Hey everyone! waves So, this story takes place twenty years after Voldemort has been defeated. People have graduated, had adult lives, gotten married and had kids, yada yada. It's all pretty self-explanatory. Please, read and review! I know the title sucks, I'm trying to think of a better one, and am totally open to suggestions. And just a warning – the rating will increase as the story progresses. It is a romance, after all. ;) Oh, and I own nothing! Rowling can HAVE my characters and situations if she wants them. I'd be flattered. The rest of you can't, though. I'd have to Wok you if you stole them. waves Wok of Death threateningly
"HILA-RYYYYYYY!"
Hilary opened her eyes groggily, then closed them again as the morning sunlight shot straight through her lacy pink curtains and across her face. She hated those curtains.
"Hilary! Are you dressed yet? Come on, Dobby's here for your trunk!" Hilary's mother banged on the door, then opened it, looking around the room with a plate of toast in her hand and a distasteful look on her face. "You haven't even packed! Or gotten out of bed!"
Ginny gently set the toast down on the bedside table, then yanked the blanket off her daughter's bed. Hilary curled into a ball and pretended to fall back asleep. Ginny looked down at her and sighed. She was so pretty when she slept. Red hair that had the slight wave Ginny had always wanted flowed over thin shoulders – if only she'd keep it down, instead of putting it up in that horrible ponytail! Well, she couldn't stay a tomboy forever. At least Ginny managed to keep her girl stylish – running Madame Malkin's made finding cute clothes easy and cheap. Like those pink PJs with the wings on the back Hilary was wearing. Half price, employee discount.
"C'mon, angel," said Ginny softly. "Up and at 'em, huh? First day of school."
Hilary moaned and stretched slightly as Dobby scurried into the room. No more lugging trunks to the train ever since that nasty accident with the owl and the potions kit – now house-elves picked up all trunks ahead of time.
"I'm sorry, Dobby. Hilary doesn't seem to have finished packing yet."
"Not a problem, miz Ginny! Pack!" Dobby snapped his fingers, and clothes and half-done homework flew from all over the room into the trunk, which shut and locked itself with a decisive click.
"Thank you, Dobby. Locomotor trunk. Hilary, you get up and dressed right this instant. Tonks will be here to pick you up any minute."
"Unnnhhh," answered Hilary helpfully as Ginny and Dobby left, closing the door behind them. She opened her eyes again, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and sat up. Glancing at the calendar on her disgustingly pink wall, Hilary grimaced. It was, indeed, the first of September.
"And Dobby packed the clothes I was going to wear today. That's just great." She stood up and went over to the closet, munching on some toast, and flipped through the collection of overly girly skirts and pink cardigans. That was the trouble with having a mother who ran a clothing store; she always brought home clothes, whether they were wanted or not.
Hilary settled on a long, flowing blue skirt, white t-shirt, and blue boobholder. The t-shirt said "90 Veela" on it, but that couldn't be helped. She twisted her hair up into a messy bun, slipped on some sandals, grabbed her backpack, and ran down the stairs into the kitchen. As usual, her mother was busily making herself an ultra-healthy breakfast, while her father munched a bagel and frowned at the Daily Prophet. He always managed to find something discouraging in it. But as he glanced up at Hilary, she could tell that he was happy anyway. He stood up and opened his arms for a hug, bagel still in hand.
"How are you, sunshine? Ready for sixth year?" He held her out at arm's length, looking her over. "You look beautiful this morning."
"Of course she's ready for sixth year," commented Ginny, turning around and beaming at Hilary. "She got eight OWLs! Oh, Harry, be careful, you're getting cream cheese on her top."
"Whoops, sorry. Scourgify. " The smear of cream cheese on Hilary's shoulder disappeared, and Harry pulled a small present wrapped in red and gold out of his pocket. "Now, the last thing I should do is spoil you even more, but I found this when I was poking around at the Black manor and thought it would be a nice back-to-school present. Don't worry, it's not evil or anything." He handed Hilary the gift, which she carefully opened. Out of the box came a thin silver circle. On one part, the metal had been twisted artfully to create the outline of a rose, no bigger than a pinky nail, which was filled in with mother of pearl. Hilary slipped it over her hand, and it immediately shrank to fit her wrist perfectly.
"Oh, it's so beautiful! Thank you so much, Dad!" She hugged Harry, just as a knock sounded on the front door. Ginny opened it to reveal Tonks with her fist up, about to knock again. Behind her stood her two youngest children, Natasha and James. Natasha was jsut a year below Hilary, but James would be starting his first year, and he looked absolutely terrified.
"Wotcher, Potters!" said Tonks enthusiastically. "I'm collecting juvenile delinquents, got any for me?"
"No delinquents here," said Hilary quickly. She kissed her dad on the cheek, waved at her mum, and was soon out the door. "Bye Mum, bye Dad! Thank you for the bracelet! Love you both, see you at Christmas!"
"Good show, Hilary, nice and quick. Alright, now we've just got to get Miranda…on to the Weasley's…." Tonks' voice faded as Ginny shut the door quietly.
"How did we ever get such a good kid?"
A few hundred miles away, another teenager was being rudely awakened. Dillon grunted as his twelve-year-old sister banged on the door.
"Dill! Wakey wakey! Breakfast is ready!"
