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!

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 seventh month old baby claiming to be theirs well…things get a bit…interesting.


Requiem for a Dream

Chapter Four



"Beside you, left corner."



"Fresh diaper?"

A sigh sounded throughout the room. "Right beside you, Potter." The voice was wryly amused. A snort followed in response.

"Well what outfit do you want to put him in today?"

Draco ran a critical eye over the three outfits laying on the side of the elegant changing table. Below the two, Tristan lay with a large grin, feet held in both hands as he gurgled happily. Harry sent him a funny face, causing Draco to roll his eyes. Sometimes he wondered about Potter's sanity.

"Well," he began. The Weasleys were coming today. He wanted Tristan to look good…but not too formal. "I suppose the dark khakis and green button down you picked out is fine."

Harry grinned and Draco rolled his eyes again. It was unnerving really, how comfortable he was becoming with Potter. He had actually slipped, several times in the last two days, and called the green-eyed bugger Harry. The responding grin that blossomed across his face each time, sometimes made it worth it, and that unnerved Draco more than he was willing to say.

"Your father does have some sense after all, Tristan."

Draco scoffed. Potter cracking jokes about his common sense seemed a bit oxymoronic.

"Let's go, Potter. The Weasley's will be here in an hour and I want to have something in my stomach before them. Maybe a Firewhiskey will do it…"

Harry grabbed Tristan, rolling his eyes. Draco ignored him and left their room. While the place was slowly being remodeled, it was still a gloomy home. Grimmauld, Draco was sure, could be beautiful if someone would simply take the time to re-model it.

Idly, and with more than a little pang of sorrow, Draco wondered what was to become of his family. He knew with certainty that his father was still alive, but for how long? Where were he and his mother to go? Sure there were several Malfoy family homes they could go to, but none in Britain. And what, most importantly, were they to do about Potter? He was, technically, family now.

The arrived in the kitchen quietly, moving automatically as they set up Tristan's high chair and began feeding him his mush. Draco sat beside Harry, leaning on his elbows as he watched the green-eyed wizard slowly and playfully spoon a bit of peas and carrot into Tristan's eager mouth. He was making soft 'choo-choo' sounds, and while Draco thought it utterly…plebian, he couldn't quite bring himself to rebuke him. Especially since Tristan was giggling happily.

"Draco…" Harry whispered softly. Draco ignored him, and the odd shiver that hearing his name whispered by the Wizarding world's savior induced.

"Draco," he said again, firmer. Setting down Tristan's feeding spoon (much to the small babe's chagrin), Harry faced Draco with a frown. "What's wrong with you? You've been too…quiet all morning."

"It's nothing to worry your pretty little head over, Potter."

He sighed, running a hand through already ragged hair. Draco could have said something about the bedraggled look of his erstwhile enemy but simply slumped a little further in his seat and stared down at his heads.

To be truthful, he was feeling more than a little homesick, and the upcoming meeting with the Weasley's did not help matters. His mother had been acting strange ever since they'd stepped foot into this house, and he couldn't quite bring himself to intrude in what obviously was a nostalgic moment for her, no matter how long this moment was lasting. He figured in the absence of her husband and home, his mother filled the worrying silence with remembrance.

This of course only left him with Potter and Tristan for company. Though it wasn't as bad as he'd once imagined, Draco wasn't sure that he quite liked the…change. Or rather, he was worried about how easily he'd accepted and grown used to Potter's company.

"Is it the Weasley's?"

Draco turned his pale gaze onto the bronze youth before him. He sighed. There was that stubborn set of the jaw that let Draco know Potter wouldn't be letting go of this line of questioning anytime soon.

"No Potter…I just…miss home, I guess."

The frown deepened into one of concern and it took all Draco had not to snap that he didn't want Potter's pity.

He sat waiting for…something other than silence, and finally had to look at Potter when it continued to stretch. He was feeding Tristan again, his movement slow and green eyes dark.

"I could say that I know how that feels…but I'd be lying. I've never actually had a home that I could miss. Or one that I remember at least." His voice was low and quiet. Slow.

