AN: Alright then, so it's been taking me forever and a day to update...sorry about that. Life happens I suppose. The editing is probably shoddy at best, but hey...better than none at all. Enjoy! As always...thanks for reading *kisses*

Chapter 10 – Battle Lines

(Fear & Loathing)

Ramses Parkinson attempted to talk sense into his Squib son, but the boy wouldn't hear of it. Merlin forbid he listened for once in his life. He was absolutely determined to return to the scene of his crime. It was madness, absolute madness and worst of all, he had convinced his lesbian sister to aid him. Ramses didn't care if his daughter was a lesbian, not really. He supposed it was better than being the wizarding world's common slag like her older sister Pansy. Of course he hadn't actually spoken to her lately, having washed his hands of her years before, but it was safe to assume her lifestyle had not altered much if at all.

"Taylor, you are being utterly ridiculous. It is absolute madness to return. It's not as if you married some nobody Muggle. You married and accosted Hermione Granger. It is in our best interest to leave the matter be for the moment. I'll have my people scour the morning papers, Muggle as well as the Daily Prophet. If there is even a hint of …"

"Of what father? Do you mean to wait until it's been reported that she's dead? If I have a bloody chance to come away clean from this, I need to make sure. I can't have her reaching out toward her magical friends. Can you imagine if Harry Potter caught wind of this? It's bad enough she's apparently been fucking Draco Malfoy!" Taylor Johns' body shook, not with fear but with rage.

Ramses quite believed his son should be terrified of discovery, but he wasn't. It stole his breath away to think his only son was a sociopath. Taylor was concerned with his own welfare. The idea that the woman he married, had claimed to love no less, was quite possibly dying from his hand, meant absolutely nothing to him. He swallowed hard against the revulsion, willing the bile to remain beneath the surface. Ramses surmised eventually he would be forced to end his own son. It was the only way the rest of humanity would be safe from his depravity. Perhaps he wouldn't be forced to draw his wand against Taylor. If situations were orchestrated just so, it could hardly be considered his fault if Taylor Johns were to befall into a carefully orchestrated web of Ministry justice. Yes, that thought process suited Ramses Parkinson just fine.

"Father, you're not even listening! Pixie here has volunteered to take me back. You wouldn't have to leave the estate. Perhaps that is more to your liking." Taylor picked up a mosaic vase and hurled it into the fireplace, feeling no joy when it shattered.

"I cannot allow you to do this, not again. You've brought shame upon our family and for what? What purpose did it serve Taylor? I understand you're angry. Hell I've spent most of my life angry! It's unconscionable to think my only son and heir is a bloody Squib. I've made allowances for your behaviour. If it weren't for me you'd be locked in the Janus Thickey Ward until your dying breath!" Ramses smashed his goblet onto the small table beside him with a growl.

"More likely Azkaban the way he's going about…" Pixie adjusted her robes with an easy roll of her eyes.

She and Taylor had been closer than she and Pansy ever were, but that didn't mean she was especially devoted to his ridiculous cause. His only wish was to wreck havoc in the wizarding world if only for the simple fact he had been rejected by forces stronger than himself. Pixie understood, to a certain extent. She realised if she had truly loved Draco Malfoy she would be completely heartbroken, probably wallowing in misery surrounded by an exorbitant amount of chocolate. Taylor on the other hand, well, he was consumed with a fury she couldn't understand.

"Taylor, why does it matter?" Pixie inspected her plain fingernails, feigning interest. Her curiosity was piqued but it was nothing more than that.

"Why does it matter? Why?" Taylor pulled his dirty blond hair in hard fists, his face smattered with red blotches.

"Calm yourself would you? You're so bloody dramatic. Yes, why does it matter? I mean if you think about it, it's obvious you never cared for her as much as you claimed. I saw the damage. I can't imagine you loving her considering her state. I might be a fool in the ways of love Taylor, but I know that was not it." Pixie huffed with irritation. She really wished their father would speak up, yet he remained silent.

