Harry opened his eyes to the blurry script of a handwritten note on his chest. When it didn't fall off, he assumed it was taped there. When he saw no tape, he realized it was spelled to stay upright. Only one person had that kind of insistence on clear, crucial communication. Hermione. Her meticulous compulsion both alarmed and comforted him. Especially when he realized he couldn't lift his arms from the shoulders. He was strapped to a hospital bed, surrounded by the usual assortment of bland furnishings and patient accommodations. It was a private room. When he questioned it, the memory of freaking out on her lawn came with it. The sight of his baby screaming for him, had him squeezing his mind shut against full blown comprehension. He knew exactly why he was tied down.

The straps warned him not to fight them. Without a wand, and with so many regrets, he took a minute to try to come to terms with his situation. That was the only way they would let him see Iece. After a forced, deep breath, his fingers brushed the frames of his glasses. Hermione had thought of everything. She'd left them within reach. He could bend his elbows and that was all. It gave him enough movement to stretch his neck and put them on. Her writing came into sharp focus.

Behave. Iece is fine. They will let you see her, but not if they can't trust you. Will tell you everything.

H.

He let his head fall back and breathed easier. The tone of her note, along with windowless blue walls, gave him a feeling of isolation. He couldn't be sure if this wasn't a mental hospital, the most logical place for him to be. And if that was the case, Iece would be located elsewhere. Where was Draco? Why wasn't Draco here to tell him that Iece was fine? A sudden flare of anger had him swallowing it. Draco had to stay with the baby, of course. Since he hadn't actually been reliable, or helpful, or useful in any way. One of them had to take care of her.

He willed himself to remain calm. He didn't know how long he could fake it, but he hoped long enough to convince whoever had restrained him, to let him go. There were no magical restraints that he could tell. No law enforcement, wizarding or otherwise, so he wasn't under arrest. Not yet.

What had he done? What was wrong with his baby?

Those same crazy fears started to jab under his skin. He'd be damned if he was going to lie here stewing in his own hell. If someone didn't come and tell him what was going on in ten minutes, he'd start yelling.

The door opened, as if Hermione could hear his thoughts. She led the way, followed by his familiar doctor, Avi Rankar. Beyond the door, he spotted Ron, Ginny and Luna talking to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. They were all seated in a row of plastic chairs that lined the hallway. Abruptly, the view was blocked as Rankar allowed Hermione to get to the bed first.

"She's perfectly fine, Harry," she said, knowing he needed to hear it from her lips. "She's two floors up. She's still running a fever, but the pediatrician said that's normal for any child reacting to magical flares. Apparently, her magic isn't ready for too much physical change. They're giving her fluids that act like antihistamines. Only they ignore her immune system and work on her magic. They want to keep her overnight, just to make sure the worst is passed."

He took this in, thanking whatever deity was responsible for it. But he wasn't in the clear and he knew it.

"And the rest? How'd you get passed the cops? How am I not in jail? Did I hit a woman?"

She came closer, leaning over him. "Relax. The officer, Regina Pruitt, was treated with the best care possible. Her injuries were healed by wizards who intercepted the ambulance, performed the diagnostic and charms, then obliviated them all over again. The Minister has stepped in and declared the whole thing a state of emergency. Mass obliviations had to be performed. No charges have been made against anyone, and they won't be until a thorough investigation has been made. We all saw what happened to her. Nonmagics didn't mean to get involved, they were just answering a domestic call. I've been assured that you can walk out of here with your daughter when she's released tomorrow. But there will be an inquiry and we'll all tell why we did what we did."

He looked confused. "What did you do?"

Her smile turned rubbery, as if she'd lost all conviction, but she tried to hold onto it. "Um, that's not important right now. Just cooperate with the doctors and they'll approve your release. Your daughter really needs you. I'm sure all that matters right now is getting back to her and Draco."

"Draco's with her?"

"He is. He's asked us to send for him as soon as you've awakened. But you can go up. You'll just have to tell Doctor Rankar here, everything he wants to know. He's the only thing that stands between you and taking your daughter home. Make him happy, Harry."

She spoke the last sentence so low and deliberately, that he could not misunderstand her meaning. Any interaction he was going to have with the doctor would be a thinly veiled psychological evaluation. He was suddenly regretful of having walked out on Rankar in the middle of his hospitalization less than a week ago. No doubt all these medical emergencies would be the topic of discussion.

She kissed his cheek. "I'll leave you two alone." In that one breath, she conveyed that she'd just given him the cheat sheet to a test and could not linger to give him more information than that. He had to pass on his own. He watched her go.

Rankar's smile was friendly and sincere. He looked as handsome as ever, as if being cosmetically well-groomed and put together was what he did in his spare time. He appeared to hold no grudge against Harry.

He shook Harry's hand. "Well, Mr. Potter, it is a pleasant surprise to see you, even if it was not by appointment or design."

Harry didn't trust his luck. He couldn't return the smile, but he hoped that whatever his face was doing, it made it clear he wanted to cooperate. He wanted to get the answers right and get the hell out of here. For the next thirty minutes, he let himself be interrogated about his feelings and the events that landed him here tonight. He recounted what he remembered, his actions, and his reasoning behind them. If Rankar judged him, he didn't let it show. He was careful to leave out the part about blaming Lucius and trying to reach him.

"I thought my daughter was being magically attacked, so I retaliated. I was trying to strike back at the attacker."

At the end of it all, Rankar leaned over the bed and released his restraints as if it had all been a joke to him. "Just a precaution. You had quite a scare. And because I know your history, I know that you are not a threat to anyone. Ms. Grainger feels certain that this will go to court. If I'm called as an expert witness, I can give them my report from tonight. Medically, you show a complete recovery from your stroke, but your body and magic show excessive stress levels. And I'm sure that if I saw my child in the state that you and your friends described tonight, my stress would be through the roof."

