Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I am not making any money off of this. I am doing this purely for my own entertainment…and hopefully because others enjoy reading this!
Author: Daenerys Malfoy
Title: Requiem for a Dream
Pairings: HP/DM + More!
Universe: Canon through OotP.
Warnings: Slash! Mild gore.
Story Notes: For the purposes of this story, Lucius Malfoy has been released from Azkaban. . Enjoy!
Summary: Harry Potter never envisioned having kids, hell he didn't even know if he would live long enough to dream about them. Unfortunately for him, Fate has different plans and when Draco Malfoy appears on his doorstep with a six month old baby claiming to be theirs well…things get a bit…interesting.
Requiem for a Dream
Draco Malfoy was not the bravest student of his year. No, he preferred self-preservation to needless heroics. This is not to say that he was a coward, not in the least. He simply did not like to jump into situations he could not retreat from. He was, above all else, a realist. He knew when to back down and when to up the ante, so to speak. Being a Malfoy, Draco was a very skilled duelist and a very powerful wizard. What he wasn't however, was stupid.
"Which is exactly what this plan is…" He murmured as he gracefully made his way towards the blue drawing room on the third floor of his manor. "Stupid!"
Being a…smaller than average bloke, Draco found it quite easy to slip from shadow to shadow, nook to nook as he calmly made his way towards the hidden stairwell beside the entrance to the blue drawing room.
Freezing, Draco turned swiftly and smiled congenially at his mother.
"Hello Mother," he said with a small bow in her direction. She smiled at him tightly, glancing around with a nervous air that could only be seen by those close to her.
"Draco," she said again. "Are you…tonight?" She finally managed.
Nodding, Draco took a deep breath and in two strides stood before her. "Tonight Mother," he whispered softly. She nodded, back straightening and lips firming.
"And your father?"
"Will hold the Dark Lord off for as long as he can." He replied with a small smile. She nodded and raised her hand. Softly she grazed the back of her hand against his cheek, eyes misting with unshed tears.
"Be careful Dragon," she whispered. Draco's eyes widened fractionally. He couldn't help the small intake of breath as he stared into his mothers light blue eyes. She hadn't called him that since he was seven years old.
"I will Mother," he murmured while placing a soft kiss on her cheek. With one last, lingering look, she nodded and stepped back, assuming the cold mask of indifference she was so well known for.
"Hurry now," he heard her say as he stepped back into the hidden stairwell. "Please my Dragon, get out of here. Both of you, alive and well…" And then she was gone from view and he was alone on the dark passageway. With a shaky sigh, Draco strengthened his resolve and headed down the steps, silently counting them as he went.
On the twenty seventh step, he turned to the right and stepped through the seemingly solid wall. He paused, listening, as he appeared in a dark niche behind the statue of a lascivious siren.
"…s'alright, I can do it!" The unmistakable drunken drawl of Antonin Dolohov sounded down the corridor outside his hiding spot and Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes. Dolohov escaped from Azkaban again, why do we have a prison if we can't keep criminals in? For that matter, why do we have a Minister for Magic…he thought snidely. Peeking around the corner, he caught sight of the thin, balding figure that was Dolohov, and another short and stocky figure that Draco realized was Peter Pettigrew. His lip curled up in disgust as he eyed the obsequious rat. Draco knew Pettigrew's history, and were it not for the fact that he was Voldemort's favorite servant, Draco would have hexed the balding man five ways to Sunday. How dare that back-stabbing filth enter our home? Draco had thought when Pettigrew first arrived.
Despite the fact that it was Potter's father and his lot Pettigrew had betrayed, the fact remained that Pettigrew had sold out his closest friends and for what? Draco shook his head as he eyed the two. In his book, the only thing Pettigrew deserved was a session with his father in the torture chamber, and a festering disease or two.
Despicable, he thought as the two passed his hidden alcove. To think, we are allowing this filth in our home. His ancestors, (minus Grandfather Abraxas of course) were rolling, thrashing more like, in their graves.
"If you two are done dawdling in my halls, I believe you had a task to fulfill?"
Draco's breath hitched as his fathers unmistakable cold drawl sounded throughout the corridor. He strode into view, cane clicking against the marble floor, hair gleaming in the pale light from the torches.
"Er… Mr. Malfoy, right." Pettigrew mumbled, eyes and head downcast. From his hiding place, Draco saw his fathers lip curl in disgust as he stared down his nose at the small, trembling man.
"Well then?" He continued. The two hesitated for only a moment, and then were off, swiftly moving through the halls.
Draco slipped out of the niche and waited for his father to address him.
"Draco," he said. "Are you ready?"
Draco nodded, staring into grey eyes almost identical to his own.
"I…" Lucius hesitated, something he never did, and shook his head. "Be careful son." He whispered, standing directly in front of Draco.
