Warnings: Mpreg. Please do NOT read if this is not your cup of tea along with your slice of bread in the morning .
Prologue
Kelsey
"Papa, how old were you when you met Da?"
I did not know about the myth of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy for the first seven years of my life, nor was I intimately acquainted with all the inner workings of my family the way one who is born into that family normally is.
I became a part of the Malfoy-Potter clan late in life, a half-starved and beaten little thing, and what I knew about my fathers' (note the punctuation) I had to learn, which I did by quietly observing – skilled as I was at remaining hidden and unobtrusive.
When I first met Da he said, "I am your father. You are my son." Papa said, after I met him, "No one will hurt you, here." And that was more reassuring. Not that I believed him, of course. Why should I have? In all my short life I had known only pain from those who had professed to care for me. But as time went on, I saw evidence of Papa's words and I grew more comfortable in my new home and with my new family.
It was easy not be afraid of Papa because of his kind and gentle manner and Brahnan and Sophie not the least because they were three and two years old, respectively, at the time of my introduction into the family. It took some doing on Da's part, but I soon learned that most of him was all bluster, and that his bark really was worse than his bite…except when it came to his job of protecting his family, which he took seriously. I've only ever seen my father in a true rage when he perceived a threat to his family, and most people feared him because of the Dark legacy of the Malfoys…but I digress.
As I grew, so did my assurance of my place in the family and rarely did I question it. However, it was this very growing up that gave me a true appreciation for my parents. There was an occasion when a classmate's ugly words caused me to realize how extraordinary it was for a man, both prominent and wealthy, to not only lay claim to a child who was the product of a drunken, one night stand, but to raise him, feed him, shelter him…love him – and for his mate to be equally as accepting – as my parents did.
I began to see my parents differently – not just Papa and Da (in a child's narcissistic way) but as people with lives and interests that existed long before I and my siblings came along.
This, I believe, was the genesis of my parents' memoirs; gleaning from them and the people who knew them the ever changing nuances and facets of their story.
I don't want to give you impression that I labored, clinically collecting bits of facts and information about Papa and Da, obsessively putting quill to parchment. No. I'll leave that to vultures like the busybodies at the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly that spend their careers hounding me and my family.
Indeed, my most fond memories are of me and Papa kneeling on the warm earth, turning the soil in his garden while Papa, who has a real gift for story-telling, told me stories about his many Hogwarts misadventures.
"Papa, how old were you when you met, Da?" I asked him once, and Papa answered after pausing for the longest time, "I've always known him." I didn't press him although at the time I thought the answer was very strange.
How could Papa have always known Da? After it was a well-known story within my family that they had met as boys shopping for school supplies in Diagon Alley, but it was also true that Papa never talked about his life when he was a little boy. It's as if, for him, life began when he was eleven years old on a train heading to Hogwarts where he met Aunty Hermione and Uncle Ron.
And Da.
Disclaimer: The characters are the inspiration of the inestimable J.K. Rowling. The story is mine.
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