Could he believe his ears? This doctor was letting him go? He was an idiot for asking, but he couldn't help it. He felt so undeserving of kindness at the moment. Of special treatment. Draco had broken him out of jail once this week, and now his friends had kept him from being arrested again tonight. By the worry in Hermione's face, and the tremor in her voice, whatever strings she'd pulled hadn't been easy. He was wracking up debt faster than his friends could pay off. He just couldn't get it together. And this Lucius thing… He couldn't be expected to concentrate on anything until he knew his daughter was safe. When would he know? How would he know?

"You're letting me leave, just like that?"

"Unless you can think of a reason why you shouldn't."

"I hit a woman. I freaked out in front of so many muggles…"

"You're also taking anti-dreaming meds. I've stepped down your dosage. Too much, too soon can cause hallucinogen side-effects and contribute to anxiety. I know your story. You're not an ordinary person and we cannot hold you to those standards. You have to cope with things that the rest of us can only imagine. If I turn my back for a second and find you still on this bed, I'd just count myself happy to be of service to you for another few minutes. You've told me your deepest secrets. You go out of your way to not hurt people. You left your home and gave it up to Draco, to make him happy. You locked yourself in a closet to keep from taking your anger out on anyone but yourself. You're not dangerous to women or to anyone. Stop punishing yourself and get on up there and see your daughter. From what I hear, she's a lot like you. Her magic has the staff talking. She's in a bed tent. Her magic is very impressive for a two year-old."

"A bed tent?"

"A barrier. She's too young to know what she's doing. With her fever going up and down until her body finds its balance, she's causing objects to move and float all around her. The tent fits around her bed and is lined with platinum fibers. It prevents the worst of it from affecting the instruments and people around her."

He saw the horror on Harry's face.

"Not to worry. That's what magical, allergic reactions do. They act like chemical explosions. Like a muggle fizzy dropped into a glass of water. Her magic went off like pop-rocks, yes? I'm not the doctor looking after her, but I spoke with her, Doctor Geneva in Pediatrics. I'm told the worst of your daughter's fizzing is over. She just needs to rest and to take inflammatory neutralizers while the last of her fizz goes flat. Yes? It really is that simple. You and Draco may want to invest in a tent for her home bed. Likely, with magic that strong, she'll be an early bloomer. You'll sleep better."

This raised a million questions, all stuck in Harry's throat. How much could he reveal about Lucius? About his own psychic attack, and now his daughter's? He would have loved to believe that her reaction was simply about having her hair cut, but he didn't believe that at all. He refused to accept that magic gave a shit about things like hair and appearances. He hesitated too long and Rankar was helping him sit up, slapping him on the back, and walking towards the door in the next moment.

"I would love for us to talk. Remember to call me if you need a session. The tour will be ending soon, right? We can go back to our regular appointments. If I don't see you again before you check out, may you get out of here and salvage what you can of your time with your family. Chow."

Harry suppressed his uneasiness and nodded. The door closed. Damn if he knew how to fix any of this. An early bloomer? That sent chills up his spine and he wasn't a hundred percent sure what it meant. Without giving himself time to think, he scrambled off the bed, relieved his bladder in an adjoining toilet, and went looking for Draco and Iece.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were already filled in on the fiasco, and remained staunch supporters from their plastic chairs outside Harry's room. Their seasoned faces and plump postures had settled in to wait, like the veterans of childhood illnesses and long nights up worrying, that they were. As much as they were pros at it, they thought they ought to be there to show Harry how it was done. Opportunities to be helpful to him, didn't come very often. You accept what you can't control, their wizened silence insisted. And you jump at the chance to control what you can. You do it all, while impersonating a rock that cannot be shaken, unless of course the news is too bad. Then you let everyone see that you're going to be okay, and you wait to fall apart when you were out of their sight. That's what you did for family. And we're yours, no matter how much you avoid us.

They didn't blame him for going all nervous and distant after the war. They'd chosen simpler lives and appeared to lack sophistication for a reason. It had everything to do with knowing the real horrors of the world, and keeping their family safe from the torments Harry's youth had been sacrificed to. He was still a sweetheart. It wasn't his fault that all that death and murder had scarred his ability to feel comfortable around them. They certainly weren't going to punish him by resenting him for it.

They stood when he came out of his room, and wasted no time getting their arms around him. He hadn't seen them in a while. Guilt choked any greeting he might've given them. But they didn't appear to require him to say a word.

"Shush, Dear," Molly Weasley told him right off. "You needn't go through this without us. We've seen her and she's fine."

Arthur backed her up. "That's right. You're the one we're hanging around for now. Couldn't leave till we've had a hug. And a promise you'll bring Draco and the little one by more often."

Harry nodded, and they all knew it was an automated response to being put on the spot. He couldn't make his brain think of anything more appropriate at the moment, and left it at that. He could see that Ginny was still here, holding up the wall and sipping hospital lattes with Hermione, as if the world had not been turned on its head earlier. How many hours had passed since they were all watching Iece eat ice cream and laughing at her antics, only to see her turned into something magically distorted and monstrously hard to watch. Luna was gone. He didn't see Ron, and mercifully none of the other Weasley's were here to watch him be useless.

"Thank you for coming," he managed. His distraction was evident even to his own ears. He admitted it, since there was no chance of it going away.

"I know I've caused a lot of trouble, and I can't believe I'm not arrested. But since I'm not, all I want to do right now, is see my daughter."

Arthur looked like he'd only been waiting for him to speak up. "Of course, my boy. Right this way, we'll escort you." He swung his arm around Harry's shoulder and stirred him down the hall.

"Ron and Hermione spoke on your behalf beautifully. The Minister understands that one does not hesitate to act accordingly when one thinks his child is in danger. A sick child at that. Ron said she frightened you all, and you were beside yourself with panic. You weren't making decisions, you were reacting. After six kids, that feeling does not diminish when there is an emergency situation. Don't think on it anymore tonight. The muggle situation is contained. If our security net doesn't get all of them, no one is going to believe one or two going on about people waving sticks. We can only hope there's a little teapot with big eyes and ears who'll grow up one day and fill those muggle televisions with brilliant tales of magic in suburbia."

