The Good Son

Chapter 17

Requiem

Alison glanced around the room uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with her sister-in-law. She had accompanied her husband to visit his brother at Malfoy Manor and she felt distinctly unwelcome. Of course, she couldn't expect much else considering her shameful behaviour in the past, she had allowed herself to be manipulated by her father's prejudice but now that she was older and more mature she truly felt ashamed of her schoolgirl self.

Across the room from her, Cassiopeia looked equally ill at ease. She had no love for the older woman and the fact that they were now related by marriage meant nothing to her. Alison had been a thorn in her side and in the sides of her friends since their first days in Hogwarts and whilst Cass could forgive people who hurt her . . . she found it much more difficult to forgive people who had hurt her husband.

The only reason she had extended the hand of peace to James had been because the one thing Albus had truly regretted about choosing Slytherin House had been that it had cost him his brother. So she was content to be civil to him because it was important to Albus. She knew how spoilt she had been behaving these past few months but she was in her last trimester so her cravings and needs were extremely heightened . . . not to mention her mood swings. Nevertheless, Albus had never complained once, not even when she had woken him at three in the morning to go out and buy her chunky peanut butter and celery sticks.

Alison felt much the same way, she knew that James truly regretting sundering the relationship with his brother so if helping him rebuild that relationship meant she had to stomach an infestation of Malfoys then so be it. The brothers were chatting amicably in the drawing room, discussing the Quidditch League. Albus' team, The Appleby Arrows, were currently coming third in the league whilst James' team, Puddlemere United, on which he played seeker was coming second.

Cassiopeia smiled at them, she knew that for the most part they were making small talk but all the same it was a far cry from the relationship they had had two months ago, when both with just pass another in the street without so much as a civil nod of recognition – though both wives could remember often seeing the spasm of regret and pain etched on their partner's face during such encounters.

"Lovely weather we've been having recently," Alison took a brave stab at conversation, she was after all a Gryffindor.

"Charming," Cassiopeia shrugged, thanking her mother mentally for the year of etiquette lessons she had been given in her youth, they were so important at times like this, "Albus does enjoy the sun."

"James too, He loves to sunbathe," replied Alison, "I try to join him but who has the time to put on sunscreen every hour." Cass looked at her sister-in-law quite sharply, who would have thought they actually had something in common other than being married to Potters.

"Try being as pale as I am," she said after a contemplative pause, "I practically had to bathe in sun block on my honeymoon to keep from burning." Alison laughed politely, unsure of why there appeared to be a strain of genuine amusement in her tone as she replied, speaking of how her freckles made sunbathing impossible. After a while the conversation became easier and both women were soon relatively at less tense with the other's presence.

Which was why Albus and James exchanged bewildered looks when they returned to the living room to see their wives laughing, heads thrown back in mirth, it really was no secret that their wives detested each other and both brothers had been expecting to find them either sitting in either stony silence or trying to murder each other.

Later that day when they had returned to their own home, James turned to his wife and said, "Thank you for trying."

"He's important to you," she shrugged, "Which makes him important to me."

(*)(*)(*)

He led her into the nursery, his hands wrapped across her eyes to maintain the surprise, a smile on his face because he hoped that she would like it. It had taken him a few months longer than he had expected, even with the help of his brother-in-laws, because he had wanted it to be perfect.

"You can look now," he said, dropping his hands to her waist so she could take in the room, her jaw dropping in reverence.

The walls were a pale sky blue, painted with the mural of a bright summer's day, snowy white clouds and a beaming sun –Scorpius had insisted they paint a smiley face on it – a few birds, doves, seemed to fly as they moved along the wall, the paint was magical and allowed the animals to move. A pair of horses trotted across a grassy green hillock, prancing gaudily when they saw that they had guests. Across the ceiling flew a gentle dragon, not moving like the other animals, but vivid and realistic all the same.

The family crib stood to the left of the room, the enchanted wood that had cradled every child in the Black family for near seven generations. A silver lion was traced into the foot of the crib, in her day it had been a maiden, her father often said that it had been a dragon when he was a baby.

Such was the magic of the crib; it changed to reflect its current owner.

There was a rocking chair beside the window, a changing table and a chest of drawers; she could tell how much time and effort her husband had put into this room. There was plenty of other general furniture but it was the time and devotion shown in the walls and the toys that captivated her.

