(For a contest at The Hideaway. It's exactly 1,287 words long)
The light of the dawn shone through half-opened windows, whose curtains had been ripped to the floor. Upturned furniture and broken glass were strewn all over the floor. A bookcase that had once stood proud and perfectly polished lay haphazardly on its side, its contents ripped apart and damaged. A previously magnificent coffee table sat in the middle of the living room between two sofas that had lost all of their cushions (the cushions were discovered later in the kitchen, ripped apart, their feathery contents all over the tile floor) was completely smashed. The house that had at one time been beautiful, cozy, and often enjoyed by members of the family and their friends was in complete disarray.
Draco Malfoy saw all of this in moments. He alone knew what had come about, for he was the culprit. Draco smirked, holding his wand lovingly in one hand and a child in the other as he wandered aimlessly through the home, enjoying the memories of the past night. He could still hear the screams of that idiotic Weasley as she begged for her life; the final words of the so-called "great" Harry Potter on his knees as he begged to Draco. Draco loved that thought, that idea, that knowledge of the fact that, for one point in his life, Harry Potter, his archenemy and his master's ultimate downfall, was at his mercy.
That is to say, if he was given any mercy, which he wasn't.
And what had he enjoyed more, but holding the newborn James in his arms?
Oh, if only Potter knew the truth, Draco thought sadly. If only he knew that if he had given Draco what Draco wanted, he could have lived. All Draco wanted was Ginny. But the crybaby Potter had to have the Weasel all to himself.
"Selfish fool," Draco snickered, caressing the baby's face in his arms.
He had seen the birth of this newborn. Witnessed it, in fact. Well, not entirely. He wasn't there in person but he saw it in the pensieve.
"Oh, Harry!" Ginny had screamed, her hands, chalk white, gripping the sides of the bed. Beads of sweat ran down her face as she pushed. Tears of joy and tears of pain cascaded down the red cheeks of her face. Harry Potter watched on awkwardly and befuddled. Draco had enjoyed the fact that Harry had been confused (given that Draco would never, ever admit he'd probably feel the same way, had he been in Harry's position).
That fat woman, the mother of the Weasleys, who Draco called to himself (laughing, of course) the "fat slut", sat at the foot of the bed, her hands disappearing under the covers, doing something Draco really didn't want to see nor think about it. And Ginny, Draco watching her with a lovesick expression on his pale, pointy face, screamed one last time, and the next moment a soft whimper was heard. The fat slut held up a brand-new baby, pink, with chocolate-brown eyes and black hair.
The child was definitly a boy. Draco didn't need to be reminded or told.
And Ginny had smiled. Smiled in such a lovingly, motherly type of way that Draco could barely handle looking at her. He had always dreamed of Ginny looking at him that way. Always dreamed of watching Ginny hold his child in her arms.
But she never would.
"What should we name him, sweetie?" Potter asked, holding his son's fist in his hand.
"Well..." Ginny bit her lip. She looked absolutely adorable. "We should name him after our fathers. Hmm... How about- James Arthur Weasley? Yes... Do you like it?"
And Harry had said, grinning. "Yeah, you know what, I love it."
The fat slut sat there with a dazed expression on her face. Draco felt sick.
Watching the birth of the child in his arms wasn't as hard as killing Ginny, but, Draco realized, killing Ginny hadn't been too hard. She was a complete waste of skin.
Suddenly Draco heard the sound of a doorknob turning. The front door opened. Draco, thinking it was just another Death Eater, just stood there, watching as the day progressed.
"Malfoy," Rubeus Hagrid spat, his giant form taking up half of the room. "Knew it was you. Knew it. But no one believed me. They ne'er do."
"Oh, it's you, filthy half-blood. Here to muck up an already destroyed house? Because, believe me on this one, you probably could've done a better job than I did," Draco retorted. "Aren't I right, James?"
The infant cooed. Hagrid looked at the baby, his great black eyes shining with hatred. "Now, Malfoy, don't- don't der nothin' stupid now. Yer already killed both of 'em. Jus' hand o'er little James now, and nobody's goin' ter get hurt."
Draco held his wand steady, pointing it at Hagrid's chest. "And now it's time for you to forget all of this, you moronic crack head!" Draco shouted. "Obliviate!"
The monster of a man opened his mouth in surprise, but the force of the spell knocked him to the ground. His eyes rolled back in his head and he twitched three times before just lying there.
Draco, knowing that Hagrid would come around at any moment, grabbed up a ripped up book and sat in the man's enormous hand. Whispering the incantation, the book glowed blue for a few seconds. And a moment later Hagrid disappeared into thin air.
"Ah, much better," Draco said airily. The door opened a second time. A thick man covered head to toe in black walked inside.
"Malfoy," he greeted hoarsely.
"Oh, hello, Pettigrew. What do you want?" Draco said rudely.
"The child, Malfoy, the child…" Pettigrew's teeth chattered as reached an arm out to grab the infant.
"You can't have him. The Dark Lord said I could do whatever I wanted with the child." Malfoy replied. James smiled.
"Alright then… But Zabini requests you and the child's presence tonight… You know where…" Wormtail squeaked.
"Yes, I do. Off with you, now." Draco told him. Wormtail made another squeak, this one sounding as though he was disappointed. But a moment later he disapparated.
The full moon shone onto the graveyard on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A lone unicorn peeked out of the branches, its silvery form outlined by the shining moon. More than three-dozen Death Eaters stood around the gravestones, watching a man in the gazebo, who was also wearing robes of black, but had no mask. His eyes were red with slits for pupils and his skin was chalk-white.
"You are gathered here tonight," he began, his voice oddly coarse and hissy. "To celebrate the death of Harry Potter, who was killed by none other than my right-hand man, my most faithful Death Eater still alive today, Draco Malfoy."
At the sound of his name a Death Eater walked up to the gazebo, carrying a bundle of blankets in his arms. Inside the blankets slept James, whom Draco had renamed "Royal Lucius Malfoy". Draco bowed deeply to Lord Voldemort.
"Ah, Draco holds in his arms Royal Malfoy, who was once the son of Harry Potter, but is no longer. The baby is rightfully Draco's. It is what he deserves."
"Thank you, My Lord," Draco replied graciously.
"And along with the child, I award him 6000 galleons for the death of Harry and Ginny Potter. I hope to see more from you in the future, Draco."
Draco blushed red as Wormtail thrust him a sack. The contents of the sack jingled nicely. Draco grinned and looked down at his sleeping son.
"If only Potter knew…" He thought silently. "If only he knew…"