Hello Everyone!

This is my first posting on this web site, though I've long been a lurker and an avid reader of the HP fanfic archived here. I usually write fanfiction of a more adult nature, (meaning more sexually explicit) and I've recently published a Draco/Hermione story on another site, (which, since I can't it mention explicitly, I shall say this: simply think of it as a mirror site to this one, only onewith more adult fanfiction. Hope that's enough of a hint.) The title of that story is Alternate, and it demonstrates my usual tastes.

Legacy is a one-shot. I don't have any sequels or prequels planned for the time being, because I really wish to finish Alternate. This was an idea that came to me on the eve of Turkey Day, and I found myself typing most of the night… wanted to share it with you all. Please Read and Review…it would be appreciated.

Much Love, Madame

He couldn't see.

A deep voice came from over his shoulder, arguing, then the snap of a lighter, and cigarette smoke.

He tired to move, but his legs were bound. Arms too, behind his back. Something covered his eyes and he couldn't move his mouth, it was gagged. He was lying on the cold ground somewhere outside and he could smell mud. He took a deep breath through his nose and struggled to clear his head. He couldn't remember anything that had happened before waking up to blindness.

"Nilly took me 'ead off, damn him."

They came closer. Two of them, at least.

"Yeah, 'oo knew he had such a fight in 'em. Filthy ponce."

The man spat onto the ground.

"Pretty boy, ain 'e though?" said the other, "an' a big price on his arse."

The other man sniffed.

"C'int see why."

Someone else approached in a heavy, measured tread.

"Where is he?"

"Over there," said the Spittle man.

The heavy footsteps came closer. He could smell leather and smoke, and a hard, blunt fingered hand gripped his shoulder, turning him over. Some instinct told him to play dead, and he kept slack. A yellowish light filtered through the blindfold, pricked at his eyelids. His chest hurt like hell, and he

was…

He tried to ignore the feeling, to close to helplessness, that swept through him…

"Better wake soon, little prince," said the Blunt Fingered Man. His voice was smooth, cultured, much like his father's. "I suspect she'll come for you, and you'll want to make a good impression."

The other two laughed at that, a little too loudly. Like Crabbe and Goyle.

Lackeys.

"Won' she be surprised," said Spittle. For some reason this was a great joke, even Blunt Fingered Man was laughing.

"A bit of a disappointment," he agreed, "tall enough, but slender, for a boy… " One of those square-cut fingers grazed the hollow of his cheek, and he almost gave himself away with a flinch, but it was a brief caress, and was gone as soon as it had come. "And pale…I think I see where she gets it," the man continued soberly, "that moon-color skin."

He paused, seemed to be ruminating. It was as if that oddly poetic phrase had cast a pall over their surroundings, a silencing charm on the gathered three. They were quiet for some time, and though he was blinded, Draco felt the weight of their gaze, three pairs of eyes looking him over. He wanted to spit the dirty rag from his mouth, he wanted his father to come storming through, and hex the fuck out of these filthy bastards.

What's happened to me?

The pain in his chest was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Like heated steel bands digging into his ribs, tightening with every breath. Tears threatened at the corner of his eyes.

Father…

"And her strength, too. . ." continued Blunt Fingers, as if there had been no lapse, "he never stopped fighting. . ."

What, was he proud or something?

"And me leg," chimed Spittle, "sunk his teef in, I –"

"Quiet!"

The sudden snarled order brought a shocked silence. The three men seemed to be waiting for something, but he wasn't sure what. He wasn't sure of a bloody thing and he couldn't move.

What was happening?

Four seconds of perfect stillness passed, and he could feel his heartbeat in his ears. Then a slight breeze passed over the clearing, and the heavy canopy of leaves overhead began to hiss and sway as they swept against one another. With every passing moment the wind grew stronger, louder. It swept over him, and it was oddly warm. It wasn't a natural breeze, and they knew it.

"She's here," whispered the Blunt Fingered Man.

Draco shivered.

"'Ow did she –" He barely caught the words, they were speaking quickly to each other, in whispers, and the sound was almost lost under the noise of the moving boughs overheard. They were near; one of the men was shuffling toward him.

"Got – that boy – he's," fragments of words. What he was, he never did find out.

Chaos erupted around him. The Blunt Fingered Man was shouting, and one of the others attempted to pick him up from the ground to haul him off somewhere, but there was a brilliant flash of light, and he yelped in pain, dropping him, and Draco fell hard to the ground.