"Honestly? I married the bitch for fame, but I didn't get a bloody bit of it now did I? She didn't want to be famous. She wanted a quiet fucking life now didn't she? I was already stuck with her, might as well make her as miserable as she made me. I forced her to stay in Cornwall and reveled in her hatred of it. So what if I smacked her around a bit? You would too if you lived with her. That damn kid squalling all the time and she ain't even mine!" Taylor screamed with rage, thrashing about as if he were a madman.

"Are you sure?" Ramses stroked the lines in his face, his family ring tapping the new glass filled with a deep rich red wine.

"Of course I'm bloody sure! She was up the duff before I ever met her." Taylor crumpled onto the floor, fingering the intricate Oriental carpet with one palm. "I thought…can you believe I actually thought the boy was mine? She fooled me right good she did." Pixie almost pitied her brother when his shoulders began to shake.

For a moment she thought perhaps he was quite redeemable after all, but flashes of Hermione Granger's battered and bruised body made her think otherwise. She loved her brother, but he wasn't a good person and it was time she stopped clinging to a belief of otherwise. There was of course the little matter of being absolutely terrified of his anger. She'd witnessed him lashing out quite a bit when they were children and considering the disaster he'd left in his wake, she wasn't of a mind to incite his fury by refusing him anything, regardless of what it may be.

"Son, what do you wish to accomplish? What's your end goal here? Do you simply wish to punish her for rebuffing the fame of wizardom? Do you detest her very existence for managing to shag a more formidable wizard than yourself? I mean, let's face it shall we? You're not even a wizard are you? You're simply a Squib and though it's through no fault of your own, perhaps now is the time to simply accept your limitations. I'm bloody well tired of this entire conversation. It's utterly ridiculous and I refuse to take part in yet another of your schemes. It wasn't enough I managed to suppress your nefarious deeds in Sheffield was it?" Ramses could hardly bear to look upon his son.

Quite honestly it made him a bit ill to reflect upon the state of affairs he wandered into a few years passed. It had been a horrific sight really. Ramses had spilled the contents of his stomach upon entering the sea side cottage. He closed his eyes, willing the horrific splashes of blood upon the stone walls to erase themselves from his memory. He knew such a thing wasn't truly possible if he wished to retain the things which made him who he is, however it was not above him to wish.

He remembered wondering which end was up when faced with the battered remains of Taylor's first wife. He had pressed a perfumed handkerchief to his delicate nostrils, willing the scent of iron and copper to dissipate while Taylor babbled about yet another accident. Even Ramses had to admit, the desecration of his first wife hadn't been nearly as traumatic as the second. She had managed to crawl, pulling herself along with the ragged remains of her fingernails, spitting out mouthfuls of blood and pieces of teeth before finally succumbing to her wounds, which she clutched his Italian shoes.

"I wish to feel her throat pulsate against my palms. I wish to listen to her gasps as the air is sucked from her lungs. I wish to see her big brown eyes fill with tears while she silently begs me to release her and I squeeze tighter and tighter until nary a breath is released. I wish to listen to the crack of her neck and feel the flop of her head against my chest before I drop her to the ground. I wish to take my favourite hunting knife and slash through her skin until there's nothing left but little shreds. I want to hold her heart in my hand, feel it pulsating in my hand until it beats no more. I want to…"