Draco nodded, a bit shocked. Lucius nodded, staring down on him. Slowly, he lifted a hand and placed it on Draco's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. "I am very proud of you," he murmured.
"I-thank you, Father." Draco murmured, eyes misting with the beginnings of tears. Nodding brusquely, Lucius stepped back gripped his cane firmly.
"Go," he muttered, "I will hold him off for as long as I can."
Draco nodded, already slipping past his father. "Be careful," he murmured as he passed.
Back turned, he did not see the smirk on his father's face, or else he would have cautioned his father not to do anything stupid, as it were, he did not see the sparkling glee that sprang in the once cold grey eyes, or the beginnings of a small, dangerous smile as Lucius Malfoy firmly gripped his snake-headed cane. Back turned, he missed the unhidden glee of an unwilling servant ready to thoroughly damage and quite possibly destroy a detestable master.
Draco slipped passed the stunned guards without a backward glance, and cautiously made his way into the dark room. He wasn't sure what wards Voldemort had placed on this room, but he could not feel any latent magic or traps, concealed or otherwise.
Hurriedly, he rushed to the only piece of furniture in the otherwise bare room. A luxurious, wooden crib with dark green velvet lining. It had been his when he was a child, and now it held his son.
Without making a sound, he rushed to the crib and carefully picked up the small bundle held therein. The baby woke, but did not make a sound. He had never uttered more sound than was necessary, and was essentially a very quiet child.
The small baby stared at Draco with solemn, vibrant green eyes and reached out to touch his cheek. He smiled then, a soft smile that showed off pink gums with barely discernable teeth peeking through, and then wrapped small arms around his neck. Draco sighed happily, taking a moment to rock the small bundle in his arms.
"We're getting away from here…" He muttered, eyes closed as he rubbed his son's back soothingly. "I'm taking you to meet your other father…" He said with a bit of a hitch.
With a reluctant sigh, Draco grabbed a small green blanket with golden snitches flying around its surface from the crib and, after shrinking and pocketing the large piece of furniture, hurriedly left the room.
Taking a hidden corridor, he made his way to the atrium, almost sighing in relief as the tall, thick statues of Athena, the Greek Goddess, came into view. It was the nearest exit and the one nobody ever watched. He snorted, nobody goes through the front door anymore.
"Almost there…" He murmured into his quiet son's ear. The baby simply sighed and rubbed one soft cheek against his own.
Stopping, Draco stared in absolute horror as Antonin Dolohov's stooped figure appeared before the entrance hall door.
"What-what d'ya think yer doing?" He slurred, eyes squinting as he tried to focus on Draco's form.
"Is that…" he paused, stumbling forward, eyes widening. Suddenly his wand was out and focused, albeit shakily on Draco's form. "Can't have you doing that…" He murmured.
"I do believe, Mr. Dolohov, that this is not your place."
Draco's eyes widened as his mother's lithe frame stepped from the shadows.
"Narcissa…" Dolohov muttered.
His mother raised her wand, eyes narrowed and mouth firm, she only glanced at him once and signaled with her eyes that it was time for him to make his escape, and then her focus was on Dolohov and the fast approaching purple, zigzagging curse sent her way.
"Protego!" She whispered, a shield jumped in front of her and that was the last Draco saw before he ran.
And ran and ran and ran, until he was past the Apparation point. Glancing back only once, Draco saw, with no small amount of horror that his entire house, his home, was up in flames.
Harry Potter was enjoying a quiet, peaceful evening at the Dursley's when he heard the unmistakable sound of somebody apparating into his backyard. Thankfully, his relatives were out of town for the weekend and would not be back until tomorrow night.
Grabbing his wand, and after a moments hesitation, a flashlight, Harry leapt to his feet and rushed to the backdoor. Peeking out the small window and seeing nothing, Harry decided to venture into the small backyard and hope that it was simply an Order member, come to check up on him.
Flipping the flashlight switch, he peered into the dark backyard.
There was a small groan, and a bit of a whimper. Swerving the flashlight towards the sound, Harry caught a glint of blonde and had to cover his mouth in surprise when Draco Malfoy stepped into the flimsy light of the flashlight.
The boy stumbled slightly, grasping something closely to his chest.
"P-Potter…thank god!" He slowly made his way towards Harry, who was standing in complete shock with nothing more than a pair of sweatpants on, and leaned heavily against the open door.
"I need…can I come in?"
"What the hell?" Harry murmured, staring down on the pale boy in absolute shock.
"Its cold out here Potter, and we aren't exactly dressed for it…" He drawled. Harry shivered despite himself and, after a moments hesitation, allowed the boy to enter.
"What do you mean 'we'? And how did you find me?"
