***Note to readers: Sorry it's taken so long for an update, I just decided recently to finish this story. Updates will be coming regularly and quickly. Thank you for your patience!!***

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Draco burst out onto the dusty street in front of the hospital, his outward composure surprisingly calm and collected, though his mind still reeled. Draco walked, eyes fixed in front of him on nothing in particular. He didn't take any notice of the muggles shooting him offended looks as he refused to adjust his course to accommodate them.

My son. My son…

The words echoed and pounded in his head, but he kept himself moving, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Darkness was beginning to fall on the bustling city as the sun slipped below the tall buildings.

Finally, he stopped as he saw a familiar large red building looming ahead of him, the stone sphinx on his left staring blankly ahead. Draco just stood there, glaring at the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, an internal debate raging inside of him. Should he enter? It seemed like a monumental decision. If he entered he was choosing to help find the boy- his son. He forced the words out of his head, he needed to concentrate. If he walked away from the familiar building he would be ridding himself of the burden of fatherhood forever. He could just walk away and never look back. The boy would be better without him.

Step forward or walk away?

He made his decision and took a step.

***

Felix tumbled through the icy air, wind whipping his hair and clothes violently. His outstretched arms clutched at empty air and vaporous clouds. He was surprised to find his mind was clear as crystal and he wasn't screaming at all. Adrenaline pumped through him and he felt like he could do anything, even fly! But he knew he couldn't, he could just fall helplessly.

"Mordecai!" He yelled, but the wind took his words and swallowed them greedily. Lucius Malfoy fell limply below him, unconscious. Felix thought he looked as if he were sleeping, his cloak billowing around him like a blanket.

Felix could barely make out the landscape beneath him, it looked big and empty in the shadowy night. He started to panic a little and it came closer and closer. Looking up he couldn't make out anyone or anything against the dark, thick clouds. Just as his heart felt like it was going to climb out of his throat, something hard slammed into his back, or rather, he had hit something quite solid. The wind was knocked right out of him with a loud grunt.

"Uhh!" Felix managed. He knew he hadn't hit the ground, but the force with which he had knocked into this thing was really painful. His lungs felt like deflated balloons and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get air back into them! His hands flew to his throat in desperation, mouth gaping, as if to catch the air and trap it.

He heard a familiar voice, muffled as if from far away, muttering strange words. Suddenly, air burst into his lungs. It burned his throat, but he gulped at it gratefully regardless.

"I told you to hold on. Next time heed what I tell you." Felix smiled at the familiar rasp of Mordecai's exasperated voice.

"Thanks, Mordecai." Felix croaked. Mordecai easily shifted the boy back into a position behind the large man. Felix clasped Mordecai's robes in numb fists, breathing heavily, adrenaline still crashing in his ears.

"They will gather shortly, we must leave at once. Hold on tight this time." Mordecai growled the last words threateningly and leaned forward. The broom shot ahead with such force Felix almost fell off again. He wrapped his arms around Mordecai in earnest.

After a long while of weaving and darting through clouds, they slowed. Felix felt the adrenaline draining from him, he became very tired.

"Where're we going?" He asked again, though his words were slurred with fatigue.

"I told you, to your mother." Mordecai said, Felix could hear his patience running thin.

"Yea, but where's that?" Mordecai didn't answer right away. After some time he said, "Not far."

Felix shifted his weight, adventures were not nearly as fun in real life. He yawned, now feeling hollow without the adrenaline running through his veins. He slumped against Mordecai and gradually slipped into an uneasy sleep.

***

Pansy paused before the large double doors and composed herself. She had never been summoned by the Dark Lord personally and was extremely anxious, to say the least. Her hands shaking, she pushed open the wooden doors and stepped into the candle lit room. It was a large area with no furniture other than one chair set in the middle with a bubbling cauldron in front of it. She stepped forward, looking around for any sign of the Dark Lord.

Her shoes clicked on the hard floor and echoed sharply, but before she took more than three steps a smooth voice spoke behind her.

"Ah, Miss. Parkinson, do have a seat." Pansy clutched her chest in fright at the abruptness of the Dark Lord's presence. "Do not be frightened," the deep voice continued in her ear. Taking a deep breath she went to the chair and sat none too gracefully, fear getting the better of her. She crossed one leg over the other in an attempt to keep her knees from knocking together.