"ENOUGH!" Ramses slapped his only son so hard the boy stumbled with a low growl of rage. "You disgust me. You've a bloodlust that'll never be quenched. I should have listened to your mother. She always said there was something dark within you and I refused to hear of it. Look where it's got me?! A Squib son who believes it's perfectly acceptable to murder whomsoever he pleases. It wasn't enough you allowed a childish fit of rage to overcome you upon meeting your eldest sister. It wasn't enough you bludgeoned your first wife to pieces. The poor Muggle woman never even suspected she had married such a bastard. Your second wife was a lovely woman. I always wondered if your children would have been magical. She was a Squib as well, but we never got the chance to find out. You decided it would be best to introduce your family to your bride if she were smashed to bits. I'm surprised you never managed to dismember any of them. And then came Hermione Granger. She was always a formidable witch, but you managed to break her down and shove her in a gilded cage. Did you really believe you'd be capable of holding onto her forever? She's Hermione Granger for fuck's sake, you poor deluded fool. I, for one will not lift a bloody finger this time. I've done enough damage, coddling your deranged behaviours. Merlin forgive me." Ramses Parkinson's knees weakened and he struggled to remain on his feet in the moments of his deepest despair. "Son, I need you to leave. I need you to leave right now before I change my mind. I can't do this anymore. I won't. I've done too much for you. Don't call on me again. I'll give you a few moments to collect yourself before I call for the Aurors." Ramses slumped into his chair, ignoring the blinding rage apparent on his son's face and the abject horror of his daughter Pixie, which really was his undoing.

Taylor Johns Parkinson growled low and deep, his bright eyes darkened to a dangerous shade or murderous blue. He snarled, his lip curling in obvious derision, his sticky blond hair clinging to the droplets on his forehead. His blazing eyes flicked toward his sister for a scant moment, causing her to fumble backwards until she was almost clear out of the room.

Pixie didn't wish to witness her brother's rage, but she knew fleeing would be futile. It wasn't as if she could Apparate from the middle of the parlor. She was certain their father had adjusted the wards in order to keep them in and visitors out, but she fervently wished he hadn't. She'd do anything to be able to Apparate away from the madness and pretend it had never existed.

Her throat was stuck shut in a bout of badly timed nerves and while she knew Taylor had every intention of harming their father, she couldn't force herself to intervene. She managed to pull her wand from the pocket of her purple dress but held it with shaky fingers. Pixie knew she'd never be able to properly cast a spell so she remained still and silent, which most probably saved her life.

Taylor stalked forward, hissing until bits of spittle dripped from his chin as he gazed upon his father. Ramses Parkinson hadn't opened his eyes nor had he even acknowledged the remaining presence of his children. For a moment he believed he heard the gentle crunch of glass beneath the sole of a shoe, yet before his eyes could flicker open, he was struck about the head with such force, he immediately fell into unconsciousness.

"Taylor, that's enough. I can't have you killing Daddy. It would…it would…"

"It would what Pixie?"

"It would be…unseemly." Pixie managed to whisper, her wide eyes never leaving the fireplace poker firmly gripped in Taylor's ruggedly strong hands.

"Unseemly, hmmm well I suppose we can't have that, now can we? Father would be most unpleased if I were to bring further shame to the name he stripped from me. Heaven forbid my father give me my birth right. Isn't that right Father?" Taylor kicked the inert form of Ramses without a shred of remorse.

"Taylor, please leave him be. I'll bring you back to Cornwall if you like. We'd have to step outside first but…" Pixie's high voice squeaked loudly when Taylor tangled his fingers in her dark hair.

"They're waiting for me out there aren't they? You're trying to trick me. I bet…you're not even my sister. We don't look a bit alike now do we? You just wish to lure me to the Aurors and…"

"No, Taylor. Father said he would contact them after you left, but he's completely incapacitated. There's no one waiting for us, I swear it. I'll go with you. I'll Apparate us to Cornwall and you can see if Hermione is still alive and we'll take it from there I suppose." Pixie quaked in her shoes, not wishing to become another victim of Taylor's but fearing it would be so.

Gently, she untangled his fist and held his hand in her own. She tugged him lightly and Taylor dropped the poker, readily following after her. Pixie didn't dare bring him out the front door. She knew her life would be forfeit. Instead she walked him down the dim corridor toward the back garden. She took a deep breath and creaked open the door, to appease Taylor more than anything else.

