Disclaimer- Yeah, like I'd be smart enough to think of Harry Potter but the plot (cough cough) is actually mine

Authors Note: I know some of you wanted me to leave it but I want to end on three chapters and thank all the people who have reviewed my work:

B. Maude(your wish, my command!), LadyRhiyana (my pleasure), FoXyRoXiE (do you want a tissue?), dreamrose, sabacat, Rabbit (Glad you found the second one), Darcel (Lucias Dream) (I'm afraid I'm not talented enough for that), Wind and Ashes, piper-h-99 (take some deep breathes- in through the nose and out through the mouth), sabacat AND last but not least- Lillian (I know what you mean)

And a special thanks to hasapi who read the first little bit of this chapter and gave it the thumbs up! :) Thank you and I haven't had any skittles for a while! And thank you for beta-reading this chapter for me!!!

This is the last part so enjoy it while you can. I may change it in the future so keep a look out.

Chapter 3

My head is clear and I have a sense of belonging. I think Americans call it closure. For once I feel at peace with my parents.

For once comes up more than once and whether or not it was in a good context or not it shouldn't have been there more than once.

I know no other way to finish this but,

For once I'm proud of signing my name-

James Aidan Malfoy

~*~

I know I should leave my mothers diary alone now- let the past go to some far of dark part of my brain. I should keep it in there, let it die- throw away the key.

But I can't. That's why I'm here writing away in my own, cheap muggle notebook. I don't even know why I brought it- I was waiting for a friend to meet me in the muggle world when I saw the newsstand- the newsstand that sold notebooks.

My mother wrote her diary out of boredom- never realising how much it cleared my life up for me. I had said I got a scholarship for the England under 21's side but it has been five years since then and now I play for Puddlemere United and I'm the vice-captain for the English squad.

She always said I would fly- turns out she was literally right.

But this was my mother; I hardly know anything about my father. As far as I know he didn't keep a diary or even a planner. I have a feeling he didn't want to be pinned to anything.

I haven't seen him for about a decade and as far I was concerned he could rot in Askanban. That was a couple of years ago and now I'm starting my own life with my own family.

But there's this little thing knowing in the back of my mind. I can't lock away the past while it still affects my life now.

That's why I'm here.

Askanban.

Well technically I'm not. I'm hiding in the toilets not able to stand all the glares I'm getting from this pug-faced woman and a couple of dark looking people who are undoubtedly seeing their husbands.

It's not like it's my fault. Or it could be they were staring at Harry who has come with me, I don't want him here and I know he doesn't want to be there when I go into my father.

He's the one who got us a private room to talk. Well as private as a closely watched and guarded room can.

He's calling me now, Harry I mean, it's time to go in now.

Time to shut the door on my past. Time to get on with my present and time to look forward to my future.

~*~

It's like trying to hold water in my hands. You'd think that something so important, so big, would stay in my head for the rest of my life. It seems we always forget the good things in out life- and only remember the low points with excruciating detail.

Unfortunately, one of the most-most- important moments in my life is slipping out of my grasp. This memory is like a bar of wet soap, however hard I try it just won't stay- it won't be still. It's slipping in and out of my grasp, I remember some but lost the ones I've found already.

I went into that room. The room that held my father in it and I wanted to run butt Harry's hand was round my arm and steering me into the chair.

He didn't see me at first.

There was a glass wall separating us, I see him be he couldn't see me- not then anyway.

I've been told from Sirius that conditions there used to be no better than pig sty's and he came out in the clothes he came in there.

Things have changed. Standard clothes- grey and bland nothing but the identity number to stop them blending into the uninspiring walls that surrounded them.

Harry had said that he hadn't been told I was coming, only that there was someone to see him. I could almost read his mind- he was thinking it was some kind of psychiatrist coming in to see why he wasn't going crazy or if he was.

I watched him for a moment, drinking up his face- the face I hated for so many years but then.

Now I know.

Anyway, his face was always blurry in my minds eyes except for two occasions. One was when we were on the beach on a summer's day and I was burying him while he slept with a hat covering his face until my mother removed it when he said he wanted something to drink. The other was when he looked up into my bedroom window all those years ago.