Draco, who was standing in the living room, eyeing the room with no little amount of disgust, turned to face him his face now void of any and all emotion.
Harry, wand still out, eyed him speculatively for a moment, wondering in the silence why he had allowed Draco Malfoy of all people into his home. Its not like I can't take him if he tries anything funny…he thought as he watched the boy calmly sit. Now in the light, Harry noticed that Malfoy looked a bit haggard and drawn. Firmly gripped against his chest was a bundle of…something, wrapped in a Slytherin green blanket with golden snitches.
It moved then, and a small arm poked out, followed by a small blonde head. Harry gasped, almost dropping his wand in shock.
"I-is…th-that a baby Malfoy!?" He screamed.
Draco looked quite amused and smirked at him lazily, "indeed." He murmured, eyeing Harry critically.
"Alright Malfoy, you've got some serious explaining to do. Start with why you're here." Harry said firmly, gripping his wand. Draco seemed to slump slightly in his seat, and sighed heavily.
"I…" he hesitated, and that alone let Harry know things were quite serious. "This is my…son." He finally murmured. Harry's eyes widened almost comically as he dropped into the nearest armchair.
Draco nodded curtly, then pulled the blanket away from the small baby and turned him to face Harry. Vibrant green eyes, almost a mirror reflection of his own peered up at him solemnly as Draco took a deep breath.
"Right, mine and…well yours."
There was silence, and then, "what kind of sick joke are you playing at Malfoy?" Harry asked furiously.
Draco shook his head grey eyes pleading with Harry to understand. "Listen Potter, I didn't…its…well." He took a deep breath, pulling the small boy further into his embrace.
"I suppose I should start at the beginning. My seventeenth birthday was the fifth of June and on that day the Dark Lord called for my father to bring me to him for a…meeting of sorts." Draco took another deep breath, before staring intently into Harry's eyes. "It was never my intention to follow Riddle, yes I know all about the Dark Lords background," Draco muttered at Harry's surprised, border-line incredulous look. "So you can imagine my surprise when I found out that he was nothing more than a half-blooded lunatic. Anyway, I…well my family is in possession of a rare talent, something that Riddle wants but can't have because it has to be freely given. My father will not give it to him, and when he found that I would not either, he…well he didn't seem so surprised, in fact, he seemed rather pleased."
Draco took another deep breath, and Harry found himself dreading what would be said next.
"He informed me, and my father, that our cooperation was not needed since he had my heir and would raise him himself to attain our…talent. I scoffed of course, and told him that I had no heir. My father however, paled." Draco shivered, though not from cold. "I can remember that instance clearly. He paled and his grip on my shoulder tightened painfully. I remember feeling dread…horrifyingly acute dread. I knew something was wrong.
"Pettigrew," Draco spat the name out with a disgust that Harry thought only he felt towards the rat-like man, and clutched onto his son tighter. "Brought out a small bundle and thrust it into Riddle's…hands. When he…when he took off the blanket and I saw the blonde hair and…his face," Draco paused, shaking his head. "I knew he was mine but…" he paused, shaking his head again.
"Riddle told us that he used some of my blood, blood he took from me on my 16th birthday, and the blood of someone else, someone powerful to create him. I didn't know what to do…" Draco whispered quietly, now staring at the floor. "He told us he was four months old, born on February 14th, and that…that he was showing early signs of having our…talent.
"He dismissed us after that, and my father and I went straight home and into his study. After calling mother, we…told her what happened. She – I've never seen mother so angry before," he smirked at that, a small, fond smirk that Harry had never seen before.
Rising, Draco began pacing, rocking the small boy as he did so.
"What Riddle doesn't know, is that when a Malfoy heir has a child, a bond is formed, magical and paternal that allows for all wards, and such to recognize him, or her, as a possible heir. There is also…the er, other parental figure is bonded to the child as well, and subsequently to the er…other paternal figure. There is more to it, but essentially, it not only signifies him as a Malfoy but allows for the non-Malfoy parent figure to have a stake in the Malfoy assets, and allowance through the wards so that the child can be cared for."
"Wait," Harry said, interrupting Draco. "If all of this happens, why didn't you know you had a kid?" He didn't want to think of the implications of him being the other parental figure, that was a bit too much to take in right now.
"Because the bond is only activated once the Malfoy parent acknowledges the child. It was a precaution that stopped bastards and gold-digging wenches from trying to claim a stake in our fortune. I didn't know about my son until Riddle brought me before him…and even then I didn't formally acknowledge he was mine until we had a…plan."
"I'm trying to get there…" Draco muttered dryly. Harry huffed and motioned for him to continue.
"My father had an idea of who the other…parental figure was, but to be sure I had to acknowledge Tristan, that's his name by the way, as mine so we held off on that until we could be sure."