Pixie didn't wish to return to Cornwall at all. She didn't wish to be Taylor's magical toy. She wanted to leave the country as soon as possible and curl into a ball until the madness abated. Instead, she allowed Taylor to wrap his arms around her. She managed not to shudder and was almost pleased with herself until she remembered she was transporting a criminal. Pixie allowed Taylor to grip her arm with more force than necessary and took a deep breath.

A few moments later they were sucked into the vortex of Apparition, landing with a resounding thud on the edge of the small garden near the quaint cottage. Pixie scurried around the side of the cottage upon spying a couple of angry wizards bolting from the interior. She managed to drag Taylor with her, but he wrenched himself from her grip the moment he was able.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Taylor hissed, knocking Pixie to the ground. He glowered over her, his fist cocked prepared to strike and Pixie closed her eyes, bracing herself.

"Harry Potter, I saw him and I didn't think you'd want to be seen." Pixie whispered, her voice trembling with fear.

The blow never came and she opened her slanted eyes to gaze upon her older brother. Taylor had lowered his fist, his chest heaving with exertion before he nodded ever so slowly. He offered his sister a hand, shaking it impatiently when it seemed she was going to refuse it. Pixie cautiously placed her delicate fingers against his, allowing him to yank her to her feet.

"That was smart thinkin' but I don't wish to hide. Did they look upset, d'ya think?" The eager gleam in his eyes and the size of his pupils were unnerving. Pixie hesitantly nodded, staring into the distance. Anything was better than witnessing the all encompassing happiness which filled her brother's face.

"Do you still need me? I mean…I only mean….I'll wait here for you, of course I will…"

"Are you mental? How the fuck am I supposed to get back without you? I'm not bloody planning on remaining here after all. You'll stay right here, while I make sure the little bitch is dead. I expect I'll run into a bit of trouble, so keep an ear out alright?" Taylor was giddy with excitement and practically skipped toward the back door of the cottage.

(Taylor)

"Is the little bitch dead then?" I was practically salivating at the very thought of eclectic collection of witches and wizards mourning a death I had caused.

The red haired witch shrieked and stumbled away from me, not that she was particularly near me anyway. She was closer to that blond haired wretch who ruined my life. I didn't care about her, I wasn't there for her. I was more interested in the anguish on that Malfoy bastard's face. I studied him the way he studied me. I suppose we were sizing each other up in the way that only blokes can manage. He wiped his face, but that was pointless. It was completely obvious he had been crying. Good.

The red haired girl had a bit of fight in her. I wasn't concerned with her, not really. If it came to it, I knew I could overpower her. I've had a bit of practice when it comes to subduing women and she wouldn't be any different. They were all the same. They just needed to be taught their place. I watched her shove a bit of wood in Malfoy's hand. Those fucking wands were going to be the end of me. If I never saw another, it would be too soon. I wasn't special enough to get a fucking wand, now was I? No, just your regular average Muggle. They say Muggle like it's a curse. They don't even realise it. Hermione didn't though and in the beginning I had liked that about her. She didn't care that I was…that I am a Squib. For awhile I thought we'd had a chance. Of course that was until she made it abundantly clear she had no intention of ever attending a Ministry Ball or posing for a single camera. What the fuck kind of witch is that? I tried to cajole her into it, but she wouldn't have it. She simply wished for a quiet life, away from the publicity. Fucking bitch. If I were a wizard I'd flaunt it about as much as possible, but not my wife.

"So you're the bloke who's been fucking my wife?" He flinched and I knew he was waiting for me to make a move, but I'm not bloody stupid. I know better than to attack a fucking wizard. If his magic weren't an issue, that would be quite another story.

I wasn't expecting him to hurtle his wand across the fucking room and leap at me as if he were an animal. I wasn't aware Malfoys were well versed in physically violence, but I definitely underestimated the bastard. I'd been in a few scuffled throughout my life, but never with a formidable opponent. It was easy to force my will unto women, this was a completely different story.