Draco tilted his head, listening intently. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to loose his parents at the age of fifteen months…nor could he quite imagine what it would be like to grow up without a home.

"The most I can say is that you should be grateful your parents are alive and…that you still have that." He shrugged, as if pulling himself from a reverie.

Draco looked away. He understood Potter's words, could in some way he suppose, see that his situation was not as bad as it could be. But that did not dull the sting that losing his home caused. There were memories there that he could never get back. Photographs and items of his childhood that, no matter how much he may wish he could never retrieve. How many things would he have wished to pass on to Tristan? Stories he would have liked to tell his son while viewing the family photo album?

He sighed, leaning back. Yes, he was still alive, but he felt as if his childhood had been swept away in the flames.


Harry watched Draco out of the corner of his eye. Over the past couple of days he had picked up Draco's moods and body language very easily. He realized, rather belatedly, that he had been watching the other boy for years and probably knew Draco's habits better than he himself did. For all of that, however, he was at a lost of what to say.

Luckily, Tristan chose that moment to begin squirming. Immediately, his little, chubby arms reached out for Draco and the boy snapped out of his sulk.

"What is it, Tristan?" Draco whispered softly as he dragged his son to his chest.

Harry set aside Tristan's food as he watched the two interact. Moments like these, Draco showed tenderness none would have believed capable of the once unflappable youth. Though it should not have much of a shock, Harry suddenly realized that Draco was human and that realization was like a slap to the face.


Snapping out of his trance-like state, Harry moved to stand behind Draco, peering at his son with narrowed eyes.

Face scrunched up in what appeared to be horrific pain, Tristan was twisting about in Draco's robes, alternately gripping him tightly and pushing him away.

"What's wrong with him?!" Harry nearly shrieked. He began to panic when Tristan finally made a sound.

Screaming filled the kitchen and Harry very nearly screamed himself so startled was he by the sound.

"Draco! Draco, what's wrong with him?"

"I don't bloody well know, Potter!"

Harry growled in frustration, running a hand through his hair.

"Here, give him to me."

"What? Why? We don't even know what's wrong with him!" The two were shouting at each other, trying to be heard over the din of Tristan's screams. Harry, hands held out for the babe, was red-faced and scared, lips drawn into a thin line.

"I know that!" He snapped. "Give him to me and warm up his milk. You know I can't get the temperature right yet."

Draco let loose what Harry thought was a huff and had shifted Tristan, preparing to hand him over when several things happened at once.

The kitchen suddenly filled with a gaggle of red-heads in fighting stance, wands out and at the ready. Tristan suddenly went limp, just as a red Stupefy hastily shouted was sent flying towards Draco's back and Ginny Weasley rushed forward and grabbed the blonde, unconscious babe just as Draco began to fall.

Ron stood slightly ahead of his family, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he eyed Draco's prone form and finally, Harry snapped.

Emotions on high, Harry felt the wall of worry he felt for Tristan nearly eclipsed by the worry he felt for Draco and sudden anger he held towards Ron. A feeling of fierce protectiveness rose within his chest like a roaring lion and it was all he could do not to rip Tristan from Ginny's arms.

"Harry! What's going on?" It was Hermione. Harry didn't question why she had arrived with the Weasley's; his mind was still too focused on protecting Tristan and Draco.

"Ginny," Harry began. His voice came out in a low, near-hiss, harsh and colder than he had ever heard in his life, "Give me the baby."

"W-what?" She asked. The others were looking at him oddly, confused by his voice and stance. Without realizing it, Harry had slid into one of the defensive positions Moody had drilled into him last year. His wand was still upstairs and as he watched the Weasley's watch him, Harry realized that he might have to summon it.

"What's going on Harry? What the hell is he doing here…and what was he doing to that kid?!"

Harry noted that several members of the Order were hovering on the edge of the kitchen, wands out and wary. This was not the way he would have wanted people to find out, and the fact that his once best friend stood glaring at him accusingly did not help matters at all.