"You did all of this?" asked Cassiopeia in an awestruck voice.

"Well, Scor and Hugo helped," he pointed out, "But I did most of it." He suddenly chuckled, feeling his little man kick out against his mother's stomach, the force being felt in his palm.

"He likes it," murmured Cass, as her husband knelt before her and lifted up her t-shirt so that her belly was bare. He pressed his lips against her stomach, right there above the belly-button, before grinning up at her.

"He knows how much work his daddy put into it," he said, "Don't you?" and she smiled as she felt Leo kick again – perhaps in response to his father's voice – because wasn't that just a memory she would always cherish, her husband grinning with his head bowed, forehead leaning lightly on her stomach as he whispered to their unborn son.

(*)(*)(*)

Delphin knocked softly on the door before stuffing his hands into his pockets, absently aware of the harsh Brazilian sun filling the hallway and the sweltering humidity caused by the nearby rainforests. He looked gaunter than he ever had before, his eyes slightly sunken in their sockets, dull and lacking their usual sparkling lustre. That changed when the door creaked open, an instant smile breaking across his drawn features.

"How did you find me?" asked Rose tiredly, looking as worn as he felt. Her first question to him in months sent a stab through his heart, it was not what he wanted to hear. He had envisioned her throwing herself into his arms and begging him to take her back after leaving him. He had not pictured that she would look so dismayed to see him however.

"I looked," he shrugged, before asking the question that had been burning in his blood since the morning he had woken to find her note.

"Why?"

Rose seemed to struggle for the right words before simply stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in, her face a mask of anguish. He entered, taking her unvoiced invitation and taking a seat in the small living room of the open plan flat. She settled across from him, not looking him in the eyes as she spoke, her voice low and sad.

"It was for the best," she said, "You deserve so much Del and I can't give you any of it. I . . . I hoped you would be sad for a time and then move on and be happy. I wanted you to be happy and not have to give anything up just to make me happy too."

"You're an idiot," was all he had to say. When she finally met his eyes there were tears in her own.

"Because I can't be happy without you," he continued, "I can't function without you, I told you before and I'll tell you again . . . you're the only one for me Rose and I'll never be complete without you."

"Del . . ."

"We each have to write our own stories Rose," he said with a wan smile, "Now come home and let's write ours together."

(*)(*)(*)

Draco and Hermione smiled at each other as they watched Albus hold a tiny emerald green t-shirt, emblazoned with the words 'I Get My Good Looks From My Daddy' in silver letters up for Cassiopeia's approval. She grinned at him and nodded as she looked through the selection of baby blankets, the look of pure joy and happiness never leaving her face. Today was the first trip during which the young couple were shopping for their baby's clothing – Cass was currently eight months and two weeks pregnant and whilst they had the necessities already purchased, Hermione had urged them to make their preparation now before they got swamped with childcare.

Two hours later they were exiting Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour; Cass had gotten a sudden craving for double chocolate ice cream and hot fudge which Albus in his zeal had ordered four helpings of. Draco was originally impressed with his apparent devotion, before averting his eyes in amusement when he realised that Cass fed Albus half of whatever she was craving. He didn't begrudge the boy, after having to spend eight months feasting on carrot sticks dipped in peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwiches with tofu, ice cream and fudge was one of his daughters more appetizing cravings.

It made him realise how deeply devoted the boy was to his daughter and son, because Draco most certainly wouldn't have eaten tofu and marshmallow fluff sandwiches for Astoria or Hermione.

Diagon Alley was almost deserted, it was quite late now and many of the shops were closing. Cass couldn't apparate safely now that she was in her last trimester so the family headed towards the Leaky Cauldron to floo back to the Manor, Albus and Draco both stumbling under the amount of shopping bags they were carrying.

Hermione froze suddenly, reaching for her wand as three men appeared in front of them, a glance over her shoulder showed that another three men were blocking the street behind her. The bags of shopping fell as Albus and Draco drew their wands, holding them out before them, tense and ready for a fight. There was a crack of apparition as a seventh man arrived, dishevelled black hair and emerald green eyes glaring venomously at the family.

"Potter," snapped Draco, "What is the meaning of this?"