Apparently Draco Malfoy was built like a brick shithouse and he struck as such. His fist connected with my jaw and I swear he damaged it. I could feel the crunch of the bone and the immediate throbbing pain blinding my eyes. I lashed out, but managed to do nothing more than give him a shove before he was back on me. We fell to the ground in a pile of fast moving limbs, each trying to strike out at each other. I couldn't manage a smile when I heard my fist land a blow on his ribs, but inwardly I was pleased.

There were witches shouting at us, but we weren't concerned with such things. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to see him crumple to the ground in abject ruin, but that wasn't the way it was to be. We struggled to our feet, me more than he. He landed a particularly hard punch to my stomach and I doubled over, gasping for breath. He didn't give him a chance to regain my bearings, of course he didn't, I wouldn't have either. His knee slammed against my nose and the blood spurting blurred my vision. I didn't bother to wipe it away. Instead I reached up and grabbed his hair, yanking his face downward with all my might, but the bastard continued to struggle and barreled his head directly into my midsection.

I spat in his face. It felt good for reasons I can't entirely understand. I managed to kick out at him and swept his feet out from under him while he was fixed on regaining his footing. He was faster than I anticipated but I didn't stop, I couldn't stop. The rage was consuming me and I couldn't rein it in, nor did I want too. I don't even know how it happened, but suddenly I was on top of him. My fists were flailing, pummeling the perfect chiseled pale face of Draco fucking Malfoy.

I laughed when his cheek crunched against my knuckles, spitting blood into his pale face. It was his eyes though, they intimidated me. They were not filled with resignation as I had so often seen before. There was a determination there, glinting just beneath the surface before he struck. Malfoy managed to prop his knees between us and he flung me.

I slid across the floor in a puddle of my own blood and probably sweat. I couldn't shout for Pixie, he really had damaged my jaw. My knee made a God awful noise when he stomped upon it and I could do nothing more than groan. He wrenched my arm behind me and rolled me over. I didn't wish to taste my own blood but apparently I didn't have a choice in the matter. He slammed my face into the floor so many times I was barely conscious. Bits and fragments of teeth punctured my lips, but it wasn't as if I could close my mouth anyway. I was fairly certain it wasn't supposed to be crooked.

"Draco." Fuck that bitch. She's not dead. She's not only alive; she's wandering about calling for her lover. Well, if that just doesn't ruin a bloke's day? It's not bad enough I've been beaten to a pulp. I can't even savor the thought of her being dead because she was right fucking there. I mean, I couldn't see her or anything as my eyes were completely swelled shut but I could damn well hear her.

"He's…he's not worth it." Not worth it? Of course I'm worth it. I'm wonderful and she's nothing but a cheating whore. How dare she? "Please, for me. I'm asking you to stop." Her voice was low but she was closer now and I couldn't help but reach for her. I felt the hem of whatever she was wearing, a nightdress if I had to guess.

My entire body was throbbing but at least Malfoy had stopped pummeling me into oblivion. I could feel soft breaths on my cheek and I knew they were hers. I managed to raise one of my leaden arms and twisted my fist in those curls I detested. She gasped and Malfoy was socking my face again.

"I wisssh you were dead." I have no way of knowing if I managed to speak the words properly. I can't imagine I did considering the extent of my damage but I felt better for simply attempting to convey it.

There was a blur, a devastating crunch and then darkness took over and it was bliss.

(Fear & Loathing)

Pixie huddled beside the cottage, her hands firmly clamped over her ears. She had heard the shouts from the interior of the cottage and she could imagine the havoc Taylor was wreaking, yet she hadn't the nerve to move. Her hands shook, but finally she managed to crawl beneath the smudged windows toward the back door.