"Sure of what?"
"That we could get away from Riddle…"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Not…precisely but sure, if that's what you want to call it. Once I acknowledged Tristan as mine, he appeared on the family tapestry and so did…you, as the father." Draco paused as if waiting for Harry's reaction, but Harry could only stare at him blankly, his mind not able to wrap around the prospect of having a kid, with Malfoy of all people.
"My father suspected that you were the other father, because Riddle had been raving about a plan to get to you for quite some time, and something about…I don't know thanking your mother. I figured that one out later…" He mumbled.
Harry's jaw clenched furiously as his fingers dug into the leather armrests of the chair. That-that bastard doesn't deserve to speak about my mother! He thought. Not for the first time, he eagerly pictured ripping Voldemort to tiny shreds using only a spoon. He wasn't quite sure how he would accomplish this feat, but he knew that he was more than willing to try.
"How?" He finally managed through clenched teeth.
Draco took another deep breath and smoothed back Tristan's platinum blonde curls.
"Your mother, it would seem, was a very adept potions maker." Harry nodded, a tiny proud smile worming its way onto his face.
"There have always been ways for same-sex couples to have children in the Wizarding world. The most common being the use of a surrogate mother. However, there were times when that would dissolve into a rather sticky situation, with the surrogate unwilling to give up the child and running off. There was also the fact that…technically, the child was really the child of only one of the parents and anther woman.
Your mother was able to invent a potion that took the DNA of the couple wishing for a child, and simply placed it inside of a woman who, after taking a potion which triggered the growth of an embryo, would carry it to term. The child would have nothing of the mother in him or her, and the Carrier, as they're sometimes called, has no ties to the child."
Harry's eyes widened. My…mother created something like that? Bloody hell, he thought.
"Apparently, Riddle had a vial of your blood; I don't even want to know where he got that from."
Harry's eyes narrowed as an image of a graveyard pushed to forefront of his mind, unbidden. The Tri-Wizard tournament…he thought, with a slight bit of nausea.
"Go on…" He croaked hoarsely. Draco eyed him before nodding and continuing his tale.
"When he realized that he wasn't going to obtain my father or mines cooperation with the use of our…talent, he decided that he would make himself a Malfoy heir, and through him gain control of our talent. With this idea, came his yearning for his own heir, and he wanted it to be powerful. So…I suppose he chose you."
"Why didn't he just use his own blood?" Harry asked, dumbfounded. Draco shrugged.
"I don't know. I think he gets some sort of sick, perverse pleasure from raising the son of his enemy. I am sure he would have tried to use Tristan against you…somehow. I'm not quite sure how."
Harry nodded. That sounded like Voldemort. Sick, perverse, and twisted, without making any sort of sense.
"Anyway, we decided that we had to get Tristan away from Voldemort. My family has never been the loyal little followers everyone seems to think we are."
"Sure as hell fooled me…" Harry muttered.
Draco shrugged, "appearances Potter, appearances. It isn't in us to kiss someone else's robes, you should know by now that we prefer people bowing to us."
"Then why does your father follow him?"
Draco sighed, not looking at Harry. "I…maybe I'll tell you some other time."
Harry shrugged. "Whatever…just…keep going."
"My father invited Riddle to our house so that we had easier access to Tristan, and then it was simply a matter of waiting for the opportune time to snatch Tristan and leave. That just happened to be tonight."
"How did you find me? How did you get past the wards?"
Draco nodded towards a sleepy eyed Tristan. "You are related to him by blood, so it was just a matter of tracking you through him…"
Breathing heavily through his nose, Harry leaned back in the armchair, staring at Draco and Tristan without expression.
With the pale blonde hair, vibrant green eyes, high cheekbones and fair, but not pale skin…Tristan was the perfect blend between the two of them, and Harry found himself at a loss for words. It didn't help that Tristan's hair was as messy as Harry's was, although it looked a bit more curly.
Story of my life, he thought morosely as he stared into green eyes almost identical to his own. Fate always likes to play with me, I don't think I'll ever be able to live my life the way I want to.
Draco was fidgeting on the couch across from him, absently toying with the green blanket.
"Can I…can I hold him?" Harry finally asked. Draco eyed him warily before standing and walking towards him. When he stood directly in front of him, he placed Tristan in his lap and stepped back.
Harry eyed the little boy curiously, placing his hands on his back to help him sit up.
"How old is he?"
"Nearly seven months." Draco said fondly, ruffling the platinum blonde curls, messing up the already helpless mop of locks.
Harry, still staring at the small toddler, could only gape when he reached out and grasped at his cheeks. Glancing at Draco, he saw the other boy chuckling silently.
"He's just trying to…feel you. I guess he recognizes you as his dad because he doesn't let anybody else hold him, not even my mother."
