A quieter chapter, but significant.

Family

A bird chirped outside the window, and Draco scowled and slammed his book down on the table beside him. He got up from the armchair, shut the window, and sat back down again. Damn, but he hated this place. It was almost noon and he'd been in the library all morning, just like every morning since Potter's last visit. He'd gone through several huge, stuffy books, looking for – something. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but he was certain he'd know when he found it. And it was with that certainty in mind that he'd made his way through Alfen's dreadfully dull Souls and Sorcerers, Maggedite's Science of the Soul, and Gharrad's Inventory of Inexplicable Magical Phenomena. He hadn't found anything yet, but whenever he thought about giving up, he remembered the look on Potter's face and that damned spark, and he knew he couldn't.

Draco had just managed to focus on his book again when the door swung open without warning. He started. His father stood in the doorway, an inscrutable expression on his face.

Draco glanced back down at the page he'd been reading. "Did you need something?"

"Have you seen your mother?"

Draco frowned. "No, I haven't. I've been here all morning."

"Oh."

Something in his father's tone made Draco look up again. "I thought she was with you." He tried not to let the accusation shine through in his tone, but Lucius caught it anyway: his lip twitched.

"Your mother is allowed to go where she pleases, you know. I don't follow her around the house."

Draco shrugged. "Well, what are you worried about, then?"

"I haven't seen her in over an hour. The house-elf doesn't know where she is, either."

Draco closed his book, making a mental note to remember the page number (121). "You looked for her?"

"This is the only room I haven't checked."

"Well, she isn't here," Draco said. He drew his wand, thinking of casting a Homenum Revelio, but a gesture from Lucius stopped him.

"If you think I haven't already tried, you've forgotten who you're talking to. She isn't here, Draco. She left."

Draco felt a coldness creep over him. "Outside?"

Lucius didn't reply. His expression was studiously blank, as though it were a matter of complete indifference to him, but Draco knew better. He could read his father's concern in the stiffness of his back, the vein that pulsed in his temple, the way his fingers fluttered constantly, as though itching to do something.

Draco stood up, mind racing. His mother, outside. It didn't have to be bad. She might have just gone out for coffee or something. Except it was the first time she left the house since the trial, and Draco had an uneasy feeling in his gut. Why would she have left without telling anyone? Was it that she hadn't thought to warn them – that she had forgotten to? Salazar, what if she wandered out and forgot how to get home?

"Your mother isn't senile, Draco," Lucius said sharply, as though he could hear the thoughts going through Draco's head.

Draco clenched his fist so tightly his fingernails broke the skin on the palm of his hand. He thought, If you really believed that, you wouldn't be so worried, but what he said was, "I know. Look, I'll go look for her. You stay home in case she comes back."

"No," Lucius said. "I'll go. I know her favourite places better than you do."

"I know them well enough." The thought of his father out on the streets made him cringe inwardly.

"Give me one reason you should go," Lucius said, meeting his gaze levelly.

Draco hesitated. How could he tell his father he didn't trust him to be outside? How could he say he was trying to protect his parents? Lucius watched him, and Draco gave in.

"Fine. You go. But bring her back the minute you find her, and –"

"I'm not a fool, Draco."

Lucius turned on his heel and left the room, the door closing silently behind him. Draco sat back down on the edge of a table and was surprised to realise he was shaking. Get a grip, he told himself, annoyed. There was, logically, no reason to worry. His parents were adults, and so was he. He tried to push the matter to the back of his mind, and opened his book again to page 102. His eyes went over the first few paragraphs several times before he realised it was the wrong page and flipped to page 121. He read that page three times, and each time could recall none of it by the time he'd reached the last word, so he shut the book again and pushed it to the edge of the table.

"Fuck," he muttered.

He walked out of the library, leaving the damn book behind. He needed to clear his mind. Right now, he was too annoyed to think straight. When he saw his mother again, he would – do something, he thought helplessly.

A blast of fresh air greeted him when he stepped out the front door. A white peacock strutted in front of him, its long tail feathers brushing across fallen red and gold leaves. Draco scowled. He'd have to see to it that those were picked up. Later.