"Miss Parkinson," Voldemort said, stepping out of the shadows before her, she gaped at his beauty. His perfectly onyx hair shined in the candles glow and the sharp outline of his face could have made the Greek gods jealous.

"I require your services. It has come to my knowledge that you know the boy's purpose. The reason he is important in forming our new world order." Pansy's mouth went dry.

"My lord?" She asked, deciding to wait and see if the Dark Lord meant the prophesy. If so, she feared she would not see the outside of this room again.

"Do not pretend to not know what I am speaking of, Miss Parkinson. The prophesy," he hissed the last word, which reverberated around the room menacingly.

"Y-yes, my lord, o-of course." She stammered.

"The boy must be raised in the Dark Arts, but he will only trust those he loves." Voldemort said spitefully, walking towards the cauldron.

"I'm afraid I d-don't understand." Pansy said, her voice now a whisper.

Voldemort pulled out a small vial that glittered and glinted as the fire light touched it. He took out the cork and pulled out a single fiery strand of hair and held it between two perfectly manicured fingers. He let it fall into the caldron. The liquid inside bubbled ferociously and turned into a vibrant red, almost the same hue as the hair. With a jolt Pansy knew what was in it, polyjuice potion.

"I need you to be someone the boy can trust."

***

Cold air blasted him in the face as Draco opened the door causing his hair to dance and tickle his forehead. He swept the unruly locks away in one graceful motion and walked into the familiar building. He didn't even bother to look around but went straight to the stairs leading down into the basement.

He rounded the corner of the bottom step with such force that he almost knocked down the little curator, Mr. Quazeem. He was carrying so many ancient rolls of parchment that the short man could barely see around the stack. A few rolls fell to the floor with soft smacks.

"Oh my, Ramses, you frightened me, my boy." Mr. Quazeem said breathlessly. Draco frowned in confusion and then suddenly remembered his cover name, it felt like weeks since he had to hide his identity. With a mental reprimand, Draco stooped and picked up the parchment that that fallen to the ground.

He stood and handed the scrolls back to his friend. "Good day, Mr. Quazeem. I apologize for my sudden appearance. I need your help." Mr. Quazeem nodded somberly.

"Yes, I dare say you do. Come, we will talk." Draco was a bit perplexed by this answer, but followed the man into his office nonetheless. Draco closed the door with a soft click and waited until the old man put each scroll away in a different cubby on the wall. Draco had to clench his fists to keep his outward appearance patient. The longer they delayed talking about the blueprint, the longer Draco had to force the thought of having a son away- which was getting harder every second.

Mr. Quazeem sat and gestured for Draco to do the same. Draco sat with the fluidity of water and the tension of a tightly coiled spring. The curator took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. When he placed the glasses back on his face, he looked Draco square in the eyes.

"I suppose you have something for me to look at?" He asked. Draco kept his face blank and took out the worn blueprint, handing it to Mr. Quazeem without breaking his gaze. Mr. Quazeem unfolded the page and studied it carefully. He didn't make any sounds of recognition and stayed aggravatingly silent.

Draco was almost at the end of his patience when Mr. Quazeem set down the parchment and sighed heavily. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a wand. Draco's mouth almost fell open in surprise. His lips had even parted before he caught himself and clenched his jaw shut.

He tensed the rest of his body, ready for a fight. He could feel his wand in his pocket, did he have time to get it out? If he used the desk as cover, maybe…

But all thoughts of fighting vanished when Mr. Quazeem flicked his wand and a bottle of amber liquid and two dusty glasses appeared on the table.

"Would you like some fire whiskey, lad?" The old man saw the menacing glower on Draco's face and added, "Ah yes, I dare say I startled you. My apologies, but I thought if I was to tell you everything you might be more obliging with a bit of fire whiskey in you." He had filled the glasses and was now pushing one across his desk towards Draco.

"I assure you, it is not poisoned." Mr. Quazeem said then downed his own glass in one swift swallow and started pouring himself another glass.

"What do you mean, everything?" Draco asked his voice as smooth and dangerous as a blade. He didn't touch his fire whiskey.