"What the hell are you talking about Ron? He wasn't doing anything to Tristan and what did you curse him for?!" Harry snapped. He could feel his magic rising and knew that if things continued the way they did, something very bad would happen. Apparently Molly realized this as well because she began clearing her throat.

"Harry dear," Molly began softly. Harry noted the glint in her eye and bristled. She was going to treat him like a child again. "Why don't you calm down and tell us what's going on, hmm?"

Harry relaxed, deciding to take a different approach. Copying Draco's nonchalant poise, he leaned back against the counter and took a deep breath. His eyes flickered to Draco's prone from and another bolt of anger lanced through him. He took another steadying breath. I'd better wake Draco after this, he thought as he eyed the angry visages of Ron and several others.

"I'm as calm as I'm going to get Mrs. Weasley." He finally, flatly replied.

Without looking at anyone else, Harry quickly approached and held out his arms for Tristan. Ginny backed away, looking at her mother who was shaking her head.

Harry felt his anger rise past the breaking point until he was floating in a haze of icy rage. Molly moved forward, gently taking Tristan into her arms.

"What are you doing?" Harry snapped. His temper was getting handily out of control and though he was glad to see the Weasley's he did not appreciate them attacking Draco or keeping his son from him. He moved, standing over Draco as he eyed his surrogate family angrily.

"Harry," Molly began voice stern. "We are s-"

Harry felt her before he heard her, and was glad he did for Narcissa Malfoy swept into the room in a flurry of elegancy and icy magic. Literally. The temperature in the kitchen dropped and Harry was almost positive the pots and pans hanging from the ceiling had iced over.

"What is going on here!?" Narcissa snapped. Harry flinched despite himself as she came to stand beside him. Her voice was like a whip, sharp and painfully dangerous. Placing a hand on his shoulder, (a sight that did not go unnoticed as everyone present flinched and tensed) she flicked her wand towards Draco and with a quick Ennervate, bid the suddenly awake boy to stand.

Harry watched him out the corner of his eye, feeling relieved when Draco's grey eyes snapped to the Weasley's with a look of utmost hatred. Too angry to care why that relived him, Harry turned his full attention back to Mrs. Weasley, who was looking at the Malfoys with supreme distaste. In fact, every occupant, other than Harry, looked at the Malfoys with distaste, hatred or disgust. Harry bristled.

"Narcissa." Molly said coolly.

"Spare me your fake pleasantries." Narcissa snapped. She took a step forward, wand out and everyone in the room seemed to surge with her, wands all pointing at either her or Draco or, surprisingly, Harry. Harry noted with surprise that several Order members had arrived, and were currently standing at the back entrance to the kitchen.

Narcissa seemed either supremely unconcerned or unaware. Her eyes blazed and, with a shiver, Harry noticed that temperature in the room dropped yet again. Draco moved to stand beside him, hand brushing against his shoulder. Harry turned to him slightly, and Draco looked at him, a question burning in his eyes.

Harry shrugged. He still wasn't quite sure what was going on.

"Pray tell," Narcissa drawled in a rather scary, feminine imitation of Lucius Malfoy. "Why you have my grandson in your arms, bleeding!" The last word was said in a dangerous hiss and it looked as if Narcissa wanted nothing more than to shove her wand into Molly's throat and end her life right then.

Harry gasped. He had not been aware of Tristan bleeding. Beside him, Draco tensed.

Harry could barely resist the urge to grab his son and run straight to St. Mungos. Instead, he stood tensely as everyone silently and not so silently digested this information.

"Your - your what?" Molly breathlessly asked.

Narcissa looked as if she were going to rip Molly Weasley to shreds.

"My grandson! If you do not unhand him this instant so help me, Morgana, I will have your head!"

Harry would have groaned if he could. The room grew infinitely tenser as all Weasley men and Ginny suddenly flushed with fury and took a step forward. Immediately, Draco moved to his mother's side, eyes intent upon his son.

Ron sneered at Draco, wand shaking from the force of his anger. He stepped closer and then faltered.

