Draco awoke as weak sunlight streamed onto his face. His head was pounding, his face hurt and his throat was sore. When he managed to crack his eyes open, he realised he had fallen asleep on the sofa and that the light was coming in through the tall curtainless windows. The sky was clear, but it was a weaker autumnal sunshine that shone on his face, even then the light was too bright for him. An empty bottle of Firewhiskey lay on its side on the coffee table beside a single empty glass, another empty glass stood at the far end by the armchair.

His father had been there last night, and he had argued with him. Draco did not usually argue with his father, they were normally very amiable towards each other. A father-son relationship based on respect. But Draco's respect for his father had almost disappeared entirely when he had spoken about Ginny in such a way, when he had implied that Draco should pressure her to get rid of the child.

The child... In his alcohol-induced daze, he had forgotten about that. He was going to be a father and this thought made him smile up at the ceiling. He was going to be a father. Draco already felt overwhelmed by the news, overwhelmed because he had thought his pursuit for a family would take another few years at least, overwhelmed because soon his life would change dramatically. The spare bedroom in his flat would become a nursery, not somewhere for Zabini to crash after a particularly horrendous night out. The flat might even have to be exchanged for a townhouse in the city instead. This would be a whole new generation of Malfoy's and it would return the family back to its previous state as important wizarding figures worthy of listening to.

For all that to happen, he needed Ginny first and foremost. He needed Ginny to gather her senses and bother to inform him that he was going to be a father. Then he vaguely remembered sending a reluctant Frisk away to find her instead, and as he realised this, his stomach gave a low growl of hunger. That was rather annoying. A trip to the greasy cafe just down the street would have to suffice, but he wasn't at all certain that he had any muggle money and a trip to Gringott's seemed rather superfluous. He would have to go to the Leaky Cauldron instead or he would have to make himself toast, and that would not be sufficient to satiate his hunger.

Draco sat up and immediately regretted it, a pounding in his head making him shut his eyes tight and groan. Frisk kept a stash of remedial potions in the kitchen somewhere, so before he did anything else, Draco sought relief.

POP!

"Dear Merlin! Draco!" A woman's voice exclaimed, well-spoken and authoritative. He groaned again when he realised it was his mother. He really needed to sort out those wards. "What have you done to yourself?!" Draco felt his mother's cool hands on his head and then on his arms, guiding him back onto the sofa. "What is wrong with you, Draco?"

"I am fine, mother!" he snapped, waving her off. "I drank too much last night, and you speaking isn't helping my headache!"

Narcissa Malfoy cared deeply for her son, and treated him with such care as she had never done with anyone else, not even her own husband. However, when that son showed her any form of disrespect, she was certain to give him the very same treatment she would give anyone else who spoke to her so carelessly. "You would do well to think before you speak to me in such a manner, Draco!" it was her turn to snap at him now, her tone admonishing. "I come here to discuss this problem you have caused in a rational and reasonable manner, unlike your silly father, you will be grateful for my support! I could decide not to give it at all."

Draco sighed, wondering why in Merlin's name he had to tell his father that he had slept with Ginny, that he was the father to the child she carried and that he had feelings for her. He could appreciate Ginny's wish for secrecy more than ever. "Mother, I apologise," he said sincerely, his voice scratchy as he spoke. "However, I am in no fit state to discuss Ginny Weasley with you. I am not sure if you have ever been hungover before, but it is not pleasant."

Narcissa tsked. "Never been hungover before?" she rolled her blue eyes at him, a gesture she only reserved for those closest to her. "Before you were born, Draco, your father and I were constantly hungover. A simple remedy should do it, where is your house elf?"

Draco leaned forward and held his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes as he attempted to adjust to the pain throbbing in his temple. "I sent him away to locate Ginny."

Narcissa tsked again and sighed heavily. "And how do you suppose you were going to feed yourself? I know how incompetent you are with domestic spells," she muttered as he felt her leave her seat. "You know your father knows... people who could have done the job just as well as your house elf?"

By people, Draco knew his mother meant the less than desirable witches and wizards of society that his father still had ties to. They were the kind of people businessmen would always need to understand their demographic, to bribe to do dirty work that needed to be discreet and untraceable. "I don't want anyone like that anywhere near Ginny," he said with more vehemence than he intended. "And, in case you are unaware, father is not very pleased with me at present."