"Oh…" Harry said dumbly.
The small baby tried to stand, to which Harry helped and supported him as they stared at one another. Suddenly, Tristan smiled and leaned forward, rubbing his cheek against Harry's own.
"What do I do?" Harry asked in an almost near panic.
Draco chuckled again, a warm sound that Harry found he enjoyed. "Just hold him Potter."
Hesitantly, Harry wrapped his arm around the small babe and began rocking him. He felt, more than heard, the small yawn and started when a small blonde head rested itself against his shoulder.
"He's had a rough night…" Draco muttered, still standing.
"Why isn't he…crying or anything?"
"He's a very…quiet child." Draco mumbled. "He doesn't make much noise, unless he's with me and he doesn't cry much unless nobodies around except me…"
Harry quirked an eyebrow, staring at the small blonde head, "I see…"
Draco shrugged, yawning.
"I uh…I guess you can stay here." Draco nodded, frowning as he surveyed the room. "What happened to your parents?"
Harry almost regretted the question when Draco tensed, and closed his eyes.
"I'm…not quite sure. The last I saw, my home was up in flames."
Harry did not have a response to this, and could only nod and look away. Despite everything, he felt an odd sort of sympathy rise for the pale blonde before him. Malfoy was, at the very least, very prideful of his family. It was something Harry knew after six years of…acquaintance with the boy. He put his family before anything and everything.
"You can sleep in my room…" He mumbled, getting up and walking towards his room. Tristan's weight in his arms was…unusual, out of place, and made him feel a bit awkward. He didn't know the first thing about raising a child, and now he was suddenly a father. I'll think about that later…he thought as he opened the door for Draco.
"Its not much but…" Shrugging he flipped the switch and allowed Draco to enter. Without a word, the other boy pulled something out of his pocket and unshrunk it. A very expensive looking crib stood in the middle of his room, lined with dark green velvet and padded with a soft, thick cream blanket.
Walking over, Harry placed the little boy inside, staring down on the little blonde head blankly.
"This is so…surreal."
Draco snorted, plopping down on Harry's bed. Harry blinked curiously, watching as the other boy grabbed his pillow and settled into the comforter.
"Oh…damnit." Draco muttered. Sitting up, he dug into the pockets of his robe and pulled out several small, shrunken items.
With deft wand movements, he unshrunk the parcels revealing a diaper bag and three duffle bags filled with, what Harry could only assume, were clothes.
Harry gaped as the bags grew, eyes widening as they fell with a soft 'thunk' to his floor.
"Did you bring your entire wardrobe?" he asked incredulously as the large bags settled into a corner of the room. They were large, and full, almost bursting at the seams. Draco shrugged and once again settled on his bed.
"Only what was necessary…" came the muffled reply. Harry shook his head and, after one more disbelieving look, exited the room.
Sitting in the living room once more, Harry Potter was experiencing a bit of a panic attack. In less than two hours, his entire life had, once again, been turned upside down.
Having his former archrival (notwithstanding the sixth year truce between the two), suddenly appear at his relative's home and carrying a child he claimed was theirs was…to say the least, disconcerting at best. However, having dealt with life-altering situations his entire life, Harry had learned to take things in stride.
This did not mean, however, that he wasn't up for a bit of hair-pulling, pillow-throwing bout of furious pacing. He could feel his anger and helplessness rise, and knew without a doubt that soon his magic would be out of control and his relatives immaculate living room would resemble a war zone.
A crash, and the sound of glass shattering on tile flooring alerted him to the first furious, magic-induced incident. With a growl worthy of a werewolf, Harry stalked towards the fallen vase and, with a furious wave of his wand, repaired the 'priceless' urn. Of course, in his state of wild, raging fury and out of control magic, he overshot his reparation, and the porcelain urn shot up into the air, shattering once more against the ceiling.
"Oh for the love of!" Repairing the vase once again, which in Harry's honest opinion was a hideous work of 'art' and should be hidden in the darkest alcove of the house and not proudly displayed on the top of the fireplace, firmly grasped it and sat it gently back into its proper place.
The lull in pacing, had allowed his wayward magic to calm somewhat, and now Harry simply sat slumped in his uncle's favorite armchair, head cradled in his hands.
His life, it would seem, was taking another one of those steep nosedives into the very pits of hell. He could find no other way to describe it. His sixth year at Hogwarts had been hell. He'd fought with his best friends constantly, to the point where halfway during the year they'd split up. He hadn't talked to Ron since and only occasionally spoke with Hermione. Dumbledore and the rest of the Order had hounded him about 'training', which meant every free moment of his life he'd spent with some random Order member going over hexes, curses, counter-curses and other forms of magic. It didn't help that on his 17th birthday, his power had rose tremendously, which Dumbledore assured him was part of a wizards 'coming of age'. He couldn't control it, and the more he tried the harder things got. He had taken to simply not feeling, because it seemed anytime his emotions became too extreme, things happened. Vases broke; random objects began levitating etcetera, etcetera.
