do?"

"Just open the link. The rest is up to Mr. Malfoy." Looking Harry square in the eyes, he said, "I can't guide you, Draco. This is new magic, something none of us has ever experienced. All I can say is, you know where you belong. If you're willing to let go of Harry, you'll find the way."

"He understands," Harry said. Then, to Draco, he added, How can I help?

Don't. And don't follow me, or we'll end up with you on the wrong side of the link.

I have to use the link to heal you.

I'll be all right. I promise.

Harry felt the pressure in his head build, as it had on the island before Draco learned to speak to him, and the warmth of a farewell embrace wrapped around him. He waited, numb with sorrow, as Draco poured his power and his presence into the link. He felt them drain away, felt the silver fire within him flicker and die. And then, in the last instant, something brushed him like a hand against his cheek, and words formed clearly in his mind.

I love you, Harry.

Wait! His eyes snapped open and fixed on the body in the bed. "Wait! Draco!"

Draco's chest rose and fell on a long, ragged breath, and his eyes flicked open. Perfect, sightless, winter-grey eyes stared up at him. Draco took another pain-edged breath and said, "It's dark. It must've worked."

Harry gave a sob and bent to kiss him, dropping his hand so he could clasp his head in both hands. And this time, Draco answered his kiss. His mouth warmed and opened, his adamant hand lifted to slip behind Harry's neck, and wizarding power sparked between them. Harry deepened the kiss, oblivious to all the teachers standing about, watching them, intent only on feeling and tasting and enjoying the reality of his beloved archangel alive and awake in his arms again.

When he finally broke the kiss, he backed off only far enough to smile down into Draco's empty eyes, then he pressed his lips to his silvered lashes and the little scar on his cheekbone.

"Say it again. Please."

A smile lifted one corner of Draco's mouth in a shadowy imitation of his old wickedness. "That you're a sentimental prat?"

"You…!"

Before Harry could finish this thought, they both heard a chair scraping on the marble floor and a voice calling from the far end of the ward, "Ferret?!"

In answer, Harry felt Draco suddenly pull on the Blood Link, drawing a surge of strength from it. He lurched upright, clutching Harry's robe for balance and using his wizarding power to keep his abused body under control.

"Weasel?"

"Ferret!" Bare feet slapped on the floor, running fill tilt for the screen. "Ferret, you incredible git!"

The screen went flying and Ron Weasley, his face wild and white beneath a shock of red hair, charged up to the bed. He paid no attention to Madam Fox and Dumbledore, who both blocked his path, but simply shoved them aside and flung himself at the small figure in the bed.

"Weasel!" Draco cried in welcome. Ron scooped him up in his arms and hugged him till he gasped in protest, "Careful! That hurts!"

"I thought you were dead!"

"Sorry to disappoint you," Draco retorted, laughing.

"I'm so glad to see your ugly, pointy, ferrety face again, I could… I could kiss you!"

To prove his words, he promptly grabbed Draco's head in both hands and planted a kiss full on his lips.

Harry felt a spurt of surprise through the link, but no protest, and Draco made no move to push Ron away. It was Harry who broke the unexpected embrace. He cleared his throat and remarked, dryly, "Excuse me. I distinctly remember you telling me you were never going to do that."

Ron dropped his hands and grinned unabashedly at his friend. "Exceptional circumstances, mate." Then he turned back to Draco and eyed him in open amazement. "Bloody hell, Ferret, how're you even alive? Much less sitting up and snogging your friends?"

"I'm not. It's all Harry."

"Huh?" His eyes went to Harry again, saw the slightly unfocused look he wore and brightened in understanding. "You're linked!"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Then you're going to be okay!" he cried in relief, turning back to Draco yet again and catching his arms. "Harry'll keep you safe."

"For now. Weasel, listen…"

"What do you mean, 'for now'? They're not going to cut the link, are they?"

"Yes but…"

"They can't do that! Don't they know what bloody Voldemort did to you?!"

"Of course they do. Ron, shut it and Iisten."

Ron shut his mouth with a snap but did not let go of Draco. The Slytherin, even with Harry's power flooding into him through the link, was looking decidedly peaky and starting to sag. Harry promptly shifted his position to sit at the head of the bed and support Draco's weight against his chest. The smaller boy collapsed back into his arms with a grunt of pain that made Ron frown.

"Did you tell them about the baby? Is Harry going to find her?" Ron demanded.

"He doesn't have to. She's here."

"She's what?!"

"She's here. My mother brought her to Dumbledore. Harry?" He reached to find Harry's supporting arm with his flesh-and-blood fingers and clutched it urgently. "Where is she?"

"Right here, Malfoy." Madam Pomfrey moved up to the bed, Lily cradled in her arms and now lying quietly. "Do you want to hold her?"

"Yes."

"Potter, you'd better help."

Harry promptly slipped his arms up to support Draco's and guided his hands as he accepted the swaddled bundle from Pomfrey. Together, they held their daughter cradled against Draco's body. Harry looked down at her face, feeling again that jolt of wonder and delight when he saw the miniature version of Draco Malfoy looking back up at him. And this time, he knew that the emotions were all his.

"Blimey," Ron breathed. He bent over the baby from Draco's left, his eyes starred with amazement, a smile blossoming across his face. "She looks just like you, Ferret!"

"You won't hold it against her, will you?"

"Nah. She's wears it better than you."

Draco lifted his blank eyes to find Ron and his features were softer than anyone other than Harry had ever seen them. "I saw her, Weasel. I saw her face."

