A/N: Thank you guys so much for your suggestions! I've loved hearing the ones I've gotten so far, and all of them go into a document in my draft folder waiting for their time :) feel free to keep them coming! It's really interesting to see what recurring themes pop up with them - so many of you wanted more Narcissa, which does wonders for my confidence with how I've written her so far haha. I also have plans for a Lucius part in the future! Anywho, this is the second and final part of the little storyline I started in the last chapter.

Draco watched quietly as his mother sat with Evelyn on her lap, all smiles and coos as the girl delighted in running her hands over her grandmother's white-blonde hair.

"I told your father of how we did the House test with her last time - and that, of course, she chose the snake. A Slytherin in the making. As if there was any doubt," his mother beamed down at the girl "No, there wasn't, was there darling? No doubt at all."

The House test was one that was as old as Hogwarts itself - placing the four animals representing each House, and seeing which one the child chose as an indicator of which house they might end up in. Draco did not point out that she could've easily chosen the snake thanks to the fact that it was an emblem she saw on so many of his belongings.

"And what did father say?"

"That she has Malfoy blood, so she's bound to be a Slytherin."

The phrasing was not lost on him. Malfoy blood. Not a Malfoy proper. Although maybe the fact that he was now acknowledging that shared blood was a win within itself.

"We'll see," he said.

His mother looked up from Evelyn to him then, frowning.

"You are going to send her to…" she stopped and then sighed, rewording her question "Are you going to send her to Hogwarts? I know her mother might like the sound of Beauxbatons thanks to what they can offer in the way of ballet, but it just seems so far away."

"Marilyn has no intention of pushing ballet onto her," he replied "She may do whatever she pleases. If that turns out to be ballet, then so be it, but it's not a must."

"But one of them must run your company in the end, surely."

"One of them, yes," he replied "But should it come down to none of them having any desire to do so, they'll be able to simply pay another to do the legwork for them while they profit."

Another age-old tradition that their Malfoy blood was sure to help them with.

"It's that self-sufficient at this stage?"

"I could run less of it personally if I wasn't so intent on making sure that it was all being done correctly."

There was more to the matter, of course, but he had no intention of getting into it. The topic of his business was a sore one, which was inevitable given it was what he had to hold over her head to ensure the safety of his wife. Now he hoped the existence of his child did that, too - that she'd never stoop to leave his daughter motherless - but still. They usually contented themselves with a simple 'how's business' followed up by a curt 'good', and left it at that.

So he saw no need to hesitate in changing the topic.

"My magic first showed not too long after my first birthday, did it not?"

"You know it did, darling. You set fire to one of the House-elves' rags," she laughed softly "Oh, how we told that story to the death. All of our friends were quite sick of hearing it before long."

"Yes, but was that the only sign? Were there not others preceding or following it?"

"I'm not sure about preceding, but following of course," she said slowly, eyes narrowing as she regarded him.

Draco waited.

"Draco," his mother sighed, smoothing a hand across her granddaughter's blonde hair "Before we have this conversation, I wish to be entirely sure as to what conversation it is that we are having."

"What conversation do you think we're having?"

Her lips pursed "I won't be drawn into this. I have complied with every inane rule you and the girl's mother have set-"

"Marilyn. My wife."

"I'm well aware, believe me. I do not visit without at least three days' notice, I offer no advice, nor any input, without it being explicitly requested, I do not discuss her with the few in my circle who deign to ask - bar your father. And even then, I'm under the impression that he is permitted to be in the know is a delicate thing in itself."

"You'd have told him anyway," Draco said.

"On that we can agree. I have made my peace with the fact that I shall have limited input in her upbringing, if any, and that it may be a long time before I can see my granddaughter without you or Marilyn present, and longer still before she might spend the night here, in what is her ancestral home."

"She's not the heir."

"She is not not the heir, Draco," his mother snapped.

Evelyn began to fuss in her lap, uneasy at her grandmother's change in mood. Narcissa softened almost immediately, and Draco sighed, trying to diffuse the situation with a joke. It was something he'd learned from Marilyn - although not something that would likely serve him well here. But it was all he had.

"If she did, father would take her to St. Mungo's for a paternity test."

"There's no need for that, she's your mirror - he's said so himself."

"He has?"

"I've shown him photographs."

Draco was surprised that his father would look at them at all.

