Chapter 3

Four years later

Draco Malfoy glared at the diamond-encrusted engagement ring, twinkling innocently on his dresser. That ring symbolized the shackles of marriage that would soon descend upon his life—and he was not looking forward to it.

He could still play back, word-by-word, the interview between Lucius and himself, although it had been over a week ago. Draco muttered angrily to himself every time that memory resurfaced in his mind- which calculated out to approximately every ten minutes.

"Draco," Lucius had said, leaning back behind his mahogany desk into the large leather chair, "you are twenty-seven years old, and you are not getting any younger."

Draco had inwardly groaned, knowing exactly what was to come. His mother had often complained of this too, but this was the first- and only, he suspected- time that Lucius had and would ever bring the subject up. "Yes, father?" He had asked reluctantly, not wanting to hear what Lucius would have to say.

"You must secure an heir for the family," he had emphasized. "In case a misfortune befalls you, we must have a son, your son, to take your place. Your mother cannot bear any more children, and so it is up to you, Draco."

Draco had marveled at the concern that his father had had for his only son, but shrugged it off. After all, hadn't he known that there was no lost love between Lucius and himself? "Father, I'm not even thirty yet. I hardly think that I won't be able to sire a child in five, ten, even fifteen years from now," he had said with a smirk as he sprawled onto his back, giving every impression of an aristocrat without a care in the world. His virility was, after all, quite legend among the younger set.

His father had frowned sternly. "Draco Malfoy. You may not be living in five, ten, fifteen years. The Dark Lord may have been vanquished, but the future is unpredictable. The Malfoy family has never been without a male heir and I do not intend for the tradition to be broken on my watch. I expect you to be married to a nice, quiet, pureblooded witch who knows her place, and I expect to see this happen soon."

Draco, after having stifled the urge to scream, had mustered up a fraction of his trademark smirk and had asked, "Or what, Father? You'll disinherit me?" After all, his father wouldn't have dared—that had been, after all, the reason the two had been having this conversation in the first place.

Lucius's eyes had flared momentarily, before subsiding. "I will overlook that disrespectful comment one time, Draco. Do not let me catch you saying anything like that again."

Which brought him to this point—glaring at the engagement ring that had graced the fingers of Malfoy fiancées for aeons. As much as Narcissa had protested and argued, Draco had decided on Pansy Parkinson as his intended. Not only was he ready to Avada the next simpering, faux-innocent mannered violet, but he felt that Pansy, at least, knew the lay of the land. She didn't expect grand passages of love, she didn't expect fidelity from him; she only expected unlimited access to the Malfoy fortune, which suited him fine. Pansy could have bought every designer robe in every country, and it would hardly make a dent in one of the myriad Malfoy vaults in Gringotts.

But still, he was reluctant to propose. He supposed that he was not looking forward to the end of his bachelorhood and the freedom that came with it. After all, marriage was still marriage, no matter with whom it was.

Draco sighed once more, wondering when he'd matured. Had his father made this demand even one year before, he knew without a doubt that the twenty-six year old Draco would have thrown a fit and disappeared for a few days.

Cursing darkly under his breath, Draco grabbed the ring along with its box and stashed it in his pocket next to his wand, apparating to the Parkinson manor where Pansy inevitably was, still asleep, given the early hour.

Draco had apparated directly into Pansy's bedchambers, despite the anti-apparation wards set up by the Parkinsons. The room was dark because the curtains had not been drawn yet, so Draco pushed them open with a flick of his wand.

He was now able to see Pansy in bed, holding tightly onto the waist of an unidentified male with her head buried under the pillow, as if to get away from the light. He strode over to her side, poking her shoulder. "Hey, Pans," he greeted, prodding, "get up."

She turned her head and opened one eye reluctantly. "Draco?" she groaned. "What the hell do you want? Do you know what time it is? Go away."

"I need to talk to you, so get this guy out, won't you?" Draco asked as he conjured himself a chair to sit on.

"What, my chairs aren't good enough for you?" she muttered as she tapped the sleeping man. "Hey, hey, get up," she demanded. "Go home or something, okay? The fireplace is over there."

The man, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, stumbled off and looked at her with a shy smile. "Pansy, I-I really appreciate—"

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, whoever you are. Go away now, I'm busy."