He kicked a few of the leaves out of the way as he made his way around the manor. He loved the sprawling grounds, always had. He'd learned to fly here, and to him the place still held that intangible air of freedom and innocence. He remembered the time he'd flown right into the rosebushes. He'd been scratched up from head to toe, but he'd only gabbled excitedly about how fast he could go as his mum fussed over the cuts. Damn. How old had he been? Seven, eight? It seemed a lifetime ago. He'd always been stupidly proud of his flying – at least until Harry fucking Potter showed up and showed him up.

His thoughts had gone full circle, from Potter and the debt to his mother and back to Potter again. Draco shook himself, and realised his steps had led him to the far end of the grounds, where no rosebushes grew. The leaves that littered the ground seemed darker here, a brown as dull as dirt, but the grass beneath them was tall and straight and bright green: no one ever walked here. Draco glanced over his shoulder at the manor, looming darkly behind him. It wasn't that far, but he honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd been here. Strange that his feet had guided him here.

Ahead of him stood a stone fence, knee-high and crumbling in places. The gate was made of wood in impeccable condition and older than Draco cared to remember. It hung slightly ajar – just a few inches.

A chill ran up Draco's spine and a firm certainty took hold of him. He crossed the fence and walked past the first rows of abandoned Malfoy graves, knowing, without really knowing, where he was going. He turned left, then right, heading to an extremity of the cemetery where the tombstones were less crumbling, the inscriptions more readable, until he finally stopped in front of a wide slab of clean, very new stone. His mother was kneeling on the ground before it, completely still.

Whatever irritation Draco felt instantly vanished, gone Merlin knew where. The harsh words he'd been planning to say to his mother died in his throat when she raised unseeing eyes to his and said dully, "She should be buried here."

He didn't need to look at the tombstone to know whom she meant, to see the name and date inscribed there.

Bellatrix Adhara Lestrange, née Black

7 January 1951 – 2 May 1998

"Where is my sister?" Narcissa said.

"I don't know," Draco lied. He tasted bile in the back of his throat, remembering Azkaban.

Aunt Bella hadn't even been a Malfoy, but he wasn't surprised his father had indulged his wife with this empty grave. Narcissa and Bellatrix had been close. Bella had always been more Black than Lestrange.

"I think about her, sometimes. I wonder whether she thinks of me."

Draco's heart skipped a beat. No. "She's dead," he said harshly.

"No, she isn't," Narcissa said softly, and for a second Draco's spirits sank and he thought she had gone mad, really truly mad, and thank Merlin she'd only gone as far as the cemetery – "I had two sisters, Draco."

Draco was thrown for a moment. What was she talking about? But then he remembered: snide comments from the other Death Eaters, the Dark Lord's unpleasant teasing, Bella's own vitriolic remarks... What was her name? Salazar, had none of them ever mentioned her name?

"Andromeda," his mother said softly, and yes, somehow, that rang a bell.

Draco blinked. His mother never spoke of the sister who had married a Mudblood. She'd been dead to the whole family for longer than Draco had been alive.

"I thought you hated her."

Narcissa flinched.

"Sorry," Draco muttered, knowing he'd said something he shouldn't have.

"Don't be." A sudden clarity appeared in his mother's eyes. "What time is it?"

"A little past noon."

Narcissa jumped up. "Oh, no. I told your father I wouldn't be long –"

"Don't worry," Draco said. "He'll just be glad you're all right."

"Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"

Draco didn't answer. He watched as she brushed the dirt off the front of her robes. She did look all right. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, her blond hair perfectly in place. She took his arm and gently steered him back to the manor.

"But how are you? I haven't seen you all morning. What were you doing?"

Ah, thought Draco. Back to Potter again. All was normal.

The baby squirmed in Harry's lap. Harry squinted at him, trying to see something of Remus in his face. It was hard, because the kid looked different every time he saw him. Today, his hair was buttercup yellow.

"It's been like that for three days," Andromeda explained. "I don't know why, he tends to prefer brown usually, but..." She shrugged.

Harry smiled weakly as Teddy held his arms out to his grandmother when she spoke. Teddy was a cute kid (when he wanted to, at least), but Harry felt uncomfortable having such a young baby in his lap. He felt like he was holding an antique: something extremely precious and extremely fragile.