Pixie peered through the grimy glass and smothered a sob. Taylor was in the process of being walloped by none other than her former husband. She'd never seen him lift a hand against anyone and yet he was kicking, punching and she believed even biting her brother in a frenzy of violence. She never knew Draco to be passionate about anything, but with every blow, with every shout, with every howl of burning pain, she was able to see the love shining through. Draco Malfoy was irrevocably in love with Hermione Granger and her brother had wished to take it from him. Taylor had wished to abolish the only bright thing in that poor man's life and even Pixie couldn't abide such things.

"We'll call the Aurors or even the Muggle officers. We'll let them deal with him. I couldn't survive it if you were taken from me. He's not worth Azkaban." Pixie's cries were muffled against her sleeve.

She couldn't believe the woman Taylor had battered, almost beaten to death was extending a sort of kindness toward him. He didn't deserve it. He'd never deserve it, but Hermione was rising above. Pixie managed to open the door from her knees. She wasn't sure why she was going inside. It would have been much easier to Apparate away and allow Taylor to deal with the consequences of his actions and yet she felt she couldn't. Pixie Parkinson needed them to know she wasn't like her brother. She didn't harbor the animosity he did nor did she condone his actions.

She might never have loved Draco Malfoy the way she was told she should, but that didn't mean she never cared about him. She had, in the superficial way her mother loved her father. Quite frankly, Pixie didn't know any other way to love and that would have been terribly sad if it weren't for her irascible disposition.

She cleared her throat a few times, but none of them paid any mind. Narcissa Malfoy was plucking Hermione's sleeve and seemed to be attempting to convince the weary witch to return to bed. Draco Malfoy was poised over Taylor, his fist still firmly clenched, prepared to strike. Ginny Weasley kept a wary eye on the front door, hoping against hope Harry and Blaise were not about to walk into the cottage.

Carina toddled into the room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and frowned at the unfamiliar witch. She easily rounded her distracted grandmother to tug on her mother's nightie.

"Mum-mum, who dat?" Carina pointed a chubby finger at Pixie with the deepest frown she'd ever seen upon a child's face.

Five pairs of eyes turned to stare at Pixie and she immediately held her hands out in silent supplication. It didn't help her cause any, considering her wand was still gripped between her fingers. Pixie gasped in horror upon spying the wood and let it fall from her fingers to clatter upon the hardwood.

"I'm…I'm sorry. I-I brought him here. I didn't think he'd…I mean…I knew he has a terrible temper but…" Pixie sniffled, wringing her hands, unsure how to continue.

"Pixie." Draco growled, slowly climbing off Taylor Johns unconscious form. He stared at the blood on his knuckles in wonder, shaking his head a few times as if to clear the images before returning his attention to his former wife. "What are you doing here?"

"He attacked Father, Taylor did I mean. Father was preparing to set the Aurors on him and Taylor lost his temper. I brought him here so he wouldn't…so he wouldn't…"

"Beat you." Hermione whispered softly, leaning heavily on Ginny and Narcissa. Her face scrunched in pain, but she resolved to remain until the unwelcome witch was gone.

Pixie nodded with shame, brushing the tears from her cheeks. Her feet were firmly planted to the floor, she couldn't have moved if she wanted too. Her knees were locked in place and her breathing was sporadic at best.

"I'm sorry, so terribly sorry. I should have known better but I…I was…I was afraid and…" Pixie's shoulders lightly shook under the pressure of such a confession. "I shouldn't have brought him. I should have…"

"No, you did the right thing. He would have injured you. It seems he has no qualms when it comes to expressing his anger against women. Harry Potter is here. He'll take care of it and we'll be sure to send someone to the Parkinson Estate to check on the welfare of your father. I'm sure the Aurors will wish to speak with you as well." Narcissa Malfoy easily stepped into the role with which she was well acquainted.

Pixie almost turned tail and ran when Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini burst through the front door, dragging a most unwilling Healer with them.

