Chapter 6
They're back in Gus's bedroom in the Headmaster's suite, but it still isn't Gus's room. It's not the room they appeared in thirty-four years ago either. Now it's a nursery, a room for a little child, with a stuffed white peacock sitting on the bed. A man sits on the edge of the bed facing away from them, holding a picture of a lovely golden-haired little boy.
Pansy walks in and gives a disgusted snort. "Stop sniveling, Draco."
The man puts down the photograph and stands up, turning to face Pansy. His face is drawn and tired. It's Draco Malfoy, but not the Draco Becky knows, the charming man with the easy smile. This Draco looks like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"The Dark Lord isn't going to wait forever, you know," Pansy says. "We need an heir."
"I know," Draco says, running a hand through his hair. "But I can't. Not yet. I keep seeing it…"
"Did you honestly think he was going to let us raise a Squib?"
"He was my son."
"He was my son, too, Draco, but he was a Squib." She puts one hand on Draco's shoulder, and lets the other drift lower.
Draco steps away from her. "I have to do the accounts now."
Pansy's eyes narrow. "Let your pet Mudblood take care of them. Give Granger something to do besides sucking your cock."
Becky stifles a gasp, and Draco's eyes snap to where she's standing, narrowed, assessing. Pansy isn't paying attention, fixing her lipstick in a conjured mirror she Vanishes once she's finished. Becky doesn't dare breathe, and reminds herself that even though it feels like Draco's eyes are boring straight into hers, he can't see her.
"I'm off, then," Pansy says, hips swaying as she heads for the door. "To see Blaise," she adds in answer to Draco's unasked question. "When you've whinged enough and are ready to put an heir in me, I'll be ready, but for recreational purposes, I prefer a man who doesn't have the residual taste of mud about him."
Becky looks at Gus, and her heart breaks at his look of mingled horror and shame at this woman who is and yet so very obviously is not his mother.
When the door closes behind Pansy, Draco crosses the room in just a few long strides and sweeps the cloak from them. "Well, well, what's this?"
They stare at him, tongue-tied.
"Who are you?" At their silence, he sighs. "Come on then. I have Veritaserum in my office." He takes each of them by the arm and marches them through the Headmaster's private rooms and into his office.
Becky draws in a horrified breath when she sees her father's portrait. She pulls away from Draco and walks over to it. "You're a portrait," she says. "Does that mean that you're…?"
"Dead?" Portrait Severus drawls. "Indeed. I can see why this one wasn't Sorted into Ravenclaw, Draco. But our House? The Hat is losing its touch, I think."
"Oh, Daddy," Becky says, collapsing into sobs.
Daddy? Draco mouths at Severus over Becky's head. Severus sneers at the crying girl with his dark eyes and his crooked teeth.
"Headmaster Snape has been dead since long before you were born," Draco says to Becky, but his voice is gentle. "He is most certainly not your father."
Becky cries harder. Not only is her father dead, but his portrait is of the hateful man she saw in Mum's first year, not the man she's known and loved her whole life.
Draco hands Becky a linen handkerchief. "Who's your mother, child?"
"Hermione Snape."
"Hermione Snape?" Draco asks.
Becky nods. Portrait Severus and Draco exchange an uneasy look.
"Hermione Granger Snape," Becky clarifies.
Draco turns to Gus. "And your parents?" When Gus hesitates, Draco opens a drawer and sets a bottle of clear liquid on the desk.
Gus sighs. "Neville Longbottom and Pansy Parkinson Longbottom."
Draco sits down heavily. "Blinky," he says. When an elf in a spotless tea towel pops into the room, he says, "Ask Professor Granger to come to my office."