None of them looked remotely like he did behind the glass. He was tired, older but unlike Harry, who looks not a day over thirty-five, he looked his age. But I saw his eyes- still as sharp and cold as ever.

His hair was longer, not long enough to tie back but long enough to get in his eyes if he bent over. He itched his arms several times- probably the clothes.

That's another thing. I seem to remember the most trivial things in my life- I can't even remember what his last words to me were but here I am writing down the fact that he itched his arm once or twice (eleven times) in two minutes and wondering what they use to clean the clothes.

Harry came up to me two minutes later and asked if I wanted him to be able to see me.

I nodded-only once but he saw.

He went out the room to give us a little privacy, which is none-existent in there.

I saw a slight shimmer on the glass and the black tint that was there dissolved and I saw the person on the other side like there was nothing there.

He was scowling at something before he looked up straight into my eyes.

I'm not sure what happened next, we just stared at each other for so long. We said all the things we should have said in the fifteen years he's been in here.

All the pain, all the laughter, all the surprises, all the tears that I experienced as a child came flooding back. It was even worse than reading my mothers diary because I could see him going through exactly the same things- exactly the same feelings.

That was the first time I ever fully understood him.

I saw him studying my face for ages but it was more than that- he was studying my soul. It was then that a realised that he's the reason I can always tell when someone's lying, when someone's hurt, when someone's truly happy.

People have told me a put on a mask- make it impossible for anyone to tell what I'm thinking- what I'm feeling. But I let him explore and it could almost feel the weight lifting off my shoulders.

It was like I was carrying a big container of water on my back and someone had drilled a hole in it.

Slowly, I raised my hand against the glass so only my tips of my fingers were in contact with the ice-cold surface. I saw him take a shuddering breath and look at my hand for a moment. Then, just as slowly as I had been, he reached up and placed his hand flat on the glass on top of mine.

At this moment I didn't care that if the guards saw.

We sat and talked for half an hour, like I said before, holding on to these things is like holding onto water- I can't.

Harry came in after half an hour and asked me if I wanted to give him anything, as it could be a while before I could see him again. I asked why but got no answer and I left it.

I picked up two things out of my bag- a picture of my wife and our daughter and a small, muggle notebook. My mother's dairy. Harry looked at it strangely. He had been the only person I had shown it too and he had been the one to persuade me to write in the final pages.

I could understand the funny look but didn't with draw it.

"He needs to know," I said firmly and placed both items into his hands before he persuaded me to do anything else.

Harry passed it over to him just as we started to leave.

I know that in school they never like each other but now they just act civilly to each other. Harry because he has to with the job and my father because he knows that Harry was close to my mother.

So, he accepted gingerly and flipped over the flimsy card cover. His lip curled as he saw the muggle address and price on the front. But the sneer was replaced by a smile then even that fell off after a minute.

He looked up at me as if her writing this was something to do with me. Maybe it was.

I chose to ignore it. He had five more years left of his sentence to muse over this- it took me fie years and I'm not going to push him.

"The picture is of my wife,"

I felt almost embarrassed to say it after what had happened to his wife and child. I'm not going to let this happen to mine.

I met Amelia six years ago even though she meet to Hogwarts she was just one of those people you don't talk to. It's strange. The love of my life was in the same class as me and we barely said more than a sentence to each other.

Louise is four and looks the spitting image of her mother. Dark brown hair and is always laughing but she has my eyes- her grandfather's eyes. But the strangest thing is she has freckles across the bridge of her nose and her hair is wavy unlike Amelia or me.

He picked up the photo with mild interest and I saw him look at the other person in the photograph with curiosity.

"You're a grandfather,"

He dropped the picture and looked at me smiling.

I can't remember much else. We could only stay in there for an hour and Harry had already pulled a million strings to get us in a room alone.

That's why I'm writing it now so anything I do remember stays that way.

We're on the boat, sailing back to shore and my handwriting is all over the place but I don't care- these are my feelings and I will always understand them.

It's all a daze. I'm going to wake up soon and the Quiddich training will start and I'll end up with the Quaffle banged into the side of my head like last time. Maybe I'm still unconscious in the medical ward from when I fell off a broom.

