After he left Iece with Harry, Draco went back to the parking garage to save Jipsy. The elf did not need saving, and Draco couldn't apparate back into the vehicle if he'd wanted to. In the shadows, the car remained parked, with Jipsy sitting in the backseat, ears barely visible through tinted glass. Draco appeared sixty meters behind it, close enough to retain the use of his magic without being seen. He shielded himself to protect against another assault, and simultaneously summoned Jipsy to let go of her position inside the car and join him. With a soft echo, she appeared behind him. He looked for signs of distress, like fear or trembles. Without knowing her well, he wasn't sure if he could spot limitations or duress, or if she was the type to hide vulnerabilities from him. She blinked innocently, pushed herself against the car they were both hiding behind, and gave the nod that she was okay.

He thought as much. He hadn't been sure, but before apparating to Harry, he thought he recognized one of the figures now standing around the empty car. His suspicions were correct. That wizard was so vain, he didn't have sense enough to put a hat on, or cover his most obvious feature. Figures. He had been right to leave Jipsy and remove Iece. Four wizards surrounded the car. He could feel their magic searching the space around them for the missing occupants. It wasn't his intention to hide forever, just until he had no choice. He wasn't going to make this easy for them.

Expecting a harsh command, he was not prepared to hear a much softer, apologetic tone coming out of the dark, from a female voice. "Draco, please come out. We wish to talk to you."

It was his mother. Her slender frame also held its position in the dark, but so much smaller than those imposing wizards. She wore a billowing coat of steel blue and a pillbox hat atop her drawn hair. Delicate black netting drifted over one sculpted eyebrow and she squared her shoulders as she faced him. Draco had missed her there, along with the two shorter individuals standing behind her. He zero'd in on them, sensing they were not house elves, but elves hired for the purpose of using magic that his parents were restricted from using.

"You're not in any danger, Sweetie. Please forgive us. We couldn't go any longer without speaking to you. It's an important matter. Since you won't take our owls, we had to resort to this. We had no choice. It concerns the safety and health of Harry's daughter. Please come out and talk to us."

He closed his eyes against whatever insurmountable, extra, super thick bullshit this was, and flung himself out into the open. "You endangered our lives. Do you even know how muggle vehicles work? We could've been killed."

His accusation drove her smile away before it had time to form. "Raggis and Dristle held you quite secure. They were gentle and safe, they have plenty of experience with muggle contraptions."

"Mother, it isn't what our vehicle does on the road, it's what others are doing around us. You took away my ability to steer away from trouble. One does not drive one of those things without one's instincts. As far as I'm concerned, your ignorance of muggle technology is a danger to everyone."

Now nothing friendly appeared on her face. She gave him the look she usually reserved for telling balled faced lies. She would not be guilted into doubting herself. But the fact that any displeasure showed at all, meant that she was at least considering his point.

"We would not be forced to such extremes if you'd read our letters or allowed us to speak with you. We tried everything."

"You and I speak often enough."

"I'm not talking of estate affairs or finances. That's business. This is family, and every time I attempt meaningful conversation with you, you put me in my place." Her tone did not match the humility of her choice of words.

"There's nothing to discuss. I have one job, and that's to keep my sister safe. That means you're out of the picture. You decided that when you treated Harry like garbage."

"Draco Lucius Malfoy! Would you rather that Voldemort sliced our throats that night? Yes, there was cruelty, but Harry was supposed to never wake up from it. He was never supposed to look back on it and be tormented by it. That would've been mercy for him."

Her voice thickened with conviction. No longer thin and apologetic, she spoke with full knowledge of her authority and certainty.

"We all have injuries that will bleed for the rest of our lives. Look at what we did to you, to keep you alive. And you think Harry is exempt from this madness? You think we started this? Every decision we made, our only goal was to keep our family together. And we did it. We beat all the odds. Was there trauma? Hell yes! I'd like to see anyone else survive all that without it. You're the one who brought that boy back from death, and kept him from peace. The most responsible, compassionate thing anyone could've done for him, was to let him move on from his torture. No one wanted him to suffer that."

Draco shook. Speaking to her this way wasn't easy. "Father did."

"Your father would've done anything to save your life. That is not weakness. That is strength. Just as you would kill anyone who proves a threat to that child, your father would've killed. That makes you and he no different from one another. It was just unfortunate that Harry came between you. It was war, Draco. What else can war be? And now we've all survived. Now we have to get past it."

