Pansy Parkinson-Malfoy (POV)

Where is he? Where the hell is Draco?

All through the night and this morning, I kept thinking of Draco. He's my husband and he's never ever stayed away from home this long. He says that he loves me and the kids too much to stay away and I accepted this. It was, after all, so sweet and kind.

But now he's broken the habit of a lifetime and hasn't been home since he left for that party last night. I'm not worried that he might have found a younger, prettier woman and slept with her, because Draco's not like that. Not really. I mean, okay, he lusts after pretty models and singers but then I do the same to other men. It doesn't mean I'm going to do anything about it does it?

I miss him; I know it's only been a few hours but…I wish he was here, just so I could kiss him or cuddle up with him.

I can't bear the thought of him dead. A bit morbid, but when you've lived with the Dark Arts for as long as I have, death becomes sort of part of life really. That's not to say I like it; because I don't. I think killing someone for the fun of it is pointless; it just means you haven't got the imagination to come up with a better method of torture. And really all of the Dark Lord's men are just thugs. Save for a few of them; Draco for example. I'm not saying this because I'm married to him; I'd say the same even if I wasn't. But he really knows how to terrify someone until they crack. Until they actually plead for death, just so they can have relief from the horror and pain Draco induces on them. I suppose that's not something you should applaud your husband for, but like I said, I've lived with the Dark Arts for a long time so I'm used to it really.

"Mother" a voice broke into my thoughts. I looked down and saw my darling daughter, Rhiannon looking right back at me with her big blue eyes. My eyes, I thought fondly. Rhiannon looks so much like me it's scary. Her blonde hair looks like mine did when I was six years old.

"What is it, darling?" I asked, smiling down at her.

"Where's Father?" She was a clever one. Already she'd noticed her father wasn't here; I am blessed with such brilliant kids.

"He was asked to go back into work" I replied, glowing with pride that my daughter was already cunning at the tender age of six.

"Why?" Ah, the dreaded question. The one every parent hears and can never answer correctly.

"Because…because Father is an important man and he has to organise a meeting for all his supporters"

Rhiannon blinked at me innocently; I think she may have believed me, after all I'm her mother and she is only six. A clever six year old, but a six year old nonetheless.

She wandered out of the room, leaving me alone with my slightly tortured thoughts.

WHERE THE HELL IS HE?

I am more than a little worried now; like I said, Draco has never been gone this long and I don't know how to deal with it.

There was a knock at the door and for the first time since I married Draco, I jumped up and answered the door before the maids and servants.

On the doorstep stood Draco; his hair ruffled, his best robes creased and dishevelled, his face covered in grey stubble.

I gasped; it was the only thing I could do really.

"Let me in for God's sake woman!" Draco snapped at me. I stood aside, shocked into obedience; he has never spoken to me like that in his life. Now I was really worried.

Draco had stumbled into the study where his stock of brandy was. He doesn't like whisky, but I caught a whiff of it as he passed me in the hallway.

"Draco!" I said in surprise "You've been drinking whisky!" I admit it sounded whiny and possessive even to my own ears, but I was completely unprepared for what Draco said next.

"Bloody hell Pansy!" he shouted, "I have just come home, with a hangover, from the worst situation I could imagine and all you're concerned about is that I've been drinking whisky!"

I was taken aback at his harsh, sarcastic tones; he's never sworn at me either, for which I am extremely happy.

And then I was angry with him; how dare he roll into our home, after worrying me sick and disturbing the children, shouting at me! It's alright for him; he's not the one who agonized over his whereabouts. Why should he shout at me?

"Don't you dare!" I hissed "I have been worried sick about you and all you can do is yell at me! Well I'll tell you something-"

"Oh you will, will you?" Draco sneered, slamming down the brandy bottle he'd just picked up, "In that case, I'll tell you something! I am fed up of the interrogation you give me when I walk into our home. I am fed up of the way it's always my fault if something goes wrong. I am fed up of the way you treat me like ONE OF THE FUCKING CHILDREN, WHENEVER I MAKE A MISTAKE!"

A long, long silence followed. Draco's breathing was ragged and he was shaking. I was trembling too, but mostly in rage. Then I heard a stifled sob behind me and turned to see Rhiannon and Draco Jr, crying their eyes out from all the shouting.

"Father!" Rhiannon cried "Stop shouting at Mother, please! Please Daddy!"

She hasn't called him 'Daddy' since she was three, and I think it was this more than anything that stopped Draco from continuing his ranting.

"Sweetheart" he said, softly and held out his arms to her, "sweetheart come here"

But Rhiannon just shook her head, afraid, and hid behind her brother.

Draco hung his head in defeat.

"Are you happy now?" He asked me harshly, "Are you happy now that you've turned the children, our children against me!"

I nearly exploded; how in God's name had I turned the kids against him! Was it my fault if Rhiannon and Draco Jr were afraid of their own father? I think fucking not!

"What the hell are you talking about, you prat!" I yelled shrilly, "Do you think there's some kind of conspiracy against you or something! For God's sake get over yourself! You're not the only person on this Earth!"

Something in Draco's eyes changed; they were no longer alight with fury, but burning with hatred, and for one moment I was scared. For me and for my children. Draco had been out drinking; all night possibly and the last thing I should've done was antagonise him the minute he came home.

All these bloody Malfoy men are alike; they go out, get pissed and come home expecting their wives to be sympathetic, to have everything sorted for them. I saw it all the time with Draco's mother and father, Narcissa and Lucius. Lucius would come home drunk nearly every night and would eventually lose his temper with Narcissa, whom he then tortured. But my mother in law bore it all, insisting that she was fine and that it was only the drink that made her husband like that. Personally, I think Narcissa was the bravest person I've ever met; to put up with that much pain from one man must take guts.

Now Draco glared at me, his cold grey eyes boring into my blue ones and I knew in an instant that there was something amiss here. This wasn't the usual drunken show of my husband trying to show me who's boss; there was a deeper meaning but I couldn't figure out what it was.

"Pansy" he said, his voice deathly quiet, the slur gone from his speech, "don't you ever tell me to 'get over myself' as you so eloquently put it. Otherwise I'll make you realise your mistake. And don't think I won't because I will. Trust me"

I shivered; half chilled at his rather cryptic words, and the icy tone in his voice. But I said nothing, pondering on the secret Draco was keeping from me.