Draco didn't even realise that his half-finished mug of soup had fallen to the floor, splashing the lumpy vegetable broth across the damp grass. He sat slack-jawed and completely frozen, staring at Amelia. The words she had spoken sounded foreign.

"Sorry," he eventually said, blinking hard. "You're what?"

"Pregnant."

"H-how?"

"Feel like that part is pretty obvious." To his surprise, as she said this, Amelia's face broke into a tearful smile.

"A baby?" Draco asked slowly as if it was the first time he'd ever even said the word. He was only slightly aware of how incredibly dumbstruck he sounded.

Amelia nodded, her hand still protectively hovering over her stomach.

"When?" He seemed to be unable to speak in full sentences.

"I found out just after you left… only a few days ago." Draco dragged his eyes to where her hand sat atop her stomach. "Very early stages, obviously. Still trying to wrap my own head around it all, to be honest," Amelia added.

All Draco could do was stare at Amelia's stomach in disbelief, moth half-open and completely speechless. Amelia stayed silent now, allowing him the time for his mind to catch up with reality. He could see her nervous expression in the corner of his eye – worried eyes and biting her bottom lip anxiously.

A million thoughts tumbled through Draco's mind, but his eyes widened as he caught one. "Wait – the battle – how do you know the baby is okay?"

Again, Amelia smiled softly, the nerves on her face melting away to make way for hesitant relief. "It's okay," she confirmed with a nod.

Draco let go of a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"So – you're not mad?" Amelia asked tentatively.

Shame washed over Draco; his reaction had so far not exactly been the joyous celebration that these things probably tended to be. "Mad? No – Merlin, fuck – of course I'm not mad."

"It's obviously not what either of us had planned for right now…" Amelia started.

"As opposed to the rest of our lives which are going just according to plan."

"True, but still –

Draco put his hand over hers on her middle and cut her off. "It's perfect." He kissed her and tried to silence the anxious thoughts that were currently flooding his mind.

"You're sure?" Amelia asked, still clearly nervous about Draco's reaction.

"I mean, it's a surprise… And the thought of being a father is frankly mental to me… But this feels right."
Amelia flung her arms around his neck, half-crying, half-laughing. "I've been dying to tell you."

"I'm sorry you had to find out without me being there," Draco mumbled sincerely. "Must've been hard to process all of that by yourself."

Amelia pulled back slightly, the smile vanishing from her face. "Henry knew. I told him. He was so excited to be an uncle after all of this." The sadness which had momentarily lifted set back in to her features. "And now they'll never even know each other…"

Draco thought back to Henry's plea - that both he and Amelia make it through the battle. He hadn't wanted their child to grow up with only one parent.

"Everything that our child will do throughout their life will be because of Henry," Draco said, placing his hand over Amelia's stomach and trying to feel the life inside of her.

Draco desperately needed to sleep, but Amelia insisted that he visit the medical tent before doing anything else. Then, she promised, he could sleep for days and days if he needed to. As they walked away from the glowing warmth of the dining hall towards the unbridled chaos of the medical tent, Draco felt as if he'd had a few too many firewhiskies: his vision blurred at the edges and the muffled sounds happening around him made him feel as if he was underwater; his limbs tingled and seemed to both float and weigh a thousand tonnes. By the time they arrived at the tent, he gladly collapsed into a vacant chair in the small reception room, which looked as if it had been magically extended by the healers.

Draco was so delirious that he barely noticed Michael Corner appear in front of him, his face beaming.

"The man of the hour – sounds like the plan went off without a hitch!" Michael said, extending a hand to shake Draco's.

"That's not quite how it feels right now," Draco mumbled, adjusting himself in the chair to try and find an angle which didn't agonise his entire body.

"Uh – yes – I daresay it's been a trying few days for you," Michael said slightly more solemnly.

Behind Michael Draco saw Luna and Neville exit from one of the rooms, carefully closing the door behind them in a manner which didn't match the chaos in this room. He watched as Luna wiped a tear from her eye and Neville put a comforting arm around her shoulder.