Harry smiled. Arthur would hope to inspire muggle children to like his culture just as much as he liked theirs. It was so like him not to feel threatened.

"Don't think on it anymore," he insisted.

Flickering lights kept Harry alert to the fact that they were in a hybrid hospital, with collaborating mediwizards and muggle doctors. It was one of a number of experimental facilities in London. Of course Rankar would be on call, circulating his expertise across the city, and perhaps even the continent. It still wasn't a common thing for the two cultures to interconnect so openly, and facilities like this were hidden from the general public. All of them shuffled onto the lifts like muggles, and got off two floors up. By then, the hospital lights were more noticeable, and entire sections of them went dim when Harry stepped off the lift.

He wondered briefly if it was storming outside. Muggle electronics couldn't handle power outages or surges. He could remember the Dursleys losing the power that ran their house, and having to help Aunt Petunia gather up flashlights and candles. He knew there were things like backup generators, especially in hospitals, but it comforted him that the place benefited from magic that could take care of any power outage.

"Oh," Molly gasped when the lift went dark just as Ginny and Hermione got off last. "Something's not right." It was a laugh, more than it was a complaint. Harry recognized a titter of nerves in the comment, and that's when he began looking around. In three directions, ahead and both sides, ceiling lights were doing a strobe pattern, only to blink out completely, and burst on again with a luminosity that far exceeded their ampage. There were pops further down, and dark smoke seeped through some of the light covers. All of them wrinkled their noses at what smelled like burnt rubber bands.

Before anyone could comment, an alarm went off. A monitor, then another. Ahead, at a nurses station, men and women plugged their ears against stings of piercing tones that signaled connections going offline with medical surveillance in many of the rooms. Uniformed staff and security guards ran past, leaving them stunned.

Harry and everyone pressed against the wall to let groups of staff rush by without explaining. There was a stampede of white uniforms and rubber soles as gurneys were raced out of one room to get to another where the power still functioned. He gathered from the hurried shouts and codes he knew nothing about, that some patients were more critical than others, and so had to be switched mid surgeries and procedures.

Okay, this was obviously a situation of muggle technology failing. When was the wizarding magic going to take over? No one appeared to have any grasp over it.

Alarm and annoyance got the better of him. "What room?" he asked Arthur impatiently.

Hermione pointed before any of them could. "There. She's right there."

He followed the tip of her finger, along with the distress in her face. Ahead, on the other side of the nurses station, where they were rushing around, answering phones and pressing buttons on computers that were having no effect, he saw Draco.

There eyes met as Draco was being pushed from the room. Maybe he was trying to get out of everyone's way, just like Harry. Maybe he was tripping, unable to move fast enough. His slender body, still in the blazer and trousers Harry remembered from that morning, spun to clear the door frame just as the foot of a bed rammed through the opening. Some six to eight staff members held it at the rails and shoved it out like a crew working the cockpit at some muggle car rally. Their haste was violent and unapologetic, and told everyone to get the hell out of their way. Two pushed, while the others held various instruments and attachments that had to keep pace.

Harry couldn't move. He saw the bed. He saw hanging IV drips and chords that trailed from being ripped out of equipment. He saw piles of covers, plastic sheets, and what looked like a cloth barrier having been torn down around the bed. And in the very middle, so small and almost unrecognizable amid tons of ice, was his daughter. Only her face was visible, peeking out amid chunks of frozen pellets. She looked like only a head being kept alive to him. A shrunken head. Her eyes were closed and her nose and lips were bright pink.

He didn't get it. He didn't understand. Everyone had said that she was okay. His shaking started again. He didn't know what happened, whether he didn't move fast enough out of their way, whether he started screaming like before, or whether Hermione and Draco simply refused to have a repeat of his reaction. They were both on him, wands drawn, spells cast.

Patrificus Totalus, is a harsh spell. Rankar explained that it was like clubbing someone over the head to temporarily stun their functions. He preferred the gentler, Cessabit, and got to Harry shortly after he'd been restrained. It left Harry alert, capable of movement, but severely suppressed his motivation to act. So much so, that he had to be picked up from the floor and encouraged to stand. He looked as blank as a child who didn't know how to dress himself, and calmly went as Rankar pulled him into a little area meant for staff only. The Weasley's, Hermione, and Draco followed, but lagged behind to give them room. Everyone needed to hear what Rankar was going to say.

While Harry looked passive on the outside, he was anything but, on the inside. Rankar explained this to the others while he pushed Harry onto a stool.

"Give him a moment. He's very much alert in there and right now, he can't get his body to cooperate." He raised his wand in front of a locked cabinet and began reading labels before selecting one of the tiny medicine vials.

"I'm going to give him a mild sedative. Muggle style. I fear, he's like his daughter at the moment, and forced suppression is causing understandable anger. I don't want to use any more magic on him unless I have to."

He spoke rapidly and administered the shot before anyone could interrupt. He looked into Harry's eyes.

"She's going to be okay. I promise. I've figured something out. She was perfectly fine, my friend. Her fever spiked minutes ago. Doctor Geneva signaled for me to come and examine her magic, while I was still talking to you. Whatever happened, it didn't happen until you awakened. I need you calm. I think she's reacting to you. Your magic."

With half his mobility disabled, the rest of Harry went blank and dull as the sedative took effect, aided by the spell.

Ranker turned to everyone. "I apologize for this, but I must leave you and help my colleagues regain order. The disruption to power, is a magical one. Iece, is my first stop. I'll answer your questions as soon as I can. I need someone to keep Harry here, sit with him, don't leave him. We have a lounge on this floor if you don't want to go to the lobby. Or better, can someone take him to the canteen? He's going to need food behind the sedative I've given him, or his stomach will trouble him. Who can stay with him?"