He cried out as his shoulder struck the hard packed floor of the clearing, and he grit his teeth as spokes of pain shot through his chest at the contact. He struggled to right himself, to crawl away from the fighting. As magic exploded around him, he thought he heard a clear, steady voice cut through it all. It was an incantation of some kind, with strange words and a peculiar inflection, like nothing he'd ever heard. The magic spun in a gyre, winding round the clearing like a wall, holding everything in. He couldn't see it, but he felt it. It was powerful. . .

"Solaris."

The quiet command pierced the vale and light burst upon them. Even beneath the blindfold, Draco winced at the intensity of it. Again the sound of footsteps, and new voices joined the clearing. Spittle was shouting, but after a suspiciously heavy thud, he fell silent. The others, whoever they were, began shooting questions at one another in quick bursts.

"Where are the rest of them?"

"Just these three –"

"But why here? "

"Where is he?"

"I've got him," said a voice near his shoulder, and for the second time that night, Draco was hauled to his feet.

There were gasps all round, a kind of awed buzz as he swayed unsteadily on his feet.

"Untie him, and remove that thing from his mouth."

It was that voice again, a woman's. It rang with the unmistakable tone of command, as if she were long accustomed to perfect obedience. No one would ever question her.

Apparently, that was about to change.

"Milady," it was a desperate whisper, a clear entreaty to reason. "You can't mean t-to–"

"I said," she snapped, "Untie him."

Heh So much for that.

Someone stepped behind him, muttered a spell, and the binding fell away. His hands dropped painfully to his sides as the feeling started to prickle back into his limbs, the tips of his fingers fizzing. The gag was pulled from his mouth, and he spat out the bit of blood gathered at the base of his tongue. But his liberators, if that's what they were, did nothing after that; they seemed to hesitate…

"And the blindfold, if you please," she added, with just a touch of impatience.

Swift fingers worked at the back of his head and finally, that barrier too fell away.

He blinked against the light, his eyes tearing as they adjusted to the sudden brightness. Through the blur he could distinguish a number of shapes. There were robed figures standing round him, and some blue, magical barrier circled the clearing. Wizards, then. Were they sent by his Father?

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice hoarse from disuse. He was attempting to rub some of the feeling back into his wrist.

As if he'd delivered the punch line of a good joke, they broke into riotous laughter.

What the hell?

He gaped at them, his vision clearing, looking round at them all. The only person that wasn't barking like a hyena was the woman in command. His gaze settled on her, drawn to her form as if it were a beacon. Something compelling hung about the straight set of her shoulders, an aura of real power. She was responsible for the magic that circled them, he knew…

Though her head was turned towards him, he couldn't see her face beneath the heavy shadow of her cowl. Nonetheless, he could feel the direct line of her gaze. She seemed to be studying him closely, like some pickled specimen in a potions jar. She didn't seem to notice the hilarity about her.

"Did you hear that? Bloody arrogant! Napoleonic, that one!" chortled one of them.

Scowling, unaccountably angry at that ridiculous Muggle adjective, Draco pulled his fascinated gaze from the woman in the cowl and glared at the men and women around him. Were they all right fools?

"They even glower the same!" rang another.

This prompted fresh peals of laughter.

"Quiet now, all of you."

His gaze was immediately drawn to the woman once more. He couldn't seem to look away, really. She had a mellifluous, compelling voice. Her accent, like that of the Blunt Fingered Man, was quite cultured, and spoke of an excellent education and a fine family. A pureblood, perhaps? Some relation of his Father's?

"Who are you?" he asked again, no less graciously, and this time the question was directed at her in particular.

She said nothing, instead pulling her hands from her robes and flexing her slender fingers in front of her. Blue, electrical magic sparked from the tips, shards like miniature lightening. He stared, eyes widened, at this display of unusual magic.

"Are you injured?" she asked flatly, apropos of nothing.

He narrowed his eyes at her. He wasn't sure if he were any better off with these people than he was with the others, even if they had freed him from his captors. His memory was starting to return, a glimpse of the afternoon before. Riding Xerxes on the Manor grounds, and a sudden attack…

Now he hadn't a wand, though his hands were free. And his leg felt on fire.

He straightened his shoulders, unconsciously mirroring her stance, and swept his gaze over her again.