With a hurt expression, the man flooed away and Pansy turned to face Draco. "This had better be good," she snarled. "That guy was a good lay. And, oh god, where's my fucking wand?" She felt around the bed before noticing it on a nightstand. "Too far. Draco, cast me an Anti-hangover charm, will you?" She sighed, pushing back her blonde hair. "I'm so tired. Last night was so wild, you really missed out."

Draco shot the spell towards Pansy, who immediately sat up with a brighter smile on her face, carelessly allowing the covers to fall to her waist, revealing her naked upper body. "That's better," she breathed. "Now get me some clothes or something."

With an audible sigh that told her how annoyed he was getting at being her lackey, he did as she demanded, before sprawling back into the armrest of his chair. "Ready now?" he asked sardonically.

She nodded. "Hurry up, though. I have an appointment at eleven."

"It shouldn't take long," Draco agreed. "So, Lucius has been getting on my case about getting married and producing an heir. And since your father's been complaining about your, how do I say this without offending, promiscuity?-"

"Sleeping around?" Pansy suggested helpfully, rolling out of her bed. She headed off to where Draco knew was her bathroom, no doubt to take a shower. "But don't stop now, it's just getting interesting."

"I figured we could marry," Draco concluded. "Hurry up, Pansy. I don't want to spend all day here."

She popped back out, walking to her closet. "Can you tell a house elf to bring some damn towels to my bathroom?" she asked.

Draco impatiently transfigured her bed sheets into a stack of towels, before accio-ing Pansy to stand in front of him. "Stop stalling," he sighed. "What do you say?"

"Oh, were you waiting for an answer?" she asked in surprise. "Do you think I'm stupid or something? Of course I'll marry you. But," she added with a smirk worthy of a Malfoy, "that won't stop my, how did you so eloquently put it, promiscuity."

Draco shrugged. "Get me a couple kids to keep Lucius and Mother happy and I hardly think I'd care if you decided to fuck all of Britain, as long as it's discreet." He pulled out the ring from his pocket, pulling her left hand towards him. "Here's the ring," he continued, giving it one last glare before attempting to place it on her finger.

"Ow, Draco!" Pansy protested, yanking back her hand. "What in bloody hell is that, a cursed ring?"

He stared bewilderedly at it. "Did I put it on wrong or something?" He wondered. "Here, give me your hand again." When the ring reached the tip of her ring finger, however, it simply refused to go any further- as if there was an invisible barrier across the circumference of the ring. He attempted to shove it in by force, but Pansy yanked back her hand again with a howl.

"Stop that!" she wailed. "It shocks me every time you try, and it hurts like a bitch."

Draco stared blankly at her hand. "What's wrong with your hand? It was fine on Mother."

She glared at him. "Nothing's wrong with my hand! Everything's right with my hand! It's your stupid ring that's faulty."

He had no idea what was the problem. In fact, he had seen with his own eyes, the engagement ring on his mother's hand before she had pulled it off and given it to him when he had professed his intentions to propose to Pansy. She had been rather against it though… could she have enchanted the ring, so that it refused to work with Pansy? Draco considered it for a few seconds, before concluding that it was bloody unlikely.

On the off chance that she had, though, he tried to put the ring on his own finger. The barrier, however, was still intact; what was more, he felt a strong voltage of electric current run throughout his entire body.

Draco gaped in shock at the little ring, still twinkling innocently. "What the hell?" he wondered. "Pans, it's not because it hates you."

Pansy smacked his head. "Of course it isn't, you ingrate. Go talk to Lucius about this stupid ring, or get me another one. I'm going to go take a shower before my appointment at Mdm. Bassett." She sauntered off to the bathroom after swiping the towels still on her bed, without a care in the world. Draco, contrarily, was still bewildered at the ring's rejection. As a Malfoy heirloom, no other ring could be used as an engagement ring for a Malfoy bride

With a last shake of his head, he apparated back to his library, where his father would hopefully be.

Lucius was indeed in the Malfoy library, perusing a large tome that looked as if it was something the Ministry had once attempted to confiscate. "Ah, Draco," he greeted, upon looking up to see his son, "what seems to be the problem?"

Draco sat down on the sofa, still frowning at the ring. "I just got back from the Parkinson's," he said slowly, "where I intended to propose to Pansy."

"Good, good," Lucius nodded. "But…?"

"But when I attempted to put the ring on her finger, it … refused to do so," Draco thought for a second. "It sent a current through her every time I attempted to—and when I tried to on my finger, me as well."

