Harry Potter is owned by JKR

Trigger Warnings at End of Chapter

Chapter 63

"Bloody Granger," Draco thought, "bloody Potter. This is his fault somehow, I know it."

He'd had to retreat to his room to compose himself after the opening dance with the damn, swotty, know-it-all, so he hadn't actually been present. By some accounts, Rodolphus Lestrange had infiltrated the ball and tried to kidnap Bellatrix away. It wasn't clear exactly why; the two had never shown any kind of affection for one another, not that Draco had ever seen. That was neither here nor there though. She'd stabbed him in the throat, he'd run off, as had at least a third of the guests in the minutes following the incident. That meant his and Shawn's demonstration of a mobile phone working through apparition (thanks to the wards, Shawn couldn't apparate within the ballroom, so really it was only Draco popping from one side of the stage to the other), was witnessed by fewer people than he would have preferred.

"Hopefully word of mouth picks up the slack for whoever we weren't able to reach," he thought.

Now, with the party over, the guests departed, and cleanup scheduled for the following day, Draco paced back and forth in his bedroom. What he wanted was to get over to the orphanage and unload all his anger and frustration to Macmillan. The squib always seemed to know exactly what to say to calm him down and view things from another perspective.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he startled awake, still wearing his evening clothes on top of the bedcovers. Darkness reigned outside the window, and he reached for his wand.

"Six-thirty," he thought, "… fuck it, he's usually in early on Mondays."

The chill London wind whistled and whipped at his jacket, and he pulled his wool cap down tighter. He could have cast a warming charm before he left the Leaky, but he'd been so livid at the time, he'd wanted to suffer the cold. After a twenty-minute walk through the early morning streets though, he started to regret his decision. A fire truck passed him, sirens blaring and flashing lights leaving streaks on his retinas. Draco thought nothing of it, until he spotted a plume of black smoke against the glowing clouds.

"Hang on, that's-" he thought, then broke into a sprint towards the black smoke rising from the direction of the orphanage. He arrived to see a crowd of children standing in the playground and the grassy yard where he'd played footie with many of them. Some wore school uniforms, but many shivered in slippers and nightgowns. Orange flames and acrid black smoke poured from half of the building's windows, and the heat reached him even on the far side of the yard.

"Drake? What are you doing here?" Pam Baker asked. She had lent her jacket to one of the teenage girls, and even with the fire driving back the pre-dawn gloom, she shivered and hugged her arms when the wind gusted.

"Looking for Macmillan," Draco replied, "what happened?"

"I don't know, it was up in flames when I got here," Pam replied, "Macmillan's out front."

She continued herding children away from the burning building as a few more stumbled out the back door. Draco ran around the side and spotted more children, two ambulances, and the fire truck that had passed him earlier parked on the property between the building and the street. Muggle firefighters carried a long hose and sprayed water into the windows, and a second group looked like they were getting ready to enter the front door. The blaze lit up the road and nearby buildings, and gawkers lined the side of the road opposite the orphanage. Director Macmillan stood near the front gate and watched the inferno as he repeatedly ran his hand over his mouth. He glanced at Draco as he approached, and it seemed he was barely holding it together as his life's work went up in flames.

"There are still people inside," Macmillan said. Even as he said it, one particularly burly muggle firefighter emerged from the front door with a woman's body slung over his shoulder. He laid her down on a gurney by an ambulance, and Draco recognised Steph Griggs, the full-time worker in charge of the primary kids, as she coughed and wheezed weakly. Her hair hand burnt away, soot marred her face, and her hands were horribly burnt; he couldn't tell in places where her clothes ended and her flesh began. He looked away from the sight, back towards the fire, and caught a flash of short cropped blonde hair from one of the children nearest to the building. Callista McKay, Mary's younger sister, glanced away from Steph and back at him with a blank expression. He practically heard Granger's swotty voice in his head, narrating the Rise and Fall of Lord Voldemort:

Riddle would return years later and burn the orphanage to the ground…

…burn the orphanage to the ground…

The phrase repeated in his head and he swore young Callista McKay smirked at him while the firelight danced in her grey eyes. He blinked and the blank expression was back on her face.

"Merlin's fucking balls, she did it," he thought, "she's a bullied orphan, just like the Dark Lord, and she burned down her orphanage, just like the Dark Lord, only she did it ten years earlier."