"There's no getting past it. You saw how wrong Voldemort was, and you hurt Harry anyway." It took all of his control to look his mother in the eye, and to keep unwavering focus in his voice. While she was not using her magic, she let it roll out from her. She let him feel her experience, her heritage, in the form of an invisible mantle that kept unfurling past his feet. She was a witch first, and motherhood was inexorably entangled with that.

Ever since he was a child, she had a way of holding very still in displeasure and unfolding her magic in such a way that it slapped his face when she refused to indulge him. Though her hands remained pressed against folded arms, his cheek would sting and blotches appeared. With his father present, or in a room full of unsuspecting company, only the two of them would be aware of what had transpired. It had been rare that she'd needed it, but impacting enough that Draco's tantrums silenced abruptly. There were times when she had used the open palm of her delicate hands, but mostly, without words, her psychic slaps told him, "I made you. I have every right to change my mind about it."

Looking back, he'd known it was an empty threat, but his eleven year-old self was not so sure.

The full brunt of her old magic, felt like an icicle held at his throat, an ephemeral weapon that, once melted, could not be proven to have existed at all. After such threats, once he'd quieted, she'd fall to her hands and knees and pull him deep into her breast. "You are my precious precious man," she'd tell him. The tips of her fingers raked his scalp and across his back, trailing comfort and sensation into his skin. Contrary to what others knew, a bounty of affection always came after unspoken death threats. Both had lessened over the years, but Draco remembered them.

"I'm not like him. Not anymore. Harry needs me now."

"Listen to reason. When it comes to defending what you love, you will do anything. Just like your father."

He shook her out of his head. "What do you want with me? Say whatever you have to say, you have one minute."

Even in the dim of the garage, he saw the light in her eyes flare. She was not going to forgive him for taking that tone with her. No matter what she'd done, her status was supposed to be sacrosanct. Anyone who used her body as a life support system, then her investment of love and focus, was owed that. It might be years from now. There might be a miracle and they could both be in a better place. But one day, she would mold a set of circumstances out of his disrespect in this moment, and it would snap back to him like a rubber band stretched through time. She could hold onto a slight for decades, letting go of her end of it, to see the recoil inflict all the pent up damage that had kept it taut. He'd lose skin over that burn, and she'd be right there to feign concern.

But right now, it really was about the child.

"Draco, Harry and I have a common ancestor. Through his father. And the women of my line require certain help through their formative years. It's a… a trait."

She fought so hard not to use the word 'deficiency' that he heard it anyway. Her face pinched on the word as if it were a painful hook snagging her cheek. She tried not to show pain.

As she faltered, Draco smelled a lie. Either that, or his mother simply blanched at the thought of admitting any kind of genetic flaw in her family. "It only expresses in females."

"You've never said anything about it before."

"I have never had a reason to. We're not proud of it. Dorea Black was Fleamont Potter's cousin. That's Harry's grandfather."

Draco grimaced. The practice of committing their ancestry to memory, was an interest he no longer shared with her. Who cares who came before you, he wanted to scream at her. It doesn't give you points. You still have to figure out your own way. You're here, deal with it. Stop using the excuse of your dead relatives to justify your existence. All of us could've just as easily come through some nameless peasant in Albania. Can you love life, and who you are, anyway? That's all you need.

Harry's endurance of relatives who'd had no idea of his power, and kept him in ignorance, only to rise to his fullness in the Wizarding world, helped Draco to see that life was what you made it, not what you came from.

His mother's smirk made him doubt himself for a minute. In their connection, she knew what he was thinking and threw his contempt back in his face. Harry rose, her smile said, not because of what was in his heart, but because of what was in his blood.

She continued, "Now that the child exists, a Potter-Black daughter, certain magic has been activated. If he'd had a son, this would be less problematic. Does she exhibit odd symptoms? Fevers? There's usually tenderness around the fingernails. If she ever cries and you can't stop it, it's her hands. The skin will get so thin around her cuticles, they'll bleed. We know what to do, but it can get worse if you're not prepared."

"She's never experienced anything like that."

"No, I expect not. But it'll be coming on soon. Her body won't be able to make enough proteins. Tissue and connectivity will be a problem. She'll have to get it from a mineral, at least until she grows into her magic. It's really all about that."

"What are you talking about? What kind of deficiency?"

