4 years and 7 months ago: Sunday, 16th February 2003
Ginny Weasley desperately clutched the edge of her cold porcelain sink, struggling to control her now shallow breathing. The slim glass tube by the faucet mocked her, its verdict final. The potion inside a vibrant, mocking pink.
Her stomach twisted, a different sort of sick feeling than the nausea she'd been battling all week.
"Ugh," she squeezed her eyes tight and threw back her head. "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. How did that word go again? It 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 quickly devolved into something far more volatile. Heated words, angry expressions, and then, suddenly… his mouth capturing hers in the dark corridor outside the ballroom?
The loud snap of Apparition to his flat.
She should have stopped it. He should have stopped it. Neither of them had.
And now look at her, standing in her tiny bathroom, her breath spiraling quickly out of control. She was starting to panic when a vigorous knock rang through her flat, startling her quickly back to reality.
"Ginny?" Hermione's voice was muffled behind the door. "Are you home?"
Fuck! A renewed panic filled her body. She had forgotten she had invited Hermione for tea. Two days ago it seemed like a great idea, get her mind off… certain worries hovering around the edge of her mind. She dumped the pink liquid down the drain with trembling hands - good riddance - and shoved the test tube under the sink. Standing straight at the mirror, she splashed tap water on her face, as if the chill could somehow rinse away her guilt and keep her secret buried.
By the time she opened the door, she'd forced a smile, pressing her palm pressed flat 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 intently. "You look pale." Hermione entered, carefully hanging her tweed jacket on Ginny's coatrack. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, just… tired," Ginny lied calmly despite the feeling of self-disgust in her stomach. "Long week."
Hermione didn't look convinced, but thankfully she didn't push. Ginny put the kettle on and soon they were sitting at the small table in her kitchen, chatting about work and family gossip. Hermione laughed as she shared Ron's latest misadventures at the joke shop, but Ginny barely heard, every thought in her head was focused on not coming apart at the seams in front of her sister-in-law. There was currently only room for a single thought 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, how was he going to respond to being tied not just to her, but to the rest of her chaotic, sprawling family for the rest of his life?
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.
I have to tell him. Fuck.
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 was hunched over 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, slumping her shoulders 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? They hadn't spoken once in the month since that night. What could possibly be so important now, after a full month of post-coital silence? A friendly invitation for tea? A casual apology for the spectacular lapse in judgment? Not bloody likely.
Ginny sealed the note with her wand - If she didn't send it now she was going to be up all night revising it. She crossed the room to the now waiting owl, tying the note to its leg.
"Take this to Draco Malfoy," she stroked the bird's feathers absently before nudging it off of the balcony. The owl launched into the sky and Ginny watched as he became a speck on the horizon before disappearing. The letter was gone, irretrievable, even had she wanted to change her mind. Her thoughts raced over what she had just set into motion.
Her owl returned with his reply quicker than she expected.
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 fraying by the second.
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 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, played on repeat 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, she heard the click of a lock, and his voice called from inside. "Come in."
The door was lighter than it looked, a charm maybe. Ginny pushed it 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, then fell to his knees in front of her. Right there. On that sofa. Ginny shook the thought away.
Draco appeared from the adjoining room, interrupting her debauched thoughts. He seemed to have just finished rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white oxford. Between his shirt and his simple navy trousers, Ginny couldn't help but think, Merlin, is that his casual wear? He matches 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 retorted firmly, but her heart was banging against her chest as the conversation began. "Don't be dramatic."
Draco didn't bother with pleasantries. He stood where he was.
"Well?" he asked, his tone biting but not loud. "What is it?"
Ginny knew by his tone that he knew what she was about to say, she pursed her lips together and waited. A cowardly attempt to force him to say it first...
"You've got something to tell me. "It wasn't a question, "so say it, 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.
Ginny lifted her chin to look him in the eyes. "Fine. I'm pregnant."