Michael had followed Draco's eyes: "Those who didn't make it… they're in that room," he explained.

Draco glanced up at Amelia, whose eyes were already fixed on the closed door. He took an opportunity while Michael darted back to the counter quickly to ask if she wanted to go in.

Amelia shook her head and swallowed. "No. Not yet."

Draco nodded and squeezed her hand. "Whenever you're ready."

Michael reappeared with a large vial of murky green potion, the smile plastered back on his face. Draco felt for him – he must've had to deal with a fair amount of dead or seriously injured friends tonight, all while having to maintain a quick thinking and level head. He made a mental note to try and not be a prat towards him.

"Right – this won't fix everything, but it'll help. It's a tonic – should dull the pain a bit and clear your mind," Michael said, and Draco didn't need any more convincing; he downed the tonic in one. The flavour was surprisingly sweet, almost fruity, and instantly he felt the throbbing all over his body dial back.

Michael tended to Draco efficiently and within fifteen minutes, he was given the all-clear.

"Come and see me tomorrow when it's less mental and I'll have another look at that healing stab wound. For now though, you're good to go," he said. "Mills – how are you doing?"

Amelia shook her head dismissively. "All fine. Scratches and bruises, that's all."

Draco was about to pipe up that they needed to somehow check that the baby was okay, but looking at Amelia's weary face made him bite his tongue.

"Then I suggest you both go and get some sleep. The Weasley's are planning a big dinner for everyone this evening in the dining hall, I'll see you guys there," Michael said with genuine affection for both of them. He squeezed Amelia on the shoulder and smiled at his friend before turning his heel and immediately swooping in to check on somebody else. For him, the night was only just beginning.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Amelia pressed as Draco got out of the chair with the agility of a ninety year old.

"I'll admit I've seen better days, but there are people who need these beds more than me right now," Draco said seriously. "All I need is rest. And I'd rest much better in our bed next to you than in some corridor of wounded fighters."

"Right, well in that case – as promised: sleep," Amelia said as they made their way out of the medical tent. They walked away from the chaos, once again immediately falling back into their own fuzzy fragmented thoughts; united in grief but both too exhausted to express anything else. As they made their way towards their makeshift home, Draco's eyes locked onto something in a nearby clearing amongst the tents: his mother and Andromeda sitting alongside each other on a log, both cradling steaming mugs in their hands.

Aided by the tonic, healing spells and bandages given to him by Michael, Draco walked with more ease than he had done all night towards the strange sight of the two estranged sisters. In the sky, the moonlight was fading as the sun began to gradually rise from behind the mountains. An early morning frost sprinkled the grass, crunching beneath Draco's boots as he eagerly approached his mother and aunt, Amelia right beside him.

It wasn't until they was very close that the two older ladies noticed him, but as soon as they did they both sprang to their feet, relieved smiles spreading wide across their faces. Draco couldn't remember ever seeing his mother smile.

"Draco – goodness, we've been worried sick," his mother said breathily as she engulfed him in an embrace. "You're alive," she remarked with great relief. She took a step back to scan his features in an uncharacteristically maternal way, her pencil-thin eyebrows knitting together in concern.

"I'm okay," Draco confirmed with a small grin. "Are you?"

"We're both fine – we're made of tough stuff, aren't we Cissy?" Andromeda piped up, swooping an arm around Draco and folding him in to her. "I am unbelievably proud of you," she added so that only Draco could hear. Draco drew back to look at his aunt, a warm smile planted on her face. He didn't know how to respond, but held her gaze and nodded with a faint smile.

"And Amelia," Narcissa said, far more awkwardly than she had greeted Draco. She held out her hand to Amelia and for a brief moment they clasped hands, smiling at each other with newfound but hesitant affection.

There was so much that Draco wanted to speak to his mother about regarding the past few days – few months, really. A memory slashed through his brain though and he stammered:

"Mother – the veritaserum tonight – I'm so sorry, I really tried to protect you."