"I asked who you are," he returned sharply, determined to get an answer. She was tall and slender, womanly enough in shape but somewhat mannish in bearing. Her robes were a deep purple lined with silver.

"And I asked you, Draco Malfoy, if you were injured," her tone equally hard.

The wizards gathered round them watched the exchange of dialogue with a fascinated attention.

"How do know my name?" he demanded.

"A simple question deserves a simple answer," she snapped, ignoring his question.

Getting tetchy, was she?

"Unless it's beyond the power of a simple mind to answer, even when asked twice," he countered.

Those straight shoulders drew taut fractionally, and though he could not see her face, he knew that she was scowling.

She stepped toward him.

He swallowed, suddenly nervous. He had no idea who this witch was, but she was very powerful. It was foolish to bait her. He had no means of magic or defense if she were to harm him. What could he do?

If only Father were here…

Then she stood before him, and Draco was surprised to find them at equal height. Even at this proximity, he could not see the whole of her face, just the pale slice of her lower jaw, which was set firmly, and the stubborn line of her mouth. He had an irrational urge to tear the cowl from her shoulders, bring her face into the light.

So intent was he on this thought that he did not at first notice the sweep of her hands, still glowing with that blue fire, over the expanse of his chest. Instinctively, he crossed his arms in front him in a protective gesture, but the blue light had left her fingers and rippled across his torso. Though it was warm, he shivered at the intensity of the sensation. It swept over him and dissipated quickly. The painful tightness left his chest.

He could breathe again.

Before he'd a chance to digest this extraordinary bit of healing, she bent slightly and swept the whole of her palm over the deep cut in his thigh, and he watched numbly as the cut cleaned itself and the edges of his flesh began to seal together. He winced at the slight heat and prickling sting of it, but in moments, the injury was gone, as if it had never been.

"That should do." She straightened. "Pity I can't seal the cut of your mouth."

There was appreciative laughter, and Draco flushed pink at the insult, his gaze following the tall woman with all the loathing he could muster.

But her back was turned, and she was walking away from him. She snapped her fingers and the electrical barrier surrounding the clearing shrank back into the earth, the bright light she'd conjured beginning to wane as moonlight filtered back through the cover of the trees.

"Mr. Malfoy," spoke a soft voice near his shoulder, as a gentle hand fell to his shoulder. "If you'd care to—"

He threw the touch from his shoulder with a violent motion, turning to scowl at the man on his right. He briefly met the startled brown gaze and turned back toward the witch. He started to follow her.

"I demand to know who you are and what you want with me," he began pompously, cutting through the throng of people surrounding him, flexing his shoulder experimentally. It no longer hurt where it had struck the ground. "My Father is a very powerful wizard, and if he finds out that yo—"

"Oh do shut up," she interrupted, stopping so abruptly he almost walked into her back, "perhaps I should have left the gag." Turning, she noted their proximity and stepped calmly backward. His scowl darkened.

One of the others took this as an opportunity to begin anew the debate that was squashed so thoroughly just moments before, and perhaps to pre-empt another round of insult between the two.

"And the blindfold, Milady. Now that he's seen you, there's no telling—"

"The damage has already been done," she countered quietly, turning to look at Draco again. He felt the curious weight of her gaze. "Anything else at this point could prove detrimental."

"But this alters everything! This boy wi –" the man protested.

She spun on him, in a sudden fury.

"IT ALTERS NOTHING!"

Silence all round, dark expressions, but resignation, too. Apparently her impression of a harpy wasn't anything new to her followers.

After several moments of pointed silence, she cleared her throat softly.

"Forgive me, Thaddeus. You're perfectly right, but the damage," she gestured vaguely towards Draco, "has already been done."

"What has been damaged? There's nothing wrong with me!"

She smirked, seemed to sweep her gaze over him. "Relatively speaking."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

He drew breath to retort.

"Please, F — Mr. Malfoy," coming from her, the address was awkward, hastily applied, (maybe she wasn't a pureblood after all, no etiquette) "your questions will be answered when it is time," he was now sneering at her, "so please, rest or have something to eat. I have to think, and if you interrupt me again I'll hex a seal for your mouth that wont come off 'til Michaelmas."

Was it his imagination, or did she seem to enjoy that idea just a bit too much?

He watched her walk away, deep in hushed conversation with that burke Thaddeus, grandly sulking at her straight back.