"My point being, I have bent over backwards to comply with all of this, and I have born it with all of the dignity and grace I can muster, when I would not do so for anybody else, out of a desire to be in this darling girl's life. And yours. So before we discuss this, I must know - explicitly - what it is that we are discussing, and what it is you're asking, so anything I say mightn't be used against me."

Unsure of whether to scowl or bow to the guilt pressing into his chest. Did she truly think she'd lure him into this conversation for a cheap 'gotcha!' moment?

"...Evelyn's magic has not yet made itself known," he said.

"She's very young yet," his mother countered readily.

"…And if it does not?"

"Is this the conversation we are truly having?" She reiterated sharply.

Draco sighed.

"I'm not trying to lure you into a trap, mother. What if it does not show?"

"Then I will be sorely tempted to say that you were warned," she said.

Draco's lips thinned "You cannot take credit for this."

"I would not wish to take the blame for this," she returned.

That hadn't been the word he used, he resisted the urge to point out.

"If blame is the word we are using, it does not lie at the feet of my wife."

"No, you are correct, how could she ever understand the gravity of such an outcome? No, it would be your fault. You made the decision, you knew the risks, you decided to take them. This would be your doing, Draco, as I tried so hard to make clear at the time when there was still something that might be done."

"When it might be avoided?" he asked bitterly.

"I would never say that," his mother replied sharply, hugging Evelyn to her and taking a moment to hush her "This girl is not something I wish had been avoided. I love her dearly, and she is my granddaughter. But I would not wish the life of a Squib upon her - and not only because of what it means for us as Malfoys as well as for us as a family. But the fact remains that this is a risk you chose to take. You cannot cry victim now because it may not turn out in your favour. I will not hear it."

"You misunderstand me. The blame is not Marilyn's, it's not mine, it's not yours. It's nobody's. This could not have been predicted. Granger's research has led her to this - Hermione Weasley's, that is. That Muggles and Pure-bloods produce Squibs is just like almost every other piece of propaganda we used to tout decades ago."

Narcissa scoffed "Denial does not suit you, Draco. The correlation is undeniable-"

"Correlation does not equal causation."

"If you wish to tout that little mud-" she stopped short, visibly collecting herself with a steeling breath in "If you wished to hear all of that, surely you would have gone to her. I didn't realise the two of you were so friendly."

"She and Marilyn are," his mother made a noise as if to say 'of course' as he spoke "We encounter one another every now and then thanks to that."

"You wish to know my thoughts on the matter? It's far too early to tell. Were we having this conversation five years from now I might understand your panic. I do not believe she is a Squib, because she is a Malfoy. I think you are panicking now, prematurely, because you know it is a possibility and you're unwilling to face it. Especially not because it conflicts with the delusions you've been buying into from that side ever since you made the decision to fall for that-"

Draco shifted where he sat, quite ready to pick up Evelyn and leave depending on exactly how his mother finished her sentence. She was right - she'd taken all of the conditions of their relationship in her stride. As much as she could be expected to. It was for that reason that Draco didn't point out to her that many of these boundaries were perfectly normal and healthy in other families, and that those that weren't could be explained through the fact that it wasn't so terribly long ago that they'd been plotting to have his wife murdered. Few would fault him for never allowing her to set eyes on so much as a photograph of his daughter after that. But he would not have his daughter growing up hearing his grandparents talk ill of her mother. He would not have his daughter seeing him do nothing in response to that, and therefore thinking it was normal, acceptable, or even just something to be endured.

His mother caught herself, though, lips pursing before she finished quietly "...for Marilyn."

Part of him wanted to laugh. For even after all this time, she still seemed to think he'd had any kind of say in the matter.

The rest of his visit passed in strained civility. Lucky that was something Malfoys did rather well.

"The children are with their cousins today at the Burrow," Hermione explained, two cups of tea following her in mid-air as she walked into the living room "But if Rosie catches you before you go, you'll be stuck teaching her how to pirouette for hours."

"It won't be as long as that - she's a natural," Marilyn replied distractedly from where she sat on the plush cosy sofa.

"Which is what she keeps telling everybody you said. Ron is threatening to ban all contact, he's so sick of hearing it," she laughed tiredly.

"Oh, that'll be the surname more than the profession," Marilyn countered "But…that's sort of what I need to speak to you about."

"You're pregnant?"