Narcissa waved her hand to dismiss Draco's apology. "There is no need for apologies. Not from you, anyhow."

"It was all a trap, that bastard. I never meant for you to get caught up in my plan like that."

"I know, Draco. You did wonderfully," his mother said, her voice sounding more warm and admiring than Draco had ever heard it. She put a cold, bony hand to his face, her eyes brimming with tears.

"And the Manor – your home – it's practically destroyed," Draco added hastily. His mother appeared calm though.

Narcissa glanced at her sister, who smiled encouragingly back. "It can burn to the ground for all I care."

Andromeda put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "We're starting again, Draco. All of us. You needn't worry."

Draco relaxed. His mother really did seem okay.

The four of them stood, discussing the night's events but being careful to keep it brief: none of them could handle a full dissection of the battle just yet. He listened eagerly as Andromeda and Amelia both described the apparation process of sneaking into Malfoy Manor, and felt an odd tingling warmth behind his eyes when they mentioned the cavalry led by the tiny house elf, Motley. He was equally thankful that none of the women pressed him about his own self-appointed mission.

After several minutes though, Draco felt he could stand no longer. The relief of seeing his family alive and well was about the last thing his heart could handle. He apologised, but said that he had to lie down, at least for a few hours.

"We'll be fine," Andromeda said, sensing Draco's guilt at leaving them to go and rest. "We've got years to catch up on."

And so him and Amelia continued the procession back towards their tent, mindlessly tracing their way through the other dozens of tents, Draco's arm around Amelia's shoulders and hers around his waist. Once again, they didn't speak, equally lost in their own thoughts, but they both clung to each other tightly.

As Amelia opened the door to the tent, the familiar scents of their home almost knocked Draco off his feet. Buttery vanilla perfumes and a warm musky oak immediately relaxed him. They took their coats off and stood by the closed door; Draco remembered the last time they had stood here, only days earlier, neither of them knowing what awaited them in the future. Apparently the same thought had occurred to Amelia, because she reached up and inside Draco's shirt, gently lifting the necklace and ring around his neck.

She smiled warmly at the sight of it.

Draco cleared his throat, struggling to match words to his feelings. "If I didn't have this – if I didn't have you – I wouldn't have made it," he said plainly in a low voice, but hoping that she understood just how true the sentiment was. "I swear that while I was there – captured – there were moments when I really thought I would just fade away. But feeling this – it kept me alive."

He really didn't fancy going into all of the details of what he had endured in Malfoy Manor just yet, and hoped that bringing it up wouldn't lead in to a long conversation, but thankfully Amelia either understood this, or also did not have the capacity to handle anything else just now. Instead, she leant up towards him and kissed him gently on the lips.

"I feel like it's only fair to us both that I have a shower before I sleep," Draco mumbled, catching sight of himself in the window's reflection.

Amelia swept some of his hair from his eyes with an amused smile. "That seems wise, yes."

"Will you be okay?"

Amelia nodded, the smile fading as quickly as it had appeared. "A few minutes of sitting and staring into the abyss might be just what I need, actually," she said half-joking. "Go, I'll be fine. I'll pop the kettle on for you."

Satisfied enough, Draco pecked her forehead and made his way to the small bathroom, leaving Amelia to wander into the kitchen.

Draco stepped into the shower, turned on the taps and closed his eyes as the warm water began to ooze from his head and down his shoulders. He opened his eyes to see the swill of dark water pooling at his feet; evidence of the dirty battle shedding itself from his skin. He looked at his hands: dirt embedded itself deep beneath his fingernails and folded into the small creases of his palms and knuckles. He started to scrub at his forearms, long and sweeping motions which pushed dust and dirt and congealed blood from his skin. It wasn't enough though and the longer he looked down at himself, the dirtier he felt. He kept scrubbing at his skin until it was no longer dirty, but red raw. Still, he didn't feel clean. Didn't feel like the battle had left him.