The thought he might be staring at a budding Dark witch sent a shudder through his shoulders, but then Callista glanced to Macmillan, and the light caught her face at just the right angle; with the orange flames on her features and her boyish haircut, it reminded him of the photo album Mother had shown Aunt Andromeda, himself as a toddler running in front of a Christmas fire with Dobby chasing after him. He gasped as it felt like a bolt of lightning struck him square on his forehead.

"I'm fairly certain Father had a different one each week," Theo's voice came to him, from months ago, to which he'd replied, "Fairly certain they all did, and why not, right?"

Callista McKay, who showed signs of accidental magic, who'd seen a Filcher through the protection of the Statute, who shared a mother with Mary, but without any record of a father, bore a striking resemblance to himself when he was a small child. He took a few steps towards her to get a better look.

"What did I tell Theo? It's an easy obliviate afterwards," he thought, "How could I not have seen it before?"

She looked away as he approached to within four metres, but even from this distance, the similarities were obvious… the same pointed features, her nose unusually sharp for such a young child, the same steely grey eyes, the same platinum blonde hair…

"She's not muggleborn, you twat, she's half-blood," he thought, "Father's half-blood child. Possibly. I've got to make sure, but first things first."

He turned around and his eyes sought out Macmillan, then he trotted over and motioned him a few feet away from the rest.

"There's a Ministry outreach program for muggles," he said, "I'm going to go there now and request that they fix this."

"They won't get involved," Macmillan replied with no small amount of bitterness.

"They might, what's going to happen to the children?" he asked.

Macmillan shook his head.

"They'll have to be distributed around to various other homes or shelters, but they're all already overcrowded. I'll have to let the staff go unpaid for the time being, too," he replied.

Draco nodded.

"The Minister just held his party at my house, and let someone get stabbed in front of my ballroom. He bloody owes me," he thought.

"Let me see what I can do," he said, "what's your mobile number?"

They exchanged numbers, then cries of 'Margaret' went up from some of the children as the firemen carried another person out, this one a child, and Macmillan rushed over to her. Draco slipped away, then dipped into a stairwell of a nearby building to give him cover to apparate to Diagon. His thoughts whirled as he took the floo to the Ministry, and ticked off a list of what he had to do. Down to the first floor to the Minister's office he went.

"I'm sorry, Minister Winthrop isn't in at the moment," the blonde personal assistant said with fake empathy, "if you leave a message for him, he'll be sure to address your concerns."

"This can't wait, I need to speak to whoever is in charge of the Being outreach program, specifically for muggles," Draco said.

"Oh, that's the Junior Undersecretaries' office," the receptionist replied, "that way."

She pointed left, and Draco walked down the hall and strode into the office, only to stop short when Hermione Granger looked up at him.

"Granger, I…" he said.

"Grr… fuck it," he thought.

"I need your help," he said. He felt dirty just saying the words. Her lips formed a thin line in a good imitation of McGonagall.

"Number one, you don't get to jump the queue," she said, "two, this really isn't a good time."

"It can't wait," he said as he stepped fully into the room, "there's been a fire at an orphanage in London. I need one of those muggle outreach teams to head over there and rebuild it, preferably overnight. It's run by a squib, he can tell them what to do, no Statute risk."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Actually, there is a Statute risk because depending on the extent of the damage it won't be possible to believably repair it overnight, not unless we involve obliviation or memory modification," she said, "and second, you just happened to know about a fire at a muggle orphanage? Were you involved somehow? Running an insurance scam? What's your angle?"

He growled and glowered at her.

"There is no bloody angle," he replied, "that's where I did my probation, and the squib who we kicked out built it up himself by pouringhis life into helping these kids. They have nowhere else to go."

For once in his life, he held the moral high ground, and he intended to make the most of it. Granger had pulled out a parchment form, but her hand wavered, as if she were fighting some internal battle, so Draco kept pressing.

"They're sodding orphans, Granger, and a whole mess of them aren't even going to have clothing after this. Set aside for the moment it's me asking you, how can you honestly say no?" he asked, "Shall I call Saint Bloody Potter, your orphan best chum, and explain to him that you denied the requested work allocation and threw dozens of kids literally out into the cold?"

He pulled out his mobile phone.

"Don't be a prat, of course I'm going to approve it," she said, but her hand still hovered over the parchment, "I need the address."

Draco recited it to her, then watched as she deliberately slowed down her writing speed to take as long as possible. He refrained from saying anything though, for fear of jeopardising the completion of the work order request.

"I'm sorry, by the way," Granger said as she grit her teeth, "for what I said at the ball. I didn't know."

Draco sneered at her.