"Sorry, he didn't wish to come and we thought it would be best to have one on hand at all times. It'll take us a bit to get things situated with Bill but…" Harry dropped off, drawing his wand upon spying the quivering witch.

"What the fuck is she doing here? Bloody hell is that Johns?" Blaise gestured wildly between Pixie and Taylor; sure his eyes were playing one hell of a bloody trick on him.

"Ginny will explain while I put Hermione back to bed. She shouldn't be standing. Draco please go and wash the blood from your person, I'm sure Hermione would appreciate it if you didn't reek of blood while you sit with her. Pixie, do watch over your brother and it would probably be best if you left your wand exactly where it is. Potter, be a good boy and contact the Ministry. Carina dear, come with us." Narcissa half carried Hermione from the room pausing until she heard the scurry of feet from behind her.

"Pixie? What of your mum?" Draco called over his shoulder while he scrubbed his hands in the kitchen basin. The soap stung his wounds and he winced against the sudden influx of pain.

As if to answer his question, the distinct pop of Apparition was heard in the garden. Draco dried his hands, happening to glance out the sink basin window. He retreated with a snarl and turned to glower at Pixie.

"What is it then?" Pixie had finally managed to walk a few steps forward to stand beside Taylor. She couldn't bear to look upon the destruction which was his face.

"It's…your mother…"

Pariesna Parkinson swept into her son's cottage as if it were an everyday occurrence. She barely spared Draco Malfoy a glance, settling immediately upon the groaning, mangled, bloody form of her only son. She smoothed the dirty blonde hair at her temple and shoved her daughter aside.

"Oh my poor boy, what have they done to you?" Pariesna knelt beside him, ever mindful of the smattering of blood surrounding his body.

"Nothing less than he deserved." Draco spat, his hand twitching with the desire to hex the abominable woman.

He had never been particularly fond of Pansy's mother. She had always been a cold sort of woman, much colder than his own mother. She had always seemed to detest the existence of Pansy and it irked him even as a child. Draco remembered the shock of discovering Pansy even had a sister and realised she must have suffered the same treatment. It seemed Pariesna Parkinson lavished all her attention and love upon a son without the slightest hint of magical ability.

"If your father were alive he would decimate these miscreants without a laboured breath. It's alright now Taylor, mummy's here. I'll protect you. I'll take care of you." Pariesna crooned, lovingly stroking the blood soaked hair across his brow.

"Even you will not be able to protect him Pariesna. He'll answer for his crimes. You're lucky I didn't kill the bastard." Draco's wand wavered in his hand from the sheer effort of maintaining his composure.

"You stupid boy." Pixie gasped, realising her mother's intentions. She saw her mother's wand peeking out from the insides of her robes, long fingers holding it deftly.

Pixie scoured the floor for her wand and stumbled toward it. She was quite intent upon stopping Pariesna's actions, but she wasn't quite quick enough. Pariesna smiled, a deliciously wicked smile and winked at Draco Malfoy while she hugged her son to her breast. Draco growled, but even he was too late as Pariesna and Taylor disappeared with the sound he'd come to hate.

"Fucking hell, Pixie, what am I to tell the Aurors now? Your bloody mother swooped in after declaring Ramses dead and Disapparated with Taylor?!" Draco bellowed, reduced to shattering pieces of flatware against the wall.

"Ramses was alive when we departed. Taylor's father died long before he was ever born. My mother, well she lied to my father to force his hand into marriage. She's always carried a particularly vicious hatred toward your mum. She knew about Lyra. I used to hear her whispering to Taylor. If you wish to blame someone for why Taylor is the way he is…blame our mother." Pixie covered her face and fell to her knees in a cacophony of sobs.

"Wait. If Ramses isn't Taylor's father…who is then?" Pixie sobbed harder, rocking to and fro, until finally she spilled the contents of her stomach across the shards of broken glass.

"Tom," she finally whispered, "Tom Riddle."