"No," Marilyn snorted "Not yet, anyway. We're in…well, we were in talks. We'll see. But I can't imagine you want the details on that."

"Thank you," Hermione muttered.

"Draco is worried that Evie's magic hasn't started showing yet."

Sighing heavily, the brunette rolled her eyes, leaning back into the sofa "Of course he is. Merlin."

"He's worried she might be a Squib."

As she said it, Marilyn watched Hermione anxiously for any hint of a reaction. She'd heard Draco the night before - well, when they'd rehashed the conversation much more reasonably in their bedroom - but the fact remained that he'd been raised to believe a hell of a lot of wrong things. Unlearning those things was a slow process, and unbelieving them was slower still. Part of her was still hoping against hope that this was one such matter where his reasoning was fogged at best by what he'd been raised with. But then Hermione hesitated…and then she grimaced.

"It's bad, then?" she asked quietly.

"Not bad," Hermione said quickly "It's not…it's not a disaster. But it's not good."

"To the Malfoys, or to everybody?"

"Listen, nobody is quicker to say when the Malfoys are being idiots than I am," Hermione said "Sadly, this isn't one of those times. Ron has a Squib in the family and…well, it's something they don't discuss. Ever. They don't speak, they don't send Christmas cards, it's…it's like a shunning. Not with bad intentions, you understand, and not so harsh. I don't know if it scares them, seeing how easily it could have been them, but that's…how it is."

"We'd never do that," Marilyn replied flatly "Ever. I won't push her out."

"Of course you wouldn't. It'd be easier for her than it would be for a Pure-blood, really, what with a Muggle mother…but the disconnect doesn't always go from the top down. She may reach adulthood and decide that it's too painful to remain part of the family. The constant reminder of what she can't do, especially if her sibling-slash-siblings don't encounter the same obstacles. It's even more likely in your case given that…"

Hermione seemed then to realise that she wasn't discussing hypotheticals - she wasn't churning out vague possibilities based on theories or research papers that she'd read, and she wasn't speaking to somebody who was enquiring about this thanks to an interest that was solely academic. But when she stopped, Marilyn wasn't content to let it lie.

"Given that what? Hermione, say it."

"Given that not only would she be a Squib, she'd be a Malfoy Squib. I can't even begin to imagine the baggage that would…listen. Being a Squib would be challenging for anybody. One of your children being a Squib? That would be…"

"Hell?"

"I was going to say very, very challenging."

"Fuck."

"I was trying to avoid saying that."

Marilyn laughed - but it was high and reedy, and it didn't dispel the nausea building within her.

"So what do we do?" she asked finally.

Hermione sighed "Marilyn…"

"No, there must be something you can do. You're making breakthroughs with this kind of thing every day. You've shown that plain old Muggles can harness it to an extent under the right circumstances, so how can't Squibs who are otherwise Pure-bloods or Half-bloods?"

"It's different. It's the dilemma of the Wizarding world - I could sooner change her eye colour or her nationality than this. If I had a solution, my company would be worth more than Draco's is. Anybody who says they have a solution or a cure is peddling snake oil and banking on the hopes of very desperate people."

Marilyn was beginning to understand that desperation. Saying nothing - for what was left that could be said? - she took up her mug and took a sip. The tea threatened to make a reappearance the second she'd swallowed it down.

The look on Draco's face when she got home that evening - after, as foretold by Hermione, spending no less than an hour and a half going over ballet basics with Rose - told Marilyn all she needed to know about how his day had gone. Evie appeared to have won the day, though, toting a tiara atop her head that very much looked like it boasted not one, not two, but three very real emeralds.

"Does your mother know that the jewellery worn by girls her age tends to be plastic?" she snorted, bending at the knee to give her daughter a kiss on the cheek where she sat on the floor before offering the same to Draco.

He caught her by the hand and pulled her to sprawl on the couch with him as Evie continued to wreak havoc with her toys on the carpet.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"About as good as yours, by the looks of things," she sighed.

Evie cast a suspicious glance at the two of them before tottering to her feet and moving with all of the determination of a toddler towards the bottom shelf of the bookcase.

"How was your mother?" Marilyn asked.

"I shouldn't have said anything to her," he admitted grimly.

Marilyn held back any smug comments, content enough in her silent victory. They watched quietly for a few moments as their daughter raided what was considered her shelf of the bookcase (considering it was the only shelf she could actually reach) before Draco murmured quietly in her ear.