Harry, clearly having left his common sense behind, had moved to stand beside Draco. He could have stopped there, but the bloody roaring lion in his chest did not abate until he placed his hand upon Draco's shoulder and raised his wand hand. Near instantly, his wand smacked into his hand, summoned from upstairs.

Dimly, he was aware of the looks of near-betrayal that crossed the Weasley's, Hermione, and most of the Order member's faces. However, at the moment they had his son and he'd be damned if he allowed them to hurt him or Draco or Narcissa for that matter. He had promised himself that his son would grow up with both parents, and if he knew Ron's temper like he knew he did, he was aware of the very serious danger the tall red head presented to the, by comparison, smaller Draco Malfoy.

"What are you doing Harry?" The red-head snarled in a low voice.

"Protecting a friend." Harry snapped back. Ron paled in anger, wand still trained on Draco's still figure.

Draco shifted nervously under his hand and leaned towards his body. Harry knew then that things would be forever changed.

"I believe we can settle this in a more…civilized way if everyone would simply calm down."

Harry sighed in relief as Remus appeared beside him, placing his own hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I believe there has been a grave misunderstanding on everyone's part. If we could head upstairs to the drawing room, I believe we can…rectify that."

Though still tense, many of the Order members began to leave the kitchen, heading upstairs to the drawing room. Harry stood still, eyes on Tristan's still figure.

"Ah, Mrs. Weasley. If you could hand young Tristan to Harry here, I believe we can follow the rest of the Order." Remus muttered.

Molly looked more than a little confused and wary as she slowly handed Tristan to Harry.

For his part, Harry gently cradled Tristan to his chest; worry spiking as he marked the blood coming from Tristan's nose and ears. Draco appeared beside him, hand resting shakily on the small babes back. Harry looked at the other boy, and a moment of unspoken communication ran between them.

The Weasley's slowly exited the room, each eyeing the Malfoys with something akin to hatred as the filed out. Remus shook his head.

"Well, that could have gone better."

Harry snorted. "Remus, if you and Mrs. Malfoy could…explain the situation to the rest of the Order…Draco and I are going to St. Mungos."

"What happened?" Remus asked.

Harry sighed, running a free hand through his hair. Draco swiftly scooped Tristan into his arms and walked to the counter. Laying him down gently, the blond haired boy quickly checked their son's pulse and breathing.

"We're not sure. We were doing fine when Tristan began screaming. Draco was holding onto him and we were yelling at each other just so that we could be heard over the screams. I'd told Draco to hand Tristan to me so that he could make his milk; I can't quite get the formula down just yet, when the Weasley's came and attacked." Here, Harry's voice spiked in anger. "I can't believe Ron did that! What if Ginny hadn't grabbed Tristan before Draco fell! What then!?"

It was, surprisingly, Narcissa who placed a calming hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Perhaps it would be best if you and Draco not attend this…meeting. St. Mungos is not an option either." She turned towards Draco. "You remember our private healer?"

Draco nodded absently, his wand hovering over Tristan's still form. Harry watched curiously as the tip of Draco's wand glowed red right around the moment it passed over his small blond head.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked anxiously as he moved to stand beside Draco.

"That something's wrong…I just don't know what." Draco murmured.

"We need to go. Private healer you say, Mrs. Malfoy?"

She nodded. "Draco knows the address."

Remus sighed. "We'll explain the situation as best we can. You two hurry and are careful."

"We'll be fine, Remus. Where is this Healer?"


"France!?" Harry snapped incredulously.

Narcissa nodded. "His floo is always open so it shouldn't be a problem. Hurry now."

With one last incredulous look, Harry quickly followed Draco who was already moving and rushed up the stairs. Luckily, everyone was already in the Drawing room on the second floor, so it was only a matter of moments that Draco and Harry were rushing away in emerald flames towards France.


Miles away, Lord Voldemort calmly watched the now still waters of a pure silver cauldron. A frown marred his features as he stirred the cauldron once more. Frustrated, he threw the obsidian stirring utensil with a growl and called for Wormtail.

"You said this potion would work." He hissed. The man cowered before him, watery eyes downcast and pudgy fingers ringing together nervously.

