Okay, look. I need you to bend with me here for these two chapters. Here is where you get to the heart of the scandal - it only gets worse from here. Throws muse in jail for: Breaking canon, underage drinking, sex, evil Lucius doing mean things to baby Draco, and altogether weirdness. Redeeming value: Well, I think it's interesting.
Please review. I know it's weird and out of canon and seriously out there, but if you must flame, go right ahead. It's cold here in Michigan.
# # #
It was night once again when Harry awoke in the infirmary. Night filtered in through the windows; seeped through the floorboards and wrapped its long tentacles around Harry's neck until Harry was sure had had been smothered and sat bolt upright.
Instantly happening with him sitting up, the door opened and a prick of candlelight killed the darkness and illuminated Professor Dumbledore's face. Too exhausted to deal with this properly, Harry collapsed back onto the bed.
"How did you sleep, Harry?" asked Professor Dumbledore, managing to look friendly but also grave at the same time. This doubleplay of emotions confused Harry so that he shut his eyes.
"Fine, sir."
There was a skittering of rapidly brisk footsteps and a wind of slight perfume where Madam Pomfrey swished down upon a chair like a hawk on prey, and started to take Harry's pulse.
"Nasty game, Quidditch," Madam Pomfrey tisked, prying open one of Harry's eyelids and looking for dilation of the pupils. "We get about seven Quidditch-related injuries a week. Isn't this the second time he fell off his broom?"
"Not quite," Dumbledore said, smiling. "This time he was caught by Miss Bell as he fell... though her broom snapped in the process, the five-foot fall didn't hurt either of them badly."
Harry's eyelid snapped shut as Madam Pomfrey released it. He was going to have to remember to buy Katie a broom. "Where's Malfoy?" he asked, instead.
Dumbledore's smile faded. "That's exactly what we came to talk to you about, Harry," he replied, adjusting his glasses, "if you're not too tired, that is."
"I'm fine," Harry yawned.
"Professor, I don't think..." Madam Pomfrey began.
"He's fine, Poppy."
The flower name 'Poppy' brought back the dull paradox of horror that had sent him falling from his broom in the first place. Lily, Petunia, Narcissa. He hated flower names. If he ever saw Lavender Brown after this, he was going after her with pruning shears.
"Now, what exactly was going on up there?" asked Dumbledore. His voice was gentle, though it held a razor edge to it.
Harry rustled his sheets. "Where's Malfoy?" he asked again. "I saw him fly into the Forest."
Dumbledore's lips twitched slightly. "We don't know," he said truthfully. "We can't use a magical search in the Forest, because there'd be too much interference. We've got a search party out there as we speak."
Harry nodded and yawned loudly, letting his eyelids droop more than was needed. "Where's my Firebolt? This one didn't hit the whomping willow, did it?"
"Right there." The Professor pointed towards the corner of the room, where a broom was standing handle-down so as not to bend the tailstraws. "You're lucky the model has auto-brakes."
"That's nice," Harry said, adding a little snore.
"Professor," Madam Pomfrey seared, taking the bait, "Harry needs rest! Can't you see that? This can wait until the morning."
"But I'm not-"-yawn-"-sleepy," Harry protested half-heartedly.
Professor Dumbledore looked from the fuming nurse to the seemingly asleep boy, smiled slightly, and shrugged. "More luck to you, then."
"Good night," Harry said by way of response. Dumbledore swept out of his chair and walked out the door, with Madam Pomfrey and the candle tisking behind. The door clicked shut.
Darkness resumed again, crawling in under the blankets and behind Harry's pillow. He was the picturesque of exhausted sleep for about ten minutes before sitting bolt upright and grabbing clumsily for his wand on the bedstand.
"Lumos," he muttered as the wandtip blazed into light, dazzling Harry's eyes with the brightness for a few moments. After blinking out the sunspots, Harry tilted the wand so that the light spilled over into the darker corners, where his broom was. He gently leapt out of the bed, landing catlike.