Lucius looked disturbed by this news. "Draco…" he said quietly, "let me see that ring."

After Draco reached over the desk to hand it to his father, Lucius took it and set it on his desk. He murmured under his breath for a long time, occasionally tapping it with his wand. With a grunt of frustration, he stood after ten minutes and retrieved a book from a nearby shelf, where all the family history and codes were kept.

Draco sat quietly, watching his father flip back and forth through the pages. After a bit, he couldn't restrain himself any longer and asked, "So why did that happen?"

Lucius didn't answer for a long moment. "Are you quite sure that the ring rejected both Pansy and yourself?" he asked. Not waiting for a reply, he snapped his fingers to summon a house elf. "Elf," he ordered, "bid Mrs. Malfoy to come and attend me."

The elf bowed and disapparated, and Lucius bent down to study the tome once more.

Narcissa walked into the library then, looking cool and collected as always. "Yes, Lucius?" she asked calmly.

He beckoned her forward, and reached for her hand. Narcissa shook her head. "'Once the Malfoy engagement ring leaves the hands of a Malfoy wife,'" she quoted, "'the ring has become the property of the next Malfoy bride and shall be uninhabitable.' Remember?"

Lucius nodded shortly. "There are, however, no restrictions as to the Malfoy bride," he said to himself thoughtfully. "Are there, Narcissa?"

She looked vaguely surprised at being asked something about the Malfoy family code by the patriarch of the family. "No, none written."

Lucius picked up the ring and tried to slip it on her finger, but encountered the same barrier that Draco had earlier, but Narcissa did not jerk away from the ring. "No shock, though," he thought out loud. "Why?"

"Did the ring reject the Parkinson girl, then?" Narcissa questioned, walking back to sit next to Draco, who merely nodded.

Lucius tried the ring on his own finger, but shuddered. "Odd," he said. "It hurts anyone but Narcissa." He thought for a moment, before freezing. "Draco…" He trailed off, before flipping furiously through the book.

Draco and Narcissa remained still, as to not disturb his train of thought. After perusing the same paragraph several times, he sat back with a frown.

"Draco," Lucius said in a deathly quiet voice, "what have I told you about Contraceptive charms?"

Draco looked startled; this was something that he hadn't been expecting. "I'm not sure what you mean, Father," he stated firmly. "What about them?"

Lucius stared at his son without blinking. "Did I, or did I not, warn you to exercise extreme caution before engaging in sex?"

"Yes, of course you have," Draco said blankly, "and of course, I have. I've never not casted a Contraceptive charm, and a Morning After charm."

"It seems," Lucius paused, as if to get the most effect for his words, "that you must have forgotten."

"What are you talking about?" Draco asked, confusedly. "Of course I haven't; I can't recall a single time when I didn't cast one."

"The reason, Draco and Narcissa, that the ring has rejected Pansy Parkinson is because you cannot marry her." Lucius looked at the ring again with a strange look on his hard face. "This, in turn, is because she cannot mother the Malfoy heir."

"Is she barren?" Narcissa breathed, horrified. "Thank god you didn't propose, Draco."

"No, not that," Lucius shook his head. "She cannot mother the Malfoy heir because there already exists one."

With those words, Draco thought that the earth had ceased to rotate, time had ceased to move, and all he could hear was his blood pumping in his ears. "What?" he gasped finally. "How could there be…"

"It seems that you, Draco Malfoy, have forgotten the importance of a contraceptive charm."

Draco shook his head wildly. "I don't understand, there's never been an occurrence when I've—" He broke off suddenly.

"Remembered, have you?" Lucius asked softly.

"There was an instance," Draco recalled, speaking slowly, "a few years back. I woke up, alone and naked, in a hotel room, with no recollection of the night before. At the time, I was too hung over to wonder what had happened, and later on, I just figured that someone had brought me to the room, but…"

Lucius stood up, suddenly, and strode over to Draco. "You must remember what happened that night," he growled. "Draco, this is the Malfoy heir. You cannot have another child until the heir is brought to reside in Malfoy Manor; you know that."

"I can't," Draco said helplessly. "I've been trying to remember, and I'm just drawing a huge blank, as if… as if I've had a memory charm placed on me," he concluded quietly. "Do you think that's it? I never get so drunk that I can't recall what happened before."

"Draco," Narcissa interjected, "you must. Find. That. Child. Lucius, is there any way you can perform a locator charm or anything on the baby?"

