4 years and 7 months ago: Sunday, 16th February 2003
Ginny Weasley's fingers trembled as she clutched the edge of the cold porcelain sink, her breath shallow and uneven. The slim glass tube by the faucet mocked her, its verdict final. The potion inside a vibrant, mocking pink.
Her stomach twisted, a sinking sensation that had nothing to do with the nausea she'd been battling all week.
"No," she groaned, her voice hollow. "No, no, no, no, no."
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the truth to dissolve, as though sheer determination might undo it. But no spell, no incantation, and no amount of denial could erase the truth.
I'm fucking pregnant. Pregnant? Pregnant. The word itself felt unfamiliar to even think. Unfamiliar and wrong.
Her head dipped forward, bumping against the mirror with a muted thud. She thudded her head twice more for good measure. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. Not now.
It had been one night. One impulsive, reckless, utterly foolish night.
She'd been paired—without her input or approval—for a charity gala orchestrated by the Ministry's heavy-handed Reintegration Initiative, a mandatory spectacle aimed at proving that former adversaries could now coexist. For people like her "date," participation wasn't just expected—it was a public penance, a thinly veiled humiliation masquerading as progress.
She'd downed glass after glass of complimentary champagne just to endure it. He'd done the same.
One pointed exchange of words had turned into a tense debate, which had spiraled into something far more volatile. Heated words, angry stares, and then, suddenly… his mouth on hers in the dark corridor outside the ballroom.
The sharp crack of Apparition to his flat.
She should have stopped it. He should have stopped it. Neither of them had.
And now here she was, standing in her tiny bathroom, trying to catch her breath. Her head snapped up at the loud knock on her front door.
"Ginny?" Hermione's voice carried through the flat, clear and familiar. "You home?"
Fuck! Panic jolted through her. She had forgotten she had invited Hermione for tea. Two days ago it seemed like a great idea, get her mind off…things. She dumped the pink liquid down the drain with trembling hands—good riddance—and shoved the test tube under the sink. Turning back to the mirror, she splashed cold water on her face, as if the icy sting could somehow rinse away her guilt and keep her secret buried.
By the time she opened the door, she'd forced a smile, leaning casually against the doorframe as though everything was fine.
"Hey, you," Ginny greeted, a poor attempt at casualness.
Hermione's frown was immediate, her gaze studying Ginny's face with quiet intensity. "You look pale." She stepped closer, concern etched into her features. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, just… tired," Ginny lied calmly despite the knot in her stomach. "Long week."
Hermione didn't look convinced, but thankfully she didn't push. They sat at the kitchen table, chatting about work and family gossip. Hermione laughed about Ron's latest misadventure at the joke shop, but Ginny's thoughts were locked on the storm brewing in her head.
Him.
Of all the people in the world. Of all the stupid, reckless, utterly absurd choices to make. And now this.
There was no way he'd want anything to do with it. Him, a father? The idea was absurd. He wasn't the type, and he knew it. And with her? That was even more ridiculous. He barely tolerated her on a good day, and the thought of being tied to a Weasley—and her chaotic, sprawling family—would only make him recoil faster.
He tolerated you well enough that night, a traitorous voice in her head reminded her. But that was different. That had been champagne and lust. Temporary. Wholly tying your life to someone was something else entirely.
Still, this wasn't the kind of thing you just… hide. It wouldn't be fair to him, and it wouldn't be fair to her, either. No matter how much of a disaster the conversation was going to be, she'd have to have it.
Fuck. I'm going to have to tell him.
But how do you tell someone like Draco Malfoy that you're carrying his child?
Three Days Later: Wednesday, 19th February 2003
Three days passed before Ginny found the nerve to owl Draco.
She sat at the small writing desk in her flat, parchment crinkling under her fingers as she gripped the quill too tightly. The words on the page blurred. She'd already started and stopped the letter a hundred times, but no version of it sounded right.
