Chapter 14; Siblings
"I'm still not entirely sure I approve of this, Ginevra Weasley." Molly Weasley had her arms crossed, her most strict face on, and was currently making Ginny feel very, very inferior.
"I got that."
"You do understand how much this hurts Harry? You understand what you're doing to him? What you're doing to all of us?"
"Are you my mother or Harry's mother?" Ginny asked, trying to stay somewhat polite.
"Mum, calm down. People change." Bill Weasley, older brother and saviour of Ginny when it came to heated family arguments, entered the unusually messy kitchen. "Perhaps we could trust Gin's judgement enough to believe she wouldn't have fallen for the man without reason? Just a suggestion." He poked Errol, the half-dead and half-alive owl who'd collapsed in a feathery pile on the kitchen counter, in the ribs.
"I know you're still judging him because he's a Malfoy, but mum, Draco is not a bad guy anymore. Please, take my word for that." The Weasley daughter gave her mother a pleading look.
"His father still is, that's for sure… Left his sick wife… just saying…"
"Draco is one of the best guys I've ever met and I'm not going to quit seeing him regardless of your opinion, so you might as well accept it." She took a sip of the Earl Grey she was drinking. Don't shout, she thought to herself. Don't shout. "I'm 21. I've been considered an adult for four years, and none of you have a say in who I date."
Molly opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it just as fast and went on to knead a bread dough by hand.
"Seeing as Ginny and Draco have been sharing a room in Ron and Hermione's apartment without any reported murders, wizarding duels or serious accidents, I can't really see the problem." Bill offered his creator a smile and gave his sister a friendly pat on the shoulder.
"Fine. Fine. He's welcome for dinner tomorrow." Ginny and Bill exchanged a high five. "On one condition. You and he…You and Draco are responsible of installing the babies' cribs in George and Angie's apartment."
And that was the backstory to why Draco now found himself lying on the floor with an unreadable instruction in front of him and a screwdriver in his mouth. Just an ordinary Saturday, by other words.
Angelina were forcing them to do the work by hand, claiming that magically installed cribs were unreliable and she was not having her children sleep in those. Although all of them were unable to understand her decision, the Weasley family had decided not to discuss the subject further with the hormonal mother. So here they were, trying to decode the instruction book from a muggle company called IKEA, none of them really succeeding.
"I'm really doubting whether my skills on this subject are more trustworthy than the magic way", Charlie mumbled with irritation as he, for the eight time, watched his uneven changing table collapse. "Have any of us actually managed to build something yet?"
"I have!" Ron shouted from the other end of the living room. "This… rocking… elk." He gave it an unsure poke. "Although I'm not sure why anyone would want to traumatize their children with this."
"I get that babies are born whenever they want to and things like that, but I still think it's a bit unfair that we are the ones responsible for this." Percy was still busy reading the manual. "Do you think Angelina would mind if we just… cheated a little bit?"
"Don't you dare." A belated swoosh from apparition was heard as George joined his siblings. "I'll be the one who has to explain it to her, and I just don't have the energy."
The hysteria was immediate.
"George!"
"Here comes the baby daddy!"
"How are they?"
"What are they called?"
"How are Angie and the twins?"
"If everybody could please calm down and give me an actual chance to catch my breath, that'd be great." George looked completely drained out, dark shadows under his eyes and uneven stubble on his chin, but there was still a playful smile on his lips as he sat down on the coffin serving as coffee table. "They're fine. They're…" He was on the verge of crying, struggling to keep a straight face. "They're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I just wish Fred would've been here." His tears defeated him at that sentence, and he finally surrendered to them.
"I know, George. I know." Ginny was the first one to embrace him, and Draco watched with a warmth in his chest as he saw the two siblings find comfort in each other's presence.
He could not ignore the pain of jealousy that sprung in him.
xxxxx
Draco Malfoy was an only child.
When he was 3 years old, he asked his mother whether he could possibly get a sibling to play with during the days. His friend Theodore had an older brother, and from what Theo told him, it seemed to be the best thing in the world.
Narcissa didn't answer the question, only smiled at him and asked him to go play in the garden.
When he was 4 years old, he repeated the question. He got the exact same reaction and still no answer.
