A week after the last portrait came out, I was forced to give an interview to the Daily Prophet about the case I'd just completed. And since the reporter had me there answering questions for the first time in months, he asked me about the second to last portrait, the bathroom one.

"It is titled The Death of an Innocent. But Draco Malfoy didn't actually die that day, did he?" the reporter asked me.

"No, he was close though," I answered. "He would've been dead, if not for Professor Snape."

"Then what do you think that title means?" he asked.

"The death of innocence. It was the day my innocence died; maybe his too," I answered.

Draco was asked about my comment on the painting while in the streets of Diagon Alley. A photo of his shocked expression made it into the morning paper, along with a quote. "What!? No! That painting was not about the death of Potter's innocence! I couldn't care less about the death of his innocence! I don't care about what he meant to do or what lesson he learned! That painting was literally about the killing of an innocent fetus in the womb! It was about my baby! Kyara Soleil. She was innocent and Harry Potter killed her."

The following day's paper came with an elaboration: He was four months pregnant that day in the loo and although Snape had been able to heal him, no one could save his unborn daughter. He'd been debating whether to name her Kyara, which he thought was prettier but was Irish, or Soleil, which meant the same in French: sun. Even though she wasn't born, she was his sun, the center of his galaxy. But then I'd killed her. That was the only painting he'd done with me in it that year, because Kyara was his only focus for a long time. I was there and I was at fault, but for once, it wasn't about me.

That was complete and utter bullshite. I crumpled up the paper and threw it in the fire. He hadn't been pregnant. I wasn't a murderer. I didn't kill his unborn daughter. This was a publicity stunt. I didn't know why he was doing it, but I was going to stop it. Enough was enough. I apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor.

A house elf showed me in and Draco Malfoy met me in the drawing room.

"I do hope this is good; if this gets out, I'll be forced to paint it," Draco said instead of a greeting.

He looked good, more than before. It'd been three years since I'd last seen him at the unveiling of the Potter collage. In that time, he'd filled out; he was no longer gaunt and sallow from the war, but healthy and just a bit taller. His hair looked thicker too, tousled into the new style. The bright white of his teeth contrasted with the red of his plump lips. He'd grown into his pointy features some, so that they were flattering instead of overly sharp. He was the epitome of a tall handsome wizard.

"That's what I want to talk to you about: I want you to stop selling the bathroom one. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the Kyara thing too. It has to stop, Draco," I insisted.

"No. You don't get to be sick of her. You killed her. She's gone and no one can bring her back. If I have to live with it, so do you. I am not going to let you go around like it never happened. She was alive and good and innocent. You took her away from me," he insisted.

"What are you talking about? You've never even been pregnant!" I exclaimed. He looked at me with utter contempt, as if he couldn't believe I was saying this, as if I was lower that the sludge that the house elves spelled off the undersides of his shoes. "You're a bloke and you were sixteen! Sixteen-year-old blokes don't just get knocked up!"

"I did!" he replied.

"How? Why? By who?" I pressed.

"A male fertility potion, by my boyfriend Rex, because I wanted to kill myself, but realized that I couldn't do it without an heir. My father had a life sentence in Azkaban at the time and it was up to me to carry on the family line," he answered angrily.

"You wanted to kill yourself?" I asked, taken aback.

"Yes. The Dark Lord had ordered me to do something that I couldn't do. My father was in prison. I was a failure. I wanted to die. But no, I can't do it, because Harry Fucking Savior Chosen One Scarhead Potter killed my Kyara. No heir for me; no suicide."

I spluttered and then proclaimed, "You can't be serious!"

"I can and I am." Then he summoned one of his paintings and shoved it in my face. "See, Potter?"

It was a small canvas, full up with a fetus. It was translucent pink and unmoving. The head was almost as big as the body, the eyes a little large, and the arms and legs short and thin. The facial features were fully formed and pointy, like a miniature Malfoy.

"She's a girl. I found out just weeks before you killed her," he said.

"A girl?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes. The spell showed me. She was sucking her little thumb. And then when she died, Pomphrey removed her from my body and let me hold her. She was so tiny; only as big as my hand. She was definitely a girl," he confirmed.

"Pomphrey knew?" I asked, still in disbelief, but starting to get an inkling that he was either telling the truth or completely delusional.

"Not until it was too late. I kept it from everyone, to protect my precious Kyara. But the first thing I did when I regained consciousness was to ask about her. By then Pomphrey had already figured out what was wrong and that my baby was dead. Pomphrey helped me bury her in the Hogsmeade cemetery; Snape too."

"If you were pregnant, why didn't anyone ever tell me?" I asked.

"Life isn't always about you, Potter. The world doesn't revolve around you. I didn't exactly have time for you in my grief. And it's not like you came to check on me to see how we were doing," he answered with a sneer.

The horror began to sink in. At the time, I had feared I might've murdered Draco, but then it turned out to be worse; I murdered an unborn baby. I'd taken an innocent life. And I'd been so self-absorbed with my budding romance with Ginny that I hadn't even bothered to notice. I was a worse monster than I knew.

"I didn't know…" I whispered.

"That doesn't make it better."

"No. Of course not. What can I do?" I asked.

"I don't want to leave her there in Hogsmeade. I never wanted to bury her there, but it wasn't safe to come back here with her. The Dark Lord would've killed me if he'd known. I plan on reburying her. Come," he answered.

"You want me to…come to your daughter's…funeral?"

"Yes. Just a little one, here at the Malfoy Cemetery, so she can be buried with the rest of the family."

"Why now?" I asked.

"I'm ready to move on. I still need an heir; it's time I get on with that. I need closure first," he answered.

I could give him closure. If he needed me at the funeral, then I could attend. It was the least I could do, after I took his child's life.

I nodded.

"And you will say a few words about what Kyara gave her life for," he continued.

"What? No…I can't," I protested.

"You can. She was fodder for your war efforts. She died for you, just like the others. You spoke for all of them," he insisted.

"Not all of them. Snape, yes, but not the others."

"All the same, you will speak for my Kyara Soleil. She deserves as much," he replied.

He had me there, so I reluctantly agreed.

Author's Note: There's the big reveal. Now Harry will have to live with what he's done and you know how the guilt eats at him…What do you think?

I'm moving back home to California tonight. It's been seven years. Wish me luck.