Malfoy,
I have something important to discuss with you. It's urgent.
Ginny Weasley
She scowled at it, her frustration bubbling over as she glared at the page. It felt blunt, brief, and awkward, but what was she supposed to write? "Good evening, Draco, remember that terrible decision we both made after the Ministry gala? Well, surprise, it had consequences." She cringed just imagining it. No, this was something that needed to be said face-to-face.
Still, wasn't it going to be obvious? It had been over a month since that night, and they hadn't spoken since. What the hell else could be so urgent a month after you've slept with someone? A friendly invitation for tea? A casual apology for the spectacular lapse in judgment? Not likely.
With a sigh, she folded the parchment, sealed it, and called her owl. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. Now all she had to do was wait.
Ginny crossed the room to the now waiting owl, tying the note to its leg.
"Take this to Draco Malfoy," she murmured, stroking the bird's feathers absently before nudging it toward the open window.
The owl launched into the sky, disappearing into the fading light. Ginny stood frozen, her heart pounding harder with every flap of its wings. The letter was gone, irretrievable, even if she wanted to call it back. Her mind spiraled in the chaos of what she had just set in motion.
It didn't take long for his reply.
Weasley-
7 p.m. tonight. My place. Don't be late.
The note had been short and characteristically curt, so much so that Ginny reread it twice just to make sure she hadn't missed some nuance of politeness. She hadn't. The casual assumption that she would simply comply sent her temper flaring.
And yet, at precisely 7:00 p.m., Ginny found herself pacing outside the entrance to his flat, her nerves knotting tighter with each passing minute.
The building was tucked discreetly into an upmarket side street off Diagon Alley, its façade immaculate and unassuming. It wasn't ostentatious—nothing like Malfoy Manor—but it had an air of quiet affluence that made her grit her teeth.
She raised her hand to knock but hesitated. Meeting here felt more personal, more intimate than she was prepared for—crazy, considering they'd been intimate here not too long ago. She swallowed hard, willing the memory to stay buried for now.
The words of his note, abrupt and demanding, replayed in her mind. If he wasn't going to avoid conflict, neither was she. Standing up tall, she rapped on the door, the knock louder than she intended.
There was no sound of footsteps, no telltale shuffle of someone coming to the door. Instead, the lock clicked open with a flick of unseen magic, and his voice called from inside, clipped and cool. "Come in."
She pushed the door open, stepping over the threshold and into the flat. It was exactly as she remembered—sleek, dark, monochromatic, and annoyingly perfect. The sofa stood in its place like an unspoken accusation, the memory of that night flashing hot and uninvited in her mind. He had pushed her down, fallen to his knees in front of her. Right there. On that sofa.
Ginny's cheeks burned, but she forced herself to focus.
Draco appeared from the adjoining room, wearing simple navy trousers and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He matched his bloody living room.
"You're late," he said, his expression as acidic as his tone. He stepped further into the room, hands resting loosely at his sides, though his gaze was razor-focused, like he was awaiting bad news.
"Two minutes," Ginny shot back. Her tone was firm, but her pulse quickened as the conversation began. "Don't be dramatic."
Draco didn't bother with pleasantries. He stood where he was. He didn't offer her a drink, didn't gesture for her to sit. His piercing grey eyes fixed on her like he was bracing himself for whatever she had to say.
"Well?" he asked, his tone biting but not loud. "What is it?"
Ginny's heart pounded, and she hesitated. She had no doubt he knew what she was about to say.
"You've got something to tell me," he said, his voice hardening. "Spit it out, Weasley."
Ginny bristled at his tone. "You could at least pretend to be polite," she snapped.
Draco's lips pressed together in a look of impatience. "I think we both know this isn't a polite conversation."
Her temper flared, but her chest tightened even more. He was right. There was no use dragging this out.
She folded her arms, straightened her back, and forced the words out. "I'm pregnant."