"Yes, that's the problem with you, isn't it?" he replied, "and it still is. Whatever you think you know, I guarantee it's not the half of it. Always the same story… think because you've paged through a few dusty tomes, you-"

Draco clamped his mouth shut as she scowled; why give Granger any more ammunition to ruin his life with? Truth be told, he could have read for a decade about muggle life, but held next to a full year of living and working and breathing with them, a year of ecstatic highs and devastating lows… the experience couldn't be replicated in any book, even if he were to write it himself, because the words to describe what he'd been through simply did not exist. The seedy underworld beneath the veneer of muggle Britain was something he suspected Granger, even as a muggleborn, had not once even scratched the surface of.

"Truth and knowledge isn't in reading, it's in doing," he thought. Memories of times spent with Mary rose to the fore, and he fell back on occlumency training to lock them away again.

"At any rate, this needs to be expedited," he said.

"Fine, if it'll get you out of here," Granger said, "they should be there this afternoon, perhaps tomorrow morning. The children won't be able to return for several days though, to make it seem realistic."

She signed the form and folded it into an envelope, which contorted into a paper aeroplane and zoomed off out the door.

"Now if there's nothing else-" Granger said, but Draco interrupted her by turning his back and walking out the door. He flooed home and called Macmillan.

"Hello?"

"They're going to repair it by tomorrow, you might have to camp at the orphanage tonight," Draco said.

The sigh of relief on the other side did much to lift Draco's spirits.

"Thank you. I know you didn't have to do this-"

"Yes I did," Draco said, "and… I want to do something about Callista McKay, too."

"Mary's younger sister?" Macmillan asked.

"Yes. I think she may be a muggleborn, but I want to test it," Draco said, "if she is then… then she doesn't belong at that orphanage."

"What's your plan? Drop her in one of the Ministry shelters for war orphans?" Draco thought, "that may only be marginally better. At least Macmillan is competent."

He switched his phone to the other ear as Macmillian said something about paperwork.

"Perhaps by intervening and trying to prevent her from becoming a Dark witch, you're going to fuck it up so badly you all but ensure it," he thought, "Sod it, one step at a time."

Draco refocused on the conversation, as Macmillan had continued speaking.

"She's still here. I'll keep her at the orphanage for the time being, though most of the building is unusable," Macmillan said.

"That's fine, we only need a small space," Draco replied, "I'll be by in a few hours."

He hung up and headed to the manor library. He needed the formula for a specific potion… a Malfoy family brew for determining the strength of blood relations. He had to know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, if he was related to Callista McKay. He found the potion instructions in the same weathered tome as the charm to terminate an unwanted pregnancy, and he spent a long moment looking at the wand motion and the incantation for the termination spell, the one he'd nearly used on Mary while she slept. Then he hefted the entire book with him down to the potions lab in the cellar, and got to work. Forty minutes later, he returned to his room, changed clothes, tucked the large crystal vial containing the grey potion into his pouch, then apparated to Diagon to pop into Quality Quidditch Supplies. He couldn't give Callie McKay a wand to wave about, but brooms would not work for muggles or squibs, so it was a good a test as any. He picked up a bottom of the line child's Shooting Star for twenty-nine galleons sixteen sickles. It was a far cry from his old Nimbus 2001, but it would get the job done. He then hiked under grey skies to the Leaky Cauldron to exit into London and make the trip to the orphanage.

The muggle authorities had long since departed, but they left fluttering yellow tape across the front gates warning passerby not to enter. It was an odd feeling, staring up at the burnt out husk of the building that had been his prison for six months. Its meaning to him had changed in the intervening time after he left, but this was where it had all started. It was where he'd met Mary, and Darren, Quaid, and Alan too. Two of them were already dead, and Draco had nearly died himself on more than one occasion. He walked around back and found one of the rear doors open. As he stepped into the burnt-out orphanage, and an acrid, smoky smell made him want to gag. Soot covered the ceiling and upper portion of the walls, and everything, every wall, every ceiling, every chair and carpet, was soaked, courtesy of the firefighters who had made their way through and hosed everything down.

"Hello?" he called.

"Arts and Crafts," Macmillan's voice echoed through the hall.

Draco walked slowly as small waves spread out from the water pooled on the floor. He paused at the entrance and pulled the clear vial containing the grey potion out of his pouch. He then turned into the room to see Director Macmillan standing at a low bookcase with several forms and papers spread out on top of it, while Callie McKay sat at a child's desk and coloured on what looked like pure white computer paper. They both wore their jackets as the windows had all broken, allowing the wind and late-autumn air to blow through the room. Draco's shoes squelched on the soaking wet carpet. Callista looked up at him, then refocused on her drawing. From what Draco could see, it looked like a building on fire. Macmillan stacked a few papers together, then weighed them down with a blue three-ring binder.