Dillon sat up, looking around. His trunk was gone – the elf must've been here already. At least they'd left his broom this year. Last time he'd had to take a Portkey. Realizing that he'd slept in his jeans again, Dillon shrugged, and pulled a black t-shirt out of the pile at the foot of his bed.
"Carpe Noctem," he read off the front of it. "Now there's a good saying." He put it on and stood up, stretching. Nicole was still banging on the door. "Okay , twerp! I heard you already!" Dillon pulled on a pair of sneakers as his sister barreled into the room and started jumping on the bed.
"Get OUT of my ROOM!"
"You know what, Dillon?" Nicole asked, continuing to bounce. "I think you need to lighten up. School's starting! You get to go see all your girlfriends! You get to spend lots and lots of time with your kid sister!" Sighing, Dillon went over to his closet and picked out a white button-up shirt, which he pulled on over his t-shirt but didn't button. He watched Nicole bounce for a moment, then smiled and plucked her out of the air.
"Have you had breakfast yet, Nicky?"
"No. Lemme go!"
"Ah, my little preteen sister is becoming an anorexic. How cute!"
"Lemme GO!"
"It's lucky you're such a shrimp, Nicky, or I might not be able to carry you."
"I'm not a shrimp! You're just a behemoth!"
Still smiling, Dillon slung the squirming and screaming Nicole over his shoulder and walked to the dining room where his mother was sitting, spreading marmalade on toast. She grimaced at the noise her children made as they entered the room, Dillon depositing Nicole in her chair and then taking his own seat.
"Where's Father?" He asked, loading a plate up with eggs and sausages.
"In the study. He'd like to speak with you, Dillon. Do comb your hair before you see him – and are those the same pants you were wearing yesterday?" She frowned at him.
"In the study? Oooooh, Dillon's in trouble! What'd you do, Dillon? Anything illegal?"
"Nobody in our family does anything illegal, Nicky. Anyway, what does he want? Why can't we just have a pleasant chat over breakfast?"Dillon shoveled eggs into his mouth, acting calmer than he felt. Speaking to his father in the study almost never had good results.
"I don't know, Dillon."
"Oh, that's helpful, Pansy," said Nicole sarcastically.
"Call me Mother, Nicole. Or better yet, call me Mum."
"She doesn't mean anything personal by it, Mother. She calls Father 'Draco', too." He had a few gulps of pumpkin juice, then stood up. "Nicky, meet me outside in twenty minutes, and we'll set off for school, okay? You get to fly with me this year!"
"And the child shall join the flock! Huzzah!"
"You really are a strange little girl, Nicky."
Dillon walked down the hall slowly, absently brushing his hair with his fingers and trying to figure out what he'd done – or what he was supposed to do. Draco wasn't the nicest man in the world, even to his children…or especially to his children. Now, that's not fair, thought Dillon to himself. Draco was an okay father; he just didn't show off his love for his family. And he wasn't above enlisting them, especially Dillon, to help with 'the Business': a web of criminals involved in the black market, gambling, and other, more legitimate businesses. Draco managed them all, made contacts, kept the Aurors off their tails, and was paid well for it. Dillon had read a book about the Muggle Mafia once and thought that they were quite similar, except that the Business wasn't at all violent. He thought. But he wasn't exactly privy to all of his father's dealings.
Dillonknocked on the heavy wooden door of his father's study, waited a moment, and entered. Bookcases lined the walls, except for in one spot where there was a large painting of the Malfoy family. An ornate oriental rug covered the floor, and a large wooden desk sat in the middle of the room. It was rather dark, the only light coming from a large window that overlooked the grounds. Draco was standing in front of that window with his arms folded, looking out at the lightening sky.
"Father. You called me?" Dillon stood in front of the desk, hands clasped behind his back. His father turned his head slightly, acknowledging Dillon's presence.
"Ready to go back to school? Final year means N.E.W.T.s, and you had better do well. We've already paid for the first year of your training at Saint Mungo's."
"You have?" Dillon looked up, interested.
"Yes. And that apartment we were talking about is all set up too. Good location, right next to the hospital. But we're only going to pay your first year of rent, kid. After that you're on your own." Draco turned around, looking at his son thoughtfully. "Seventeen…you've grown up fast. Got a girlfriend?"
"Two."
"Is that so? Good on you. Well, on to business…" Dillon tensed as his father sat down behind the desk, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a large envelope, which he placed in front of him. Dillon picked it up and opened it, flipping through the papers inside.
"You know I don't like to do these things," he said, frowning as he read the cover page.
"Listen, boy," said Draco coldly. "I have accommodated your morals quite enough. You do not have to do anything blatantly illegal, so you will do as you are told, and you will be happy about it. Do I make myself clear?"
Dillon nodded, once again standing tensely with his hands clasped behind his back.
"Good." Draco leaned back, sighing. "Will you need money or anything?"
"Not immediately, no. But I'd appreciate it if you'd renew my Daily Prophet subscription."
"Done. Owl me if you need anything else." He pulled some parchment and ink out of his desk, and immediately started writing without giving Dillon another look. "Have a good time at school. See you at Christmas."
"Yes. Goodbye, Father."
Dillon turned and left the room, looking forward to a nice long journey with the only entirely innocent member of his family.