The only bright spot in this seemingly downwards spiral into absolute darkness was the Dursleys, as odd a thought as that was. They had taken to leaving him alone during this summer. They knew that this was the last summer they would ever have to see him again, and figured it would be easier to simply leave the house periodically in the hopes that when they returned he would be gone. It always made Harry laugh when they returned from one of their trips to find him still there. Vernon would scowl furiously while Petunia's lips would pinch dangerously over her horse-like teeth, and her thin face would redden and inflate to extreme proportions.
Despite this…reprieve from his family, Harry would have given anything for things to be as they once were, for Hermione, Ron and he to be the inseparable trio once more. He wished for the illusions he'd once held about life to still be true, wished that that thin veneer of black and white, good v. evil still held.
Harry was never one to complain unduly, but even he had a breaking point. Being a father at barely seventeen and a virgin at that…well that was perhaps his long overdue breaking point.
Lifting his head, Harry eyed Malfoy warily as he entered the small living room. He was now dressed in a pair of silk pajamas, which were unsurprisingly black. Harry idly wondered if he had ever seen the other boy in anything other than black.
"Is there something you need?"
"We need to talk."
Harry sighed, leaning back in the armchair in resignation.
"Will you…I mean do you accept that Tristan is yours as well?"
Harry snorted, "I haven't gotten around to that just yet. Still trying to figure out why you're in my muggle relative's house."
"I have proof…" That being said, he handed Harry a piece of parchment. Opening it, Harry noted with a small amount of surprise that it was the Malfoy Family Tree, or at least a replica thereof.
Glowing gold, were the names Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter and Tristan Malfoy. Harry and Draco were not connected with a spousal line; however, they were connected through Tristan with a gold parental line.
"Wonderful…" Harry muttered sardonically.
Draco pulled out a small vial of blood and dangled it in front of Harry.
"This is a vial of Tristan's blood…"
"How do I know that?" Harry cut in.
Draco huffed, before muttering something under is breath. Waving his wand, ghostly letters appeared above the small vial reading: Blood of Tristan Malfoy. Harry mumbled something under his breath, but Draco didn't catch it and simply kept going.
"We can do a paternity test, if you don't believe me. I'll just need a bit of your blood."
"You think I'm going to give you some of my blood? That's how we got into this mess in the first place!"
"I'm just going to prove to you that Tristan's yours Potter, I don't care what you do with your blood after that…"
Harry glared at him before cautiously sticking out an arm.
"Don't try anything funny Malfoy…I mean it…" Harry said, fingering his own wand. Draco rolled his eyes and waved his wand, mumbling something Harry didn't catch.
A thin stream of blood rose from his arm, painlessly much to Harry's relief, and into a conjured vial. After a silent period of five minutes and complex wand maneuvering on Draco's part, a golden thread rose from the vial containing Harry's blood and the vial containing Tristan's blood. Along this glowing, golden arc rose the words: Relationship: Father, and it was at this moment that Harry collapsed in a dead faint.
Narcissa Malfoy was, if nothing else, a mother, and with this came all the extra emotional baggage that that title seemed to conjure, including a fierce, pure love for her only son. While she hadn't had the best childhood, Narcissa was very much all about family. She had never liked the Dark Lord, and resented the fact that her husband and son were forced to follow in his abysmally dirty footsteps. Her only condolence being that Draco had not yet received the Dark Mark. Ghastly thing that.
As it were, standing in the remains of what had once been a beautiful manor, Narcissa felt her revulsion and hate for the man who called himself a 'Dark Lord' rise exponentially. Not only had he sullied her exceptionally beautiful home with his presence, but also had the gall to burn it down after he fled. For one insane moment, Narcissa had the urge to transform into her animagus form and hunt the bastard down. Upon finding him, her pretty little head filled with images of rending him limb to limb and mauling his ghastly flesh with her claws.
No one had ever said Narcissa was…delicate. She was, after all, a Black.
For the time being, however, she simply transformed into her animagus form, and raced into the forest, intent on finding her only son and…grandson. Lucius was quite capable of handling himself.
When Harry finally came to, it was to Draco's pale face hovering over his with a look that was border-line concerned. Harry snorted, wondering when hell had finally frozen over, and idly wondered if Voldemort would appear tap dancing in his living room.
"Potter?" Was that a hint of worry in Draco's voice?
"I'm fine…" he managed to mutter, although it sounded somewhat like a croak.