She sighed. "There's a story. A history, actually. The females are heirs. It is documented at Gringotts if you want to look it up, if you don't trust your own library. Some people consider it less of a deficiency and more of a curse. The Black wealth is tied to it. And whatever is to be said about this situation, the child is family."

"Mother, you hijacked my car to tell me about curses?"

"That little girl will get very sick if she doesn't have someone in her life who knows how to look after her. My vaults have alerted me that she needs an heirloom. Its time has come."

Draco could hear anger whistle through his mother's short breath as she kept her irritation under control. They were both headed towards heated regret and neither could stop it. He knew the feeling of no return too well.

Just then, a slow and cautious silhouette stepped up beside her.

He had been so focused on catching his mother in a lie, he hadn't noticed his father's approach. There was no point in acting surprised. He bit off, "What do you have to add? Not that it's going to do a damn bit of good."

Lucius appeared unaffected by Draco's venom. His face was a perfect mask of impassive acceptance. Fair enough, it seemed to say to the untrained observer. I deserve this. But to Draco, it said something different. He knew those neutral corners of his father's mouth told the real story. Anything that wasn't a frown, could've been a smile. A victory, on one so emotionally stealthy as Lucius.

Just as his mother could slap him without using her hands, his father's height and breadth, silence and appraisal, exuded a history of protective succor and hard won love. He couldn't look at him without being in a place where he feared and needed to be the focus of Lucius's respect. To break that hold, he thought of Harry. He thought of his Nicee, and it rendered his father's rebellious display of his cane and tied hair, ridiculous. Lucius couldn't simply wear a suit, not even in the muggle world. It had to be a formal, stiff, black satin that glittered silver buttons, which winked a white glare even in the dim and swore fealty to Wizarding style. At least Draco had the decency to tame the flourish with which he'd been taught to dress. He stopped at an immaculate cut of clothing, but his father had to flaunt every accessory and embellishment their money afforded them.

Lucius held a box out to him. "For the child."

Draco stiffened. The words hit his ears completely wrong. They mocked, 'Notice how I didn't say 'my daughter' and I could have.' He must've been channeling Harry, because he felt the only decent thing to do in that moment, was take a swing. Lucius's presence alone, was too daring, too cruel after everything that's happened. He had no desire to hit his father, but he felt he should've. Harry would.

"You have no right to offer her anything. You have no right to speak of her."

He didn't see his mother twitch. He only saw the pliant skin around his father's mouth go granite hard.

Lucius regarded him, delivering a cool jet of words. "And yet, the Universe does not strike me down. I wake up to sunlight and freedom, just as you do. Perhaps you are not the proper judge of such matters after all. Your worst, unforgiving wrath, cannot undo the simple fact that I am as blessed as you and your precious Harry. Hate me if you must, Draco. I realize that you must feel you owe him your loyalty. But remember what I did to keep you alive."

Narcissa intervened. "Take the box, Draco. We've no time for quarreling."

He couldn't fix his lips to express the razor-edged words that wanted to cut their way out of his mouth. He gripped his wand, drawing it out to keep his father at a distance. It wasn't Lucius's body that needed kept at bay, it was his slithering, contaminated way of pulling on his son's emotions. Every word out of his mouth was a reminder that he shared something with his father that he did not share with his mother. This man had been great once, and had accepted him on a whole other plane. Though it sickened him now, there was an intimate knowing in his father's words that wouldn't let Draco forget they'd crossed certain boundaries.

That doesn't count, Draco wanted to shout. When you're that scared, you'll do anything. Those intimate moments didn't count. Neither of them had been in their right minds.

His father's gaze went through him. "Exactly." Lucius extended the box. "Take it."

Draco's wand shook. "What is it?"

Narcissa took it from Lucius, crossed the boundary of Draco's wand, and brought it to his chest. "The bracelet. From one of my vaults. It presented itself. They always do when a female child is in need. Her blood could've been diluted enough to skip all of this. Harry's side has brought new genetics, but the bracelet presented itself anyway. That means she needs it."

He shook his head, refusing to take it. This whole thing was too sudden, too convenient. "This is a trick. You're making all of this up."

"Do your research, Draco. It is documented in the Black history. It is concealed as colorful folklore. Some call it a curse. Either way, we're approaching before things take a turn for the worse. Take the bracelet." She shoved it hard into his chest. "This isn't about you or us. This is about her."