"I will," Draco said at the same time as Hermione.

Mrs. Weasley said softly, "Any of us are willing to stay."

Draco's tone became firm. "None of you need to stay. Harry appreciates you. We both do, but I'm his closest family right now, whether anyone recognizes it or not, and I'm not going to let anything happen to him."

The Weasleys' eyes were hard with misunderstanding.

Rankar gave a sympathetic nod. "Then you should know that the spell will wear off in about twenty minutes. The sedative will take a while longer. If we can get your daughter back to her room, Harry may actually get to rest with her."

He barely waited on acknowledgment from Draco, who was still holding Mrs. Weasely's stare.
"I'll see you in a bit, then." He squeezed passed all of them, leaving them to work out their impass.

Molly shook her head. "You can't do it alone."

There was pity in her voice. "You can't look after that child, and Harry, and run your household, and all your business affairs. Don't be so bloody proud." She kept her smile, but it wasn't convincing.

Even though she was going out of her way to speak gently, her tone was mixed with both warmth and challenge. She hunched with trademark modesty, but looked him in the eye and dared him to argue with her. Tension, tightening her mouth, warned that she was holding back. Accustomed to wielding a lot of authority in her matriarchy, she knew she had the power to sway things. She didn't want to frighten him away, but if the situation called for a stern word or two, she was ready. If it called for a fight, she'd let Draco know that she was fighting for him too. His coloring hid nothing. He looked gray with fatigue, and thinner than ever. She had only ever seen him groomed to perfection, so disorder in his hair and slept-in clothing, gave him a bone-frail strength about him. Like the most vulnerable person giving it everything he's got.

For all that stylish fanfare he shared with his parents, those fancy clothes struck her as being the artificial armor of someone so uncomfortable with the natural world, and all its imperfections, that they ultimately could not value themselves without it. The tragedy wasn't that the Malfoys thought they were better than everyone else. It was that they needed to feel better than others at all. Now that Harry's love had actually gotten through to Draco, she saw that he struggled with not being good enough. Not for Harry. Not in the wake of his father's crimes, and not to a society that would forever know the shameful part he played. He had to prove that he was good-enough. That's what all that unhealthy thinness was about. He gave all the nurturing to that plump baby, and kept none for himself. He was trying to be a good enough person, after all that nonsense with his family. But he was trying too hard. All she wanted to do was feed him and put him to bed. Young people. They had to learn the hard way, that what they were, was better than good-enough.

She stared him down. All she lacked were hands on her hips. True to the tender features he'd inherited from his mother, he lowered his eyes and granted her the respect she was asking. She knew that he was capable of supreme rudeness, but the fact that he chose not to be, made her hope he'd let her befriend him eventually.

You can't do it by yourself, she'd said.

"I know," he admitted. He almost added, "but we have Jipsy." Instead, he yielded. "Give us a few hours. Rest yourselves. We might need you…"

His voice trailed off as Hermione caught his eye. She was dying to volunteer to take the baby once all of this was sorted. She and Molly would share babysitting shifts and her eyes practically begged. He'd barely gotten through one night without Iece. He wasn't ready emotionally, for as much help as they were ready to give.

"Later," he said. "We'll call on you later."

He didn't want to feel worse than he already did, so he softened his manner. He reached for Harry's hand. Something told him they'd understand that more than they got his words.

He told Molly, "Let me take care of him, since I can't do anything for her. It's my job, not yours. It's what I do everyday when he's not on tour. You have to trust me. Harry and I need you to go home and to wait for my call telling you that everything's okay. Iece was absolutely fine until a few minutes ago. We were sleeping. I know you love him, but so do I. When you're not around, we're there for each other, just like you are. I don't mean to be rude, but I need to talk to him while he's forced into being calm. Alone."

He added a silent thought, hoping their magic could feel what he needed. It's personal.

Molly nodded, defeated by understanding.

Hermione broke the tension. "You'll call us?"

"By floo or by phone. You'll hear from me as soon as I know what's going on."

Harry watched the exchange unfold from the prison of his body. At first he'd been angry and confused. But the way Rankar had bent to look him in the eye and taken a moment to explain what little he knew, helped to abate the worst of it. Medication did the rest. By the time he heard Draco say the words, 'I know you love him, but so do I,' to the Weaseleys, he had no fight in him. His calm was artificial, but it was such a departure from his constant mental insistence and pushing to get past each challenge, that he stopped struggling. He felt himself floating in a sea of something invisible, but buoyant and dense enough to keep him afloat. His nerves hummed, and he knew it was a hospital high. It caused him to be so still, he felt the base of his skull vibrate, as if all of his magic was resting there. Fizzing with crackling potential.

When the Weaseley's were gone, he let Draco pull him from the stool and walked hypnotically behind him to the canteen. Every time his mind questioned what his daughter must be going through, Draco tugged on his hand and said, "Stop that. She's fine. We're going to hear from Rankar any minute now."

Fizzing. That was the word Rankar had used to describe Iece's magical reaction. Harry knew there was something he needed to be doing, should've been doing, but he couldn't take two steps on his own without stopping to stare at his shoes. Draco had to pull him to a table, then go back for their food.

Seated in a booth by a window, Draco kept looking at him as if he expected something. Harry didn't know what he could give him, so he stared at all the food they both knew would go to waste between them.

"Eat the chips at least," Draco ordered. "Get something on your stomach."

Obediently, Harry picked one up and bit. He wasn't sure if he was doing it right, judging by the way Draco looked at him.

"I'll just keep bossing you. When you tell me to fuck off, I'll know you're ready to hear what I have to say."

Fuck off. Those words flitted around his desire to speak. He looked at them, willing them to come closer. Even though he sat still, the inner part of him jumped to catch those words, like they were butterflies just out of his reach. He couldn't hope to shape his mouth into their precise sounds. He got the feeling he was letting Draco down. He wasn't thinking clearly.