Groggily, Harry sat up, belatedly realizing that he had fainted back into the chair, and looked around. The clock on the mantle of the fireplace read 12:47. So I was out for little more than five minutes. Jeez, I can't even faint properly.
"So what?" Harry asked in confusion.
"Do you accept?"
What is Malfoy going on about?
Oh…that. "I…" Harry paused. Did he accept? The proof was undeniable, not to mention that the kid did look eerily enough like a mixture between him and Malfoy, but if he did accept…what would that mean for his future. Not only would he have to look out for himself, but his child and Malfoy as well. (There was no way he was raising a kid on his own). On the other hand, this was his chance at a family of his own, even if that family included Malfoy. He could spoil the kid rotten, give him everything he'd never had. But did he really want to put the child at risk like that? Well, he's at risk being mine anyway especially since Voldemort knows that he is mine. Moreover, Malfoy ran off with him, so he's going to be looking for him anyway.
Harry sighed deeply and resisted the urge to scream 'WHY ME', to the skies. Not only would he look like a loony, but he didn't think that would help the situation much.
"I…what's going to happen if I accept?" Harry silently praised himself for thinking the situation through instead of just jumping right in. Hermione had, before their split, chided him relentlessly about his 'saving-people-thing', and his inability to 'think things through'. Harry scoffed, if there was one thing Harry didn't miss about his friend, it was that.
"I suppose whatever the Potters put as protection for their children comes into play…and he gets a stake in the Potter fortune..." Draco said slowly, "I doubt there is much protection however, since I was able to find you through Tristan, and since your name appeared on the Family Tree."
Harry nodded, eyeing Draco warily. "What do I have to do?"
"Just say, 'I accept Tristan Malfoy as my son'."
"Yes, Potter, that's it!" Draco snapped.
"Fine. I accept Tristan Malfoy as my son."
Harry didn't know what he expected but the little tingle and glow on the Malfoy Family Tree was pretty anticlimactic, all things considered. Glancing at the old parchment he snorted in surprise at the change. Instead of reading 'Tristan Malfoy', it now read Tristan Potter-Malfoy.
"How come your name's last?"
"Because I accepted him first." Draco said smugly. Harry rolled his eyes as he handed Draco back his family tree.
"Right. I don't know about you, but I'm tired and I really need to sleep on this." He muttered.
Draco nodded. "That's acceptable."
Harry snorted, "oh! Well then, now that I have your permission…" he said snidely. Draco smirked, while backing away.
Harry glared at his retreating figure as he plopped down on the couch. This was going to be a long night.
Despite the rather life-altering events, Harry fell asleep faster than he thought he would, and did not wake up until around noon the next day. Yawning, scratching the back of his head, and mumbling to himself, Harry rose from the couch and entered the kitchen.
The sight that greeted him there, was most curious and left Harry gaping in shock.
Draco Malfoy stood wearing an apron. Not just any apron no, it was his Aunt Petunia's latest addition to her rather obscene collection. It was bright, neon green with large orange and pink daises. Not only was he wearing this…apron, but he also stood covered head-to-toe in flour, glaring at the gas stove, muttering angrily at the inanimate object. Seated at the table in a black and ivory high chair sat Tristan, who was smiling at his father, clapping his hands in glee.
Perhaps it was the incredulity of the scene, or maybe Harry just needed a release, but when Draco began cursing at the stove, calling it a 'heathen contraption bent on destroying his sanity', well Harry could not help himself. He laughed. And laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
"You think this is funny Potter?" Draco growled dangerously, turning flashing grey eyes in his direction.
Turned to face him, Harry felt his laughter increasing, and soon found himself rolling on the floor of his Aunt's kitchen, howling now, in glee. Draco's face was covered in what appeared to be jam, which Harry was idly curious about.
"I-you…and-the apron! Oh GOD!"
Draco stared down on him with a frown, eyes narrowed and hands on his hips. This of course, only served to send Harry further over the edge, and he was soon clutching at his sides in helpless agony.
"The horror! The horror!" He yelled, screeching with laughter.
"Oh funny Potter. Very funny," Draco growled.
Tristan was now laughing too, little gurgling laughs, while still clapping his hands.
Draco would not accept this. Grabbing the carton of flour, he proceeded to dump its entire contents on the unsuspecting Harry and then step back with a pleased smirk when the boy abruptly ceased his laughter.
"Did…did you just dump flour on me?" Harry asked in a low, dangerous voice.
"Indeed." Draco drawled, now eyeing him warily.
Standing, Harry calmly made his way to the sink and turned the water on.
"This means…WAR!" Swiftly, he detached the removable faucet head and thoroughly soaked a frozen Draco Malfoy.
Three hours, ten cleaning spells and a quick shower later, Harry and Draco were sitting on the kitchen floor, staring at a curious looking Tristan.