"How is Steph?" Draco asked.

"She'll live, but she's in a lot of pain now. They've got her in a burn ward, no word yet on potential scarring," Macmillan replied, "Margaret had lung damage but she's expected to pull through too. Nobody else was seriously injured, thank God."

"Good," Draco said as he approached. It was clear the squib was shaken, in uncharted waters with the severe damage to the orphanage, but now that the moment was upon him, Draco wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to do. He looked down at the various stacks of paper spread out atop the low bookshelf.

"Insurance forms," Macmillan said by way of explanation, "so… how do you want to do this?"

"Start at the beginning, make sure she's a witch," he thought.

"Callie," he said, and the girl looked up at him, and he caught an instant of fear before she covered it up.

"She's worried I'm on to her," he thought.

He set the broom on the ground, on a spot of carpet that was merely damp, not soaked, and took a steadying breath.

"I think um… I think you may be a special person," he said.

"Everyone's special," Callista replied, almost reflexively. Draco got the idea the word had been overused in the orphanage, and had perhaps lost some of its meaning for her.

"Ah… no. No they're not," he said, "at least, not like I am. And not like how I suspect you are. Let me show you."

He put his hand out over the Shooting Star's wooden shaft.

"Up," he said, and the broom heeded his call and zipped up to his hand, where he caught it neatly. Callista's mouth dropped open.

"How… how did you do that?" Callista asked. Draco grinned.

"Special people can do it," he replied, "why don't you stand up."

He placed the broom back down on the carpet.

"Place your hand over the shaft, and say 'up'," he said, "you've got to let it know who's boss, like commanding a pet."

Callista tentatively placed her hand over the broom.

"Up," she said, but the broom didn't budge.

"Again, louder," Draco said.

"Up!" she said, and the broom twitched and rolled over. Callie gasped, and her eyes widened as she looked at Draco, then back down at the broom.

A guarded look came over Macmillan's eyes, but Draco knew it for what it was.

"Envy," he thought. He wondered how many times ten or eleven year old Terrence Macmillan had stood with his hand out over a broom just like this, saying 'up' over and over again, only to fail every single time.

"The ultimate disappointment," Draco thought, "he would have known he had to show some kind of magic with either a wand or a broom, or be disowned. How in Merlin's name did he ever recover from that kind of crushing loss?"

"Up!" she said, and the broom lifted, hovered for a moment halfway between her hand and the floor, then drifted back down.

"No squib would be able to get that far, much less in only three tries," he thought.

"Keep at it," Draco said.

He walked over to Macmillan and set the potion on the makeshift counter, then withdrew a small piece of metal shaped more or less like an arrowhead. He uncorked the potion, jammed the point of the metal into the pad of his middle finger and released three drops of blood into the brew.

"What's this?" Macmillan asked as Draco pressed his thumb against the small puncture wound.

"Test for strength of blood relation," he replied.

Macmillan looked at him for a moment, then his eyes widened and his gaze shot to Callista, then back to Draco.

"You don't think-"

"I did it!" Callista said, broom held in one hand over her head, a broad grin on her face.

Draco smiled at the pure and unfiltered joy of a child, then reminded himself that this little girl had set fire to the building, while people were inside. He motioned her over.

"Good job," he said as he took the broom back and leaned it against the wall, "now, I need three drops of your blood."

He held up the small, sharp piece of metal and his injured finger.

"It'll hurt a little bit, then we'll patch it right up," he said.

He pulled his wand from his inside jacket pocket.

"Are you sure you're allowed…?" Macmillan asked.

"Statute doesn't apply for us three," Draco replied, "episky. See, all fixed."

Callista's mouth remained permanently open. She winced as the sharp point penetrated the pad of her finger, then Draco held it over the neck of the bottle and squeezed three drops out. He healed her finger just as he had his own, then corked the bottle and swirled the mixture inside. As Callie McKay prodded the uninjured tip of her finger, the grey liquid slowly turned deep purple, then blue, green, and finally settled on canary yellow. Draco set the potion bottle on the table and stared at it, then stared at Callista, stared at her fair skin, at her straight blonde hair.

"I have a half-blood sister," he thought, "Father had a daughter we never knew about. I doubt he even knew."

"What does it mean?" Macmillan asked.