Draco sat back into the cushions of the sofa and felt able to look at his mother, who stood beside him with an exasperated look on her face. She retrieved her wand from inside her robes and cast a summoning charm. They waited momentarily as they heard the clinking of glasses moving out of the way, cupboard doors opening and then finally, the kitchen door swung open to allow a tiny bottle with bright pink liquid in it to zoom straight into Narcissa's waiting hand. "Drink this," she said, handing the bottle to Draco before seating herself in the same armchair his father had occupied yesterday. Whenever his parents visited him, the fact that he was master of his own home seemed not to matter to them, nor the fact that he was no longer a child that could be told off. Still, Draco took the bottle and drank the contents within and was grateful for it. "Better now?" his mother asked haughtily.

Draco nodded as he felt his headache melt away with relief along with the scratchy feeling in his throat.

"Good, now we can discuss this matter properly," she said in a business-like tone.

"Mother, I am hungry," he said bluntly. "The first thing I am going to do is shower, dress and get myself some breakfast."

Narcissa gave another heavy sigh. "Really! This is a very important matter, Draco, and you seem totally unbothered by it!" she said, her eyes wide as she took in her son whilst he stretched and stood from the sofa.

"What is there to be bothered by?" he shrugged. "I wanted a family, you wanted me to have a family – I'm having a child. Perhaps not in the way I had planned, but there it is."

Narcissa was incredulous, her fingers tightened on the arms of the chair and her eyes bulged. "I thought Lucius was exaggerating your nonchalance," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "We did not expect you to go on holiday and find the first willing girl you could! We expected there would be some time between Astoria, we expected someone more suitable to bear the next Malfoy heir! We expected better from you, Draco!"

Draco could not help but sneer at his mother. "So, you have come to insult the mother of my child too? Whomever I would have chosen would never have been tolerable enough for either of you!"

"There were many young witches suitable to bear the name Malfoy, and you passed each of them over for a Greengrass and a Weasley!" his mother said angrily. "Yes, have your fun with these girls, but to have considered them as marriage material, as mother material, is disappointing. It is disappointing that you were not careful – now this Weasley girl has claims to your fortune, a fortune your ancestors worked hard to build. What have her ancestors done? Overpopulated the world with Weasley's, engendered nothing but blood traitors and smeared our name!"

Draco scoffed. "The Weasley's may be many things, and I have no love for most of them, however it was father's poor decisions that smeared our name," he replied with a derisive smile, then he laughed. "And at least we all know she will give me many children."

Narcissa looked disgusted by this. "You intend to marry her then?" she asked, barely able to look at him.

"Do you think I would allow my child to be illegitimate?" he asked, frowning at his mother.

Narcissa scoffed in disbelief, huffing at her son and shaking her head. "I don't know how to react to this, Draco," she finally said. "I have never had cause to be disappointed in you before, never. The feeling is foreign to me. Your father has taken us up the wrong path many a time, and I will concede that. But, you. I have never had cause to worry over what you could do."

"Then just accept my decision," he said, seating himself nearest to her and taken her cool hand. "This will be your first grandchild, surely you can see past who the child's mother is?"

Narcissa stared directly at her son. "I have cut off contact with family before this, Draco," she said quietly, her usually strong voice wavering. "Reputation meant everything then. Reputation is all we have now."

"And what a reputation it is," Draco muttered in a dark voice. "If I marry her, think how well that will make you and father look. The world has changed since the Dark Lord reigned, surely you can see that. I know father will not, but you can. You lost your sister to the cause," he said in a gentle voice, knowing this was a tough subject. His mother had not known what to feel when Bellatrix had died; her sister's mind had been lost many years before in Azkaban, perhaps even before that when she first met the Dark Lord, she hadn't been the same person for many years. But it was the loss of another sister, another tie to her childhood. "Isn't it time to embrace the new world?"

Narcissa looked at her son with a wide-eyed expression, fear in her eyes at the prospect of change. "I fear there is no place for people like your father and I in this new world," she said quietly.

"Only if you persist in separating yourself from it," Draco said in exasperation. "Mother, I need your help in this, I need to know I have your support at least. Even if you do not agree with her politics or the people she chooses as friends, support me in the choice I have made."

Narcissa continued to stare at her son and Draco knew she fought with herself. "I lied to the Dark Lord for you, Draco," she whispered, raising a hand to touch his cheek. "I risked my life for you back then and I will support you in this now, if that is what you wish to do."

Draco shut his eyes and sighed in relief, a smile gracing in his face. "Thank you, mother," he said, lifting the hand he held and kissing her there.

Narcissa smiled back. "I should have known you would never fall in line," she said, shaking her head. "You always asked too many questions, you never could resist a pretty face either... and, I will say that for her, she is a beauty, at least, despite that garish shade of red that they call hair."

"Mother..." he warned, standing up now and pulling her with him. "I expect you to make an effort not to be rude to Ginny, a good effort too."