Tucking the folds of his blanket around his body and grabbing the broom, Harry opened the large window and jumped out.
The blanket twisted behind him in panicky waves as he nose-dived out of the turret. Swinging onto the broom, he eased the edge up slowly. Too fast and the broom would jet out from under him, leaving him in a bad position. The Firebolt had good handling, but it was too good at times. On level flying position again, he zoomed over to the Quidditch field, holding his lighting wand up for view.
"I was about here when Malfoy had the letter... or was I over there?" he muttered to himself, trying to reenact the scene in his mind. His bare legs rippled with goosebumps from the cold, and his teeth chattered as he waved the lighted wandtip around. "No, I was over there, because at the beginning of the second half, Slytherin was going this way, and Malfoy bolted in the direction that we were going in... oh bloody hell."
His wand had gone out. Smacking it against his freezing legs produced nothing more than red welts and a little more feeling his his limbs. Pointing it to the sky, he muttered an incantation he had heard Hermione doing, and a large ball of fire exploded out of his wand, attaching to the front of his broom. It didn't burn the wood of the broom, but it did warm Harry up a bit, and he left the balance of gravity to move closer to the fire.
"He went this way," Harry said with finality, zipping through the darkness.
The problem with the Forbidden Forest is that a great deal of it looks the same. There aren't that many remarkable landmarks anywhere, and Harry's heart fell into his stomach as he realized that looking for Malfoy was about as successful as looking for a specific grain of sand on a beach.
And what was he looking for him for, anyhow? Okay, fine. They were related. Well, it wasn't fine, but it was livable. Just because he was related to Malfoy didn't mean that he had to be like Malfoy. Harry certainly didn't intend to become Malfoy's best friend because Lily Potter happened to be related to Narcissa Malfoy. No, they had gone too far to become friends, not after all of these years.
Now I'm sounding like an old man, Harry thought, smiling as he snapped his way through some tree branches.
No, the reason that he was looking for Malfoy wasn't because they were cousins. No, it was because something from earlier was bothering him.
'"I was in the same house as your mother," Mr. Yamphiski had said, that day nearly three months ago at the sushi restaurant. "Ravenclaw."'
Didn't that letter Malfoy got say that Lily Potter was a Gryffindor?
# # #
The rising sun streaked through the Astronomy tower globe, alighting the mirror-tiles pink and sending a rosy glow throughout the glass walls and ceiling.
"We had better get going," Cho said, raking a hand through Hermione's frizzy hair in an affectionate manner. Hermione looked at the rapidly lighting sky and shook her head slightly.
"In more ways than one," Hermione sighed, shaking Cho's fingers out of her hair.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Cho asked muzzily, standing up and stretching. Hermione tilted back her neck to look at her.
"That I think we shouldn't do this anymore."
Cho stopped stretching and looked at her, blinking. "Why?"
"Because I don't think it's right, going with Ron while you're going with me."
There was considering silence. "What if I dropped Ron?"
"Then it would be wrong, since you're Harry's inflamed crush."
Cho sighed prettily and sank back down to Hermione's level, taking Hermione's pale hands into her olive-skinned ones, rubbing her hands gently over them. "Then tell me," Cho crooned, "what I can do to keep you mine."
"Nothing," Hermione said, with rapidly dwindling stubbornness. This was hard, trying to quit like this, especially with Cho as unrelenting and passionate as she was. "I'm sorry, Cho."
"Are you sure?" wheedled Cho, lightly nipping at the soft lobe of Hermione's ear, her breath sending chills down Hermione's spine.
"Cho, you're not a slut," Hermione managed to say, keeping her arms from around the girl by holding them out to the sides like Cho was infected with Ebola. "Don't make me consider you one."
Cho slinked backwards from Hermione, sighing dreamily. "If you say so. I'll just have fun with Ronnie-kins for a while, then." She stuck out her hand for a handshake. "Friends?"