"I haven't had that much fun since…well since awhile." Harry muttered as he bounced Tristan in his lap. The little baby gurgled happily, reaching up for his cheeks.
Draco snorted, "I don't know about you, but I'm never going near flour again."
Harry laughed gaily, picking Tristan up and kissing his cheek.
"What were you trying to do anyway?"
"Well, I'd brought enough baby food for Tristan to last awhile, but I didn't exactly bring anything for myself. I was trying to make something to eat and since there aren't any house elves around here I had to do it myself." Draco sounded decidedly sullen about this fact, and was glaring heatedly at the surrounding kitchen.
Harry laughed again, bouncing Tristan on his knees once more.
"How about this? I'll do all the cooking if you promise to stay away from the flour."
Draco pretended to think about this for a minute before smirking, "deal. As long as you don't kill me with your cooking."
Harry smirked and began, in a mock-offended tone, "I'll have you know I am a highly skilled cook."
Draco snorted, "Whatever you say Potter."
Harry smiled, nuzzling his nose with Tristan's. Tristan laughed again, green eyes glowing with glee, and smacked his hands to Harry's cheeks.
"Oh god, you're turning my son into a sap!" Draco bemoaned with a gusty sigh.
"Am not," Harry muttered, still nuzzling noses with Tristan. "I'm just showing him some love!"
Draco snorted, "what does that have to do with your nose?" Harry glared at Draco shortly, before turning his attention back to Tristan.
"All children love attention."
"Pfft, I think my mother spoiled Tristan rotten with attention when she could…" Draco muttered, plucking deftly at his trousers. "Of course, he didn't like her much, or anyone for that matter, but he didn't immediately push her away like he usually does." Draco sighed, smoothing out the curly blonde locks of the little boys head.
Harry stared down at the small child with a small smile. He was already in love with the babe, and he'd only known him for…well less than 24 hours. It was hard not to however, when one stared down into his impossibly green eyes. Which, Harry idly noted, were flecked with a bit of silver? Harry snorted. Over all, the child was more Malfoy than Potter, at least at a quick glance.
As he stared down at his son, the simple fact that he was his finally hit home causing him to take a deep, sharp breath. Oh gods…I'm a father!
It was one thing to admit that the kid was his and to accept that fact. But now, as he looked down on the small happy face, he realized that he really was a father! This tiny bundle in his lap was his. This spark of life now depended on him for…well everything. Love, affection, attention, protection…and more.
Harry felt his breath leave him in a ragged sigh. He could feel Draco staring at him curiously, but could not voice his thoughts. No matter their shaky truce all throughout sixth year, and the…happenings of before, he did not trust the boy enough to share his inner doubts and fears.
"What's his middle name?"
"Er…" Looking up, Harry caught Draco in the midst of a fierce blush and stared at the boy in bemused shock.
"I uh, haven't given him one yet. I figured since I gave him his first name that you would want to…" He trailed off, staring intently at his shoes.
Harry, after realization sunk it, smiled brilliantly at the smaller boy before turning to give Tristan a scrutinizing stare. He already had a name in mind, and as he stared at the blonde-haired, green-eyed child on his lap, he knew it was a name the little boy would live up to.
"Sirius…" He finally muttered.
Draco opened his mouth, closed it, then smirked. "Tristan Sirius Malfoy, a proper name…" he drawled. Harry laughed loudly at this, closing his eyes and leaning back against the counter.
"Tristan Sirius Potter-Malfoy, now that's a proper name."
He had a son. A son. An actually living, breathing creation of him and…well Malfoy, but still, Tristan was his. Harry felt the first bouts of protectiveness rise as he gazed down at the oblivious baby in his lap. He would do everything he could to give Tristan a great, loving childhood. It was the one thing he'd always wanted, and never had. If it cost him his dying breath, he would make sure that Tristan's everyday was one filled with happiness and love.
Glancing at the blonde-haired boy sitting next to him, he found Draco sitting slightly slouched with his eyes closed and head cradled against his chest. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, a sign that he had slipped into a light doze.
As Tristan crawled up onto his chest, Harry instinctively wrapped his arms around the small body and hummed lightly to the sleepy baby.
He would do everything in his power to make sure Tristan lived a happy and fulfilling life, and as he gazed at the other boy, he knew that would include Draco as well. If there was one thing that Harry promised his new child, it was the prospect of living with both his parents alive and well and there for him whenever he needed.
Sighing, Harry settled into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes. He would take a quick nap and then wake before his relatives arrived home. He dreaded the upcoming confrontation, but as he quickly fell into a light doze with the comfortable weight of Tristan asleep on his chest, he couldn't find it within himself to regret a thing.
AN: Well, that's one! REVIEW PLEASE! PLEASE!? ….please?