He felt it rise up inside of him, something deep in the pit of his being hijacking his emotions. As if the steamy air was wrapping itself around his neck. He gasped desperately to catch his own breath. He threw out an arm against the tiles in front of him in order to catch his own weight. Below him, the water now ran clear. He was clean, but he felt completely suffocated by everything that had happened. His eyes flickered to his left forearm; standing clear against his red raw skin: the Dark Mark, with the scar slashed directly through the centre, warping the image of the skull and reminding Draco of a past he would always carry with him.

Whatever had erupted deep inside of Draco pushed its way to the surface, forcing him to choke out a sob. He slammed his other hand against the tiles, leaning against them as spluttering, guttural cries rose up like vomit from the pit of his stomach. He didn't know why this was happening, only that it felt like something had snapped inside of him that he had been desperately trying to keep together for a long time. Images soared through his mind as fat tears rolled down the bridge of his nose to mingle with the steaming shower water: Bellatrix's looming figure over him, preparing to torture him; Pansy standing at an alter in a wedding dress, looking hopefully up at him; staring at his Dark Mark for the first time when he was sixteen; Amelia huddled in the corner of Malfoy Manor's dungeons; the life leaving Henry's eyes; the feeling of stepping his feet on the grass at the resistance only hours earlier. Every thought, every memory conjured fresh tears, new choked cries from the back of his throat, until the emotion overcame him and he sank slowly to his knees, feeling the pain of the torture and the battle he had survived coarse through his body.

His mind shifted to think of the life growing inside of Amelia – his child. Images of his own childhood flashed in front of him, of his cold and neglectful father, his mother showering him with expensive gifts when all he craved was affection. The house in which he'd grown up mercilessly turned into a headquarters for the most evil wizard there has ever been. How could he possibly hope be a good father? He had nothing to draw from, no one from whom to model himself.

What if the poison that lived inside of him trickled down to his own child? What if he was doomed to make the same mistakes that his parents did with him? What if his soul had been too tortured, had seen too much, to give the proper love that a child needs? And now it was too late; the seed had been planted, that poison transferred to the innocent life that grew inside of the woman he loved.

Still he bawled. He didn't try to stop it anymore; he let it take him over, acknowledging that he needed to expel it from his body. He let everything wash over and go through him: all the trauma, all the loss, all of the guilty relief, all the anxiety for the future.

When finally he was able to pick himself off the floor and towel himself dry, Draco stood and considered himself in the mirror. His face was clean now – his milky skin restored to its usual porcelain. His eyes still looked exhausted though, all the more so for his uncontrollable breakdown. His hands shook and his legs felt weak; he had nothing left in him. He clumsily pulled on a pair of trousers and shuffled from the bathroom, heading directly to the bed, where Amelia already sat perched, holding a cup of tea.

He couldn't tell from her facial expression whether she had heard him, but Draco quickly reminded himself that she was probably suffocated by her own grief. The muddle of emotions still bounced around his stomach and a voice in his head kept taunting him, telling him that everything he'd been through meant that he would never be a good father. Without thinking, he bent down on the bed and put his head into Amelia's lap, lying beside her rather pathetically.

He closed his eyes as he felt Amelia's hand – soft and warm – come to caress his cheek and comb her fingers through his wet hair.

"I don't want our kid to be another Malfoy," he mumbled, surprised to hear himself speak.

He heard Amelia take a deep breath above him. "They won't be. And anyway, that name means something very different now." She spoke more matter-of-factly than comforting and Draco tried to let himself believe this as he finally allowed his mind to shut down and be pulled into slumber.

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By the time that Amelia opened her eyes, it was once again dark outside. A glance at her watch told her it was approaching 5 o'clock in the afternoon. Draco's head still lay heavy in her lap, his hair now dry and his face completely relaxed. She suspected that he hadn't stirred for the past 10 hours.

She had managed small bursts of sleep, moments where she would only realise she had finally succumbed to her exhaustion from startling herself awake. Mostly though, she just stared ahead of her, trying desperately to remember every single word in her last moments with Henry. Trying to capture all that he was in her mind so that she could preserve him there; so that he could continue to grow with her; so that she could carry him in the place in her heart where she carried her mother and father.