For a moment, Draco froze. His eyes stayed locked on hers, his face utterly unreadable.
Then, slowly, he closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose, his arms dropping to his sides. His hands gripping the edge of the couch like he needed to anchor himself.
"Of course you are," he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for her to hear.
Ginny huffed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He looked up at her, his grey eyes blazing with something that wasn't quite anger but wasn't far off. "It means I knew this wasn't going to be a social call, Weasley," he said intensely. "Why else would you be here? We barely exist in the same world."
Ginny's fists clenched at her sides. "No, we don't," she snapped. She managed to keep her voice steady despite the storm inside her. "But like it or not, we have a shared problem."
"And you're absolutely sure it's mine?" he asked, irritation leaking through. "There's no one else?"
"Of course I'm sure," she snapped, her exasperation spilling over. "Do you really think I'd be here, saying this to you, if there was anyone else?"
Draco's shoulders stiffened, and he ran a hand through his hair, the motion jerky and frustrated. "No, I suppose not," he spat.
Before Ginny could respond, he turned back to her, his grey eyes narrowed and his expression hard. "Alright, then. What do you want from me?"
She blinked, startled by the bluntness. "What do I—?"
"I said, what do you want from me?" he snapped, his voice rising. "An apology? A key to the vault? A bloody monogrammed bassinet?"
Her temper snapped. "What do I want?" Ginny's voice was hot with disbelief. "Merlin, here I thought I was doing the right thing by even telling you you're about to be a father!"
Draco's eyes rolled and then narrowed. "So that's it, then? You've decided to keep it."
Her throat tightened, but she refused to flinch. "Yes," she snipped. "I have."
He stared at her for a long, unbearable moment, the tension in the room coiling tighter with every second. Then he let out a bitter laugh, rubbing a hand down his face as his eyes closed, his fingers pressing hard against his temples.
Her throat tightened, but she refused to flinch. "Yes," she said, her voice steady and deliberate. "I have."
"Brilliant," he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Fantastic decision. Keeping it. Because bringing a child into this—" He gestured between them, his frustration boiling over. "—is such an incredible idea."
"Yeah, well, it's what's happening," she said, matching his tone. "I made the decision, and it's done. I'm not here to argue about it."
Draco straightened, his grip tightening on the back of the couch, knuckles white against the deep blue fabric. "So what, exactly, is it that you expect me to do?"
Ginny didn't flinch. "I thought I'd give you a chance to decide that for yourself."
The words hung in the air like a curse, heavy and unrelenting. Just for a second, his composure cracked. His expression twisted—confusion, anger, and something far more vulnerable that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Without a word, he pushed off the couch and turned, pacing to the other side of the room as though he could walk away from the weight of her words.
"This is a fucking disaster," he muttered to himself as he paced, throwing his hands in the air. "The papers will have a fucking field day."
"I don't give a damn about the bloody papers, Malfoy!" she snapped. "I'm allowed to care about exactly one thing now, and that's figuring out how to deal with this—alone, if I have to." Her voice caught, and she turned her head, blinking quickly against the sting in her eyes, unwilling to let him see.
Draco stilled, his expression shifting as he turned to face her fully. It struck her that he didn't look like the untouchable Malfoy heir she encountered when she walked in—he looked like a man cornered by something he couldn't control.
"And what about us?" he asked, quieter now but no less cutting. "How are we supposed to do this, Weasley? I don't even know you."
Ginny's heart pounded harder, but she held his gaze. "We'll figure it out, if that's what you want," she said simply. "And if it's not, then you don't have to worry about it. All I need is for you to let me know where you stand."
Draco stayed perfectly still, his sharp, elegant features frozen. Only his eyes shifted—just barely–but the fear was evident nonetheless.
"You bloody Gryffindors always did have more heart than sense," he muttered, frustration flooding his words.
Ginny's shoulders straightened, her eyes narrowing. "And you always had more mouth than backbone, Malfoy."