"I-It is perfect, my Lord! Perfect!"

Voldemort sneered, raising his wand. With a near negligent flick of his wrist, Voldemort sent the little, cowering man into a screaming fit of pain.

Minutes later, he released the curse he peered down his nose at the heap of shivering waste named Peter Pettigrew.

"Tell me then, Wormtail, if this potion works as well as you claim, why I was not able to see or do anything!?"

Wormtail slowly stood on shaky legs. He struggled to speak several times before Voldemort's impatience spiked and he sent the man to his knees once more, screaming under the weight and power of a Crucio.

"Well!?" Voldemort snapped as he lifted the curse.

"M-my-my…" Wormtail gasped, fingers clutching at his throat as he thrashed from the after effects. Voldemort snarled, and the little man quickly tried again.

"T-the ch-ch-child, m-my lord!"

"What about him?" Voldemort hissed, impatience and anger growing by leaps and bounds.

"He - He is far stronger than-than we thought."

His eyes glowed red as he moved to stand. "You will correct this, Wormtail or I will have your heart! Do you understand me!?"

"Yes my lord." Pettigrew croaked.

"Then move!"

Scurrying through the pain, Peter Pettigrew gathered the cauldron to himself and began anew.


White. Everywhere. White walls, white flowers, white couches, white desks and white books.

It was nauseating and did nothing to calm Draco's nerves as he paced the small waiting room of Lenoir's Private Practice. Though he knew the measurements by hard (thirteen paces from one end to the other) counting his steps helped to ease the worry and tension coalescing just beneath his present sneer.

Settled in one of the white couches Harry looked as casually as if this were a simple check-up but Draco knew the signs. His fingers drummed incessantly against one torn jean-clad knee, and his back was perfectly straight, a posture Potter never took unless he was unrestrainedly nervous. And Potter was nervous. Well, he actually seemed more on the verge of a panic attack.

"Do you think he's alright?" He asked for the fifth time since their arrival. Draco sighed. He would have snapped at the other boy if he didn't know exactly what he was feeling. As it were, he wasn't particularly interested in fighting with him at the moment anyway.

"I don't know Potter."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Definitely agitated.

"Damn but the Weasley's have bad timing." He muttered. Draco snorted. There were plenty of things wrong with the Weasley's, their timing only the least of which. Besides which, Draco had a definite bone to pick with the youngest son, and the rest of them better damn well hope there was enough of Ron bloody Weasley left for them to put back together.

"I'm sorry about Ron." Harry murmured, as if he had read Draco's mind. Draco faltered in his pacing, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Whether Harry realized it or not he had, in the Weasley's eyes, picked the Malfoy's over them. He didn't know if Harry realized that his situation back at Grimmauld Place would be, at best, a frosty reception. In fact, they would be lucky if they didn't arrive to a welcome at wand point.

"Nothing you could have done about it…" He murmured quickly. He didn't know if he would ever get used to Harry's odd…kindness. Especially in regards to him. Despite their somewhat truce last year, they had still been nothing but civil enemies, at the very most.

"Sometimes I just wish he would - " The black-haired teen made a sound of frustration, running his hand through his hair again. Draco shifted uncomfortably. He was not used to people pouring out their emotions to him. Especially this someone. He didn't know what he would do if Harry all of sudden began opening up and detailing his life to him. Even if a small part of him wanted the other boy to.

Thankfully, Harry changed the subject.

"Anyway, are you alright?"

Draco shrugged. "It was a rather weak stunner, Potter. I'm not some fragile damsel in distress."

To his surprise, rather than get mad and defend his friends wizardry skills, Potter snorted a laugh and winked at him.

"I can't imagine you in a dress, let along waiting in some tower waiting for a rescue, Draco. I just wanted to know if you were feeling alright. You did wake up in a rather…awkward situation."