The same man that approached him before was back at his side. "Please, Mr. Malfoy, if you'd like, we have something for you to eat." His face was lit with pleasant, open warmth. His kind brown eyes promised sympathy.

Draco hated him.

"I'm not hungry. I want to go home."

Oh, that was mature.

Draco turned a scowling face at the man, and that pleasant kindness flickered for a moment under the direct force of his silvered gaze, but the older man did not look away. In fact, he appeared oddly fascinated with the young man, sweeping his eyes constantly over the plane of his face.

"What are you doing, memorizing every pore?" That stare was disconcerting.

The older man lowered his eyes a fraction, looking abashed. "Forgive me, Sir. It's a rare honour."

Sir? Honour?

"Edwards, hold your tongue!" a plump woman in dark green robes took hold of his elbow. She shot Draco a nervous smile, and then turned to her comrade, pulling him slightly away. "Don't make it worse than it is," she admonished in a whisper.

He was truly getting annoyed at all this hush-hush important talk. He had no idea what everyone was so jumpy about, but it most certainly had something to do with him, and he didn't like it. Maybe he could ferret it out of that Edwards, it he worked it right.

He frowned at his choice of words, coloring bright pink at the memory of pale fur and a hard castle floor…

No. He would … pound, beat, grind, eviser—

"Mr. Malfoy?"

He started for a moment, blinking as the disgustingly pleasant Edwards interrupted his thought, taking hold of his elbow, like he was an old man that couldn't walk upright without support.

He pulled his arm away, scowling anew, casting his eyes about the clearing, looking for a possible opening in the trees…

"You wouldn't get far," Edwards replied, seeming to read his mind. "Even if you managed to get past all of us, she'd have no trouble stopping you. I wouldn't try it."

"Am I a prisoner?" Though he tried for casual indifference, there was a slight wobble in his voice that betrayed his anxiety. He'd gone from one set of captors to another…

"No, no…" answered Edwards quickly, "of course not," offering a soothing smile, "it's for your own safety that you remain with us. Once we figure out what to do, you can return to your—"

"Oh toss it, Edwards, that's enough!" The Plump Woman in dark green robes took hold of Draco, rather roughly, and pulled him toward the center of camp, for that's what it now was. The witches and wizards around him had already set a fire, and were casting protective circles around the clearing, to keep the predators away. One of them was transfiguring ground litter into a set of tents…

Wait…

Without a wand.

"How are they doing that?" he asked, fascinated, eyes widening as he looked about him. That witch wasn't the only one, there were others, using their hands to conduct complex magic. He'd never seen anything like it.

He was in deep trouble, and the sooner he got away, the better.

Not that he was afraid, or anything.

"Chicken?" someone suggested.

He whirled. "I am NOT afr—"

Oh.

A young boy, younger than himself, he was stunned to note, was holding out a plate of meat and vegetables, eyes guinea-wide, trembling like the wrath of Merlin was about to come down on his head, hands shaking so badly he was in danger of losing his hold on his plate.

"S-ssorry, Sir," he squeaked.

There was a moment of stunned silence, before the men and women around him broke into peals of joyous laughter. Edwards clapped the young boy on his shoulders in a consoling gesture, only causing him to jump, squeal like a frightened mouse, which made them all laugh harder. They were all so vibrant and … happy.

He was going to be sick.

The Plump Woman was wiping her eyes, shaking her head at the hilarity around her, but her face sobered when she looked at Draco.

"You poor thing, you look just wretched. Come and sit by the fire."

He was too exhausted to protest her choice of words, (which were highly insulting) sinking to the ground without much grace or dignity, but it couldn't be helped.

Edwards ambled over, still grinning, his eyes wet with mirth. "You just about frightened poor Reggie out his skin, Sir. He was only trying to offer you some food, but I guess he thought you were going to splinch him for his pains."

"Wanted to," he muttered, feeling sleepy and stupid, wishing for all the world that he had his wand, so he could do just that and be done with it.

Still chuckling, the older man settled beside him, shoving a plate and some flatware into his hands. "Eat," he urged, "you need it, I think. It's been a long day for us all."

He was starving, and he even though he knew it was probably a bad idea, the food smelled so good that he didn't care if it were poisoned, tucking into it like it was the last meal he would ever consume.

"'Ooo esh thar ooman?" he asked around a mouth full of potatoes.