He looked at her, his irritation sparking. But Ginny didn't back down. She wouldn't back down. If he thought he could intimidate her, he'd clearly forgotten exactly who he was dealing with.
"Look," she said, her tone quieter, exhaustion creeping in. "I'm not here to argue with you and I'm not here to beg you to be involved. I'm just telling you there are options. If you want to walk away, then walk. If you want to stick around, fine—I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out. But if you stay—" She took a step forward. "You're either in or you're out. I can't deal with anything halfway, Malfoy. So just… let me know."
Draco's face tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might say something cruel just to end it. But no words came. He just stared at her, his silence as cutting as any insult.
"Nothing to say?" she asked roughly. She exhaled slowly, shaking her head. "Fine. I've done my part. You know now. Do what you want with it."
Her legs felt like lead as she turned toward the door, her fingers trembling as they wrapped around the handle.
"Figure it out, Malfoy," she said quietly, turning back to the door. "Or don't. Either way, I will."
The door closed behind her with a soft click, and she didn't look back.
Draco stayed frozen.
The sound of Ginny's footsteps echoed down the hallway, each one fading until there was nothing but silence.
Then he sat down slowly, almost mechanically, his body moving while his mind struggled to catch up. His hands dragged down his face, then dropped into his lap. His gaze stayed fixed on the door she'd walked through.
She was gone.
He gripped his hands into fists, his heartbeat pounding in his ears a loud, fast cadence that refused to settle.
She's pregnant.
The words looped in his head, slow at first, then louder, then louder still. No matter how many times he repeated them, they didn't feel real. She's pregnant. Weasley is pregnant. Ginny Weasley is pregnant.
And it's yours. Don't forget that part.
Is it?
Denial flared momentarily in his mind, grasping for excuses, but logic snuffed it out before it could take hold. He'd confirm it later—of course he would. A paternity test was inevitable, not that he expected her to resist it. But deep down, he already knew the truth.
Weasley wasn't lying, she had no reason to; she had far more to lose by claiming him publicly than she could ever gain in Galleons. After her spectacularly public breakup with Potter just a few months ago, attachinghisname to her situation wouldn't exactly win her sympathy—or support.
No, he doubted he'd be lucky enough for her to be wrong.
"Brilliant," he muttered to no one. His voice was hoarse, rough from the argument he'd just had.
The laugh that followed wasn't really a laugh—more a hollow, bitter exhale. He tipped his head back against the sofa, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if it might offer answers. It didn't.
The Reintegration Committee was going to love this.
His lips curled into a sneer, eyes narrowing on the smooth dark ceiling above him. Oh, they'll be overjoyed, he thought. Nothing like a shiny redemption arc for the headlines. Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater, Ministry pariah, now expectant father to the youngest Weasley. What a narrative.
He could already hear the press spinning it." Malfoy Heir Redeems Himself Through Unexpected Fatherhood." The headlines would be nauseating. He could practically see the quills scratching furiously. "Reformed villain, unwitting hero. Look at him grow. Look at him change."
The Committee would parade him around like a bloody trophy.
They'd parade him around like some shining example of their success. He could picture them now, sitting at their polished mahogany table, smug and self-congratulatory. Their talking points would write themselves: Look how far he's come. Look how well our reintegration efforts are working. Malfoy's practically family now—just look at him building one with a Weasley.
His stomach twisted at the thought. The absurdity of it. The humiliation of it. His fingers dug deeper into his palms.
Like hell.
They didn't know anything. Not about the war, not about his choices, and certainly not about this.
His eyes moved back to the door. The one she just left through.
The image of Ginny standing there, arms crossed, eyes furious, was burned into his mind. Her voice had been steady, controlled, but he had seen the cracks beneath the surface. The way her hands curled into fists. The way her eyes glimmered with oncoming tears. She was holding herself together with sheer willpower, and she'd done it so well he almost believed she wasn't afraid.
