Disclaimer: Sigh…so not mine. The characters of the Harry Potter universe belong J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, and all and sundry licensed copyright holders. No money has been exchanged, no offence is meant by this work of fan fiction.

A/N: Ack! The plot bunnies are breeding! I'm trying to keep up and dragging you all along for the ride—though this will be a short one (ride that is, and story too). This story is H/D SLASH. MPREG implied. And it's OC POV. I've made some corrections—Thank you Lyonessheart! grin

1.

I could feel my sister's anger rising off her body in waves. She was about to unleash a fury the likes of which this house hadn't seen since we were very small.

"WHAT? HOW LONG HAVE YOU KEPT THIS FROM US? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US?"

Her temper slammed into all of us and rocked the Manor like a minor earthquake. I could hear the ancient crystal chandeliers in the ballroom below start to shake loose and figured now would be a good time to calm her before any serious lasting damage was done. Putting my own emotions aside, I reached for the still-place in my mind and focused on radiating composure, control and serenity. Her resistance was formidable but eventually the shaking subsided, dying down to occasional after-shock tremors. I broke contact with her mind and wiped the sweat from my brow.

"Claire—" I reached out to her, my hand steady though my voice was still shaky from the strain of cooling her ire.

"No!" She waved off my hand, stood and turned away.

Before another word could be spoken she'd stormed out of the room, off to the gardens would be my guess. Looking back at my parents I shook my head slowly. "You should've told us sooner. We would have come home, NEWTS and graduation be damned. She's right that we should have been here with you."

Father cast a cool look at me as Dad righted himself. Claire's performance had thrown him nearly a seat over into the couch's armrest. Father's eyes were steely, his lips a thinned hard line. Dad's temper is legendary, but despite what is commonly held, it is Draconis Potter-Malfoy who is the reigning tantrum champion in their marriage. Claire's wicked temper was definitely inherited from Father, though obviously, she lacks his control. I understood his anger though. Weakened by the curse as he was, Dad could've been seriously injured by Claire's show of temper. As it was, he was winded; my sister's outburst must've hit him like the Cruciatus. Father's arm stretched out around him protectively but Dad just smiled and waved him off.

"Mother hen."

"Prat," Father returned without heat.

They shared a look, gazing deep into each other's eyes and Dad brushed his fingers over Father's face smoothing his furrowed brow. "It's alright Dragon."

When he'd settled himself against Father's side he looked up at me, "Maybe we should have told you sooner Alex, but I couldn't. Understand, I needed time to adjust, come to grips with all of this…and it might be selfish, but I needed some time with just your Father." He squeezed his husband's hand and sighed; "Besides you needed this last year for fun and laughter and being carefree with your friends. You're adults now and have your own lives to plan and lead. I didn't want you dropping everything, losing all your hard work to come dote on a dying old man."

My eyes snapped open wide and the emotions I'd suppressed at their announcement raged to the surface. Claire was not the only one who'd inherited a temper. "Our own lives! Old man! What kind of crap is that? You're only 38 for Merlin's sake! And we would've come to support you, spend time with you because we love you. Bloody hell Dad! You're the ones who gave us life, showed us how to live it. How could you think you're not the most important thing in our lives! Do you honestly think us so shallow that we'd put our NEWTS ahead of you! You-you insufferable bastard—how could you do this to us!"

With some effort Dad pulled himself up and came to put his arms around me. My shoulders shook and I could feel the sobs lodged in my throat grow hard and painful, but they wouldn't come.

"Alex," Dad said softly, threading a hand through my hair, "let's be honest shall we? Are you angry because we didn't tell you, or angry because I am dying?" His hand fell away as he took a step back to look into my eyes, my father's deep and brooding eyes. "This isn't my choice you know," he said finally.

The dam burst then, I could no longer hold back the sobbing or my tears. Dad pulled my hands, urging me up into his arms. He rubbed my back and kissed my head as I clung to him. "I-I don't want you to leave us!" I held on for all I was worth, afraid if I let go he'd slip from my arms and my life.

When the tears slowed he led me to the large couch and set me next to Father, who draped his arm over my shoulders in a show of support. His touch was solid, steady and welcome, as it was just what I needed. I could feel his strength and hear his thoughts echoing in my head. We'll get through this. Looking over at him I felt like I was a little boy again, clamouring with Claire to sit on his lap and hear a story before bed. He didn't often recite or read for us, that was Dad's thing, but Father's lap was always a place we were welcome and he'd hold us—in stillness, strength and love, keeping the monsters away until we'd fall asleep. Now I wished I could be that small again. That my Father would hold me in safety until this nightmare passed.

Tbc…

A/N: So, what say you? Is this worth continuing? Want to read more? Review