"His eyes are grey today," he said inanely, to fill the awkward silence. He didn't dislike Andromeda, but they didn't know each other well, despite Harry's efforts to visit Remus' son semi-regularly.

Andromeda started and gave Teddy a closer look. "They are," she said quietly, sounding stunned.

Something in her tone made Harry look down at Teddy again. After a second, he realised he'd seen that grey before. Sirius' eyes. Bellatrix's eyes. They had been that exact shade of grey. He winced at his own tactlessness. Andromeda had lost her daughter, husband, and son-in-law to the war. She scarcely needed reminding that her own sister had killed Tonks.

"It's good of you to come," Andromeda said after a few beats. "I suppose it does Teddy some good, to see someone who isn't his stuffy old grandmother..."

She trailed off. Merlin knew she was doing her best at being a parent a second time around, but whenever Harry came over, he sensed that she was shrouded in sorrow, and that Teddy, so full of life and laughter, tired her out. He could understand that. Even his infrequent visits stressed him out. A baby was so much responsibility. I should have been his godfather, he thought. And then what? Would he have had to raise Teddy? Would Andromeda have let him?

"You should come over sometime," Harry said vaguely. "You two are always welcome at mine – or maybe we could have dinner at the Weasleys, I'm sure Mrs Weasley would be –"

"That's very kind of you, Harry," Andromeda said politely, and Harry knew she had no intention of taking him up on the offer.

He looked at her. Teddy had the grey eyes today, but Andromeda had the most striking resemblance to Bellatrix. Something about the jaw, the cheekbones, even the hair. He wondered whether they'd been close in their childhood, and if Andromeda ever thought about the family who had disowned her. Damn, but he didn't want Teddy to grow up an orphan, raised by a sad grandmother who made him the sole purpose of her life, never knowing what a real family could be. Harry wanted to give him so much more than that. He thought of his own parents, and the Dursleys. He'd seen them only once since the end of the war, to let them know he was safe and sound – not that they seemed to care so much. They weren't his family, never had been.

"How is life treating you?" Andromeda asked.

"Oh, everything's fine, just great," Harry said, the lie springing easily to his lips. He'd said much the same thing to Ron only hours earlier. "Auror training is really interesting, I just knew –" He pressed his lips tightly together, silently berating himself for mentioning Tonks' profession. "Things are pretty different now, though."

"Yes, they are," Andromeda said quietly.

They avoided each others' eyes for a few long seconds, and then both started when there came an insistent tapping at the window. Andromeda sprang to her feet and let in a small, snooty-looking grey owl with impeccable feathers.

"I don't recognise it," she said, untying the envelope and turning it around in her hands.

No sign indicated whom it might have come from. She tore it open and sat back down across from Harry. Harry watched as her eyebrows drew closer together as she read the letter. By the time she finished it, she was holding it so tightly it had begun to crumple in her hands.

"Harry, are you still assigned to the Malfoys?"

"Er, yes, why?"

The corner of her mouth twisted down in an ugly scowl. "The next time you see Draco Malfoy, tell him to leave me and my grandson alone."

She handed him the letter; Harry read it quickly, his disbelief growing with every word. The phrasing was awkward, the tone too formal and polite. What had Malfoy hoped to gain from it? Why would he have contacted Andromeda at all? His professed 'desire to reconnect with the family' was hardly credible. At least he'd had the decency to sign off with his name, not 'your nephew.' Harry looked back up at Andromeda, whose face was white with fury. He could hardly blame her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll, er, I'll ask him when I see him –"

"There's nothing to ask," she said icily. "Tell him I never want to see him or any other Death Eater. Tell him if he ever tries to contact me again, I'll call the Ministry. Tell him if he or his parents ever show up on my doorstep, they will regret it." She leaned over and snatched Teddy away from Harry; Harry could hardly conceal his relief. There was a fierce, protective expression on her face as she cradled the baby in her arms. "You do your job, Harry. I don't want to receive another owl."

"You won't," Harry promised.

He left, wondering how the hell he was going to broach the subject with Malfoy.