"Of course," Hermione said, taking the offered hand relieved that this had gone over so well. She stood up and left through the eastern door, chatting with Cho like two close friends, and not former lovers.
In the half-shade of early morning, Ron backed away from the crack in the western door of the astronomy tower; mouth set in a furious line, brown eyes leaking crystalline liquid freely.
# # #
It was around seven in the morning when Harry, by some miracle, had found Malfoy curled in a heap at the base of a great tree. He was still wearing his dark green Quidditch robes, and his hands clutched his broom to his chest like a security blanket, and he was sleeping. Harry landed in an exhausted pile beside him, extinguishing the fireball that clung to the front of his broom by ramming the broom-head into the dust.
"Malfoy," Harry grunted, gently shaking Malfoy's shoulder. "Malfoy?"
Malfoy groaned and hauled himself up, blinked, and groaned again, rubbing his face. "My back hurts like a bitch," he announced.
"Considering you've been sleeping on the ground all night, I'm somehow not astonished," Harry responded pleasantly, sitting down.
They stared at each other for a moment. "Fate and irony are a wedded couple," Malfoy said, staring into Harry's eyes unblinkingly.
"With aggravation as heir," Harry replied, breaking the staring contest by shaking his head. He looked back up at Malfoy, who was obviously not in the mood to deal with him, but not in the mood to fight, either.
"It had to be you," they chorused together.
"Do you have your mother's letter still?" asked Harry, holding out a hand. Malfoy reached into his pocket and threw him a piece of rumpled parchment.
"I hate you," Malfoy added for effect.
Harry ignored this overstated fact and read aloud from the letter. "Petunia and Lily... My maiden name was White... I was a Ravenclaw, though my sisters' last name was Evans. Lily was a Gryffindor. Petunia is a muggle, and Lily is deceased."
A small prick of realization and dull, dull horror lanced through Harry. The world shattered into a billion pieces and refused to come back together again.
"You know," he said weakly, "that feeling when your entire life has been a lie, and all you want to do is fall over and disintegrate into a million little pieces?"
Malfoy leaned up against the large, grooved treetrunk and looked upwards, as if lost in thought. "Can't say I do," he replied airily, tapping his thumbs together.
"Narcissa's maiden name was White." Harry's voice had become tinny and dull. "My mother's maiden name was White."
Malfoy blinked at him for a second, his head tilted at him in wonder before rolling his eyes into the back of his head. "No, stupid, your mother's name was Evans. See? It says right there." He pointed a black-gloved finger against the parchment. Harry shook his head.
"I met someone when I was with my aunt and uncle," he said shakily, "when I was at a restaurant... he was a wizard... said he knew my mother... said she was a Ravenclaw, and kept on calling her Miss White..."
Malfoy's voice was dry and drawling. "Potter, your mother was a Gryffindor and would have been Miss Evans."
Harry stared at Malfoy for a long, long moment, like a deer into headlights on a train. Malfoy stared back just as balefully, fitting the fragments of what Harry was trying to say in his head. It finally clicked.
And Malfoy blacked out.
# # #
Dear Mrs. Malfoy, the letter read on the neatly folded piece of parchment.
Narcissa Malfoy was in the library, idly running a pale, thin finger over the spines of brightly covered books, not exactly searching for something to read, just dawdling away the hours before her husband would return. It had been one day.
Then she smiled at herself, sounding like her life depended on her husband. Things were admittedly a lot more interesting when Lucius Malfoy was around to stir things up, but there was no reason to sit at home when he was away.
But there was nowhere to go.
The parchment had been dropped off by a brown school owl, sealed with wax and the Hogwarts emblem - not from her son, since his wax stamp had a letter 'D' carved into the wood. It was most likely from one of Draco's teachers or Dumbledore, informing them that her son had either done something stupid, like punch Harry Potter in the face, or gotten in trouble, for punching Harry Potter in the face.
Her husband and son were exactly alike, and this amused her to no extent.
