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Present Day: Friday, 28th September 2007
Draco Malfoy apparated just outside the wards of the Burrow, the crisp September air hitting his face as he steadied himself. The air here was cooler, carrying the faint scent of damp leaves and woodsmoke.
He exhaled slowly, adjusting the collar of his tailored robes as his gaze settled on the lopsided house ahead. Its crooked windows glowed softly in the early evening light, a beacon of warmth to all who were welcome.
He was not.
He hadn't set foot here in years, his rare interactions with the Weasley family confined to neutral ground whenever possible. It was an unspoken rule in this strange arrangement—a way to keep things civil, or at least manageable.
But today was an exception. Ginny had asked for a favor. He could count on one hand the number of times she had done so and couldn't say no. Please. My schedule is a mess. It would help me out a lot if you could just meet us at my parents… Just this once…
He exhaled sharply, muttering the phrase she had given him to bypass the wards. The subtle ripple of magic parted, and he walked toward the door. When he knocked, he barely had time to steel himself before it swung open.
Ron stood in the doorway, his expression flashing disbelief then irritation, and then—much to Draco's annoyance—something dangerously close to amusement.
"Well, well," Ron drawled, leaning against the doorframe with exaggerated nonchalance. "Draco Malfoy, in the flesh. What's the matter, Malfoy? Got tired of being hated everywhere else? Trying your luck here?"
Draco clenched his jaw, but kept his tone even. He hadn't risen to his bait in four years and he wasn't about to start now. "I'm here to pick up my daughter."
Ron scoffed, though his shoulders stiffened slightly. "Ginny mentioned that, yeah. Can't lie, I half expected you to send a house-elf or something."
Draco arched an eyebrow, his expression carefully neutral save for the faintest flicker of contempt. "Charming as ever, Weasley," he said with a tight-lipped smile.
"Ron, let him in," Ginny's voice cut through the tension from somewhere deeper in the house. "You're not his parole officer."
Ron scowled but stepped aside, muttering, "Maybe I'm not, but someone should be," as Draco brushed past him into Ron's childhood home.
Draco ignored the comment. As he stepped into the home he was immediately being enveloped by the noisy warmth of the Burrow. The air carried the faint trace of something sweet and freshly baked, mingling with the soft hum of chatter and the occasional clatter of dishes from the next room. He would be avoiding that room.
Ginny appeared from the kitchen, a towel draped over her shoulder and her hair tied back loosely. She looked tired but composed, her sharp gaze landing briefly on him before softening.
"Thank you for coming here. Sorry about Ron," she said with a knowing sigh. "He's just… well, you know how he is."
Draco's hands slid into his pockets as he glanced around, his voice dry. "Fortunately, I'm not here for the hospitality."
Ginny rolled her eyes but didn't bother responding. Instead, she turned toward the staircase and called, "Ivy! Did you get Mr. Puff? Daddy's here!"
The sound of tiny, stomping feet echoed down the hallway, and a little girl appeared at the top of the stairs, clutching a well-loved stuffed dragon to her chest. Ivy's delicate features were a perfect blend of both parents—Draco's sharp, aristocratic cheekbones tempered by Ginny's softer expressions. Her gray eyes, so unmistakably his, lit up the moment they landed on him.
"Daddy!" she cried, her voice bursting with excitement as she bounded down the stairs, clutching Mr. Puff tightly.
Draco crouched down, catching his daughter in his arms and lifting her effortlessly. "There's my little dragon," he said warmly, his voice losing its usual edge. "Have you been good for Mummy?"
Ivy nodded emphatically. "Uncle Ron said I'm the best, but he says you're rubbish…"
Draco glanced over Ivy's shoulder at Ron, who had appeared in the doorway to the kitchen with a smug grin plastered across his face. "Uncle Ron sounds like a very wise man," Draco said dryly.
Ginny groaned, rubbing her temple. "Ron, back to the kitchen. Please."