Narcissa looked disgruntled. "Fine," she huffed. "But it is only for you, Draco, and my future grandchild. Oh! We must redecorate your nursery at the manor! And, we will have to research the best midwives, she must not even think of giving birth at St. Mungo's... And then we must discuss tutors -."

"Mother! Please settle down," Draco insisted. "She hasn't even told me yet!"

"And what of it? These things must be thought of and not a moment too late," she said, a little taken aback. "And what does she mean by not having the good grace to inform you of this herself? It's very rude."

Draco decided it was best not to answer as he felt hungrier by the minute and any further conversation would delay him being able to eat. So, it was decided that they would both go to the Leaky Cauldron, more so because now all his mother wanted to discuss was the baby and she didn't seem as though she would tire of the subject. That was how she ended up with him the entire morning and he didn't manage to shake her off until he told her he had to go to work.

"Let me know when you find her, Draco," his mother said pointedly. "I must speak with her about all we have discussed, it is imperative that this child is raised as a Malfoy."

Draco agreed, only because this would make her go back home. Truthfully, Ginny would have none of it, mostly because she was so stubborn.

Several days had passed and Draco was beginning to tire of the takeaways and eating out. He had always preferred home comforts and right now, his flat looked like the storage room of a restaurant, packed out with takeaway boxes and plastic cutlery all over the place. His sink was filled with crockery that needed washing up, but again he lacked in that particular area of wizardry. His sheets needed changing too. The only thing that was really clean was Draco himself.

After his mother's visit, he had been bombarded with owls bearing letters from her, giving further suggestions in regards to the baby and pestering him to go out and seek Ginny himself or to ask his father to contact his people to do it. But Draco had had no further contact with his father since that evening a week ago and he wasn't about to go and ask him for assistance. Draco could be just as stubborn and proud as his father, and he wouldn't speak with him until he apologised for what he asked Draco to do.

Those letters were strewn about his coffee table amongst copies of the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, Lumos and even the Quibbler. All covered the scandal of Ginny Weasley's surprise pregnancy and who could be the possible father. The Quibbler had the funniest suggestion – they believed that it was a member of the Vampire Conspiracy and this was their attempt to infiltrate the British wizarding world. The others were more mundane – various Quidditch stars were suggested, all of whom came out to deny any involvement. Still, they had not managed to track Ginny down either for comment or photographs, it seemed she was immensely good at hiding and this was why his elf was struggling to discover her. Various friends and family members had been hounded, however, and all had declined to comment, particularly Ron Weasley who wasn't so kind in his refusal to speak to the press. The papers only listed their information as coming from "sources", which meant it could only be coming from someone not entirely close to Ginny or it was all made up.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Draco looked up from his spot in his armchair and sighed, hoping his mother had not decided to now make her suggestions to his face rather than in letter. He had also changed the wards to stop them from turning up unannounced inside his flat. He eventually got up as the knocking persisted and went to the door to look out of the spyhole. Fuck sake... it was Zabini.

"What do you want?" he called through the door to his friend.

"Merlin, Malfoy, can't a friend visit another without being asked what he wants?" Zabini's voice came from the other side. "I haven't seen you in weeks."

Draco sighed again, but opened his door all the same. "Fine, come in," he muttered, stepping aside to let the other man in.

"Fucking hell, mate, what have you been doing?" Zabini asked, halting as he took in the rubbish around the room. "It smells like one of those muggle kebab shops in here!"

Draco shut the door. "If you're going to insult the way I live, Zabini, you can piss off," he grumbled as he walked past him and slumped back into the armchair. "Matter of fact, tell me what you want and then piss off."

Zabini seemed shocked as he didn't sit down straight away and also didn't immediately respond to Draco's insult. "Where's your house elf?" he asked, looking around as if expecting to find Frisk buried amongst the mounds of takeaway debris.

"On an errand," Draco replied shortly.

"For how long?"

"Does it matter?" snapped Draco. "Just tell me what you want, will you!"

Zabini's smooth face screwed up and he threw his friend a dirty look. "I came here to check if you were still alive," he said with a shrug. "Although now I can see that you are barely living at all." Zabini moved further into the room, standing over Draco and surveying all the debris around him. "What the fuck is all this? You like reading women's magazines now?" Zabini picked up Witch Weekly and whistled. "Shame about Weasley, saw her a few times in a couple of bars – she's even hotter than when we were at school. Now she's got baggage..."

Draco snatched the magazine out of Zabini's hand and tossed it out of his reach. "As if she would ever consider you anyway," Draco said in a curt tone.