She broke the multicolored wax seal with one hand, letting it crumble to the floor. Opening it, she read -
Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy -
We write to inform you of your son's disappearance.
This unexpected announcement drove Narcissa to sink into her husband's desk chair, and she leaned heavily against the mahogany desk as she read on.
We advise you not to become alarmed, since as far as we know he is not harmed. He was last seen at the Quidditch match yesterday, on a Thursday, February nineteenth, when he unexpectedly swerved away from the match in pursuit of an owl post, which he apparently read, and bolted off into the Forbidden Forest.
Feel free to send a reply.
Professor Albus Dumbledore
Narcissa chewed on her knuckle, marring the perfect skin with teeth indentations as she thought. Lucius had been right. She never should have told him. No doubt that Harry Potter knew about this as well - damn it. Not what she needed. What was Lucius going to say when he got back?
Nothing, Narcissa thought fiercely as she reached for her wand, waving it angrily. She disappeared with a snap.
He's not going to say anything at all, because there's going to be nothing left to say.
# # #
"What the hell did you think you were doing?"
Hermione whipped around at the loud, agonized voice that sounded right behind her, to see Ron slam her up against the hard wall. The impact of her skin on the wall made a sickening smacking sound, and she dropped all of her books as she lost her wind.
"Ron!" she gasped in surprise, unable to say anything else. Ron shoved her harder against the wall, this time her head knocked against the mosaic with the impact.
"Better tell Harry," he mimicked in a cruel, high voice, "you don't want him to find out you're screwing with Cho." His voice changed, deep and angry. "Pot, kettle, Hermione."
He knows. Hermione looked up at him mildly. "So, finally figured it out, have you?"
The blandness of Hermione's voice angered Ron even more. He shoved her up against the mosaic wall again, for lack of words to say. Hermione twisted around to grab her wand, and drove the hard stick deep into his stomach. He keeled over, and Hermione pushed him away.
"Don't touch me," she said coldly, bending over to pick up her books, which were scattered haphazardly around the floor. "Besides, I broke it off with Cho. It's her you should be mad at anyway - I never would have if she didn't ask."
The thought of being unsatisfying to the one he loved - or more accurately, was addicted to - pushed Ron to his anger limit again. Growling, he swung his foot out to kick away a book that Hermione was bending over to retrieve. It skittered across the floor, pages flapping helplessly around like octopus limbs. Hermione patiently went over to pick it up again.
"It's over," Ron said, though Hermione wasn't sure if he was referring to his and Hermione's friendship or his and Cho's relationship.
"Guys!" Neville came pounding up the hallway, red-faced and panting. "Harry's missing!"
"What?" asked Hermione and Ron in unison. Neville stopped for a moment, both to look at the scene and catch his breath. Ron was sprawled on the floor, leaning back on his arms crab-style, his face flushed and angry. Hermione was clutching a blue-covered book to her chest, with a muddy footprint stamped on the color that had the exact same pattern that the treads on Ron's sneakers had.
He continued. "Harry disappeared from the infirmary last night..."
Ron sprang off the floor, and Hermione dropped her book as they both flew for the infirmary hallway, leaving books and wands and ripped pages in their wake.
# # #
Madam Pomfrey was having a very hard time keeping the crowds away from inside the infirmary. A student disappearing was too juicy with gossip to be left alone.
With an angry grunt, Madam Pomfrey held the wooden door closed with one hand, her muscles rippling through the sleeves of her robe as she did so, and threw a mightily strong locking curse on it a few times.
"I daresay," Madam Pomfrey said, her cheeks red with effort, "you've wound up the school again, Mr. Potter."
Harry was sitting on the edge of his infirmary bed, dressed in his normal clothes, his robe undone and revealing a pair of faded jeans and a striped shirt. He buried his head in his hands, his fingers knotting in his mussy black hair. Behind him, Malfoy whimpered in his state of half-unconsciousness.