The longer they sat, with him being unable to push those words into coherent language, the more he shoved chips into his mouth. They tasted like paper maché, and some part of him knew that nothing he ate was going to taste right. He continued because it seemed important to Draco. And while his mind kept clouding over with a sense of wrongness and urgency, he knew that it was very important to let Draco be in charge until he felt normal again. Until he could talk again. Just being unable to do so, should've been terrifying. Whatever Rankar had done, bypassed all of that, giving him the ability to stand apart from his horror. But it took his critical thinking with it, and for the next ten minutes, all that mattered was being good for Draco. That was the key to seeing his baby again. That's what he was left with.

Across from him, Draco's face held all the uneasiness of a smoker who just wanted to light up. He was mad, Harry sensed. He was stressed, and trying not to let it show. Harry's mind could process these things, but information was only going in one direction. Stuff was going into his perception. Nothing was coming out. He couldn't verbalize any of it. He was like a child, clearly aware of his parents suppressing their hatred of one another, but helpless to intellectualize it. His biggest fear was that Draco would be mad at him for not finishing his fries. Then he might not get to see her.

Now that the tables were turned, and Draco had all the authority, he wondered if he'd always been kind to Draco. He knew he hadn't in the early years. But he'd tried to make up for it. Especially when he saw how well he took care of Nicee. He owed him, and now that he was dependent on him to get through this, he just hoped that he'd been nice enough, good enough to him, that all this messed up shit, and all the past shit, wasn't going to run him off. He'd said and done some really harsh things over the years. Things he didn't mean. Things he wanted to take back. All of it seemed really important right now that he needed Draco to help him, and not lose patience and get up and walk out.

Somewhere in the middle of that thought, anxiety lunged, real and undiluted. He grasped at the sound of hearing Draco tell Molly that he loved Harry. He's never even spoken those words to Harry, let alone declared them so openly in front of anyone else. He may not have said them before, but his actions speak them everyday, Harry reminded himself. The bad feeling that came over him, that right now, he knew he didn't have the faculties to give the statement the appreciation it deserved, made him realize that the spell must've peeked. Its effect must be lessening. He owed Draco a decent response to those words, but knew it wasn't going to happen tonight.

Suddenly, his entire body felt leaden. The thought of putting anything else in his mouth, brought incredible sadness.

"Jesus! You're like a five year-old. You don't have to eat all that. Stop, put it down." Draco grabbed his wrist and made him drop the chips.
He did, feeling better.

"I guess I can't wait for the spell to wear off." He massaged his forehead, looking into his thoughts rather than at Harry. Organizing what he wanted to say, seemed insurmountable, but he made a start.

"I'd better tell you before the spell wears off. I just hope you can understand what I'm saying."

Harry placed his palms flat on the table and nodded. He understood more than Draco thought. It was all being funneled through a limited connection, but he was trying.

"Do you really understand what I'm saying?"

Harry nodded. Hope ignited in Draco's expression. "Because this is important. I should've spoken up a while ago."

Another encouraging nod.

"I didn't want to tell you. Her magic is different, Harry. Today wasn't the first time I've seen her eyes change like that."

That's right. His baby. Back to her. That's what all of this was about, and not mentioning her, not speaking her name, was what felt so horrible. Let's talk about her. We have to find out what's going on.

He remembered ice. Just a glimpse speeding at him so fast, but searing his mind with her pitiful image forever. What was wrong with her? Why'd they do that to her?

"I know you want to blame my father. You mustn't. Not because he isn't a bastard who deserves the worst you could do, but because you owe it to yourself to stop thinking of him. It's bad enough that her magic looks like his, but to confuse it with his influence, is the worst call you can make."

He paused to make sure Harry was still with him. "I saw the look on your face today. I saw your need to blame him. Her traits are his, but her magic is different. Your magic is a part of her, and you're so much stronger that way, than anyone I know. She's going to be fine. All the weird stuff, that's not about my father's influence. That's entirely hers. There's something I never told you. You were so out of it the night she was born, I decided to just keep it to myself. I didn't want you to worry."

Harry sat up. His pupils were huge and it intensified the look he was giving Draco.

"When she… came out. This film covered her body. Not vernix. Not just mucus. Snape had already warned me about that. I had to face it and get her wiped down, and get you cleaned, and stay calm. I remember that Snape had said very clearly not to bathe her right away. The vernix would help her adjust to the temperature. I wasn't sure how well she was breathing and I had to act quickly. It was like a really thin skin with its own blood supply. Like she was wrapped in white threads of fiberglass, only clinging to her like flimsy fabric. At first I thought it was something to do with the placenta, gone wrong. But I got her out of it. Once I could see that she was separate from it, it peeled away in my hands. I had to get over being squeamish pretty fast if I wanted to be of use to her or you that night. You were crying and swearing out of your mind. You didn't want to cooperate anymore than your body was making you and I had to stay focused.

"When I saw what she looked like, that she was perfectly clean beneath all that stuff. That she was so beautiful, and alive and responsive, and looking at me, I put it out of my mind and got busy clearing her lungs. I know muggles think that newborns can't see right away, but she was fucking looking at me! Her eyes followed me. And they were gray, with the prettiest silver light. I felt her magic in them and I knew she was good. She wasn't going to be anything like my father. I had to make sure she was taken care of. Her eyes only stayed that way for maybe an hour. By the time you saw her, they'd gone dark. Really dark. It was like her magic closed the doors and hid itself to blend in.
So much was happening that night. Once I had her settled, I focused on you. I put it out of my mind. Now that she was here, it was like hitting the ground running. I guess I let myself forget. When I look back on it, I think, how could I? But I had to. I couldn't tell you, so it was best to forget. And maybe that's what those darker eyes mean. Forget you ever saw this, or she won't be safe.