Ron reluctantly retreated, not risking further angering his sister. Ginny turned back to Draco, her hands on her hips. "Her bag's by the door. I've sent snacks, a few changes of clothes."
Draco adjusted Ivy on his hip and gave Ginny a pointed look. "Ginny, she has clothes at my house. Snacks too. I do know what she likes."
Ginny exhaled, her posture softening just slightly. "I'm just trying to help."
"And I appreciate it," Draco replied evenly, though there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But I've got it handled."
Ginny pressed her lips together, clearly resisting the urge to argue, but instead she nodded curtly. "Fine. Just… don't let her talk you into any more sweets before dinner."
Draco gave her a dry look. "It's like you forget which one of us is the strict one."
Ginny opened her mouth, no doubt ready to retort, but thought better of it. She grabbed Ivy's coat and hat from the hook near the door and handed them to Draco. "Here," she said, helping him settle the coat around Ivy's shoulders.
Ivy squirmed slightly as Draco tugged the coat around her, her fingers clutching Mr. Puff tightly. "I don't need a hat!" she protested, her tone verging on a whine.
"Yes, you do," Ginny and Draco said in unison, sharing a brief, knowing glance.
With Ivy bundled up and secure in his arms, Draco shifted his attention back to Ginny. "Right, we'll be off now," he said, cutting off any further instructions before she could speak.
As he turned to leave, Ivy twisted, waving enthusiastically over his shoulder. "Bye, Mummy! Bye, Uncle Ron!"
From the kitchen, Ron's voice carried out, dripping with sarcasm. "Take care, Malfoy. Try not to trip over that stick lodged up your—"
"Ron!" Ginny snapped, her voice sharp enough to silence even him.
Draco smirked, shaking his head as he stepped back outside into the autumn air. He adjusted his grip on Ivy, meeting her expectant gaze.
"Can we go flying, Daddy?" she asked, her voice full of excitement.
Draco kissed the top of her head. "We'll see. Let's get home first."
As they reached the apparition point, Ivy began rambling about the stories Uncle George had told her, her words coming so quickly he could barely follow. He hummed occasionally in response, letting her chatter fill the quiet.
Once they arrived at Draco's townhouse, Ivy immediately wiggled out of his arms, her little feet hitting the polished wooden floor with an excited thud. The house itself was elegant but understated, its pale brick façade framed by dark iron railings and a neatly trimmed hedge, the front door painted a soft charcoal grey. Inside, Ivy darted toward the living room, where a collection of her favorite toys and books awaited her.
Draco set her bag down by the door and hung up his cloak, watching her with a small smile. "Alright, princess," he said, stepping into the room and leaning against the arm of a chair. "Dinner time."
Ivy spun around, her gray eyes lighting up. "Flying! Flying first!"
Draco raised an eyebrow, his smirk faint but unmistakable. "Flying on an empty stomach? I didn't realize I'd raised such a reckless dragon."
Ivy's face scrunched in contemplation, her little mouth pursing as she clearly debated whether she could argue her way out of this one.
"Here's what we do," Draco said, straightening up and folding his arms, "we eat first—quickly—and then I'll let you fly for a bit before bed."
Her eyes narrowed, studying him as if trying to decide how negotiable this deal was. After a beat, she nodded solemnly, as though striking a business arrangement. "Okay, Daddy. But can I wear my dragon cape?"
Draco smirked, folding his arms. "The dragon cape, of course. A critical part of any proper flying ensemble."
Ivy ran to her bag before returning, clutching the green fabric with tiny hands. "Help me, Daddy!"
With an exaggerated sigh, he stepped forward and knelt down, carefully fastening the clasp at her neck. "You know," he said, adjusting the hood so the dragon's 'snout' sat perfectly on her head, "you might be the most demanding dragon I've ever encountered."
Ivy twirled dramatically, her cape flaring out behind her. "I'm a fierce dragon!"