"I put the owl one on the top shelf in hopes of earning us a reprieve, but we mightn't be that lucky."

As if hearing him, Evie took a few steps back and tilted her head up at the higher shelves. The tiara came loose as she did so, slanting comically atop her head.

"Hermione said the same thing as you - that we're in for a world of shit if this is true," she murmured "And if Evie starts climbing that bloody bookshelf, you need to be the one to stop her since this was your master plan."

"I'll distract her with a necklace to match the tiara," he replied "I trust Granger won't tell anybody?"

"No. She won't."

Evie spotted the book and made an annoyed noise that was all Draco before pointing up at it, turning her head.

"Mumma - owl. Owl book."

"Ha. Enjoy your evening," Draco teased.

But he spoke too soon, for it was quickly followed up by a decided "Daddy read it."

Marilyn gave a tired laugh, but she was too preoccupied with their conversation "Hermione said there's nothing to be done, but…I think there might be one way to handle it. If it's true."

She felt Draco sigh where her head lay on his chest "Marilyn, you're not understanding…"

"No, I don't mean to change her," she said quickly "I get that nothing can be done in that way, but in our handling of it…"

"Daddy, read it," Evie repeated, pointing furiously up at the book.

"A moment, darling," Draco said distractedly before returning his attention to Marilyn "What?"

"I mean…I think we'd need to consider whether we have another," she said slowly.

"What?" she didn't need to look at him to know he was frowning "Weren't you the one insisting this wasn't a problem? And now you're against another in case it happens twice?"

"Not like that," Marilyn said furiously.

"Then like how? Wouldn't having no magical children just…just further the dilemma? Do you understand the fire it would spark? No magical Malfoy heirs?"

"Mummy, the book," Evie whined impatiently "The book, book, book. Owl book."

"Wait, Evelyn," Draco cut in sternly - more sternly than he meant to - before sighing and softening his voice "A moment, and then we'll read."

"I'm thinking of her," Marilyn ignored the exchange "Growing up in a family of Magical siblings, watching them go to Hogwarts, seeing them hit milestones and do things she'll never do. Would it be any wonder if she grew up and went off on her own? Disconnected? I refuse to be a mother who never sees her daughter - who doesn't know that she got married, or had a child, who never sees her house, never speaks to her, doesn't exist to her."

He sighed heavily again, wrapping his arms around her as her voice threatened to shake, but Marilyn pushed on regardless.

"Will it be difficult regardless? Yes. Do I want more, personally? Yes. But if she is, and if we don't, then she won't be a Squib in a Magical household. There'll be more non-Magical folk in this house than vice versa, and if that's what it takes to make this bearable for her, then I say that's what we do. We need to at least consider it. I don't know - hold off on trying until her magic does show. Tell me it doesn't make sense. Tell me I don't have a point. I won't have her being the person we avoid mentioning at Christmas dinner twenty years from now, I won't have it be a matter of debate on how to answer when people ask us how many children we have, and I won't have her out there on her own having to ask her housemates how to do basic…oh, I don't know, basic fucking life things because she can't come to her parents for advice anymore."

Silence followed - even Evie was silent, and Marilyn's heart sank. She wondered if she'd crossed a line. They were coming to the end of the time when they might speak freely around her so long as they used long sentences and complicated words so that she wouldn't understand just what was being said. And she'd known Draco wouldn't like her solution, if it did come to that, anymore than she herself liked it. But she had to pose it, because the alternative was worse.

"She won't end up like you," Draco murmured.

"Ouch," she huffed a laugh.

"You know what I meant," he snorted "She won't- ah!"

Whatever piece of lovely, touching wisdom he'd been about to share went out of the window when Evie's dear beloved owl book, beneath the power of her glare, flew off of the shelf, zipped across the room, and struck Draco directly in the face.

"Owl book," she repeated, eyeing the two of them with a look that could only be described as imperious.

"No," Marilyn murmured - and then she laughed as relief, cool and light and heavenly swept through her, earning a grin from their daughter who began laughing along "No, you're right. She's all you."

It took Draco long enough to make sure his nose wasn't bleeding to start laughing along with them - and after that he read the bloody owl book to Evelyn a record number of times without a single complaint.

A/N: Of course, they'd then have this concern all over again with any other kids they have, but I was trying to end on a happy note here, people. There's plenty of time for more angst yet.

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