Edwards was still grinning, the stupid sod, and he cupped his ear, like a deaf man trying to amplify his words. "What was that?" he asked.

Draco swallowed, resolving to chew slowly and conduct himself with some decorum, for shoddy at this little fete was, it wouldn't do to speak with food in his mouth.

"Who is that woman?" he asked again, trying for a bored, indifferent tone.

Edwards wasn't fooled. "Do you want something to drink? We have ale, water, tea, and cheery cool-aid."

Draco frowned at him, as if he'd sprouted horns and a tail. "What on earth is cool-aid?"

"Muggle drink." One of the wizards replied, winking at him. "Phineas discovered it on his travels abroad. He's addicted to the stuff."

Draco's frown deepened. "You consort with Muggles?" he snapped, "what kind of wizards are you?"

There was a measured silence. The mirth seemed to disappear, and he was met with hard stares from all sides.

"He's got quite a mouth," muttered one, "I guess some of those stories are true."

"What stories?" he demanded.

"You know, young man," offered another, "considering your situation, you should weigh your words with more care. It isn't very polite, and it speaks badly of your character."

Draco flung his plate toward the fire, bolting to his feet, oddly embarrassed, and struggling to contain his temper. He'd had enough of this.

"I don't need a lecture from the likes of you," he snarled, unaware of the cold, haughty note to his voice, or the eerie chill that settled over his eyes, casting an ugly pall over his handsome face, only that he was desperate to understand what was happening to him. These wizards were more powerful than any he'd ever seen. And while they said he wasn't a prisoner, he felt like one, and he'd never been so powerless…

The cool-aid wizard gazed at him with narrowed eyes, assessing, finding him wanting. "Well maybe you do, Draco Malfoy. You're a young man, granted, but old enough to stop acting the spoiled brat, especially when we're trying to help you."

"Morgan, that isn't your place!" someone admonished.

"Who says it isn't? I never knew he was such a bigot. When I first heard of Draco Malf—"

"How is that every one of you knows who I am?" Draco demanded, his temper rising with every syllable. He spun towards Edwards. "And why are you calling me Sir? Treating me like some dignitary one moment, and a circus freak the next! Laughing at some grand jok—"

A harsh cry tore through the clearing. "Milady! They've found us! We're under attack!"

A blast rocked through the clearing, knocking Draco to his knees. He scarcely drew breath when five sets of hands grabbed hold of him, pulling him down to the forest floor and holding him there. A witch cast a shield of some kind above them and they huddled beneath it. A large, heavy body bent and covered his own. It was that Morgan, the lecturer.

"Stay down!" he shouted, and a blast of red light shot from the tips of his fingers, strengthening the canopy above them. He huddled beneath the larger man, completely, totally helpless, numbly terrified. He tried to watch what was going on around him, but the magics bursting all around him were blinding. They were surrounded by yet another set of wizards, dark shapes darting through the tress. Wielding wands.

His people, if he could get to them.

But the man that held him down was incredibly strong, and it would take more than a physical effort to dislodge him…

One of the raiders had made it into the clearing, despite the barriers that were lit all around them. He shot an Impedimentia hex at one of the throng that surrounded Draco, and the witch fell to her side, paralyzed. The raider cast his eyes around the clearing, pausing when he caught a glimpse of Draco in the midst of people that surrounded him, the shock of recognition pulling at his face. Draco felt a slight surge of hope—

"I found the boy!" the wizard cried, "He's here!"

At his cries his comrades surged forward, redoubling their efforts to force their way into the center of the clearing. A moment after his announcement, a second broke through and made his way closer to the knot of wizards that surrounded Draco. He too scrambled for a glimpse of the young man, as if he didn't quite believe the testimony of his fellow. Draco took his chance and bolted from beneath Morgan, crawling on his elbows toward the man with the wand—

"What are you doing?" Morgan shouted, scrambling after him, trying to catch hold of his boot heel. "You stupid, foolish boy!"

The Wand Wizard broke into a grin of triumph, "I see him! I've got him!" He tore forward—

"I don't think so."

Despite the noise, the quiet, calm voice carried through the clearing as if it were amplified, cutting through the chaos around them.