I cleaned her up. I cleaned you up. I still don't know how I did all that. If it wasn't for Snape, I never would've made it. You were so angry, I kept her in the other room. When I went to discard all the dirty sheets and vanish the things I thought safe to vanish, it began to dawn on me that my magic had no affect on the things stained from her birth. Your blood came clean. But her amniotic fluids, I guess traces from where I cut her umbilical chord and her afterbirth, and that thing that covered her, couldn't be vanished. I threw everything in the tub and tried an incendio. It didn't work. I couldn't just toss it in the garbage. We were being hunted, and that just felt like too much information to let loose into the wrong hands. Snape had a working lab in his basement, and a muggle freezer he'd charmed to stay cold. I found bags, sealed it all up, and crammed everything I could into the freezer, just until I could figure out a way to get rid of it.

"I didn't get back to it until days later. Since her eyes had gone dark, I wondered if the magic had dimmed. If my spells had a shot. Sure enough, the sheets wouldn't be cleaned, but they got hot enough to dry out, then burn. I did that with everything. Almost everything. I knew she was extraordinary, and I hoped we'd see Snape again one day. So I kept a piece of her umbilical chord and the membrane fibers, and left them in the freezer. I saved them, hoping that he could read their magical properties and tell us more about her. I'm not very scientific, but Snape is. I thought he'd find it valuable, as far as learning goes. I was going to put it in my vault, freezer and all, to keep it safe, but we left in such a hurry, I never did. If no one's gotten past his wards, I'd say it's still there. The urgency is lost. If anyone found it now, it wouldn't be any more remarkable than the dozens of ingredient supplies he's got in there."

He looked up, and couldn't tell what Harry was thinking. Was he grossed out? Was talk of that night turning his stomach? He looked like someone waiting on a movie to get interesting. If well-behaved boredom was a person, that's what it would look like.

Draco continued. "I didn't see that eye color again until much later. I was making her laugh, playing with her food. Floating her chicken nuggets. She was laughing so hard, I guess her magic wanted to come all the way out. She was having so much fun. It scared me, but why should she have to hide herself just to survive? Just to be deemed acceptable? I felt like we had to hide it from you, because of how you already felt about my father. I know you'd never hurt her, but I didn't want her reminding you of what you couldn't control. Couldn't change. I was afraid that if you saw that, you wouldn't be able to handle it. That's not a lack a faith in you, that's being there that night and witnessing what he did. I was there, and it fucking destroyed me. I have to stand between you and that night. That's what my secrecy was about. You already have violent urges. And you protect us from them beautifully. But it all comes down to the fury you feel for my father. I couldn't risk you having one more thing about her to remind you of him. So I hid what I knew, hoping we'd never have to speak of it. She's different. And it's his fault. But she's good. She has a lot of you in her. Your magic. Don't let this set you back. We just have to adapt. She deserves our complete acceptance."

He didn't mean to pause where he did. There was certainly more to tell, but he needed a rest from going back there. All those memories were as alive as the moments he experienced them. Complete with a sense of not being able to make things right. Not feeling safe and not knowing how to keep Harry and the baby safe. Compared to now, those early days felt like he'd been spinning out of control in his efforts to keep up with what they both needed. He must've gotten used to it. Maybe he was still going at the same pace, but better at absorbing the hardest parts. He looked to see what all of this was doing to Harry.

Harry's expression was definitely sharper, trained on him in a way that it hadn't been a few minutes ago. He'd gone from docility to rapt interest. He was leaning into the table. His hands had gone relaxed, as if he'd forgotten about them. All of his expression was coming out of his eyes, as if they were his only means of communication. If anything about what he'd heard upset him, Draco couldn't tell.

Not until Harry said, "Fuck you."

At first Draco's heart ballooned with fear. Fear that Harry could be taking any of this that badly. But then, as Harry's flat lips and calm expression held steady, he realized that he was simply responding to his earlier request. He was asking to be told everything.

"Are you following what I'm saying?" How could he be sure?

There was still a gulf between what Harry could think and what he could voice. But more of himself had slipped free of the spell's hold while Draco was talking. It came forward. He didn't like everything he was hearing, but he wanted to hear more. He'd been out of his mind the night his daughter was born. He'd avoided it to the best of his ability. He'd screamed to drown out the reality. And now that he'd survived all of that, he was ready to hear what he'd missed. He wanted to know what Draco knew. He wanted to know her the way Draco knew her. Eyes and all. When Draco spoke of it, he conveyed his personal sense of awe and soothed all the horrors bubbling up in Harry. When he said her eyes were beautiful, and not wrong, they were. He'd said it with wistfulness. And Harry wanted to hear more about everything he'd missed during that time when he was feeling sorry for himself.

He wasn't ready to organize these thoughts, but he reached across the table and took Draco's hand, just as Draco had done upstairs.

"More," he insisted. Tell him more. Tell him everything.

Draco's fingers were cold. It made him think of how deliberate the cool temperatures were in muggle hospitals, and he realized that Draco was quite cold all over, and wore nothing but the jacket to his suit. He didn't shiver. It was the way his shoulders and joints locked in a rigid brace against trembling. His body was too tired to care that it was uncomfortable, and that, to Harry, was a few degrees away from falling into illness himself. Without releasing Draco's hand, he reached beneath the table with his other. He felt for his wand, given back to him after Hermione was satisfied with his conduct. The pocket was a little more than a hole with a lining on the side of his jean thigh. He cast an arch over Draco and selected the memory of being on a warm beach, to fill it with. The charm worked, causing Draco's mouth to fall open, then smile in surprise. Harry didn't know what it felt like to him, but it should've felt like being blasted with gentle, South Pacific winds that were so warm, they could thaw the numbest fingertips within seconds. He'd never been, but he imagined them all the same.

"You…" It was more of a gasp, as Draco closed his eyes and sank into luxurious warmth. "Oh, that feels so good. I didn't even realize how cold I was. Thank you."