She was so accustomed to grief now that she felt she should've been an expert at processing it all. It all felt new though, a fresh wound completely different from anything else she'd experienced. She and Henry had been connected in a way that you can't be to parents. Through all of the grief she'd experienced with her parents' deaths, Henry had been the light that guided her forward. He was someone who could understand exactly what she was thinking and feeling just from the way she would sip a cup of tea, or from the faintest look in her eye. He was so much a part of her that it felt impossible that she could continue existing without him there. Might she lose who she was without Henry?

For the hours that she lay in bed next to Draco, his hand lazily across her middle, she did not cry. There was a physical aching wedged deeply in her chest, and her legs felt entirely hollow, but her brain felt fuzzy, as if it were wrapped in cotton wool. She had either already cried all the tears possible, or she had been stunned into disbelief. Perhaps both.

Eventually, Amelia was pulled from this internal whirlpool by a gentle knocking at the door. She glanced down at Draco, but he was still in a deep sleep. She carefully slid out from underneath him and pulled on a jumper. Only then she realised that she hadn't even showered or changed her clothes from the battle – she must've looked a complete state.

She opened the door and saw Ginny standing there – also evidently unchanged from the previous night. Her long fiery hair cascaded down her shoulders like it always did, though it was so thoroughly matted that it resembled Hermione's far more. Her freckly face was blotchy and underneath her dark lashes her eyes were swollen and bleary.

With a small yelp, Ginny threw her arms around Amelia, wrenching her into a tight embrace.

If Amelia had thought that she had possibly ran out of tears for the day, holding her best friend in the wake of the battle proved her wrong.

"Oh Mills – I'm so, so sorry… I can't believe he's gone," Ginny said, weeping into Amelia's shoulder.

Ginny came into Amelia's tent and they resumed their usual positions on the lumpy sofa; Amelia waved her wand towards the bedroom to cast a silencing charm around it, and then pointed it at the kettle upon the stovetop, triggering it to begin boiling.

Ginny placed a hand over Amelia's, looking at her best friend with such sadness. "I know the feeling of losing a brother – and it feels like a chunk of your heart has been scooped out."

Amelia nodded and wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her jumper. "That just about describes it, yeah. I just never even considered that he wouldn't make it."

"Me either. It's not right."

"This doesn't feel like a victory," Amelia admitted, fresh tears springing behind her eyes. She tilted her head towards the ceiling to try and stop them from falling. "I can't even think about who else is lying in that room in the medical tent. This was their future, it's not fair they don't get to be here when they gave their lives to it."

Ginny nodded gravely. "I know. My dad was just saying that this is unfortunately the price of war… I suppose he's lived through a couple of them now," she added with a dark chuckle.

"Are they okay – your parents?"

Ginny nodded with a smile. "Thank Merlin. The Weasley's made it through, this time. Is Draco alright?" She asked, nodding towards the small bedroom in the corner of the tent.

"I think so. Shell-shocked, perhaps – and completely exhausted obviously. I think he needs to sleep for about five days straight."

"Godric, don't we all! I feel so tired but also like I'll never sleep again I have so much adrenalin," Ginny mused with a slight amusement.

"Agreed," Amelia said wearily.

They sat in silence for a moment and Amelia waved her wand again and two cups of tea glided over from the kitchen into their waiting hands.

"What happens now?" Amelia said, pulling them both out of their daze.

Ginny shrugged. "I suppose we won't be living in tents for very much longer."

Amelia looked around the room, her eyes hovering over the small dining table where Henry would sit while she cooked for him: she could almost see his outline sitting back in the chair, his legs up on the other one, his shoulders relaxed. "I'll miss it," she said sincerely.

"Me too."

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A/N: If you've been following along and have read up to here, thank you so much! Please leave a review and let me know what you think :)
Only a couple of chapters to go now :')