When he was 5 years old, he asked his father the same question. A mistake he regretted for a long, long week, as the bruises on his twiglike body went from purple to blue to yellow.
He never dared repeat the question. Draco was an only child, and it seemed like his life would stay that way.
It happened sometimes that he was given paper and crayons by one of the Manor's servants, asked to paint something nice for his mommy, or if she was coming to dinner, his auntie Bellatrix.
He would always draw himself, a stick figure with some blonde hair on top of his head, standing in the grass on a sunny day. He would draw the sun as a quarter of a yellow ball in the corner, sketch wildly with blue crayon for the sky and with green for the grass. Sometimes he added flowers.
Then he would sketch a smaller stick figure with blonde hair next to him. Another one, and another. Some with long hair, some with short.
And before he went to sleep at night, he would close his hands like he was about to pray, and wish for what he'd drawn to come true.
It never did.
Eventually Draco grew too old for drawings, grew too old for uttering his wishes through crayons and drawing paper.
But his eyes still filled with longing whenever he saw an older brother pushing his sister on the swing-set near Malfoy Manor, and he still had to keep himself from asking if he could follow them home.
Perhaps it was silly, foolish and pointless.
But perhaps he was just desperate for someone to keep him company during the never-ending days in the scariest place in the world.
xxxxxx
"Draco?"
"Huh?" He was pulled back from his daydreams by the soft voice of Bob, his therapist.
"You spaced out. Thinking about something in particular? Something you'd like to talk about?"
"Not really."
"Look, Draco." Bob put a hand on Draco's thigh, and he flinched. It was too intimate a move for him to feel comfortable. "This room is a safe place. You can tell me whatever you want, and I will never judge you. I will never do anything but listen and try to get you the right help. Do you feel like these sessions have helped you so far?"
"I don't know. I mean, I think so." He felt pathetic, just sitting here, but every word in the English language just seemed inadequate for what he wanted to say.
I'm not okay. I will never be okay. I will always be this stupid, miserable and worthless freak who's not worthy of love, not worthy of anything. I will always be scarred from my childhood, and I feel like that's my fault. I still drink, I still cut, and I still make myself vomit whenever I feel too numb or too anxious to cope.
I love Ginny with all of my broken heart and all of my being, but I will never, ever be enough for her. She deserves someone whole and I'm nothing but broken.
My job fired me. I was never present anyways, so it didn't exactly come as a surprise, but it still hurt.
I need a divorce from my wife, who's actually and completely insane, but I'm too afraid to get it because the Wizarding Society is exaggeratedly judgemental when it comes to those things and it would be all over the news. I would be seen as the guilty one and people would despise me.
My wife is locked up in a muggle facility and I still dream nightmares about her. She wrote me a letter, and reading it gave me a panic attack.
I am a mess, a giant psycho mess, I will never have a decent life and someone has to make me stop dream about it because I will never achieve it.
Never.
Ever.
Achieve it.
I despise being broken, and yet it's the only reality I know of.
The window to his left displayed a melancholically silvered sky, fairly common for a British November day. He was too high up to see the faces of London citizens as they moved on the streets outside, making them a faceless blur of hats, beanies, jackets and coats.
Bob was silent, waiting for Draco to speak. He would have to wait forever.
Because even if Draco wanted to speak, the words always came to a halt somewhere in his throat, never actually finishing their course.
xxxxx
There's nothing in this world as innocent as a new-born baby. Except maybe two of them - That's twice the innocence.
George had never felt as thankful for the magical health-care of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries as he'd felt this week. His and Angelina's children, their son and their daughter, had been born 10 weeks premature, and yet they were fine. Thanks to professional care and magical assistance, they were in some miracular way, just fine. A little smaller, but perfectly healthy aside from that.
He'd been so certain he would lose them both. Lose them like he'd lost Fred. Lose them in the blink of an eye, unable to save them, unable to bring them back.
But he hadn't.
Angelina was fast asleep in their hospital suite, lost in a sleep well deserved. Sleep had been a scarce commodity for both parents this week, but George didn't mind the opportunity to spend some time alone with his children. The pride in his chest when he pushed the see-through plastic cribs through the maternity ward's corridors was indescribable, and he cherished every moment of it.