His fingers gripped it to keep the box corner from biting into him further. "Harry is not going to allow her to have anything from you."

"He will have to make an exception if he loves his daughter. If he can make that exception, then we can let the past go."

"Easy for you to say. I can't ask that of him. I have no right to, and neither do you."

"Surely, the child's needs come first, even to him."

"Her name is Iece, and she needs Harry. If he's not okay, she'll never be okay. I'm looking out for them both. And neither of you are welcomed in our lives."

Lucius removed any trace of emotion from his voice. "Welcome or not, I have an interest in the child. I don't abandon blood. I do not ask that Harry change his feelings for me one bit, but I do ask to see her on occasion, and that she grow up knowing who we are."

"No. You have no rights to her."

"I think I do. I'm trying to be civil about this, but Draco, you know as well as I do, that we wizards need no documents to set parameters around our boundaries. Paper contracts and laws mean nothing to our magic. For better or worse, Harry bore my child. I will do my part to protect her from our common enemies. My resources are her resources."

"She doesn't need a damn thing from you!"

"She's new blood, Draco. We all need her."

Draco was on the verge of tears. "Why can't you just let Harry have her? Haven't you done enough? Take Mother and live your lives. You're out of prison, be happy with that. You don't get to have more. You don't get to be a part of Iece's and Harry's life. After what you did, regardless of why you did it, you just can't be in our lives. Have the grace, the compassion, the balls, to stay away from us."

Something in Lucius's face fell. No one would've realized they'd been looking at a mask until Lucius dropped it. He looked at Draco like a stranger, a stranger who had just taken all of his options away. Draco was no longer his son, but a rival. An opponent. He reached into his coat and pulled out a thin, sheathed, paper object.

"Give him this as well. It is a muggle device. A recording. We have gone to great lengths to show that we are willing to set aside the past and bridge our world to Harry's. It contains the Black story that affects my daughter. We have muggle technology in our home now. We receive outside instruction. We are doing it for the sake of the child. The recording simply asks Harry to consider letting us mend our broken history. Whether he would forgive or no, we are formally asking it. The only other option, is to take this matter to the Ministry. Well, that's not the only other option, but it is the only civil one. I'm willing to go back to Azkaban if it means my daughter will have the truth of who I am. I know how to survive it now. I don't think Harry needs a prison sentence on top of everything he has endured, nor do I think he deserves one. But the Ministry will look at his testimony quite differently, were they to find that he and his friends kept a very important secret."

Draco refused to be cowed. "Everyone would forgive him. You may not know what shame is, but people get that it's too much. They get that's he's been through enough. They'd let him go."

"Secrets were ripped from those sent to Azkaban. Families torn apart based on Harry's infallible testimony. Because of his silence, he's condemned you and all of his friends to the same fate. Each day you all allow others to rot in prison, exposed and ruined, while you enjoy keeping your secrets hidden. I have nothing else to lose, and Harry, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, and yourself, have everything to lose. I wonder, if I came forward, and Harry had to do time, would any court award me me at least partial, chaperoned, custody of my daughter? I think they would do that before condemning her to an orphan's status. Would Harry be okay with that? Or would it just be easier to settle the matter between ourselves?"

"Harry's right. You are evil."

"I taught you better than that, Draco. Don't let your emotions get the best of you. If I were evil, wouldn't I have done this already? No, I'm nothing so predictable and common. I'm giving him a chance to make the most intelligent move he can make. The situation is unfortunate, but we do not grieve over what we can't change. You have my offer. Persuade him to take it. If not, we will leave the world of courts and documents, and laws behind. You know what I did to bargain for your life. I will do as much for this child, and Harry will not like it. My rights are written in her blood, which comes from me, and Harry is bound to that as well. Let's make an effort to play nice, shall we?"

Anger sent tremors through Draco's voice. "Why are you doing this? You know she's better off without you. You'd go back to prison, take Harry and all of his friends with you, even me, and destroy Iece's childhood, just so that you can have visiting rights? That's proof that you're incapable of love. You act on instinct, and nothing else. Anyone who cared about his daughter, would throw her to the nearest, poorest fucking muggle, to give her a chance at a decent life. If you loved her, you would take an honest look at yourselves, and give her up. You owe that to Harry. You owe that to her."