Lucius thought hard. "I don't know. Most locator charms use the wand of the wizard to find the person, and the baby can't be old enough to possess a wand yet. I can try, though, seeing as how we share the same blood…" he strode back to his desk, looking in the book again. "Ah. A slight variation on the Locator spell." He tapped the ring twice, before whispering something that Draco could not quite catch.

"London," he said at last. "Somewhere in or around London, I imagine."

"London?" Draco grimaced. "How am I supposed to find someone in London? Do you know who the mother is?"

Lucius shook his head. "There is no way of telling that. Your biggest- and only- clue is that the baby is a Malfoy; therefore, he should have Malfoy characteristics. Our ancestors formulated a charm in case something like this ever happened; all Malfoys possess these characteristics now."

"Like slyness?" Draco asked in disgust. "The thing is like, 3, 4 years old. How am I supposed to discern that?"

"No, my darling," Narcissa said with a laugh, "What your father is saying, is that he should look like a Malfoy. Pale hair, grey eyes, pale skin. A boy, of course, since he is the heir."

Lucius nodded. "Well, Draco," he shrugged, "happy hunting."

Hermione pushed back the chair and stood, stretching happily. She'd finally broken the curse that the office had sent the day before; she had had to work overnight to find the counter-curse, but the end result was worth it. She quickly scrawled the incantation for the counter-curse and the wand movements, before folding the note carefully and tossed it into the miniature Floo network that she had developed last year.

Her work with the Ministry allowed her to work mainly from home, with just a few hours in the office when Cyan was in preschool. Because work involved piles of paperwork that she could not entrust safely with owls, which were prone to attack, she had used the technology of the Floo system to form one that would transport small items to different locations.

After adding a pinch of power and calling, "Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement!", she watched the note be transported before she made her way to the large bedroom that her son slept in.

As Hermione approached the bedside, she saw that her small son was still asleep, lips upturned slightly as he murmured something about Chocolate Frogs and broomsticks. She laughed softly to herself as she stroked his pale blonde hair that was currently sticking up in all directions. Malfoy would have a fit if he saw his hair like this, Hermione thought with a chuckle before catching herself with a quick shake of her head. No, Malfoy would not have a fit, because Malfoy would not know about Cyan.

She stood instead, walking over to the large windows, where she pushed back the curtains that had so far hidden the sunlight. As soon as the sun came streaming into the room, the boy immediately began squirming and burrowing under the covers, as if to escape what he knew was coming.

"Cyan," Hermione said as she perched on the edge of his bed, "time to get up. Mummy's going into the office today, and you have a play date scheduled with Scotty Thomas, remember?"

"Mummy, I want to keep my hair today," he said sleepily with a wide yawn, eyes still closed.

Hermione gave a sharp sigh, still mournful that she had to cast Glamour Charms on Cyan before he went out anywhere; anyone who got a good look at his features would easily be able to tell that he was a Malfoy. She disliked the idea of casting charms on a toddler, but it couldn't be helped. Cyan, however, had never embraced the changes in his appearance.

"Cyan, you know we can't do that," she said regretfully. "But if you want, you can pick out your own clothes today, how about that?"

At this he fully scrambled up and gave her such a scornful look that Hermione burst out laughing. "All right, all right," she said. "Anyway, get up now. Aunt Ginny said that she could watch you, since she's babysitting Robert too, would you like that?"

Cyan shook his head wildly. "I wanna go to work with you," he said decisively. "Can I, Mummy? Can I?"

Hermione bit her lip. She always felt that it was a bit of a risk to take Cyan to places were Malfoy was likely to frequent; even though she always took precautions, one never knew what could happen. On the other hand, however, Hermione was greatly reluctant to coddle her son. She wanted him to be a strong, independent person, and keeping him hidden from all of society was not the way to accomplish that.

She sighed, deciding as she always had that the Glamour Charms would be enough to conceal Cyan's identity- and truth to tell, how likely was it that Malfoy would present himself at the Ministry?

Decision made, she nodded an assent and smiled indulgently as her baby cheered, before scrambling off the bed. "I'll go set up some breakfast," she suggested, "if you go and wash your face and brush your teeth, okay?"

He nodded and toddled off to the bathroom, as Hermione quickly conjured up a casual outfit for Cyan on the bed, before walking the opposite direction to the kitchen.