"Iffy? But…" He stared intently at the other boy, trying and failing to convince himself that those opaque, grey eyes could see him. "How?"

"Harry showed me."

Ron glanced up at Harry, then back down at the baby lying so comfortably in her parents' arms. "Can you see her now?"

"If I went through the link, but that's not a good idea."

"No, Mr. Malfoy, it most definitely is not," Dumbledore interjected. His voice was kind but implacable. "I think it's time to get you settled in your own room and cut that link."

"I won't go through it. I promise."

"I believe you, but I think that both you and Harry will be better off once it's cut. It will remove temptation."

Draco's expression dimmed, the happiness of having his love, his friend and his daughter close by draining out of him. "When you cut it, will I…" He hesitated, then tried again. "Will I die, Professor?"

"I think not. You'll be very weak and in a great deal of pain, but we can help with that. Madam Pomfrey will give you one of her Every-Flavor potions and Harry will lend you some of his power—through less drastic means than a Blood Link."

"Why is it so drastic? We've done it before."

"But not after one of you has cut all ties with his own body and taken up residence in the other. That is a very dangerous thing to do. It weakens your hold on yourself, as a separate person, and strengthens your connection to Harry in ways we can't predict or control."

"I trust Harry."

"We all do, my boy, and we trust you. But we can't risk either one of you slipping through the link and losing himself in a misguided attempt to protect, strengthen, or simply to comfort the other. Like the charm that produced Lily, your use of the link is alien territory to us. We don't know what its longterm effects will be. All we know for certain is that we won't risk your life or Harry's again."

Draco nodded, but his face remained pinched with worry. Dumbledore gazed at him for a moment, then asked, kindly, "What is it, Draco? Are you afraid?"

"No. It's Lily. I thought I'd have a little more time with her."

"You have all the time you want."

"But, if you're cutting the link…" He shifted his hold on the little body in his arms, as if about to hold it out to the Headmaster.

"That changes nothing." Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder, gripping it reassuringly. "She's your daughter. Your child and your responsibility."

Blank, quicksilver eyes lifted to his face, wide with mingled hope and disbelief. "I can keep her with me?"

"Of course you can." Dumbledore gave him a little shake and added, a glimmer of amusement in his voice, "I would suggest, while you're recuperating, that you let us help you care for her, but I wouldn't dream of taking your child away from you."

"She won't like the Slytherin dungeon."

The old wizard chuckled softly. "It's going to be a long time before you're ready to return to the dungeon. I think we can work out a compromise by then." He gave Draco another minute to think, then said, "You relax and get acquainted with your daughter. Madam Pomfrey, Madam Fox and I will arrange more appropriate quarters for you and Miss Malfoy. Harry, make him comfortable, but remain cautious about how you use that link."

"I will, Professor," Harry murmured.

Dumbledore swept the other adults away with him, leaving Harry, Draco and Ron alone with the baby. Ron perched on the edge of the mattress, his eyes lingering delightedly on Lily's face. He reached out to stroke her cheek with a finger and laughed when she smacked her lips.

"She's really something. Hi there, Iffy. I'm you're Uncle Ron."

"Why do you call her that?" Harry asked.

"What? Iffy? That's her name."

"It is not," Draco said firmly.

"Sure it is. I was going to call her Ermine, but Iffy is much better."

"What are you babbling about?" Harry demanded.

"Ermine. It's a kind of ferret."

"I know what an ermine is. What I don't know is why you'd call Draco's daughter that. No, wait…"

Ron chuckled and tickled the baby's cheek again. "Like I said, Iffy is better. It's short for Iphigenia."

"Iphigenia? Seriously?" He bent to bring his head close to Draco's and said into his ear, "You didn't name your daughter Iphigenia, did you?"

"After my Auntie Genie," Draco murmured. He was wilting back against Harry, his eyes drooping closed, and only Harry's arms beneath his kept the baby safely in place. "Only woman in my family I like."

"Maybe you'd better lie down," Harry said.

"Nnngh. No. Hold Iffy. I mean, Lily."

Ron laughed triumphantly at that. "I told you Iffy was better! He's right, though, Ferret. You don't look so good."

"Just tired."

"Give me Iffy, just for a second, while you lie down." Ron reached for the baby, but when he tried to take her, Draco tightened his hold. "I'll stay right here beside the bed with her. I swear."

Draco reluctantly allowed Ron to lift the little body from his arms, then let Harry settle him back against the pillow. He looked thin and white and drawn, without Harry's power filling him, but he held out his hands for the baby and Ron settled her on his chest. She burrowed her face into the flannel of his pajamas, her little fists curled to either side of her head, and closed her eyes.

"Blimey," Ron whispered.

Almost as soon as their bodies fell still, both mother and child were asleep. Harry smiled down at them, sending a wash of wizarding power through Draco's body to ease the pain and let him sink deeper into unconsciousness. Then he looked up at Ron. The other boy was standing with one hand on Lily's back and a look of doting fondness on his face. Harry couldn't tell which of them—Lily or Draco—had inspired that look, but he didn't really care. It made him ridiculously happy anyway.

"Did he really name her Iphigenia?" Harry murmured.

Ron glanced up, surprised, then grinned broadly. "Too right. Lily Iphigenia Potter."

"Malfoy," Harry corrected. "Lily Iphigenia Potter Malfoy."

"That's a lot of names to live up to."

"I think she can handle it. She is Draco's daughter, after all."

"And yours, Harry. Don't ever doubt that."

"I don't." He looked down at the sleeping baby and felt an expression every bit has helplessly adoring as Ron's warm his face. "Not for one minute."

To be continued…