Lucius lifted his chin. In his offense, he was slow to find an adequate response to Draco's betrayal.

Narcissa spoke sharply. "She's family, Draco. No matter what we've done, we will not tolerate being dismissed as criminals by you. We will not tolerate your disrespect. We've done our time, and all because, in our love, we scraped shit off the floor and ate it in order to keep you alive. Now you think you're above having to make difficult decisions that compromise morality. Well you're not. Your time is coming. That's what children do to you. They make you decide if it's going to be the world, or if it's going to be them. You don't get to maintain an immaculate record when someone you love is threatened. Don't you know that? Don't you realize that you, and all the others, have compromised your morals and broken the law just as we did? And if you're capable of that, then you're capable of even more. It all depends on how desperate fear makes you. And for that, your father and I should be forgiven."

Draco's arm hurt from keeping it outstretched for so long. Narcissa stepped close enough to lay her hand on it.

"The war is over. It was always about victims, and Harry's wand did as much to Death Eaters as we did to him. We have friends who did not survive Harry's punishment, yet he is innocent and we are not? His child cannot be orphaned, yet a thousand Death Eaters, trapped in service to Voldemort, have lost theirs? He can take life, yet acts against him, are sacrilege? No, the only thing that separates Harry Potter from a Death Eater, is pedigree and popular opinion.

"Act for act, deed for deed, he did as much damage to us as we did to him. Why should a carnal act sway the difference? Why is it more heinous that your father used his cock instead of his wand? Who makes up these rules? Murder is murder, whether you are taking the life of someone who will kill others, or taking it because you disagree with them. That's what war is, and your Harry participated fully. He fucking led the resistance. If all he did was come out of it with his life, and a child, he has fared better than many. You will not bring your father low simply to raise your lover. If you're going to judge us and hold fairness as criteria, then judge Harry too."

Draco's tongue felt thick in his mouth and he swallowed for the relief of lubricating it. His mother's logic undermined his emotional thinking. She made him consider things he shouldn't be considering. But she wasn't entirely wrong, just unpopular, as she had stated.

She wasn't finished. "If we're monsters, we wouldn't bother with hijacking your vehicle. We would've already gone to the Ministry and played our cards. We approach you like this, out of love, not animal instinct. Not fear. Love. No one wants to hurt Harry anymore. No one ever wanted to, we were running from Voldemort's whip. You know that. You saw first hand what we went through. It was Harry or you. No one handed us a manual, or solutions. We made horrible decisions. That was hell enough, we will not be trapped in that painful past by anyone's judgment. Let them walk in our shoes and see how well they keep their child alive in the face of such opposition. We want to end all of that pain. Make Harry listen. The deaths and maiming he caused, are somehow superior to the harm we've done? When inspired to love, we love. When convinced to attack, we attack. Just. Like. Him. Just like anyone. Stop pretending, along with him and everyone else, that we've unleashed some new malice into the world, because we haven't. We've survived. That's all."

He shrugged her off. "It doesn't matter. I can't betray Harry. I won't. He's not in a state to understand this. You two have each other. I have to stick by him."

Her voice softened. "It's obvious what you're doing. You're trying to make up for what we did, by being good to him. You're trying to clear our name by showing that a Malfoy is capable of better. We get that, and we love you all the more, but that's our burden, not yours. This bracelet will let us all start to heal. It will be like a bridge from us to him. A missing piece."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of. I can't do that to Harry. How is it supposed to work, anyway? How does it help her?"

"It's a platinum bracelet, mined from alluvial holdings that she will inherit when she's twenty-two, that come to all Black women. But those deposits already know that she is the rightful owner. Her blood is tied to them. It's in the recording, the thing called a muggle video. The whole story. Before muggles invented the word for the mineral, we called it Serebryanyy Dym. Silver smoke. Black women always keep a bit of it on them." She lifted her hand to the platinum ensconced sapphire in her ear.

"The bracelet is thin. It will fit a baby's wrist and grow with her until she's strong enough to do without it. We hired instruction, sat down, and made an appeal for Harry. Since we cannot get an audience with him, we are asking his forgiveness this way. We're laying everything out. We're asking for visitation privileges, as well as forgiveness. And we're instructing him on his daughter's needs. It is valuable information. We're very pleased with it.