Draco stood, brushing off his knees. "Yes, very fierce," he said dryly, his lips twitching into a faint smile. "Now, dinner. What'll we have? Chicken or pasta?"
Ivy paused, clearly weighing her options, before declaring, "Pasta!"
"Good choice," Draco replied, ushering her toward the kitchen with a light touch to her shoulder. "Now let's hurry, or bedtime will come before your broom ever leaves the ground."
Her eyes widened at the warning, and she scurried ahead, her dragon cape fluttering behind her. Draco shook his head, unable to keep the smirk from returning as he followed.
Dinner passed quickly, and true to his word, Draco took Ivy outside to the park across the street with a small broomstick. The charmwork on it ensured she couldn't fly too high or too fast, but Ivy didn't seem to care. She squealed with delight as he held the tail end steady, her feet hovering just above the ground.
"Look, Daddy, I'm flying!" she shouted, her voice carrying across the yard as her dragon cape flared behind her.
"You're doing brilliantly," Draco said, his voice steady, though his chest tightened with a feeling he still wasn't entirely comfortable acknowledging.
Moments like this—when she beamed at him with unrestrained joy, her laughter ringing out like a charm—made it easy to push aside the complexities of their reality.
Eventually, the stars came out, and Ivy's yawns grew more frequent. Draco carried her back inside, her head resting on his shoulder as she mumbled sleepily about dragons and flying.
After getting her into pajamas and tucking her into bed, Draco sat beside her, smoothing her hair away from her face.
"Daddy?" she murmured, her voice soft and drowsy.
"Yes, Ivy?"
She blinked up at him, her eyes heavy with sleep. "Are you and Mummy ever gonna live in the same house? Like Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione?"
Draco froze, his hand pausing mid-motion. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. How could he possibly explain that he and Ginny weren't like her Aunt and Uncle—that their tenuous bond had been forged out of the necessity of unexpected parenthood, not love? How could he tell her that everything between him and her mother began and ended in one tipsy, impulsive night, and that what existed now was a fragile truce built for her sake?
"Go to sleep, sweetheart," he said finally, brushing a kiss to her forehead. "We'll talk about it another time."
She nodded sleepily, already drifting off, her tiny hand loosening its grip on his sleeve. Draco sat there for a long time, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. She looked most like her mother when she was sleeping. Eventually, he stood, pressing one last kiss to her temple before retreating to his study.
The fire in the hearth crackled softly as he poured himself a glass of Firewhisky and sank into his chair, her innocent question still on his mind. The familiar burn of the drink did little to distract him from his thoughts, which, not for the first time, wandered to Ivy and the unfairness of it all.
She didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to grow up shuttling between two homes, with two parents who could never quite give her the stability she deserved. All because of something that was their mistake, not hers.
Draco swirled the amber liquid in his glass. He hadn't wanted to be a father at all before this, but now that he was, it grated on him that this fractured arrangement was the best he could offer. Two separate, albeit decent, parents. No warm, united home. No mum and dad under the same roof.
His thoughts drifted to Ginny.
He wondered if she ever felt the same—if their shared reality sat uneasily with her too. They'd grown into a solid coparenting team, but theirs wasn't the kind of relationship where they discussed things like this, or really anything resembling their own feelings at all. Did she think about Ivy's upbringing the way he did? Did the handoffs, the division, the gaps, gnaw at her in the quiet moments? Or had she found a way to make peace with it that he hadn't?
Draco scowled, tipping back the rest of his drink. It was a foolish thought, one he didn't allow himself to linger on. This wasn't about him, or whatever feelings crept into his chest when he thought about the mother of his child.
It was about Ivy, and how he'd let her down.
He leaned his head back against the chair, the firelight casting shadows across the darkened room. For all the mistakes he'd made, this felt like the one failure he couldn't mend, the kind of scar no logic or reason could ever fully soothe.
Chapter 2 Preview:
"I said, what do you want from me?" he repeated, his tone still sharp. "An apology? A key to the vault? A bloody monogrammed bassinet?"