"Give us Hermione and we will let you go in peace," said Harry in what appeared to be a benevolent tone, raising his eyebrow as he contemplated them, really he couldn't have chose a better time to go for them. The Minister and the Outcast Leader were there, both of them would spread the tale far and wide that the Loyalists still had power sufficient to take out Hermione Malfoy. He grimaced slightly as his heard stuttered, the pesky bitches life debt taking a toll as he raised his wand against them. Hermione bit her lip, she had been obscure receiving threats for weeks because of the Outcast movement of which she was currently acting as the figurehead – purely to give Albus and Cass their relative anonymity until her pregnancy was over. She had dismissed them, relying on the safety of the manor and the aurors . . . but they weren't in the Manor now.

"You're barking if you think we'll agree to that," snapped Albus stepping protectively in front of Cassiopeia, Hermione moved to the pregnant girls side, Draco standing behind her, forming a triangle of protection around Cass – Hermione may be the target but she was a formidable duellist; Cass on the other hand was vulnerable.

"Then you leave us no choice," muttered Harry, "Take them!"

Jets of red light flashed towards them from all directions, quickly being diverted by shield charms. Albus moved fluidly, wand flashing as he side-stepped curses and hexes, letting fly a dozen in response in the same time it took his opponents to cast three. One, a burly man, fell with a crash, stunned. He hit the second with a petrificus totalus before turning to the third and blinking; Ronald Weasley advanced on him, murder in his eyes. Albus cursed under his breath and he moved to face him, Ron had been Head Auror and whilst he may not be a leader there was no denying he made up for it in pure brutal skill. He had proved that when he had stabbed Rose, nearly to her death, a girl he had raised as his own daughter for nigh on twelve years. The man had not survived the second war for nothing. He was ruthless.

Hermione duelled three on one, effortlessly keeping her three attackers off Cass as she whirled and spun, her curses striking down her opponent's hexes in mid-air. Her brunette curls whipped around her as she stunned two and turned to face the last, Seth Finnigan, more than half her age and yet as vicious as they came.

Draco was duelling Harry, his grey eyes filled with loathing as he spat curses at the black haired man. He was losing ground though, he had a lot of skill but he lacked the raw power that was possessed by Harry – or any of the Potter/Evans bloodline for that matter.

"Expulso," screamed Harry, teeth grinding in fury.

"Protego," snapped Draco quickly, erecting a shield spell in record time.

The jet of orange light ricocheted of the shield, twisting through the air, sailing over Albus' shoulder . . .

and striking Cassiopeia Potter in her swollen belly.

Albus let out a roar of rage, a shockwave of pure energy lashing out from his body, shattering every window in the street and sending their attackers flying through the air, writhing in pain. His eyes began to darken but he shook himself to not lose control, he couldn't lose himself to the darkness now. Through sheer force of will his eyes returned to their usual green though his inner conflict became so much more difficult when he turned to face his wife. The curse that had hit Cass should have sent her crashing backwards, instead she just stood there clutching her stomach, her face the epitaph of horror as her pale blue skirt darkened with the blood pouring from between her legs.

Albus grabbed her as she slumped forward, turning only for a moment to glare at Harry, an expression of pure malice on his face, seemingly darker and more terrifying than Voldemort had ever been. Harry recoiled, a sliver of guilt etched across his hate-filled features as he realised what had happened.

"If anything happens to my wife and son," snarled Albus, his voice deadlier than the most lethal curse, "There will be hell to pay." He apparated them both with a crack to St. Mungo's, he needed to get Cass to the hospital fast . . . there was no time to find a floo.

(*)(*)(*)

"Hugo," sneered Ron as his once supposed son walked into the interrogation room, flanked by two aurors, his blue eyes hard and unyielding as he stood against the stone table.

"Hold him down," said Hugo, not beating around the bush in the slightest. Ron blanched as the two aurors grabbed him and forced him into his chair before one of them slammed his head onto the table, holding him in place as Hugo came up beside them, a tiny vial of colourless liquid in his hands.

"That's against the law," stammered Ron, feeling slightly afraid as he caught sight of the malice in Hugo's eyes, "You can't treat me like this."