"Make Harry give our recording a chance. We are begging for his forgiveness, if that's what he needs to hear. We are asking on behalf of this child, who needs her family. The bracelet has come forth. That means she's going to need all the help she can get. Her magic is different. Harry has had over two years to sulk about what was done to him. We know that he will never get over it. But for her sake, either he will get on with life, or he will let others help where they can. She's going to need us, Draco. This is no time to let resentment keep her from getting help."

All of this was based on some phantom claims that he had no proof of. Iece did do things he didn't understand. Like the sickness around magic that directly affected her. Like when she couldn't apparate without getting sick. She was really too young and minors were not allowed to do it for a reason, let alone babies. But he and Harry had had Snape's protection spells. Snape, who knew spells around everything. The protection had isolated her from harm when she'd been an infant and he and Harry had needed to keep moving from place to place. They might've taken the effect on her for granted. Maybe they'd damaged her in some way.

And there was that thing with her eyes. But that only happened once and it happened so fast that Draco couldn't be sure of what he'd seen. She'd been laughing over the muggle chicken nuggets he'd caused to dance for her back when they had a little muggle apartment. Her head had fallen back in her zeal, her tiny teeth displayed to full capacity, as fits shook her whole body. With outstretched arms, she slapped her palms together, squeezed her eyes closed, and when she'd opened them, they were gray, not black. They were his father's eye color. The sight arrested him. But when she blinked again, the color was gone and he was left silent in the wake of her glee. The nuggets had stopped dancing. Iece poked at them and dropped them from the air to make them dance again. Draco sobered and made her eat. He never mentioned it to Harry because he didn't know what it meant and there was no point in making up new things to worry about, when absolutely nothing was wrong.

None of that had anything to do with his mother's claims. But it signaled that something was up with Harry's child. It told him that he, at least, needed to see the recording. If his parents were lying, he would actually be relieved. But if they were telling the truth, he'd have to talk to Harry. He'd have to prepare Harry for the worst.

His fingers closed around the disc that Lucius held out for him. He tried not to feel that this was a further betrayal to Harry, and steeled himself against his father's elegant gloat.

"This means nothing," he said. "I'll watch it. I'll find out if you're lying, just to take care of the baby. But nothing will make Harry watch this. Nothing I say will ever make him give you a chance."

Narcissa flicked his condemnation away. "We trust you'll do your best, Draco."

Their magical restrictions did not let them apparate. He watched his parents and their reinforcements retreat into their respective vehicles. They took one chauffeured, dark sedan, while the elves and hired security took two others. He stood holding the box and the outdated CD like he'd been stuck with a curse. He opened the box. Dark artifacts were his specialty and he wasn't stupid enough to take something like this into his home without testing it first.

The bracelet sat on a cushion of black velvet. It looked impossibly small, thin and delicate, not the iron-ore chunk he'd imagined. It was meant to look as innocent as a baby, he reasoned. Well crafted. Deceptively so. Sweet and harmless, like it could break. He knew that it was the hardest substance in the muggle world, and that it would never break. It's careful design was meant to have everyone who saw it, instantly forgive the parent for making a two-year old bear the weight of vanity, of selfish parental pride. A baby's new skin was all the beauty and adornment any of them needed, without adults rushing to hurry and add value to the perfection that was already there.

Harry had already been irreversibly affected by a fourth-year Ravenclaw who confided resenting her mother's choice to have her ears pierced before she could speak. Now she was a person who didn't like the weight of jewelry and had to walk around with two extra holes in her head, all because her mother was following a cool trend. If they saw a baby in a stroller with pierced ears, Harry would always remark out of earshot of the parent, "I'd never do that to my daughter." It was one of Harry's favorite go-to observations whenever life allowed them to enjoy public errands together. It was a chance to people-watch and forget how they were forever on the stage of someone else's entertainment.

Draco had never spoken up. Parents and their mistakes were a sensitive subject for him. He always let Harry have his judgment and a Ravenclaw's ungrateful resentment. Why couldn't she see that her mother had worshiped and celebrated her? People had always offered gold and minerals to pagan gods, because those substances endured longer than human lifespans, and could be programmed to hold magic. A mother had wanted to give the gift of the gods to her daughter. A permanent place for precious magic incubated in the Earth, which came out sparkling and shining.

For all the times he held back his response to Harry's declaration, he answered now in the dark, with Jipsy waiting for him by his rental car. "Harry, you never know what you will do for the people you love."

He sounded, he knew, just like his parents.