Harry thought of transfiguring his jacket into a fancy black fur coat, complete with lining. The kind that eleventh century royals would've worn, so that there would be no question about his masculine integrity. Without it, all that white hair worked against him. Draco, he could admit now, was too pretty for his own good. Not weak. Just softer around the edges than most guys. The transformation was out of the question. Too over the top. Too much too soon. He'd be hot in seconds. And Harry really just wanted him to have something like it because he needed to say, 'I'm going to take care of you, just like you took care of us.' He didn't have enough life left to repay Draco for everything he'd done and he suddenly wanted to see him adorned in the refinement that he liked so much. Harry didn't give a shit about crap like that, but if it made Draco happy, he'd make sure he got it. It wasn't much to ask. It didn't make him his father. It's just clothes, he reminded himself. How long Draco's tastes had been bothering him, he didn't know. Something was letting him let it go. With everything being about his baby, he'd been holding in such annoyance over the little things. But really, it was about seeing Lucius in everything Draco did, and not admitting it to himself. He was ready to let that go.

Draco was hugging himself, but eyeing Harry with new suspicion. "Great, you're alert enough to do magic. Shit. I've waited too long. Stop being nice. You haven't heard the worst of it. You may not want to look at me after I tell you."

Harry waited.

"My point with all this is, between your magic and hers, she's like a whole new energy. Hell, the word I really want to use is species. But I know that's a stretch. Magical species. I suppose that's why I wish Snape were here to look at her. He knew all kinds of things. His abilities were wasted at school. Well, perhaps not. He kept us alive. And apparently, my parents knew that her magic would be unique. The night you walked in on us talking, my parents had just insisted that I give Iece an heirloom. A bracelet."

Harry's brow darkened, as expected. Draco hurriedly added, "Not that I would. I wouldn't give her anything that came from them. I didn't. But you know my parents. It wasn't as simple as telling them no. They provided a rather elaborate story as to why she needed it. They said she'd suffer without it. That all the Black women need to keep some platinum near them. Naturally, I didn't believe a word of it. My mother shoved the thing on me and I took it straight to the Dark Artifacts Division at the Ministry. They looked it over. The most they found were supplemental magics and one very old proprietary spell tied to females of the Black Lineage. It gives her ownership of certain properties, when she comes of age.

"A hundred years ago, it would've kept her from having to marry against her will. There's a story about that. Apparently, a wizard married a woman whose father had found such a mine. He was looking to gain wealth. He brought her to the New World from uncharted Siberian Territories. He was to gain ownership at the birth of his first son. But his wife had all daughters. After five years, he forbid her to tell anyone when she was pregnant, and he sacrificed each succeeding daughter to a spell that would get him a son.

"Hardship beset the family and sickness took most of them. He was left with his oldest daughter and no son. He legally appealed to procreate with his daughter and was given approval to do so. It was a world dominated by male law, and males cared only for heirs. The daughter wasn't given any choice, and was forced to bear a son. Legally, the man became owner of the platinum deposits. But magic doesn't care about the laws of men, it only cares about magic. The daughter's magic was strong and her revenge was that no male would ever dominate her line. She killed her father, flooded the mines, and lived the rest of the days with her son.

"She told him, 'Your daughters shall be your crown. All the power denied my sisters and myself, shall come forth in your little ones. My wealth is their wealth, and I know a part of me comes back through them to enjoy it. Their beauty shall open doors. Their magic shall open worlds. Honor the females of your line, for you are them. The world cannot have men, unless there are females to provide them. Therefore, every man starts with a woman. Honor that, and you will have my wealth. And my magic. Honor that, and you and your line will always be provided for.'

"I know you don't want to hear all that. The thing is, I was just going to lock the damn thing up and not tell you, and forget they ever said anything. They have some nerve. But now, with her magic going haywire like this, I can't sit on that secret. If she needs help, we may have to consider it."

He'd expected Harry to be foaming at the mouth by now. At the first mention of his parents. The fact that he wasn't, let Draco know that the sedative was still working even if the spell was wearing off.

Harry tested his ability to speak. "Do you believe it now?" To his own ears, he sounded like he was slurring just a little. But Draco understood him well enough.

"My mother was partly right. She was worried about deficiencies that could cause Iece's skin to tear too easily. The bracelet provides mineral nutrients that Iece's body may not be able to absorb any other way. But they didn't stop with the bracelet. They actually had themselves filmed on muggle video. They hired a fucking muggle filmmaker and paid her an ungodly amount, just to make a twenty-minute video they could've recorded on a phone. Idiots. At least they have great lighting. They made it for you. It's an appeal. I can't say anything more, you'll just have to watch it. It's on my phone now. If it wasn't so inappropriate, it would be a good laugh. But it's just too damn sad."

"I want to see it."

Draco looked at him, not expecting such an easy acceptance. "Are you sure? You're doing fine now, but it could trigger you."

He shrugged. "Let's hope the drugs hold out. I need to know what your parents are up to."

He hated that they discussed him and his daughter at all. But if he was going into battle, he had to know what deceptions they were employing. Draco shouldn't have to bear it alone, just because they were his parents and he couldn't trust Harry to remain functioning while Lucius was in the room.

It sounded too easy to Draco. "Okay, but not here. Let's step outside. They should know something by the time we return."

They stood and shuffled out of the eating area. Harry commented, "The lights have stopped."

Indeed they had. In the corridors, the alarms were no longer blaring. Electronics appeared stable, and staff recovering. There were messes being cleaned up. Overturned chairs, scattered paper work and supplies, carts with spilled samples, and a few people lined up to have the mediwizards instantly heal the scuffs and twisted ankles that occurred during the rush and panic to establish order.