When Malfoy had blacked out, Harry had seized the opportunity to haul him on his Firebolt and slowly fly back to the school. He entered discreetly through the open turret window into a chaotic mess. News travels faster than magic, and it had been the talk of the school - Malfoy and Potter were both gone.
Now, as Harry had his hands buried in his thick mat of hair, he wished harder than ever he had not found the trunk marked with an N in the Dursley's attic.
The noise outside subsided a bit, then nearly silenced to a dull murmur. Madam Pomfrey whirled around from her pulse check on Malfoy to glare with suspicion at the door.
Then there was banging. "I demand to see my son!" a shrill voice called out.
"That'll be Mrs. Malfoy," the nurse sighed, dropping Malfoy's wrist to the mattress and going to uncurse the door.
Before she had it all the way open, a slim but supple white wrist snaked through the opening and slammed the door open.
It was Narcissa Malfoy, all right. But she looked different from when Harry had seen her at the Quidditch World Cup the year before.
She was dressed more casually, in long black pants that flared out delicately at the feet and collected to gather at curvy hips, and she was wearing a medieval style top in white, with laces that could be tied at the top, but they weren't - leaving an expanse of milky white chest to be admired. Her bottle-green robes were undone and flowing, following behind in an obedient wave as she walked. Her long blonde hair - nearly the color of Malfoy's - swayed like silk ribbon in a breeze and her dark green eyes blazed as she marched right past the nurse and over to Malfoy, who was still out.
"What happened?" she demanded, sitting on the mattress next to Harry, hovering over Malfoy.
"He went out cold when I told him you were my mother," Harry muttered into his hands, gripping his hair tighter.
There was palpable silence after this remark. Harry peeked out from behind his fingers when he saw Narcissa, paler than normal, look at him oddly.
"I never said anything about you being my son," she said quietly. Harry's palms became of great interest of him, all of a sudden.
"Do you know a Mr. Yamphiski?" asked Harry softly.
"Paul," Narcissa said, her green eyes riveted uncomfortably on Harry's head. "Paul Yamphiski. He was in my house."
"Ravenclaw," Harry said quietly. "He said that my mother's last name was White, and she was in Ravenclaw... and that she had a friend that was nearly a sister, named Lily..."
"Tell us it isn't true, Mother." Malfoy's eyes were open again. "Tell us that this is just an overactive reflex of Potty's imagination over there."
It was on the tip of Narcissa's tongue to say no. But, it was hard to do, with two pair of icy, leafy eyes staring at her firmly from behind walls of moisture. Narcissa rubbed the side of her head.
"It was a long time ago, so I suggest you get comfortable."
# # #
Night wrapped around the globe, smothering it into blackness. Tiny diamonds dotted the sky, and everybody was getting ready for bed. Narcissa White slammed her fist up against the white wall of her bedroom, screaming at the poster of The Beetles on the wall.
"It's not fair!" she yelled at John Lennon.
"Narcissa," Lily groaned, curling up on her bed, "please."
Narcissa whirled around to glare at the younger girl curled on the bottom bunk. The room was small enough, with a bunk bed and a twin in the other corner. Posters were plastered up upon the walls, some moving, some not. The room itself was reasonably clean - there was no room for clutter in a duplex bedroom with three teenage girls. It was made even smaller with Narcissa screaming.
"It's a Friday night!" Narcissa yelled at Lily. "It's a God damn Friday night and I'm nearly eighteen. I want to go out!"
"Well, Daddy says no," Lily replied, rolling to face the wall.
"He's not my daddy," Narcissa snapped. "Why the hell should I listen to him?"
Lily rolled over, glaring. Her red hair plastered around the pillow, spreading on the cotton like licks of flame. "He's been your daddy for long enough."
"Jonathon can kiss my ass."
"Your father would be upset if he heard you say that."
"Jonathon doesn't give a damn about me either way," Narcissa said, rifling through her closet for something to wear. "And I'm going out tonight no matter what he says."