Draco gasped when the tall woman, the powerful witch that had healed him, apparated before him. Only it wasn't quite apparition…not the kind he was used to, anyway, but something more like vanishment, only in reverse. She rose from the very ground like a mist, coalesced in a brilliant surge of light. She made no other movement, spoke no incantation that he could hear, but a wall of magic formed around them. The wizard, unable to stop his forward motion, ran into it, and with a blast of light, it flung him backwards like a doll, his body sailing through the air to land with a dull thud against a tree, where he crumpled at its base, and was still.

There was a great roar, and then the trees, the bloody trees, uprooted from the soil, closing rank around the clearing like a ring of sentinels, boughs squaring off and winding together in a tight weave of wooden limbs. One by one, the raiders that had made it into the clearing were banished, a comic look of surprise washing over their features before they disappeared completely. In moments, all was still, and her people, the wizards and witches that could conjure with their hands, rose unsteadily to their feet, blinking against the bright light of her magic.

He gaped at her, trembling from this display of her skill. He'd never seen anything like it… with her power, she could destroy legions…

She seemed to sense his gaze, and turned on her heel towards him, pulling the heavy cowl from her face. He gasped.

It was his face, staring back at him.

She waved her hand over his form, and though he fought it, he felt himself falling, falling, deeper into darkness.

"He awake yet?"

"Looks like he's coming round."

He knew that voice.

"M-m-morgan," he sputtered, struggling to open his eyes.

"Good to see that all that magic didn't scramble his brains."

"Like she'd ever let anything happen to him."

And Edwards. That was Edwards.

Was he alive?

It hurt, but he struggled to open his eyes, blinking furiously to clear his blurry vision. He saw Edwards' brown eyes, and Morgan's dark skin, and the pale, weak sunlight that filtered through the trees. The very normal looking trees.

He bolted upright, eyes wide, groaning at the sudden surge of blood, swooning from dizziness. Edwards and Morgan grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to keep him from rising.

"Whoah, whoah … watch it, Sneer Face. You'll knock yourself out again," Morgan admonished.

Draco shrugged off their hands, desperately trying to still the whirlwind in his head, but it kept buzzing. He blinked to clear his vision.

"Where is she? Who is she?" he felt almost hysterical, starting to doubt his sanity. "She looks like me! And she can move the trees—"

"Please Sir, calm down!" Edwards pleaded, sounding slightly hysterical himself, "you're going to hurt yourself!"

"Leave him be, Edwards."

Draco gasped, turning towards the sound of that quiet, powerful voice, eyes widening when he caught sight of her face…

A match to his own.

"I see you're awake, Father. I'm sorry, but I had to take you out of commission, so to speak. It was getting quite dangerous."

He struggled to draw breath, his throat dry and frozen in some strange paralysis. He couldn't look away from her…

"F-f-father?" he rasped.

She sighed, casting her eyes over his face, his ragged form, obviously troubled.

"I'm very sorry. I never wanted this to happen, but it was unavoidable, I'm afraid. I've come to protect you, you see. You and Mother both."

Draco blinked. "M-other?"

Morgan smirked. "Guess that brain-rattling comment was a bit premature."

"Silence," she snapped suddenly, "this is no time for hilarity."

Morgan lowered his eyes, subdued.

She walked over to where he sat trembling on the ground, bending to her knees, flexing her fingers a few times until the strange blue light started to spark from the tips. She offered him a bare smile, before moving them over his form, and the same healing magic, just as she used before, swept through him, and he calmed. He could truly see her face now, close as she was. And it was remarkable, the resemblance.

The same lines, the same features that he saw everyday looking back at him from his mirror, but her eyes … they were hazel … gold, really, and shone with an intelligence and power that almost stilled his breath. And her hair … a darker gold, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, snaking and sprawling over her back…

"You're so … beautiful," he breathed.

Her eyes widened slightly, and she drew back slowly … an odd look on her face, something close to … disbelief.

"You've never said that before," she whispered, a minute tremor to her voice.

"Really?" he asked, then shook his head, still struggling with this otherworldly shock. "How stupid of me. Because you are."

"You never seemed to approve of me," she blinked rapidly, and that tremor increased. He swore he saw the glimmer of tears…

"I didn't?"

"No."

"Why?"

She rose to her feet, turning her face away from him, heaving another troubled sigh.

"No more questions. It's time to take you back."

His shock was starting to dissipate, and he shook to clear his head.

"Wait! What is all this? I don't understand!" He struggled to his feet, stumbling a bit from the sudden rush of blood to his limbs. Morgan tried to stop him, but he pushed him away. "Please, I have to understand! Why are you so powerful? Where did you learn your magic? Why are you here? Why did those men attack me and bring me here?'