But she was.
He knew fear when he saw it. He'd lived with it long enough to recognize the way it sharpened someone's edges, made them stand taller when they wanted to collapse.
Figure it out, Malfoy. Or don't. Either way, I will.
She'd said it with such finality, like she'd already decided he wasn't going to step up. Like she'd already made peace with doing it alone.
And frankly, that pissed him off.
It pissed him off, the way she'd looked at him, like she had him all figured out. Like she knew exactly who he was and what he'd do before he'd even made up his mind. And what pissed him off more was the gnawing thought that she might've been right. That she'd seen right through him, and he hated how transparent that made him feel.
She wasn't going to beg, wasn't going to plead for his help. She'd leave him behind if she had to—and he knew she could. He'd seen the fire in her eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin. She was prepared to do it on her own, and worse, she'd probably do a damn good job of it.
His eyes darted back to the door again, as if half-expecting her to reappear, but she'd walked away without hesitation, and he hadn't said a damn thing to stop her.
His scowl darkened, the sharp lines of his face etched deeper with frustration. Stupid, stubborn Weasley pride. She'd march straight into a storm if she thought it was the 'right' thing to do, consequences be damned. He'd seen that same fire in her during the war—defiance burning bright against impossible odds. At the time, a small part of him had admired it, though a much larger part had thought they had a death wish.
Back then, their courage had enraged him, not because of what they were fighting for, but because it cast an unforgiving light on his own cowardice. Their boldness was a mirror he hadn't wanted to look into, a reminder of everything he wasn't.
Draco leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his head falling into his hands. The dull throb of a headache pulsed behind his eyes, and he pressed his fingers into his temples trying to force the ache away. His mind felt like it was splitting down the middle, two halves of himself locked in an argument louder than any he'd ever faced.
One side hissed at him to walk away. Keep your head down, protect yourself. That was survival. That was instinct. You're strangers, it said. You don't owe her anything. A monthly stipend is enough. It's more than enough.
But the other part—the quieter voice, the one that always sounded like his mother—told him he was already too far in. You know better. You've always known better.
He hated that voice.
Because that was the voice that made him think about what it would mean to stay, to be a father. He sat up slowly, his hands dropping to his lap. His fingers found his ring and began twisting it absently.
Father.
The word didn't sit right with him. It didn't belong to him. It belonged to Lucius. A man who had loved him, who had made every decision, no matter how dark, with Draco's future in mind. Draco had been a much-wanted child, born into a family that seemed untouchable, a life set up to succeed. And look at how that turned out.
And now he was supposed to be a father? Starting from this impossible place? How could he possibly do better, when Lucius, for all his power and love, had failed so spectacularly?
Figure it out, Malfoy.
His chest ached like an old quidditch injury that had never fully healed. He tried to picture it—a small, squirming thing, fragile and loud and his. How could he possibly…?
He could walk away.
She'd let him.
The thought hovered there for a long moment.
Everyone they knew would have an opinion about it no matter what he chose. But if he involved himself, it would be worse. He wouldn't just be a name whispered behind cupped hands: Malfoy, that deadbeat prick, he'd be the interloper, the uninvited complication in a family that thrived on unity.
The Weasleys would close ranks, protecting her and the baby, while he stood on the outside. Every step he made, every word he spoke, every awkward encounter would be picked apart. He'd be the stain on their perfect patchwork, the problem they never asked for. A snake circling a family of war heroes. And even if he tried—really tried—it wouldn't matter. To them, he'd always be the outsider.
But his mind couldn't stop thinking that it wasn't really about any of them.
It was about that moment when Ginny Weasley had stood in his flat, shoulders square, and looked him dead in the eye like she already knew he would fail her.
Figure it out, Malfoy. Or don't. Either way, I will.
His teeth clenched so hard it ached.
He leaned forward, his breath burning in his chest. Figure it out, Malfoy.
He wasn't sure if he could.