Lily shrugged and rolled to face the wall, sliding her thumb in her mouth, a bad habit that she had when she was angry or sad. Narcissa talking about her father in that manner made her angry. Though it was true that Narcissa's father wasn't Jonathon - he was a wizard name Charles White, who died by the hands of a new villain that was making the Ministry of Magic anxious - an upstart that called himself Voldemort.
Lily, who was in her sixth year at a magical school called Hogwarts, didn't trouble herself with such matters.
Then her thumb was yanked out of her mouth. Narcissa was leaning over her, dressed in a bright pink, skin-tight top that wound around her breasts like a strip of cloth and left the rest of her midriff bare. Her bellbottoms were skin tight except for where they flared out at the end.
"Don't suck your thumb," admonished Narcissa severely, "or you'll have to have braces like your dear sister."
Lily snorted at the mention of her magical-phobic sister, Petunia. Petunia slept downstairs on the couch during the summer, refusing to have anything to do with magic at all. Lily thought that Petunia was simply afraid of magical powers, and forgave Petunia most of her snobby stunts. Narcissa took Petunia's rejection of magic as a personal offence, and as a result the two half-sisters hated each other with a passion.
Narcissa stopped at the doorframe. "Night night," she said, before snapping the lightswitch off.
Lily shrugged in the darkness, and her thumb popped back into her mouth.
# # #
Narcissa crept down the stairs quietly and nearly made it to the door before she was stopped.
"Father isn't going to be happy," Petunia said, over the volume of the television flipping channels, "when I tell him that this is the fifth night in a row that you've snuck out."
Narcissa sighed with impatience, her hand on the doorknob. She whirled around. "What do you want?" she asked. "Money?"
Petunia shook her head, clicking through the stations again.
"Clothes?"
Click, went the remote.
"A life?"
Snap, the television said as it turned off. Petunia, to Narcissa's surprise, wasn't wearing her frumpy nightclothes as she expected, but tight, plastic-y black shorts, and a flaming red halter-top.
"I want to come."
"There's going to be wizards aplenty, sister dear."
"I'll just tell Father, then..."
"Are you coming, or not?"
# # #
The party was being held at a very, very large house. The two half-sisters walked up to the gates, and Narcissa tapped an intercom with her pinky nail.
"If anybody asks," Narcissa hissed to her sister as Petunia touched up her makeup, "you're a wizard."
Petunia's dull gold-green eyes snapped in the direction of Narcissa. "And why is that?"
"Because we're going to Malfoy Manor, and you being here is about as safe as being a gypsy in a Nazi concentration camp."
Started by the brutal comparison, Petunia swallowed hard, but held her neck up. Narcissa had to hand it to her - if Narcissa herself was a muggle, there would be no way she would come within a twenty kilometer radius of this place. But then again, Petunia hadn't heard the rumors about the Malfoys.
She felt somewhat bad about not telling Petunia about the Malfoys, but the feeling was shunted when the gates opened, giving the two girls access to the long winding road.
"This place is huge!" breathed Petunia in awe, looking at the enormous manor that loomed before her like a dark monster in the starry night.
"Yeah," Narcissa said, dismissing the awestruck comment. "Make up a pusedo-name. If anybody asks, I don't know you, so you're on your own. Hopefully everybody'll be so high that they won't think to ask who you really are."
"Fine," Petunia snapped, as Narcissa knocked.
The door was promptly opened by a butler that didn't ask any questions, and lead them around a few impressive halls and into a large room.
The halls were dimly light by candelabras, and walking into the party room was like walking into the gates of heaven.
The room was packed to the gills with people, all of which were making tremendous amounts of noise and swaying their bodies around to the beat of dance music. A bar in the corner was thronged with people who were obviously minors and bright lights of rapidly flashing colors swerved around like a flashy, metallic pinwheel. A cloud of smog from narcotics swirled around the room.
The moving crowd soon swallowed Narcissa, leaving Petunia on her own. Swallowing, the muggle girl pushed her way through the throng, not sure what she was looking for, until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Petunia jumped and whirled around.