"Au Contraire," said Hugo, "That was my pregnant sister you cursed and I am the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. My father is the Minister and my mother was your intended target," he lazily slapped Ron, hard enough to leave a handprint on his cheek – the other was still pressed against the table – "That means I can do whatever the hell I want to you."

He reached out and forced Ron's mouth open before allowing a few drops of Veritaserum down his throat, "Now shut the fuck up and speak when spoken too."

Hugo gestured and the two aurors released Ron, who was still spluttering that he was a war hero and that this was auror brutality, before perching himself on the chair across from Ron.

"The war ended over twenty years ago," pointed out Hugo, "Your status may have gotten you out of your last criminal charge but I assure you it won't happen here . . .Let me point out that my father is just outside this room and I just dropped him some paperwork which if signed allows me to use the cruciatus on you. So I suggest you co-operate before my patience runs out."

Ron bit back the insult that was on the tip of his tongue, the look on his interrogators face made it very clear that he was deathly serious about torturing him.

"Where is Harry Potter?" asked Hugo. Ron bit his lip, not wanting to divulge the information but he felt the truth-serum working on his body and his gritted teeth parted:

"At the Loyalist safe-house in Manchester."

"What is the address?" Hugo said, frustrated that Ron seemed to be being as vague as possible.

"I don't know," snarled Ron.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" frowned Hugo; one couldn't lie under the influence of Veritaserum. Therefore Ron must be telling the truth but then how could he not know?"

"There's a fidelius charm on the property, Harry is the secret keeper."

Hugo closed his eyes in an attempt to control his anger. He flicked his wrist to get one of the auror's, "Go to Kingsley and tell him to send auror teams to Manchester, any Loyalists found are to be killed on sight." Ron stared aghast, as the auror nodded respectfully and took his leave.

The interrogation went on for several hours before Hugo had gleaned every bit of useful information from Ronald Weasley. When he was done he stood and walked to the door.

"What about me?" bellowed Ron, "I co-operated now release me!"

Hugo chuckled dryly, "You are going to Azkaban," and Ron paled till his skin was white as bone, "To one of the Black Cells." Ron's eyes widened in horror, the Black Cells hadn't been used in over a hundred years, not even convicted death eaters had been thrown into them – they were subterranean, rough caverns hewn beneath the actual prison and they held creatures of darkness and fell enchantments that were worse than the dementors could ever be. And what was worse was that the dementors used those caverns for their breeding.

"I hope you enjoy your trip to the prison Mr. Weasley," said Hugo in a cold voice, "Because I assure you that once you're in your cell you're never going to see the sun again."

(*)(*)(*)

Her hair is wild and so is his, for neither of them have slept in days, his eyes shot with veins of red, her eyes stained with tears not yet shed. Her hands shiver in the night, reaching for her tea, long since turned icy cold in the light uncast by the dark of the moon.

She feels him reach out and clasp her shaking wrists, pulling them to her sides as he kisses her on her cheek and tells her it will all be ok, even if he doesn't believe it.

But she shivers and she cries, not caring for her husband's words in the slightest as Draco holds her; his grief hers and her sorrow his – because the light had been devoured in the stillness of that harsh night.

So Hermione trembled as she whispered, staring at the stars, whose names were now her family; the dragon, the scorpion, the queen and now the lion cub; and her voice flittered through the deserted corridor of the hospital like the breath of a broken angel.

"Is this the price of our sins?"

(*)(*)(*)

Reading that final message across the ethereal marble slab made his heart bleed, shattering it into a thousand tiny pieces, each broken, mutilated shard too tiny for him to pick up and put back together. He was broken, destroyed more than he had ever been in his life. His knelt reverently beside the tiny grave, his arm wrapped comforting around his wife's waist. Cassiopeia hadn't stopped crying since that night in the hospital, a week ago, she had been discharged two days previously and Al had been forced to slip potions of dreamless sleep into her tea just so that she would be able to get a few of hours of escape from the anguish. He had no such escape.

"We tried our hardest Albus, but Cass suffered great stress to her womb. The curse caused her uterine lining to implode, her amniotic membrane broke prematurely and she suffered great duress to her spine. I'm sorry to say that your son didn't make it. I am very sorry for your loss." He wasn't paying attention to what Victoire, no, to what Healer Lupin was saying to him, he wasn't paying attention to Hermione breaking down in Draco's arms. He didn't even comprehend his own mother, Ginny, who had arrived as soon as word had reached her, sink into a chair and emit a bloodcurdling cry of grief.