"It means we share a parent," Draco replied, but the words sounded like they came from someone else. Then another thought struck him.

"She's my half-sister… and also Mary's half-sister. She's the closest thing to a child of myself and Mary there will ever be," Draco thought. In that instant, he made up his mind.

He knelt down to get close to eye level with the blonde girl, and she stared at him with steely grey eyes inherited from Father.

"You don't belong with the others here," he said as he ignored the ice cold water soaking his knee, "you've known it for a long time, I think… How would you like to come live with me?"

Little wrinkles formed on the child's forehead.

"You mean… adoption?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Draco nodded slowly, but she shook her head in disbelief.

"You're not joking, you really mean it?" she asked.

Draco nodded again.

"If that's alright with you," he asked.

Tears flowed to her eyes, and she visibly fought them as they overflowed and dripped down her cheeks as she sniffled. She wiped them away with the back of her sleeves as she nodded.

"Just a child, but already old enough and bitter enough to understand how the world works," Draco thought, "She saw what happened to Mary… nobody wanted her for years, until she aged out."

"I promise I'll be good," Callista said, "I promise. But why… why did you wait?"

Draco blinked, then recalled a brief conversation where Callista had suggested he wed Mary, and the three of them live together.

"Did she know? She did. She knew, that long ago," he thought, "could it be?"

"Callie… Can you see things before they happen?" he asked.

Callista paused, then, between sniffles, she nodded.

"Sometimes," she replied.

"A Seer, the daughter of a muggle and a long pure-blooded line," he thought as he internally smirked at more evidence that his theory was at least partially correct.

"Can you?" she asked, interrupting his train of thought.

Draco shook his head.

"No, I'm not that kind of special," he replied as he stood up, "I need to make some arrangements so you'll be able to live with me. You should stay with Director Macmillan for the time being while I sort things out. Why don't you finish your drawing."

Callista walked back to her desk, glancing twice over her shoulder on the way as if to make sure Draco hadn't vanished, then sat down and picked up her coloured pencil again.

"Are you sure?" Macmillan asked quietly.

Draco nodded.

"She's my sister, my blood. She's Mary's sister too. Bruno doesn't even know her, and he's… not fit to care for children. She definitely can't stay here and I don't trust the Ministry to be competent at anything, much less care for parentless children. I'm the only one that makes sense," he replied, "I'll have to convince my mother first though, and file the paperwork with the Ministry. Worst case, I'll move out and rent a flat or something, we'll see."

Macmillan nodded.

"Michael and Pam Baker have offered to take her in until we can find a spot for her at another home," he said, "she can stay there for the time being."

"That's perfect, I know them fairly well," Draco said, "I'll be in touch with the paperwork."

Having money made a world of difference when it came to options. He knew nothing about being a father, or an older brother, but that didn't really factor into it at all; he owed it to Mary to do everything in his power to give her younger sister, and his, a good life.

"Not the life of a Dark witch," he thought as he exited back into the yard, "this time, you'll be good enough Draco. You have to be."

He spent the rest of that afternoon avoiding his mother.

"It's not that I don't want to have the conversation, but I need to make sure it goes right," he thought.

At least, that's what he told himself. Late in the day, he received a Ministry owl bearing an invitation to a full Wizengamot meeting the following afternoon, which put a time limit on his procrastination. Still, he managed to wait until late Tuesday morning.

"Sod it, if you're going to take care of the paperwork while you're there, better talk to her now," he thought.

"Mother?" Draco called. He found her in the cellar, stacks of weed and plastic baggies all around.

"I'm a bit busy at the moment," she said. She wore a deep maroon robe, and her skin and hair had recovered the lustrous glow he recalled from his youth. Planning and hosting the party, attempted murder aside, had done wonders for her mental and emotional well-being.

"That and reconnecting with her sisters," Draco thought.

"Have you seen the morning Prophet?" she asked, "your uncle Rod is dead."

"Doesn't surprise me. Aunt Bella has a reputation for a reason," he said.

"It was Potter's Sevens," Narcissa said. She turned and waved her wand to coax the weed into baggies, pack them neatly and stack them into the large muggle bags for transport.

"Can't be many left now," she said.

"Alecto Carrow, and Rookwood," Draco said, "not that I'm counting."

Narcissa nodded.

"I need to speak with you, something's happened. Something important," he said.

A clump of weed missed the entrance to a baggie and fell to the floor, and Narcissa tsked. She waved her wand a few times to set the remaining baggies and weed down.

"We should head upstairs for this, the drawing room," he said.

He led the way and poured them a squat glass of firewhiskey each.