She was face to face with a rather attractive young man with blonde hair plastered to his head with sweat. He was shirtless, revealing a rather eye-pleasing expanse of chest and a pair of skin-tight jeans. In his right hand he held a bottle of something pink. He was obviously snockered.
"Hey there baby," he said drunkenly, "I ain't never seen you in these here parts 'fore, sugar-bunches... wha's your name?"
Petunia's mind fumbled. "Pansy," she said to the drunken boy. "And who might you be?"
The boy laughed and shook the bottle, the pink liquid slopping over the sides. He took a long pull of the liquid before answering.
"My name's Lucius Malfoy... baby, it's always a pleasure. Have a drink." He tilted Petunia's head back and poured some of the pink liquid down her throat.
Petunia's first reaction was to spit it back up, but she swallowed it anyway... hey... it was pretty good!
Lucius suddenly growled and let a finger teasingly slide under the red halter-top that Petunia wore. She gasped, but then clutched for the pink bottle that Lucius held in his hand. Tilting her head back with a wild cry, she downed the rest in three swigs.
Smiling, Lucius grabbed another two bottles of the pink liquid and cradled Petunia close. "I know a place where we can be alone," he said suggestively, tinkling the glass of the two bottles together.
Petunia, already lost, giggled and let the charming - albeit drunken - young man, carry her out of the party.
# # #
Narcissa, meanwhile, had made her way over to the bar, where a harried house-elf was working over time, shaking up strange mixes for the young people that were waiting impatiently, and sometimes getting enjoyment by making the elf inflict punishment on himself for not going fast enough. The cries sounded something like this:
"Pina Colada!"
"Poke yourself in the eye!"
"Brandy, on the rocks!"
"Slam your ears in the oven!"
"Crush your fingers in the ice machine!"
"I said I wanted a-" hiccup "-Pina Colada, elf!"
"One vodka, make it hard!" Narcissa yelled to the house elf, which was trying to mix tequila and smash his ears in the ice machine in the same time. The drunken humans roared with laughter.
"Narcissa!"
Narcissa turned coolly around to find... James Potter.
"What the hell are you doing here? You - You're a Gryffindor! They'll kill you if they find you here!" Narcissa cried, gasping. She reached over behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of straight whiskey, tearing off the cork and downing a few gulps. Her face contorted at the taste of it, but she shook her head to clear it.
James Potter smiled leerily - he was drunk as well. He put a hand around Narcissa waist and rubbed himself against her hip. "Wha's it matter, Sexy? Not that anybody's here sober 'nuff to tell their assholes from a hole in the ground."
Narcissa was amused that he was so drunk - at Hogwarts, James was a responsible, caring, reserved individual. He had drunk away all of his inhibitions, obviously. She took another pull at the whiskey bottle, savoring its complex taste, and planning to get drunk as soon as possible.
"Le's dance," she told him. James smiled and led her on the dance floor. Narcissa had no head for alcohol. It didn't take long to drink herself into oblivion - and into bed.
# # #
"I feel like hell in a handbasket," Narcissa moaned to her half-sister. Petunia moaned in unison and leaned over the toilet, spewing the contents of her stomach into the john. Narcissa took a saltine cracker and nibbled at the side.
It had been three weeks since the party. At first, Narcissa had attributed her sickness to a hangover... but the sickness had lasted. Then she missed her period. Now she was getting rather scared.
"We're pregnant," Petunia said weakly, eyes welling with tears. "I never should have gone to that stupid party!"
"Oh, shut up," Narcissa snapped. Then, after a moment's silence, she added, "You never did tell me who you were with."
Petunia heaved over the toilet again before answering. "Lucius Malfoy."
This startled Narcissa so that she had to cast into the toilet after Petunia. "Lucius Malfoy!" cried Narcissa. Petunia nodded and weakly reached up and pulled the flush handle. As the contents of the toilet sloshed around, Narcissa slumped against the side of the porcelain bowl.