It was Draco's turn to snort. "That's one way of putting it." He murmured. "I'm fine Potter, just…worried." He'll never know what possessed him to say that, but since it was out there, Draco simply shrugged it off as pressure making him talk. It also helped that it turned his mind away from previous events. Including Harry's rather rash decision to jump to his side against the Weasel and declare him friend. He would not analyze the emotions that induced. Ever.

"So I am…" Harry sighed, tugging at his hair.

"Stop that! It's a mess as it is, you don't need to make it any worse." Draco snapped. Plus, anymore tugging and the Gryffindor idiot was sure to go bald!

"Sorry," Harry muttered distractedly. He did stop pulling at his hair however. Only to end up tugging at the frayed end of his tattered t-shirt. With a sneer, Draco pushed off the wall and shook his head.

He began his pacing anew.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Sev-.

"Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Potter?"

"Yes?" They both chimed as one. Harry was up in a flash, settling next to Draco with a thrum of restless energy.

"Ah, I'm Healer Lenoir. I believe you dropped young Tristan into the capable hands of my assistant, Mrs. Deveroux?"

Harry nodded while Draco simply stared at the dopey old man with a frown. They knew who had taken Tristan from them, what they wanted to know was what happened to their child!

"Ah. Well, suffice to say young Tristan suffered quite the shock. Seemed he was under a bit of undue stress…" Healer Lenoir paused, licking his lips nervously. "You see, he shows all the classic signs of someone fighting off a…possession."

Draco choked. His vision narrowed even as he felt the air in his lungs leave him in one fell swoop. He rocked unsteadily on his feet, grabbing for the nearest thing and finding Harry there with a comforting hand. He could hear his heart thudding in his chest as the Healer's words spun themselves round and round and round inside his head.

Fighting off a possession…fighting off a possession.

"…own! Sir! Please calm down!"

Draco snapped to awareness as he felt Harry's hand tightened painfully on his arm. All around him, the neat little white office was being spun into chaos. With clarity, Draco knew the cause and looked to his left to find Harry standing in a battle stance, eyes closed as he struggled with himself. His magic, Draco noted with wonder, spilled out of him in waves.

Healer Lenoir along with his receptionist, were backing away slowly, their eyes wide and limbs trembling. They looked from Draco to Harry and back again obviously at a lose as to what to do. Apparently, they had no training when it came to magical outburst of this degree.

"Potter!" Draco snapped, forcing himself to stand before the other boy. "Potter! Damnit snap out of it! You're going to hurt Tristan if you keep going on like this!"

Harry's face screwed up tightly, mouth pressed into a furiously thin line. Draco shook the other boy roughly, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades as hard as he could.

"Potter! Damnit Harry calm down!"

Slowly, things began to settle almost imperceptibly.

"That's right! Think of Tristan," Draco murmured now, eyeing the surrounding destruction cautiously. Finally, Harry slumped forward into Draco, causing the other teen to stumble.

Grumbling to himself, Draco dragged Harry to the nearest sofa and gently lay him down.

"Give him a few minutes," he murmured to the trembling wizards behind him.

Healer Lenoir disappeared, returning seconds later with a vial.

"A pepper-up. I imagine he'll have a bit of trouble getting his footing after that." The little man looked around his office in something akin to awe. Draco snorted, accepting the potion and placing it in his pocket.

"My son?" He prompted, as the man continued to stare about him.

"Oh! Right, right."

Draco sneered, piercing the Healer with a glare.

"He - uh - should be fine for now. It's amazing really, that he was able to fight off the foreign invasion at such an age. Though considering who his father's are, it really should be no surprise."

Draco gave the man another icy glare, hand inching towards his wand as he stepped closer to the Healer.

"And we are assured of your silence on our presence? On Tristan's very existence?"

Lenoir nodded vigorously. "Healer-Patient confidentiality. I cannot speak, even under the influence of Veritaserum."

Giving him one last sneer, Draco nodded. "Good. Now give me my son."

Without waiting for a reply, Draco turned to Harry and cast a quick Ennervate, the pepper-up potion already in hand.


AN: Another extremely long wait for the chapter, I know. I do apologize. Life sort of kicked my ass for a while there. Hope you enjoyed! Please review!