"It is a long story that I fear I do not have the luxury of time to tell, but a brief version should suffice." He swallowed, glanced at the blueprint and shuddered.

"My name," he began softly, "is Sturgis Podmore. I am a member of the Order of the Phoenix and have been keeping an eye on you for quite some time." A shock rippled through Draco, like lightning had hit him and was clashing around inside of him. Innumerable questions started forming in his head, but he forced his face not betray even the least amount of astonishment. He honed his mind in on the fact that he had been watched, for how long Draco didn't know.

"You know who I am." It was not a question, but a threat.

"Ah, well, yes." The man who called himself Podmore said. "We had to know, of course. It hasn't always been me, you see."

"What do you mean?" Draco growled.

"There has always been someone guarding you, making sure you stayed hidden. This is my third time. I am sorry we had to be so clandestine, but you know how it is. If you don't know something then you can't tell of it. Each of us only knew enough to keep you safe. We didn't want you to know for your own safety." Draco understood that much, but that didn't mean he liked it. The idea of being followed and watched, knowing for sure now that he had been for nine years felt like a violation. He wanted to know of every single Order member who had been watching him. He wanted to make them pay.

"Why?" Draco seethed.

"Well, my dear boy, you are somewhat valuable and a member of the Order, after all. We take care of our own. We could not-" he broke off, then started with a different approach, "we wanted to protect you. You were, and still are, very young and headstrong." Draco retracted his lips in a sneer.

"I am not a boy, anymore." Draco narrowed his gleaming silver eyes, "how can I know you are who you say you are? Am I just to trust you, then?" The other man sighed.

"I do not know," Podmore looked very old, right then, sagging in his chair. "I am telling the truth. I do not know where to procure Veritaserum and it would take much too long to make some. You would not happen to know of a truth charm, would you?" Draco shook his head once.

"Well then, there you have it. You do not have to trust me, but I am who I say I am. If I wasn't, why haven't I tried to kill you all these times we've been alone?" He has a point, Draco thought, but that didn't mean he was ready to throw caution to the wind and whole heartedly trust this man. He felt as if he had been betrayed, he thought this man had been his friend, or something close to it, now he found he didn't even know who he was.

"What is the blueprint to?" He asked, getting back to the main point of the visit. Podmore blinked, and then shook his head little as if he had forgotten all about it.

"Oh, yes." He said and ran his hands over it, flattening it to the table. "It is most peculiar. It's more like a floor plan, than a blueprint." Podmore paused and peered at Draco over his glasses.

"How do you know of blueprints, they are of muggle design, are they not?" He asked.

"You forget I've been living in the muggle world almost nine years. I've learned things." Draco did not provide more. He had actually worked as a freelance construction worker in a couple different places, once he figured out how a drill worked. Even then, a little magic never hurt and the men who hired him could never figure out how he had finished the jobs so quickly.

"Right, of course you did." The little man said. "A floor plan, yes." He said absentmindedly. Draco was running out of patience.

"To what?" He snarled.

"Hm? Oh, to Numenguard." He said simply. Draco stood to his full height, which meant he towered over the slight man. He eyes burned with fury. The emotion staggered him, why was he feeling personally assaulted? And why would Pansy have a floor plan to Numenguard? If his son- he shook his head, dispelling that word- the boy was in Numenguard, Merlin help him. Draco's fists clenched and he shook with rage.

"Mr. Malfoy, please, if you will sit? There is more." Draco barely heard Podmore, he wasn't paying attention.

"Mr. Malfoy." Draco looked slowly at Podmore, the man flinched at the ferocity of that gaze. Draco raised an eyebrow, bidding him to say whatever he wanted to say.

"Well, you see how some of the lines are black and others red?" Draco nodded infinitesimally.

"It is highly unusual; I can only wager a guess. I would say it signifies walls or doors that are not present to any without knowledge of them being there. Or perhaps the opposite. I would hold on to this, for future reference. Where, if I might ask, did you find this?" He asked the last question very curiously, almost forgetting the death stare Draco was giving him.

"That," Draco said, snatching the parchment away from Podmore, "is none of your bloody concern. How do you know this is Numenguard?"

"I, Mr. Malfoy, have also learned a few things in my day." He said, with a somewhat haughty air. Draco gave a short laugh and rolled his eyes.