She ignored him, turning on her heel and walking away.

"Wait! WAIT!" He hobbled after her. "I don't understand! How can I be your Father? It doesn't make any sense! You're older than me! Wait! Who is your Mother?"

She froze, her shoulders tightening.

The silence stretched.

"Oh, what difference does it make?" she muttered, "you want to know … I'll tell you, you wont remember it anyway…"

"Milady!" Edwards gasped.

"No, it's okay."

Draco was trembling.

She turned to face him, and he was again startled at their matching height, her eyes level with his. Her gold eyes…

"They came here to kill you."

He gasped.

"They couldn't think of any other way, you see. I'm too powerful; my magic prevents them from getting to me, so they chose the next best thing. My parents. But I am their true target."

"W-what?"

"I'm different. I've always been. You've seen my magic…"

He swallowed hard, nodding.

"It's unlike anything I've ever se—"

"It's a threat," she continued, rushing now, as if she couldn't speak fast enough, "and what they don't understand they seek to destroy. I was the first, but others came after me, with similar powers…but nothing like mine." She spoke now with fierce pride, arrogance. "Because there's something about the two of you, something that you gave to me, that made me what I am…"

"Me and your… Mother…" he supplied.

"Yes."

Draco swallowed. "Who …who is she?"

But she didn't answer.

So he studied her face. Her amazing, compelling face, trying to find some hint of the other person that helped to make her, trying to look past his own legacy in the fine bones of her face. He could almost…

"Oh Lord…" he breathed, "Granger."

She said nothing.

This had to be a dream.

"But you've no cause to worry, Father," she continued, ignoring his outburst," They wont come after you again. I've made a charm for you. You're wearing it, in fact."

Startled, he glanced down at himself, scanning his clothes, trying to find a trace of something extraordinary—

She chuckled, a deep, pleasant sound that drew his eyes back to her face in wonder. This beautiful, powerful woman was his daughter. His and… Granger's.

"But that, I won't tell you. You can't know. It' better that way."

He scoffed. "What if I lose it?"

She smirked, and it was just like his own.

"You wont"

"How do you know it will work?" he challenged.

That smirk grew more smug, and she shrugged.

"Because it will."

Heh. His confidence, too, he saw. That pleased him.

She stepped close to him, a sad smile lifting the corners of her mouth, and he watched in fascination as she raised her hands to cup his face between them. He shivered, because he knew something terrible was going to happen, something to take it all away, the knowledge of her existence.

"Wait…" he pleaded, "What's your name?"

She smiled.

"Ask my Mother."

She bent forward, pressed her mouth to his forehead in a gentle kiss, and as she pulled away—

"Obliviate," she whispered.

It was the start of his seventh year. The platform was crowded as usual, but unnaturally subdued. The second Great War had begun, and those that hadn't yet taken sides soon would. It was an ugly, horrible time, but life, at least superficially, carried on as usual.

It was the year that Draco was expected to take his oath as a Deatheater… if he chose to, that is. And as far as he knew, there wasn't any reason why he shouldn't. He felt hollow inside. Dead. So what if he cast his lot with Voldemort… his blood was already spilt.

He made his way through the crowded aisle of the train, looking for the car that would take him to the Head Girl, his partner in this mess, this little game they were all playing. Who knew if the year would bear out? The school, and everyone in it, would be destroyed…

Eventually.

He pulled open the door, sneering when he saw her.

Granger.

"Should have known it was you, Mudblood."

She glanced up from her book, scowling slightly, and he met her gaze.

A jolt … something … powerful … went through him. He shook with the force of it, blinking rapidly. A strange sort of vision rushed through him. A tall woman…a woman with tawny hair and eyes, smiling sadly.

Ask my Mother…

He stumbled to his seat, trying to sit down before he fell down. He was dizzy, and it was hard to breathe…

"Malfoy!" Hermione bolted from her seat, rushing over to him to grab hold, her face creased in a frown, concern written all over her face. She helped him to his seat.

"What is her name?" he rasped.

Her frown deepened— "What are you—" but suddenly, it cleared. She was pale, and spoke slowly, as if in a trance.

"Perdita," she whispered.

Neither remembered that conversation. But that day, they knew they would never hurt each other, no matter what happened as the year unfolded.