In the parking garage, Draco found the file on his phone and started it for Harry. He handed it over and folded his arms while he waited. He wished they were at home and Harry could listen without having to strain against the echo of traffic, both inside and out of the garage. Ultimately, he knew that it didn't matter, so he kept his mouth shut. He heard his parents' voices coming from the video, looked away from Harry's stoic expression, and tried not to think about the urine smell coming from a corner behind them.

Harry didn't last five minutes. Draco watched his phone sail through the air, hit a concrete wall, and shatter. His battery went one way, his SD card another. Squelching his own anger, he admitted that he deserved that. Sure, listen to the disturbed person tell you he's ready. He didn't expect an apology and he didn't get one. Harry glared, "I don't have time for this. I have to see what's going on with her."

Draco nodded. Fine. But as Harry tried to pass him, he took hold of his arm and pushed him hard against the wall. "Goddammit! Don't go in there like this. I know that was too much, and I was an idiot for thinking you could handle it. But I tried to be honest with you. I'm tired of keeping secrets. If you don't get a hold of yourself, they're not going to let you see her."

"Why did you show me that?"

"You just said you were ready to see it. I thought the sedative might make it okay. You were doing fine."

Harry shoved him away. "I'm not doing fine, I'm fucked up. I was drugged and hexed. The drug was just a band-aid. It's still working, or I'd be ripping out your father's throat right now."

"Well I'm sorry if I thought I could use the opportunity to communicate with you."

They were both breathing hard and seething at one another. Harry knew that his comments were punishing Draco just as much as they punished his father. But he couldn't say he was sorry, when he wasn't. He couldn't. He was angry and a little sick on his stomach, but he'd just spent thirty minutes in the spotlight of Draco's calm and memories. He'd been able to see Iece's magic through his eyes for the first time, and it wasn't weird or evil, or some dark touch that Lucius left on her. It was beautiful that she was unique, and he had the greatest proof of all that she was a perfectly healthy, good little girl. He had two years of loving her, of knowing her, of being greeted by her footed pajamas and bottle nipple clenched between her tiny teeth every morning. Not that she took a bottle anymore, but he remembered when she had. She was so fucking beautiful, inside and out. Draco's memories showed him a different way of looking at her eyes. He didn't have to be scared of them. And now Draco takes that little bit of precious comfort away by showing him this.

He said, "Do you know how scared I am? Not of your father, not for myself. But of what he could do if I gave him the tiniest chance? There's no room for forgiveness. That's like giving him permission to hang out with her, to take her for weekends. I can't give him an inch, not one crack, into our lives. She'll never be safe while he's alive."

Draco looked down at the various stains and surfaces around him. He wasn't about to argue with that, but it never got easier to handle. Not when he knew what Harry was really saying.

And now Harry saw his sadness, and was beyond disgusted with himself. He shouldn't be doing this to Draco. "Come here."

He said it and reached for Draco at the same time, before he could pull away. Draco turned his head and avoided the eyes seeking his. His body locked in Harry's grip and he rejected how close they were, the smell of Harry's stale clothing after so many panicked sweats, his stubble, his moist breath, and the way his lips dominated anything Draco wanted. The kiss was uncomfortable, at first. But there was warmth at its core, and Harry held on long enough that Draco's fight was quickly persuaded to become something else. Neither of them wanted to argue and this was how things should've been, had Harry never seen that video. It wasn't that he was feeling romantic, he wasn't. But he knew that Draco needed the confirmation of his touch.

You don't share a bed with someone for two years without learning what does it for them. They'd been taking care of Iece so hard, for so long, they'd just assumed they were still together for her. They had never planned on being lovers, so it snuck up on them. Between fights. The need to find someone in the dark, was different from a normal relationship. When they weren't using other people, they'd simply used each other for what they needed. But now they had to figure it out. Harry wanted to love, and Draco needed to be loved. But the risk was finding out who they were beneath all the bile they'd been running from. He couldn't promise Draco love and vow to kill his father at the same time. So many things didn't mix. But he wanted Draco to know that, however he fell short of being what he needed, he did love him. It was a really damaged love, but it was there. That's what the kiss was about.

The last time they were able to look at each other with anything close to the honesty of who they were, they'd been teenagers. Fighting in a bathroom. Loosing their virginity together, and still arguing over having the last word. How were they supposed to know what a real relationship was, on the run? With a baby? When they tried to move forward, without using Iece as an excuse, they were back at the same level of ignorance where they had left off. They'd grown in every other way, except this. They were still fighting in that bathroom, venting adult rages through adolescent bodies. Taking out on each other what they couldn't take out on their families. Draco, for being second to his parent's loyalties, and Harry, for not having his parents at all.

Please don't leave. That's what Harry tried to say with his kiss.

I know life sucks with me, and you deserve better. You deserve someone who's not angry all the time. Who doesn't want to murder your father, but I'm not him and I still need you to be the bigger person and forgive all this damage inside of me. I don't know how to be some ideal partner. Some amazing boyfriend, or even an okay flatmate. But I know that you're important to me. And you're so good. So good. You're so much better than everyone gives you credit for. I don't deserve you, but I can't do this without you. Don't let me push you away. Please.

At first Draco resisted. He had to be convinced after that lashing. Or, he was convinced but wanted the compensation. He made Harry work to loosen his trust again. It was a trust he'd already given to Harry, and couldn't take it back if he wanted to. No matter how crazy he was. It was something he pulled out of Harry's reach every now and then, but he'd signed it over to him long ago. Whether it was the night Harry saved him from Fenrir Greyback, or the day he defeated Voldemort, he didn't know. His arms lifted, agreeing to Harry's embrace. His mouth opened wider, letting him go where he wanted.

They stayed like that until Harry was sure of Draco's answer. You haven't ran me off yet.

Before heading back inside, Draco accio'd the pieces to his phone. Harry reassembled them and the phone lit up immediately.

"I have a text," Draco mused. "Doctor Ranker is looking for us."

Harry pecked him one last time before they rushed out of the garage.


Note: One more update will be posted late this evening, or early AM hours. :-)