Draco closed his eyes and exhaled; his cheeks puffed. His arms dropped to the sofa to grip the edge. He bent, leaning against it, and shook his head.
"Of course you are," he groaned softly.
Ginny bristled. "Excuse me? What are you trying to say?"
He raised his head, his stormy eyes nearly wild. "I'm saying 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 hands twisted in the sides of her cloak. "Of course we don't," she snapped as if she was offended by the implication that they might. "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?"
"That's a stupid question, Malfoy, and you know it. Why would I have written you of all people if I wasn't sure?"
"Wishful thinking." he huffed.
Before Ginny could respond, he turned back to her, his grey eyes narrowing on his hardened face. "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 loudly. "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 let out a bitter laugh, rubbing a hand down his face once again as his eyes closed.
"Brilliant," his voice was acidic. "Fantastic decision. Keeping it. Because bringing a child into this-" He motioned between them, his irritation plain. "-is such an incredible idea."
"You don't have to think its an incredible idea," she said, matching his tone. "You just need to know this is what's happening."
Draco straightened himself so suddenly that Ginny took a small step back, his knuckles, still gripping the sofa for dear life, were white against the deep blue fabric. "So what, exactly, is it that you expect me to do?"
"What do I expect, Malfoy? I have no bloody clue what I expect, but frankly, my expectations aren't the highest."
Draco didn't respond, his composure briefly cracking, the confusion and anger on his face gave way to a vulnerable look that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"This is a fucking disaster," he pushed off the couch and turned, pacing to the other side of the room. "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 turned to fully face her. It struck her that he didn't look like the untouchable Malfoy heir she encountered when she had walked in, instead 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 without flinching. "If you want to be involved in... in this, fuck, Draco, we'll make it work," she told him. "And if being involved is not what you want, 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 eyes narrowed as she straightened her shoulders. "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 relented, exhaustion creeping in. "I didn't come here to fight and I damn sure didn't come to beg you to be involved. I just wanted you to know 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. "It's gotta be in or 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, shaking her head. "Fine. I've done my part. You know now. Do what you want with it."
She willed her heavy legs to move as she turned toward the door. She paused as she threw it open wide.
"Figure it out, Malfoy," she said quietly. "Or don't. Either way, I will."
The door closed behind her with a faint click, she didn't look back.
Draco stayed frozen.
He listened as the sound of Ginny's footsteps disappeared down the hall.
Then he sat down slowly, almost mechanically, his body moved of its own will before his mind could even tell it to act. His hands dragged down his face, then dropped to his sides. He felt unable to move his eyes from the door she'd walked through.
She was gone.
He gripped his hands into fists, his heartbeat filling his ears in a loud, fast cadence that refused to settle.
She's pregnant.
The words repeating in his head 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, attaching his name 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.
He exhaled a hollow laugh as he tipped his head back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer answers. It didn't.
The Reintegration Committee was going to love this.
His mouth formed 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 model example of their success. He could picture them now, sitting at their polished meeting 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.
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 fissures just below the surface. The way her hands curled into fists. The way her eyes glimmered with oncoming tears. She was holding herself together with nothing but sheer willpower, and she'd done it so well he almost believed she wasn't scared.
He knew she was.
He knew fear when he saw it. Fear was his old friend and he could 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.
That pissed him off.
She'd looked straight through him, like she had him all figured out... like he was predictable. Easy to read. And the worst part? She might've been right. That stung in a way he didn't want to examine too closely. He hated feeling that transparent, that exposed.
He looked back to the door, some stupid part of him expecting her to open it again, but she wouldn't. She hadn't hesitated, and he'd just let her go. Said nothing. Done nothing. She was prepared to do it on her own, and worse, she'd probably do a damn good job of it.
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, her and her friends, 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 a harsh 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's 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. The fingers on his left hand 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 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 above him.
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. No, 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.
His body rocked back and forth as he forced out the breath burning in his chest. Figure it out, Malfoy.
He wasn't sure if he could.