Zabini dropped onto the sofa and picked up another magazine. "She definitely considered someone," he laughed, which only served to worsen Draco's mood. "Merlin... The bloody Quibbler! I've never seen you so interested in the press, Malfoy, you looking at investing? I wouldn't bother with the Quibbler for a start -."

"I am not investing in any of these gossip rags!" he snapped, irritated. Draco wanted to be alone, he wanted to make sure he could leave whenever Frisk arrived. Having Zabini there was detrimental to that plan as it would look suspicious and Zabini was a very nosey person.

Zabini was quiet for a moment as he looked at the newspapers covering the table, then there were some of the letters interspersed throughout in his mother's tiny handwriting. Draco had not thought to remove them, but he was certain that his friend would have to pick the letters up to decipher what was written on them and not even Zabini was that rude. "Why are you so interested in this story then? Since when have you given a damn about the Weasley's?"

"Is it a bloody crime now to read the newspaper? Is it my fault that this story is plastered all over the front pages?" he asked, gesturing to the newspapers. "You are too nosey for your own good, Zabini, always looking for a bit of gossip. Maybe you should apprenticed with Rita Skeeter."

Zabini pursed his lips, his brown eyes narrowing at his friend. "Ha ha, so funny," he said drily.

"I'm serious," Draco insisted. "Been having a good gossip with my mother, talking to her about how I never go out anymore? Don't think I never hear about this, Zabini."

Zabini never had the good grace to look at least a little bit ashamed and now was no different. "You don't ever come out, and Narcissa asked, so I told," he replied casually. "There is no gossiping involved."

Draco nodded, unconvinced. "I am fairly certain that was is a lie," he replied. "Anyway, you can see that I am alive, you can kindly piss off now."

Zabini glared at Draco but rose from the sofa all the same. "Fine," he huffed. "Have it your way. Don't expect me to find you a bloody date for the Ministry gala next weekend."

"I do perfectly well on my own with the women, thanks, Zabini," he retorted. "And who says I'm going to that stupid gala anyway?"

Zabini smirked. "Your father," he said simply. "He said so to Narcissa just the other day – said it was a good opportunity for you to find a wife and keep the Malfoy name in the press... for good deeds this time." Zabini continued to smirk as a look of fury descended onto Draco's features.

"I don't give a damn what my father wants me to do, damned to the gala!" he spat. They were nothing but glorified parties for senior members of the Ministry to pat themselves on the back and pretend to care about causes they had no clue about. A reason for rich women to get dressed up and find another equally rich husband and vice versa. It was nothing but a sham and he hated the event.

"You do this every year," Zabini said boredly. "You complain about being forced to go, and then you go anyway, and then complain about having gone in the first place. Suck it up and accept you are going! Someone has to make the Malfoy's look half-decent these days and it isn't going to be your father."

Draco would have defended his father if he wasn't so angry with him at the moment, not that Zabini would listen – the pair of them despised each other ever since Zabini had ruined one of his father's priceless vases when they were younger. "I'm not going," he insisted, crossing his arms.

"Famous last words," Zabini muttered as he mirrored Draco's movement. "I've got a date already – You remember Eloise Midgen?"

Draco burst out laughing, the sound a little bit foreign to him as he realised he hadn't properly laughed in a while. "Eloise Midgen? From Hufflepuff?" he choked out.

"You won't be laughing when you see her, Malfoy," Zabini sniffed, sending another dirty look his way. "She's even hotter than Weasley in her Quidditch gear."

Draco stopped laughing, not liking the way in which Zabini spoke about Ginny. Not that it should matter, he had spoken about women like that before, had even agreed with Zabini before about other women, but this was different. Ginny was his and he couldn't accept anyone else thinking she was attractive.

"Merlin, you look like I've slapped you," Zabini chuckled. "Is it so hard for you to admit, even now, that Weasley is fire?"

Draco swallowed, he knew more than anyone that Ginny was fire. Fire burning in his hands and underneath him, flickering and dancing unpredictably about him. "She's pregnant," he finally said, plastering on a look of disgust. "That's not exactly attractive."

Zabini scoffed at him. "It is for whoever got her knocked up in the first place," he said assuredly.

"I though we were talking about Eloise Midgen?" Draco said, trying to turn the conversation back around from far less dangerous waters.

"I thought you wanted me to piss off?" Zabini said with a smile, flashing his impossibly white teeth. Draco was sure he got them whitened.

"I do, I just wanted to point out that I am not going to the gala next weekend," Draco replied carelessly. "You can show yourself out."

Zabini laughed again. "I'll see you next week then," he called out as he made for the door. "And don't wear green, I've already got my suit lined up."

Draco rolled his eyes. He didn't care what Zabini was wearing, he was not going and that was that.