"It's not even eleven," she said.

"Trust me, you may reconsider when you hear what I have to say," he said.

Never in a million years did he think he would bring this topic up to Mother, but circumstances had changed. He opened his pouch and withdrew the box Mary had gifted him, set it on the high table in front of him, and took a deep breath.

"When I was visiting muggle London, I met someone," she said. Mother's face became a mask of neutrality.

"We dated," he said, "it was serious."

"And where, may I ask, is this past-tense mystery person now?" she asked.

"She's… gone," Draco replied, and the tears threatened to form again, but he pushed them back, "Travers, and Rastaban Lestrange."

"Oh," Narcissa said, and disappointment stole over her face.

She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, inviting him to lean on her if he so wished. Instead, Draco opened the small box with the photograph inside.

"Her name was Mary," he said, "Mary McKay."

He turned the box around so Mother could see.

"Oh… she's pretty," she said, and a pained expression came over her, one of loss and regret, "and you look so happy, I haven't seen you smile like that in… in over a decade."

"Probably never will again," Draco said.

She glanced at him with eyes of widow's pain.

"…I'm so sorry," Mother said.

"She was a muggle," Draco said.

Narcissa froze.

"Not you too…" she muttered, "And you said it was serious. Were you honestly considering-"

"I thought about it," Draco replied, "that's why I asked Aunt Andromeda to reach out to you. I was thinking…"

"You obviously weren't," Narcissa said as she closed the box, "a muggle, Draco. I almost think this is some kind of prank, except it's not April."

"It doesn't matter," Draco said with a bit more force than he intended as he took the box back. Mother stared at the squat glass with the amber liquid inside.

"So, this what you wished to tell me?" she asked, "that you had relations with a muggle?"

"Part of it," Draco replied, "she had a sister. Half-sister. She's about eight years old, give or take. They share the same mother, but nobody knew who her father was."

Mother's face had gone back to that mask of neutrality.

"I tested her today, and she's a witch," Draco said, and Narcissa arched a single eyebrow, "and not only that, but she's a Seer, and she's also… she's also my half-sister."

Narcissa paused for a long moment as Draco held his breath, then she coughed softly.

"Impossible," she whispered.

"I tested it, using the Malfoy family potion from the library," he said. He pulled the vial of yellow liquid from his pouch and set it on the table.

"And she looks just like me when I was young," Draco said.

"I don't care," Narcissa said as she stared accusingly at the crystal vial, "why did you tell me this?"

"I'm going to adopt her," Draco said.

That broke through her mask, and her lip curled.

"You're what? Absolutely not," Narcissa said.

"She's bullied by them, just like the Dark Lord was, and last night, she burnt down her orphanage, just like the Dark Lord did," Draco said but Mother kept shaking her head, "She's a Seer, Mother, and I'm going to make sure she's loyal to me, to House Malfoy. I'm going to bring her up in the old ways, and give her everything I can to make sure she's on our side. Then, even if it takes me a century, I'm going to ensure we are the most powerful and influential family in the world."

"Have you lost what remains of your senses?" Narcissa asked, her voice raised several notches, "do you have any idea who you sound like?"

She glared at him, an action which used to make him wither, but today, his resolve remained unbowed.

"I'm not asking your permission," Draco said, "I'm informing you that this is what is going to happen, and I want to know if you can live with it or not. I know you can't leave the Manor, so if you can't live with an eight-year-old girl who's the result of Father's extra-curricular activities in muggle London, I'll purchase a flat and keep her there."

"You would abandon your own mother?" she asked.

"Don't be so dramatic, I'm not abandoning you. And I'm certainly not abandoning a little girl so she can grow up to take revenge on us for not taking her in when we should have," he said.

Narcissa picked up the glass and downed the firewhiskey with a grimace, and Draco followed suit, then refilled both glasses.

"Tell me you haven't wondered what it would be like to have a daughter," Draco said, "…At least meet her."

"I will… consider it," she said. That was about as good as Draco could have hoped for. He downed the second glass, and the measure settled next to the first in his stomach, warming him from within. She picked up the bottle and poured herself a third shot.

"I have to attend a Wizengamot meeting. I'll try to speak to Winthrop about your probation as well… if I can convince him Rodolphus' death counts as me assisting, it'll reduce your sentence to less than a month remaining."

She looked up from her glass at that.

"I could leave?" she whispered.

Draco made a non-committal gesture with both hands.

"I still have to convince him," he replied, "wish me luck."

Trigger Warnings: Burns