Their morning procedures completed, Hermione flooed with Cyan directly to her office, where she was greeted by piles of paperwork waiting to be filled out, on curses already broken and some that had yet to be. Slightly wincing at the amount of work that had accumulated overnight, she dropped the Cyan's bag by her barely-visible desk, before conjuring a railroad-building set, a muggle toy that she had introduced to Cyan a few months ago.

Once he was completely absorbed with this new activity, which included piecing together pieces of tracks and building a complete system, Hermione dropped a kiss on his now curly brown hair, very much like her own, before retreating to her work.

A couple hours later, she heard a squeal and looked up to see Cyan with a huge grin on his face. "I finished, Mummy!" He cheered.

She stood and walked over, admiring the intricate design uncommon for a normal four-year old. Then again, she thought smugly, he is my child. Using her wand, Hermione transfigured a paperweight from her desk into a small, mechanical train, and handed it to Cyan, who immediately placed it on the tracks and watched it toot away. It was bound to keep him entertained for another hour or so; within that time, she could finish up a few more packets and be ready for lunch.

Just as she finished up on reading a report about the counter-curse to Avada that one of the other curse-breakers were working on, she looked up from a tap on her calf to see her son with a grin. "Mummy," he said sweetly, as he did every week, "can I have ice cweam?"

And Hermione responded, as she always had, "Ice cream? How about some nice carrot sticks?" At his disgusted look, she laughed. "All right, we'll go to Fortescue's after lunch."

"Let's go now," he suggested with a winning smile. "I'm hungwy, you see."

Hermione sighed but conceded, wondering if she was spoiling her son by allowing him to win so much. He was just so charming, though, that she couldn't bring herself to refuse him something so easily granted. I wonder where he got it, she thought idly. Not from me, and Malfoy certainly isn't very charming.

Hermione had intentions to pick up a couple quick sandwiches or something at Fortescue's for both Cyan and herself, as well as an ice cream cone for her son. The two flooed into the Leaky Cauldron, exchanging nods with Tom the landlord, and entered Diagon Alley. The alley was rather crowded, given that it was a sunny Saturday afternoon.

They held hands as Cyan skipped across the cobblestones, leading the way to the Ice Cream Parlour that he was intimately familiar with. When they were within ten feet of the entrance, however, Hermione saw something that made her blood chill.

Draco Malfoy. Draco bloody Malfoy. What was he doing at Fortescue's, looking almost good enough to eat? The last four years had been kind on him, she reflected unconsciously, before realizing just what it had been that she'd thought.

And just as she was beginning to believe that the situation couldn't worsen, it did; Draco Malfoy was examining the children at Fortescue's.

Oh, he was being extremely subtle about it; she was sure that nobody else could tell exactly what he was up to. However, being in a profession where one had to be aware of even the tiniest flicker of a finger, she noticed.

Hermione stopped so suddenly that Cyan almost fell over. "Mummy?" He questioned, looking back, once he had regained tentatively his balance. "Whatsa matter?"

"Cyan," she said desperately, "Cyan, let's go back to, um, the bookstore, just for a second. Okay? Mummy forgot she had to pick up something, but we'll come back, all right?"

"All wight," he said agreeably, and Hermione had to retrain herself from picking him up and running away. Instead, she hurried to Flourish and Bott's, where she sought refuse in the familiar shelves.

She pointed out the children's section to Cyan, with its large, squishy armchairs and low shelves of colourful fairytales. He immediately became absorbed in a large tome, which made Hermione laugh and remember herself as a child.

She dawdled in the bookstore for close upon an hour, until she was certain that Malfoy had left. "Cyan," she whispered as he closed a book, "Let's go now." Before they left the relative safety of the bookstore, however, Hermione double-checked that the Glamour Charm was still present on Cyan, making sure that his hair was still a curly dark brown and his eyes a dark blue.

Hermione crossed the fingers of her left hand, calling back onto the old muggle tradition of bringing forth luck, as she held Cyan firmly with her right.

"Mummy," he protested, "I'm not going to wun away."

"That's not what I'm afraid of," She said bitterly as the two emerged from the bookstore and turned towards Fortescue's, Hermione hoping desperately that Malfoy was gone. As the ice cream parlour fell into her line of vision, she could tell that there was no Malfoy anywhere in the vicinity.

She let out a premature sigh of relief, before tensing as she felt warm breath on her neck.

"Then what is it," a familiar voice drawled, "that you are afraid of, Granger?"