It has taken me fifteen years to go from hating my parents to missing them. One of them is dead and the other might as well be but that is going to change.

I have seen my past and my present and because of this I can take my first steps into the future with more certainly of who I am.

People think I had a miserable childhood with having Draco Malfoy as a father but they couldn't have been more wrong.

The boats pulling up to the shore and I can see Ron, Hermione and their children on the shore.

~*~

Amelia has been asking me where I went to today. She doesn't know about my history, my dark past and I want to keep it that way.

I can't say training because it's a Saturday, I can't say I went out with Louise because she's with Amelia's parents, I'm cornered but I can't tell her.

I just can't- she wouldn't understand. I've seen her life. She grew up with a happy family, brothers and sisters in a house full of laughter. I spent half of my life in an orphanage.

Harry came back today with my mother journal- he had to prise it out of my fathers hands while he slept apparently but

He knew I wanted it back.

Amelia's back and wanted to know what that notebook was.

This is going in the one place she won't look- under the cushions on the couch and I'm going to have to distract her.

~*~

I'm writing this fast.

I wanted to close my past up once and for all but now I realise you can't. You can't lock away things like death. You can't hide with your head in the sand and hope that the fear and sadness will just one day wash away and you'll be normal.

If that works for others I'd like some tips.

I don't for me.

I came home today after Quiddich training and climbed up the stairs still in my England kit itching to get in the shower. As I came into our room found Amelia on our bed weeping.

I came closer to her and noticed a little red journal in her hand and it wasn't this one.

I froze and she looked up, her eyes were blood shot and her cheeks had tearstains streaking down them with a tear rolling half way down.

I walked over to her smiling sadly, I was too used to people crying.

We didn't speak for a moment as I wiped the tears off her cheeks and held her tight. She was starting to calm down.

"You never told me about your mother or your father,"

It was a statement of fact rather than anything else but I hurt because I felt so guilty for not telling her.

"I thought you wouldn't understand,"

She squeezed my hand and smiled and I felt hot tears pricking at the back of my eyes. We just sat there in silence again.

I keep saying this but I remember this conversation in perfect detail but I can barely think of the date I went to Askanban.

"Is it really true?"

What could I say?

"Yes,"

She had her head on my knees now and I was running my fingers through her soft hair. I heard her gasp gently and close the notebook and throw it on the floor. She turned around and took both of my dirty hands in her small ones,

"I would do that for you,"

She brushed her lips on mine for a split second. I didn't know what to say, I was at a loss. Those words were like those my mother spoke over fifteen years ago. I tensed. I panicked.

I stood up quickly and walked over to the window and gazed out onto the grounds where I caught the sound of laughter.

It was Louise and her friend Tom playing in the garden making pictures and attempting letters in the frost that still remains in the shadows of the house.

The house I grew up in.

Before I could dig up any unwanted memories Amelia's voice interrupted me,

"Your not like him- you won't make his mistakes,"

Although I would never do anything to hurt Amelia or Louise I couldn't help but mutter,

"History repeats itself,''

I heard the bed creak and the soft sound of her bare feet on the wooden floor. She took my face in her hands,

"You won't," she said simply looking at me with her dark blue eyes, "You won't,"

It was hard to shake off this feeling now. I'm the same age as my father when I was four. Louise is four too. The same blood runs through my veins and his- I have his weaknesses as well. But there is no Dark Lord and any Deatheaters that have escaped Askanban still have a fresh memory of Lucius Malfoy.

She wound her arms round my waist and we watched the children play outside. The wonky letters LUISE filled half of it where Tom was proudly showing off his skills. Louise didn't seem that bothered and preferred making snakes winding round the letters.

I saw this and smiled.

Amelia was right.

I don't have to make the mistakes my parents made.

I've been too busy giving Louise and Amelia what I did have; I've been too busy to give them what I did have.

Your destiny is not definite- you make it go where you want to go.

I'm going to leave this in the attic with the other one, maybe one day Amelia will find it and read about it.

Maybe

Authors Note:

I am flogging a dead horse here

I lost it *breaks down* and the last chapter was really iffy

So I'm sorry- it wasn't sad, happy or in anyway moving

If you like it review, if you don't review

If you want any more info leave your email address.