His son tossed and turned in his crib just a little, making some of the cutest noises he'd ever heard, while his sister slept silently. He stroke a finger over his son's cheek in an attempt to calm him down.
He'd reached the visiting rooms. He was alone there for the moment, but he was also aware that it wouldn't last long. He adjusted his son's blanket as he waited, making sure he didn't get too cold. The boy had had problems with too low body-temperature throughout the week, while his sister had had more trouble with her breathing. She was the calmer one so far, while the boy made a lot more noise.
He felt like he knew everything about them, while he at the same time knew nothing at all. They were new to the world, new and valuable assets to their society. He loved them more than he'd ever loved someone before.
"Hi." Ginny kept her voice low as she entered the visiting room, taking a seat on the green sofa beside him.
"Hi, sis. How was the Sunday dinner without me? Did you all manage?"
"It was a bit of a challenge, but we handled it okay."
"I'm glad." His son was fast asleep once again, and it was his daughter's turn to wake attention by small, small, whimpers. George was careful as he took her in his arms, holding her close to his chest and rocking her slightly. She fell asleep again in no time.
"She's so small it's almost scary", Ginny whispered. "But she's beautiful."
"I thought I had seen beautiful, and then I became a parent." George smiled. "These two… Merlin."
They were silent for a moment, the kind of silence without pressure, the kind you could stay in forever. They didn't mouth their thoughts, yet they knew that they thought the exact same thing.
"Fred would've been so proud, George."
"I know." He wiped his tears quickly, before they fell down on his daughter. "I know he would've been." The boy was making noise again, demanding attention.
"I can take him", offered Ginny. "I've held babies before." George nodded in approval, and she picked the boy up more carefully than he'd ever seen her handle anything before. Careful wasn't necessarily the first word that came to mind when he thought of his little sister, but she was loving, always loving, and it compensated her recklessness without fault.
"He looks like Fred."
"You think so? Not like me, then?" He was teasing her.
"No, he definitely looks like Fred. Have you thought about names yet?"
"We haven't really had the time", George admitted. "Suggestions?"
"You should name him after Fred. Let's face it, he would've been mad if you didn't." The boy – Fred? – had his little fist closed round Ginny's index finger. Adorable was the only word for it.
"You're probably right."
"I'm always right."
"So what's your suggestion for his sister?" George nodded towards the baby asleep in his own arms. "Freddielina?"
"You want a sincere suggestion that I actually like or something random?"
"Your choice."
"Okay." She coughed as if to state the importance of what she was about to say. "A sincere suggestion – Roxanne. It means dawn. Stumbled across it in a book I read, and I really like it. You could get really deep with it, too; a dawn is something bright after the dark night, you know what I mean? Or, you could just name her Ginny."
"We'll think about it."
xxxxx
The night was unnaturally dark outside London's forensic psychiatry facility this night.
The fact that it was dark wasn't the issue – November nights are seldom very bright, but this darkness seemed to be something else entirely, more like a compact mass than anything else. People staggered through it, stumbled and fell, and they were more relieved to come inside than they'd ever been.
If they made it, that was.
The darkness was however to Astoria Malfoy's advantage. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the cause behind it was Peruvian Instant Darkness Power, delivered from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. 30 big boxes of it, all ordered by her good friend Blaise Zabini.
She would reward him greatly for that favour later, but only if he fulfilled their agreement. She was waiting.
This was the night she would be getting out. After a lengthy and passive week, Blaise would finally help her reclaim her freedom. Her heart bolted in her chest, and it bolted even harder when she heard the longed-for knock on her window.
"Move away", Blaise wheezed, and she did as he said. A small bang was heard as the window exploded, magically deafened to avoid attention. Astoria jumped over the glass splinters, careful not to get one in her foot, grabbed the replacement wand Blaise was holding, and watched him as he climbed down the facade with skilful movements. She waited until he'd reached the ground, then she cast one last glance at her no-longer-prison and swung her body over the window-ledge.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I loved writing this chapter. Feel free trying to find my favourite quote, there may be one (or two) that I really like in this one.
I love to hear your opinions and thoughts about this story, so please share them if you want to! Something you want more of? Less of?
I know this story might not be the most popular one here on , and I don't expect it to be either, but I want you to know that you readers and favouriters mean the world to me no matter how many or few you are.