"Fair enough." Draco conceded. "It is getting late. I should be going, thank you for your help." He had to force the politeness into his voice. Podmore inclined his head and took Draco's hand, bending awkwardly over his desk to do so.

"Be safe, my boy. Don't do anything foolish, you hear me?" The mans blue eyes held Draco with such fervor that he reminded him of Dumbledore. Draco smirked.

"Do I ever?" He drawled. Podmore gave his hand a quick squeeze and let go. Draco gave him an acknowledging nod and then stepped out of the small office.

Draco felt like he had been in that cramped space for hours. He had learned more than he thought he would have. If Mr. Quazeem- Podmore- hadn't been a wizard Draco would have never found out that the parchment was of Numenguard. Goosebumps formed on his skin at the thought of that place. His father had scared him as a child with horror stories of Numenguard, threatening him with being sent there if he disobeyed him. Of course the threats had grown considerably worse as Draco got older, but Numenguard still held a dreaded and dark place in Draco's mind.

He made his was up the stairs and slowly outside, the museum guards were eyeing him warily since the museum had close about a half hour before, but they didn't say anything. The air was still warm outside as Draco stood on the front steps, gazing around at the night shrouded city. It was a huge city, but he had only seen a fraction of it. Now is not the time for sight-seeing, he thought sarcastically. The vast size of the city made him think he was being watched from all sides. He felt uncharacteristically paranoid. He had been cautious for nine years, not paranoid. This was not a feeling he liked. He put his hands in his pockets as he started down the stairs and stopped walking almost immediately. He felt something rubbery in his left pocket and when he pulled it out and saw what is was he hissed through his teeth.

It was the teacup shard in the rubber glove. He had forgotten to use it to lift the hex on Ginny. She could be dying without his help. How stupid he had been! He had been so wrapped up in the fact that the kid was his that he had forgotten almost everything else. Growling, he stormed off to the hospital praying he wasn't too late.

***

Felix was bumped awake as the broom landed on solid ground. He rubbed his eyes drowsily, it seemed like he hadn't gotten more than a minute of sleep. His eyelids were still heavy with it. Mordecai was gently holding him up by the arm.

"Come along, young master. You're mother is most likely worried sick over you." Mordecai said flatly. Felix looked around at the small house and open yard. It looked like a small cottage on the top of a cliff, he could hear the ocean crashing on unseen rocks below. A warm wind blew in his face and a candle flickered in the small front window. Mordecai led him up the stony walkway and let go as they approached the blue door. Mordecai knocked.

At first nothing happened, then Felix heard movement inside and the door was flung open. A woman with dark red hair in a messy ponytail and red rimmed eyes peered out at them. She held her wand, the tip alight.

"Who are-" she began but abruptly cut off as her brown eyes traveled from Mordecai to Felix. "F-Felix? Is it…can it…oh, Felix!" She cried and flung her arms around the small boy. She sobbed into his neck and he clung onto her dressing down. She was exactly the picture in his head. She smelled like flowers and was warm. He hugged her so tight, he thought he'd never let go.

Finally, she pulled back, staring intensely at him, pushing the hair away from his face.

"Oh, my boy. My boy. It's really you, I can't believe it. Oh, how I've missed you." She kissed his forehead. The way she said "my boy" was a bit odd, but Felix didn't care. It was his mother! After a minute or two, his mother stood, picking him up with her. She beamed at Mordecai, tears in her eyes.

"How can I ever thank you…" She trailed off, waiting for Mordecai to tell her his name.

"Call me Mordecai. I do not need thanks. His safety is enough." Mordecai looked to Felix, gave a small bow of the head and turned on the spot. With a pop, he was gone.

"Bye, Mordecai." Felix said to the empty night. "Thanks." Turning in his mother's arms to look at her and grinned. "Mom." He said, tasting the word on his tongue. It felt right. She smiled back.

"Let's go inside, shall we? We have so much to talk about, though I bet you're tired, aren't you?" Felix yawned widely in response with an "uh huh" mingled in it. His mom kissed his cheek and set him down on a soft couch. Felix snuggled into the pillow his mom placed beneath his head and relished the warmth of the blanket she tucked around him. She brushed his hair with her fingers again and whispered, "so much to talk about," as sleep consumed him.