"What about you?" asked Petunia quietly, leaning against the tiled wall.
"You wouldn't know him. James Potter."
Petunia shrugged - she didn't know him. "What do we do?" whimpered Petunia.
"We have the babies," Narcissa shrugged. "Jonathon is never going to approve of abortion. And neither do I. The Wizarding Paternal Law takes care of the rest."
"The what?"
Narcissa sighed. She had forgotten that she was dealing with a non-wizard. "The Wizarding Paternal Law," she said carefully, "is a law that states that if a man makes a woman pregnant, and the female is too young or irresponsible, or raped, then the man has to take the baby and provide an adequate home for it, or else."
"Or else what?"
"You go to Azkaban. And before you ask, Azkaban is a horrible wizarding prison. So, we can appeal to be too young."
"I see."
# # #
Nine months passed. Narcissa did not go to school during this time - she was homeschooled to avoid embarrassment, and so was Petunia.
They both gave birth to two, healthy, strong babies, which they left unnamed, since they were to be given to the fathers.
And it must be admitted that even Narcissa felt a little pinch of sorrow when her finger curved around her sweet baby's innocent cheek - he had a mop of dark black hair already, and when he opened his eyes, they were the dark green of Narcissa's own. It hurt when she had to sign the papers that would put the Wizarding Paternal Law into action. For a moment, she had wanted to keep her sweet, helpless baby boy all to herself.
She turned into her pillows on her hospital bed to hide the tears as the little black-haired boy was taken away from her arms, forever.
# # #
Petunia had a different manner all together. She herself marched up to Malfoy Manor and banged on the intercom.
"Yes?" asked a voice.
"I need to speak to Lucius Malfoy," Petunia said crisply. The little blonde haired boy stirred at a cold wind and whimpered. "Shut up, you," she added to the basket, which the boy was in, giving the wicker a little nudge with her toe.
The gates opened, and Petunia gathered her baby basket and walked down the path which she did nine months earlier, and rapped on the door.
Lucius Malfoy was standing in the threshold of the foyer, arms akimbo, looking very stern. He didn't look a thing like the partying young man of nine months earlier. "Yes?" he asked in a frosty voice.
Petunia dropped the basket to the floor at Lucius's feet, along with the Wizarding Paternal Law sheets. The baby in the basket began to cry. "That," she said over the boy's wailing, "is your son."
Lucius stared, shocked, at the writhing basket at his feet. "What?"
"Nine months ago," Petunia said sharply. "Party. You know me as 'Pansy', though you were probably too plastered to remember."
Lucius's face twitched. Then he blanched. "No... no, you couldn't have gotten pregnant. We didn't do anything!"
"Nine months!" Petunia said shrilly. "Nine months of heaving into toilets and eating saltine crackers! Nearly forty-eight hours of labor! I can vouch for it - I have pictures!"
Tears were welling in Petunia's eyes as she threw a muggle photograph at Lucius of her holding a towheaded child. "He's yours, Lucius! And I wash my hands of him!" With all her strength, she slapped Lucius as hard as she could, then ran off down the lane, sobbing.
Lucius looked after her for a moment, before picking up the papers. They were officially signed and stamped... along with the bloodtest results... they must have gotten the blood from the packet that his father made him donate... red bubbled in front of his eyes, directed at the squirming child in the basket.
Without a word, he kicked the wicker hard with his foot, sending the basket sliding across the floor. The baby inside screamed.
# # #
Harry sobbed into his hands... he was a lie... but above all that... his mother was right here in front of him. He felt arms around his waist, and was pulled close into Narcissa's embrace, her fingers wrapping around his hair so hard it almost hurt, but Harry didn't care.
There was a creak of movement, and Malfoy had flung himself in the direction of Narcissa his arms twining around her waist, sobbing unashamedly into her robes. Narcissa released on hand from Harry and used it to pull Malfoy closer. She herself was crying first into her biological son's black hair, and then into her emotional son's blonde hair.
They stayed that way for a long time.
# # #