All he could focus on were the words . . .

"Your son didn't make it."

Not many people came to the funeral. Not many people had been invited.

His son, his baby.

His stillborn son. That was the word they used for it, stillborn . . . born without a heartbeat . . . born dead.

Leo Potter . . . Leo Albus Potter . . . His stillborn son.

Cass hadn't wanted anyone to be here, aside from Albus, her parents and herself but Draco had convinced her to allow her family and friends to attend and offer their support . . . "What good will their support do," she had responded bitterly, but she had allowed it nonetheless. Truth be told, Albus felt she just didn't have it in her to argue the point.

"Didn't make it . . ."

Gone . . .

Gone . . . For Good.

Dead.

They knelt with their backs to their family, grieving on their own . . . both weeping, Cass into Albus' shoulders; Albus into the silky black veil she had worn over her hair. Scorpius stood just behind Albus, a comforting hand on his shoulder, his own tears falling like rain upon the freshly dug earth. Hermione cried into Draco's embrace, the Malfoy patriarch seeming to have aged thirty years in the span of a single week. Behind them stood the rest of the family; Ginny sobbing into a lacy white handkerchief. Rose and Delphin were there, her face stained with her grief as she held her boyfriend, him just shaking his head as if he would wake up and realise it was all a nightmare.

"How come he can see her and I can't?" asked Scorpius angrily as he paced the waiting room, "She's my sister!"

"I'm sorry Mr. Malfoy," said Healer Lupin, "But he's her husband and he is the . . ." the tears were falling down her cheeks as she fell silent. As Teddy, who had received his wife's patronus and hastily dropped of little Remy with Bill and Fleur before apparating to the hospital, took Victoire into his lap and stroked her hair, his hair an ashen grey Albus understood what she had been trying to say.

"Father . . ." he choked on his grief, brokenly swallowing his tears, "I'm the father."

Xavier was grim faced, a protective arm wrapped around Kat's pregnant stomach, she was crying as well – it was what truly conveyed the sorrow they all felt, that the tough as nails Katherine Nott would weep. Hugo wasn't there; he was at the Ministry organizing a full scale search for Harry and campaigning for him to be given the Dementor's Kiss. Somehow, Albus found this more comforting and gratifying than all the rest of their efforts put together. Hugo was actually trying to accomplish something for him, the rest where just wallowing in the misery that was rightfully only his and his wife's. They were intruding on his grief, his grief for the son he would never know.

Before he knew it, before his mind could process what he was doing, he had flung the chair across the room, feeling a little satisfaction when the wall cracked and the chair broke. The little amount of satisfaction wasn't enough, it had too little effect on his mind, he needed more. He curled his hands into fists and pummelled the wall, not stopping even when his knuckles begged and flecks of his blood began to dot the pristine white wall.

"FUCK IT!" he screamed, frustration, anger, sorrow, grief, all echoing through his tone.

"Albus," he heard Hermione gasp as she came into the otherwise deserted waiting room, closely followed by Draco, Teddy and Ginny. He didn't stop, he just kept slamming his fists into the wall, tears falling down his cheeks as he yelled and swore and broke his fists against the stone walls. Until he felt somebody grab his wrists and pull them aside. He turned, determined to sock the person who had tried to stop him, freezing in mid-swing as he saw who it was.

James. . .

He couldn't punch James . . . No matter how much he wanted too. . .

He couldn't hurt James

He let the anguished cry escape his lips, not caring who was watching as he sank forwards, grateful for his big brother holding him as they sank to the floor together. James didn't move his arms once as Albus screamed and cried and begged, his brother just held him close . . .

"IT HURTS! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP JAMIE! KILL ME, LET ME DIE AND LET LEO LIVE! PLEASE JAMIE! I DON'T WANT TO LIVE IF HE'S DEAD! PLEASE KILL ME AND BRING HIM BACK! PLEASE LET ME TRADE PLACES WITH HIM! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE!"

The gravestone was white as the clouds, pure marble, simple and elegant, etched with the final quote.

Leo Albus Potter

Born Amongst the Angels

His perfect baby boy. . .

"Please take me instead . . ."